The colonel was reading documents spread out on the desk in front of him. ‘Ross? Yes, I recall. You did well during the riots and organised the men when we lost the sergeant. Good shot, too. Yes. A very good shot. D’ye like it here, Ross?’
‘I expected to do more fighting, sir.’
‘You think a few natives are not enough for you, eh? You’ll do more after a posting back in England.’
‘You’re sending me home, sir?’
‘I’ve more soldiers due in with the supply ship and a company will return with its payload. I want you in charge of them. You’ll have an extra stripe for the voyage. Acting corporal only. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir. Why am I going back?’
‘You’ve been chosen for transfer to the Ninety-fifth Rifles. Like your father before you. That means more training.’
He was surprised. He knew about the Ninety-fifth: they were an elite regiment. ‘But I joined as a convict, sir.’
‘So did half of the Duke of Wellington’s army and they saw off Bonaparte.’ The colonel went on inspecting his documents. ‘You don’t spend much of your pay. And there’s the girl to think of as well. The Creole.’
‘Faith, sir. Her name is Faith.’
The officer looked up sharply. ‘My wife says she is content working in my household, but you can’t leave her there.’
‘Her father wanted her in England.’
‘Well, he’s not here now and she’ll do as she’s told. You are of age and she is your legal ward.You must decide what to do with her.’
Patrick was silent as he thought about this. He wondered if anyone had asked Faith what she wanted. He hardly ever had a chance to see her, let alone speak to her.
Before he could answer his colonel continued: ‘Do you have a wife back home in England, Ross?’
If only! If only he had wed Quinta before - before - Lord, it was too late for regrets now. She hadn’t answered his letter and with a sick mother to care for she would have had to marry someone. His mouth curled down at the memory of that bullying landlord. She must have wed him. He had wanted her and she would not have had a choice.
‘Don’t like the idea of a wife, eh? Can’t say I’m surprised. A soldier never goes short of a wench.’
‘No, sir.’
‘You have this girl, though. So, seeing as you’re not wed you’ll be free to marry her. I’ve discussed it with my wife and it’s the best solution for all concerned. She’s a pretty one to be sure and she has a trust left by her father. It’s not much but it’ll keep her in gowns and bonnets.’ The colonel met his eye in a frank stare. ‘It also makes her prey to any roving blade in the garrison. She’s your responsibility, so take my advice and marry her, m’boy.’
‘I - I - that is, I hadn’t considered it, sir,’ Patrick stammered.
‘Not keen, eh, because of her breeding? I understand that, but she’s only a quarter Negro, y’know, and once she’s in England she’ll pass for a Spanish. My wife has given leave for you to visit her in the servants’ parlour; when her cook is present, of course. Take the girl flowers.’ The colonel waved his arm in a dismissive manner. ‘Do the right thing, Ross. We’ll have the ceremony in the chapel before you sail.’
‘She might not want to marry me, sir.’
‘She’s a fool if she doesn’t. Now get back to your duties.’
‘Sir.’ Patrick marched out smartly, his head spinning with the colonel’s news and - and his orders about Faith.
She hadn’t been a burden to him since her father had been shot. She received a wage for her work in the colonel’s household and only once had he been asked to sign a docket to release money for a new gown and shoes. He acknowledged that when he had noticed her, fairly recently in the chapel, she looked quite beautiful, stunning even, in a new bonnet. But she was always surrounded by other servants.
Their communication had been limited to a formal bow on his part, a curtsey on hers and a few words exchanged about their respective wellbeing. He had often wondered what he was going to do with her, but never, ever, that he would marry her. His colonel seemed very taken by the idea and he decided to arrange a visit and talk to her about it.
The following Sunday afternoon, he had a posy of flowers and a small parcel of red ribbon - the colour suited her glossy black hair - waiting on his locker as he brushed his uniform. The servants’ parlour was a low stone building behind the colonel’s residence, ruled by a fierce Creole who was in charge of the colonel’s kitchen. She took him inside and had the sense to leave them alone. He and Faith sat at opposite ends of a couch with their backs to the arms. He acknowledged that she was - what was the word? - yes, exotic; unusually beautiful, neatly attired in her new gown and a very pretty bonnet.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said as she took the gifts. She seemed especially pleased with her ribbons.
‘Are you well?’
‘Yes, sir. And you?’
Patrick kept up this stiff exchange of pleasantries for as long as he was able. She knew about her trust, his guardianship and his return to England. After an extended, awkward silence he asked, ‘Faith, what do you want to do?’
‘The colonel’s wife says I must marry you.’
Lord, he did not even have to propose to her! ‘Would you like to travel to England?’
For the first time, her saw her eyes light up. ‘Oh yes, sir. My mother told me I would go there one day and she would have a lodging house by the sea and I could—’ She stopped.
‘Could what, Faith?’
She looked down at the ribbons. ‘Trim bonnets.’
Trim bonnets. He supposed it would occupy her while he was soldiering and it was a charming wish. ‘Very well. If that is what you want, I shall take you with me to England.’ He stood up to leave.
She was smiling, happy even, and said, ‘When shall we sail?’
As the weather improved in the High Peak Amos moved the flock higher on the open moor and took Davey with him. They stayed away from the farmhouse. Miss Banks accepted this, believing rightly that Davey was happy with his new distractions. Although the farm was not prosperous there was always enough to eat and tea to drink, if not luxuries like sugar or butter. But they had honey, and cheese from goat’s milk, which was especially nourishing for Quinta.
Miss Banks never ventured far and when she climbed to the hut insisted that mother and child came part of the way. She did not like to let Quinta out of her sight, though she seemed frightened to approach or even touch little Patrick, much to Quinta’s relief. In fact, her status as a mother enabled her to make requests of Miss Banks that made life more comfortable: A cured lamb-skin for the crib, feather pillows for her couch in the kitchen and old linen to make more wrappings for little Patrick.
The Easter weather had been brisk and breezy and May had come in like a lion. But June was balmy and bright. Patrick thrived and Quinta became excited by the approach of Midsummer. However, before that came the shearing when the flock - and Davey - journeyed down from the high moor to the farm.
‘I don’t want the men in the house when they’re shearing,’ Quinta said. ‘They’ll bring fleas and ticks from the fleeces on to my baby.’
Miss Banks looked alarmed.
‘They’ll have to eat and sleep in the barn,’ she added.
‘Aye,’ Miss Banks replied. ‘Davey’ll like doing that anyroad. I’ll take them ale and food.’
But when Davey was shearing in the barn, Quinta was always ready to retreat to the scullery with little Patrick and out of the back door in case he started crying. He was heavy in her arms now, growing fast and eating oatmeal porridge as well as her milk.
When the shearing was finished and Midsummer approached, Amos loaded the fleeces on to Miss Banks’s heavy horses and covered them with sacking. He gave Davey a good deal of ale to drink and Quinta made Miss Banks a strong sweetened toddy as a nightcap, giving little Patrick a lick of it from her finger to give him warmth through the night.
As soon as the two of them were soun
d asleep, Amos came to the back door of the scullery and took Quinta’s box over to the barn. She followed with her child tightly wrapped in a shawl.The horses were already harnessed and linked. Amos took Patrick from her as she clambered up beside her box. It was a similar seating arrangement to when she had arrived.
The moon was bright and she smiled at Amos, taking the warm bundle from him. He smiled back, took up the reins of the lead horse and climbed astride his broad back. Then he whistled softly for his dog and they began their slow descent down the bumpy track. Dawn broke early and it was daylight well before they were in the valley and approaching Crosswell. Quinta looked behind constantly for signs of Miss Banks or Davey.
Amos noticed.‘They won’t follow us down here. Not without a beast to ride.’
‘How will you get their horses back?’
‘I’ll be paid for these fleeces by dinnertime. Any one of the lads you see running around will get them back to her for a tanner.’
‘Will you keep her money?’
‘Only what’s due for my wages. And I’ve saved three guineas from selling my own ewes so I’ll have enough to pay the five guineas I owe her for you.’
Quinta’s eyes rounded. ‘But I don’t owe her anything! I’ve worked for nothing since Lady Day!’
‘I’m not a thief and I pay my way. She bought the two of you and I’ve taken the baby from her as well.’
Quinta was shocked into silence. Amos considered her and little Patrick as chattels to be bought and sold, just as Noah and Miss Banks did. Eventually she asked, ‘What will you do with her money?’
‘I’ll leave it with the innkeeper.’
‘Can you trust him?’
‘I reckon so. He didn’t like what Noah did to you. He’ll be glad to get somebody to take back her horses and her dues. And tell her that you’ve gone.’ Little Patrick roused from his deep slumber.‘He’s hungry again.You still got plenty of milk for him?’
She supposed it was because he was a shepherd, practised with ewes and lambing, that he seemed to understand her and her baby’s needs. He was robust man, toughened by his harsh life on the moors.Yet he had a gentle side to him, too, and she was grateful that he was travelling with her. But he wanted her as his wife. He had bought her from Miss Banks, just as Miss Banks had bought her from Noah, for the same reason. She did not know him well and she wondered how much she could trust him.
‘I can get work to pay you back,’ she volunteered.
‘You’ll have to wait ’til he’s older,’ he answered, gesturing towards her infant.
She had to agree.
‘I’ll take care of you both.’ Amos smiled. ‘A man with a family is generally judged to be hard-working and steady. I’ll have a better chance of securing work with you and the babe in tow.’
‘Is that why you want me?’
‘It’ll be easier all round if we say we are wed.’
She knew that and bit on her lip. ‘But you might meet a nice girl,’ she suggested hopefully, ‘one that you can love.’
‘I am satisfied with the one I’ve got.’
He meant for them to stay together. She closed her eyes and acknowledged that she and little Patrick were safer travelling with a man.Then a vision of her first sight of him at the hiring fair and his crook hooking the edge of her skirt swam under her eyelids.
Chapter 25
They breakfasted on mutton patties from a pie-seller near the spring at Crosswell. Quinta and little Patrick rested on sacking while Amos took the horses and their burdens to the wool exchange. He left his dog to watch them. Jess, she was called, and she sat guarding them while Quinta dozed in the sun’s warmth.When she roused she lay quietly watching her sleeping son. How she loved him! She loved him more than anything in the world, more than her mother and father; even more, she realised with a shock, than she loved her baby’s own father. She loved him so much that she ached. She would do anything for her son. Anything.
Amos returned without the horses, looking pleased with himself. He had removed his shepherd’s smock and replaced it with a tweedy country jacket. He rolled up the sacking and secured it with twine to a bulky leather satchel slung across his back and announced, ‘We’re walking from here.’
Quinta had expected this and asked, ‘By which road?’
‘South Riding in the next county. The innkeeper has told me to head for Tinsley where the navigation starts.’ He patted his jacket and Quinta heard the grating of coins. ‘A barge’ll take us into the heart of the Riding.’
‘My husband’s farm is there.’
‘The waterway goes by the furnaces and manufactories. Besides, he wanted rid of you, didn’t he? He sold you and I have bought you.You belong to me now. Though I’ll keep you out of sight, just to be sure.’
There was no point in arguing with Amos. His mind was made up. But Noah’s treatment of her still rankled with Quinta. Until recently, her thoughts had been taken up by ensuring her baby’s safety. Now that little Patrick was thriving, her anger with Noah was growing. It was as well she would not see him on her travels through the Riding! Yet she was his wife. He had lied in court, she had deceived him and he had taken his revenge, but she was still his lawful wife. He couldn’t just sell her like that and get away with it!
Amos bent to pick up a hide harness with a roomy pouch. ‘I’ve got this for you, to carry the little lad on your back.’ He helped her transfer her protesting, squirming child into this new cocoon and strap it in place. ‘All set,’ he said.
At first little Patrick wailed his annoyance at being separated from his mother’s arms, but as they set off he quietened and not long afterwards he began gurgling in her ear. He liked his new mode of travel, though before long his gurgles turned into grizzles. ‘He’s hungry again, Amos,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to stop and feed him.’
‘We’ll eat, too. I’ve got food in my pack.’
‘Look for a spring or stream. I’m thirsty.’
They had climbed steadily out of Crosswell to higher, harsher moorland where the breeze was fresh even in summer. But the sun was warm and Quinta’s spirits were as high as the fluffy white clouds scudding across a blue sky. She had escaped from Miss Banks and her Davey. She wasn’t exactly free, but her situation was better now. At least she could talk to Amos and, with any luck, reason with him. She did not want to stay with him and she hoped he would understand.
The sun’s rays were welcome as she sat on a bank of springy heather and changed little Patrick’s wet linen. She rinsed it in the stream and spread it to dry on a warm rock. Jess fussed around, sniffing at first, and then drank from the stream before settling quietly with her head on her paws. Quinta unbuttoned her bodice and loosened the front of her corset. Feeding Patrick absorbed all of her attention so easily that she was unaware of Amos watching her until she looked up with a smile. His face was serious. He handed her bread and cheese and placed a tin mug of cold, crystal-clear spring water in reach of her hand.
‘Why don’t you take a nap?’ she suggested, but he shook his head. She ate and drank herself as little Patrick satisfied his hunger.When he slowed, she lifted him to her shoulder to raise his wind.
‘He takes long enough,’ Amos commented.
She thought he sounded bored and responded,‘Did you bring oatmeal in your bag? I’ll light a fire and make porridge for him tonight.’ Patrick burped and she lowered him gently to her lap, wrapped him tightly and laid him in a sheltered dip to sleep. She wished she had some salve to smooth on her nipples and ease the threatening soreness, but she hadn’t so she ignored the tingling and stretched herself out in the sun. She was tired. Feeding her hungry son sapped her energy and she closed her eyes.
She heard Amos settle beside her and thought he might sleep as well. She could smell sheep on his clothes and tensed, wondering why he was so near to her. She rolled away from him on to her side. Her corset was still loose and she pulled at the fastening tapes.
‘Are you in fear of me?’ he asked.
‘You fr
ightened me at the hiring fair,’ she answered. ‘You lifted my skirt with your crook.’
‘But it was not me who showed your leg for all to see. It was that shameful husband of yours.’
She didn’t argue with that and said, ‘Well, you were not my husband and you lifted my skirt.’
‘I wanted to look at your boots. Boots are dear to buy. I could not afford a wife who was not well shod.’
‘Oh!’ Quinta turned her head towards him. ‘Truly?’
‘You looked strong enough to me without closer inspection. That Noah didn’t deserve you, I thought.’
‘No,’ she agreed. She had made a dreadful mistake in her haste to provide shelter for her and her mother last year. But she had had no other choice apart from the workhouse and even now did not know what else she could have done to avoid that fate. Was she about to make another mistake in judging Amos? He had not demanded much from her and she would not be here without his help. She was beholden to him for that if nothing else so, she reasoned, she ought to at least behave as a friend towards him.
But only as a friend, for, no matter what these Peak dwellers believed about buying and selling their wives, Quinta was not and could never be Amos’s wife. She knew now, without any doubt, that the only man she could ever be a true wife to was little Patrick’s father. She relaxed and rolled on her back to stare at the sky. It really was the most beautiful hue. Her eyes closed against the glare. Somewhere, she dreamed, little Patrick’s father might be looking at the same sky. If he was still alive. She could not countenance that he might not be and wondered, instead, where he was.
‘Well, I am your husband now and I shall treat you better.’ Amos’s words came out suddenly and with a determination that startled her. His lips were by her ear and his roughened fingers already on her exposed breast, stroking and delving to squeeze and massage her flesh.
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