‘I’ll show you the cowshed,’ she said, ‘where your father and grandfather lived when they stayed with us.’
The sheep scattered as she carried her child in one arm and the sling over her other back to the track. The cowshed had no lock and she went inside. Insects and small animals had taken up residence. But, she thought, idly picking up an old birch broom with her free hand, that was easily remedied.
‘We have a bed for the night,’ she said. Let the word get around the village about her return before she approached Noah. Barley straw was soft to sleep on and she had bread in her bundle. With the cooking pot that Patrick had used and some barley and vegetables, she could make a broth for supper, if the sheep had not pushed through the hedge and trampled her garden.
She found it overgrown and wild, but some roots had survived and greens had seeded down to re-emerge young and fresh. She stayed outside and set about making a fire. She did not notice Mr Wilkins approach until she heard his horse snorting in the heat. She went to pick up little Patrick straightaway.
‘Good evening, sir,’ she said. In spite of her earlier misgivings she felt strong. This was her territory. Hers and Patrick’s, and she was fighting for their son.
‘Mrs Bilton.’ He gave her a formal bow. ‘I must speak with you.’
‘And I you. Will you sit?’
He tethered his horse and joined her on the grass. ‘This is a serious matter.’
‘Indeed it is.’
‘I shall come straight to the point.Your husband has told me of your - your infidelity.’
‘Deception, I own up to, sir, but I was never an unfaithful wife to him.’
‘He is very angry with you.’
‘He is angry. Do you know what he did with me?’
‘Yes, he told me.’
‘Then perhaps we are even and can start afresh?’
Mr Wilkins clasped his hands and kneaded his fingers. ‘He does not want you as his wife, madam. Nor, I suspect, do you truly care for him.’
‘That is of no consequence. He is my husband and I have a child.’
‘Not his child.’
‘It is if I say so.’
‘But he says not. He has told me of his . . . his difficulties with you and I believe him.’
‘He is a liar.You know that because he told you I was dead.’
Mr Wilkins face took on a sterner expression. ‘You did not consummate your marriage,’ he said firmly, adding, ‘Well, did you?’
She blew out her cheeks, but this time answered honestly. ‘No. He had this affliction and I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Please do not give me the details. It is sufficient that you both admit to it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you will sign a document to that effect, I can procure an annulment of the marriage and you will both be free of each other.’
‘No!’ she yelled. She actually shouted at the vicar. ‘Why do you think I am back here, suffering all this humiliation? My child! That’s why! Noah Bilton lied in court and took my child’s father from me. He must pay for that and I intend to make sure that he does!’
Mr Wilkins shaded his eyes with his hand and heaved a sigh. ‘He lied in court.’ He sounded weary. It was not a question and he seemed resigned to accepting this new information.
‘Ask him! Although I, for one, should never trust his word ever again!’
‘Yet you wish to remain his wife.’
‘I wish to have his name for my child. That is all.’
The silence between them lengthened. Then Mr Wilkins spoke slowly as though choosing his words carefully. ‘Is there ... anything, anything that . . . that you would take instead?’
She didn’t know what he meant at first and then realised it was money. He must have spoken to Noah, who had suggested buying his freedom. Surely Mr Wilkins did not agree? He was the vicar. Why should he care so much about Noah’s wishes, anyway? She gave him a small humourless smile and answered, ‘My child would like a pardon for his father.’
To her surprise, he took her seriously. ‘If you really mean that I shall go immediately to Sir William.’
‘You think it may be possible?’An unusual excitement bubbled in her breast.
‘I do not know, but I shall find out.’
‘Why? Why trouble yourself so on my behalf?’
‘I do not want any more scandal in my parish. If I can secure a pardon for your child’s father will you agree to an annulment? ’
‘Yes.’ Her answer needed no further consideration, but her heart was missing beats as she added, ‘If he is still alive.’
After Mr Wilkins had hurried away, she could not eat. She could not sleep. She could not remember collecting the barley staves and making a bed in the cowshed. All she could recall for the remainder of that day was feeding her child last thing before she put him down for the night. It was always their most special time together when she comforted him and he comforted her.
‘What have I done? I have agreed to sell your good name for your father’s freedom,’ she told her baby. ‘It is not too late for me to change my mind but I have already made my offer and - and, my darling son, I hope it will happen. Can you forgive me? I do it as much for you as for him.’ She frowned as she whispered these words and thought, I love you both so much, how can I know what is best for you both?
In the dead of night when the owls hooted and the vixens called she had other misgivings. Patrick might be wed himself, have another child with another woman. He might not want to return to the South Riding. He might enjoy being a soldier. Worst of all he might not love her any more, he might suspect that little Patrick is not his, and what would happen to her darling child then? Her nagging doubts kept her awake. Love was ecstasy but love was dangerous, too. A brief interlude of passion with a man she loved had turned her life on its head. How could she have been so foolish?
Chapter 29
Mr Wilkins called the following day with the key for the cottage. ‘You may live here until this unfortunate business is resolved. It will be best for all concerned if you keep away from the village and its wagging tongues.Your husband will support you with supplies. He wants this annulment.’
‘Is it really possible to free Mr Ross?’ she asked again.
‘Noah Bilton is to call on Sir William today and - and discuss the situation.’
‘But Noah will go to gaol himself if he admits that he lied.’
‘Sir William understands these matters more than anyone else in the Riding. Leave it to him. He looks after his own.’
She was aware of that. It was why he had believed Noah in the first place. She began to fret about ever agreeing to this unholy bargain. ‘I shall not consent to an annulment until I see the pardon for myself.’
‘I expected that, Mrs Bilton. Sir William will bring it to you in person.’
Her heart turned over. Oh joy! It really was a possibility! ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.
‘You must be patient, madam. But be assured that everyone involved wishes for a speedy solution and we are making haste with our interventions.’
She could not understand why they were all so anxious to proceed. She thought of writing a letter to Patrick and telling him of his child. He would surely wish to see his son? But she was frightened to do anything for fear of upsetting the delicacy of the negotiations. Mr Wilkins had told her to stay at Top Field and not talk of the matter to anyone. She put her trust in him and hoped he would not let her down.
That night she was exhausted from cleaning the cottage. The chimney smoked and the fire refused to draw. She had barely enough heat to warm her broth. She shovelled the last of the glowing embers into a warming pan to air the bed. Little Patrick seemed so heavy when she carried him up the stairs. She propped herself up with pillows to feed him, sure that she would fall asleep as he suckled. The bed was comfortable. The bed was home. She had shared it with her mother and once, just once, with Patrick; one night of wondrous happiness, of love and of hope for th
eir future together, a future that the misfortune which continued to dog her steps had torn from her grasp.
That night had changed her life in a way she could never have imagined and she feared that she was now living to regret her act of passion. But she was blessed with a son who was a constant delight to her. When he had finished feeding, she placed him carefully beside her and snuggled down to sleep. She did not know what the years ahead held for them but as long as she had little Patrick she could face them.
Yet, again in the dead of the night, she fretted. Life had not been very kind to her so far. Why should it be any different now?
And so the weeks went by.
By Michaelmas, little Patrick was five months old and Quinta had given up hope for his father. Seth brought her food and fuel from the farm by horse-drawn cart and took away requests for supplies. She had hoped to visit Beatrice but the vicar advised strongly against any journeys to the village, not even to church on Sunday, which upset her. Mr Wilkins rode up to Top Field infrequently and each time without news. Hopes that were raised when she saw him approach were always dashed.
‘Would Beatrice care to call on me here?’ she suggested.
‘Mrs Bilton, please understand that I am doing all I can for you.’
He said the same every time and it depressed her. She endeavoured to be content as she waited in the cottage. Her garden took shape again and little Patrick thrived. However, the days were shortening and she had not wintered there alone before, or with a child to look after.
It was early November when Sir William arrived on horseback with the thick documents.
‘Good afternoon, Sir William.’ She curtseyed as she opened the door to let him in.
He hesitated on the threshold and stared at her. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bilton.’ He seemed unsure about coming in yet she thought for a moment he was going to smile at her. Perhaps he did, just for a second. But they were not equals and this was not a social occasion. Quinta stood back and held the door wide open.
‘This is your child?’
Little Patrick was occupying himself on the rug with her kitchen spoons and a metal pot. Quinta smiled proudly and nodded. ‘Will you sit, sir?’ She indicated the couch and he settled there watching her son at play, looking out of place in his grand clothes and fine leather boots, while she read at the kitchen table. It was hard for her to understand the language that lawyers used but the papers had official crests and seals and were duly signed.
‘Your husband has admitted he did not see the shooting.’
‘It was as I said. The deer was in my garden and I shot it by accident. I only meant to frighten it.’
‘Yes, I believe you.’
She brandished the court document. ‘Does this mean that Mr Ross is innocent?’
‘It does.’
She felt a thrill course through her that caused her skin to tingle. ‘Did you hear that, little Patrick,’ she said. ‘Your father will be a free man again.’ She hesitated and looked at Sir William. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘He is in Essex with his regiment, preparing for another posting overseas.’
‘Another one?’
‘He has been in the West Indies until recently.’
‘Where will he go, sir?’
‘India? South America? I cannot tell you, madam.’
Wherever the King sent him, it was likely to be the other side of the world! It was said the country was building an empire over the seas. She asked, ‘Does he know about his pardon?’
‘He will do by now. He will have the choice of staying with the army, or - or not.’ Sir William leaned forward and showed her son his heavy timepiece. He placed it near to little Patrick’s ear and she saw his eyes come alive and his head turn. His small hands dropped the spoons to take hold of the gold case. Quinta started. The timepiece was valuable but Sir William did not seem to mind. He continued speaking without looking at her. ‘You should know that when he returned to Essex from the West Indies he was accompanied by a young lady.’
A cold hand clutched at her heart. It was her worst fear. Patrick had found another. ‘What - what do you know of her?’
‘Very little and I have no authority to demand such information. However, I have been told unofficially that she lives near the garrison and his financial records show he pays for her keep. Ordinary soldiers’ wives do not normally reside with their husbands.’
‘She is his wife?’
‘I do not know whether there has been a ceremony. I have requested that he is informed about his child.’
She gazed at little Patrick and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘May I - may I hold your child for a moment?’
Surprised at such a request, she hardly knew how to reply. Then she remembered that Sir William and his wife had not been blessed with infants. He had a sister with children but she had married a Scottish laird and he saw them rarely. It occurred to her that, in spite of all his wealth and position, Sir William might envy Patrick his son. ‘Of course you may,’ she said.
He hoisted her boy on to his lap and showed him how to open the timepiece case and wind it up. Little Patrick was captivated and Quinta watched fondly until an uneasy feeling stirred in her breast. Her son needed a father and fathers coveted their sons.
Sir William noticed her worried gaze. ‘I’ll give him back, Mrs Bilton,’ he said lightly and then stated firmly, ‘You must sign the annulment.’
Of course she must, but she wondered whether, if she did, her son would now lose everything. Whatever the outcome, Noah would never allow her to stay at Top Field. She said, ‘Will Noah go to gaol for lying to you?’
‘I have reached an agreement with him, by way of compensation to Mr Ross for the miscarriage of justice. Noah will give up the freehold of Top Field.’
‘I don’t understand, sir?’
‘Mr Ross will become the freeholder of the buildings and acreage here.You must be aware that I demanded this recompense before I knew about his lady companion. He may wish to return and settle here with her. He may wish to sell it and travel overseas with his regiment. Either way it does not give you the security you crave. I am sorry.’
Quinta felt her world crumble about her ears. After all her struggling to keep little Patrick with her and to give him a name, a home and a future, was she to lose it all?
Sir William noticed her despair and she detected sympathy in his eyes. But he was here because he had a duty to perform and he did not shrink from it. He placed little Patrick gently down on the rug, leaving the gold timepiece in his small hands, and stood up. ‘You still have to sign, Mrs Bilton.’ He pushed the inkwell nearer and handed her the quill. ‘Your husband must be free to marry Miss Wilkins. She is with child, his child, and I do not want my vicar forced into leaving the village because of this sorry scandal.’
So that was why Mr Wilkins was so willing to help her! Noah had somehow cured his affliction and Beatrice had replaced her at the farmhouse. ‘But what will happen to us now?’ she asked quietly.
‘I do not know, madam, but I assure you I shall not see you homeless. I accept my part in this unfortunate affair as I was too quick to condemn Mr Ross here and in my court. We - I - it was felt that you could do better for yourself than align yourself with a - with Mr Ross. As it turned out I was wrong and I must shoulder some of the blame. But let us see what Mr Ross’s wishes are first. Now sign. I insist.’
She dipped the quill in the inkpot.
‘This outcome is most regrettable for all concerned, my dear,’ Sir William said kindly. ‘I truly believed that Noah Bilton would give you and your mother a good home. He was - is - a gentleman farmer of significant means. I encouraged him because it was a good match for you.’
She allowed the excess ink to drip away. ‘Do you know, sir, if my father really did promise me to him?’
‘It was my father who had that privilege.’
So her mother was right about the meddling old Squire. ‘But why?’
‘Sign the docu
ment, Mrs Bilton.’
As she scratched her name on the thick paper, she heard a sigh of relief from Sir William. Little Patrick let the timepiece slip from his grasp and it landed with a clunk on the rug. She glanced at him in alarm, but Sir William did not seem at all concerned about it and, she realised, neither was she.
She had much more important things to worry about now, not least that if Patrick were to acknowledge her child as his, he could take him away from her. By signing this paper she had in effect made herself homeless once again. She had a child and no means of support. His freehold of Top Field, his soldier’s pay and the existence of a wife gave him all the resources he needed to care for his child. If he was not yet wed to his lady companion, little Patrick gave him good reason to bring forward the ceremony.
Where she had once yearned for Patrick’s return to Top Field, she now dreaded his reappearance. What had she done? Would she have to flee again to keep her son?
Night-time was the worst, when every tick and creak of timber disturbed her; she would slide her arm beneath little Patrick peacefully asleep beside her and move him closer. One chilly night in December, as Christmastide drew near, something woke her - the cowshed door swinging on its hinges - and she was convinced it was a prowler.
Seth had repaired the henhouse and she was raising chickens again. It was the season for chicken thieves yet she would rather they stole every last fowl than harm her little Patrick. She crept to the window but all was dark and still, the hens were quiet and she guessed she was mistaken.
The following morning she wrapped her wool shawl tightly round her head and shoulders and stepped outside to fetch water. The cowshed door was ajar and she froze to the spot, dropping her pails with a clatter. A dark shape appeared from the gloomy interior. Tall and straight, and with a good growth of dark beard, he walked towards her.
‘Quinta? Is that you?’
She pushed her shawl back from her face. Patrick had not changed at all, except that his dress was newer, smarter, indeed more fashionable, she thought. She glanced behind to the cottage where she had left little Patrick and prepared herself to run inside and bolt the door. Patrick stopped in his tracks, a good distance from her and she recovered.‘I have been half expecting you,’ she said.
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