The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘ “Kicker” would be a better name for that ’un, mester,’ Esther grinned saucily and, picking up her bundle, she turned away.

  She stood uncertainly in the yard for a moment, breathing in the soft air with a hint of the sea in it. The barn, and its hayloft, loomed before her in the gathering dusk and promised warmth and rest. She glanced back over her shoulder. Let him struggle tonight, she thought, but tomorrow – I’ll show him! Esther smiled to herself and went towards the barn.

  Two

  SHE became aware of the early morning light filtering through the cocoon of hay she had made for herself. There was a rustling close beside her. Rats! Esther thought. Her drowsiness vanished. Not that she was afraid of them but she didn’t want them running over her whilst she slept.

  Without warning the sharp tines of a pitchfork were driven into the hay only inches from her throat. She gave a shriek, flung back the hay covering her and scrambled to her feet. A young man stood there, open-mouthed, the fork he held still embedded in the hay. They stared at each other for a moment before both spoke at once.

  ‘What the ’ell . . .?’

  ‘Can’t you be more careful with that thing? You nearly speared my neck!’

  ‘You shouldn’t be ’ere,’ he retorted defensively, then as his initial shock faded, he grinned and his gaze travelled up and down her lithe body. ‘Oh, I don’t know, though.’

  He let go of the pitchfork and moved towards her. Esther stood her ground, her eyes challenging him. He was standing close now, too close, but she did not move. He was no taller than she was, but stockily built, the width of his shoulders proclaiming their muscular strength. He wore an open-necked shirt, the rolled-up sleeves showing his arms covered with black hairs. A red kerchief was knotted at his throat, but he wore no waistcoat. His trousers were the usual corduroy with a length of twine tied below each knee. His cap perched uneasily on top of his thick, curly black hair and his skin was swarthy. Three days’ growth of stubble darkened his face even more, but his brown eyes glinted as their gaze rested on the gentle swell of her bosom. He ran his tongue around his lips and then grinned showing white, even teeth. He put out his hand to touch her throat where the top button of her blouse was undone. ‘It’d be a pity to wound such a lovely neck as—’

  Her arm came up smartly to smack his hand away before his fingers could touch her skin. ‘Keep ya hands to ya’sen – boy!’ She uttered the final word with scathing derision. His eyes blazed and a flush of anger spread across his dark features.

  ‘I aren’t going to let a little tramp talk to me like that . . .’ he muttered. His strong hands gripped her shoulders bruising her skin and digging into her flesh. Instantly she brought her arms up to knock his sideways, loosening his grip on her. Then she tugged on his right sleeve at the same time as she kicked his shin with her sturdy boot. He found himself lying on his back in the hay, staring up at her. The fall had knocked the breath from him. He could make no answer as she said, ‘Next time I’ll let you have it where it really hurts – boy!’

  With that she climbed down the ladder.

  As Esther sluiced the sleep from her eyes under the icy water from the pump, she heard behind her the clatter of hooves on the cobbles of the yard and turned to see Sam bringing two of his three cows through the farm gate and towards the cowshed. She wondered why he didn’t milk the cows in the field like her aunt had done, but watching his hobbling, bow-legged gait, she realized it was easier for him to bring the cows to the byre than to be chasing each one around the field to milk it – especially the temperamental Clover.

  As he passed her, she thought he hadn’t noticed her until he said, ‘What sort of time do ya call this? ’Tis halfway through the day. Ah thought the work’d be too much for a slip of a wench.’

  Esther opened her mouth to retort, but for once she thought better of it. She wasn’t one to make excuses. Let him think what he liked. Instead she said, ‘What do ya want me to do, Mester Brumby?’

  He was moving away from her now, but over his shoulder he grunted, ‘Ah want you to go, that’s what Ah want you to do!’ He paused, one hand on the door of the cowshed, then turning to look at her, added, ‘But seein’ as how Ah dun’t expect you’ll tek any notice of me – you can get on with milking this pair.’

  He let his hand fall from the door and began to go towards the house. ‘When you’ve done, turn ’em out into North Marsh Field. Ah’ll show you when you’re ready. Ah’m off up Top End, but Ah’ll be back by you’re done.’

  There was no further sign of the ‘boy’. Who was he, Esther wondered, and what had he to do with Brumbys’ Farm? She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. Maybe what Will had told her wasn’t true after all. Maybe Sam Brumby had got some help about the farm. If so, her argument about being the only one he could get to stay would lose its effectiveness.

  As she leant her head against the warm flank of the beast and began to pull with easy rhythmic movements, she could almost hear her aunts shrill voice: ‘Not like that, girl, you’ll ’eve ’er tits as sore as ’ell,’ and, obediently, Esther’s fingers were gentle on the cow’s udders.

  Just as she was finishing milking the two cows, a shadow fell across the straw near the pail and Esther twisted her head slightly to look over her shoulder, although her hands never slowed or faltered in their task.

  A girl stood there, though Esther could not see her features for the light was behind her, casting her face in shadow, but outlining her rounded form. She stood uncertainly in the doorway, one hand resting on the rough wood of the door jamb.

  ‘Is Mr Brumby about?’ she asked, her voice low and husky.

  ‘’Fraid not. He’s up Top End — wherever that is,’ Esther told her, the milk still squirting steadily into the pail.

  ‘It’s yon side the Point,’ the girl said. ‘I must have missed him somehow – I’ve just come from there.’

  Esther stood up and placed the full pail of milk away from the cow’s restless hooves and then moved out of the cowshed and into the light so she could get a better look at the newcomer. Long hair – black, now that she could see it properly in the morning light – straight yet sleek and shining. A grey, knitted shawl covered the girl’s shoulders and she hugged it about her, folding her arms across her already womanly breast. She was smaller than Esther but her body was rounded and buxom. Her eyes were dark brown with long black lashes. Her face was childishly plump, yet her high cheekbones and smooth brow hinted at the promise of beauty as she grew and matured.

  She seemed to hesitate as if uncertain what to do next.

  ‘Are you working here?’ The dark eyes regarded Esther steadily. ‘Matthew told me he thought Mr Brumby needed more help about the place, so – I’ve come up to see him . . .’

  Esther felt her heart lurch. Somehow she would have to give this girl the impression that the job was taken. Esther adopted her forthright pose: hands on hips, feet planted apart, a stance that refuted opposition. But deliberately she smiled, as if to take some of the sting out of her words. ‘I heard that too. Sorry – it looks like I’ve beaten you to it!’

  The dark-haired girl shrugged. ‘Oh, well, never mind then. It was worth a try.’ She smiled in return. ‘I reckon he’d have frightened me to death, anyway. I hope you get on all right.’

  Esther was taken aback by her friendliness. The girl was not in the least resentful that Esther had taken what might have been her job.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked as the girl half-turned to go.

  ‘Beth Hanley. I live at the Point in one of the cottages with me dad.’

  ‘Oh.’ Esther shook her head. ‘I ain’t seen the Point yet . . .’ She grinned ruefully. ‘I ain’t been off the farm since I got here.’ She did not add that it had been deliberate; she was afraid that if she set foot outside the gate, Sam Brumby would find some way to keep her out. Now, more than ever, if there were others wanting the job, she had to prove herself indispensable to Sam.

  But Beth Hanley was smiling again showing white
, even teeth. ‘Mester Brumby’ll work you hard, there’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘Well, well, well, look what we’ve got here, then. Two pretty girls . . .’

  They both turned and Esther saw the young man whom she had encountered early that morning in the hayloft coming towards them looking from one to the other, a broad grin on his face.

  At once the smile disappeared from Beth Hanley’s face. Her glance went from Matthew to Esther and then back again. ‘D’you know her, Matthew?’ The friendliness was gone from her tone. ‘Did you tell her about this job too?’

  ‘Naw, course I didn’t. I don’t know who she is or where she’s come from. I only met her this morning.’ His insolent eyes raked Esther up and down. ‘But – I can’t say I’m sorry.’

  Obviously, Esther thought, he bears me no grudge for kicking his shins, even though the bruise must still be sore. Perhaps he thinks he can tame me. Well, Mester Matthew – if that’s what ya name is – ya can think again! A small smile flickered on Esther’s mouth as she met his impudent gaze.

  Seeing it, Beth’s dark eyes flashed, any sign of a tentative friendship gone in an instant. ‘Huh, might ’ave known you’d have your eye on her afore she’s been here five minutes. Can’t keep your hands off anything in skirts, can you, Matthew Hilton?’

  ‘What would either of you do here anyway?’ he asked of them mockingly. ‘The ploughing?’

  He came and leant casually against the other door frame close to Esther, his arms folded across his chest.

  Esther stood in the doorway between them. Defensively now, she said, ‘Aye, an’ I can plough a straight furrow, an’ all.’

  Matthew threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing around the yard. There was a sarcastic smirk on Beth Hanley’s face as she said, ‘Get away, you couldn’t handle them great horses, so don’t . . .’

  ‘Got time to stand all day gossiping, have you?’ Sam Brumby’s voice made them all jump. Esther turned back into the cowshed and in her haste, turning from the bright morning light back into the darkness of the shed, she tripped over the pail and fell sprawling into the dirt. The milk spread across the cobbles, running rivulets of white amongst the cow muck.

  ‘Get back to your work, you idle creature!’ Sam roared at Matthew and punctuated his words with a blow to the side of the lad’s head. ‘And forget ya wenching!’

  Sam took no notice of Beth Hanley, who nevertheless scuttled out of the yard and up the lane towards the Point as if a nest of hornets were in pursuit.

  Esther cursed herself roundly for her own stupidity. The appearance of first Matthew and then Beth had unnerved even Esther’s determination to prove herself useful to Sam Brumby.

  And spilling a full pail of his precious milk would do her no good at all.

  Three

  BY the time she had dealt with the one remaining bucket of milk and had come out into the yard again, Sam Brumby and Matthew had disappeared. She sighed, unsure what to do. She badly needed to prove herself useful to Sam. She had nowhere else to go. She would not go back. Not ever! But now she had probably ruined her chances of staying here. She knew just how precious every drop of milk was to a small farmer who had only three cows; and one of those was not being milked just now because it was due to calve at any time.

  Esther was standing uncertainly in the middle of the yard when she heard a scuffling from one of the sties and went to investigate. Esther liked pigs. She loved their pink, hairy coats, their snuffling and grunting, and their noisy troughing made her want to giggle. As she looked in over the first door, a half-grown young gilt squealed and rushed excitedly towards her. She expected Esther to be the bringer of food.

  Esther laughed. ‘You look hungry. I’ll go and see what I can find.’

  She turned away from the sty and looked back towards the house. There were two buckets of pig swill standing outside the back door. She fetched them and the young pig scurried around her ankles, knocking against her in its eagerness to get at the food Esther carried.

  ‘Let me get to the trough to tip it in, then,’ she laughed.

  The next sty was empty, but in the end one she found a large Curly Coat sow pacing up and down. She was heavily in-pig and displayed no interest in the other bucket of swill Esther tipped into the trough. The animal was obviously agitated and frothing at the mouth. From time to time the sow picked up a mouthful of straw and carried it about the sty, each time finally dropping it in one particular corner.

  Esther moved towards her carefully. ‘Now then, old girl,’ she soothed. This pig reminded her of one of her uncle’s, a restless animal that had turned vicious at the birth and had tried to eat its own young, succeeding in killing all but two of the litter before her uncle had found them. Esther looked around her for something in which she could put the newborn piglets to keep them safe from their mother. There was nothing in the sty, but in the barn she found a battered old tea-chest. She dragged it into the sty and placed it in one corner, pushing some of the straw into the bottom as bedding.

  Esther stayed in the corner near the door watching the sow from a safe distance whilst she waited. She had no idea where Sam Brumby had gone. Perhaps she should try to tell him, but she was rather afraid that if she left this pig alone for very long, by the time she returned there could well be a half-chewed piglet or two.

  The youngsters slipped out quite easily one by one. The sow tried to rouse herself each time, but her eyes were wild and her mouth frothing. Esther knew she was not trying to suckle her young. This animal was dangerous, just like her uncle’s sow. She would kill her litter, given half a chance.

  Esther went to one of the other sheds. The door squeaked rustily as she opened it and the fusty smell of neglect met her nostrils. Tools and implements had been thrown in higgledy-piggledy to lie dusty and forgotten. She stood a moment to let her eyes become accustomed to the dim interior and then she spotted what she wanted and pulled it from the heap of implements, disturbing a cloud of dust. She carried the garden hoe back to the pigsty and each time a piglet was born, Esther crept forward, keeping well away from the suffering mother, and as gently as she could pulled the wriggling creature away until she could pick it up. She wiped it as clean as she could with straw, over its face to clear the mouth, and slipped it into the tea-chest in the opposite corner. Then she stood up again and moved quietly back near the door to wait for the next arrival.

  A shadow appeared across the doorway. ‘Now what are you up to, wench?’ came Sam’s exasperated tone.

  ‘Yar pig’s farrowing, mester, and it looks to me as if she might try to eat her young ‘uns.’

  Sam snorted. ‘That’s nothing new with that sow. Lost half the litter last time, Ah did.’

  ‘Well, not this time,’ Esther vowed, more to herself than to Sam.

  ‘What? What d’you say?’

  ‘I’ll stay with her, Mr Brumby.’

  Sam sniffed again and turned away. ‘Well, Ah can’t stand here all day playing nursemaid to a pig. You do what you like.’

  Esther smiled to herself at his oblique reference once more to her sex, but at least this time he had not told her to go.

  Esther did not go into the house at midday. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger, but she dare not leave the sow for a moment.

  ‘Ah’ve brought you a mug o’ tea.’ She turned to see Matthew grinning at her over the half-door of the sty. He jerked his head back towards the house. ‘Mester said you was playing midwife to Curly.’

  ‘Ooh, ta,’ Esther said appreciatively, taking the tea. Matthew leant his forearms on the lower half of the door and rested his chin on his arms, watching the sow. ‘Awk’ard old devil, she is. You want to be careful – she’ll ’ave yar leg off soon as look at ya.’

  Esther grinned and held up the hoe. ‘That’s why I’m armed – and why I’m standing near the door. But I reckon she’s a mite busy to be chasing me just now.’ They watched together as another piglet thrust its way into the world.

  ‘Here – hold this a
minute, will ya?’ She moved forward and plucked the tiny animal away, wiped it and popped it into the tea-chest. Then she returned to her place by the door and took the mug back from Matthew, sipping the hot, sweet tea gratefully.

  ‘Well, I’d best be getting back to me hedging and ditching, else I’ll have the mester after me again.’

  ‘Thanks for the tea,’ Esther said.

  ‘Ya’re welcome.’ Giving her a saucy wink, Matthew went off whistling.

  As the sixth piglet was born – and she could see that the sow was not done even then – Esther heard a familiar shrill whistle and moments later the wheels of the local carriers cart rattled into the yard.

  ‘Is she here, then?’ Will Benson was demanding to know of Sam.

  ‘Who?’ Then, understanding, Sam added accusingly, ‘Oh, so it’s you Ah’ve to thank for landing me with a chit of a girl, is it? Ah can’t get rid of the cheeky little baggage!’

  Esther heard the carrier’s laugh. ‘That’s our Esther right enough. She’s a rare lass. You’ve met your match there, Sam Brumby. She’ll take no notice of your moods and your tempers.’

  ‘What’s she to do wi’ you then, Will Benson? And what right have you to inflict such as her on me? Ah didn’t ask you to bring her. She ain’t staying, Ah can tell you that!’ It was a long speech for the taciturn Sam, but Will only laughed again.

  ‘I didn’t bring her, but I admit I told her about you needing a young ’un about the place. I were going to offer to bring her over at least to see you, but when I called at her aunt’s – ’ he gave a snort of contempt. ‘Lord strike me, how I detest that woman – Esther had already left. Set off to walk through the night, her aunt said, so as to arrive by first light.’

  ‘’Ow far she come, then?’

  ‘Oh, must be thirteen odd mile, I reckon.’

  Peeping out of the door, but minding to keep well hidden from the two men, Esther saw the farmer staring up at the carrier and then – a rare thing – Sam Brumby smiled. It twitched the corner of his mouth, unwilling at first, hesitating as if not knowing quite how to form itself after years of neglect, then spreading across his mouth, wrinkling his eyes. From deep within came a chuckle. ‘The young . . .’ he murmured more to himself than to Will. ‘And Ah accused her of being weak because she looked tired this morning. Well, Ah never did!’