loosened the lacing and tipped the coins on to the table, counting them slowly before letting out a harsh grunt.
‘And I shall find work during the harvest so you will have your Michaelmas rent, too, when it is due.’
‘It’s not right,’ he growled. ‘You working on other folks’ land while mine lies fallow. I want a man at Top Field, tilling my land. I will have it back, I say. I will!’
‘Please don’t turn us out, sir.’
Farmer Bilton must have picked up her beseeching tone because he went quiet for a minute and looked steadily at her. ‘Your mother knows what to do about that, my lass. And so do you.’
Quinta looked down at her feet. She hadn’t totally understood what was going on when he offered for her. But she did now. Her mother had been so right about him. He did not care for her. He wished only to use her as he did his breeding stock. He was a horrible man.
‘Are you hungry, lass?’
Quinta eyed the remnants of the meal: the leg of mutton, dish of peas and a crusty cottage loaf probably from the Hall kitchen, a bowl of stewed gooseberries and pitcher of cream from his dairy. It was so thick that the drips around the side were congealing before they could slide to the table. There was cheese, too, and flagons of ale and cider. She was unable to stop her mouth watering and she swallowed; twice. ‘No, sir,’ she lied, ‘and I have to get home before nightfall.’
‘You’ve plenty of time, then. It’s Midsummer. Look at this.’ He picked up a horn-handled carving knife with shreds of meat and juices smeared across its blade, leaned forward and hacked a chunk off the cooling joint. He speared the meat with the knife point and thrust it at her. ‘Take it. Best in the Riding.’ When she remained still he moved the morsel nearer to her face. ‘ Eat it ,’ he ordered.
The juices ran down the blade and it smelled delicious. She was hungry but feared the way Farmer Bilton was brandishing his knife and her mouth became dry. She wished she had listened to Mr Ross and kept away from the table. The knife blade was very close to her chin and he kept moving it towards her in short jabs that were unfriendly and intimidating. He was a horrid man and she wanted to be as far away from him as she could. She put up both her hands as though to protect herself from the blade but did not know how to take the meat without cutting her fingers.
Her left hand grasped his knuckles to still his hand and it did. Quite suddenly. He leaned forward in the light and Quinta saw that his dark eyes were bloodshot. She had not seen him behave this way before. He was sober and deferential in church and always bowed his head to the ladies and his betters. Now he was drunk and demanding and he frightened her.
Hesitatingly, she wrestled the meat from the knife point with her other hand and bit off a small amount. She grimaced as she tried to chew it without saliva. But it was, as he said, juicy and tender. She swallowed hastily to push it down her throat as fast as she could and felt it move through every inch of her gullet until it sat like a lump of stone in her stomach.
He smiled at her, but to Quinta it was more of a sneer, a triumphant sneer. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Think on it, lass. Meat and drink on the table every day. You talk to that mother of yours about my offer.’
‘She won’t change her mind.’
‘Won’t she?’ he scoffed. ‘Well, you tell that high and mighty madam her rent goes up from Michaelmas.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘Can’t? Who says I can’t? It’s my land and I can increase the rent when I like.’ He slid the coins into his pocket and shoved the pouch towards her. ‘Don’t you forget that when you talk to her. I will have my way. You see if I don’t.’ He tipped back his head to swallow the last of his ale and then slumped forward on to the table. His silent companions stared at her. She shivered. To think she had seriously considered his offer. She
‘And I shall find work during the harvest so you will have your Michaelmas rent, too, when it is due.’
‘It’s not right,’ he growled. ‘You working on other folks’ land while mine lies fallow. I want a man at Top Field, tilling my land. I will have it back, I say. I will!’
‘Please don’t turn us out, sir.’
Farmer Bilton must have picked up her beseeching tone because he went quiet for a minute and looked steadily at her. ‘Your mother knows what to do about that, my lass. And so do you.’
Quinta looked down at her feet. She hadn’t totally understood what was going on when he offered for her. But she did now. Her mother had been so right about him. He did not care for her. He wished only to use her as he did his breeding stock. He was a horrible man.
‘Are you hungry, lass?’
Quinta eyed the remnants of the meal: the leg of mutton, dish of peas and a crusty cottage loaf probably from the Hall kitchen, a bowl of stewed gooseberries and pitcher of cream from his dairy. It was so thick that the drips around the side were congealing before they could slide to the table. There was cheese, too, and flagons of ale and cider. She was unable to stop her mouth watering and she swallowed; twice. ‘No, sir,’ she lied, ‘and I have to get home before nightfall.’
‘You’ve plenty of time, then. It’s Midsummer. Look at this.’ He picked up a horn-handled carving knife with shreds of meat and juices smeared across its blade, leaned forward and hacked a chunk off the cooling joint. He speared the meat with the knife point and thrust it at her. ‘Take it. Best in the Riding.’ When she remained still he moved the morsel nearer to her face. ‘ Eat it ,’ he ordered.
The juices ran down the blade and it smelled delicious. She was hungry but feared the way Farmer Bilton was brandishing his knife and her mouth became dry. She wished she had listened to Mr Ross and kept away from the table. The knife blade was very close to her chin and he kept moving it towards her in short jabs that were unfriendly and intimidating. He was a horrid man and she wanted to be as far away from him as she could. She put up both her hands as though to protect herself from the blade but did not know how to take the meat without cutting her fingers.
Her left hand grasped his knuckles to still his hand and it did. Quite suddenly. He leaned forward in the light and Quinta saw that his dark eyes were bloodshot. She had not seen him behave this way before. He was sober and deferential in church and always bowed his head to the ladies and his betters. Now he was drunk and demanding and he frightened her.
Hesitatingly, she wrestled the meat from the knife point with her other hand and bit off a small amount. She grimaced as she tried to chew it without saliva. But it was, as he said, juicy and tender. She swallowed hastily to push it down her throat as fast as she could and felt it move through every inch of her gullet until it sat like a lump of stone in her stomach.
He smiled at her, but to Quinta it was more of a sneer, a triumphant sneer. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Think on it, lass. Meat and drink on the table every day. You talk to that mother of yours about my offer.’
‘She won’t change her mind.’
‘Won’t she?’ he scoffed. ‘Well, you tell that high and mighty madam her rent goes up from Michaelmas.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘Can’t? Who says I can’t? It’s my land and I can increase the rent when I like.’ He slid the coins into his pocket and shoved the pouch towards her. ‘Don’t you forget that when you talk to her. I will have my way. You see if I don’t.’ He tipped back his head to swallow the last of his ale and then slumped forward on to the table. His silent companions stared at her. She shivered. To think she had seriously considered his offer. She
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