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  She told Dinah about her reading whenever she had a chance to see her on her visits home, and found to her astonishment that Dinah envied her.

  'We can't afford many books, but I've heard about that man, and I'd love to read all about these foreign lands. How brave all the sailors must be, setting off with no idea of where they might be going, or how long they'll be away from England. Tell me all you can remember.'

  Molly did her best, and made opportunities to read more of the book, but after a few weeks Mr Lewis seemed to have grown tired of it, and it was put away in one of the bookcases. In its place was a dry-looking volume, Essays on the First Principles of Government, which Molly found boring and incomprehensible. She hoped Mr Lewis would soon grow tired of it, and when it was replaced by Letters to His Son, which she discovered was a book of letters from an Earl telling his son how to behave as a gentleman, she wondered if Mr Lewis was looking for guidance on how to make Richard behave. Somehow she doubted it, for it seemed as if Richard could do no wrong in his parents' eyes.

  But things might be different now. It was February, and Richard was home once more. As it was not the university vacation time, and Mr Lewis went round with a perpetual frown, and Richard spent as much time as he could out of the house, Molly suspected he'd been sent home in disgrace.

  *

  Instead of being dismayed Lizzie was excited. 'He gives me presents,' she confided. 'Sometimes a few pennies, or a trinket. I'm savin' 'em, for when I finds a man I wants ter wed. Me trousseau, ain't it called? Among the nobs?'

  When Molly went down to the kitchen for dinner some days later she found Betsy dragging about, sniffing and coughing. She almost cried when Cook said she needed more eggs and some cheese that afternoon from the market.

  'Ooh, I feels awful,' Betsy moaned. 'Me 'ead's splitting', and me legs feels like jelly.'

  'I'll go,' Molly offered. She'd spent every night for a week on her bed of blankets, and her own head was aching from weariness. It was a hot day and she would enjoy being out of the stuffy house.

  She collected a small basket, took off her apron, and went out. The market stalls were busy, but she soon found what she needed. As she pocketed the farthing change she heard a snigger and swung round.

  'Cry baby Jones,' the sing-song voice came from behind the next stall. Molly clenched her fists. Billy seemed to lie in wait for her every time she went home, and he took pleasure in tormenting her, but he always ran away before she could catch him. At least Johnny Cound seemed to have tired of the game, for whenever he saw her he turned away and walked in the other direction. She grinned, remembering his fury when she wouldn't let him kiss her, and the sorry picture he'd made floundering in the river.

  Molly pretended she hadn't heard Billy, and set off back to Broad Street. She had just turned the corner when she heard a child screaming. She glanced down the hill, and saw Richard outside the house. He held a squirming, dirty and raggedly dressed lad of about six years old with one hand and brought his riding whip down on his back with a vicious thwack.

  Molly winced. The child was howling with pain, and Molly, ignoring the horses and the carriages, began to run towards them.

  'You encouraged that pesky mongrel to attack me!' Richard was shouting.

  'It ain't mine! An' it were only playin',' the lad screamed, and yelped as the whip came down again.

  Molly noticed a small dog huddled in the angle of the steps to the front door, a scrap of material in its mouth: material that matched Richard's coat tails. Without a thought as to the consequences to herself she grabbed the coat tails and tugged.

  Richard lost his balance and fell over. Her basket went flying, eggs smashing on the cobbles, the cheese rolling down the hill to come to rest against a pile of horse droppings. The lad fled.

  *

  'Without a character!' Mrs Lewis said. 'You were not supposed to be out of the house, and you have the temerity to attack my son.'

  Molly knew it was useless to protest. Her mother would be so disappointed, and she hated being responsible for that, but she was thankful to be out of this house. If this was how the gentry behaved she wanted nothing to do with them.

  'My wages, that I'm owed, please, Ma'am,' she said, trying to keep her tone respectful.

  'Less what your uniform cost, and the price of the eggs and cheese you ruined, and replacement of the clothes you caused Richard to ruin,' Mrs Lewis said briskly. 'I think that in all amounts to more than you have earned this quarter. So be off with you.'

  It was no use arguing. It was only a few weeks since quarter day, so it wasn't a great amount she'd lose, less than a pound. But Ma and Dad would be upset, and so far she'd not been able to give them much of her wages. Mrs Lewis always seemed to find some reason for stopping something, a few coppers here for mending her dress or apron, more if she found a speck of dust in some obscure corner of a room.

  Molly climbed the stairs to her bedroom and thankfully tore off her uniform dress without bothering to undo the buttons, which scattered over the floor and her bed. Unlike some girls, who were proud to show they were in service with the wealthy inhabitants of Ludlow, Molly had resented it. It labelled her, announced she was under the control of others.

  Her only dress was of much inferior material, the coarse grey calico instead of linen, but her mother had made it and it fitted well. She only had the one dress of her own, the one she'd worn for working in the fields when at home. She pulled on the bodice and skirt, and wrapped her other few possessions in an old shawl Dinah had given her. Then she laughed out loud. She was escaping, back to Corfton and her family.

  Outside the house she found the dog, the cause of the trouble, still huddled against the steps leading to the front door. He wagged his tail when he saw her, and struggled to his feet. One front leg was dragging, and he was trying to balance on the other three.

  'You poor little thing,' she cried, bending down to see whether the leg was broken. He whimpered when she touched it, but allowed her to feel gently along the leg. She could detect no break, and decided he was just bruised from the thrashing Richard had given him. She stood up and glanced round. At the other side of the short flight of steps lay the basket she'd taken to market. She spread out her shawl in the bottom, and lifted the dog in. He wagged his tail and licked her hand.

  'I'll not leave you here to be beaten!' she said, her voice fierce.

  It was theft, she knew, to take the basket, and if Mrs Lewis found out she'd be in serious trouble, but no one from the house was watching her departure, and anyone she met would assume she was marketing. She spread her spare shift over the dog.

  'Just till we get out of town,' she whispered to it, and set off.

  The dog was heavier than she'd thought, and after a couple of miles she sat down to rest near the toll house. She was hungry, she hadn't had any dinner, and it had begun to rain, a cold, freezing rain. Also she was beginning to worry about whether she could earn a living at this time of year by taking odd jobs round the farms, so as not to cause her parents extra expense.

  Molly looked up as she heard the sound of hooves coming towards her. Perhaps it was someone she knew, who would give her a lift.

  It was William Gough, riding one horse and leading another with two panniers. He must have been taking eggs or butter to the market, but she hadn't seen him there. He reined in when he saw her.

  'Molly? What are you doing here?'

  'On my way home. I've been dismissed.'

  'Oh dear, I'm sorry. What's that in the basket?'

  'A dog.' Molly, finding a sympathetic listener, poured out the story. 'He had no cause to treat the poor dog so, and I'm not sorry I pulled him over into a pile of horse droppings!'

  William laughed out loud. 'It sounds as though he deserved it. Put the basket in the left pannier, there's nothing there. Just a few things for Elizabeth in the other one.'

  Molly looked dubiously at the horse. 'Won't he mind? Isn't he the cob you bought from Mr Thomas? He was nervous.'

  'Mr
Thomas is inclined to be impatient, and that upsets his animals. The poor brute's calmed down now, and he's used to our dogs running round him in the yard.'

  Molly settled the basket in the pannier, patted the dog on the head, and made a fuss of the cob.

  'Come on, lass, it's raining. Hop up behind me. Blossom is used to carrying Elizabeth pillion.'

  Molly smiled her thanks, hitched up her skirts, and used a fallen log to help her scramble up behind William in a flurry of petticoats.

  'Sit tight, and hang on to me.'

  'How is Elizabeth?' she asked rather breathlessly when she was settled.

  'Wishing it was over and the babe born. But she's well. Hold on tight now. Don't be shy. Put your arms round me, or you might fall off.'

  Molly clutched at him as Blossom began to move, and found that the most comfortable position was with her head resting against his broad back. It didn't seem right, he was one of the biggest farmers in the village, and a lot older than she was, but if she didn't hold on to him she'd be bounced off when Blossom began to trot. She wished she could have been riding astride, as she did when she had the chance, but it certainly wouldn't do now. Besides, the rain was driving towards them, and this way she was partly sheltered, and would be home far sooner than she'd expected.

  *

  CHAPTER 3

  William whistled as he entered the kitchen, then stopped as he found his son alone, huddled against the settle. He was wearing the small harness Elizabeth had made, and the rope was secured to the table leg so that he could not get close to the fire.

  'Will, lad, what's the matter?' he asked, scooping the child up into his arms. 'Are you hurt? Do you have a pain?'

  Will sniffled, and muttered something. His father listened carefully and made out a couple of words. 'Mama's cross with you?' he asked. 'Mama's never cross with you, lad.'

  'Is!'

  'Have you been naughty? Is that it?'

  'No-o-o!' Will clung tightly, his arms round his father's neck, and began to sob.

  William stared round the kitchen. What had happened? It was dusk, but no lamps had been lit, and the fire was low. Clearly no more wood had been put on it for hours.

  The soup kettle, which would normally have been hanging on the trivet, was standing on the table, and partly-chopped carrots and turnips lay beside it.

  No bread had been laid out, and it was almost suppertime. Suddenly his puzzlement turned to panic, and he rushed through to the parlour. Elizabeth always had his supper ready when he came home from a day in the fields. And she never uttered anything but the mildest reproof to the son they both adored. Please God, he muttered, don't let the babe be coming. It's too early.

  Turning, he took the steep stairs two at a time and burst into their bedroom. Elizabeth was fast asleep on the bed, her ungainly figure covered only with a thin sheet. Putting Will down with a whispered command to sit still and be quiet, he stepped across to the bed and felt her hand, which lay outside the sheet. It was cold, but her forehead, which he felt next, was burning hot.

  Where was Fanny, their maid? Had she gone for help? If so, why hadn't she come to him, he'd only been a couple of fields away, repairing the fences.

  At that moment Elizabeth stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked, then smiled hazily at him.

  'William? Oh, it's late, and I didn't finish cooking!'

  She struggled to rise, but he pushed her back gently. 'Stay there, you're not well. Fanny can do it for once. Where is she?'

  Elizabeth enjoyed cooking, and looking after Will, leaving the other jobs around the house and farmyard to the girl.

  'Fanny? I don't know. I can't remember.'

  'Never mind. What's the matter with you?'

  'I was tired. I just came up to rest for an hour. But – it's late! I must have slept too long.'

  'Cross!' Will said from where his father had deposited him. 'Mama cross.'

  Elizabeth's eyes brimmed over with tears. 'Oh, Will, darling! I didn't mean to be cross! I just wanted you to be quiet for a while.'

  She tried to sit up, but William pushed her back. 'Stay there. I'll help you undress, then I'll get supper. You're not well, and you have to take care of yourself and the babe,' he added, stroking her extended belly.

  'I'm sorry! I can't understand it. I felt so healthy while I was carrying Will.'

  William laughed. 'My old Gran used to say girls were more difficult to carry than boys, so perhaps you've a little sister for Will in there. Now, will you stay in bed?'

  'You shouldn't have to do my work as well as your own. Oh, I remember now, Fanny took the grey cob to Pinches' smithy. He'd cast a shoe, and I knew you wanted him tomorrow.'

  'Pinches? At Diddlebury? Why not our own?'

  'He'd had an accident and wasn't working, and I didn't think you'd want his apprentice to do it, so I sent her there. Help me undo my laces and I'll stay in bed. I do feel so tired.'

  Later that night, in bed, with Elizabeth cuddled up in his arms, he told her he was going to hire another maid.

  'We can't afford it!'

  'Yes we can, for a while. To help you, especially to look after Will. He's too energetic for you at the moment. And when the babe's here you'll have more to do looking after her – I look forward to having a daughter like you!'

  She protested, but he sensed she was relieved. 'I won't be cross with Will again,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry he was upset.'

  'He's fine now. He soon forgot, he was so surprised watching his Papa cooking supper.'

  She chuckled. 'I must make Fanny do more of the cooking.'

  'I'll see about it tomorrow.'

  *

  Molly gathered up a handful of tankards from the tables in the taproom, dodged a slap on her behind, and carried them out to the small scullery behind the bar. She dumped them in the bowl of water and turned to face John Maebury, who had followed her in, hands on hips.

  Tempted to give full rein to her temper, she gulped and swallowed her impulsive words. If she annoyed him he was quite capable of turning them out of their cottage and dismissing her father.

  'Well, lass?' he asked, grinning, and she knew he was aware of her feelings.

  She took a deep breath. 'Mr Maebury, I'm grateful you gave me work here, but could you have a word with the men? I don't like being touched and fondled. I'm not a trollop, and they take advantage.'

  Sensing that her voice was rising, she took a stern grip on her emotions. When he licked his lips she almost forgot her resolve to be calm and reasonable. He was as bad as the rest of them, and wasn't above brushing against her when she had to squeeze past him in the narrow doorways.

  'Ah, lass, don't take it so hard. They mean no harm. They enjoy seeing a handsome young lass like you, instead of my old missus,' he added quietly. 'Has your Pa caught many foxes lately?'

  The warning was clear. David Jones only did odd jobs for him, in return for their cottage and a few miserable shillings a week. Without the bounty paid for each fox he caught, and the money she and her mother earned, they'd be too poor to eat. And if they lost the cottage, they'd have nowhere to go. Neither of her parents came from Corfton. Pa had moved from Eaton when they'd married, and Ma hadn't lived in Acton Scott for long before she was wed. What families or friends they had left there were in no position to help them.

  She sighed. 'Then I'll have to endure it, but I don't like it.'

  He laughed, gave her a slap on the behind and went back to the bar.

  She gritted her teeth, but knew she had no alternative. Casual jobs on the farms were scarce in February, and she'd been thankful to accept the few hours at the Sun. Mr Maebury had been generous to offer them to her, he didn't strictly need more help apart from the occasional busy times when his wife was called upon to serve in the taproom.

  Her mother had been supportive when she'd arrived home, even admitting that it had perhaps been a mistake for her to try and better herself by a job in Ludlow. Molly, though, could see the disappointment in her eyes and determined to get another
job, somehow, which would please Ma.

  Her father had taken the dog and, gentle as he was with all dumb creatures, apart from foxes, had treated its bruised leg and nursed it back to health. Now the dog, abandoning Molly who'd rescued him, followed David Jones around faithfully. He'd proved a natural rat-catcher, and had been named Rats by Molly's young brother, Edward. He more than earned his keep, David declared, by the chickens and eggs he protected from scavengers.

  As she went about her work, trying to smile brightly and ignore the hands on her person, she vowed to ask at every farm yet again for any work they had. She was strong and knew what to do. And spring was coming, when there would be more work available. Then she could say goodbye to the Sun tavern.

  *

  William Morgan hesitated outside the door of the Sun. He normally went to the Swan at Aston Munslow, and felt some reluctance to show his face here. He'd tried to persuade some of his mates to come with him, but they'd refused, saying it was only the old men who drank there.

  He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. He'd never respect himself again if he gave up now, and he could think of no other way of getting to know David Jones's daughter.

  He'd first seen her in church, and been struck by how lively she looked. She wasn't pretty, like Elizabeth Gough, but her hair was curly, her complexion clear, and her blue eyes sparkled. By listening to the women gossiping after the service, he gathered she had been working in Ludlow, but had come home in somewhat strange circumstances.

  'On Mr Gough's 'orse,' one of them said, her tone disapproving.