‘No, he’s in the calf shed, mucking it out. Danny kept him near home today, knowing you were coming. Don’t be too hard on him, Jethro. Nobody was hurt, and they both came home none the worse for their day out.’ Archie was trying to calm him down, but knew Ethan was going to be in for a belting, even though he was old enough to take on his father.

‘He’ll not be doing the same again, sir. And thank you for keeping Ethan on here. I wouldn’t have blamed either you or Master Danny if you had sent him packing. It’s what he deserves.’ Jethro grabbed the reins of his horses, unable to talk to his former master any more without showing his true feelings. He led the horses around the back of the farmhouse to the stables, stopping for a moment as he watched his lad busy with a pitchfork, mucking out the calf shed into a wheelbarrow.

Ethan looked up from his work, after hearing the horses and cart come into the yard. ‘Father, I knew you would come. Before you do anything, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’

‘Too bloody right, lad. And aye, well, you know why I’m here.’ Jethro dropped his horses’ reins and strode over to his son, undoing his thick leather belt from around his waist and wrapping the buckle end around his fist.

Ethan cringed and cowered back into the calf shed. He knew all too well what his father’s temper was like, when pushed. He stood with his back against the wall. ‘I’m too old for that now, Father, you can’t belt me any more. I didn’t do any harm. Rosie and I just had a day away together, that’s all.’

‘Rosie, is it? It’s “Miss Atkinson” to you, lad.’ Jethro raised his left hand and slapped Ethan across the face and then, with the belt buckle round his right hand, belted Ethan again and again over his back, as his son begged for him to stop. ‘You’ll show the Atkinson family some respect. You owe your very existence to them. Know your place, lad, and leave their young women alone.’ The belt cracked repeatedly on Ethan’s back, cutting through his shirt and raising blood across his back.

Jethro stood over his son, who lay sprawled in the manure of the calf shed, shaking with fear at his father’s wrath, not daring to fight back.

‘Miss Rosie is not for you, lad, and the sooner you realize that the better. And as for finding that grandfather of yours, get the idea out of your head because I hope he’s dancing with the devil. He did nowt for my mother and nowt for me.’