‘Jethro! Stop at once. There was no need to go that far,’ shouted Danny across the farmyard, after hearing Ethan’s screams from within the house. ‘He only needed a word, not flaying to within an inch of his life.’

‘Nay, words are wasted on him; he’s been told once before. This time he knew what was coming.’ Jethro picked up his cap from where it had fallen after his attack on his son. ‘He’ll not be giving you any more bother. Will you, lad?’ Jethro scowled at his son and didn’t show an ounce of pity.

Ethan looked up at Danny Atkinson, with his bloodied back against the whitewashed walls of the calf shed and tears in his eyes, and mumbled, ‘No, sir, I know my place.’ But within him still flashed defiance. He dared to look at Jethro, who was grovelling next to his master, instead of being proud of his son. No wonder his father was still just a groom; he had no ambition and didn’t dare to dream. Ethan vowed that would be the last beating he would ever take from his father, or any man.

‘Get yourself home, Jethro. Ethan, go up to your room above the stables and take care of yourself for the rest of the day. Mrs Atkinson will bring you a bite to eat.’ Danny watched as Jethro mounted the steps to the cart and moved the horses out of the yard. It was a side to Jethro he had never seen before and didn’t want to see again. The lad hadn’t deserved such a belting. As his father had pointed out, neither of the youngsters were the worse for their trip away together. So why be so harsh?

Ethan pulled himself up and made his way slowly to the stables, climbing up the ladder to the warm, safe hayloft where his mattress lay in one corner. Lying down on it, he ran his finger over the welts that he could reach and looked at the blood on his fingers. He’d not let his father do that again. In fact he’d make a point of never seeing his father again, if he could help it. Nobody would tell him what to do from now on, unless it was worth his while. As for Rosie, well, she was still his girl. Belting or no belting.

‘Ethan? Are you there, Ethan?’ Rosie whispered into the darkness.

‘Aye, I’m up here.’ He crawled to the edge of the loft and looked down at Rosie in the dim light of the candle. She was in her nightshift, and her golden hair hung loose around her angelic face.