Chapters (53)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Sow the Seed
- Reap the Harvest
- About the Author
- ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
- Acknowledgements
- Copyright page
Esther said nothing, but wryly she thought, well, I suppose it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.
She had the grace to smile at herself. Why did Ma Harris’s sayings always pop into her mind at such times?
She got to her feet and sighed as she did so. ‘Ah, well, Matthew, ’tis done now.’
Forty
ESTHER stood in the middle of the yard, her hands on her hips, watching as the squire drew his motor car to a halt at the gate and climbed down. She kept her face expressionless. When he stood before her, she saw that he had the grace to look shamefaced.
‘Mrs Hilton – Esther – I am sorry. I feel it’s all my fault . . .’
Tight-lipped, Esther nodded. ‘Not all your fault, Squire, but a part – yes.’
He twirled his hat nervously through his fingers. ‘What can I do to make amends, I . . . ?’
‘There’s nothing that can be done now, Squire. Matthew’s bought the car – and what’s done’s done.’
The squire spread his hands. ‘He went off on his own, you see, in the market. I lost him completely and when I found him again, he was tipping all this money into this chap’s hands and the deal was done. I couldn’t do anything about it without making Matthew look – well – very foolish in front of a lot of fellows stood around.’ He paused and looked at her keenly. ‘I didn’t want to do that, Esther.’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘No, Squire, you couldn’t have done that.’
‘Won’t you let me make amends in some way? Let me pay for part of the motor car. After all . . .’
‘No, certainly not!’ Esther snapped and then remembering just who it was she was talking to, she made a great effort to control her seething anger. ‘I’m sorry, Squire. I know you mean it kindly, but we’ll manage.’
‘Well . . .’
With a supreme effort she forced a smile on to her mouth. ‘Please come in, Squire,’ she now invited, ‘and take a glass of home-made wine with me. I have a nice elderflower just right for the tasting.’
‘Why, thank you, Esther, thank you.’ Mr Marshall actually looked relieved and accepted her offer at once. ‘I’m partial to home-made wine.’ As they went towards the farmhouse he added, ‘Have you ever tasted Mrs Willoughby’s home-made wine?’
Now Esther threw back her head in genuine laughter. ‘Oh, Squire! Does she make it from deadly nightshade, because that’s the only one she’d give me?’
‘Eh? Oh – er – yes, I was forgetting . . .’ He grinned. ‘You’re not exactly bosom friends.’
Again Esther chuckled, though to herself now, to think of the times she had caused Martha Willoughby’s ample bosom to heave in anger, not affection.