The Fleethaven Trilogy by Margaret Dickinson Page B

and breathing heavily, but she could not understand why.

    That winter on Sam Brumby’s farm was a harsh one. Snow came although it never seemed to stay long, yet the north-east winds from the sea were bitingly cold and whipped savagely across the flat land. Matthew still came for a day now and then to find Esther working about the farm huddled in a thick cloak, her hands chapped and her lips blue with cold.
    ‘You want some warming, Esther,’ Matthew told her saucily. ‘’Tis cosy in the hayloft.’
    She tossed her head and turned the barrel churn angrily until she heard the flip-flop of the cream turning into butter. ‘You never give up, do you?’
    He moved closer. ‘No, Esther, I’ll never give up.’ And he reached across and planted a rough kiss on her cheek.
    ‘Oh, go on with you.’ But the protest was half-hearted now and there was a faint tinge of pink to her cheek that had nothing to do with the cold.

    There was no let-up in the wintry weather and at the beginning of January there came such severe frosts that everything seemed to be frozen solid. The trees were white with ice and the ground as hard as stone. There could be no more work on the land until the cold spell eased, so Sam sent Esther to ask if they could borrow the threshing machinery.
    ‘I ain’t no threshing gear, Esther lass,’ Tom Willoughby told her. ‘Sam must have meant you to go to the Grange.’
    ‘Oh, mebbe he did, Mester Willoughby. He didn’t say, but because we borrowed the ’osses off you, I just thought . . .’
    Tom roared with laughter. ‘I ain’t that well off. But dun’t you worry no more, lass. I’ll see the squire’s bailiff for you and see what we can do.’
    ‘Thanks, mester.’

    *

    One Sunday morning Esther was surprised to see Matthew appear at the cowshed door as she was finishing
the milking.
    ‘Hello, Esther. My, but you look bonny this morning. Your cheeks is all rosy.’
    ‘’Tis the cold,’ she said tartly to his compliment.
    ‘Esther, can you get time off this after’? The pools in North Marsh Field are frozen solid now. I thought we could go skating.’
    Esther almost dropped the pail of milk she was carrying. ‘Me? But I can’t skate.’
    ‘Aw, it’s easy. Come on, Esther. ’Tis time you had a little fun. I’ll find you some skates.’
    ‘Well,’ she said doubtfully, ‘all right. I’ll be ready after dinner.’
    ‘See you later, then.’ Matthew went off whistling loudly.
    As she went to and fro between the kitchen and the scullery clearing away the pots after dinner, Sam settled himself in the chair by the range for his Sunday afternoon nap.
    ‘Matthew says North Marsh Field is frozen solid. He’s tekin’ me skating,’ Esther told him.
    Sam’s only reply was a sniff as he pulled his pipe from his pocket, but a short time later, when she had finished the washing-up and was reaching for her shawl from the peg behind the door, Sam said, ‘Wench, watch ya’sen with that lad.’
    Slowly she put her shawl about her shoulders and stared at Sam. It didn’t register for a moment that Sam was warning her about Matthew. It was the first time the old man had shown the least concern for her. Strangely, the knowledge warmed her.
    ‘Aye, I’ll mind him, Mester Brumby,’ she said gently.
    Satisfied, Sam nodded and, stretching his feet out towards the glowing coals in the range, went back to packing his pipe.

    When they reached the field it seemed to Esther as if half the townsfolk of Lynthorpe were there. Happy shrieks of laughter filled the sharp air.
    Esther clutched Matthews arm, convulsed with laughter. ‘Oh, look – do look at her over there, she went a right cropper – and her petticoats flying!’
    Matthew laughed, ‘Look at him, then, he can’t control his feet, they’re sliding in all directions!’ They clung together hooting with laughter.
    ‘Oh, Matthew,’ Esther said at last, tears running down her cheeks, ‘I don’t think I want to try this after all. I’ll