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“But, Matthew, can’t I learn those things here?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you arguing with me, girl? Two days. Go get your bag and I’ll take you this evening. You can have an early start tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go.” She stamped her foot on the floor. She wanted to spend the night with him.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve not had a day with me yet and you’re defying me. Does you want that belt now, or have you changed your mind about staying with me?”
“I do want to stay with you, that’s the reason I don’t want to go.” She covered her face with her hands.
Sighing, he prised them off. “Oh, lass, I guess you do need me. It’s just two days. I didn’t mean to scare you about Maggie. She’s actually a softy at heart, I just don’t want you to make trouble for her. She’s got two bonny daughters, a dead husband, and no sons. She runs that farm like a man. You’ll learn them things quick, I know it. You’re clever. Now go pack.”
He drove her to the neighbouring farm using a trap and his prize Suffolk Punch, a workhorse of gigantic proportions. The plodding stallion was not going to allow the wheels to sink into the mud. They arrived at the farmhouse as the sun dipped below the tree line. The house was timber built, unlike Matthew’s, which was stone. The timbers of Maggie’s house had been painted black and the roof was covered in blackened thatch.
Matthew tossed his reins to Dara. “Wait here.”
Dara drew the heavy cloak around her. The barn door was open and inside were bales of hay and a plough. Beyond, in the dim light, she saw sheep grazing in the field, and a few goats. A dog yapped. Geese hooted. She hunkered down and tried not to chew her fingernails.
Matthew reappeared with a stout woman wearing an apron and bonnet. “This is Maggie.” Matthew helped Dara down. “She’ll take you until Monday. Teach you a few things.”
Dara curtsied. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Maggie.”
Maggie howled with laughter. “Rise up, silly maid. Tis no need for this bowing and scraping. If you have any real worth, you’ll show it in your hands and back. Now, inside with you. It’s time to make the dough and you can help me knead it.” Maggie nodded at Matthew. “You leave her with me, Matt, and I’ll do what I can to turn her into a useful maid.”
Dara’s eyes widened. “Maid!”
Matthew shot her a warning glance. “She’s a headstrong lass, is Dara, don’t let her lip get the better of you.” He climbed onto the trap and tipped his cap at Maggie. “I’ll pay you back.”
Maggie smiled. “That you will.”
Dara followed Maggie into the house. There were two rooms—a kitchen and sitting room, where two women of a similar age to Dara sat sewing. They lifted their heads and inspected Dara with lips firmly pressed together. When Dara left the room, she heard them whispering to each other.
“Don’t mind Tilly and Ethel. They’ll not bother you, if you don’t bother them. Now in here where it’s warm.”
The kitchen was blazing hot. From the ceiling hung pans and bundles of dried herbs. The air smelt sweet. Dara fingered the closest twig. She should hang rosemary and lavender in Matthew’s house.
“Put that cloak here, and I’ll make a pot of nettle tea while you dig your knuckles into that dough.” Maggie pointed at the ball of dough on the table.
Dara poked at it with her finger. It was sticky, warm, and strangely satisfying to touch. She pressed down and her fingers sank into the dough.
“Tsk. You’ve dainty fingers. Like this.” Maggie drove her fists into the dough then rolled the ball over and repeated the action. “Over and over, until your hands ache.”
An hour later, Dara was glad of the hot tea. Her fingers were shaking, her shoulders ached from the stooped position and her eyes were bleary. “Is that it for today?” she asked.
Maggie chuckled. “No, we’ve jobs to do. That dough needs to rest, then we’ll bake it ready for supper. The cows need milking. There’s butter to churn...” Maggie stopped. “Don’t look at me that way, young lady. Matt warned me about that look. You’ll do as I say or else he’ll know about it.”
Dara dragged her weary feet after Maggie. They entered the barn and Maggie handed her a pail and milking stool.
“I tried this before and I can’t do it. My hands hurt,” she whined. Her bottom did too, but she was not going to mention that fact.
“Stick your face up against her belly, hands down here, firm grip and squeeze.” Dara copied Maggie, who was milking another cow. “Harder, squeeze harder.”
A thin stream of milk shot out of the udder into the pail. “I did it!”
“Well done. See, it’s not difficult. Once you’ve milked ‘er, you can do two others.”
By the time Dara was permitted to retire for the night it was close to ten o’clock. The sitting room was to be her bedroom. The only upstairs bedroom was used by the widow and her daughters. Maggie made up a bed using a mattress stuffed with straw and several horse blankets. “Not the best, b
ut you’ll be too tired to care.”
