Free The Wilding by Maria McCann

old woman.’
    My father looked grim. ‘Is it your business to give gifts to your aunt’s servants? This girl isn’t company for you, child. Your aunt took her off the streets.’
    ‘It wasn’t an act of charity. She got herself a good servant – not very polished, perhaps, but –’
    ‘A good servant doesn’t angle for men who come to the house.’
    ‘What do you mean, angle? She asked my help, that’s all.’
    ‘You defend her as if you were her husband,’ my father said quietly.
    My cheeks grew hot. ‘No, Father, indeed.’
    ‘Then tell me what you were doing in the wood. If you lie to me, Jonathan, and that girl comes here later with a big belly, I swear I’ll marry you to her, be she the biggest whore in England. Be honest, however, and I’ll stand your friend. Is that understood?’
    How had Aunt Harriet known where we were? I had no time to think about that now.
    ‘Well?’ my father prompted.
    ‘Believe me,’ I stammered, ‘my aunt’s mistaken. We haven’t so much as looked at each other, not in that way.’
    ‘What, then?’
    ‘It was only the once. The old woman I spoke of lives there. Tamar took her the log and I helped carry it.’
    ‘She lives in the wood?’ My father was incredulous. ‘What in God’s name does she want with logs?’
    I echoed Tamar’s own words. ‘She’s neither saw nor axe. She’s a wretched old woman, an outcast; had you been there, Father, you’d understand. We came straight back to my aunt’s house and all this time nothing took place that my own mother might not have witnessed.’
    ‘So you say; but you didn’t tell your aunt where you’d been. That argues a bad conscience.’
    ‘I thought it best. Aunt Harriet has a dislike of her servant.’
    ‘It’s your place as her nephew and her guest to respect your aunt’s feelings, not to side with a serving-girl against her.’
    ‘I know, Father, but Aunt Harriet can be hard to side with.’
    Father was silent a while, apparently weighing this statement against what he knew of his sister-in-law. At last he said, ‘You’ll see no more of this girl.’
    ‘I’ve yet to finish the pressing,’ I said. ‘If Aunt Harriet’s apples are not to be wasted.’
    Severity did not come easily to my father; nor was he the sort of man who could calmly contemplate the loss of another’s property. I saw him torn, and was sorry for it.
    ‘My aunt should’ve spoken to me,’ I complained. ‘All this is needless.’
    ‘Harriet has her own way of going about things,’ my father murmured, not meeting my eyes. ‘She means to do you good.’
    I did not like this last speech, which made me think he was keeping a secret from me. At last he met my gaze with something like his old frankness and gentleness.
    ‘It would grieve your mother to find you in a difficulty,’ he said.
    We were friends again – but nothing, after such treachery, would make me friends with my aunt.
    * * *

    When my father, after some grumbling about our own apples, finally gave me permission to return, I had regained a measure of self-control and was the picture of filial obedience. I smiled – I was quietly spoken – I promised to behave well all the time I was away; but it was with rage and humiliation gnawing at my heart that I set off for Tetton Green. Whatever Uncle Robin’s secret might be, I cordially hoped that in discovering it I might heap misery upon Aunt Harriet.
    As I approached End House I smiled maliciously to myself. She would not be expecting my return, and I was curious as to what sort of welcome she would give her dear nephew. I got down from the cart and tied Bully to a post in the lane so as to make the last part of the journey on foot.
    To knock at the front door would bring a servant. My intention was to enter at the back and thus beard my aunt without warning. I was in luck: the door leading from the lane into the yard was unlocked. I tiptoed across the cobbles and into the kitchen.
    The room was empty. A tart of minced