Three Round Towers Read Free Page A

through my hair until it was soft and beautiful. I waded back to the bank of the river and left the comb for Esther to find when she came looking for me.
    Moving slowly now, my legs refusing to lift, my skirts billowed out as I went towards the centre of the fast moving water. I lay down in the water on my back and felt my hair float around me. I was washed clean and I closed my eyes giving myself to the river and God in exchange for the life of my baby.

Chapter Three

    Esther

    The missus let me out of our room to tend the fire and as soon as I could I left the house to search for Becca. I looked through all the outhouses and anywhere that there might be some shelter. I was bewildered by the silence that greeted me, even the birds were quiet. Eventually I went to the church, the door was unlocked and the key was on the inside. I felt immediately that she had been there and I soon found evidence of her birthing deep in the body of the nave; anxiety rippled through me and a tear tracked down my cheek as I stumbled from the door locking it and returning the key to the barn where it was normally kept.
    â€˜Stupid, stupid girl,’ I whispered to myself as the implication of the wax cradle came to me. Becca must have hidden her baby in the bulrushes and she was probably looking for me so that we could all run away together. Spurred on by this likely thought I hurried along the path towards the river as I searched for any sign of her presence and came at last upon her precious comb.
    â€˜Oh Becca,’ I cried, ‘what have you done?’ I thrashed up and down the bank searching, searching until at last I found her trapped in the reeds. Her face looked peaceful though her poor, limp body was shrouded by her hair. Somehow, I dragged her from the water before I began my search for the cradle. I might never have found it but for a tiny plaintiff cry somewhere to my right. I pushed my way through the shallows, deep into the reed beds until, at last, I came upon the cradle. The babe lay in her basket swathed in Becca’s wrap with no more than a little dampness to show for her ordeal.
    The sun was high in the sky before I had dried myself and laid the poor little scrap down on the sun-warmed bank. I had made my plan: my path was clear. I would return to the farm without the child in case the missus vented her anger on it. I would seek out the master and tell him that Becca had died and it was his responsibility, as was the welfare of the babe. I would remind him that his behaviour would bring down retribution from his neighbours and the Reverend Skillen; I would force him to give me money, enough to enable me to leave this wicked place and raise the child as my own in some village away from Hamsey. If I had money I might be welcomed into some hamlet, particularly if I sought out kindly relatives of my mother’s kin. She had told me that she had family in a village called Southease, way downriver. With money I would pretend to be a widow and my looks and disabilities would not bring jealousy in my wake. I was clear in my mind that this was the way forward, now I just had to put it into practice. I tucked the baby, now back in her cradle, between two tussocks of grass, being careful to draw the long vegetation across her face so that no one should hear her if she cried. I wouldn’t be long; I blew her a kiss.
    The house was silent when I entered and I went straight up to our room to fetch my belongings. Missus was in the kitchen, angrily muttering to herself and slamming pots and pans around. The boys were nowhere to be seen. I found the master in the big barn surrounded by his dogs who growled menacingly as I entered. He silenced the dogs and looked warily at me as I grabbed the nearest beam and forced myself towards him.
    â€˜Becca?’ he said.
    â€˜Drowned,’ I croaked, not mentioning the child.
    He nodded and dropped his head into his hands. For a moment I thought he was weeping but when he looked up