Chapter 1: The Wandering Shepherdess

The girl huddled under the heavy, waterlogged wool coat, her broad-rimmed hat pushed back, and she peered ahead through the sleet rain. A small rivulet of cold water found its way into her collar and down her spine, and she shivered. She felt miserable, cold, and hopeless. There was no way for her to find dry firewood anywhere and no option but to trudge on, setting one tired foot before the other in the hope of finding a dry shelter.

She had hoped for some reprieve in the village behind her, but the tenants had refused her the permission to graze her sheep claiming that the damage to their crops would be too great. They told her that the river banks belonged to the squire and that she would have to ask his caretaker to graze her sheep there.

“The Captain runs a tight ship,” one of the men had told her, “better not use his land without permission.”

The sheep kept together for a change making her work easier. Yet the rain had lasted for days, and the soil was waterlogged. Her bare feet squished in the slightly oversized, water-filled shoes and she sank deeply into the mud with each step. She wondered how far the manor would be. In the village they had told her it was just a half hour walk, but in the deep mud she could not make a lot headway. Finally, a group of buildings loomed ahead through the falling rain and the sight raised her spirits. She walked on until she reached a gatekeeper’s lodge.

She knocked on the door and heard the thumping of a peg leg. A one-legged man cracked open the door. Seeing the drenched shepherdess, he obviously considered slamming it shut again. Yet he did not. He looked like a Navy veteran, and he would know what it was like to be out in the rain in mid-February.

“Wot’s yer biz’niss?”

“Please, I am a wandering shepherdess. I would ask for permission to let my herd graze on these lands. I will move on before the sowing starts.”

“Not fer me ter decide, lass.”

“Is there a caretaker whom I might ask?”

“Over at them stables. Go, try yer luck.”

The sheep were grazing the sparse green on the wayside. Ellen took a breath and walked over to the stables. Reaching the door, she knocked cautiously. When nobody answered, she opened the door slightly and peeked in. She saw three men, or rather two men and a boy of about eighteen in conversation. With a start she saw that one of them must be the squire, a tall man in his forties who was dressed expensively. She tried to back out again, but the door squeaked and the men looked up.

“Who is this? Come in and answer!” the squire called. There was no doubt that he expected to be obeyed.

“Begging your pardon,” the girl said entering the barn. “I came to ask the caretaker for permission to graze my sheep until the sowing starts. I did not mean to bother you, Sir.”

“Come closer!”

Hesitantly, she came closer.

“Good Lord, girl! You are positively soaked,” the squire exclaimed. “How can you be out in such a weather?”

“It’s my living, Sir, begging your pardon.”

“Well, Lady Carter shall give me the Lord’s wrath if I allowed you to camp out in a weather like this. We have a corral for sheep around the back of this barn. It’s disused. Bring your sheep in, and then warm up in the maids’ quarters. Mr. Brown, see to it that she gets food and a bed! What is your name, girl?”

She took off her hat, revealing a mass of wet blonde hair framing her pale, heart-shaped face. The boy stared at her. She was accustomed to this reaction and smiled just a bit. At least the boy was good looking.

“Ellen Barlow, Sir. May I ask your name, Sir? At the village they just called you the Captain.”

“They still do?,” the squire asked with a short chuckle. “I am Rear Admiral Sir Anthony Carter, squire of these lands. This is my son Richard, and this is Mr. Brown, my caretaker.”

Ellen bowed to the men, surprised by the friendly reception.

“You can stay here as long as the bad weather lasts, Ellen. After that, Mr. Brown can show you where to graze your sheep. The river banks would benefit from grazing sheep, wouldn’t they, Mr. Brown?”

“Certainly, Sir Anthony,” Mr. Brown answered.

“I own over three miles of river banks. You can graze your sheep there as long as you like.”

“Thank you, Sir Anthony,” Ellen answered politely. “May I tend my animals now?”

“Certainly, go ahead, but do come in when you’re finished,” the squire answered.

Ellen bowed again. She noticed that the boy had stared at her the whole time, and she gave him another friendly smile. He gulped for air visibly, and the dimples around her mouth deepened. She quickly turned and went out into the rain again to collect her herd.

Sitting in dry clothes before the fire in the servants’ common room, the Ellen luxuriated in the warmth. She was sated now and she noticed that the servants of this estate were a happy, well-fed group and fiercely loyal to their employer. She had learned that most of the male servants had served under Sir Anthony in the Great War, and she was told time and again that he was one of the true naval heroes. The women and girls held equal affection for the mistress of the house, something Ellen could appreciate. She had huddled before the fire in her wet clothes when Lady Carter had entered the room, accompanied by a strawberry blond girl who was the spitting image of her beautiful mother. Both were loaded with dry clothes and two blankets. Lady Carter had made Ellen undress and wash, and then had her put on the pre-warmed clothes. They had given her a comb too, and for the first time in days, Ellen was able to comb the heavy tresses of her long blond hair. Lady Carter looked upon her admiringly.

“You are very pretty, my child,” she said appreciatively. She raised her voice. “This girl is my guest. You men leave her alone, d’ye hear!”

There were some long faces amongst the males, but the words of the mistress must have carried weight, for Ellen was left alone by them. Later, the daughter – her name was Eleanor – slipped into the servants’ quarters again to bring Ellen a cup of hot chocolate. The hot, sweet drink, the exertions of the day, and the soft, warm bed conspired to send Ellen into the land of dreams as soon as her head came to rest on the pillow they had given her.

By contrast, the son of the squire, Master Richard Carter, had a rather unruly night. The strange shepherdess’s image was etched into his mind. He thought he had never seen a more beautiful girl, except perhaps for his sister Eleanor of whom young Richard thought the world. The shepherdess however was a girl of whom he could dream without guilt and dream of her he did. Three times during the night he had to relieve himself, but still the image of the girl did not disappear. He woke up tired but still aroused and the lack of sleep left him slightly addled.

The two sons of a neighbour came over to visit. They were not really his friends, but they were his age and they knew he was home from Eton for a few weeks. Richard could not help but tell them about the exciting and beautiful young shepherdess who had arrived the day before. They watched her through the window of Richard’s room when she ran over the yard to look after her animals.

“She’s a real peach,” Joyce Tremont said.

“Worth a tumble, she is,” his brother Patrick chimed in. “Why don’t we go and meet her?”

“Perhaps she does not want to meet us,” Richard said feeling embarrassed.

“You’re the son of the squire, Dick. Of course, she’ll want to meet you,” Joyce laughed. “Besides, she’s ripe for the plucking!”

“We shouldn’t,” Richard stammered.

“What, are you a faggot?” Patrick sneered.

“Of course not!” Richard retorted. “Why do you say that?”

Chapter 2 »