The Witch of Eye Read Online Free PDF Page A

no particular plan in mind beyond simply getting as far away from Kingskerswell and from Jake as she possibly could, terrified that he might try to pursue her, scared of meeting anyone she knew.
    She was lucky. At the height of summer, with the haymaking season in full swing, farmers were desperate to take on extra hands to work in the fields. Jenna found she could earn as much as two or three pence a day as long as she was prepared to put in long, back-breaking hours, raking and baling, winnowing, helping to build ricks and load hay wains. More often than not, she had enough pennies in her pocket to buy herself the share of a straw mattress in a hay loft. She didn’t often have to sleep under a hedge.
    In her desperation to get away, Jenna had made no real plan for her journey, nor had she thought about a destination until she found herself three days’ work on a farm in Honiton. On the third day, she and the other casual workers crowded round the farmer’s two daughters who had brought the usual plain fare of bread, cheese and small beer out to the hayfield for the workers’ midday dinner. They also brought news of an approaching cattle drove which would be stopping overnight and, said the two girls, mischievous eyes shining in anticipation, the drovers would be sure to liven things up in the barn that evening.
    Well before nightfall, a dozen drovers on horseback, together with their dogs, had herded four hundred head of cattle into their overnight pasture. At sunset, with work finished for the day, food and small beer were laid out on a long trestle table in the big barn. The drovers mingled with the farm hands and casual labourers, their shouts and laughter loud on the evening air. Someone produced a tabor and began beating out an accompaniment for a piper and a fiddler who were playing a popular dance tune, while one of the stable lads shook a handful of gravel in a wooden box to the rhythm. Bets were being laid on whether a drover or a farm hand would win the wrestling contest which would take place later in the roped-off area in the corner.
    Sitting on a hay bale, munching bread and cheese, was a tall man sporting a jaunty sprig of rowan in the hat which he had pushed to the back of his head, revealing a face sunburned to the colour of autumn beech leaves. His dark eyes lit up when he caught sight of Jenna and he jumped down off the bale of hay to introduce himself to her. Doffing his hat with exaggerated politeness, he told her his name was Robin Fairweather and he was the Head Drover. For all the world as though they were both at a very noble gathering, he begged for the pleasure of having her join him in the dance. Jenna was already smiling as she placed her hand in his.
    They danced easily together and talked companionably throughout the evening though Jenna, painfully conscious of the need to be careful, was wary of telling Robin anything much about herself. Nevertheless he gathered, little by little, that she had been unhappy in her last employment and wanted to try her luck somewhere other than in Devon. Jenna thought London might suit her purpose: she knew little about it but she’d heard it was a very big town. It was, he agreed, nodding. Oh yes, London was very big, and full of opportunities for a bright girl like her, and he should know: this drove was heading for a village just outside London and he often took cattle there. But, he pointed out, there was one drawback: it was nearly three weeks’ walk away from Devon.
    A sudden idea hit Jenna like a kick from a mule. ‘Could I ... would you ... permit me to travel with you?’
    ‘No,’ said Robin, curtly, turning aside. ‘Under no circumstances. Droving is men’s work. Women get in the way. They distract the men. Besides, it isn’t seemly.’
    ‘I won’t get in the way, I promise. And I give you my solemn word that I will behave in a proper manner.’
    ‘No. I said no. If you once stepped out of line you could ruin my reputation. I could