by Val Wood
‘Why, Mrs Trott, how absent-minded you are becoming,’ he joked. ‘Where is a cup for Mrs er—?’
Annie gave a small gasp. ‘Annie. Annie, – er, Hope.’ Alan had been well known in Hull. He frequented all the inns and taverns, and the cock and dog fights. This man might well know his name.
‘Hope! What an excellent name, for it is all we have left in these hard times, is it not, Mrs Hope?’ Smiling, he looked steadily at her.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, standing up. ‘My name is Tobias Linton, Toby to my friends.’
Mrs Trott begrudgingly brought a dish of tea to Annie and as she placed it on the table, Mr Trott came through the door.
‘’House is full o’ gossipers as soon as me back’s turned,’ he said dryly. ‘Tha’s back early Toby. I thought tha was in York.’
‘Indeed I was, all of yesterday and night. I rode out at midday today. I thought if I was lucky I might catch a bit of supper with the Trotts.’ He glanced towards Annie as he spoke and in his eyes was a question.
He knows it was me, she thought. He’s wondering if I’ll give him away. Well, it’s nowt to do with me what he was doing on ’quayside, or why he should lie to Mr Trott.
‘Ah. I almost forgot. I’ve brought you a gift.’ He rose from his stool and went to fetch a bag that was lying near the door. ‘Pheasant,’ he said triumphantly, bringing out a brace. ‘The best of the shoot.’
Mrs Trott’s eyes gleamed greedily, but the old man frowned. ‘Are they ’Squire’s bods?’
‘They are,’ grinned Toby. ‘And he sent them with his compliments. At least, he would have done, had he known about them. You know well how generous he is.’
A flicker of a smile touched Mr Trott’s mouth, but he shook his head. ‘There’ll be ’devil to pay if tha gets caught.’
‘Nonsense, Henry,’ Toby replied airily. ‘What could he possibly do? Put me in gaol like a common thief?’
‘Somebody’s been hanging about ’haven.’ Mr Trott ignored Toby’s comment. ‘Last night’s watchman told me that summat’s been shifted about – crates and that.’
‘It’s as well tha wasn’t there then, Mr Trott. Happen tha might have been blamed if owt was missing.’ Mrs Trott busied herself by the fire, putting on extra wood and lifting a cauldron on to a hook above it.
‘Nowt was missing, that were funny part of it. He said it was as if they was onny looking. Well, if I find anybody mooching about when I’m on tomorrow night, they’ll feel ’strength o’ my truncheon, make no mistake about it.’
‘The villains won’t dare come if they know you’re on duty, Henry,’ Toby stretched lazily. ‘Everybody knows what a law-abiding citizen you are, and that you wouldn’t think twice about defending your master’s property! Well, Mrs Trott, are you going to offer me some bread and cheese, or do I go on my way with a hungry belly? I must be off. I have business to attend to.’
Annie watched as Mrs Trott fussed over him, scooping out the soft middle from a crusty cheese onto a plate, and plying him with extra bread, and cajoling him to stay longer for a sup of stew.
‘Mrs Hope will stay and help you eat it. I hear that you are staying the night, good lady? The Trotts’ will look after you well, have no doubt.’ He rose to leave and bent towards Annie. ‘Sleep well. I may see you tomorrow before you set off on your journey. It’s a long way to York, you must take great care on the road.’
Annie helped Mrs Trott to clear away the dishes after supper. She belched appreciatively. ‘Thank thee for taking me in. I can travel well now on a full stomach.’
Mrs Trott opened up a wooden chest and brought out two blankets and handed one of them to her. ‘Aye, well tha can sleep in front o’ ’fire tonight. Mr Trott will want his own bed.’
She caught Annie’s questioning gaze. ‘I sleep on ’floor yonder. Allus have done.’
Annie looked at the bundle of bedding at the back of the room where Mrs Trott had thrown the other blanket. She nodded. ‘Shall I keep ’fire going?’
‘Course tha’ll keep ’fire ’going,’ she snorted. ‘What sort o’ dowly wife is it who lets ’fire out?’
Annie sat crosslegged, gazing into the flames while the old woman settled herself onto the floor and wrapped her blanket around her. Mr Trott sat on a bench at the side of the hearth, sucking on a clay pipe.
Presently a gentle whistling and snoring flowed from Mrs Trott’s side of the room and Mr Trott tapped out his pipe on the hearth and commented. ‘She’s away. Like a kettle o’ steam she is once she gets going, huffing and puffing all ’night long.’
‘Wouldn’t she rest better on ’bed?’ Annie ventured.
‘Aye, she would, but she’d rather act ’martyr on ’floor than have a bit o’ comfort.’ A note of bitterness had crept into his voice and she looked up wonderingly.
‘I’m going to have a tankard o’ ale,’ he said, rousing himself. ‘Would tha like a drop? Help thee sleep.’
She refused. ‘I’ll not need any rocking, even though I had a sleep during ’day.’ She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She wished he would go to bed so that she could lie down and rest.
‘Go on, get into ’bed,’ he said. ‘I don’t need much sleep, I can doze here by ’fire just as well.’
‘Nay,’ she protested. ‘I’ll not take thy bed. Has tha a job o’ work to do tomorrow?’
‘Not in ’morning. I’m on nightwatch tomorrow night down at ’shipyard. I’ll not need to be up ower early. Go on,’ he persuaded. ‘We’ll not tell Mrs Trott.’
She needed no further bidding and in the dimness of the room she slipped out of her top clothes and into the comforting softness of the feather bed.
Sleep must have come almost immediately for when she awoke with a start some time later, she felt alert and fully rested. For a moment she wondered where she was, and then remembered. Mrs Trott was still snoring, the pitch having changed from a shrill, rousing, clarion call to a full-throated snort. But it wasn’t Mrs Trott’s snoring which had so rudely awakened her, but the shaking of the bed as someone crept in beside her.
3
She edged away to the other side of the bed and felt the roughness of the cold wall against her nose. She lay perfectly still, not daring even to breathe. It wasn’t the old woman beside her, she was still snoring, and she’d said that she wouldn’t share her bed with strangers, and Mr Trott had verified that she preferred the floor.
It had to be Mr Trott. Perhaps, she thought, he had forgotten that she was there and had routinely climbed into his bed. Or – the other possibilities crossed her mind, and she involuntarily shuddered.
A hand touched her shoulder. ‘Mrs Hope, art thou awake?’
She didn’t answer but feigned sleep. Then she felt a pair of bony knees clad in flannel come close to her.
‘I’ll not harm thee.’ Mr Trott’s voice was soft and quavery. ‘I just felt ’need, ’need of some comfort, that’s all, and tha seemed lonely like me. I’ve not felt ’warmth of a woman next to me in a long time.’
She turned her head towards him. She could smell the ale on his breath. ‘Mrs Trott?’
‘Nay, she’s a cold woman. She’s never shared my bed. Never in fifteen years.’
She suddenly felt sorry for Mr Trott, sharing his life with a disagreeable, mean old woman. She knew what it felt like, knew only too well what misery life was without the warmth of loving arms. Alan had never been loving, always demanding when drunk, and indifferent when sober.
Gently she put her hand over his, which lay still on her shoulder, and patted it. ‘Stay then,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right. Onny, keep still. Go to sleep.’
Sleep didn’t come back to her. She lay quietly, not moving, feeling his presence next to her and hearing his breathing becoming regular as he dropped into slumber. Soon, he too started to snore and his resonant rasp and gurgle swelled into a fanfare, and joined in a discordant serenade with Mrs Trott’s sibilant wheeze.
There’s no wonder they don’t sleep in ’same bed, Anni
e brooded, they’d blow each other out. Tha could set sail down ’Humber with ’power of these two.
She saw daylight easing its way through the cracks of the shutters, and with sudden forethought, removed Mr Trott’s arm from about her waist and slid out of bed. She built up the fire with the kindling by the hearth and put the kettle on to boil. Then she wrapped the blanket around her and sat watching the flames catch hold of the dry wood and kindle into crackling life.
‘Humph.’ A snort aroused Mrs Trott and she sat upright. ‘Hast put ’kettle on?’
‘Aye. It’s almost on ’boil.’
Mrs Trott blinked as if she had forgotten why Annie was there. She gazed at her through narrowed accusing eyes. ‘Tha didn’t let ’fire out then? Tha’s been stoking up all ’night by ’look of it. Tha’ll have to fetch more wood in afore tha goes.’
Annie nodded. She’d be glad to be away from this parsimonious woman. ‘I’ll go now and collect a bundle.’
Mrs Trott folded her blanket. ‘Mr Trott still sleeping? It’s not like him, he’s generally up afore me.’
Annie smiled thinly. ‘He’s resting well. Happen we should leave him to his dreams.’
She wrapped her shawls around her as she went outside. Rain-clouds were gathering and the river looked dark and unfriendly. I’m going to get very wet if I set off today, she pondered. But I’m not sure if I could spend another day in that house, even if I was asked.
She wandered down to the riverside path. Pieces of timber and driftwood were lying on the shoreline and she jumped down on to the narrow strip of shingle to gather them into her skirt.
‘Good day, Mrs Hope.’
She turned to see Toby Linton leaning against the bank, shallower here than on the other side of the haven, and idly tossing a pebble in his hand. She smiled. It was good to see a friendly face, even though she was wary of him.
‘G’day, sir.’
‘Has the old woman sent you out for fuel?’
‘Aye. She thinks I’ve been building up ’fire all night and using up all her kindling.’
He laughed. ‘She’s had a hard life. She doesn’t like to think she’ll ever be without the essentials, not even kindling. Here, let me help you.’
‘They’re a strange couple,’ she said as she handed him some pieces of wood. ‘Not like a proper wedded pair.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, she sleeps on ’floor for one thing, and he sleeps in ’feather bed on his own.’
He kept hold of her hand. ‘And what of your husband, Mrs Hope. Does he sleep alone in a feather bed, whilst you’re roaming the river bank?’
The sudden question startled her and she pulled her hand away, dropping the wood. ‘Me husband’s dead. I’m a widow.’
‘I’m sorry. You’re young to be widowed. You must be only my age, twenty-two – three?’
She shrugged. ‘Where I come from, ’life we lead, widowhood is common. And my age? I’m more’n that I think.’
How could she know when life had begun. She had little memory of childhood. Life had always been the same, searching for vittals and scrounging for money. Only when she had met Maria and her mother, had she realized that there was another type of life, different from her own. Maria’s mother’s house had seemed like a king’s palace, with a proper bed, a table and a chair and a fire in the hearth.
She gazed out across the river seeing again the compassion on the lined face of her friend’s mother and feeling the touch of her fingers as she’d stroked her cheek.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Contrition showed in his eyes, he had obviously mistaken her pensiveness for sorrow. ‘Curiosity overcame me. I’m sorry.’
She bent her head and sighed. ‘Aye. I’m all alone in ’world. There’s nobody to care what happens to me.’
‘No children from your marriage to comfort you?’
She hesitated. Could she deny her bairns? ‘They’re gone from me. I don’t want to talk about it.’
I suppose I was very young, she reflected. I’d just started my flux when I met Alan by ’river bank. He’d come looking for a woman and saw me. He kept coming back all that summer and I didn’t know why. Then Maria’s mother saw him and told him that he ought to marry me if he wanted me, and give me a home. She wasn’t often wrong, but she was wrong about him.
‘And so now you go to York? Back to your own town?’
There he goes again with his questioning. I haven’t asked him anything, yet I could. Why is he living here, looking like a beggar in his shabby clothes, but with ’talk of a gentleman? There’s summat not right.
‘But why, Mrs Hope?’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Why do you come this way? Surely you know that there’s a better way to York from Hull? The turnpike road is safer, and you could, no doubt, get a lift much easier along there, than on the deserted lanes across country from here!’
She bit her lip. She didn’t even know where York was. She only knew that it stood well back from the sea, and that travellers and merchants from Hull took their goods there to sell.
‘’Cos of river,’ she muttered. ‘I feel safer by ’river. I was going to follow it as far as I could.’
A smile turned up his lips and she knew he wasn’t persuaded. ‘You know the river well? Its moods, its tides?’
She nodded, looking at him warily. ‘Well enough.’
‘And the sea, do you know the sea?’ He laughed at her, dimples creasing his cheeks.
‘Nay.’ Anger suddenly flared as she realized he was having a game with her. ‘I don’t know ’sea, only that it flows beyond Spurn, and it’s to be treated wi’ caution. Why’s tha asking me all these questions?’
‘Oh, I have my reasons.’ He didn’t appear at all offended by her outburst. ‘You may think it idle curiosity on my part, but I can assure you it is not.’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Tha’s nowt to do wi’ ’law?’
He gave a great laugh. ‘Not I!’
She remembered the pheasants. ‘Tha’s not above ’law?’
He shook his head. ‘No-one is. Though it might seem so, to some who receive unwarranted discipline from others more corruptible than they.
‘But, Mrs Hope – Annie? Surely you’ve nothing to fear from the law?’
Her face paled but she shook her head. ‘Nay. Not me. Never. But, but I had a f– friend. Then I found out that he had a wife, and he thought that I would tell or ask for money, and he’s sending his cronies to look for me.’ Her imagination ran on, but she spoke truthfully as she added. ‘I’m fearful for me life.’
He stared unblinkingly at her as if he was weighing the implications. Then he smiled. ‘And that’s why you came this way? You didn’t think they’d search on this road?’
She hid a sigh of relief. ‘Aye, that’s ’reason.’ She nodded. ‘That’s it.’
He came towards her and took hold of both her elbows. ‘I don’t believe a word you’re saying, Annie Hope, if that’s your name. But it doesn’t matter. Why should it? We all have our secrets, and if you choose not to tell, why, that’s perfectly all right by me.’
She stared back at him. He had such a smiling face, full of mischief, full of life, and she felt she could trust him. Yet fear held her back. I can tell nobody, she considered. Never in my lifetime. I’m sentenced to carry ’burden until ’final roll-call at doomsday.
He was still talking. ‘And, we must make the most of this life, Annie. I can call you Annie? Life is such fun if we make it so, and we must, for we get only one. So why don’t you?’
‘Why don’t I what?’ She was bewildered. Life had never been fun for her; and she hadn’t caught all that he was saying.
‘You were not listening! I said, why don’t you stay a little longer? I could put some work your way. Why, I believe we could be a good team, you and I. I knew it when I first saw you.’
‘What sort of work?’ She eyed him suspiciously.
‘Oh!’ He gazed out at the river in contemplation. The rainclouds were hoverin
g, black and menacing above them and a few drops of rain started to fall. ‘Just selling a few things.’
‘Hawkin’ tha means? A common hawker?’
‘Not exactly. I need someone to deliver goods to my regular customers whilst I get on with other business. Of course, if you could sell them other goods too, then you would make some extra money.’
It was tempting. If I could make some money, she thought, then I could pay to go over on ’ferry. She forgot for a moment why she was running, then she remembered.
‘Nay. I can’t. I have to be off. If them folks should come looking for me!’
‘No-one will find you,’ he said persuasively. ‘We won’t give you away. No-one knows you’re here. Only the Trotts’, and I’ll talk to them.’
‘Will I have to stay wi’ them?’
He grinned. ‘Unless you stay with me. And you may.’
I could become fond of him, she thought. He’s got a happy nature. I could laugh with him and forget me troubles. But nay, I’ll not be tempted again.
‘I’ll stay wi’ Trotts’, I’m not promising I’ll stay long, mind, but just ’till it suits me.’
Mrs Trott grumbled, as Annie thought she would. Mr Trott agreed, quite eagerly, – too eagerly, she contemplated. He said, speaking for Mrs Trott also, he emphasized, that they would be glad of the company. They didn’t see many people, being just off the river path. It wasn’t like living in the town of Hessle itself, where there was always something lively going on.
‘Only time we see’s folk to have a chat, is when we go up to common wi’ pigs and sheep. Tha can maybe help me wi’ them, Mrs Hope. Mrs Trott doesn’t like to go, and my back is playing me up.’
‘I know nowt about animals,’ she said, horrified at the thought. ‘I’ve onny ever seen them in ’market.’
The Hull market was littered with crates of live hens and ducks, squawking and cackling and feathers flying, and pigs snuffling on the end of a rope, or sometimes escaping and causing chaos as they upset the market stalls.
‘Tha’ll have to do summat to earn tha keep,’ Mrs Trott began, but an admonishing glance from Toby stopped her.
