by Val Wood
‘Annie will be helping me,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange for her keep. You’ll not be out of pocket.’
Mrs Trott’s face became red and flustered and she protested that it wouldn’t be necessary, but Annie felt antagonism, and something more, maybe jealousy, directed towards her.
After Toby had left, Mrs Trott gave her a bucket of corn and told her to feed the poultry round the back of the house. ‘But don’t collect ’eggs. I’ll not have anybody upsetting ’henhouse.’ She glanced at Annie. ‘I’ve got a sick hen, I don’t want her disturbing.’
Annie took the bucket. She had no desire whatsoever to go into the henhouse. She’d seen it already, it was dark and smelled of warm damp hay and was full of feathers.
‘I don’t allow anybody in there,’ Mrs Trott insisted. ‘Not even Mr Trott.’
‘I won’t go in,’ she answered; but wondered why if feathers made Mrs Trott sneeze, didn’t she let someone else gather the eggs?
She didn’t care for the hens clucking and scuttling around her feet as she threw the corn, nor the messy white splodges that she stood in. The ducks were even worse. They had turned the muddy pool where they dipped their heads, into a quagmire. They thrashed their wings as she approached and waddled away complaining with squawking vigour. She found a clutch of large, pale-green eggs hidden in a clump of grass and took them to Mrs Trott, who was locking the creaking henhouse door with an iron key, which she then put in her pocket.
‘Them’s no good.’ She took them from Annie and threw them to the hens. ‘They’ve been there all ’summer. They’re daft, ducks are, allus hiding eggs and then forgetting where they’ve put ’em.’
‘Who is Toby Linton?’ Annie asked later as she sat with the Trotts and ate bread and cheese and drank a cup of ale. ‘Is he a gentleman?’
‘Aye, he is.’ Mrs Trott was sharp. ‘So mind thy manners.’
‘But a friend, all ’same.’ Mr Trott answered more mildly. ‘A squire’s son who chose a different sort o’ life from his fayther.’
‘Chose!’ Mrs Trott’s voice rose. ‘Nay, he never did. It was that flinty faced, strait-laced old fayther who chose for him, and for Matthias. Turned them both out he did!’
Mr Trott shook his head. ‘Mrs Trott won’t hear a word said against either of ’em. But it can’t have been easy for ’Squire to bring up two lads without a wife. He did ’best he could, I’m sure.’
‘He could have had help, ’best there was, but he refused it.’ Mrs Trott’s lips drew into a thin line and she got up from the table. ‘He’s a mean old man. He was mean when he was young and he got meaner as he got older. Thank ’good Lord his sons took after their poor mother and not him.’
‘But it’s no life for a gentleman,’ Mr Trott insisted. ‘If his brother should choose a life at sea, so be it; but Toby does nowt worthwhile. He had a choice, he could have been a soldier, or he could have taken ’cloth, but he wanted neither, and now he’s nobbut a tradesman selling goods. And he’s worth better’n that.’
He too got up from the table and unhooked his coat from behind the door and put it on. He put on thick socks and pulled on his boots and Mrs Trott fetched him a scarf and fastened it around his neck.
She seemed unfeeling at first, Annie thought, as she watched them. But perhaps I was mistaken. Mrs Trott wrapped up the remaining bread and cheese and put it into his coat pocket, and taking the pan from the fire poured soup into a jug.
‘There now, will that do thee?’
‘Aye, don’t fuss, woman. There’s enough vittals to last a week.’ He picked up a stout stick. ‘I’ll be off. I’ll see thee in ’morning.’
The light was only just fading from the day and Annie stood in the doorway and called to him. ‘Tha’s lucky to be in regular work!’
‘Aye, that’s what I tell myself in ’middle of ’night, when wind is blowing off ’river and there’s nobody on quayside but me.’ He stood with his stick in his hand and his shoulders bent. ‘That’s what I allus say – tha’s very lucky, Henry Trott, very lucky indeed.’
The evening dragged on. Mrs Trott didn’t seem disposed to talk and Annie had nothing to do but gaze into the fire and wonder about Lizzie and Ted and Jimmy, and if Mrs Trott noticed the tears which coursed down her cheeks, she made no comment as she sat on the opposite side of the hearth mending a tear in a pair of Mr Trott’s breeches.
Presently she got up and went to the blanket chest and brought out Annie’s blanket. ‘Here, tha might as well be in bed as sitting doing nowt. Tomorrow Master Toby will want thee to start work.’ She pointed to the feather bed. ‘Tha can have ’bed seeing as Mr Trott’s out all night.’
Annie was curious as to why Mrs Trott should be so well informed of Toby’s intentions, but she took the blanket and made no comment, except to ask if Mrs Trott wasn’t tired too, for she sat down again by the fire and made no attempt to go to bed.
‘Nay, I’ll sit for a bit,’ she muttered, ‘and finish my mending. But don’t tha mind me. Go off to sleep. Tomorrow’ll be a long day.’
She lay quietly, but she wasn’t in the least tired. Shifting barrels of fish makes thee tired, running from ’law makes thee tired, she mused, not scattering corn to hens or gathering kindling. She lay silently, just thinking, and wondering what life had in store for her, or if in fact she had any life to look forward to, when she became aware as the evening drew on, that once or twice Mrs Trott put down her mending and surreptitiously glanced across her way.
Sleep was about to close over her. The bed was warm and she had disposed of her melancholy thoughts, trusting that the morning would bring her better fortune, when she heard the door creak open and then quietly close. She kept still, the old lady had probably stepped outside to relieve herself; but after several minutes elapsed and she hadn’t returned, Annie threw back the blanket and tiptoed to the door.
She opened it a crack and listened. Could she hear whispered voices, or was it only the trees shedding their rustling leaves? She opened it wider and wondered whether to call to Mrs Trott, to ask if she was all right; but as she peered around the door she saw the swing of a light and heard the creak of the henhouse door.
Thieves. She was aghast. Stealing an old woman’s hens. Then she heard again the hum of voices. One of them was Mrs Trott’s. The other was Toby Linton’s.
4
She stepped back inside and picked up one of her shawls and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. Her boots she left beside the bed. Being barefoot held no qualms for her, her feet were hard and calloused. She had worn no boots until she’d married, and not always then, sometimes she had had to sell them to buy food, buying them back when Alan came home and gave her money.
She slipped outside, keeping to the house wall and creeping round the back until the henhouse was in view. Mrs Trott was standing by the open door next to some bales of hay and holding a lantern, and every now and again the light shook as she suppressed a sneeze. Annie could see two other figures, one, she guessed by his build to be Toby, the other, man or boy, was small and his voice husky.
They were manhandling sacks and boxes from a donkey cart and under Mrs Trott’s direction were putting them into the henhouse. When they had done this, apparently to her satisfaction, they finally lifted from the cart two casks which they rolled into the henhouse throwing the bales of hay in after.
‘Geneva!’ Annie breathed. ‘So that’s what they’re up to. And what’s in them sacks? As if I couldn’t guess!’
As they started to close and lock the henhouse door, Annie ran back inside, her bare feet making no sound on the damp grass. She dropped her shawl onto the floor beside her boots and climbed back into bed and closed her eyes.
So, Master Toby Linton. Now we know what tha’s up to. There’s no wonder thy father wanted thee out of his house. Who’d want a smuggler for a son? Two sons! For I’ll bet my bag o’ money that thy brother Matthias is in it too.
She huddled beneath the blanket as she heard the door creak open and Mrs Trott’s feet shuffle
across the room. She opened one eye as she heard the lid of the blanket-chest open and saw her take out her blanket, then she feigned sleep again as Mrs Trott turned towards her. When she looked again from beneath her lashes, Mrs Trott was knelt beside the chest busily emptying it of its contents and replacing them with several parcels wrapped in calico.
The old woman’s head and shoulders were buried within the box and as Annie peered above her blanket she could hear her muttering and gasping to herself. In the dying embers of the fire there was a flash of something shiny, something yellow, and Annie smiled as she recognized the petticoat which she had given to Mrs Trott.
It seemed as if she had only just fallen asleep again when she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder roughly shaking her awake.
‘Come on. Tha can’t stay in bed all day, there’s work to be done. And besides Mr Trott will be home afore long and will want his bed back.’
Mrs Trott was fully dressed, and Annie wondered if indeed she had been to bed at all. The room was tidy, her bedding put away and the fire was blazing.
Annie stretched her arms above her head and yawned. ‘By, I’ve had a grand night’s sleep, never woke up once.’ She put her feet to the floor. ‘Mr Trott’s got a nice warm bed to get into.’
Mrs Trott’s mouth turned down; she made no comment but simply pointed to the table where a dish of gruel lay waiting.
‘Eat that. Master Toby’ll be on his way to fetch thee. Don’t keep him waiting.’
‘Where am I going?’ Annie dressed quickly and spooned the gruel into her mouth. It was thin but warming and smelt of goat.
‘Up onto ’Wolds, I expect. He’ll tell thee.’
Annie stared open-mouthed, her spoon held loosely between her fingers. It slipped and clattered into the bowl, splashing the gruel onto the table. Mrs Trott tutted and fetched a cloth to wipe up the mess.
‘Where’s that? How can I? I don’t know ’way. How will I know where to go?’
Panic enveloped her. She might get lost and not find her way back to the river.
‘Somebody’ll tek thee and show thee. Hush, here’s Mr Trott.’
Mr Trott wearily hung his coat behind the door and held his hands towards the fire. ‘It’s been a cold night, but a quiet one. Nowt much happening on ’river.’
‘Why, what might be happening?’ Annie slyly put the question and watched Mrs Trott.
‘Why, tha should know, if tha’s worked in Hull.’ Mr Trott pursed his lips. ‘There’s allus somebody up to no good, in shipping and that.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I onny worked wi’ fish, I know nowt about shipping.’
She saw Mrs Trott’s face relax and she put down a dish of gruel for Mr Trott.
‘Get that down thee, and then away to tha bed. Me and Mrs Hope are off to ’village, so tha’ll not be disturbed. Get tha shawl, Mrs Hope, if tha’s finished, we haven’t got all day.’
The old woman swept out of the house, draping a black shawl about her head and shoulders and grasping a large umbrella. Annie hurriedly finished the last mouthful of gruel, and hopping first on one foot and then the other, she fastened on her boots. She turned back from the door and in a loud whisper called to Mr Trott. ‘Bed’s still warm, Mr Trott!’
Mrs Trott marched across the grass in front of the cottage and out of the gate, and turned right up a narrow lane which ran away from the river. The lane sloped uphill and had a high grassy bank on one side, and a hedge of dog rose and hawthorn on the other, the red hips and berries festooned with lace curtains of fragile cobwebs. Studded at intervals in the hedgerow, tall trees and slender young saplings sprouted, which dripped droplets of moisture down onto them, so that Annie once or twice put out her hand and looked up, thinking that it was raining.
‘Where ’we going, Mrs Trott?’ she panted as they reached the top of the hill. This was the first hill she had climbed. Hull was a very flat town. So flat that the streets and houses often flooded when the river was high.
She turned to look back the way they had come and saw the Humber stretched below, its surface flat and gleaming as the morning light touched it. She narrowed her eyes. Across on the far side of the river she could see dark hills rising, and trees. She cupped her eyes with her hands, she could see habitation, and thin spirals of smoke as if from cottage chimneys.
‘Is that Lincolshire, Mrs Trott? I’ve never seen it so clear afore.’ From the walls of Hull that country had seemed far away, a mere thin smudge on the other side of the river.
‘Tha doesn’t know owt, does tha? Did nobody larn thee owt?’ Mrs Trott seemed to take pleasure in reproaching her ignorance.
‘And is that where ’ferry goes to? Is that Barton?’
‘Hush wi’ tha questions. I’ve not time to be thy teacher, I’m off to ’village. Wait here. Don’t go wandering off. Master Toby’ll be here afore long.’ She shook her umbrella at Annie, turned a corner and disappeared from view.
Annie waited for a moment, then, curious to know where she was going, ran along the lane after her, but the lane forked and each path was overhanging with low branches and looked dark and gloomy, so she wandered back again to where she had been told to wait. She paced up and down, wishing that Toby would hurry; doubts and fears were starting to crowd in now that she was alone. When she had company she put her fears to one side, pretending to herself that nothing bad could happen.
She cupped her hands again around her eyes and looked down towards the river. There was a cutter, she could see its long bow-sprit and tall mast, its vast sails billowing. It was lying low in the water and moving swiftly up river, while landward, nearer the northern banks were two cobbles, plying a more leisurely pace.
‘Good day, Mrs Hope.’
She jumped at the sound of Toby’s voice above her. He was standing on the top of the bank, his arms folded, smiling down at her.
‘Tha startled me. Where did tha come from? I didn’t hear thee.’
He grinned. ‘I have my own secret passage way. I don’t like to use the public paths.’
‘Why? Hast tha got summat to hide?’
‘I might have. But nothing that harms anyone.’ He put his hand out with an invitation for her to take it and he hauled her up the bank. ‘What about you? What are you hiding, Annie?’
‘I’ve told thee already, so don’t keep asking.’
‘But if I’m to be your friend, we must trust each other. I need to trust you if you are to work for me.’
A friend? She had never had a man friend before. Husband and lover, yes. But not a friend. She’d better put the matter to the test.
‘Tha might as well know now, Toby, then we know where we stand. I’m finished wi’ men. I want no truck wi’ any man again. I’ve been ill used by ’em, and I’m never going to be caught again. I’ll work for thee and I’ll not thieve thee, be sure of that, but there’ll be nowt more, so don’t expect it.’
His face was solemn though she thought she caught a flash of humour in his eyes, but as she looked sharply at him, it was gone and he was serious again.
‘I’m sorry that you’ve such a poor opinion of men, Annie. It’s true that there are a lot of wicked fellows, but I venture to suggest that there are also many wicked women. But I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to suggest anything more than friendship. I said before, we could have great larks you and I, if you are willing. We could be like brother and sister!’
‘Why?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Why would likes of thee, tek up wi’ me? I’m not thy class. And tha has a brother, why should tha want a sister?’
His eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve heard of my brother? Ah, of course, the Trotts’ will have told you.’
‘Aye. And that tha’s a squire’s son. So what does tha want wi’ me?’
They had been walking as they were talking. There was no proper path where he led her, but they stooped through thickets whose branches he pushed back after they went through them, so that there was no sign of their entry, and they scrambled over rough chalky terrain until she was
quite out of breath, and insisted that they sat down for a moment.
He stretched out on the ground beside her and plucked a piece of grass and placed it between his teeth. He pointed. A formation of ducks were flying swiftly up river, their long necks stretched and their wings moving rapidly. The air was clear and sharp and though there was a smell of frost, it wasn’t cold, there was a touch of warmth from the sun as it lifted higher in the sky. Below them was a curl of woodsmoke, which she guessed came from the Trotts’ cottage.
‘What do I want with you, you ask?’ He rolled the stalk of grass idly between his fingers. ‘Well, to be honest, Annie, I’m bored with the company I’m keeping. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Henry and Mrs Trott are a fine pair, but they’re old and no fun, and Mrs Trott still treats me like a three-year-old. As for my brother, well, I see him for only a brief time, even though we meet quite often. We have no time for pleasantries.’
She wasn’t convinced. ‘Tha must have other friends, from thy youth?’
He shook his head. ‘My mother died when I was five, Mrs Trott was her maid, you know. She idolized my mother, worshipped the ground she walked on and she was devastated when she died. But she hated my father and though she looked after Matt and me as if we were her own, she couldn’t do right for him. We were sent away to my aunt’s house, Mrs Trott too, but she complained that my aunt didn’t know how to look after children, and she didn’t of course, being a maiden lady, which Mrs Trott was too – her name in those days was Agnes Whittle – then my aunt wrote to Father that Mrs Trott was getting above herself, and she was given notice.’
He sat up and watched as a flotilla of ships sailed by, heading for the port of Hull. Then he leaned back again on one elbow and she saw a shadow cross his face.
‘We didn’t know then, we were too young to know what was happening, but they wouldn’t give her a reference. They just gave her what she was owed and no more. She had been with my mother since before my mother had married, and yet she was cast out with nothing.’
‘So how did she come to be here? How did she meet Mr Trott?’
