Annie

by Val Wood

  He drew himself up. ‘Did I ask for money? Did such a question pass my lips? It’s more than my job’s worth to ask for money!’ He started to turn away. ‘Tha’ll have to come back later after breakfast is finished and cleared away, about half-past-six or seven, Matron might see thee then.’

  She fingered the silk scarf around her neck. She’d vowed that she would never sell it, it was given to her in friendship, but she needed to know if the boys were still there. They might not have stayed she worried, young Jimmy might well have decided to run away and Ted would have followed him.

  She slipped it from her neck. It had been stained with Toby’s blood and she’d washed it in the cabin. The blood was still there, a dark stain on the pale blue; it was creased, but it was soft, soft as the down on Mrs Trott’s ducks.

  ‘Here. I’ll give thee this if tha’ll go and look at ’list. It’s real silk. I need to know if they’re still here and not run away. I have to get back to my sister, she’s sick and wants to know if they’re all right. I told her that I’d take care of them.’

  He took the neckchief from her and ran it through his fingers. Then he grunted and with a twisted smile handed it back. ‘I don’t know how tha came by this, and I wouldn’t be so bold as to ask, but if I took that home to my missus, she wouldn’t believe I hadn’t been up to some sort of mischief. Folks like us can’t afford goods like that.’

  His glance took in her gold-lined cloak and her bare feet. Then he pursed his lips and considered. ‘Aye, I reckon it’s worse for them as has had plenty, to lose it, than it is for them who’s never had owt. Wait here. I’ll get ’list.’

  She leaned her forehead against the railings and closed her eyes as she waited for him to come back. Please, please let them be here. I’ll take them back with me to Hessle, just like Toby said. We’ll not have much, but more than we used to have, and I’ll be a better mother than I was, now that I’m not so frightened. I’ll go hawking and I’ll work with the team. I’ll do anything.

  She looked up, there was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles. A platoon of soldiers were riding down the street and a man in dark clothing riding alongside them. One of the town constables. She drew in a breath and pulled her hood over her face as they drew abreast of her. They must have been chasing a misdoer. And they’d caught him. Running behind the platoon was a young man, no shirt on his back or boots on his feet, and both hands tied to a rope which the last soldier had fastened to his saddle.

  He stumbled as he passed Annie and fell his length onto the floor, his arms stretched in front of him, his wrists red and raw from the rope and his chest scratched and bleeding. The soldier reined in. ‘Get up,’ he ordered. ‘No use trying to dawdle.’

  The man spat towards him as he clambered to his feet. ‘Curse thee militia men, tha’s worse than ’press-gang.’

  The soldier laughed and jerked the rope, he was no older than the prisoner and was obviously enjoying his power.

  ‘There’s nobody of that name listed here, miss. Maybe they’re in one of ’other hospitals.’ The porter had come silently to the gate and had a paper in his hand. ‘I can’t make out a name of Swineburn. Here, have a look for tha self.’

  ‘Swinburn.’ She was trembling as she turned away from the scene behind her.

  ‘Here, – Charlie! Charlie Thompson! I knew they’d catch thee in the end!’ The porter shouted and craned his neck to see the prisoner as he was dragged away. He shook his head. ‘I knew he’d come to this. Allus looking for trouble he was, never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Well, he’ll keep it shut now. It doesn’t do to make trouble, it comes fast enough on its own.’

  He thrust the paper through the bars. ‘Can tha make out if they’re there?’

  She took it from him and held it in shaking fingers and stared after the platoon as they trotted down the street towards the gaol, the man slipping and sliding in his attempt to keep up. She glanced down at the paper. There were no names beginning with S.

  ‘What has he done?’ She pushed the paper back through the bars.

  ‘Who?’ The porter frowned. ‘What’s who done?’

  ‘Him.’ She jerked her thumb down the street. ‘Charlie Thompson.’

  ‘Stole a horse and then sold it,’ he said carelessly. ‘His bairns’ll be begging in ’streets now. He’ll not get off this time. He’ll be swinging, will young Charlie.’

  She clasped her hands together to stop them trembling. Horse stealing was a capital offence, but it didn’t seem right.

  ‘It’s not that he ever hurt anybody though, didn’t Charlie, he looked after his ma – fed his bairns. Still—.’ He shrugged and turned away. ‘He’ll have to take what’s coming. Miss! Shall I tell Matron tha’s coming back?’

  ‘I’ve made a mistake.’ She shouted back as she ran. ‘I’ve remembered. They’re not here. They’re somewhere else.’

  ‘That’s right, miss.’ His voice grew fainter as she ran, her toes catching on the cobbles. ‘They are, I’ve remembered. They’re somewhere else. At least, one of ’em is. I can’t speak for the other one.’

  She ran, choking and sobbing, unable any longer to keep from her mind the spectre of the young man swinging from the gallows; even the iron bars of the Seaman’s hospital seemed to be a threat as she’d clung to them. She turned into an alley and sank to the floor, she wanted to be away from any curious stares of passers-by, or shopkeepers who were now unbolting their doors and taking down wooden shutters.

  Her cloak she wrapped around her and she crouched with her arms around her knees into a black ball, trying to ease her trembling. The cloak smelt warm and comforting, an aroma of grass and horse, of wood smoke and the salty smell of the sea, and if she kept her head well down she wouldn’t see or smell this stinking alley where she had sought a temporary refuge.

  A sharp kick on her leg brought her out of her reverie and she raised her head. Standing in the entrance to the alley was a man, so big and hairy that he blocked out the light and her first fleeting sensation was that it was an escaped bear from a travelling fair.

  He kicked her again. ‘Who are you? Where’s Lottie?’

  ‘I – I’m just going. I was onny resting.’

  ‘Where’s Lottie?’ he repeated. ‘This is her spot.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t know. I – I haven’t seen her – anybody.’

  He moved towards her and put down his pack. He had a great bushy beard and a huge nose. ‘Well it doesn’t matter. Tha’ll do just as well, I’m not particular.’

  ‘No. No, you don’t understand.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘I’m not a street girl.’

  He grinned. Most of his teeth were missing and those that were left were black and misshapen. ‘I said, I don’t mind. Come on, I haven’t got all day. I’ve got a job to go to.’ He grabbed her cloak. ‘Get that off and thy skirts up.’

  Her way out was blocked by his bulk. She couldn’t possibly slip past him and neither could she fight him off.

  She edged her way round so that she was sideways to him and he moved too so that his back was to the wall.

  ‘How do I know what tha’s got to offer?’ she asked softly, ‘money, or—,’ she gave a cynical smile, ‘equipment?’

  He raised his hand and she flinched. ‘I’ve had no complaints,’ he growled. ‘They get what they deserve.’

  She took a deep breath and dared. ‘Let’s see then. Get thy breeches down.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to strike her. Then he suddenly opened his gaping toothless mouth and roared with laughter. ‘By, lass. Tha’s a right one. I’ll show thee all right.’

  He unbuttoned his breeches and let them fall to his knees. His enormous buttocks were white and fleshy and his monstrous member, distended and syphilis scarred, quivered obscenely towards her. ‘What about that, eh?’

  She smiled and lifted the hem of her cloak and skirt. ‘’Best I’ve ever seen,’ she purred and lifted her foot; her bare foot, hard and firm, met its mark and the giant of a man bent double and fell,
retching and groaning as he grasped his shrinking penis.

  ‘I’ll kill thee,’ she heard him gasp as she gathered up her skirts and ran. ‘Whore! Bitch! I’ll get thee.’

  Her decision was made. There was nothing else she could do. She would run to the riverbank, taking the pathway again to Hessle. She’d live in Toby’s cottage and become Annie Hope once more. Here she was frightened Annie Swinburn. A woman terrified of every knock on the door. Here there was only poverty, danger and sorrow in front of her. Surely, surely there had to be more to life than that? We’ve only one life, Annie; wasn’t that what Toby had said? Well at least he’d died smiling, which was more than she could hope for if she stayed here.

  20

  Matt Linton left a small crew on board the Breeze in the New Dock and strode across the town towards the Cross Keys Inn in the Market Place. He hadn’t docked in Hull for over twelve months and mused that the dock, which had been opened less than thirteen years before, in 1778, was more congested than it had been the previous year, and that it was more difficult to pilot a ship in or out of the entrance than it was to sail across the German Sea to Holland.

  Ships from all over the world, from Russia, Sweden and Gothenburg docked in Hull, as well as the barges and small boats which came up the Humber and Trent and other canals and waterways, bringing iron and brass, pottery from Stoke and lead from Derbyshire for onward distribution and shipment. Here too came the whaling fleet, the principal industry of the town from whose byproducts issued the stinking aroma floating in the air.

  It’s a prosperous town, he mused. A man could do well here if he was in the way of commerce or shipping, there have been several fortunes made. But he also knew that many of the men who had made their fortunes here in this thriving town, took their wives and families out of the confines of the town boundaries, which were now stretching further and further into the outlying country and built their homes, their mansions and desirable residences, where they didn’t have to have the embarrassment of seeing the other unfortunate populace of the town. Here were the people who had no hope, no fortune, no proper roof over their heads, except perhaps one which they shared with many others, and who behaved so annoyingly in complaining and rioting about injustice.

  He glanced up at the portico of Trinity House and felt a thrust of envy. Boys could now be sent to school here to learn the science of navigation as well as being given a good grounding in general education. I wish – still, it’s no good wishing, what’s done is done, but if only I had been able to attend a school like this, instead of learning the hard way by running away to sea. He had been at the mercy of disreputable seamen who worked him all hours of the day and night, and then gave him the lash for disobedience.

  He strode across the Market Place. The vendors were setting out their stalls in front of The Holy Trinity church, and sweeping up the debris of the night before. Rotting vegetables, mouldy fruit and bedding-straw left from the pens of pigs, hens and ducks were swept away into the middle of the street, there to be dispersed by the hooves of horses and donkeys and the tramp of feet from the hordes of townspeople who would shortly descend on them.

  ‘Good to see thee again, Captain. It’s been a long time.’ The landlord of the inn drew him a tankard of ale. ‘Breakfast?’

  Matt nodded. ‘Please. Eggs, ham, beef, everything you’ve got. I shan’t be eating again today. And I’ll also need to hire a horse from you for a few days, maybe a week.’

  ‘That’s soon done, sir. I’ve got a grand fella, just suit thee fine.’

  Matt eased off his boots and stretched his toes. ‘I’m trying to find out about a seaman who I believe is from this town, and I wondered if you know of him. Name of Hope? I don’t know his first name, and in fact I did hear that he’d died, but it may well have been a rumour.’

  The landlord pursed his lips. ‘I know most of ’seamen from this town, but I can’t say I know that name.’

  Matt took a long draught from the tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘He has a wife I believe, er – Annie, I think she’s called.’

  ‘Bless thee, sir. They don’t bring their wives in here, not if I can help it, and not that they want to. No, I’m sorry but I can’t help thee there. Now if tha’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and see to breakfast.’

  A hearty slap on Matt’s back made him splutter into his ale. He stood up and put out his hand when he saw Gregory Sheppard, captain of the ship Maiden, standing in front of him, a smoking pipe in his mouth which even a wide smile couldn’t dislodge.

  ‘Good to see you, Greg. Have some breakfast.’

  ‘Aye, I will. I’m famished. I’ve had nothing but dry tack for the last three days. The Maiden’s been beset with problems since we left home port and I must have a quick turn around.’ He bent his head to whisper. ‘I’ve got a good shipment promised for next week. You could do well to get back to Holland.’ He raised his head and spoke normally. ‘I didn’t see you this trip, where were you?’

  Matt rubbed his eyes, he was suddenly very weary and depressed. The loss of Toby was just beginning to hit him. ‘I didn’t manage to get there. I too had problems.’

  Greg Sheppard nodded and took his pipe out of his mouth. ‘And who’s this dead seaman that you’re looking for?’

  Matt started. He’d just been thinking about Toby, seeing again the body wrapped in sailcloth shooting down below the waves, but not identifying it with his own brother.

  ‘I heard you,’ Greg persisted, ‘as I came through the door.’ He too took off his boots and stretched his feet onto the table. He gave a sly grin. ‘Or is it his widow that you’re looking for?’

  Matt frowned, he hadn’t realized he’d been overheard. Greg would think it great sport to be chasing a comely widow, as he too might have done under different circumstances. They had both done considerable carousing and chasing of agreeable willing females. But Annie Hope is not a comely young widow, he told himself, she is not comely by any means, she is skinny and underfed, anyone can see that by those high cheekbones and enormous eyes, and as for being a widow. ‘Pah.’ He gave an exclamation, she’s probably lying.

  ‘What? Come on, tell. Who is she?’

  ‘She’s nobody. Mrs Hope, she calls herself. She’s just someone my brother knows – knew. Knows. Someone my brother knows.’

  Greg put his pipe back in his mouth and sucked thoughtfully. ‘And how is your little brother? Getting into trouble with other men’s wives is he?’

  Matt hesitated. Greg had been a good friend for a lot of years but he didn’t want to tell him of Toby. Not yet. Not until he’d broken the news to his father. Nor did he want the news to get to the revenue men, and it could if Greg or his men should get caught, which they would sooner or later, for Greg was a hard man who took far more risks than he did himself, his fast rakish schooner was badly scarred from the frequent gun battles with the revenue men.

  ‘He’s away – gone out of the area for a bit.’

  Greg’s grin widened. ‘And left the little filly alone? So while the coast is clear,—?’

  The landlord brought in a tray of food before Matt could reply. A dish of eggs and fatty bacon was set in front of them, and slices of roast beef, chicken legs and boiled onions and a crusty pigeon pie were placed on a table near at hand.

  They ate hungrily, dipping thick chunks of bread into the egg yolks and mopping up the fat from their platters. The landlord brought more ale in a jug but Matt shook his head. ‘I’ll never get on the horse, let alone stay in the saddle if I have more. You draw a grand brew, landlord.’

  He pushed his chair back from the table when he’d finished and reached for his boots. ‘That’ll last me the day. I’ll have to be on my way. I’m visiting my father.’

  Greg whistled. ‘I thought you never saw him?’

  ‘Sometimes I do. Not often. But I have to deliver a message to him.’

  ‘And the little widow? When are you going to see her?’

  Matt shrugged and leaned on the table.
Greg was still trenching, his teeth around a chicken leg, grease running down his chin. ‘You’re on the wrong tack. It’s not what you think. I have no interest in the woman, apart from finding out if she is who she says she is. I only know that she told Toby that she was a widow, that her husband had died at sea. She’s not the type of woman I’d go for. You know me.’ He surveyed his friend seriously. ‘I like them sweet-faced and agreeable. This one’s from the gutter and acts like she’s a princess. She’s impudent and opinionated. She gives herself airs and has an accent you could cut with a knife. She annoys me to Hell. She’s got under my skin and I just want to prove that she’s the liar I know she is.’

  Greg picked a piece of chicken from his teeth. ‘Who do you want to prove it to? Your brother? Or yourself?’

  Matt turned to go, heading for the side door which led out to the yard.

  ‘And when you’ve proved it,’ Greg shouted after him. ‘What then?’

  He didn’t answer. He thought of when he’d impulsively kissed her. What a fool he’d been. What on earth had possessed him? He felt anger burning inside him. And she’d spurned him. Pushed him away as if he was some callow youth trying out his manhood. He felt a pain in his chest as the greasy food fought its way down into his stomach. He shouldn’t have eaten so much or so quickly.

  He turned at the door. ‘Why then I can see the look on her face when I tell her that she’s found out – that she’s not who she says she is. She’s probably got some poor cuckold of a husband with half a dozen children waiting for her at home.’

  His face tightened as he thought of the possibility of his flippant remark being true and Greg smiled and reached over for more pie.

  ‘I’m sorry for you, old fellow.’ Greg belched. ‘Really sorry. This woman’s got you well and truly scuppered.’

  ‘Hogwash. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Matt eyed him angrily. ‘And ease up on the ale, captain. You’re half seas over already. You’ll never get your ship out of harbour.’

  Greg put his head back and guffawed. ‘Farewell old shipmate. You’re off course and drifting. It happens to the best of men, but I never thought it would happen to you.’ He gazed down into his tankard and hiccupped. Then he waved it towards Matt standing frozen faced in the doorway. ‘Let’s drink to the little widow – to Mrs Hope; wherever she may be, and whoever she may be.’