Annie

by Val Wood

  * * *

  It was twelve months since he had been on horseback and two years since he had seen his father. He paid the landlord for the food and the hire and rode out of the yard. He hesitated for a moment before deciding on a route; some of the roads were in a perilous state especially in bad weather, though there were more turnpikes being opened every year which made it easier for a long journey. But today only a light grey drizzle was falling and he knew that by the time he reached the Wolds the weather would have changed.

  He decided to ride via the Spring Dyke, a pleasant track where the clear water alongside was now being channelled into Hull, and then onto the village of Anlaby before starting the gentle climb up into the lower reaches of the Wolds. He was loath to take the route by the river towards Hessle in case, by chance, Mrs Hope should cut short her visit to Hull and decide to go back to Toby’s cottage and so meet him on the road. Blasted woman, he thought. I’d be obliged to offer her a ride, and the thought of her being up on the saddle behind him made him very uneasy.

  Besides, I might well meet up with Bernard Roxton if he’s still sniffing around the riverbank, and it would take a lot of effort for me not to throttle him with my bare hands. He still blamed the revenue man for Toby’s death and not the unknown soldier.

  A two hour ride brought him up to the hamlet of Riplingham where he followed an old watercourse to reach the summit of the dale. He dismounted and let his horse graze while he stretched his legs and surveyed the view. Below him, almost lost in the distance lay the towns of Beverley and Hull and the gleam of the Humber, and in the land between, a rolling multi-shaded landscape of pale spring green and dark woods, lit now by a midday sun.

  He swallowed hard. How he loved this countryside. He had been contrary, he knew, in defying his father who wanted him to stay at home and help him run the estate. But as a young man nothing could have been more unacceptable than the thought of staying with a man he considered no more than a petty tyrant, who had no regard for his servants or even his wife’s and children’s desires.

  Just a vast sheep walk, he thought as he stood looking down, that’s what it was, nothing more. And I wanted to see the world. If only he had agreed to my going, just for a short time – I would have come back – I surely would have come back. This is my heritage after all, so why didn’t he listen? And then, he wouldn’t have lost Toby either. He should have known that Toby wouldn’t stay without me.

  But now as he looked down he saw that changes were taking place. Land was being enclosed, hedges were planted, pasture was being ploughed and cereal crops being sown in its place and the face of the Wolds was changing. Plantations of new trees were growing and copses of young larch were showing the first tips of green needles and high above him he heard the song of skylarks.

  He dropped down into the next valley and rode for another half hour, taking tracks framed by hawthorn trees, still green and without their mantle of white May flowers whose perfume used to fill him with delight. Banks of young nettles and cow parsley were pushing their way through an undergrowth of ground ivy, and as he cantered, crushing them beneath heavy hooves and leaping a fast running stream, he came into the dale where his father lived, and which once had been his home.

  Well, at least Mrs Rogerson is pleased to see me. He paced the drawing-room where the housekeeper had ushered him. She seemed to be at a loss to know where to put him, there was no fire in here or the library and though the room was clean and elegant with vestiges of his mother’s hand still lingering in the choice of furniture, carpets and hangings, the house had a desolate unlived-in air, no books or flowers or cards on the mantelpiece, no music on the pianoforte, therefore presumably no visitors for his father to entertain.

  ‘So, you come at last, sir.’ His father made no concession of welcome. A big man, dark as Toby had been, and still handsome despite the glower on his face and the deep red veins around his nose; he simply came into the room and sat in a chair and stared at Matt. No handshake, or pat on the back to welcome home his eldest son.

  Perhaps I deserve it. Matt gave a small stiff bow. It has been a long time.

  ‘How are you, father?’ He doesn’t look well, he thought. He’s not yet fifty, yet looks ten years older.

  ‘I’m as well as can be with all the work I have to do. It’s not easy at my age, running this place on my own.’

  ‘What happened to the steward you had last time I came? He seemed a good man.’

  ‘Pah. He was full of hot air and new-found nonsense. Wanting to do this, that and the other. I had to get rid of him. I’ve only got Jed Harris and he’s not much good, though better than nobody I suppose. At least he does what I tell him and doesn’t argue.’

  ‘Farmers are enclosing their land, father, it’s more economical. Perhaps you should consider doing the same.’

  ‘Pah. That’s what the other fellow said. He went over to Sledmere. He’d the cheek to tell me that they’re more enlightened over there. Imagine. Telling me! And this family has been here for generations!’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time for change. Cereal crops are needed, the population is expanding, commerce is—’

  ‘What would you know about it?’ His father bellowed at him from the depths of his chair. ‘What would you know when you spend your time between one harbour tavern and another? You know nothing. You’re not even a proper seaman. You’ve not got a bit of gold braid to your name.’

  Matt clenched his teeth. This is what had happened last time. He’d come in good faith and they’d finished up having a terrific argument and he’d stormed out of the house vowing he’d never come back again. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m master of my own ship. I have a good crew who obey me. I care nothing for a piece of fancy ribbon.’

  He glanced around the room. On a small table by the window was a half full decanter and a small silver tray set with brandy glasses.

  ‘May I pour us a brandy, sir?’

  ‘It’s a bit early in the day, isn’t it?’ his father grunted.

  Matt hid a wry smile and looked at the ornate French clock on the mantelpiece. He’d never known his father keep to a strict timetable when a glass of brandy was offered. ‘I think you’re going to need it, sir, and I certainly do. I have some bad news for you.’

  His father motioned impatiently towards the table and Matt took off the stopper from the decanter and sniffed the aroma of the golden liquid, then poured a generous measure into two glasses. He gave one to his father and then sat down opposite him.

  He took a sip and then with a deep sigh looked across at him. He was startled to see his father gazing steadily at him, his eyes unveiled and beseeching. It was for a second only, then the blue eyes took on their usual cold hardness.

  ‘Well! What is it? What news? Have you sunk your ship and want some money for another?’

  ‘Drink your brandy, father. It’s about Toby.’

  There was a measure of uncertainty as his father lifted his glass, but he took a sip and growled. ‘What about him? What’s he been up to? Getting into mischief? I always told your mother she ruined that boy.’

  ‘He’s dead, father.’

  Matt wished that there could have been some other means of breaking the news. Three simple words seemed somehow stark and cruel to tell of the ending of a life, especially when that life was still unfledged. He watched his father’s face from over the rim of his glass as he took a deep draught to steady his own nerves and finished off his brandy.

  His father’s face seemed to crumple and suddenly grow old and his hand shook as he put his unfinished drink on the table beside his chair. ‘How?’ His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. ‘How did he die?’

  Matt took a deep breath and prepared to lie. ‘He decided to come with me on a voyage. He said he needed some sea air. But he caught a fever, and – you know how quickly these things catch hold, – we did what we could for him, but it was no use.’

  ‘And you’ve brought him back? He can lie with his mother?’

  ‘
No, sir. You know how virulent these fevers are. I daren’t risk it. The men—,’ he stumbled over his words and he fought back tears. ‘You know the procedure, sir, I don’t have to explain?’

  His father shook his head. ‘No, no, of course not.’

  Matt blew his nose. ‘We gave him a decent sea burial. It seemed fitting. I have a former parson on board, he said a few words, and I as captain, did the same. He’s resting peacefully.’

  There was a knock on the door and the housekeeper entered. ‘Begging your pardon sir,’ she addressed Mr Linton. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of lighting a fire in the dining-room and prepared a light supper.’ She turned enquiringly to Matt but addressed her question to her employer. ‘And I wondered if Master Matthias will be staying the night? I’ll need to air the bed.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. He’ll be staying. Won’t you?’ He looked up suddenly and Matt saw again the appeal in his eyes.

  He nodded. ‘I can stay a couple of days, then I must get back to my ship.’ He followed Mrs Rogerson out of the room, ostensibly to wash before supper.

  ‘I’ll light the fire in your old room, sir,’ she said, ‘and put a brick in the bed whilst you’re at supper.’

  He stopped her. ‘Mrs Rogerson. I’m the bringer of bad news, I’m afraid.’ Her face crumpled as he told her. Toby had been everyone’s favourite. His mother’s, Agnes Trott; all the other servants and they had had many in his mother’s day, they all fussed and spoiled the merry, laughing boy.

  But no-one was allowed to spoil me, he thought bitterly as he climbed the stairs to his room, leaving Mrs Rogerson weeping her way back to the kitchen. I was but a child and not even my mother was allowed to hug me. It will make him weak, his father had said, and he must grow up to be hard and strong, my eldest son, not a namby-pamby weakling. One day he’ll take over from me and have to make hard decisions, he’ll have tenants and staff to deal with.

  He gazed at his reflection in the oak-framed mirror that stood on the table in his old room. A tall, fair-haired, weather-tanned man gazed back at him, where once had been a boy. ‘But I paid you back, didn’t I father?’ he muttered. ‘I paid you back for depriving me of love and affection from everyone but Toby, he was the only one who cared, or dared to care. Everyone else, including my mother was too frightened to defy you.’

  He laughed softly at his reflection, and with a start, saw for a second, his brother’s smile on his own lips, that slight gap between his front teeth, which everyone said meant happiness.

  ‘But I defied you. I scotched your plans. I upped and ran, and in running took away your selfish dreams.’

  21

  Annie kept her emotions firmly locked away until she reached Hessle. She first of all went to see the Trotts and found Mrs Trott tight-lipped and silent and Henry Trott bereft with grief. ‘What a waste,’ he kept repeating. ‘What a waste.’

  Then Annie, too, gave way to her grief as she reached Toby’s cottage door. She lay down on his bed and stayed there most of the next day, weeping and sobbing, not just for Toby, but for her lost children and for herself.

  Finally she got up and opened the door and looked out. The river was glinting and she could hear the chattering of finches and the trill of song thrushes. She traced her fingers over her swollen face and through her tangled hair and ran down the meadow and along the track down to the river. The shingle was sharp beneath her toes as she neared the water’s edge and the water cold as she waded in.

  When it reached her waist and the buoyancy lifted her feet from the bottom, she took a deep breath and ducked. She gasped as she emerged, the water streaming from her hair, and ducked again. Then re-emerging she took a huge breath of air and turned back towards the bank. A ducking was always a good way of bringing anyone to their senses, that’s why the ducking stool at the riverside in Hull had always been so popular, though why, she wondered as she sploshed her way back to the cottage, it was only used for women, she couldn’t imagine, there were plenty of men she would gladly tie on and duck.

  ‘Mrs Hope! Tha’s had an accident.’ Josh stood on the path, his grimy face creased with anxiety and his hands white with dust from the quarry.

  ‘No. No accident.’ She didn’t feel inclined to explain, especially not now when the wetness of her clothes was beginning to make her shiver.

  ‘I was coming to see thee. I heard tha was back. We wondered if tha was staying? Robin was asking and the team are bothered that their supply’ll dry up, now that – you know.’

  ‘Come with me, Josh. I’ve things to talk to you about, but I’d like to get into something dry first.’

  He followed her up the path and through the undergrowth to reach the meadow and she knew from the fact that he didn’t question her that he knew the way. There wasn’t any path or track in this area that Josh didn’t know of. He waited outside, lounging on the grass in the deepening dusk, while she changed into a dry skirt and shirt, and then she joined him, sitting on the grass beside him. It smelled good here. She could smell the river in her hair, but she could also smell the grass which they crushed beneath them and the sweetness of the yellow flowers which nestled beneath the hedge bottom. There were no foul smells here, even the chalk on Josh’s clothes had a clean, soft, earthy aroma.

  ‘Captain Linton has asked me if I’ll take over the running. I suggested that you might want to as you’ve more experience,’ she added, not wanting to offend him. ‘But he seemed to think you’d be better as a sort of team leader.’

  ‘Oh,’ he interrupted her. ‘I’ve no head for figures, Mrs Hope, and I couldn’t bargain with ’toffs and landlords and such like, besides I’d be better as a go-between, ’men trust me tha sees.’

  He chewed on his lip. ‘But, I’m not sure as they’d like to be run by a woman, they wouldn’t expect that she could do it, and what’s more they’d be a bit aggrieved if they thought that somebody like—,’ he flushed, ‘beggin’ tha pardon, Mrs Hope, but they wouldn’t expect that somebody like thee’d be able to read and write better than them.’

  ‘I know, Josh. Don’t apologize. I know I’m no lady, and even some real ladies can’t read.’ She drew herself up and smiled. ‘But I can. And I can write. I’m not very good yet, but I will be,’ she said with a determined set of her chin. ‘I wonder if—?’ An idea started to form. ‘Do you think—?’

  ‘What?’ He peered into her face.

  ‘Well the men haven’t seen me yet. Not properly.’

  ‘They’ve seen thy bare feet,’ he grinned. ‘And thy ankles as tha climbed jack ladder.’

  ‘But they’ve not seen my face.’ She smiled. These men of Hessle should go to Hull if they want to see bare feet, there are plenty of women there who can’t afford boots. ‘I’ve kept my face covered with my hood.’

  ‘I don’t know what tha’s driving at, Mrs Hope. They still won’t want a woman as master, if tha sees what I mean – no matter how she looks. They’ll say it’s not right.’

  ‘All right.’ She got up from the grass. ‘We’ll give them a master. Somebody with breeches and boots. They’ll only see him at night, and as nobody has a name but only a number, they’ll be none the wiser.’

  Josh gaped up at her nonplussed, then as comprehension filtered through, he scrambled to his feet. ‘Tha’s not suggesting—?’

  ‘Aye. I am. And if we can fool the team, we can also fool Mr Revenue Roxton. He’ll be looking for Toby and won’t be able to find him.’ Her face saddened. ‘Not ever. And the other man,’ she waved her arms in the air, ‘will simply disappear.’

  Josh started to grin, his smile getting wider and wider. ‘What a ruse,’ he laughed. ‘I wasn’t too sure at first, it didn’t seem right, but, oh.’ He kicked a tuft of grass. ‘What the heck. Let’s do it.’

  After he’d gone she went inside and lighting the lamp took a fresh look around. Toby’s other boots were lined up against the wall and she knew he had more breeches in the chests. Tomorrow I’ll sort through and find something to fit, and also look to see if there’s anythin
g to sell, any linens or cottons and such, ’cos if there isn’t, well, I don’t know where Toby got them from. That’s one thing he didn’t tell me.

  Take what you need, he’d said, if anything should happen to me, and make a new life. It’s almost as if he knew. But I can’t take it without asking Matt first. This is his by rights. But if there’s nothing to sell, then me and Robin are going to be on our beam ends again come summer. Poor Robin. He doesn’t even have a stake in the run goods. Something will have to be done.

  * * *

  When Matt knocked on the door the next morning and immediately opened it, she was startled, she hadn’t expected him back until the next day. She was sitting on the floor next to a half-empty trunk, its contents scattered around her. She flushed and hoped that he didn’t think that she was taking what didn’t belong to her.

  ‘There are lengths of linen and muslin here which I think Toby intended for selling,’ she explained, ‘and over here,’ she reached over to a separate pile. ‘This is silk, I’m sure of it.’ She picked up a length of deep blue and handed it to him and flinched as his hand brushed hers.

  He ran it through his fingers. ‘Yes. It was a special consignment. There should have been more on the last trip but there was a scare on in Holland and we weren’t able to ship it.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

  He stared down at her. ‘What?’

  She gazed back. His eyes were so blue. They were as blue as the sky on a summer’s day and she felt as if her spine was melting, as if the heat from that same sky was beating down on her.

  ‘What do I do with it?’ she repeated huskily. ‘Shall Robin and me sell it for you?’