by H D Coulter
THE SMALL TAVERN TOOK up the basement of a tenement building, with only one window that lead out to the arched walk way above, and which barely let in any light. Ancient wine bottles acted as the candlesticks, dotted across the room in tiny nooks and on the assortment of battered tables. The stale smell of unwashed men and women, along with tobacco, vinegar and hops, was embedded into every inch of the interior. Joshua followed George into the back rooms, who pointed to a small square table in the corner, and two chairs, which looked like they might crumble into their individual components at a single touch. Joshua sat down carefully and smiled at George; he had never imagined the young man would bring him to a place like this.
Joshua leaned on the table, his sleeve sticking to the remains of what looked like a supper left behind by the previous customer. He wiped his sleeve on the edge of the table and leaned back again, trying hard to hide his disgust.
“How... did you find this place?”
George laughed a little. “I can take you to more gentile quarters if you wish?”
“No, no, this is fine; a perfect place to forget my troubles. Do you, er, come here often?”
“I live a few streets over, so I come in now and again, on the way home from work.”
“Hello Georgie. You’re early tonight, d’you want your usual? Who’s your friend?” The serving-woman who had appeared from nowhere gazed down at Joshua and winked at him. Her face was pretty but tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Her dress more grey than blue under all the filth, with a few top buttons conveniently undone to give the customers a suggestion of temptation, encourage them to leave better tips. She pulled out a stained rag from her leather belt, bent over the table and gave it a quick wipe, her cloth sticking at the same point as had Joshua’s sleeve. She smiled over at George and then back at Joshua.
“Yes, thanks Claire. This is Mr Joshua Mason, he’s a manager down at the docks, and he’ll have the same as me.”
“Nice to meet you, Joshua. I’m Claire - and I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Joshua tipped his head to her and returned the smile. She walked back through the adjoining room and slapped another serving woman, younger than her, on the shoulder for getting too familiar with a labourer.
Joshua raised his eyebrows. “She seems nice.”
“Claire? Oh yes, she is – she practically runs this place and monitors the newbie staff. She has a sound mind, and we often talk.”
“Does Beth know?”
“Oh... No. Not... that’s not the way of it. We are friends. Claire doesn’t go in for anything more than a flirtation with the customers; there really is nothing to tell Beth.” Even in the dim candlelight, Joshua could tell George was blushing.
“Do you have true intentions for her? Beth, I mean?”
“Yes... I suppose there’s no use hiding it from you. I think she’s an angel. She’s kind, beautiful, and I can talk to her – about anything. She is so unlike the women I was brought up with...”
Joshua laughed. “Yes, the Lightfoot women do have that effect!”
“If you don’t mind me asking, then... how did you meet Mrs Mason?”
“Fate really. It was a chance meeting, on the old harbour road back in England... She appeared like some sort of sprite creature, always when I least expected it... You know their background - Bea and Beth - what their father does?”
“Yes, Beth has told me, with pride, may I add. He sounds like a strong character.”
At that moment Claire entered through the low open doorway with two plates filled with grey-ish looking boiled meat and potatoes, and a pair of two-pronged forks. She placed them on the table and left, smiling without saying a word. Joshua stared at the plate before him, suddenly not hungry. George read his thoughts.
“Simple food actually doesn’t taste that bad - it soaks up the ale, at any rate.”
Joshua watched George take a bite and followed his lead, trying hard not to judge. He was right; it didn’t really taste that bad. “Sorry, you were saying...?”
Claire entered again with two tankards of ale and placed them in front of the men. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you,” Joshua toasted her, taking a gulp of the ale. It had been a while since he had proper ale. The sweet, malted tang of the hops trickled down his throat. It took him straight back to his usual spot outside Ulverston, filled with workers just like these. He had forgotten that part of himself. “Bea and I met early one morning at the harbour, nothing like here. It’s crumbled into the channel now.” Joshua paused for a moment, thinking how to phase the next part. “You know about the English class structure?”
George nodded. “We have our own form of it here.”
“Well, back in Ulverston, the Mason family, my family, are gentile, having money and property, though they have been business-owners for over a few generations, as well as seated landowners, whereas the Lightfoots... they are a family of working class... if not lower. And yet... I hold Robert Lightfoot, their father, in the highest regard. Higher than that of my father, by far.” Joshua took another gulp of ale and pushed away his plate. “George... can I confide in you? Under the strictest of confidences?”
“Of course. We are friends now, are we not?”
Joshua took a moment, gazing down into his tankard, and then it all came spilling out, like a sinner at the confession box. He told George about Bea, and about Hanley. How he himself had fallen in love with Bea, but against his better judgement walked away from her, putting his family first, and had thus left her to the bitter mercies of a drunken Captain Hanley and one terrible night, now almost two years ago. He took another couple of gulps, and described his duel with Hanley, after she had confessed to him about the rape, and how he had left him for dead in a clearing not long before the trial, and their escape to America.
“He killed a man...? In front of her? And after you fought... how is he still standing?”
“He framed Bea for the murder,” Joshua continued in a hushed tone. “They tried her at Lancaster Castle and found her guilty. He had people vouching for him, and of course, Bea’s word held little sway with the jury.”
“Then how is she...?”
“Because Bob Lightfoot is a clever man. He sabotaged the hangman’s rope, though even he didn’t know if it would work.”
“The rope? That is a stroke of brilliance!”
“They deemed the rope failing an act of God, and we slipped Bea away to safety after they released her, under cover of the reformers’ protest, also orchestrated partly by Bob.” Joshua smiled wearily.
“So, you fled here for a new start, and... now he has found you.” Joshua nodded as he finished the second tankard and tapped out a cigarette.
“Yes - he showed himself at the Christening.”
“That makes sense now, why Bea – God bless her soul – suddenly turned into a ghost. What hell she must go through.”
Joshua saw the sympathy pain on George’s face for Bea and himself. “She is... a shell again.”
“I- does that mean, Grace...”
“Is his, yes from the attack.” Joshua lowered his eyes and stared at the bubbles at the bottom of the tankard.
“You are a good man, Joshua, to take on so much. You love her dearly, though. I have seen that. I have always thought you were a better man than I; now I know it.”
His eyes darted back up and leaned across the stable. “Hardly. I have shot him, I have stabbed him, and I failed to finish the job at either event. Worst of all, I left Bea vulnerable to his attentions when I should have been the first to protect her. I believed I was a good man until all this, now I’m... not so sure.” He leaned back against the chair and wished there was another gulp of ale.
George lowered his voice, and it was his time to lean across the table. “Surely you must see, if you had killed him, you might have been caught and hung beside Bea, and then who would have saved you? Every choice you have made sets store by your character and speaks of your courage and conviction. You have both w
ife and daughter now, while Hanley has nothing - and they need you.”
“She is a part of me. I love her completely, but sometimes...”
“It can be too much?”
“I sometimes wonder what my life would have been if I had never met her.”
“You wouldn’t be sitting in front of me now, that is for sure.” George let out a small chuckle.
“No... they would most likely have had me married to Lady Dawn Richmond, and both of us living at my family home, with my father running the family businesses, and our children riding ponies about the lawn.”
“But would you have been happy in that life? Were you happy before Bea, truly happy?”
Claire came back through with two more tankards, and Joshua finally reached the hazed, numbing sensation he had been searching for.
He waited for her to leave again. “No. I don’t think I was, not that I knew it myself. And I know I wouldn’t have been happy with Dawn.”
“I have seen how happy you can be here. You need to keep on fighting for your family and Grace is more your child than she could ever be his, without a doubt. I have seen you both together. She loves being in your arms.”
“You are right, George, but how do I keep fighting?”
“Patience, unfortunately, wait and see what circumstances demands of you.”
“Thank you, George; for your counsel, and for not judging us. You are a good friend.”
“I am no one to judge.” George shifted his gaze away from Joshua and picked at a crumb wedged between a slit in the table. “In fact, I admire you and Bea, to stay true to one another after all you have overcome together.”
“It... does not taint Beth for you? I know how much you like her.”
“I love her, if it’s possible even more than before, to have gone through so much, and still be so kind-hearted. I prize her, and I respect her integrity - and that of Mrs Mason, too. And yet...”
“What?”
“You know fine well that I cannot provide for her at the level you can at present,- not on my wage. My father, well... I want to prove I can accomplish something on my own.”
“I thought you wanted to return to your father’s business after gaining experience with Goldstein?”
George refused to look at Joshua. “Right now I am enjoying my current work with you.”
“Then I had better see what I can do to help, when the time comes.” Joshua took another gulp and finished his ale. “I had better make my way home before Bea worries.” He pulled out his gold pocket watch and the word honour caught his attention. The hour was already late.
“I will see you home.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Joshua laughed as he stumbled freely from the chair. “I should have eaten that supper after all.”
Chapter 25
“Bea, will you not come with me? Run some errands, get some fresh air? Please, dearest, you haven’t left the house for a month – I’m worried about you. It will do Grace so much good to get out.” Beth bounced the infant in her arms and stared over at Bea doubled over her lace tool, fixed on a knot.
“Not today, maybe tomorrow.” She muttered.
“I understand you might be scared, but...”
She dropped the bobbins and suddenly spun on the spot. “He is out there, Beth. The man who gave me this,” and pointed to her neck, yanking the lace down and followed the line of the rope. “I was a fool to think I could escape him; he is here to finish what he started.” She glared, her hand falling to her knees.
“He can’t touch you, not here. You’ve done nothing wrong, Bea.”
“But I have. This is all my fault, all of it, if I hadn’t...” her voice trailed off.
“What about Joshua? We are worried about you.”
“I’m the one who lived it,” Bea muttered, turning back round and picking up the bobbins.
“What was that? Bea?”
“Please, leave me alone for a while, I need to focus.” All she wanted to do was close her mind off to the trance of the rhythmic motion.
“Can I at least take Grace with me?”
“No!” Bea jumped up off the floor, knocking the tool over. “No, she cannot leave my side, she is mine.” Panic sketched across her face.
Hearing the raised voices, Sarah made her way up the stairs and entered the room.
“I’ll take her, Beth; you leave them with me; you take yourself off now, for peace and air.” She whispered, as Bea making sure her daughter wasn’t leaving the house, picked her tool up and continued knotting together the delicate threads.
Beth nodded and handed over a worried-looking Grace gratefully. She gathered up her purse and bonnet, and with a last look of anxiety and betrayal toward Bea, she left.
Sarah crouched down onto the rug, cradling Grace, and gazed down at the hands weaving in and out, followed by a calculated knot. Bea looked exhausted and had barely touched her food.
“What are you makin’ there?” Sarah tilted forward, gazing over Bea’s shoulder whilst Grace reached her hand out for a grab at the dangling wooden bobbins.
“I need a replacement.” Bea replied in a blank tone, gesturing towards the piece of lace wrapped around her wrist, hiding the scratches along the scar. It had become frazzled at the edges with all the pulling and twisting.
“I see.” Sarah moved back and placed her hand on Bea’s shoulder, tapping her fingers. “Well, me and this little one are going to make us all somethin’ delicious for dinner - roastin’ chicken, I know how much you like it. – Come down when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” Bea breathed, not taking her focus off the blossoming rose.
THAT NIGHT, SHE WAS back in the cell, but her jailer was not the man she knew; instead, she saw Hanley’s face leering down at her in the dark, ridiculing her with scraps of food, teasing her, pulling her hair, threatening he could do more. But this time, there was no visit from her Da, no word from Joshua - and then it was time to face the noose once more. The harsh daylight blinded her as the gulls screamed overhead as she let out a heart-shattering scream, and fought the air, clawing for freedom.
“Bea! Bea, it is Joshua! You are safe, you are home - in your own bed - it was just a dream.”
Bea could feel hands and arms around her, and the sound of crying. She peeled her eyes open, but her tears were silent; instead, it was Grace screaming in distress in the cot, frightened by what she had just witnessed.
“It was just a dream,” Joshua repeated softly.
“N-no! It - it was real, it was not a dream.” Hearing the pain in Bea’s voice, Joshua pulled her in close until she relaxed. “Grace,” Bea whispered in a broken tone.
Joshua let her go and picked Grace up from out the cot and placed her on the bed. She was still crying, but more softly now, comforted by the nearness of her mama.
“I am sorry my darling; I am so very sorry.” Tears dripped on to Grace’s wispy hair.
“What can I do?” asked Joshua quietly.
“I don’t know what anyone can do, I don’t know how to stop feeling so scared, and powerless.”
“You’re not powerless, my love. He cannot touch you again. You are safe here. He won’t lay hands on you again, not now. This is our home, our family.”
“I know, you are right, thank you.” Grace had fallen asleep between them. “I’ll put her back in the cot.” Bea scooped her up and whispered. “Forgive me, my darling,” and kissed her on the forehead before laying her down.
Joshua reached out and pulled Bea back into his fold. She listened to his steady heartbeat as it lulled her back into a deep sleep, anchoring to his body.
“MORNING SARAH,” JOSHUA strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a coffee into the waiting cup.
“Did I hear Bea again last night?” She slid the eggs out of the pan and onto the plate next to the slice of gammon.
“Yes, third night in a row.” He took a mouthful of eggs and couldn’t help but smile.
“And all day, she was working on that piece of l
ace. Have you seen her wrist? I’m goin’ to make up some balm for her, that might help.”
“Thank you, Sarah, I know she’ll be in excellent hands, with you both.” Joshua glanced back at Beth as she ambled into the kitchen half asleep. “I better be off, busy day.” He rushed down one last mouthful of gammon, followed by a mouthful of coffee. Then darted up the kitchen stairs.
“I worry about him,” said Beth. “He is carrying a lot on his shoulders. They both are... blaming themselves, when there is only one person to blame here.” She poured herself some coffee and sat at the table. Sarah nodded. Finished plating up the breakfast and slid one in front of Beth, who had her eyes closed, inhaling the caffeinated steam.
Bea was sitting up in bed, playing with Grace as Sarah strode into the room.
“I thought you might like some breakfast,” she noticed Bea unconsciously scrunch her face at the idea of food. “And Grace can pick at the eggs as usual,” Sarah added. She placed the plate down on the wooden tray, balancing on the bedcovers. Straightaway, Grace’s little hand grabbed a handful of scrambled egg and spilling half of them before they reached her mouth. “I heard you again last night. How you feeling this mornin’?”
Bea sighed. “I keep reliving it again, now that he’s back... He didn’t just attack me.” Bea pointed to the scar across her neck, which was barely visible now. “I haven’t told you everything.”
“And you don’t have to.” Sarah gazed at her whilst lightly rubbing her shoulder.
“But I want to. Beth knows most of it, and it might help me talk about things, finally to someone who really knows me.”
“If you think it will help.” Sarah sat beside them both, Grace still distracted by eggs.
Bea paused for a moment, trying to decide where to start. “Were you... I mean, did you see the man at church, at the christening, the one who...”
“No, not from where I was sittin’. I couldn’t get a clear sight o’ him - and then he must ‘ave left.”
“His name is Captain Victor Hanley, he who caused my entire world, mine and my family’s, to come crashing down.”
