by Val Wood
‘I’m Lily Fowler and this is my daughter.’ Lily looked at him and any hope of sympathy she might have cherished died immediately. ‘I’m – I’m pregnant and I’ve started in labour. I need a bed or a midwife.’
‘You’ll be lucky!’ He came towards her. ‘Where you from?’
‘Near Withernsea,’ she began, but he interrupted.
‘Withernsea! That’s not in this district! You can’t stop here. You’ll have to go back where you came from.’
‘But I can’t! We’ve been abandoned. I’ve no means of getting home.’
The fellow took her by the arm and roughly turned her towards the gate. ‘Out!’ he said. ‘We can’t tek you. We’re full up as it is.’
‘But where can I go?’ Lily cried. ‘I can’t give birth out in ’street!’
‘Go to ’vagrant office,’ he said, pushing her out. ‘They might give you summat.’
‘I’m not a vagrant,’ she pleaded. ‘And I’m not asking for a handout. I need a woman to help me, or a doctor.’
He guffawed. ‘A doctor! Who do you think you are? You shouldn’t have got yourself in this fix in ’first place.’
Lily clutched imploringly at his coat, but he was already closing the gate. ‘Now, gerroff,’ he said. ‘Afore I send for ’constable.’
She bent low, screwing up her face and biting on her lip. ‘What am I going to do,’ she muttered. ‘Billy Fowler, may you rot in hell.’
‘Can somebody help?’ Daisy begged people passing by. ‘Is there anybody who can help my ma?’
Most people hurried past, but one woman slowed down. ‘Won’t they admit her at ’workhouse?’
Daisy shook her head and began to cry. ‘He said we had to go back where we came from and we can’t do that.’
The woman lifted her umbrella and banged on the workhouse gate, which had been locked behind them. Another man opened it. He appeared to be someone in authority for he wore a grey wool coat and a black, though rather stained, top hat. ‘Yes, madam?’ he said politely, for the woman was neatly dressed. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘This poor woman needs help immediately,’ she said. ‘And she’s been turned away.’
He opened the gates again to admit them, and giving the woman a fawning smile said, ‘I’ll attend to the matter.’
She gave a little sigh of satisfaction and turned to Lily. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all right now, my dear,’ she said, and hurried away up the street.
‘Now then,’ the man said sharply. ‘Are you a Hull resident?’
‘No,’ Lily gasped. ‘But I just need to lie down somewhere. I don’t want to stop here and I’ll leave just as soon as my labour’s over.’
The man frowned. ‘You’re not a Hull resident? Well then, I can’t help you. This establishment is for ’paupers of Hull; ’Board of Governors wouldn’t thank me for tekking folks in from far and wide. Heaven knows we’ve little enough room as it is.’
He put his hand on the gate and opened it wide, and, with a sweep of his hand, made to usher her out.
‘I hope you can sleep at night,’ Lily hissed as she passed out of the gate. ‘Are there no decent folk anywhere in this town?’
He shrugged and closed the gate behind her. Then he opened it a crack. ‘There’s a sick dispensary in John Street,’ he muttered. ‘You could ask there.’ The gate slammed shut.
‘We don’t know where that is,’ Daisy cried. ‘We’ll have to ask somebody.’
‘It might be on ’road where we came in,’ Lily muttered. ‘That was ’main thoroughfare.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Help me, Daisy. I feel sick. Let’s try to get back to that church. Mebbe there’ll be somebody there, ’parson or ’churchwarden or somebody.’
Daisy put her arm round her mother’s waist and they staggered back towards the square. ‘I’m bleeding,’ her mother groaned. ‘If I don’t survive this, Daisy, you must try to get back to Ted. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him about that wicked reprobate who did this to me and tell him to report him to ’authorities.’ She took a shivering breath. ‘And if I do survive, I’ll have my revenge. Just see if I don’t.’
Somehow they reached the church gates and Lily took hold of the railings. ‘Go inside and ask for help,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t go any further.’
Daisy ran down the path towards the heavy doors and Lily bent low. She groaned as another pain struck her. ‘You all right, love?’ a woman’s voice asked and Lily shook her head. Then another voice asked, ‘What’s up? Is she drunk?’
‘No,’ the first voice said. ‘I think she’s – are you in labour, missis?’
Lily nodded. ‘Yes.’ Her voice grated. ‘My daughter’s run into ’church to fetch help.’
But Daisy was running back. ‘Door’s locked, Ma,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve hammered ’n’ hammered, but nobody’s answering.’
‘Side door,’ someone said. ‘That’ll be open.’
Lily raised her head. A small crowd had gathered round her and even some of the market traders were looking over to see what was going on.
‘She can’t stop here, poor lass,’ a young woman said. ‘It’s not decent. I’ll run to one of ’shops. Surely somebody will tek her in.’
There was a murmur of approval and the woman sped off. A trader turned up with a cup of water which Lily gratefully sipped. Then the crowd parted to make way for a middle-aged man in a white coat.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked her. ‘I’m not a doctor, but I am an apothecary and I have a small room in my shop where you might like to rest.’ He took her arm as she nodded. ‘My name is Charles Walker. Come, it isn’t far. We’ll take care of you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Billy Fowler scurried back to the inn where he had left the horse and cart. ‘Ten bob,’ he muttered. ‘Should’ve got more’n that for her! Won’t buy much won’t ten bob.’
Nevertheless, it bought him a meat pie, followed by a roly-poly pudding and several tankards of ale. Then, because he had a long journey home, he bought a bottle of rum and downed a large glass of it before going to collect the horse and cart. He gave a penny to the stable lad, who looked at it askance, muttering something derogatory about country peasants, before putting it in his pocket.
He drove out of the town over a rickety old bridge and then pulled over. ‘I’d mebbe be better going back ’other way,’ he muttered. ‘Pike keeper on yon road might remember me coming in wi’ ’wife and ’young lass.’ He decided therefore to travel on the older turnpike which was several miles longer but preferable, he thought, to enquiries from the toll keeper regarding the whereabouts of his wife and daughter.
He took a swig from the rum bottle and set off. It was a bright afternoon with no sign of rain, though the sun was low in the sky, and he reckoned that he would be home by nine o’clock. ‘I could even,’ he muttered, as he trundled along the Holderness road, ‘go across country, over Humbleton Moor to Roos, and save paying an extra toll at Hedon.’ I’ll see how ’time is going when I reach Wyton Bar, he meditated. Though there’s no hurry. I’ve had my dinner and there’s nobody at home to nag at me for being late.
It was then that he remembered Ted, Lily’s son, who would be waiting for him. Now then, he mused. What tale am I going to spin about his ma? Do I say she’s run off? That she and his sister decided to stay in Hull? The problem occupied him for the next few miles as they rattled along, going at a fairly brisk pace despite the narrowness of the road compared with the one they had travelled on coming into Hull, for it was raised above the common land and as there had been no rain for the last few weeks the ground was dry.
He paid at the first tollgate and took another swig from the bottle before he moved off again. ‘Aye, I think that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go across country; I think I know ’way. It might tek a bit longer but it don’t matter, I’m in no hurry.’ And so he continued, muttering and talking to himself and taking glugs from the rum bottle. He stopped once at a roadside trough so that the horse could take a drink while he relieve
d himself, and almost fell over as he drunkenly climbed back into the cart.
The journey took longer than he had anticipated and the sky was darkening as he reached the village of Bilton, and the air felt heavy with the threat of rain. Soon it would be time to make a decision. Should he continue on along the turnpike towards the village of Preston and the town of Hedon, or should he turn off on a side road which, although free, would be much harder going. ‘I’ll have to pay at Wyton Bar,’ he grumbled to himself, ‘and then again at Hedon if I go on ’new road to Patrington.’ He jingled the money in his pocket. ‘I’ll have nowt left at this rate.’
‘Going far?’ the toll keeper at Wyton Bar asked him. ‘We’re in for a drop o’ rain if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Not far,’ he slurred, feeling tired and dizzy.
‘Haven’t seen you about afore,’ the keeper said. ‘Not from round here, are you?’
‘No,’ Billy muttered. ‘Just visiting some folks.’
‘Oh, aye? Who’s that then? Somebody at Humbleton?’
Billy glanced at the signpost. ‘No, some folks at Sproatley.’
‘Sproatley? I used to live there afore I got this job. I worked for ’Constables.’
Billy nodded. He had heard of the landowners of Holderness who lived in a great house on the edge of the village of Sproatley. ‘Have to be going,’ he said. ‘Afore ’rain starts.’ He shook the reins and the horse reluctantly moved off.
‘Watch out if you’ve any money,’ the keeper called after him. ‘There’s some rogues about.’
Billy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Don’t have any,’ he shouted back. ‘I’m onny a labouring man.’ But after turning a bend, he took his money from his coat and pushed it down into his breeches pocket. Then, a little further on, he stopped and extracted the florins, hiding them under the sacks in the corner of the cart.
It started to rain as he arrived in Sproatley and by the time he reached the road leading to Humbleton it was lashing down. He put his coat collar up but within minutes he was soaked.
‘Blast it,’ he shivered. ‘Nivver expected this.’ He pulled up and reached over to get a sack to cover him; as he caught it up he heard the rattle of coins as the florins rolled on the floor of the cart.
‘Damn and blast,’ he cursed, climbing down. ‘I’ll have to find ’em.’ He searched in the gloom, his hands sweeping the boards of the cart. He found one and put it in his pocket, but couldn’t find any others. ‘Have to look in ’morning when it’s light,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t lose it. No point in going all that way if I’m gonna lose it.’
His thoughts jumped back to Ted. He’d got rid of Lily and Daisy, but what was he to do about her lad? ‘I should nivver have married her,’ he surmised. ‘I was talked into it, I reckon. She was that persuasive.’ But he remembered how attracted he had been to Lily when he first met her. ‘It was her eyes,’ he muttered. ‘Finest eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman, and them hips! But I’m best on me own without having a woman telling me what to do; telling me to get washed when I’m not mucky; allus mekking ’house tidy. There’s no need for it. No need at all.
‘I’ll send ’lad off to look for ’em. Reckon on that I waited and they didn’t turn up. He can walk into Hull, young lad like him. It’ll onny tek him just over half a day; or get ’carrier from Patrington if he’s any money. I’ll not pay for it. I’m done wi’ that, financing them as doesn’t belong to me, and wi’ a bit o’ luck he won’t come back either.’
He was beginning to shiver as the cold and the wet penetrated his clothing. He took another drink and peered ahead of him. It was as black as pitch and there were no landmarks to guide him. ‘I can’t even see ’road,’ he muttered. ‘There’s not a house or a barn showing a light. I could be in ’middle of ’field for all I know! Whoa up, Dobbin!’ he shouted as the cart hit something solid and ground to a halt.
He climbed out and groped about in the darkness. ‘Daft beggar!’ he complained. ‘He’s run into a wall or a bridge or summat.’ He felt along the side of the cart and down to the wheel. It had become jammed fast on a brick wall which, when he felt along the top of it, he realized was the top of a small bridge, probably over a dyke or a ditch. He pulled and pushed but couldn’t budge the wheel. Cursing, he groped towards the horse and began to unfasten the leather traces to release the animal from the shafts.
‘Can’t see a damned thing,’ he muttered, his fingers cold and clumsy. ‘I should’ve brought a lantern.’ The horse snickered, shaking its head and curling its lip. ‘Don’t you take a nip out o’ me, you owd devil, or I’ll tek me belt to you,’ Billy snapped, pulling roughly at the straps.
He grabbed at the animal’s collar as he released it and felt it making a bid for freedom. ‘No, you don’t,’ he warned. ‘Don’t think you’re leaving me out here on me own cos you’re not.’
He awkwardly held the straps with one hand and led the horse to the rear of the cart, where he felt about at the side of the road for a tree or a bush where he could tie it up. He found a spindly bush and hooked the straps over it, then turned his attention to freeing the wheel. The rain ran down his neck as he tugged and heaved and shook it, and then he went to the front of the cart to push. There was a creaking and grinding as at last it came free and he felt a brief moment of triumph. He rolled it off the bridge, put the horse back into the shafts, climbed aboard and shook the reins. The cart jerked and tilted as the horse moved on and Billy only just saved himself from being tipped out.
Wearily he climbed down again and searched with his hands around the wheel. A spoke was cracked; but that won’t matter, he thought, and felt below the vehicle along the axle. ‘Damned linchpin’s gone! Must have fallen out when ’cart hit ’bridge.’ He realized that within another few yards, the wheel could have come off altogether.
He put his hands to his head. ‘Now what am I going to do?’ He heaved a great sigh. ‘By heck! I’m stumped and no mistake. I’ll have to leave ’cart here and ride ’hoss home. But suppose somebody comes along and pinches ’cart? It’s a good ’un; worth a bit.’
He stood there in the wet and the darkness, rueing the wrong decision that had made him come across country, but never thinking that it was his own streak of meanness that had decided him to cut across the hummocky plain of Holderness on unfamiliar roads and narrow tracks; to cross dykes and ditches with wide open fields and meadows on either side with barely a tree or a hedge for shelter. Muttering and mumbling, he unhitched the horse again and pushed the cart under what felt like scrubby undergrowth. He fished about in the back to find the coins, but felt nothing but the soaking wet sacks, which he wrung out and draped round his shoulders.
He hadn’t ridden since he was a youth and he scrabbled about trying to jump or climb on to Dobbin’s wet back. But the horse was having none of it and he shied and skittered until he broke free from Billy’s restraining grasp and cantered off, the sound of his hooves thudding in the darkness until it gradually faded away.
Billy stamped, cursed and kicked at the cart, but missed his footing and fell full length. ‘I’m at ’end of my tether,’ he muttered, slithering about on the muddy road, almost weeping with anger and frustration. ‘I’ll have to find some shelter and then in ’morning I’ll try to get a lift. But where in God’s name am I?’ He started to shout. ‘Is there nobody living in this godforsaken place? Help. Help!’
Ted stretched and yawned, rolled off his mattress and looked out of the window. It was a grey and dreary morning, with no breaks in the low cloud at all. The sea was the same colour and the sluggish white-tipped waves rolled monotonously towards the cliffs, thudding softly against them.
‘So where is everybody?’ he murmured. ‘Two days they’ve been gone and Fowler said they’d be back ’same night.’
Ted never addressed Billy Fowler by name and only ever thought of him as Fowler. He disliked him intensely and knew that the feeling was mutual. He frowned. Where had they gone that would take so long? His mother hadn’t been expecting to stay away. She
would have said if she had and left him something to eat. He had seen the puzzlement on her face and heard her asking Fowler where they were going, but he hadn’t answered.
He riddled the fire and put on more wood, swung the kettle over the flame, and then slid back into his bed on the floor. No sense in going out just yet, he thought. Nowt much to do and anyway I’ll hear them come back and can nip out sharpish.
He didn’t sleep but only ruminated on his future. I’ll leave, I think. There’s no point in stopping here. I’m old enough to work. When they’d lived in Hollym he had started occasional work on the farms, but about the same time that his mother had married Fowler work had fallen off and he had been unable to find other employment. Though he had disliked Fowler on sight, he had thought that he could help out on his smallholding, until such time as something else came his way.
To his horror, and he felt to his mother’s too, the ‘smallholding’ had turned out to be nothing more than a hovel standing on the edge of the cliff and in imminent danger of falling into the sea. There was a small scrappy plot of land behind the cottage where Fowler had made a half-hearted attempt at growing vegetables. Two goats were tethered in a small grassy area which also supported a dozen or so hens and ducks. Fowler had told them that he had once had land at the front of the house, but that it had crumbled away into the sea.
‘I can’t stand goat’s milk,’ Ted’s mother had told Fowler when they first arrived. ‘Can’t we have a cow?’
‘Aye, if you pay for it,’ had been his reply, and because Lily had managed to save a little money for emergencies it was used to buy a milch cow.
‘This is yours and Daisy’s,’ his mother had whispered to Ted, ‘so you’ve got to look after her. Mek sure she gets ’best grass. See if you can find somebody who’ll let her feed in their meadow. If there’s plenty of milk I’ll mek some cheese. It might be ’best nourishment we’ll get.’ She had added in another whisper, ‘I think I might have made ’wrong decision here, Ted lad. But we’re stuck wi’ it.’
