Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  ‘Is Da coming back tonight?’ Jim asked. ‘Do you know where he’s gone?’

  ‘No, I told Matthew he was dressed as if he was going to Hull. Perhaps Aunt Ellen knows, but I haven’t asked her as the vicar was here most of the afternoon.’

  ‘Why?’ Matthew asked Jim. ‘Did you want him for summat?’

  ‘It’s just one of ’dykes at Marsh Farm. I need to speak to him about it. It needs shoring up.’

  ‘Well, see to it then! You don’t have to ask Da about that. Get one of ’labourers to do it.’ Matthew frowned at his older brother, wondering why he needed to speak to their father about such a simple thing.

  Jim shuffled his feet. ‘No, I’d better ask. It’s one we had trouble with afore. It’s been weakened, I think.’

  ‘Then it needs fixing.’ Matthew was sharp. ‘If there’s a high tide it might fail.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask Ma what he said.’ Jim moved towards the house. ‘He’ll mebbe be back later tonight.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Rosa murmured. ‘He took an overnight bag with him.’ Then she shrugged. She didn’t want to waste the evening discussing Mr Drew. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said to Matthew. ‘I need to stretch my legs.’

  ‘Would you like company?’ he asked. ‘Or do you need to be alone?’

  She looked up at him and smiled so that he wouldn’t take offence. ‘I need to be alone,’ she said softly. ‘Just this once.’ She put her hand into his. ‘Your mother is very ill, Matthew. I think you should go to her. Sit with her and Flo and Jim, and tomorrow send for Maggie and Delia and the twins to come.’

  The reality of what she was saying hit him hard and he swallowed as a lump came into his throat. He was sad for his mother, but he had been expecting it. Only, what would Rosa do if – when – his mother died? Would she stay here with them? This is why she wants to be alone, he pondered. She’s going to think about her future.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE IRISH BROTHERS had been looking for work and they had found it. They found it in an inn by the river which the sea captains and merchants frequented when they had goods to sell or move on. This inn, however, was not one in which legitimate trade was bargained for or exchanged. This was an inn where men spoke in whispers and money changed hands furtively, and where if a man spoke to the law, he would be found in the river the next day with his throat cut.

  Seamus Byrne had a solid reputation known to those who were in a similar line of business, sea-going enterprises in which foreign goods were brought ashore and no duty was paid to Her Majesty’s Customs officers. Seamus Byrne was both sailor and landsman: brought up in a fishing community on the west coast of Ireland, he knew how to handle a boat and how to dig a dyke. He was strong physically and alert mentally and he was known as a man of honour by those who did business with him. A likeable, honest rogue is how he would have been described had the men he dealt with been given to voicing a description, which they were not, being of the opinion that the least said the better.

  His younger brother, John, though, was still an unknown quantity. Having spent so many years in jail, only just missing transportation, few as yet knew him or were willing to trust him completely, even though he was given a full recommendation by his brother. But he cared not for anyone else’s opinion, what he cared about was that his youth had been wasted inside a prison cell and doing hard labour, when he could have been sailing the seas in a high-speed cutter or experiencing the thrill of a chase by a revenue boat. The blame, he thought, lay with a certain Spanish gentleman who owned a ship, and who on the last voyage brought goods into the port of Hull and then went off to arrange the transport and was never seen again, leaving him and Seamus on board ship to be arrested by the Customs men.

  John Byrne was so embittered that he would not listen to his brother’s reasoning as to why Carlos should disappear, leaving behind his beloved ship and his beautiful wife who was pregnant with their first child. Someone had to be blamed for his years of incarceration. That someone, as he lay in his prison cell, had always been the Spaniard. If he was dead, and reluctantly he now conceded that it was looking that way, then someone else must take the blame.

  It was one o’clock in the morning when the brothers left the inn; neither of them was drunk although they had imbibed a little as they discussed the possibility of a deal with a ship’s captain. This ship’s captain was anxious to discharge goods ashore on his next trip, only not in Hull he emphasized, where, he said, the owner of the ship had many contemporaries who would notice if crates and casks were disappearing into plain-sided waggons and carts which did not bear the owner’s name.

  ‘What we need is a small port, like Patrington or Stone Creek,’ Seamus murmured. ‘Or even an inlet which would take a coggy boat.’

  ‘But what we need more than anything is someone local who can store the goods until such time as we can sell them.’ John Byrne pondered. ‘That fellow Drew, if he could be persuaded again. Or his son.’

  The streets were quiet, most law-abiding citizens being long in bed. But there were the usual street women hanging around dark corners and tramps sleeping in doorways. They walked on past them towards their lodging house which was situated in a street occupied mostly by the Irish community, of which there were many in the town.

  Seamus clutched his brother’s arm and drew him back towards the wall. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he whispered.

  ‘And an angel appears,’ added his brother with a grin on his face. ‘Got him!’

  James Drew was leaving the doorway of a house across the street. A lamp shone in the hall of the house, illuminating the interior. Women were at the door, dressed in gaudily coloured clothes, shouting raucous goodbyes to Drew. There was the sound of music and laughter and there was no doubt what kind of establishment it was.

  ‘Follow him,’ John Byrne said urgently. ‘See where he’s lodging. I’ll catch you up.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Seamus called softly as his brother moved stealthily down the street and started to cross the square towards the house.

  John pointed to the door which had now closed and ran towards it. James Drew was moving unsteadily down the street. ‘He’s had a drop or two,’ Seamus murmured to himself. ‘He’ll have a head in the morning.’

  John Byrne knocked boldly on the door of the brothel, for he was convinced that that was what it was, he had visited them himself on occasions when he had money to spare. A large woman opened the door. She had a mass of dyed red hair and was wearing a deep red velvet gown with an emerald necklace around her throat.

  ‘Ah!’ He feigned surprise. ‘I must have the wrong house! I’m looking for Mary Patrick.’

  The woman smiled invitingly. ‘There’s no-one of that name here. Do you want her especially or could someone else take her place?’

  He sighed. ‘She’s my sister! She’s giving me lodgings for the night. Now isn’t that just my luck! When I need a nice-looking woman like yourself I haven’t a shilling to my name to treat her.’

  The woman’s smile faded. ‘We don’t give credit and we only deal in cash. Come back when your ship comes in!’ She half closed the door. Then she opened it again. ‘And I’d cost you more than a shilling, and so would my girls.’

  He sped down the street with a rare grin on his face. The old devil, he thought. The pious old hypocrite! I remember him quoting the scriptures at me even when he was unloading run goods with Carlos. And he associates with whores too! He gave a silent whoop of satisfaction. I reckon we’ve found our harbour!

  He caught up with his brother, who was making slow progress as Drew kept stopping to lean on a wall or a bollard. They could hear him moaning and muttering to himself. ‘He’s not drunk,’ Seamus whispered, ‘I thought he was, but he’s not. I think he’s worn out.’

  ‘There’s no wonder,’ John whispered back. ‘You should have seen the Amazon of a woman who opened the door to me. She could squeeze the breath out of you by just shaking your hand.’

  They followed Dre
w down the High Street and he turned into the stable yard of the George Inn. ‘Never again,’ they heard him mutter. ‘Dear God, forgive me. I’ll never go again. I’m too old.’

  John suppressed a laugh. ‘He’s not penitent over his sins, he’s just sorry that he’s old!’

  ‘Ah, sure you’ll be old yourself some day, God willing!’ Seamus rebuked him. ‘We’d all like to keep a young man’s body and virility. The mind doesn’t always grow old at the same pace.’

  His brother wasn’t listening. He was watching Drew as he lifted the latch of the inn door. ‘Mr Drew!’ He stepped forward. ‘We meet again.’

  James Drew started in shock as John Byrne came up behind him. ‘What! Who? Oh!’ He put his hand to his chest. ‘You startled me – I wasn’t expecting—’

  ‘Of course you weren’t!’ John shook a finger at him. ‘You weren’t expecting us at any rate, were you? Come on,’ he said cheerfully and took hold of Drew’s elbow. ‘We’d like to buy you a drink!’

  ‘No, no,’ he objected. ‘I rarely drink. I’ve just been out for a walk. Couldn’t sleep. I’m off to bed now. Got an early start in ’morning.’

  John Byrne gave him a conspiratorial grin and pushed open the inn door. A flood of noise and light hit them. ‘We’ll ask for a quiet room,’ he said. ‘Somewhere we can talk.’

  ‘We’ve nothing to talk about,’ Drew insisted. ‘And I’m really very tired. I’ve had a busy day.’

  ‘And a busy night!’ John winked. ‘My word – those ladies! Especially the one with red hair. Sure, she’s too much for me. She needs an older man – with experience. Someone such as yourself, I suspect, Mr Drew.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Drew blustered, but he was being propelled forward by John Byrne’s firm hand as Seamus spoke to the innkeeper, who pointed to a door up the stairs.

  Between them they pushed him upstairs and the innkeeper brought a lamp and placed it on the table and lit candles on the mantelpiece. A low fire burned in the hearth beneath.

  ‘I don’t wish to speak to you.’ Drew turned towards them as the landlord went out of the room. ‘I’ve nothing to say and no business to discuss.’

  ‘We have business to discuss with you, Mr Drew.’ Seamus spoke up in a reasonable, soft tone. ‘We heard of something today which we think will suit you very well.’

  ‘I told you last time, I only deal in corn now. That episode with the run goods, which I regret, I must tell you, is over. Over!’ he repeated.

  ‘We need a small haven,’ John Byrne continued as if Drew had not even spoken. ‘Somewhere like Stone Creek, if Patrington is no longer suitable.’

  ‘The men who work that haven are all honest men, they wouldn’t touch run goods,’ Drew insisted.

  ‘They did before,’ Seamus said.

  ‘They were not Sunk Island men,’ Drew said. ‘They came from downriver.’

  ‘I’m not bothered where they come from.’ John Byrne stared at him. ‘And we can get men ourselves if necessary. We only need them to unload and move the goods to somewhere safe. We need you to tell us when the time is right, when the harbour is safe.’

  ‘No!’ Drew said. ‘I’ve told you.’

  ‘You’ve told us nothing.’ John Byrne smiled thinly. ‘But we’ll tell you something! What would your friends say if they knew what you got up to when you were away from home? What would your wife and daughters say?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Drew’s face flushed. ‘I’ve been here on business at ’Corn Exchange.’

  ‘That’s what you said last time.’ John Byrne tipped his chair back and studied him. ‘Only this time we followed you. We saw you go in.’ He stretched the truth a little. ‘And we waited for you to come out. We had a long wait, Mr Drew. You took your time.’

  James Drew bent over the table and put his head in his hands. They both watched him for a moment, then Seamus put up a warning finger to his brother to silence him.

  ‘We don’t wish to upset you, Mr Drew,’ Seamus said persuasively. ‘And it might only be just this one little job.’

  ‘You’re blackmailing me.’ Drew’s voice was muffled.

  ‘Yes,’ Seamus agreed. ‘It could be construed as that. But we would prefer it if it was just called a little business between old friends.’ His voice was soft and smooth. ‘We just want to make up for wasted years. John here is particularly bitter about that. He feels very badly done by. I wouldn’t like to think what he might do if he was thwarted again.’

  ‘I told you,’ Drew raised his head. ‘It wasn’t my fault. I don’t know where Carlos went.’

  ‘Would your son know?’ John Byrne asked. ‘Jim?’

  There was fear in Drew’s eyes. ‘No. No, don’t ask him. He was onny a lad, he wouldn’t remember.’

  ‘I was only a lad too, Mr Drew.’ John Byrne’s voice was cold. ‘And I remember very well. I shan’t ever forget. I shan’t forget being dragged off the ship, nor being thrown into an English jail, nor breaking up great lumps of stone. How did Jim spend the rest of his youth, eh? Being out in the fields, listening to the songbirds, sowing corn and reaping its harvest? A bit different from mine.’

  ‘Just this once, you say?’ Drew muttered in a defeated voice. ‘There’ll be no more after that?’

  ‘Can’t make any promises,’ Seamus said. ‘It’ll depend on how much we make. And if it’s easy we might want to do one more run.’

  ‘But nothing will be said? Not to my wife or anyone? My wife is very sick,’ he said, as if he might elicit some sympathy from them.

  ‘Sick, is she?’ Seamus Byrne now looked at him as coldly as his brother had done. ‘And no loving husband at home to take care of her?’

  ‘My sons are there and the girl – Rosa.’

  ‘Rosa?’ John Byrne breathed. ‘Lovely name. Sounds foreign. Is she very pretty? I’d like to meet her.’

  ‘She’s very pretty. You remember, John, I told you I had met her. Yes,’ Seamus agreed. ‘It would be nice for you to meet our old friend’s daughter.’

  ‘She knows nothing of her father,’ Drew interrupted. ‘Except what her mother told her when she was a child. She always believed he would return and filled ’child up with nonsense of him coming back for them – in a ship with golden sails!’

  ‘How charming!’ John Byrne’s voice was cold.

  The two brothers got up from their seats. ‘We’ll see you in a week or two, Mr Drew,’ Seamus said. ‘We’ll get work on the embankments until the ship arrives. You’ll let us know about Stone Creek and who might be willing to help us? Oh, yes,’ he said, as if he had just thought of it. ‘And we’ll need a barn to store the crates.’

  ‘Not at Home Farm,’ Drew objected. ‘They would be seen.’

  ‘Where then?’ John Byrne frowned.

  ‘Marsh Farm,’ Drew said reluctantly. ‘It belongs to me now. No-one goes there, only me and Jim.’

  They nodded and moved towards the door, but Drew called them back. ‘You haven’t said what I’ll get out of this. What’s my cut?’

  They both stared at him, then John Byrne started to laugh. The laughter was without any humour. ‘Your cut? You’ve forgotten already, Mr Drew? Your cut is silence! Remember?’

  ‘I should have summat,’ Drew muttered. ‘I’m risking everything.’

  ‘Brandy then.’ Seamus grinned and conceded. ‘An anker of brandy.’

  Drew sat on in the small room after they had gone, staring into the ashes of the fire. Brandy! He was risking his livelihood for an anker of brandy. He could go to jail for such a trifle. He had, as the Byrnes suspected, conveniently pushed to the back of his mind the real reason why he was in this predicament. But an unwanted image kept reappearing in his head and though he tried to banish it, it was persistent. An image of Henry lying on the top of the dyke, all life gone from him and the distinctive smell of brandy mingling with the river water which lingered on his cold dead lips.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MATTHEW RODE OFF to Hedon early the
next day to ask Maggie to come, and then travelled across country towards the coastal village of Hornsea to see Delia and ask her to come home as soon as possible. He arrived in the afternoon and was perturbed to see the shabbiness of the inn where she worked. It stank of stale ale and the flagged floor in the entrance was in much need of a scouring brush. He was also dismayed at the manner of the woman who ran the house, when he asked to speak to Delia.

  ‘She’s not in.’ She stood behind the wooden counter dipping pewter tankards into grey and greasy water, then drying them on a thin cloth. She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What is it you want?’

  He was reluctant to give her the bad news. ‘I’m Delia’s brother. Could I wait?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s her afternoon off, she’ll not be in till late.’

  ‘Do you know where she’s gone? I could perhaps look for her.’

  The woman humphed disparagingly. ‘She could be anywhere. I don’t know. I’m not given to asking questions about my staff, they’re entitled to their privacy.’

  He sighed. He’d go and look, there were not so many places she could be in this village. ‘If I miss her, could you ask her to come home as soon as possible. Her mother is ill.’

  ‘It’ll be another month before she has time off,’ she interrupted sharply, ‘or else I’ll have to dock her wages.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s urgent,’ he emphasized. ‘You’ll be sure to tell her?’

  ‘I’m not in ’habit of forgetting messages.’ She was curt and offhand. ‘I’ll tell her.’

  He walked away but on reaching the door turned and asked, ‘What kind of work does Delia do here?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘Anything! Cleaning. Making beds. Serving customers. Whatever needs doing.’

  ‘In here?’ he asked, looking around the low-ceilinged smoky room where men were sitting at tables or on benches near the fire.

  ‘Course in here!’ she said. ‘Where else?’

  ‘I just wondered, that’s all. She didn’t say.’

  ‘Well, no!’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not ’sort of job that you’d boast about. But then, when young lasses come without a reference they have to take what they can get.’