Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  She rose from her bed and, taking a shawl from the back of the chair, wrapped it around her. Her child, whom she hadn’t named, was in the wooden casket which Matthew had hastily made for him, beneath the window. She averted her eyes from it and stole out of the room and along the landing to her father’s room.

  Gently she turned the brass knob. It yielded and she slid in through the door. She saw, by the light from the small fire which still burned in the grate, that her father was fast asleep in the bed which he had once shared with her mother. She took in a deep shuddering breath as she thought of what she was about to do, but even though in a confused and muddled state, she was determined.

  She leant over her father’s sleeping form and put a hand on his flannel-clad shoulder. ‘Da,’ she whispered. ‘Da, wake up!’

  ‘Huh!’ He gasped and opened his eyes with a start. ‘Ellen? No! Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Delia. I need to talk to you, Da.’

  He sat up in bed and peered at her in the gloom. ‘Get out!’ he said in a guttural voice. ‘How dare you come in my room? You’re a wanton woman bringing shame on our name.’

  ‘I know.’ Tears thickened her voice. ‘And I’m sorry, Da. But I’ve thought of something, and the others and ’doctor and Mrs Jennings said I couldn’t do it, but I know that you’ll say I can.’

  He leaned on one elbow and stared at her. ‘What are you talking about? I want you out of this house. You’re not stopping!’

  She started to weep. ‘I’ve nowhere to go, Da, but babby’s dead! If we bury him quietly, nobody else need know, onny ’family and Mrs Jennings and her – Rosa, and they won’t say anything if you tell them not to.’

  He frowned. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  She sniffled. ‘If you’ll help me, Da, we can bury him in ’garden. I can’t dig, I’m not strong enough yet, but we have to do it soon – afore parson comes. Tonight even! And then, and then, if nobody else on Sunk Island knows, perhaps I can stop at home?’

  He kept his eyes on her face. ‘You’d not have to tell anybody where he was, and I shall deny it if I’m questioned.’

  ‘Yes. Yes! And then I can stop at home? I’ll not go wrong again, Da!’ As she made the vow, the words of the Irishman came into her head, that someone would care for her. If it was him, she thought, I would make him wait until we were wed. I’d not be tempted again.

  ‘Fetch him then,’ her father said abruptly. ‘We’ll do it now. Onny be quiet. Don’t waken anybody.’

  The wooden box was surprisingly heavy, but Delia carried it as her father refused to. She trod carefully in her bare feet down the stairs and into the middle kitchen, and waited for her father to unbolt the rear door. When she heard the bolt slide back she tiptoed into the back kitchen and her toes curled as they touched the stone flags.

  The wind whistled around her as she stepped outside and it pulled on her shawl, sliding it down her back. She shivered, she should have put some outer clothes on, but there hadn’t been time, although her father had put on a pair of breeches over his nightshirt and even now was pulling on his boots which he always left inside the back door.

  He collected a heavy spade from the lean-to where the tools were kept and led the way to the bottom of the garden, past the small orchard and towards the kitchen garden, but then he stopped. ‘This is no good,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Somebody’ll turn it over, ready for winter frost. They’ll find him once they start digging.’

  She saw that there was one row of potatoes and only a few cabbages and winter sprouts left in the ground.

  ‘We’ll have to go over to ’other side of ’hedge,’ he said. ‘Nobody’ll find him there.’ He pointed to the low hawthorn hedge which had been planted to keep the rabbits out of the garden, and strode towards it.

  There was a bank of grass beyond the hedge and then a ditch which was half filled with water. He strode over the hedge and stood on the bank waiting for her.

  ‘I can’t get over,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to take it.’

  A second’s hesitation and he took the wooden casket without a word and laid it on the ground, whilst she struggled to scramble over the hedge, catching her night robe and scratching her legs on the sharp thorns.

  He started to dig on the bank whilst she stood shivering. She was so cold that her teeth were chattering. I should have given him a name, I suppose. But if I had, he would have been a real person and I would remember him. Should I ask Da to say a prayer? But will he?

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘That should be deep enough. Put it in!’ His voice was brusque and she knelt down, the hard ground scraping her knees, and lifted the casket into the hole. Without a word he started to shovel the earth back in again, and it rattled against the wood.

  She hoped in her own silent thoughts that the child wouldn’t go to hell if there was one, even though he couldn’t go to heaven as he hadn’t been baptized before he died. If there was a hell she would undoubtedly go there, for she had been wicked. But then, she thought, I don’t believe in hell or heaven either.

  Her father finished his shovelling and brushed the soil from his hands, then he wiped them on his breeches. Then he brushed them together again as if he couldn’t get rid of the dirt. He stamped down the newly dug earth and then pulled over a few clumps of grass and stamped those down as well.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Nobody will see that’s been dug.’ He faced Delia and stared her in the eyes. ‘And don’t forget, I shall deny any knowledge of this. You’ve done this on your own. It’s another sin to add to your wickedness.’

  ‘But I can stop at home now, can’t I?’ She was so afraid he would change his mind.

  ‘Providing nobody finds out that I’ve been a party to this.’ His face was set and hard. ‘Then you can stop.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ROSA HADN’T SLEPT well, disturbed by sounds which she couldn’t identify. It must have been the wind howling against the side of the house and rattling the windows, she decided. She must get out the heavy winter curtains and fill in the gaps between the window frames with strips of cloth to exclude the draughts. She had helped Mrs Drew to do it in other winters, and last year she had done it alone and made long sausage-like draught-excluders to put against the doors. The wind was always prevalent on Sunk Island but in winter it was ferocious, blowing across the open land from the river and the sea, with nothing to bar its way.

  She rose early and after washing and dressing she hurried downstairs and put the kettle, which was always kept filled with water, onto the hook over the fire. She riddled the low fire with the poker and added more fuel, then stirred the pan of porridge oats which had been on the fireside shelf overnight.

  The milk jug in the larder was almost empty, so she poured the remains of the milk into the porridge, rinsed out the jug and turned to the door to go out to the dairy to fetch more. The bolt was unfastened. Someone else must be up. Must be Gran, she thought, though I didn’t hear her.

  She went out to the dairy but there was no-one about and the door was closed. She drew in a deep breath. It was very cold. A damp fog lay over the land and the sound of ships’ horns drifted eerily from the river. Winter was on its way.

  I’m sure that I bolted the door before I went to bed, she pondered as she added more milk to the porridge and gave it another stir. But it was such a harrowing day, perhaps I forgot or maybe someone else went out after I’d gone to bed.

  ‘Rosa!’ her grandmother called downstairs. ‘Come here, quickly, and bring up some more blankets.’

  Blankets! Why blankets? She pulled two out from the cupboard and hurried upstairs. ‘Why blankets, Gran?’

  ‘It’s Delia. She’s shivering with cold or fever, we’ll have to have ’doctor back again. He’ll be sick of coming backwards and forwards to Sunk. But summat’s happened.’ Mrs Jennings was still in her night robe and cap. By her feet were bloodstained sheets which she had stripped from Delia’s bed. ‘I looked in to see how she was before I got dressed,’ she explained, ‘an
d found her in this state.’ Delia was sitting in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her, visibly shaking.

  ‘Fetch me some thick flannel sheets and a couple more blankets, some old sheets and then some hot milk, and we’d better have a hot brick for ’bed as well.’

  Rosa rushed to do as her grandmother bid and helped her to make up the bed, then together they lifted Delia back under the covers.

  ‘She’s feverish.’ Mrs Jennings put a hand on Delia’s forehead. ‘Now what’s brought that on? Mebbe shock of losing ’babby.’

  Rosa glanced towards the window. Perhaps the baby shouldn’t have been left in Delia’s room, perhaps the sight of him in his little box was more than she could bear. ‘Where is he?’ she murmured. ‘Where have you put him?’

  Mrs Jennings wrapped another blanket around Delia’s shoulders and plumped up a pillow behind her. ‘What?’ she enquired. ‘Where’s who?’

  ‘The baby!’ Rosa said in an urgent whisper. ‘Where have you put him?’

  Her grandmother turned towards her and then looked over to the window. ‘God in heaven! I haven’t moved him. Why would I?’

  They both looked towards Delia, but she had her eyes closed. Her face was flushed but she was shivering violently.

  ‘I’ll get Matthew up,’ Rosa said. ‘If he sets off now he’ll catch ’doctor before he goes off on his calls.’

  She knocked on his door and called urgently. He opened the door, buttoning up his breeches and without his shirt. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew. You’ll have to fetch ’doctor again,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Delia is feverish and – and have you moved the baby’s casket?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ he said in an astonished tone.

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ she stammered and wondered why she should feel embarrassed at seeing him bare-chested and with his hair tousled from sleep, when she had often seen him without his shirt when he washed at the sink. ‘He’s not there, in Delia’s room, I mean.’

  ‘But why should anybody want to move him?’ He gazed at her in amazement. ‘If you haven’t and your gran hasn’t, it onny leaves me and Da and he wouldn’t—’ His voice trailed away. ‘I mean – he doesn’t want anything to do with Delia or her babby.’

  ‘And Jim left early last night, so it wasn’t him,’ Rosa added. ‘Look, never mind now. It’s ’doctor who’s needed. Delia is really sick. Tell him it’s urgent, Gran is worried about her.’

  ‘We’ll have to tell Da,’ Matthew said when he returned later. His hat and hair were soaked for the rain was sleeting down, but his face was flushed for he had ridden as fast as he could into Patrington and back. ‘He’ll have to know. Doctor said he’d called to see ’parson yesterday and told him there’d be an infant burial. He’ll probably come over today.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be no burial without a body,’ Mrs Jennings said grimly. ‘I’ve never come across owt like this in all of my life. Where can poor bairn be?’

  Rosa remembered the back door. ‘Matthew,’ she said, ‘did you bolt ’back door last night?’

  ‘No! You did. I heard you.’

  ‘Then somebody’s been out, perhaps your da. I forgot to ask him earlier.’ Mr Drew had been exceedingly grumpy when he came down for breakfast and although Rosa had told him that Delia wasn’t well, he had appeared quite indifferent and she hadn’t dared to mention the child’s disappearance for fear of incurring his further ill temper.

  Delia was delirious when the doctor arrived and couldn’t be questioned about the baby. ‘She’s got childbed fever,’ the doctor pronounced. ‘She shouldn’t have got out of bed when she did. I said as much at the time.’

  He fastened up his leather bag. ‘Just keep her quiet, plenty of cool drinks, we can do nothing more than that.’ He shook his head. ‘Foolish girl!’

  He followed Mrs Jennings downstairs. ‘So what do you think has happened to the child? It will have to be reported to the authorities of course.’

  Mr Drew came in for his morning drink. ‘What! You here again, Doctor?’ He glanced at Rosa and Mrs Jennings. ‘So who’s paying ’fee?’

  ‘Well, presumably not you, Mr Drew,’ the doctor answered coldly. ‘But if there is any difficulty I can waive it. It wouldn’t be the first time!’

  James Drew sat down in his chair and Rosa hurried to make him a hot drink.

  ‘We’re concerned about the disappearance of the child’s body,’ the doctor said. ‘A report will have to be made if it isn’t found.’

  ‘Disappearance? I don’t know what you mean.’ Drew gazed unwaveringly at the doctor.

  ‘The child’s body has disappeared—’ the doctor began. ‘Surely you were told?’

  ‘I know nothing of it,’ Drew interrupted. ‘But it can’t have a Christian burial as it wasn’t baptized – so if it has disappeared—’ He shrugged nonchalantly as if the matter was of no consequence.

  ‘A report will have to be made to the authorities.’ The doctor’s voice was icy. ‘A child was born, has died and has now disappeared. Someone must know where it is! It is an offence,’ he added, ‘to conceal a body, even that of a newborn child.’

  As Rosa gave Mr Drew his drink she thought that he paled, and he brushed the palms of his hands together. ‘Surely not a bastard child?’ he questioned, sarcasm in his tone.

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘Then you’d better question its mother,’ James Drew said abruptly. ‘She’s onny one likely to know about it.’

  The doctor gave him a withering glance and, nodding to Mrs Jennings and Rosa, went out of the room. Rosa followed him. ‘He won’t want any fuss,’ she began. ‘Mr Drew’s a very private man.’

  ‘Whether he wants a fuss or not is of no consequence! For that is what he’ll get if the child isn’t found,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘My views of James Drew are changing rapidly. I always thought of him as a devout religious man, but it seems that he has no compassion.’ He gazed thoughtfully at Rosa. ‘He must be very pure himself to be so critical of others!’

  Rosa made no immediate answer. James Drew was rigid and unbending in his self-righteous rules, but, she considered, she couldn’t condemn him. He had given her a home when she was a child and she had always tried to remember that. He didn’t have to take me, she thought, not when he had so many children of his own to bring up. He had never reminded her of the obligation and asked nothing more of her over the years than he asked of his own daughters, that they went about their tasks and were obedient. He had given her no affection, no friendly pat on the shoulder or kind word, but neither did he with his own.

  ‘He’s God-fearing,’ she answered finally. ‘I do believe he’s afraid to show weakness.’ But as she spoke, doubts were pressing on her as she remembered his involvement with the Byrne brothers.

  ‘I am not a religious man, myself,’ the doctor said as he mounted his horse. ‘But it is said that God is love. Perhaps Mr Drew might do well to remember that.’

  Delia lay ill for a week. She thrashed around in her bed, mumbling and muttering, and Rosa and her grandmother took turns to sit with her, to cool her forehead and give her sips of water. Jim and Matthew looked in at her every day, but her father did not.

  ‘I don’t understand him,’ Mrs Jennings commented. ‘His own daughter. It doesn’t seem natural.’

  The parson came, but he agreed, when Matthew and Jim persuaded him, that any decision regarding the law and the missing child should be left until Delia could be questioned.

  ‘We ought to look about,’ Matthew urged his brother. ‘If Delia has hidden him, she can’t have taken him far from the house.’

  Jim agreed and so they searched the barns, the cow house, the tool shed and the rooms above the dairy which would have been easily accessible to Delia, even in her weakened state from childbed. They were both tidy men and knew as they looked in every possible place that nothing had been moved or hidden.

  Matthew cast his eyes over the spades and forks and sludge tools which were hanging on hooks on the wall of the lean-to. There was
just one, an open spade, which still had wisps of grass and earth clinging to it. But it was heavy, if Delia had thought to bury the child herself, she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Rosa had a small spade and fork for the vegetable garden which he had had made for her when he saw that the others were too unwieldy. They too were hanging from the wall and were quite clean.

  Rosa was sitting by the bedside when Delia woke. She gave a slight cough, stared at Rosa and then glanced towards the window where the child’s casket had been. ‘Have I been ill?’ she said in a husky voice.

  ‘You have, you’ve had a fever. ’Doctor said you’d got out of bed too soon.’

  ‘Out of bed?’

  Rosa nodded. ‘After ’birth of the baby,’ she said softly. ‘You must have caught a chill.’

  Delia grimaced and took in a deep breath. ‘Have I – have I been talking in my sleep? I’ve had such funny dreams.’ Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. ‘Really strange dreams about ’babby being taken away.’

  ‘The babby died, Delia,’ Rosa reminded her gently. ‘Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Her voice was cautious. ‘Did he?’

  Rosa called her grandmother. She didn’t want to be the one to question Delia, but Mrs Jennings was brisk when she realized that the invalid had recovered. ‘Now, young woman,’ she said. ‘What happened to that babby? He’s got to have a proper burial with ’parson and all.’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ Delia began sullenly. ‘I’ve been very ill.’

  ‘And why have you been ill? It’s because you were out of bed hiding that poor bairn! I could understand it,’ Mrs Jennings went on, ‘if nobody had known about ’birth, but what’s ’point in hiding him when we all knew?’

  ‘But nobody else on Sunk Island knows, Mrs Jennings,’ Delia whispered. ‘Onny us here, onny family and you and Rosa.’

  ‘And ’doctor and parson and ’woman at ’Patrington shop where I bought ’knitting wool, and Harry and young Bob and no doubt dozens of others!’ She leant towards her conspiratorially. ‘And all ’world’ll know when ’constable comes to ask you where he is.’