by Emma Carroll
‘We should go,’ I warned.
What we’d assumed was fog or smoke was sea spray. The sunlight caught it, made it shimmer and glisten. It was almost beautiful, until I saw the sea beneath rising up, and how fast everything seemed to be happening. A mountain of deepest blue, getting higher and higher with no sign of breaking. Suddenly there seemed more sea than sky.
‘Run!’ I screamed.
The sea rushed in at a galloping-horse pace. We didn’t stand a chance. One moment I was scrambling up the beach, clutching Bea as best I could, the next I felt as if I’d been hit from behind by a cartload of stone. The force sent me flying, an arrow from a bow. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t call out, couldn’t see where I was going. All I knew was I was moving very fast – so fast I was sure I’d left my guts way behind. Everything was seawater-dark.
When I sensed the surge was easing, I tried to swim. But the sea was in charge, make no mistake. It flung me sideways, pulled me under. Bea was still tied to me, her legs kicking against my ribs. I held on to her with one arm and paddled with the other. I tried to keep both our heads above the surface. And that was a battle enough.
By sheer luck, I spotted Susannah only a few yards away, her nightclothes a white flag in the water.
‘Over here!’ I yelled. ‘Susannah! Over here!’
The roar of the sea was deafening. I felt as if I had water inside my brain. Each time I shouted, I swallowed mouthfuls. Bea kept kicking. Coughing. I called Susannah’s name again, though I’d little hope she’d heard.
‘Can you reach me?’ I cried.
In desperation, she flung out her arm. I lunged for it. Missed. Tried again, my fingers brushing hers.
‘Grab my hand!’ I screamed.
For a second, her fingers locked with mine. I felt the pull in my shoulder socket, the heave of the sea. Susannah’s terrified face loomed before me. Her blue eyes. Her bluer lips. Then in a surge of foam and mud, she was gone.
17
The more I struggled the harder it got. It was like trying to swim through a wall. I grew quickly exhausted, and was in danger of sinking. Though Bea was still tied to me, she’d gone scarily quiet. I wouldn’t let myself think the worst. I didn’t even want to look at her – that way, to my mind, she was still alive. All my energy went into staying afloat and keeping both of our heads above the water.
I wasn’t on the beach any more. A gatepost rushed by, the mounting steps by the stables, and before I could grasp what was happening, I was over the wall and inside the gardens of Berrow Hall. My first thought was relief: I’d be rescued now by Mistress Bagwell or the other maids. Susannah was probably already in the kitchen, drying her hair by the fire. I tried to grab the top of the wall, the bare branches of the big oak tree. But the sea was too strong: I couldn’t hold on for the life of me.
The water snatched up everything in its path. A garden seat swirled past, baskets, the back door torn from its hinges. The ground-floor windows of the house were all smashed in, water streaming inside and then out again, dragging with it chairs, books, pictures, a cup, someone’s bonnet. All I could do was get swept along.
At the kitchen window, snagged on the frame, was a maid’s brown dress. It looked so real, so like a person, I called out. Yet as the flood carried me closer, I saw, in horror, that it was someone. It was Jennet, one of the kitchen girls, face down in the water.
There was no chance for the shock to sink in. Up ahead, another woman lay slumped over a gate. Even before I reached her, I knew it was Mistress Bagwell. Her cap had come off, so her hair – which she always kept neatly hidden – waved in the water like riverweed.
I couldn’t get within yards of her body. The sea kept tugging me, spinning me so I was dizzy. I sobbed, gulping in water. Bea was as heavy as stone on my chest, the sling cutting into my neck. I tried at least to float on my back, to keep her from going under, and I was oh so glad when she twitched awake. It helped to have someone to save.
As quickly as I’d come upon it, I left the house behind. Even in my bewildered state, I knew this wasn’t a storm surge, or a high tide. The sea had come too far inland – and was still travelling fast. Out over the fields, I passed trees bent double. A gate on its end. And in amongst it all, animals thrashing and bellowing. I got kicked and barged into, and when a sheep tried to clamber on me, I had to push it away. I was tiring now. Bea was still again, cold and weighty, pressing against what little air was in my chest.
So when I noticed a pig swimming alongside me, I wondered if I’d fallen asleep or worse. I’d never seen a pig in water before. Honest to God, it was a far better swimmer than I was. Jem would’ve loved it: he had a way with pigs. Said they were cleverer than most people.
Dead animals, carts, gates, trunks, upturned tables floated by. Anything the water picked up lay on top of it like a skin. The whole landscape was covered. I didn’t know where the road was, or in which direction the sea lay. I couldn’t feel my legs any more. Couldn’t stop my head spinning. I kept picturing my family, none of whom could swim. Then I’d remember the steep hill that lay between Fair Maidens Lane and the sea, and I’d tell myself they’d be safe. The doubts would come again and the fear. Round and round like a whirlpool.
It didn’t help that bodies were appearing thick and fast. I’d glimpse an arm, a bonnet, a person caught in a tree so they hung there like a scarecrow. I was terrified I’d see Susannah or Ellis. Yet for every body that wasn’t theirs, I felt a tiny beat of hope.
I wasn’t even thinking of Mr Spicer when I came upon him. He was caught by his jacket sleeve on a tree branch. The angle of him was all wrong, like a doll that had been flung in temper across a room. His grey eyes were wide open, empty. In a blur, a rush of floodwater, I left him far behind.
*
Another mile, another hour, I’d lost all track of time and distance. The water began to seem gentler, though. I could move my legs against it, float without it sloshing across my face. I’d a moment of feeling almost hopeful. Then the tears came. The shuddering, sickening shock of all I’d seen, all that had happened, and the cold that was wearing me down. And – I couldn’t deny it – there was relief mixed in too. With Mr Spicer dead, there’d be no more talk of witch-hunts, at least.
After the tears came exhaustion. With what little strength I had left, I managed to grab on to the bough of a nearby tree. The wood was so rough it tore into my hands. But it floated well and if I heaved enough of myself and Bea out of the water, and lay across it, I could at least rest. Bea didn’t stir. I began to drift in and out of sleep.
Half thinking, half dreaming, my head filled with Jem and our disastrous tree-trunk boat. Sometimes I thought myself still crouched inside it, with Jem squatting opposite me, laughing. Then I’d remember all that had happened since, and how I’d never got to say sorry.
18
I must’ve fallen into a deep, dark sleep, because when I woke up I was lying on grass. My branch and I had come to rest in a steep field. The ground was dry, the grass beneath me warm from the sun, which by now was high in the sky. It was the one thing in this new world I still recognised – that, and the raspy sound of a baby crying. The bundle on my chest moved. Bea!
The little hand reaching out from the sling slapped me square on the chin. Quick as I could, I untied her. Amongst sand, grit, a dead fish, and someone’s tasselled slipper caught inside the fabric, was Beatrice Spicer, looking cross and hungry, and more alive than anyone I’d seen these past long hours.
‘Bea?’ I said her name out loud. ‘Little Bea?’
She held up her arms. ‘Fufffffaaaaa,’ she mumbled, which I decided was definitely ‘Fortune’.
I’d never thought myself the type to fall in love with babies. But right then I did, heart first.
*
Beyond our little hillock, the floods stretched in every direction. Here and there, the rooftop of a house poked hopefully above the water, but if the thatch and wood debris was anything to go by, then most of the smaller homes had perished. It w
as a bleak, nightmarish scene. Yet having Bea to look after spurred me on; I’d need to find food and shelter before nightfall. In the distance, I’d already spotted a church tower perched on an island of green, at least that was how it looked, standing on a steep hill that poked out of the floodwater. It seemed the obvious place to aim for.
‘See that?’ I pointed it out to Bea. ‘When we get there, there’ll be hot food and dry clothes, and the biggest fire you ever saw.’
She didn’t want to be wrapped up again and cried when I bound her to my chest. But I was tired and weak. I didn’t trust myself to carry her in my arms. And to get to that green island, I was going to have to wade or swim through the floodwater that reached all the way to the foot of the hill. By my reckoning the distance was about a mile.
It was a long mile too. Thankfully the water never got above waist height, but by the time I got there, I was exhausted. With the last of my strength, I crawled up the side of the hill. At the top, beyond the church tower, the land fell away to another little hillock, where a few cottages were still standing. I’d never been so glad to see dry walls, dry thatch, smoke rolling out of chimneys. Even better was the smell of baking bread. Bea, grabbing my shirt collar, stuffed it in her mouth. I bet she was hungry too.
‘Where in heaven’s name have you come from?’ a voice boomed from inside the tower.
It took a moment for my brain to catch up. The church wasn’t a whole building after all, but the crumbling remains of one. A man scuttled out into the daylight. He was small, round-bellied and dressed in a dusty black coat. He looked familiar – and not in a pleasant way.
‘Dr Blood?’ I croaked.
‘Indeed. Aren’t you that servant from Berrow Hall? The one who tends young Master Ellis?’ Dr Blood stared at me in amazement.
‘I am.’ There was no point in denying it. Truth was, I was so maddened by the smell of baking bread I’d have sold my soul to the devil for a bite to eat.
‘And,’ he waved a hand at Bea, ‘this child with you is—’
‘Beatrice Spicer, youngest daughter of Mr Spicer,’ I said, because as far as I was concerned the days of pretending she didn’t exist were over. ‘Though Mr Spicer himself has perished in the flood, along with many others. I saw it with my own eyes.’
Dr Blood’s face hardened. He muttered something under his breath that might’ve been a prayer. ‘What about his other children?’ he demanded. ‘The girl with the gift for needlework? Did she survive?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.
He was about to say something else when two women in white caps and rough wool dresses appeared around the side of the church.
‘A living child!’ The younger one rushed over, and on seeing Bea, cried out, ‘Two living children! We’re blessed!’ As her arms went around us, I was grateful to her for holding me up.
The woman with her seemed to be her mother since they both had beech-red hair, and the same wide smile.
‘We thought the world beyond our little hilltop had ended. Where did you come from?’ the woman asked.
‘Berrow Hall,’ I replied, shivering so hard I could barely speak. ‘Mr Spicer’s estate by the sea.’
She looked amazed. ‘That’s got to be fifteen miles from here!’
I could well believe it. If I shut my eyes, I could still feel the power of the water, that sensation of being fired from a bow.
*
The kind woman was called Mistress Cary, her daughter Ellen. They lived in one of the cottages along from the church, which they rented from Dr Blood. He owned most of the land around here, so they told me, and was not a kind master.
‘He’s our local magistrate these days, and all,’ Mistress Cary explained.
Tooth-puller, sugar merchant, landowner, magistrate: there was no end to the man’s influence. This latest role was the most worrying of the lot. It gave him the power to hold trials – witch trials – and pass punishments. The thought made me feel a little faint.
Mistress Cary bid me come closer to the fire. ‘You need to warm your bones, my sweet.’
Thankfully, she gave us food too. Bea was soon guzzling goat’s milk and mashing bread against her face, and I wolfed down a meat pie.
Mistress Cary was sorry that the only dry clothes she could lend me were girls’ ones. In truth, it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to pretend to be a boy any more. My position at Berrow Hall, and the good coin I’d earned there, had all been swept away by the sea. As for what Dr Blood might think of my sudden change of attire, it barely mattered. I just wanted to feel warm and dry again. Yet when I set about explaining myself to Mistress Cary it came out in a weary muddle, and I started to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ I blubbed. ‘It’s been a very strange day.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Mistress Cary agreed. She gave me one of Ellen’s woollen gowns, which was as cosy as an old blanket. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a dress. The swish of skirts at my ankles was going to take a bit of getting used to.
A heaped plate of bread and honey later, and I began to feel my strength returning. This was despite Mistress Cary’s neighbours who had crowded into her house to question me as I ate.
How far did the flood stretch? How many people and livestock had perished?
‘I don’t know,’ I said, over and over.
‘All that water came from nowhere,’ said a woman with no front teeth. ‘No warning. Nothing.’
‘Well now, Rose, who could’ve predicted such a terrible thing?’ Mistress Cary remarked.
Susannah, I thought uneasily, that was who.
In my head I could see her crewel work – the swirls of blue, the foaming caps on the waves. This morning she’d insisted it was an omen that Ellis would run away. It was so much more than that now.
Perhaps there was a rational explanation for the flood. Yet when I pictured the sea disappearing and rushing in again like smoke, it wasn’t so hard to think magic was to blame. But if Susannah had powers to see into the future, what did that make her?
A witch?
19
The next morning I was woken by a sharp rap on the front door. It was a little after daybreak. Bea and I had spent the night sleeping by the hearth, which was now barely warm.
‘All right, all right!’ Ellen cried, still tucking her hair under her cap as she opened the door.
Dr Blood came in without being asked; I supposed that was what landlords did.
‘I come with solemn news,’ he announced, sounding pleased. ‘A word with your guest, if I may.’
Moments later, I was facing Dr Blood, the knot in my stomach telling me this news he brought was of Susannah. He’d already asked Ellen to leave the room. I could hear her listening from the top of the stairs, and was glad she was nearby. Bea, who’d insisted on standing, clung to my skirts.
‘Thanks to the floodwaters receding overnight on the land beyond the village, a discovery has been made – of ten people, drowned.’ He rubbed hands together. The dry, papery sound set my teeth on edge. ‘There’s a young girl amongst them who may be Susannah Spicer.’
‘Have you seen her yourself?’ I asked, willing it not to be true.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sending you.’
‘Oh no, not me,’ I begged. I’d seen enough dead bodies to last a lifetime.
‘It’s not a plea,’ he replied. ‘It’s an order. If the dead girl is Miss Spicer, you’ll search her for any needlework she might have about her. It’s not fitting for a person of my standing to be seen handling a corpse. You, on the other hand—’
I looked at him sharply. So he was still trying to win favour from the king, even if it meant robbing a dead girl. He was as ruthless as a fox amongst hens.
‘I’m not doing it,’ I told him straight.
He studied me, taking in Ellen’s too-big dress. ‘It seems you’re not a boy, after all.’
‘I’ve always been a girl. You simply didn’t realise.’
He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Oh,
there’s plenty I realise, believe me, especially in people who are a little unusual.’
‘I don’t work for you, Dr Blood.’ I was flustering a little. ‘You can’t order me to do anything.’
Quick as a finger snap, he grabbed Bea off the floor.
‘What—?’
I tried to take her from him but he twisted away so she was out of reach. He was holding her so awkwardly my heart was in my mouth.
‘Fuuuffffaaaa!’ Bea cried.
‘Give her back at once,’ I spat.
‘Fetch me the needlework, my dear, and you can have the baby,’ Dr Blood said.
‘And if I don’t?’
He held Bea at arm’s length, inspecting her like an object, and one that was kicking and turning rapidly red in the face. ‘Another drowned corpse shouldn’t raise many questions.’
I rushed at him, making a grab for Bea. Whip quick, he twisted away, again, at the same time landing a blow on the side of my head. Everything went blurry. A foot in my ribs sent me sprawling on the floor.
‘Fortune!’ Ellen cried from her spot on the stairs.
‘Just do as he says, child!’ warned Mistress Cary, who’d joined her. ‘Don’t make trouble for yourself, or for us!’
They couldn’t help me, I realised, not unless they wanted to risk losing their home.
Bea was crying, holding out her arms and begging me to take her. I got up slowly, holding my hurting side. Dr Blood opened the outside door.
‘Bring anything you find straight to my house in Glastonbury,’ he instructed. ‘We’ll wait for you there.’
He had me cornered. I didn’t have much choice but to do as he asked.
*
Since all the other routes from the village were underwater, the road to the common was easy to spot. A track, not quite wide enough for a horse and cart, ran steadily away from the cottages. Despite the early hour, it was already busy with dogs, children, women in bonnets, men in black hats. News of the ten corpses had obviously travelled fast.
