The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  Though tears ran down Susan’s face, she did not argue.

  ‘Get yourself home, now, and help your mother,’ Jack ordered. With one look of desperation at Bessie, Susan, without a word, did as she was bid.

  Bessie’s anger flared again. ‘So you think he’s guilty, do you?’

  ‘Bessie, go home, will you? If the lad really had nowt to do with it, then his job’s here for him. But if he did . . .’ Jack Price did not finish his sentence, but the unspoken words were clear enough as if he had shouted them from the rooftops.

  ‘If he did, Jack Price, then you’d better keep your head down, because you’ll see pigs flying past.’ Bessie turned and grabbed hold of Mary Ann’s hand. ‘Come on, lass. We’re going home.’

  Later that afternoon, Bessie returned to the police station but once more all they would tell her was that Sid Clark and Dan had been brought back to Elsborough police station and were now in the cells.

  ‘You’d better get your lad a solicitor,’ was the only advice they would give her.

  ‘A solicitor!’ Bessie wailed later to Bert. ‘How on earth can we afford to pay for a solicitor?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Miss Edwina?’ Bert asked. He was as worried as Bessie, but had taken the news much more calmly. ‘Her father’s a magistrate. Perhaps he can help?’

  ‘Oh Bert . . .’ Dramatically, Bessie flung her arms around him. ‘I never thought of that. Mind you, I ain’t been thinking straight all day. What would I do without you, Bert? I’ll go first thing in the morning. I know she’ll do what she can. She’ll believe in my lad, even if that rat, Price, doesn’t. Do you know?’ she went on indignantly. ‘He’s told Susan that she’s not to see Dan any more. Now that tells you a lot, doesn’t it?’

  Behind her, Mary Ann smiled.

  Twenty

  ‘Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.’

  In her own way, Edwina was as indignant as Bessie. ‘It’s unthinkable that Dan would be involved in any way. I’ll speak to my father as soon as I get home.’ She reached out and took Bessie’s hand. ‘Try not to worry, Bessie. The police had to do their job and just remember, they don’t know Dan like we do. But it’ll be all right. I promise you. Sid Clark must have known that Dan’s ship was leaving the following morning.’

  Bessie nodded, hope lighting her eyes now as she listened to Edwina’s calm and rational explanation of what might have happened. ‘Mebbe he heard someone talking about it in The Waterman’s,’ she suggested.

  ‘There you are, then. Maybe he even thought, in his twisted mind, that Dan might help him. Not that he would, of course,’ Edwina added hurriedly. ‘What happened in Hull? Do you know?’

  Bessie shook her head. ‘They won’t tell us anything.’

  ‘I’ll try to find out for you. In the meantime, have you brought Mary Ann to school?’

  Bessie nodded. ‘Yes, I thought it best for her.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make sure all the staff know what’s happened and we’ll look after her. I’ll walk home with her tonight. You know what other children can be like and the news will be spreading like the proverbial wildfire by now.’

  Bessie nodded sadly. ‘Poor little lass. I wonder what’s going to happen to her?’ She felt Edwina’s thoughtful gaze on her and looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Can you look after her for a few days at least?’ Edwina asked. ‘Just until we can find out if she’s any relative, who would take her in?’

  Bessie’s answer was swift. ‘Of course we can. As long as it takes.’

  It was already dark in the enclosed confines of Waterman’s Yard when Edwina and Mary Ann arrived at Bessie’s home late that afternoon.

  ‘Come in, come in. The kettle’s boiling. Mary Ann, you nip across to Minnie’s. She’s been baking and promised me one of her apple pies.’ Bessie winked at Edwina. ‘Minnie Eccleshall’s pastry is legend around here. Not even I can get it as light as she does. Come in, Miss Edwina. Here, let me take your hat and coat. Go on, Mary Ann, there’s a love.’

  When the girl was safely across the yard, Bessie said, ‘I arranged all that with Minnie earlier, just in case you had owt to tell me.’

  Edwina nodded. ‘I have. I managed to see my father at lunchtime. It appears that Dan has been arrested because they believe he helped Sid Clark to escape by allowing him to stow away on the Nerissa.’

  Bessie nodded, but held back her impatience. That much she knew already.

  ‘Naturally, Dan is protesting his innocence and pointing out – and there are witnesses to this, Bessie – that it was he who raised the alarm when he saw the man trying to sneak off the ship at Hull.’

  ‘But they don’t believe him?’

  ‘Not yet, but they will,’ Edwina said confidently. ‘I’ve got in touch with our solicitors and Mr Riggall promised to go to the station and see Dan this very afternoon.’

  Bessie let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Miss Edwina.’ She wrinkled her forehead. ‘I expect we can scrape up for his fees.’

  Edwina waved her hand as she removed her gloves and sat down in Bert’s sagging armchair. ‘Don’t worry about that, Bessie, please. My family retains Riggall and Bates on a permanent basis.’ She smiled impishly. ‘I’m sure that little bit won’t be noticed on the account.’

  ‘Oh Miss Edwina, but we couldn’t . . .’

  ‘Yes, you can and you will, Bessie Ruddick. You’re looking after the girl, aren’t you? If we all do our bit, then . . .’

  She said no more as the door opened and Mary Ann appeared, carefully carrying an apple pie, hot from Minnie’s oven.

  ‘Now, doesn’t that look a treat?’ Bessie said. ‘What say we all have a piece, eh? With a nice helping of cream?’

  Dan arrived home about eight o’clock that evening to a rapturous welcome from his family and a tearful, clinging one from Mary Ann.

  ‘There, there, love. It’ll be all right,’ Dan patted her awkwardly and looked over the girl’s head for help from his mother.

  Briskly, but not unkindly, Bessie said, ‘Now, now, Mary Ann. Let our Dan get inside the door. I bet you’re hungry, lad, aren’t you?’

  ‘What happened?’ Duggie demanded. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Dan pulled a face. ‘Sort of. I’m released on bail pending further inquiries. They haven’t dropped the charges yet, but Mr Riggall seems sure they will. It’s thanks to Miss Edwina that I’m here at all. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be locked up in that awful cell.’ He gave a dramatic shudder and glanced sympathetically towards Mary Ann. He wondered if she was thinking about her own father, locked up in a similar cold, dank place. ‘Worst of it is,’ Dan went on, ‘I’m not allowed to leave the town, so I can’t sail.’

  Bessie exchanged a glance with Bert, who said, ‘That’s a blow, lad, because the way Price is feeling at the moment, I doubt he’ll find you work elsewhere.’

  ‘No,’ Dan said gloomily, ‘and I don’t expect he’ll let me see Susan either.’

  Bessie put her hand on his shoulder. ‘There are other ships and other employers. Once all this business is over, it’ll be all right.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dan murmured. ‘But don’t say it, Mam. Don’t say there’s other girls, ’cos I don’t want to hear it.’

  Quietly, Bessie said, ‘I wasn’t going to, lad. I wasn’t going to.’

  Mary Ann, sitting next to Dan, slipped her arm through his and leant her head against his shoulder, smiling gently.

  The tiny community of Waterman’s Yard rallied around Mary Ann. Even Amy grudgingly acknowledged that whatever had happened was not the girl’s fault. But she could not and would not have a scrap of sympathy for the man.

  ‘If I had my way,’ she said loudly for all to hear, ‘they’d not only hang the devil but draw and quarter him an’ all and stick his head on a pike near the bridge for all to see his shame.’

  Bessie smiled wryly at the change in her neighbour. At least, Bessie thought, she’s showing a bit of spirit at last. Anything’s better than that
dreadful wallowing in self-pity.

  ‘Aye,’ Bessie murmured to herself more than once. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.’

  The police were now satisfied that they had the right person in jail awaiting trial for murder and, to everyone’s relief, all charges against Dan were dropped. With the examination of the crime scene complete, the authorities gave permission for the house the Clarks had occupied to be cleared, cleaned and re-let.

  ‘I can’t see anyone wanting to come and live there,’ Minnie Eccleshall shuddered. ‘I don’t even want to set foot in the place.’ She eyed Bessie fearfully. ‘You weren’t going to ask me to come with you, Bessie, were you?’

  Bessie weighed the key she held in her hand thoughtfully. ‘The owners have asked me to see to the clearing out. Everything belongs to Mary Ann by rights, though there’s nothing in there that’s worth a brass farthing, if you ask me. Still, there might be some bits and pieces she’ll want.’

  Appalled, Minnie said, ‘You’re not expecting that poor little lass to go in there, are you?’

  ‘Heavens, no. What do you think I am, Minnie Eccleshall? No,’ she added grimly. ‘I’ll see to it. And when you’ve got a rotten job to do, then I always say it’s best got over and done with. So, if you’re not going to be a help, Min, at least don’t be a hindrance.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m sure.’ Min said huffily as she stepped back smartly out of the way. But still, she did not offer to help Bessie.

  Even Bessie’s stout heart quailed a little as she opened the door that had been repaired and stepped inside. Hands on hips, she stood in the centre of the kitchen and surveyed the broken chair, the rickety table, the dirty curtainless windows. There was nothing here that made a home, nothing worth keeping for Mary Ann. And despite Miss Edwina’s endeavours to find someone, it seemed that Mary Ann had no relatives who were willing to take her.

  ‘I made contact with her mother’s family,’ Edwina had told Bessie only the previous day and shook her head sadly. ‘They won’t have anything to do with her. They just don’t want to know. Can you believe it?’

  Bessie had shaken her head sadly. ‘I can believe it, yes. Because it happens. But I don’t understand it.’

  Now, as Bessie stood in the silent, tragic house, she said aloud, ‘Well, Bessie Ruddick, me girl, you always did hanker after a daughter. And now it looks like you’ve got yourself one.’

  Part Two

  Mary Ann

  Twenty-One

  1921

  ‘Now you remember all I’ve told you. Miss Edwina’s given you the most marvellous chance, Mary Ann. Taking you on as an upstairs maid, and as her personal maid too. You don’t know how lucky you are. I started work at The Hall when I was thirteen as a scullery maid and I had to work me way up. And the cook they had there then was a right tartar, I can tell you . . .’

  Beside her, Bessie prattled on, but Mary Ann was listening only with half an ear. Her mind was busy with her own plans for her future – plans that certainly included what Bessie and Miss Edwina had mapped out for her, but Mary Ann’s own ambitions went much further than either of them could guess.

  Bessie was right about one thing though, the girl conceded. She was lucky, very lucky, that Miss Edwina had offered her a job in her own home, for The Hall was only just a few streets away from Waterman’s Yard and a mere couple of hundred yards from the river.

  Mary Ann smiled. From today on, she was a working girl, a grown up and, best of all, she would be living and working only a short distance from Dan.

  ‘Are you listening to me, lass?’ Bessie prodded her arm.

  ‘Of course I am, Auntie Bessie,’ Mary Ann answered with pretended obedience. ‘I’m to be a good girl and work hard and be a credit to you and to Miss Edwina.’

  ‘Aye well, that an’ all, lass.’ Now Mary Ann felt Bessie’s comforting hand take hold of her arm. Her voice was gentle as she added, ‘But most of all, lass, I want you to be a credit to your poor mam. Don’t ever forget her, will ya?’

  They stopped on the path outside the entrance to The Hall and turned to face each other. Although she had grown rapidly in the past year, Mary Ann still had to stand on tiptoe to reach up and kiss Bessie’s cheek. The girl had, as Bessie put it, ‘filled out in all the right places’. Now she was no longer the skinny little waif, but a pretty young girl with an impish smile and a sparkle in her eyes, on the brink of womanhood. Mary Ann said nothing in response to Bessie’s plea, but merely smiled, stepped back and with a little wave moved towards the back door of The Hall.

  ‘See you on Sunday afternoon, Auntie Bessie. Give my love to Dan when he comes home tonight.’

  Then she was gone, running lightly across the grass towards the stately building that was now to be her home.

  Mrs Nellie Goodrick was nothing like Mary Ann had expected the cook at The Hall would be. She had pictured someone like Bessie on baking day. Tall, maybe, but round and jolly and red-faced from the constant heat of the oven. So the appearance of the woman standing before her, hands on hips, her steely, unfriendly gaze raking Mary Ann’s appearance from head to toe, was a surprise – and not a pleasant one.

  Nellie Goodrick was certainly tall, but with little shape to the bony body covered by her copious white apron. The apron and the white cap were the only things, Mary Ann thought, that made her look like a cook. She had cold grey eyes and a nose like a bird’s beak above a thin-lipped mouth that seemed constantly pursed in disapproval.

  ‘So you’re the new girl, are you?’

  Mary Ann decided meekness would be her greatest ally, at least on her first day.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she answered, keeping her voice low and deferential.

  ‘I hope you know how lucky you are? This position should have been young Clara’s by rights. She’s been here long enough to be promoted from just a general maid.’ The woman gave a quick shake of her head. ‘But there you are, life isn’t always fair, is it?’

  Life had been decidedly unfair to Nellie Goodrick. Not only had she not even been in the queue when the looks were given out, but she had also allowed bitterness to warp her personality. Her forty-six years of life had been spent solely trying to please others. Firstly her parents, from whom she had never managed, not once, to illicit an endearment or a gesture of pride towards her. Secondly, her husband, whom, in a short-lived marriage, she had also, it seemed, failed to please. And so, it had been her lot to be in service from the age of thirteen, the last twenty years in the employ of Bertram Marsh and his wife, Isabella, here at The Hall.

  Mr and Mrs Marsh kept themselves aloof from their servants. They were kindly, always fair, but distant. Their eldest son, Arthur, who had been killed on the Somme, had been quiet and shy and had scarcely spoken more than a few dozen words with the woman who prepared all the food he ate. As for Randolph, the second son, who was now, because of the death of his brother, the heir to the Marsh estate, well, what Nellie Goodrick thought about him was best left unsaid. Her opinions, if ever voiced, would earn her instant dismissal from this household.

  There was really only one person within the household for whom Nellie had any affection, such as her unloved and unloving heart was able to feel – Miss Edwina. And it was for this reason alone that Nellie Goodrick strove to keep her resentment at the arrival of this girl in check. And this girl especially, for they all knew of Mary Ann’s tragic circumstances. Unlike the inhabitants of Waterman’s Yard, the servants at The Hall believed in the saying ‘bad blood will out’. There was certainly bad blood flowing through Mary Ann Clark’s veins in Nellie’s opinion and, as she had remarked at the supper table in the kitchen only the previous evening, ‘Miss Edwina will regret bringing her here. You mark my words.’ Everyone around the table from Peter Deakin, The Hall’s one and only manservant, to Clara Dobson, the general maid, and the kitchen maid, Jessie Banks, had indeed ‘marked her words’.

  Now she saw the subject of her words standing before her in person, Nellie felt no compunction to change her mind. The
girl had a bold look, she thought, and she was pretty, far too pretty to work here. Nellie sighed. No doubt within a very few months she would be the third girl to depart hastily in tears and without a reference, having believed Randolph Marsh’s seductive protestations of love. It was on the tip of her tongue to warn the girl, but the bitter resentment against anyone who was even remotely attractive rose in her throat and choked her warning.

  Mary Ann stared back at the woman unflinchingly. Far from being daunted by the cook’s animosity, she saw it as a challenge.

  In the last year or so since the tragedy of Waterman’s Yard, as it had been headlined in the local newspaper, Mary Ann had changed. Welcomed into the Ruddick family household, she had been spoiled and petted by them all. Bessie and Bert had immediately treated her as their daughter, as if she had been born to them late in life, the gift of their dreams.

  For the boys, she had been a younger sister to be teased and spoiled and protected and each, in their own way, had done so. The extended family, the other inhabitants of the Yard, had shown her nothing but sympathy, and Mary Ann had blossomed in the warmth of their affection like a flower under the sun’s warm rays. Her life would have been perfect if it had not been for the dreadful shadow of her father’s crime. There was not a person in the town who did not know all about it and who she was. Whilst the residents of the Yard might be kindly, other people were less understanding. There was no escape unless she went right away, but that would mean leaving Dan and the rest of his family.

  ‘The best way,’ Miss Edwina had counselled, ‘is to hold your head high and live through it. I know it’s difficult, especially when you’re so young, but it’s the only way. You can’t run all your life, Mary Ann. Wherever you go, however far away from here, people have a habit of finding out about you, and you would have to run again and go on running.’