The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  He released Lizzie’s hand and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, took hold of Mary Ann’s with both his strong, warm hands. Lizzie, unable to speak, stood behind him, but her gaze never wavered from the woman in the bed.

  ‘Oh, Dan,’ Mary Ann breathed and closed her eyes. Tears pushed their way from beneath her eyelids and ran down her face. ‘You’re such a good man. I was such a fool. A stupid, naïve fool. So often, I’ve wanted to come back to you. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you and . . . and Lizzie. And Duggie. I even missed Duggie and his teasing, too.’ She opened her eyes now. ‘I . . . I was so sorry about Duggie. Did you see the banner?’

  Dan was puzzled. ‘Banner? What banner?’

  ‘The banner I embroidered in his memory. I gave it to the parish church. I thought they would put it up somewhere . . .’

  ‘You? You did that, Mary Ann?’

  Weakly, she nodded. ‘It was the least I could do. It was the only talent I ever had, wasn’t it?’ she said bitterly. ‘Being able to embroider. I was useless at everything else. I even loved the wrong man.’

  Lizzie watched as Dan said nothing now, but merely patted Mary Ann’s hand.

  ‘Dan, I was so wrong. So wicked . . .’

  ‘Don’t say that, my dear. A little foolish, maybe, but wicked, no.’

  ‘I was. It was so wrong of me to leave a good and generous man like you. And I took you away from poor Susan too, didn’t I? I did it deliberately, Dan. I couldn’t bear to see you loving her, while no one seemed to love me. And then, to leave my child, my own flesh and blood. What sort of a mother does that? That was unforgivable.’

  Her glance lifted now to rest on Lizzie and the slightest of smiles touched her mouth. ‘She’s pretty, Dan. Like I used to be, isn’t she? And from what I’ve heard, she’s been just as silly as her mother.’

  Dan shook his head. ‘No, no. She’s come home. She’s back with me now.’

  ‘Since Lawrence was killed?’

  ‘Well, no.’ There was embarrassment in Dan’s tone and he glanced apologetically at Lizzie before adding, ‘She came home before that. She’d . . . she’d realized things weren’t working out.’

  Mary Ann gave a little nod and murmured, ‘Maybe she’s got a little more sense than me, then. I hope so.’

  Lizzie was listening with a kind of bemused, shocked fascination. She had not seen her mother for nine years and yet Mary Ann knew all about her. She knew about her marriage, about her young husband’s death – everything. But then, she would have heard it all from her lover. No wonder Randolph Marsh had been so incensed over Lawrence marrying Lizzie.

  If it hadn’t been such a tragic situation, Lizzie thought, it would be funny. But looking at the poor creature in the bed, there was nothing to find amusing.

  ‘You’ve come home now, Mary Ann,’ Dan was saying. ‘And when you’re better . . .’

  Mary Ann was shaking her head. ‘I’m not going to get better, Dan. This child is going to kill me.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that. I won’t listen to such talk. You’ll have the child and then, when you’re stronger, we’ll see what’s to be done.’

  Mary Ann was smiling at him sadly. In her huge, dark eyes Lizzie could see a depth of knowledge, a premonition, that what she said was the truth.

  She had no will to survive any longer.

  ‘I’ve come back, Dan,’ Mary Ann whispered, ‘for one reason only. To beg your forgiveness, so that I can rest in peace. Just say it, Dan. Please. Say I’m forgiven.’

  His voice broke then and he lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. ‘Oh Mary Ann. You’re forgiven. You are forgiven.’

  A week later, Mary Ann gave birth to a strong, healthy boy, who yelled constantly for the sustenance his sick mother could not give him. For the three days following the difficult and protracted birth, whilst the life drained out of Mary Ann, Lizzie sat beside her mother’s bed, holding her hand.

  Most of the time, Mary Ann was barely conscious, but Lizzie stayed there anyway. On the third night, at about three in the morning, Mary Ann awoke. Lizzie, dozing fitfully and uncomfortably in the chair, was instantly awake too.

  ‘Is there anything you want, Mam?’ she asked softly. The room was illuminated softly by a tiny nightlight on the mantelpiece.

  ‘No,’ Mary Ann whispered. ‘Just . . . hold my hand, Lizzie. And tell me you love your wicked, silly mother.’

  ‘I do love you. We all do. Just get well and we’ll be so happy together.’

  ‘No, Lizzie. It’s not going to happen, my darling.’

  ‘Why not? You’re not going back to him, are you?’

  Mary Ann’s smile was weak, but for a brief moment some of the suffering left her face. ‘No, my love. I wouldn’t go back to him. Not ever again. He’s a cruel, harsh man. He uses people. But I couldn’t see it. I was dazzled by his sophistication, his charm. I thought he loved me, but I doubt very much if the man is capable of love. And yet, I still couldn’t seem to stop loving him.’

  With an effort that was obviously painful, Mary Ann turned herself to face her daughter. For a moment her gaze lingered on Lizzie’s face as if she were drinking in every feature of it to carry with her into eternity.

  ‘Dan is a hundred times the man Randolph Marsh is. It’s my tragedy that I didn’t see it when I had his love. I did love your father, Lizzie, truly I did, but in a very different way. My feeling for Randolph was a kind of madness, a passion that wouldn’t die. Dan’s love was the true love. It was gentle and kind and good. Perhaps that sounds a little boring, but it’s the only sort that lasts.’

  She lay back against the pillows again, for a moment exhausted by the effort. ‘You know,’ Mary Ann said softly, ‘I always thought you and Tolly might end up together.’

  Suddenly, there was a lump in Lizzie’s throat and she closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to prevent them uttering a sound.

  ‘He always seemed so devoted to you, even as a little boy.’

  Again there was a long silence before Mary Ann whispered, ‘Find yourself a good man, Lizzie. A man like your father. A man who truly loves you for yourself . . .’

  Her voice faded away and Lizzie could see that her mother had fallen asleep.

  She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, but the tears came anyway. Tears for her mother, who, despite Lizzie’s own brave words, knew she was dying. Tears for Lawrence too, but most of all, the tears she wept were for Tolly.

  Lizzie woke with a start as she heard a movement in the next room and knew that the house was stirring. The pale light of dawn was creeping in through the gap in the curtains. Lizzie stretched and then glanced towards her mother.

  She was lying just as she had fallen asleep. She looked very peaceful and there was the ghost of a smile on her mouth. The lines of suffering had fallen away from her face and, though it was still thin, she looked more like the woman Lizzie remembered as her mother.

  It was then she realized that the life had ebbed away from Mary Ann whilst Lizzie slept.

  Sixty

  ‘So, what are we going to do with this young man, then?’

  Blunt as ever, Bessie was the one to voice the question that had been in everyone’s mind, but the one that no one had dared to broach. They had buried poor Mary Ann in a corner of the town’s cemetery the day before and now the most pressing question was, what was to happen to her baby son?

  ‘I’d look after the bairn mesen,’ Bessie added, tickling the wriggling infant fondly as he lay in his makeshift crib – the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers from Bessie’s bedroom. ‘But I’m really too old now.’

  ‘I suppose I should go to The Hall,’ Dan said, reluctantly.

  ‘Oh no,’ Bessie said fiercely. ‘You aren’t going there. No, I tell you what. Lizzie can go and ask Miss Edwina to come to see me.’

  ‘Miss Edwina?’ Lizzie and her father chorused together.

  Bessie nodded firmly. ‘Why not? She’s the bairn’s aunt.’

  Lizzie glanced at
her father, who shrugged. ‘Aye, run along, lass. If your gran thinks it’s the right thing to do.’

  Lizzie walked the length of River Road deep in thought. What a muddle it all was, she thought. The child was her half-brother and would have been half-brother to Lawrence too. He was no blood relation to either Dan or to Bessie and yet they were concerning themselves over the infant’s welfare.

  Her mother had been right, Lizzie thought with a sad smile. Her father really was a good man. Despite the sorrow in her own heart, she felt a surge of happiness that she, at least, had been reconciled with her loving family. If only . . .

  No, she told herself determinedly, I mustn’t think of Tolly. Not today. Today I must think of that poor, nameless little boy. My half-brother. I mustn’t think of Tolly now . . .

  She was ushered into Edwina’s private apartment at the top of the house.

  ‘Lizzie, my dear.’ Edwina came towards her, her hands outstretched. ‘How are you? Yesterday must have been awful for you all.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘We saw you in church. Why didn’t you come back to the house?’

  Edwina sighed. ‘I was in two minds what to do.’

  ‘It must have been difficult for you, too.’

  Edwina pressed her lips together and nodded. She led Lizzie to the window seat and they sat down side by side.

  ‘We used to sit here together, your mother and I. I used to teach her embroidery.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘I know. There’s a trunkful of it in Gran’s house. Everything my mother ever made. Even the little baby dresses with the fancy smocking she made for me. Gran was showing me them only yesterday. She’s kept it all.’

  ‘Has she really?’ Edwina was surprised, as she added, ‘Fancy that.’

  There was a moment’s silence and then they both spoke at once.

  ‘How is . . .?’

  ‘Gran’s sent me . . .’

  They smiled and then Edwina said, ‘You first.’

  ‘Gran wonders if you could call to see her? She . . . they . . .’ Lizzie bit her lip.

  ‘Go on,’ Edwina prompted gently.

  ‘It’s about the baby. They don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Baby?’ Edwina’s eyes widened. ‘What baby?’

  ‘You . . . you didn’t know?’

  Edwina continued to stare at Lizzie and, robbed of speech, merely shook her head.

  Lizzie swallowed. This was proving to be even more difficult than she had imagined. ‘When my mother came back to us, she was expecting. Almost on her time, in fact. The baby was born ten days ago and she died three days afterwards.’

  Edwina let out a long sigh. ‘I didn’t know. Bessie sent word about her death and when the funeral was, but she said nothing about a child.’ Again they stared at each other as Edwina added softly, ‘Of course, it’s Randolph’s child, isn’t it?’

  Lizzie nodded.

  ‘So,’ Edwina said, so quietly that Lizzie almost didn’t hear her words, ‘Randolph has an heir after all.’ Then, shaking herself from her reverie, Edwina stood up and said briskly, ‘I’ll come at once. Just wait a moment while I get my hat and coat.’

  They walked side by side back to Waterman’s Yard without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts.

  As she stood looking down upon the infant, a look of love and adoration drove away all the sadness that had for many years been in Edwina’s face. Joy sparkled in her eyes as she bent and carefully lifted the baby boy into her arms.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, stroking his head with gentle fingers. ‘He’s just like Lawrence was as a baby and my mother always said that he was the image of Randolph as a child.’ She gave a light laugh and added, ‘There’s no denying whose this baby is.’

  ‘Aye,’ Bessie said bluntly as she and Lizzie watched. ‘But will his father acknowledge him?’

  ‘Not at once, no. I know my brother well.’ Edwina’s voice hardened. ‘Too well. But I think in time, he will. His desperate need for an heir will override anything else. Eventually.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’ Bessie asked.

  ‘In the meantime,’ Edwina said firmly, ‘if Dan will help me, I will adopt the child legally.’

  ‘Dan? Why does it concern Dan?’

  ‘Because, Bessie,’ Edwina explained gently, ‘Mary Ann was still legally Dan’s wife, wasn’t she? I think I’m right in saying that in the eyes of the law, this is Dan’s child.’

  Bessie sniffed, but said nothing. Edwina went on, ‘But there’s nothing to stop Dan allowing me to adopt him. I’ll make sure everything is done legally and properly.’

  ‘What shall you call him, Miss Edwina?’ Lizzie asked quietly.

  Again Edwina’s loving eyes roamed over the baby’s face, drinking in every tiny feature. ‘Oh, there’s only one name I could call him, Lizzie. Christopher.’

  So it was all settled between them and the following day, Edwina came to collect her nephew, soon to be her adopted son.

  ‘I’m surprised she’s being allowed to adopt him,’ Dan said, and added hastily, ‘Not that I’m not delighted she is, but with her not being married . . .’

  Bessie shrugged. ‘We’re in difficult times. There’ll be a lot of poor little mites left orphaned because of the war. I expect the authorities have been able to allow this particular adoption because of the special circumstances. Besides,’ Bessie added shrewdly, ‘she knows all the right people, doesn’t she? Moves in the right circles, so to speak.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘I ’spect it’s a case of “not what you know, but who you know”.’

  ‘Now, now, Mam,’ Dan teased.

  ‘No, lad, don’t get me wrong. I’m only too pleased she does. In this case, it’s fully justified, however she’s managed it.’

  Dan put his arm around Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘Well, lass, are you ready? Time we were getting aboard.’

  ‘I’m ready, Dad.’ She bent and kissed her grandmother. ‘Take it easy, Gran. Give my love to Grandpa. Tell him we’ll see him on Wednesday.’

  ‘Ta-ra, love. Take care.’

  They were sailing past the ferryman’s cottage when they saw Susan standing at the very edge of the riverbank, waving a piece of paper and shouting.

  ‘I can’t hear what she’s saying,’ Dan said. ‘Can you?’

  ‘No,’ Lizzie said, shading her eyes against the sun. ‘But she’s looking very pleased about something.’

  ‘I can’t steer any nearer the bank, Lizzie. Take the cog boat and have a word with her.’

  Minutes later, the cog boat was bumping against the bank, but before Lizzie had even the chance to climb out of it, Susan was reaching out towards her.

  ‘Lizzie, he’s safe. He’s alive, Lizzie.’

  Lizzie gaped up at her and the breath seemed knocked from her body as her heart began to thud painfully. ‘Alive?’

  ‘Yes. Tolly’s alive. He’s a prisoner of war. He’s in a prison in Germany. But he’ll be coming home, Lizzie. One day, when it’s all over, he’ll be coming home.’ As Lizzie scrambled up the bank, Susan, tears coursing down her face, clasped her hands. ‘Oh Lizzie, Tolly will be coming back to us.’

  They hugged each other, there on the bank, dancing round with joy and singing together, ‘He’s coming home, he’s coming home.’

  Lizzie waved and shouted to her father, but still he could not hear the wonderful news. ‘I’ll go back in a minute,’ she said to Susan. ‘But tell me, is he all right? Was he hurt?’

  ‘He broke a leg when they crash landed behind enemy lines, but he says he’s received good treatment and his leg has mended well. They won’t let him come home yet, of course, so we’ll have to be patient until the war is over. Oh pray God, it isn’t long.’

  The war dragged on for another eighteen months, and for those who waited for loved ones with fear and longing, it seemed much longer. But then in May of 1945 came VE Day and soon afterwards, prisoners of war began to arrive back home.

  ‘When will he be home?’ Lizzie asked Susan constantly. Although she had written
to him during his captivity and received a few letters in return, his words had been stilted and distant.

  ‘It’ll be because of the censor,’ Susan tried to comfort her. ‘They know every word is going to be read by the Germans. Mine are just the same.’

  But his mother never showed Lizzie her letters from Tolly, so Lizzie could not be sure that the woman was not just being kind.

  ‘He’ll be home very soon now,’ Susan was able to say at last. ‘But he’s to go into hospital first to have a thorough check. He’s fine. His leg’s healed well, but he has been ill. Nothing serious, though.’

  ‘Just prison camp conditions, I suppose,’ Lizzie said, thinking of one or two men who had already come home after being imprisoned. Their skeletal figures had shocked Lizzie, but at least, she had told herself at the time, they are alive and home again, and she mourned for all those who would not be coming back. Uncle Duggie, Lawrence and so many more. Once, she had believed that Tolly, too, was lost to her forever. But now, her heart lifted as she thought that soon, very soon, she would see him again.

  The weeks that passed before his arrival dragged interminably. Susan had received a letter from him and told Lizzie, ‘He hopes to be home next week. When you come back from Hull, Lizzie, he’ll be here.’

  Now that day had arrived. They were returning home, sailing upriver towards Elsborough, closer and closer they came to the white cottage and Lizzie was standing at the bow of the ship, shading her eyes, squinting to catch sight of him.

  And then there he was standing in the garden of his home, his mother hovering in the doorway of the cottage behind him. He was thin, Lizzie could see that even from this distance, but he looked resplendent in his RAF uniform, tall and with his hair blowing in the breeze. She waved but there was no answering wave from him. He just stood there, watching her.

  Lizzie swallowed. He was still angry with her. He no longer loved her, if, indeed, he ever had done. Had her love for him coloured her imagination and made her believe that perhaps he had loved her too? Lizzie felt the tears prickle her eyelids and the lump in her throat grew, threatening to choke her.