White Water

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘What do you want?’ Melissa asked, at a loss to know what to make of them.

  The child muttered something unintelligible and held out her arms trustingly towards Melissa.

  ‘Forgive me but I don’t understand,’ she told the woman. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  Again the woman put a finger to her lips and the child copied the gesture, laughing as though sharing a joke.

  Melissa considered them. They didn’t look like gipsies, she decided. Most probably beggars. But then what was the significance of the wedding ring — unless to prove that she was a respectable woman now fallen on hard times? And why pretend to be dumb? It was such an old trick, popular with such unfortunates. And yet there was something appealing about the woman and there was nothing humble or subservient in her manner.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Melissa and went quickly back to the kitchen.

  ‘’Tis a woman and child,’ she told Maggie. ‘Come and see for yourself. Tis really most strange.’

  Intrigued, Maggie put down her knitting and followed Melissa to the front door. The woman, seeing a new face, smiled broadly and again repeated the little mime, putting a finger first to her lips and then to the ring.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Maggie demanded loudly and clearly. ‘Say something. Tell us who you are.’

  ‘Do you think she’s a gipsy?’ whispered Melissa.

  Gipsies were notorious rogues and cheats and Melissa had no wish to fall for one of their many confidence tricks. It was said they had magic charms which could pull silver out of a purse without opening it.

  ‘I don’t know. She’s shabby but not in tatters. They usually dress in gaudy rags.’

  They looked at the woman and her child who both stared back amiably.

  ‘I’ll give them some food,’ said Melissa, ‘and send them on their way. ’Tis miserable weather to be traipsing the countryside but what more can we do? Will you watch them? We don’t want her stealing while our backs are turned.’

  In the kitchen she collected together a half loaf, a spiced sausage and half a cold chicken. She wrapped them in a cloth and poured a large mug of milk. These she carried back to the front door.

  ‘I’m blessed if I can understand it,’ said Maggie. ‘She’s pointing into the house and then to that blessed ring but the child’s a bonny little mite.’

  ‘Mayhap she’s not dumb,’ said Melissa, handing her the glass of milk and indicating that they should both drink. ‘Maybe she’s from foreign parts and knows no English — Drink it,’ she prompted, for the woman hesitated and then shook her head. The child had no such qualms, however, and snatched the mug, drinking greedily. Melissa watched them uneasily. She wanted desperately to invite them in and warm them by the fire, but times were dangerous and no one was to be trusted if the stories currently told in the markets were to be believed. Only a week ago an old woman was swindled of ten gold sovereigns in return for which she was promised eternal life … and died the very next day! In Tavistock they told of a rich but lovesick maid who paid a gipsy woman handsomely for a love philtre and while the transaction took place at the back door, the gipsy’s husband broke in at the front and stole a silver snuff box and a set of gilt spoons. Melissa did not condone such crimes and had no time for those who chose a life of crime, but she felt sympathy for those poor wretches who, thrown out of work, had somehow to survive and often resorted to such trickery when honest means failed.

  She longed to take them in and feed and comfort them but she knew Thomas would never approve.

  ‘Eat!’ Maggie told the woman, but she shook her head, smiling broadly and pointed to her ring and then back along the path by which they had come. The child, exploring the contents of the cloth, seized the bread and began to eat it hungrily.

  Nervously Melissa looked along the path.

  ‘Most likely the husband is following close behind,’ said Maggie in a low voice.

  ‘Why does she smile so?’ said Melissa. ‘Surely a homeless beggar has little to smile about? And look — she still doesn’t eat and ’tis all good food I’ve given them. The bread is fresh and the chicken cooked yesterday.’

  ‘And the child has drunk all the milk.’

  They watched the path, half-expecting to see the husband appear but there was neither sight nor sound of anyone. Around them the trees dripped moisture and the birds were silent, subdued by the unnatural gloom.

  ‘Oh, this is impossible!’ cried Melissa. ‘I shall take them inside and warm them and — ’ She shrugged helplessly, ‘And then decide what to do. How can I turn them away in this dreadful fog? I shall never sleep tonight thinking of them huddled under a hedge. Why ’tis enough to give them both a deathly chill.’

  She looked at Maggie for her approval.

  ‘And the husband?’ Maggie asked. ‘If he should follow?’

  Melissa hesitated. ‘He can sleep in the stable. No! He might steal the horses. Holy St Katharine! What’s best to do? If he comes then they must all go. Aye, that’s best.’ Maggie nodded. Knowing Melissa’s generous nature she was already resigned to the outcome of the encounter. Melissa touched the woman’s arm. ‘Come inside,’ she said and beckoned them to follow her — which the woman did most willingly. Maggie closed and bolted the front door and joined them. Having made her decision, Melissa proceeded to make the visitors welcome. Smiling, she took the child on to her lap, unwrapped the blanket revealing a worn gown. ‘’Tis a little girl,’ she said and then handed her to Maggie. ‘Cuddle her by the fire,’ she told her. ‘Her poor little hands are frozen.’

  She turned to the woman who was removing her shawl and took it from her. ‘Sit by the fire,’ she said. ‘Warm yourself.’ And she upturned a log for her to sit on. ‘I’ll mull some wine. That will bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

  Melissa bustled happily between the fire and the larder, talking cheerfully, aware that the woman watched her closely but made no attempt to sit down. They heard Thomas cough again and the woman glanced up, pointing in the direction of the sound and nodding delightedly.

  ‘That’s my husband,’ Melissa told her. ‘Thomas Benet and I am Melissa Benet and — ’

  Suddenly the woman seized her hand, kissed it and pressed it to her cheek affectionately. Over her head, Maggie and Melissa exchanged astonished glances.

  Maggie said excitedly, ‘She seems to think she knows you. Mayhap she has mistaken you for someone else. D’you think she has come to the wrong house? Or was she making for Heron — a friend or relative of one of the servants?’

  Melissa sighed. ‘Well, if she cannot speak we shall likely never know. She may be at the wrong house but she’s welcome to stay the night. The fog may lift by morning and she will — ’

  She broke off for the woman had snatched the child from Maggie’s lap and now thrust her into Melissa’s arms. Then she pointed from the ring to the child and from the child to the absent husband.

  Melissa’s eyes widened. ‘Sweet heaven!’ she whispered. ‘It surely cannot be and yet — ’ Her eyes met Maggie’s and comprehension was dawning in her eyes also. She looked at the woman who, sensing her new understanding, nodded delightedly.

  ‘They are Oliver’s!’ cried Melissa. ‘Dear God! They are Oliver’s! It must be so — and I almost turned them away. Oh, my dears!’

  She kissed the child passionately and then held out her free arm to the young woman who moved eagerly into her tremulous embrace. Tears of joy streamed down Melissa’s face and Maggie, watching, wiped away a few tears of her own. At that moment there were footsteps outside and the kitchen door was flung open and Oliver was home.

  *

  The next five minutes were a time of great confusion. Melissa, Maggie and Oliver all talked at once and hugged each other and asked a dozen questions that, in the excitement, were never answered.

  ‘Oliver, you are so changed!’ repeated Melissa. ‘I would scarce have recognized you. Isn’t he changed, Maggie? Oh, I cannot believe you are really standing before me. Tell me ’tis
no dream, Oliver. You are really home? And with a wife and child? Oliver, how could you keep them from us for so long? Wait ’til Thomas learns you are home! He’s in bed with a chesty cold but there’s nought to fret about. ’Tis not serious, but the weather was so inclement — Oh, come here, little one. Come and kiss your grand-mama. You are so like your papa! The same neat chin and oval face — but your mother’s eyes. But she is so light! Like a feather. We shall fatten you up, little one. Maggie shall make you some of her best pies. D’you like gooseberry tart, eh? And quince flan — or little mutton pies with a frilly edge to the pastry? Maggie will make you some. Maggie, you hold the little lamb — Go to Maggie, my pet.’ Oliver threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘Mama, you will smother them with kindness.’

  ‘Oliver!’ said Melissa. ‘I shall go up now and take Thomas his linctus. I shall break the news to him gently that you are here and then you shall go up and see him.’

  ‘Break it to him gently?’ cried Oliver. ‘You’ll do no such thing. I’ll go up — I want to see his face. Don’t fuss, Mama, no one dies of happiness. You shall not rob him of the excitement. Here, give me the linctus and I’ll surprise him.’

  And, ignoring her protests, he took the jug and spoon and hurried upstairs. Melissa ran out after him and listened at the bottom of the stairs to Thomas’ shout of joyful recognition then, unable to resist seeing his face, she ran upstairs and into the bedroom. Oliver knelt by the bedside and Thomas was patting his head as one would a dog. He glanced up at Melissa and his smile was radiant.

  ‘I thought never to see him again,’ he confessed. ‘I never spoke of it but I thought it often and the thought tormented me. Oliver! See how you’ve changed. Look at him, Melissa.’ She took one of her husband’s hands in hers and together they regarded their son. ‘How broad he’s grown — look at his shoulders — and how fair. The sun has bleached it, I daresay. What happened to our young lad? He’s a man now — ’

  Oliver said, ‘And with a wife and child, Papa. They are downstairs.’

  Thomas’ jaw dropped. ‘A — wife, d’you say?’ He stared at Melissa. ‘And a child?’

  Melissa nodded.

  ‘You are a grandfather,’ said Oliver and Thomas gave a roar of delight.

  Then he threw back the bed covers. ‘A daughter-in-law and a grand-child and here I am lying in bed like an invalid. Get me my clothes, Lissa. What will they think of me?’

  Pushing aside the proffered linctus he scurried around the bedchamber on his long thin legs. Oliver was secretly dismayed by the change in him. In his absence his father had become an old man. The blue eyes had faded. Gone were the brown curls to be replaced by grey. The once firm hands trembled slightly and the voice was huskier than he recalled. He watched as Melissa helped him into his best brown velvet and he nodded as Thomas turned to him for approval.

  ‘Will I pass muster?’ he demanded. ‘A daughter-in-law and a grand-child! I must look my best.’

  ‘They will be most impressed,’ Oliver assured him. ‘Nina will not speak to you, Papa. She is dumb — from what cause I know not — but she will hear and understand you. You will love her as I do.’

  ‘Dumb?’ Thomas was stopped momentarily in his tracks. ‘No speech at all? Poor soul! But we won’t touch on it, will we, Lissa? Come along now. No, Lissa, don’t hold my arm. You will make Oliver think I am an old man!’

  When all the introductions had been made and all the tears shed, Maggie set to work to prepare a meal of roast pig and onions and a pan of honeyed plums. While she worked the whole family crowded round the kitchen fire so that Maggie, too, should hear the telling of Oliver’s story. He had seen them last seven years ago and, up to that time, been engaged on various ships that sailed from Plymouth, plying to and fro across the Channel, across to the Netherlands, or round the coast of England.

  ‘And ’twas very dull,’ he told them. ‘I considered seriously that I might quit life at sea and come home to shear sheep or plant turnips! But then I thought how much duller that would be.’ His laugh was unforced, with his head thrown back and his legs sprawled comfortably towards the fire. ‘So I took up piracy!’ he said as casually as he could and was rewarded, as he expected, with a stunned silence.

  ‘Piracy, eh?’ said Thomas at last, looking up from the child on his lap. He looked at Melissa for a lead on how to react to this piece of news. Maggie had paused also, the dish of plums halfway between fire and table and she, too, glanced at Melissa.

  ‘Piracy?’ said Melissa. ‘But that’s dishonest — and dangerous!’

  ‘Aye, Mama, ’tis both of those things,’ he told her, ‘but ’tis also profitable and I’ve no wish to die a poor man when there’s riches for the taking. I jumped ship and joined a privateer by the name of Rockalleen, a sweet little ship seized from Flemish traders a few months earlier with a cargo of wines.’

  None of his listeners could think of a fitting comment when he paused and he laughed again at the look on their faces.

  ‘’Tis not so wicked,’ he insisted. ‘In truth, Mama, fortunes are being made every day on the high seas. You cannot imagine. The whole world is opening up. The high seas are full of ships of all nationalities and all loaded with rich cargoes. Where they go, pirates go! Drake has reached Panama and has seen the Pacific. The world is changed, Mama. ’Twill never be the same again. Gentlemen pirates grow wealthy on the proceeds, and even the Queen is not averse to foreign gold if it fills her coffers.’

  ‘The Queen!’ cried Melissa, finally spurred to protest. ‘You’ll not tell me, Oliver, that the Queen goes pirating or encourages such — such deeds!’

  ‘Oh but she does!’ said Oliver. ‘She pretends grave dismay and wears a disapproving face in public and condemns piracy to the world, but she has frequently helped fit out the self-same vessels with her own money. Aye, and takes a good percentage of the prize money. ’Tis well known.’

  ‘He’s right, Lissa,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ve heard the same report.’

  ‘But you don’t look like a rich man, Oliver,’ said Melissa. ‘Your clothes are faded and your wife and babe like two waifs. Where’s your good percentage of the prize, then?’

  ‘We lost it all again,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We took a fine prize off the north coast of Spain — a squat little ship sixty feet long with a heavy top hamper. And could she roll!’ They had taken the ship, he told them, and abandoned the crew on an isolated stretch of Spanish coast and had sold the cargo in Portugal. With the profits they had re-provisioned the captured boat and partially refitted her to make her suitable for longer voyages. The two boats had then set sail for the Bay of Biscay in search of rich cargoes, but had run into foul weather and storms had shredded the rigging, so they had been forced to run her aground and make such repairs as they could. The time thus lost left them short of food and what they had was rapidly becoming inedible. The biscuits rotted and the beer turned sour in the heat.

  ‘And you with your stomach!’ Melissa marvelled. ‘When I think how you jibbed at your food when you were so high — ’ She held out her hand. ‘You could scarce keep down an egg at times — There’s no cause for you to laugh behind your hand, Thomas. ’Tis the truth.’

  ‘An egg would have been a luxury,’ said Oliver, grinning at his father, ‘but the poor hens in their wicker cages had gone to a watery grave, worked free of their lashings and washed overboard in the first storm. So — back we came again and lost a prize on the way, for we passed a Spanish galleon on the horizon but had too little sail to come up with her. Even if we had we’d scarcely a dozen men left well enough to stand, let alone fight.’ He shook his head regretfully at the thought of their loss. ‘So we put into Portsmouth and I left them and took passage on the Rose of Taw. Oh that was a ship and a half! The beautiful Rose of Taw was bound for the West Indies.’

  Maggie, listening enthralled, worked on, refusing to let Melissa help, insisting that she should feast her eyes on Oliver. Eventually, the meal was ready and they all sat round the table and Maggie watche
d proudly as they enjoyed the good food and wine she had set before them. What a home-coming! She thought how much better it was to be part of a family and no longer sole mistress of a bakery and, with the baby on her lap sharing her dinner, she ate with a good appetite and a happy heart.

  Towards the end of the meal Melissa could no longer hold back the questions regarding Oliver’s wife. She had told herself that she would wait until they were alone — at least until the girl was out of earshot. But the strain of knowing nothing of the background finally proved too much for her.

  ‘Oliver,’ she cried, ‘tell us how you met your wife and her name. We do not even know that!’ She smiled at the young woman as she spoke and received a friendly smile in return. ‘How d’you know her name if the poor soul is dumb?’

  It was Oliver’s turn to smile, not at all embarrassed by the directness of his mother’s questions.

  ‘I don’t know her real name,’ he confessed, ‘but I call her Nina. It seems to suit her and she likes it.’ Nina nodded. She obviously understood the direction of their conversation. ‘Tis a simple story, how we met, and I’ll tell it simply. The Rose of Taw was coming back from the West Indies when she met up with some scurrilous pirates!’

  There was a roar of laughter.

  ‘The biter bit!’ said Thomas and Melissa tried to hide her trepidation.

  ‘Aye, and most cruelly bit! They took our cargo and so damaged our ship that they thought we would never make it to shore.’

  ‘They left you to sink and drown?’ cried Melissa.

  ‘Aye — and we’d have done the same in their shoes. And no doubt will if we ever meet up with them again. I’d give a lot to watch those wretches sink beneath the waves!’

  Melissa looked at her husband, dismayed by Oliver’s aggressive talk, but Thomas gave her a sly wink and she was somewhat reassured.