A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  ‘My parents’ house in York is by the river Ouse,’ Giles told Aaron. ‘It’s where I was born and grew up as a boy.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Aaron said. ‘I’ve been to York. I was a fisherman afore I met Peggy and became a farmer, and when I was just a young feller one of my older brothers asked if I’d fancy a trip to York. So off we went, took ’shrimp boat and sailed up ’Humber as far as Trent Falls and Goole and then joined up with ’Ouse and onwards to York. We had a grand few days, looked around York and then set off home again; caught some fish on ’way back.’ He grinned. ‘I might have passed your folks’ house, though you wouldn’t have been around back then. Some splendid houses along ’river banks.’

  Giles agreed that he wouldn’t have been there then, but the house would as it had belonged to his grandparents before his father.

  Delia had stayed in to talk to Peggy and told her about the planned trip to Derbyshire; she said she didn’t want to walk into the village today as she found the weather rather chilly, although in truth she didn’t want to risk seeing either of her parents. The shotgun incident had unsettled her. Louisa came looking for Robin and was disappointed that he was out and said she would stay until he came back. She asked if they’d heard Mr Deakin’s gun go off, and told them that her father had said the man was mad.

  When the men and Robin came back from their walk, they had a cup of tea and then Aaron slipped out again. When he came back he muttered that there was no sign of anybody about at Deakin’s cottage but that he’d catch him the next day and have a word. They had a friendly evening over a hearty supper and then a game of cards before Giles excused himself and set off to walk to the Crown.

  The next afternoon Delia and Giles said goodbye and Delia told Robin that they would return the following Friday to collect him for the promised visit to see Arthur Crawshaw.

  ‘Do you think it will be all right for Robin to come back on the Monday morning?’ Delia had asked Peggy. ‘It will be very late when we return from Derbyshire. We’ll miss the last Hedon train.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Peggy had said. ‘I’ll speak to ’schoolmistress. I’ll tell her he’s been invited to a grand house and that he’ll tell them all about it when he comes back.’

  On the train to Hull, Giles thanked Delia for inviting him. ‘The Robinsons are very nice people,’ he said. ‘You need have no worries about them taking care of Robin. They obviously love him as their own.’

  Delia agreed that they did, but she was very quiet for most of the short journey, so Giles carefully probed a little further.

  ‘Their son?’ he said. ‘He didn’t put in an appearance.’

  ‘He’d be busy on the farm, I expect,’ she excused him. ‘It’s coming up to spring; there’s plenty to do in farming even though it’s only a small acreage. They always used to have two field horses and they’ve now got two others for the traps, so they’ve all to be fed in a morning before they’re put to work. Then they’ve a small herd of cattle to look after. I thought Jack might have come in for something to eat at midday.’ She paused. ‘I think he makes himself scarce when I come, and he’d know I was bringing a friend; Peggy would have told him. His wife, Susan, has apparently gone to see her parents and taken the other two girls with her.’

  ‘Ah!’ he acknowledged. ‘And what about the other incident? The gun shot. What was that about? You seemed nervous.’

  She didn’t answer immediately but chewed on her lip. Then she murmured, ‘It was my father. I could tell by the direction of the shot. He would have been killing rats. Killing something, anyway.’

  Deakin had gone off with the mule and cart, a pack of bread and cheese and a bottle of cold tea, and on his return at almost midnight his wife saw from the bedroom window that the cart was again heaped to the top, whatever was in it covered by a rubber tarpaulin. She could hear the barn door crashing against its frame, the mule objecting at being made to stand and Deakin swearing; she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and went downstairs to wait for him. It was over half an hour before he came into the house.

  ‘What ’you doing up at this hour?’ he grunted. ‘You should be abed.’

  ‘I was,’ she snapped back. ‘You woke me with your banging and crashing about. Haven’t you brought fish?’

  ‘I threw it back when I reached the landing,’ he sneered. ‘I’ve had a better catch than fish.’

  ‘Like what?’ she asked slyly.

  He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Never you mind; get off to bed.’

  ‘Don’t you want tea? Cocoa?’

  ‘If I do I can make it myself. I don’t need you for owt.’

  And he didn’t, she deduced, and was vaguely disturbed.

  The next day he was up early again. He hitched the mule to the cart and didn’t say when he would be back; he seemed elated over something. She didn’t immediately look in the barn, deciding to do her usual jobs first in case he returned and caught her out. She went through her routine of milking the goats and gathering the eggs, and thought that later she’d wring the neck of an old hen and cook it for Sunday dinner. At midday she ate a plate of ham and chutney and began to fidget with indecision. She made a batch of scones and ate one with a pot of tea, and it was after four o’clock before she began looking out of the window again.

  ‘He’s gone out on the river, I’ll be bound,’ she mumbled. ‘He’ll not be back till tonight. Mebbe I’ll just take a look while it’s still light,’ and with the resolution made, she put on her coat and pulled on a woollen hat and rubber boots and went out to the barn.

  There were wooden casks sitting on top of tin trunks on the rully and they were heavy to move, but with much heaving and shoving she managed to roll one to the floor. But she couldn’t open it, not without him knowing, as the bung in the top was well and truly sealed and if she broke into it there’d be no sealing it up again. She put her nose to it and sniffed. Baccy? she wondered. There’s just a whiff of something. Or mebbe it’s brandy. She rolled the cask from side to side and thought that whatever was inside was swilling about.

  The metal trunk the cask had been sitting on was easier, as she didn’t have to move it; it had a bolt through the catch. Fetching a box to stand on, she took a spanner from a hook on the wall and managed to knock the bolt out and lift the lid. The pungent aroma of tobacco filled her nostrils and she breathed it in. The catchment was covered in sacking and she felt down the sides of the trunk to ascertain if it contained only tobacco. It seemed as if it did, and, nodding her head, she guessed it was worth a fortune. She counted four trunks and six casks and thought that there was no possibility of her seeing any of the profit from it, for Deakin would secrete the money away once the goods were sold on and she wondered where the old miser would hide it.

  Mebbe that’s where he’s gone today, she mused. Gone to Hull or Beverley to haggle with his regular customers. They’ll be farmers or bank managers, lawyers or shopkeepers, I expect, thieves the lot of ’em; and because she was trying to think of a way to take some of that profit for herself, and slipping the bolt back into the catch, and then heaving the cask back into its former place, she failed to hear the rag-clad clop of the mule’s hooves or the rattle of the cart wheels; nor did she hear the stealthy opening of the barn door.

  She got down from the box and turned, dusting her hands together, and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Deakin standing there. He didn’t speak for a moment and she wondered how long he had been watching her. She decided on bravado.

  ‘What’s all this lot, then?’

  ‘You’re not telling me you haven’t looked.’ His voice was a sneer. ‘Don’t come all innocent with me.’

  ‘How do you think I could shift any of these on my own?’

  ‘No?’ he said. ‘Well, we’ll see how strong you are. You can help me unload the cart.’

  ‘Righty ho,’ she answered with false merriment. ‘I’ll try, but I don’t want to hurt my back. It’s been giving me some gyp lately.’

  ‘Has it really
?’ he asked sardonically. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Don’t like to complain,’ she remarked, beginning to worry about this cat and mouse game, and walked slowly towards him. He opened the door wider to let her out and she saw the cart once more laden and covered by the tarpaulin, and his rifle on the seat. ‘You’ve been busy,’ she observed. ‘Fishing’s been good, has it?’

  He didn’t answer but brushed past her and picked up the rifle and she knew it would be loaded. It always was, and she began to shake.

  ‘Lead the mule in,’ he said, indicating with a nod. ‘And then start unloading.’

  She glanced at him but didn’t argue. She couldn’t possibly lift any casks off the cart, not on her own. If in fact that was what was under the sheeting. He’d taken a risk carrying them in broad daylight. She took hold of the mule’s snaffle and he brayed at her. The animal was as bad-tempered as Deakin and she’d had many a nip from his large yellow teeth and kick from his back legs.

  But the mule was compliant on this occasion and she was told to uncouple him and let him outside, which she did.

  ‘Come on then,’ Deakin told her. ‘Start unloading.’

  She pulled off the sheeting and saw the casks. ‘I can’t lift them,’ she said. ‘How can I? You’ll have to help me.’

  He came towards her, putting the rifle over one shoulder, and leaned in. ‘Course you can,’ he said softly, and in one swift movement hit her across the face, knocking her to the ground.

  She was stunned for a moment and then staggered to her feet, leaning on the rully to steady herself. ‘Why’d you do that?’ Her voice shook and she felt blood in her mouth and spat out the remains of a tooth. ‘I said I’d help you. I just can’t do it by myself.’

  A grin crossed his lips. ‘I suppose you thought you might have a share in this?’ He indicated the haul of goods. ‘Thought you’d have a little treat, did you?’

  She was watching his hands, ready and waiting for the next blow that she knew would come. ‘No, there’s nothing I need, is there? I’m so well provided for. A life of luxury is what I’ve got, isn’t it? That’s what you promised me, isn’t it, all them years ago?’

  ‘Aye, I did. Didn’t mean it though, did I? You were just a means to an end; a cover, you and the brat that you brought into the world.’

  He lifted his hand again to deliver a blow, but she was ready this time and stepped swiftly to one side, spoiling his aim, and with the spanner that she’d picked up from where she had left it on the rully aimed a swipe at his temple that knocked him to the ground and his rifle with him, and moving fast she picked it up and pointed it at him.

  He was stunned, she could tell; it had been a heavier blow than she thought she was capable of and she felt triumphant. But he was heavier and stronger than her even though he wasn’t a big man, and he could easily overpower her. But first, she thought, a few home truths no matter what the consequences.

  ‘That brat that you mentioned. That sweet little girl. You didn’t want her, did you? But you’re right, she was good cover for you too. A family man, weren’t you?’ She sneered. ‘But I wasn’t a very good mother either, though not as cruel as you, and at least I never took the strap to her, not that she ever deserved it, poor lass. But then, I wanted a lad. I wanted a lad in his father’s image.’

  He put his fingers to his brow and she thought that maybe he was concussed; the spanner was heavier than she’d realized.

  ‘He was very handsome, her father. You’d remember him, I expect. Tom Evans? All the girls in Brixham were after him, but Sally Morris got him, her with her blue eyes and pretty blonde curls. But she wasn’t his first, oh dear no.’ She nodded and smiled even though her mouth throbbed. ‘He wouldn’t have made a good husband. He had a liking for the ladies did Tom. He wouldn’t ever have been faithful.’

  She saw Deakin move as if gathering his wits and guessed that he was about to spring. ‘She didn’t cost you much, though. She only ate what I provided. Eggs and chicken and vegetables that I grew.’

  The rifle felt heavy in her hands but that didn’t bother her. Her father had been a poacher as well as a fisherman and had taught her to shoot when she was twelve years old and wanted to catch rabbits and wildfowl for the pot as he did, for without a mother she was the one who did the cooking and keeping house.

  ‘So have you anything to say, Deakin? I’ve nothing else to say to you, now that I’ve got it off my chest about the girl. She has none of your qualities and very few of mine.’

  He was frowning and shaking his head as if he didn’t understand, but she was pleased when he began to heave himself up from the ground because she would be able to say that he was attacking her and that she’d shot him in self-defence. But on the other hand, she considered, when the resounding crack as she pulled the trigger almost pulled the gun out of her hands, it didn’t really matter, as no one was ever likely to find him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The following weekend Delia, Robin and Jenny were, in their separate ways, in a great state of anticipation over their visit to Derbyshire. It wasn’t a county that Delia knew at all. Jenny said she had visited Buxton many years before as a student teacher but didn’t know either Sheffield or Derby, except for what she had read.

  ‘I understand that there are many grand houses there,’ she said. ‘I’m really looking forward to the visit.’

  Robin was excited about seeing Arthur Crawshaw again, he told Giles as they waited for the carriage to arrive at the lodging house. ‘He’s very amusing and clever,’ he said. ‘He taught me to play cards.’

  Giles raised an eyebrow. ‘Just what every young man needs to know.’ He wondered if it was something the estimable gentleman had done solely for the boy’s entertainment, or to give himself a card partner when there was no one else available.

  But his original assessment of the man had changed. Crawshaw had befriended Delia when there had been no one else, and had continued to give a faithful though intermittent friendship to a woman who could give nothing in return but the same. Neither of them, he surmised, expected anything more.

  The journey in the old brougham was rocky and long, but they had set off at seven, collecting Jenny on the way and expecting to arrive in Derbyshire just after midday. Robin had been looking eagerly from the carriage windows and asking if they thought Arthur Crawshaw might live in a castle.

  No one knew, as Arthur hadn’t said, but the fact that he had told Delia there was a ballroom and about twenty bedrooms indicated that it was quite large.

  They saw it as they turned through wide metal gates and travelled along a drive through the middle of meadows where sheep grazed and spring lambs skipped, much to Robin’s joy. Ahead of them stood a gatehouse and an archway through which they drove to see a stone-built three-storey gabled building with two-storey wings on either side.

  They were all silent as they approached, and then Delia smiled as Giles hummed in a deep tenor ‘I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls’. ‘Sixteenth century I’d hazard a guess,’ he murmured, and Jenny nodded in agreement. Delia didn’t know, but she sensed Jenny’s heightened expectation by her bright eyes and bated breath.

  ‘Do you think there might be a ghost?’ Robin whispered, and Delia squeezed his hand and whispered back, ‘Bound to be, but it will be friendly.’

  Arthur was there at the door to welcome them; the driver took down their luggage, though Giles thanked him and said he would carry his violin case. He rarely let anyone else handle it.

  ‘How wonderful to see you,’ Arthur enthused. ‘Welcome to Holme Manor. But Delia, where is that skinny young lad of yours? I asked especially that you bring him and you’ve brought some other grown-up young fellow instead.’

  Robin looked up open-mouthed. ‘No, it’s me!’ he said. ‘Don’t you recognize me?’ He puffed himself up. ‘I’ve grown and my name is Robin now,’ he explained. ‘I did away with Jack. Do you remember …’ He took up a stance and concentrated. ‘Deny thy father and, erm – What’s in a name �
� that which we call …’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve forgotten,’ he confessed as he mixed up his quotations.

  Arthur broke into a laugh and helped him out. ‘Deny thy father and refuse thy name,’ he said, and held out his hand to shake Robin’s. ‘How good it is to see you again, my dear boy. Introduce me, won’t you, to your fine friends.’

  ‘Oh, but you know them.’ Robin grinned. ‘My mother, Miss Delia Delamour, Miss Jenny Robinson and Mr Giles Dawson. Say how-de-do to Mr Arthur Crawshaw, the celebrated Shakespearean and Dickensian orator!’

  To his delight, Delia and Jenny continued with the charade and dropped sweeping curtsies, and Giles gave a deep bow which Crawshaw returned.

  ‘Come along in, come along,’ Crawshaw said good-heartedly. ‘I’m so very pleased to see you. We decided on a cold collation for luncheon, but first you must see your rooms and freshen up and then I’ll introduce you to Mother.’

  Two maids were waiting in the wide timber-clad hall to take them up the curved staircase to their separate rooms, all of which were huge but had fires blazing in the grates to take off the chill; Robin was given a room adjoining his mother’s which overlooked the front lawns.

  They found a bathroom along the landing and took it in turns to wash their hands. Robin was the first to make his way downstairs to where Arthur Crawshaw was waiting in a room off the hall; sitting in a chair by the fire was an elderly lady dressed in a gown of deep purple with a rope of pearls round her neck.

  ‘Mother,’ Arthur Crawshaw said, ‘this is the estimable young man of whom I have spoken. Since our last meeting he has changed his name, so may I introduce Master Robin Delamour?’

  Robin went towards her; he felt suddenly shy. He gave a short bow and held out his hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Crawshaw,’ he said.

  She gave a slight smile and her eyes gleamed as she held out her hand. ‘I have heard much about you, Master Delamour, and what a bright child you are.’