A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  ‘First, will you read this and tell me what you think it means?’ She handed him the notebook and one page in particular.

  He read it and then said, ‘Is this your mother’s hand?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said on a breath, and then showed him the photograph of her mother and the fisherman.

  He looked at them and then at her and lifted his eyebrows. ‘This is not Mr Deakin, I gather?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Your real father then? At least – you have a look of him.’ He gazed at her. ‘And with a beautiful voice?’

  Delia nodded. She couldn’t speak and her eyes were awash with tears.

  Carrying the papers, documents and photographs, Giles led her downstairs and out of the cottage; he locked the door after them and put the key in his jacket pocket, then with his hand firmly on her elbow he steered her towards the gate, closing it behind him, and down the track to Foggit’s where Jack was standing by the fence with an anxious expression on his face.

  ‘You all right, Delia?’ He ran his hand over his chin. ‘Can I – is there owt I can do?’

  ‘Yes,’ Giles answered for her. ‘You can carry these,’ and he handed the roll of paperwork to him. ‘Don’t drop them, they’re important.’

  Jack held the bundle as if it were a precious baby and led the way across the yard towards the other farmhouse, whilst Giles kept his arm firmly around Delia. As they approached, the door opened and Robin came out.

  ‘I was just coming to find you,’ he said, rushing up to her and putting his arms round her waist. ‘I thought you were lost.’

  A tear ran down her cheek. ‘I think I might have been, but now I’m not.’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I’m found again.’

  All the other children and Susan were sitting at Peggy’s table with a basket of painted eggs in the middle. Aaron was standing with a mug of tea in his hand and Peggy was putting a batch of bread rolls in the oven. She closed the oven door and straightened up, a question on her lips which she didn’t utter.

  ‘Deakin wasn’t my father!’ Delia said, triumphant yet emotional. ‘Though I was given his name. Whether he knew or guessed, we’ll never know.’

  ‘What’s in a name?’ Robin struck a theatrical pose, though he didn’t know what his mother meant or understand why she had tears streaming down her face. ‘That which we call a rose – Ma, don’t cry. You never cry. Why are you crying now?’

  She gave a choking laugh. ‘Ma?’ she said. ‘You’ve never called me Ma before!’

  ‘I like it,’ he said, coming towards her and hugging her. ‘Why are you crying?’

  She bent and dropped another kiss on the top of his head. ‘I like it too. And I’m crying because I’m happy.’

  It was mid-May when the battered fishing boat was washed up on rocks near Cayton Bay just below Scarborough. Deakin’s body and a rifle were trapped between the bench seat and the anchor which had held him down. A half-anker of brandy was rolling about, but it disappeared shortly after the discovery of the boat and before the police arrived. The coroner was informed and an inquest arranged when it was found that a bullet in his chest had killed him. The conclusion was drawn that he had probably been killed by fellow smugglers after a disagreement over payment for illicit goods. The deceased was known to the authorities, who had been hoping to make an arrest.

  The Customs and Excise men descended on the cottage and burnt-out barn shortly afterwards, but expected to find nothing and were not disappointed. The trunks were empty and they agreed that there was a faint lingering odour of tobacco and brandy which must have gone up in the fire. In the inquest on Mrs Deakin no conclusion was reached except that she might have been complicit in the smuggling trade, although there was nothing in the cottage that implied she had benefited from it. It was believed she had been washed overboard during the fracas.

  Three months later the lawyers ruled that the property rightly belonged to the next of kin, a daughter Miss Dorothy Deakin, and as she was apparently living elsewhere at present, documentation would be held in the lawyers’ vaults until she claimed it.

  Although Delia had said she didn’t want anything to do with the proceeds of smuggling, immediately after she and Giles had returned to Hull following the Easter holiday Peggy, Aaron and Jack had done a systematic search of the property and the barn; in the cottage they had found the loose floorboard where Delia said it was and unearthed a tin box filled with paper money and cash in coins both silver and gold. On searching the barn and moving the trunks and other rubbish, they discovered a metal ring sealed in the ground and the small pit that had been dug beneath it. This too contained paper money and gold coins, some foreign.

  Much to Peggy’s disquiet and at Aaron’s insistence, the tin box was kept beneath their bed until it was decided what should happen to it. Then one day at the end of April, Aaron took some of the ten pound notes to the young fisherman whose boat had been stolen, and mentally crossing his fingers, because untruths didn’t come easily to this honest man, he said that insurance money had been paid out and he was directed to pay him back for the loss of his boat.

  Molly still insisted on the story that she had seen Mrs Deakin driving the mule and cart down the track on the night of the fire, but she didn’t bother to tell anyone that she had also seen a booted foot sticking out from under a tarpaulin in the back of the cart, because she knew no one would believe her. In any case, she was bored with the story now, and had another interest as her father had given her two piglets of her own to look after. She told everyone that she was going to breed from them.

  ENDING

  It was in August that year that Delia’s very best friends Miss Jenny Robinson and Mr Arthur Crawshaw dispensed with the convention of marrying in the bride’s local church and were wed in the village church close by the groom’s home, where a guest reception and wedding breakfast was held in the great hall with a marquee on the lawns for the staff and villagers with food and drink and dancing in the evening.

  A moist-eyed Aaron led his Paris-dressed daughter down the aisle; Delia in deep rose satin with a white chiffon overskirt was chief attendant. Arthur’s brother was his best man, Jenny’s four nieces were bridesmaids in yellow and pink silk dresses with flowered headdresses, and Robin was asked to read a lesson which he was very pleased to do, as he said it would be good practice in case he decided to be an actor rather than a fisherman after all. Delia smiled to see her young son, whose head only just showed above the pulpit, proclaiming the words without a touch of nervousness.

  Jack was a groomsman, and as Delia watched him, nervous in his unaccustomed finery of hired morning suit and silk cravat, she wondered if now was the time for forgiveness. Peggy, who was splendidly attired in a green silk gown with a large bustle and short train and a matching silk hat set on her red curls, wept throughout the service, not, she explained, because she was sad but because she was happy, as she had always thought that her independent daughter would never marry.

  Arthur’s mother was regal in deep purple and told anyone who asked, or even those who didn’t, how very pleased she was with the progress being made in the dower house and that she was looking forward to her residency there.

  Giles had brought his violin and at the reception played several merry jigs and reels that the guests danced to, and there were a few sighs from unattached young ladies of distinction who had eyed him as a potential suitor until he began to play for Delia as she sang ‘I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls’ and realized that he was spoken for.

  ‘Won’t you play some more romantic music?’ Delia asked as they sat drinking champagne whilst a string quartet played.

  ‘No.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘I’m saving that for someone special once I’m free.’

  Giles had seen an elegant house in Hull’s Albion Street that he said Delia would love. She’d visited it and thought it wonderful, and when Giles suggested that they could convert one or two rooms to music rooms so that they could impro
ve their singing and playing, and perhaps give recitals, she felt as if she must be dreaming.

  Robin approved of the house too and had chosen his room on the top floor for when he came to stay. It had a good view of the museum on the opposite side of the street, which he had found was full of the most interesting objects. He had asked his mother if she would mind very much if he continued to live with Peggy and Aaron for he liked it there, and if he left he would miss them and all the little girls, especially Louisa. And then he had added, ‘I’m very useful to them.’

  Delia felt torn and she felt Robin must be too, but she also realized how content he was with his settled existence, even though she hadn’t yet told him that Peggy and Aaron were his grandparents. It was his choice, she decided, and because he had asked and they had had a discussion, she didn’t feel that she was forsaking him. He also seemed to be getting along well with Jack, who was teaching him about animal husbandry and had let him help with calving and shown him how to milk a cow.

  After discussion with Peggy and Aaron, Jack and Susan had suggested that Robin could stay with them at Foggit farm sometimes, just as the girls stayed with their grandparents. ‘It means,’ Susan had said hesitantly, ‘that we’ll become used to him as family and when ’time comes he can be told that he’s Jack’s son.’

  Mr Rogers said he didn’t know how he had ever managed without Delia as under-manager at the theatre. She’d thanked him, but didn’t mention that soon he would have to, as she and Giles were planning on going on tour as a duo in northern theatres and festival halls; that was also their intention after their marriage, which was still some time away. She was, however, advising Miss Graham the ticket clerk on other tasks, and as the woman had a good head for figures was sure she would be a great help to Mr Rogers.

  When Robin’s eleventh birthday came along in November Delia and Giles stayed in Paull, Giles in one of the hostelries and Delia with the Robinsons, for she had decided that she would, after all, wait a little longer in a state of celibacy until Giles was completely free.

  Then on the day of the Hedon hirings the whole family gathered to mark the ending of a rather special year, and booked a midday meal at the Sun Inn; Delia, Jack and Susan had come to an amicable understanding, but the main focus was that although they all agreed that much had happened in a very short time, Giles and Delia had met on that same day too and it should be a day of celebration.

  Christmas came and they spent another very happy time in Paull, with Delia rejoicing that at last she had the family that she had only dreamed of when she was young. On Boxing Day Jack asked her if she would come and look at the site where Deakin’s cottage stood. The Robinsons had emptied it completely, as Delia had said she wanted nothing from it, and they had had a great bonfire of the old furniture and everything that was of no value.

  Jack took a sledgehammer and aimed the first great blow to the cottage walls and said he hoped he had made amends and that he would consider Robin as his son, the son he had always wanted.

  They gazed together at the mound of brick and stone and boulders that had fallen and Jack muttered sheepishly, ‘Mebbe one day, Delia, you’ll think of building another house here? One where you and Giles could come and stop sometimes when you want some peace and quiet from town or travelling; and mebbe when Robin’s older he might like to keep some sheep and pigs an’ have a proper smallholding.’

  He pointed down to the bottom of the paddock, where the two goats still bleated and the mule brayed at them and the estuary ran swift and constant. ’You could even mek a small lagoon where seabirds’d come: avocets, shelduck, curlew, grebes and mallard; there’d be all manner of wildfowl flying in.’

  As she heard the enthusiasm in his voice, Delia remembered what Jack had been like when he was just a boy, spotting different species of wildfowl, nurturing a litter of kittens, birthing a calf, and sometimes telling her he had seen seals and once a dead whale off Spurn; he’d been a quiet shy country lad then, seemingly without any anger in him.

  ‘Louisa would like that.’ Robin had come to join them and caught the end of Jack’s suggestion. He ran off to find Louisa and tell her.

  Giles came looking for her and Jack, turning pink with embarrassment, looked down at his feet. ‘In a few years’ time there’ll be some explaining to do,’ he muttered. ‘I overheard Robin telling Louisa that they could get married when they’re old enough.’

  Delia and Giles both smiled. Delia couldn’t comprehend that her young son would even think of such a thing, but then sighed and thought that in ten years’ time he would be an adult. She gazed at Jack, who still couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I think, Jack,’ she said, addressing him easily by name for the first time, ‘that next year, when they’re twelve, we must tell them their own stories.’

  In January of the following year, Giles received a letter from his wife to tell him she had been safely delivered of a daughter and that she would be for ever grateful that Giles had been willing to set her free to marry again; she asked if he would consider being a godfather by proxy to their baby girl whom they were naming Gloria. He asked Delia what she thought and she said that it was a lovely request to make and good that they could remain friends after they had both been through such a troubled time.

  In June, his decree absolute was granted, and as he and Delia were both living in the town of Kingston upon Hull their marriage licence was approved at the register office in Parliament Street; a wedding was arranged within the month as Giles said he couldn’t possibly wait any longer to marry the woman he had loved since their very first meeting, when they had shared a carriage ride to the theatre.

  Giles looked out of the window of the reception room in the elegant register office and saw the barouche arrive with Delia, Robin, Louisa, Peggy and Aaron. Behind them in a smart curricle were Jenny and Arthur Crawshaw. They had all been staying at the Maritime Hotel, where later they would have the wedding breakfast. Peggy had promised the little girls that they would have a party at the farm the following day, and at the last minute Delia had decided that it would be nice to ask Louisa to come as company for Robin.

  Giles had kept his vow of not telling his parents about their wedding. He wanted no one there who might disapprove even in the slightest, and he knew they would offer him their opinions and recommendations regarding the way he should conduct his life; they had ruined ten years of it, and he wanted nothing to mar this special day. Both he and Delia had survived a difficult time and he felt they deserved the happiness that they would now share.

  Giles watched as Robin, dressed in a grey velvet jacket and grey trousers, detached himself from the group and ran up the steps and through the open door; Giles went to greet him.

  ‘Mr Dawson, sir, might I have a few words?’

  Giles looked down at the young boy, who was desperately trying not to spill the tears that were gathering. ‘Of course, Robin. Is something bothering you?’

  Robin shook his head and swallowed. ‘No, no. It’s just – just that I must ask you something. I want to ask – if you will promise to always take care of my mother. You see, she’s only ever had me to look out for her before.’ He sniffed and fished in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief. ‘And I want to be sure that I can rely on you to do that as well as I have, even though I know that sometimes I wasn’t very good at it.’

  Giles gave a little frown. ‘I’ve never heard any complaints in that regard, Robin,’ he assured him. ‘Excellent reports, in fact, and I have been rather anxious that I might not achieve such high standards as the ones you have set.’

  ‘Oh, I think if you try hard you’ll do all right.’ Robin blew his nose. ‘Before we left Paull yesterday, Jack took me on one side and said that my mother was a very special lady and deserved only the best, which is why I thought I’d mention it.’

  ‘Did he really?’ Giles murmured. ‘Well, that was very’ – he searched for an appropriate word – ‘thoughtful of Jack.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Aaron helping Peggy and then Delia down f
rom the carriage. ‘But let me assure you, Robin, I will love and protect your mother with my life.’

  Robin gave a watery grin. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he said, and turning towards his mother, who was ascending the steps towards a new life, he approached her, took her hand, and led her towards Giles.

  Giles gently held her ringless fingers. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured. Delia was dressed in a silver-grey gown with a train and a short whisper of a veil fastened with silver clips to her dark hair.

  ‘I am full of joy and happiness,’ she whispered. ‘I feel as if I’m living a dream and in a moment I shall wake up.’

  ‘No dream,’ he said softly. ‘Pure and perfect reality. Miss Delamour,’ his eyes were on hers, ‘shall we make harmonious and lovely music together?’

  Delia smiled happily, her eyes bright and moist and loving. ‘Yes, Mr Dawson. I think that perhaps we should.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  With grateful thanks to Dr Martin T. Craven B.Sc. for the generous gift of his book A New and Complete History of the Borough of Hedon, The Ridings Publishing Company, Driffield, 1972. At last I have a copy of my own!

  The generous loan of books from Brian Dornan: Smuggling in Yorkshire 1700–1850 by Graham Smith, Country Side Books, 1994; and Paull Heritage Trail by Paul Cross, Highgate Print Ltd, 24 Wylies Road, Beverley.

  As always, appreciative thanks are due to my ever supportive publishing team. You all know who you are. Thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Since winning the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction for her first novel, The Hungry Tide, Val Wood has published twenty-two novels and become one of the most popular authors in the UK.

  Born in the mining town of Castleford, Val came to East Yorkshire as a child and has lived in Hull and rural Holderness where many of her novels are set. She now lives in the market town of Beverley.

  When she is not writing, Val is busy promoting libraries and supporting many charities. In 2017 she was awarded an honorary doctorate by the University of Hull for service and dedication to literature.