Moon Rising

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  And waste time I did. The food I had prepared for us the night before stood untouched on the hearth. As I remember, it stood untouched for several days. Every time I looked at that pot of rabbit stew, my stomach threatened revolt. Unable to clear it away, I closed my eyes to it and survived on what was left in the larder: stale bread, a few eggs, some cheese. Until Mrs Newbold came down from the farm to ask why I hadn’t collected the milk, I had no sense of time.

  Suddenly jerked into the present, I was puzzled to discover that three days had gone past. I had no recollection of having moved out of the kitchen or of going to bed. When I opened the door to the other room, everything seemed undisturbed; I looked down, and realised I was wearing the same clothes, now stained and crumpled, that I’d donned so hurriedly on the morning of Bram’s departure. It was fortunate that Mrs Newbold had gone by then, because with that realisation I finally burst into tears. I wept for hours, wept until exhaustion claimed me, and then I slept on the bed we had shared, all night and well into the next day.

  I woke with a sense of panic, suddenly aware that I should have been at the studio, that Jack would have been wondering where I was, furious to have been let down again. I looked at my clothes, raised a hand to my hair, and knew I could do nothing until I’d bathed and changed. The matted curls took so long to separate and comb that in the end, frustrated, I chopped off great hanks. By the time I had neatened the ends, several inches had gone and my hair was barely shoulder-length, but it felt better and I had no regrets.

  I had to re-light the kitchen fire, and the water took some time to heat; while I was waiting I cleaned the cottage, stripped the bed of its linen, and threw out the mouldy, festering mess in the pot. After the shocks of that day, after the blankness and exhaustion and the torment that followed, a dull anger took hold of me. It gave impetus to my actions and, for a while at least, banished the lethargy of grief.

  The side table which had been used as a desk was noticeably tidy, free of its usual collection of books and papers and pencils. I ran a duster over it, and then sat in Bram’s chair, spreading out hands and arms in a kind of embrace, an attempt to conjure his presence from the things he had touched. As grief threatened, I stood up at once, fighting off those useless tears. Almost as an afterthought I pulled out the drawer, finding an open box of writing paper with envelopes and sealing wax. The topmost envelope, sealed with wax and penned in Bram’s usual quick scrawl, was addressed to me.

  My hands shook and something fell out as I unfolded the sheet of paper inside. Please, Damaris, if you have loved me at all, look after yourself. The rent is paid until the end of August, and the enclosed should keep the wolf from the door – take it to one of the banks in town. If you need more, write to me at the Lyceum. Forgive me. My love – always – Bram x.

  The first sentence held me. If you have loved me at all... Oh, yes, I’d loved him, there was no doubt of that. Between tense fingers, the sheet crumpled. The enclosure, fallen to the desk, was a narrower slip, written and signed by Bram, but with the address of Coutts Bank, London, printed at the top. For a long moment it seemed incomprehensible, but then it dawned on me that this was a cheque for £100, that it represented money he wanted me to have.

  I sat there for some time, just staring at the cheque. Had the amount been less, or in sovereigns, I think I might indeed have felt like a whore, being paid for services rendered. But because the cheque was so unfamiliar, because it did not feel like money and yet was so plainly valuable, I had no thought of destroying it. The enormity of the sum seemed almost mythical, even though I remembered Bram saying that leading players in the London theatre were earning upwards of £50 for one week’s work. Just a pound to me was luxury, and I could manage on half that. All that money seemed ridiculous, excessive. Why had he left all that? To ease his conscience? To ensure my future?

  I don’t think it crossed my mind at the time that this money must have come, one way or another, from Irving. If it had, I would have burned it. I saw it then as Bram’s money, Bram’s gift, and, increasingly as time went by, as tangible evidence that he had cared for me.

  But I was mystified, even a little afraid of that piece of paper, so I thrust it back into the envelope to be dealt with later. I hurried through my ablutions, dried my hair before the fire, and dressed myself for the studio.

  Walking into town felt very strange. Knowing that I wouldn’t be meeting Bram after work I could have broken down again. Bereft and anxious, I wondered what to say to Jack. How could I explain Bram’s sudden departure?

  As it turned out, my anxieties were unnecessary. When I reached the studio I discovered I no longer had a job.

  Jack was apologetic, even sensitive in that he closed the inner door so that we could talk in private. I suspected Isa Firth was in the back room, probably helping out during my absence, but it was a shock to hear that Jack had employed her in my place.

  ‘Understand, Damaris,’ he said heavily, detaining me when I would have walked out without a word, ‘I warned you before. I told you I had to have help, that I couldn’t be let down again, but I haven’t seen you for almost a week. You sent no word at all. I didn’t know whether you were indisposed or just disinclined to come in – what was I to do?

  ‘Why didn’t you send a message through your friend Mr Stoker?’ He drew breath at that, managing to look sardonic and disapproving at the same time; then, with a regretful sigh, he added: ‘Isa needs this job, you see. Because of her father’s death, she’s looking after the family now.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, feeling stabbed by the betrayal. ‘What’s wrong with Bella? She’s always looked after them.’

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t see her – although Isa says she’s taken it badly. Mind you,’ he added with an expressive shrug, ‘I understand she was always her father’s favourite...’

  ‘Yes – yes, she was,’ I heard myself saying, although my lips were stiff with irony and disbelief.

  Jack’s explanation might have been reasonable, but it didn’t seem so to me. I’d imagined there was liking and a certain respect between us, yet he’d allowed himself to be manoeuvred into this situation by Isa Firth. She had taken immediate advantage of my absence, working on Jack until she got what she wanted – which was to be close to him. I couldn’t bear to tell him why I’d been absent, that my friend Mr Stoker – and, after all, he’d become Jack’s friend too – had gone back to London, and I was now alone and jobless. I took some satisfaction in thinking that since Jack had dismissed me, he must find out certain things for himself.

  Apart from the cheque – which didn’t seem to count – I had my wages from the last few weeks, some loose change in my purse, and thankfully no rent to pay. That was only part of it, however. My work at the studio had been enjoyable, and I knew I would miss it. Jack too, although it pained me to admit it, especially when he’d shown himself so faithless.

  I was about to leave when the door to the back room opened and Isa appeared. Jack turned and acknowledged her, then turned again to me. Behind his back, Isa smirked. In the circumstances it was like an obscene gesture. Wanting to rattle her teeth, I gritted mine and walked out.

  Thirty

  I had to see Bella. We were both grieving, both in need of sympathy, and I thought that mutual feeling might break down any lingering remnants of guilt on my part and pride on hers. But she was not at home. Lizzie was playing with her youngest sister in the yard, and when I asked said gruffly that her mother was out and Bella was at the pub.

  Discouraged, I stayed with them for a few minutes, finding Lizzie as reticent as ever but somehow less hostile. Ever since that dreadful afternoon in the winter she’d done her best to ignore me; but while I talked to her, it struck me that although she still looked away she was no longer fearful. Not of me, anyway. Wondering what to say about her father’s disappearance, I tried to approach the subject tactfully, only to receive the kind of blunt reply that reminded me of her sister.

  ‘He’s dead,’ she said, ‘and Bella sa
ys good riddance to bad rubbish.’ With that she grabbed the little one’s hand and went inside.

  Feeling thoroughly snubbed, I rose from my knees, dusted off my skirt and tried to think what to do. More than ever it seemed important to speak to Bella, even though I was reluctant to go searching for her in the pubs and taverns of the west side. Her old haunts had included several in the vicinity of Pier Road, so I tried each in turn, feeling strangely self-conscious and out of place. Men who once might have glanced and smiled in recognition now looked at me suspiciously as I poked my head round corners, disturbing games of dominoes and shove-ha’penny with my enquiries. Peering over gansey-clad shoulders, I wondered where all the friendly faces were, and was uncomfortably aware that in a very short space of time things had changed.

  Backs were turned, I was no longer recognised, atmospheres were no longer welcoming. Or so it seemed to me then. In retrospect, I think the change was in me, not so much in my clothes but in the way I spoke and walked and held myself. Somehow, since leaving the Cragg I’d left behind the attitude and personality of a fisherlass. I had absorbed part of Bram’s outlook; or perhaps there was something in him that echoed the Sternes and Old Uncle Thaddeus, something that called forth a similar response in me.

  It was discomfiting, but I could not escape the fact that my month with Bram had brought about some subtle changes, not least in the way I viewed things. The old Neptune Inn, one room almost invisible through a thick fug of smoke, was no longer a cosy refuge from the harbour winds, it was a choking hole where fishermen smoked foul-smelling tobacco and grumbled about the weather, market prices, and the ugly engines of the new steam trawlers. These trawlers raked up immature fish, they said, disturbing the spawn, maiming and mauling good fish until it was unfit for the table...

  But I’d heard those conversations so often before I could have supplied the dialogue for both sides. It had always been better in the old days, when they were lads, or before the Dutchmen came; better somewhere else, or with somebody else at the helm. Modern times were no good; nothing was right these days, not even the quality of stuff for making nets and pots. Once I had been sympathetic; once I’d been as dependent on every catch as they were – as the Firths had been. But now Magnus was gone, and I needed to speak to his daughter.

  Impatiently I turned my back on the Neptune, and continued to the Three Snakes, so-called because of the emblem of three ammonites set into the wall outside; and when she wasn’t there, went next door into the Star. It was a place of black beams, tanned walls and ancient barrels, of spittoons and sawdust and the odour of an old sailing ship.

  It had never been among Bella’s favourites, so I was surprised to hear her voice and laughter from one of the quiet back rooms. When I poked my head around the door, I was astonished to see her perched on the lap of a brawny young seaman. Not local, that I could tell from his voice and attire. Dutch, I thought, and at once Magnus’s smuggling contacts sprang to mind. Was this man one of them? Surely not, I reasoned; Bella would never be so stupid.

  Even so, I was shocked. This wasn’t the Bella I knew. Her long hair was loose over her shoulders, her throat bare. I supposed she was drunk, but although I’d seen her drunk before, never had I known her be so free with a man, or so encouraging. His hands were all over her, but she did not seem to mind; and, when he pressed his mouth to hers, she did not push him away.

  To my mind, it was just as well they were in a dark corner, or the landlord would have turned them out. Approaching the table, I said stiffly: ‘Bella, may I sit down? I need to talk to you.’

  There was a moment of astonishment as she recognized me, a flicker of guilt as she slapped away those wandering hands. And then came the frown of suspicion and disbelief. ‘Nay, Damsy Sterne! What’s up with you, coming in here on your own? Where’s your fancy man?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ I said abruptly, taking a seat across the table. ‘Anyway, I heard about your father. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, aye – what for?’ she demanded, her mouth narrowing. ‘He was no friend to you.’

  ‘Nor you, as I recall.’ I held her gaze and let the words linger between us. ‘I meant I’m sorry he’s – gone. It must be difficult for you.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ She resumed her seat, picked up her glass. ‘We’re managing.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard from Jack Louvain. And Isa’s taken my job. I gather she needs it more than I do – having come home to look after the family...’

  ‘Now just a minute!’ Bella declared, striking the table. ‘I look after the family – you ought to know that! And the way I heard, you walked out on the job and left Jack high and dry!’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘No fight!’ the Dutchman laughed, pulling Bella towards him. ‘We have an agreement, yes?’

  ‘Yes, later,’ she agreed, pushing his hands away.

  ‘Later, I go to my ship. Our agreement,’ he insisted, ‘is for now. So now we go, yes?’

  He was young and good-looking, with a ready smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Bella looked on him with distaste. ‘Aye, all right,’ she said wearily, draining her tot of gin and rising from the table.

  ‘Look,’ she turned to me with a quick, apologetic glance, ‘I’ve got to go with this lad – I’ve promised him, and you know what they’re like. I won’t be long, though. D’you want to wait for me?’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Where? The pier?’ I rose to follow them out, and the young Dutchman – who was surely more enthusiastic than serious – slipped an arm around my waist and drew me towards him.

  ‘So, Bella – maybe I have your friend as well?’

  He was laughing, but Bella dragged him away. ‘You couldn’t afford her,’ she said with an edge to her voice.

  ~~~

  I watched them turn the corner into Pier Lane to climb the steps to the Cragg, and as it dawned on me where they were going, and what their agreement was, I felt sick. Sick and angry. With Bella for lowering herself to that level, and yes – for including me in the same sisterhood. That felt like an insult, because I was different, Bram and I were different, what we shared was...

  Different? Was it really? I could almost hear Bella’s voice enunciating the words. What had we shared that was so special? He went when he’d had enough, just the same. No good saying it wasn’t for money, either, because money – a great deal of it – had been left behind as a sop to his conscience. I’d been used and paid, just as Bella would be in the next half-hour. In my case, the difference was in the length of time we’d spent together, probably no more than that.

  I tried to be tough, just like Bella, but calling myself every kind of fool changed nothing. I told myself I hated him, but the truth was I ached with loneliness, still wanted to be with him, still longed to hear his voice, whether brisk in greeting or soft and lilting with love.

  Even the twilight reminded me unbearably of our walks together. I wondered whether I would ever again look up at the east cliff without expecting to see him waiting there. Nothing in Whitby had changed, and yet it was not the same. If I had looked with new eyes while showing the town to Bram, discovering in the process a pride and knowledge I hardly knew I possessed, in his aftermath everything had shifted. It was as though the vibrancy had gone, leaving no more than a lifeless shell, a trick of the eye, a shabby stage-set for actors who were playing to a different tune.

  A few visitors were strolling along the harbourside, mainly men watching the fishing boats and a couple of sailing ships waiting to come in with the tide. The usual group of older men at Coffee House End were solving the world’s problems, while women and girls were hanging about the Battery, most of them gossiping, knitting socks and ganseys, enjoying the fine evening while waiting for husbands and brothers to return.

  For the first time that mundane scene seemed less than innocent. I was aware of men eyeing up the girls, while those on the very edge of the group, who may have been chatting, were also viewing every passing male. Standing
with hips pushed out, necks and ankles well exposed, poised to catch the most fleeting interest.

  Amongst them I recognised a couple of girls who lodged near Jack’s studio but who posed regularly for someone else. As I watched, they attached themselves to a pair of fashionable young men who were evidently heading back into town.

  There was nothing new in it, I’d known plenty of girls talk men into having their photographs taken at the end of the pier, and then go off with them afterwards for a drink in one of the local taverns. But somehow, before, it had always seemed no more than a laugh, a way of getting visitors to part with their money. I’d never done it myself, preferring a small gratuity to lewd suggestions and wandering hands. As far as I knew, Bella had been of the same mind, and we’d sneered at the other girls for fools, never thinking – well, I didn’t – of further transactions taking place.

  But they did, of course, with monotonous regularity; and knowing made all the difference. I thought of Bella suffering attentions that must remind her of her father, who surely would have killed her for going with another man. Instead, either by accident or provocation, she’d killed him. As a consequence – and with what irony! – instead of entertaining her father in order to keep the peace, she was now entertaining men for money to keep the family together.

  And meanwhile Isa had taken my job.

  If I could have swapped the twins, persuaded Jack to take Bella and installed Isa at the Three Snakes as a kind of public convenience – always providing her knees could have been prised apart – I might have been a happier woman that night. As it was, I watched and waited for Bella until it was almost dark, and when she did not come I returned alone to Newholm and the empty cottage.