The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘I – I just wanted to go to the beach mesen, and I wondered if Ma – if ya mother – would keep an eye on the bairn for me.’

  The girl’s white face broke into a smile. ‘Ah’ll look after her, missus.’ She opened the door wider inviting Esther to step inside. ‘The young ’uns are all in bed, so they’ll not disturb her and . . .’ She led the way into the living kitchen and pointed to another cradle set on a chair in the corner by the range, ‘Ah’m already looking after young Danny.’

  Esther stopped abruptly in the doorway and drew breath sharply. She had never stopped to think that she might encounter Matthew’s other child.

  ‘Come in, missus,’ the girl was saying, her eyes on Esther’s face. ‘It’ll be all right, honest it will.’

  Esther managed a weak smile, torn by conflicting emotions. She could hardly retreat without looking foolish, and she couldn’t bear to return home to continue that awful, lonely waiting.

  She sighed and came to a decision. Living so close, she could not hope to avoid meeting the Eland family for ever, she supposed. Pressing her lips together she stepped determinedly into the room and placed her cradle on a chair in the opposite corner of the room. She stood a moment looking towards the other cradle.

  ‘Want to have a look, missus?’ Was there a note of slyness in the young girls voice? Did she know the full story? Esther sighed inwardly. She supposed so, and thought ruefully, who around here didn’t know?

  Esther nodded and stepped closer as Enid drew back the blanket from the baby.

  ‘He’s a grand lad. Black hair, ’ee’s got, and the darkest brown eyes you ever saw in a bairn. He’ll break a few hearts when he’s grown.’

  Esther said nothing as she looked down upon the child and saw for herself that there was no mistaking who his father was. Matthew could never have denied his paternity of this boy even if he had wanted to, nor could anyone else. She felt a moment’s pity for Robert Eland who seemed to be the only really innocent person in all of this.

  She turned away abruptly. ‘I won’t be long, but I – I just have to go and see . . .’

  The girl nodded understandingly.

  Leaning into the howling wind, Esther dragged herself up the last dune. As she ran down the other side and on to the beach, she gasped in surprise. There was a large crowd gathered on the sands, several holding lanterns so that the lights shivered and shook in the wind, but showed a welcoming light for the lifeboat to come home.

  Esther threaded her way amongst the crowd, glancing into the dark faces for someone she knew. Before them huge waves crashed on to the sand and rushed up the beach. People were standing near the water’s edge, but from time to time were driven back when the waves raced towards them.

  ‘Esther, lass, over here.’ In a brief lull in the noise of the wind, she heard Ma’s voice calling to her. Esther looked about her and then felt a grip on her arm and turned to see Ma’s face, for once not beaming, but serious and anxious.

  ‘Is there any news?’ Esther put her mouth close to Ma’s ear. ‘What’s happening?’

  Ma lifted her shoulders and shook her head. ‘We dun’t know nothing. Hours they’ve been gone now.’

  It was then that Esther saw Beth standing a little apart from the rest of the crowd; a silent, motionless figure, hugging her shawl around her and gazing steadfastly out across the black, heaving waters.

  Who, Esther wondered, filled Beth’s mind? Whose safety twisted at her heart? Her husband’s – or Matthew Hilton’s?

  ‘A light! There’s a light – I saw it,’ someone in the crowd shouted. Suddenly there was a buzz of excitement and everyone moved forwards, craning to see.

  ‘There! There it is, did you see it? Only a flash, but it was there.’

  ‘Aye, I saw it. Come on, lads, they’ll want a hand.’

  Men moved forward out of the crowd, splashing into the thundering waves, reaching with willing hands to help the boat – whatever boat it was – coming ashore. Then Esther saw the lifeboat, riding the crest of a wave, being borne almost on to the beach and coming to rest finally in the shallows. Urgent hands grasped the boat and held it steady, reached in to help the crew climb out. Strong shoulders were offered to the cold, exhausted men of the lifeboat. The onlookers surged nearer, holding their lanterns aloft to give more light.

  At that moment Esther saw Matthew.

  He was half-carrying, half-dragging Robert Eland ashore, his arms grasping him strongly about the waist. Robert Elands arms were draped about Matthews neck and his head lolled forward in a semi-conscious state. Esther did not need to be told that a few more hours out in his boat would have been the death of Robert Eland.

  She saw Beth waiting, still standing in the same place on the sands. Beth had not moved even a step forward. In the eerie, flickering light from the lanterns, Esther could see Beth’s gaze fixed upon Matthew as he brought her husband back to her from the sea.

  As Matthew drew near to Beth, even from here Esther could feel the intensity of their gaze upon each other. She saw Beth reach out with fingers that shook towards the two men. But to whom she was reaching in that tentative, thankful gesture, no one could have said, for her gaze never left Matthew’s face. When he gently gave over her husband into her arms, and watched as she took the mans full weight upon herself, it was Matthew’s face Beth reached up and touched. Matthew grasped her hand and held it to his cheek for a timeless moment before the crowd surged forward to help, and they were forced to draw apart.

  ‘Here, lass, let us help ya.’

  ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Matthew – you’re a hero. Ya mun be exhausted ya’sen, lad.’

  ‘Here, drink this, Matthew, ’tis rum. ’Twill warm ya.’

  ‘The doctor, get the doctor for Robert Eland.’

  Unobserved, Esther slipped away from the back of the crowd, the dark beach enfolding her as she hurried away to collect her child from Ma Harris’s and be home before Matthew.

  She would never, she vowed, tell him that she had even been on the beach. She could never tell him what she had seen pass between Beth and him that night.

  For a while Matthew basked in the glory of being a hero. The local paper recounted the courageous rescue and stated quite categorically that Matthew Hilton, and the rest of the lifeboat crew, had saved Robert Eland’s life. It was Matthew, the paper reported, who had plunged into the icy waters and battled his way through mountainous seas to Robert Eland’s little boat when they found it drifting helplessly towards a sandbank. Robert Eland, weak with exhaustion and only semi-conscious, could not rouse himself to climb into the lifeboat as it had come alongside in such treacherous, swelling seas. Had it not been for the bravery of Matthew Hilton, the small fishing boat would have been grounded on the sandbank and probably would have capsized, plunging the fisherman to his death. The journalist who wrote the report was unstinting in his praise, though of course he knew nothing of the strange connection between the two men which, had he but known, made the gallant rescue even more praiseworthy.

  From that night, Matthew was welcomed back into the lifeboat as a permanent member of the crew. He was fiercely proud of the place he had earned in the lifeboat and even though there was still guarded wariness between Robert Eland and Matthew, whenever there was a shout the two men seemed able to leave their differences ashore. Esther found this difficult to understand and yet she could not help but feel a grudging admiration for men who could hate each other and yet still work as a team to help someone else in distress.

  From the time that Matthew had undoubtedly saved his life, Robert, magnanimous in his own quiet way, came back to help out with the harvest on Brumbys’ Farm. Matthew still went down to the Seagull at the Point from time to time but he caused no more drunken scenes and whilst they never could be friendly towards each other, there seemed to be an uneasy truce between the two men.

  Esther did not know – nor did she enquire – whether or not Matthew ever saw Beth and his son, Daniel. Esther had her own growing child now
and always she had the farm.

  Through the months that followed, they settled into a routine. Matthew, despite his bitterness against her which sometimes surfaced, nevertheless worked very hard on the farm – and his physical need of her never diminished. Even though now words of love never passed his lips, he still wanted her as much as he had ever done. As for Esther, although she had never pretended to love Matthew, she had believed that they could find some sort of happiness together. But resentment had changed Matthew and now Esther knew herself to be locked in a loveless marriage.

  Nevertheless, she reminded herself resolutely, she had what she had always told herself she wanted most – a place of her own and a family. Now she had someone to cherish and to love – her baby daughter.

  If Matthew took little interest in his daughter, there was someone else besides Esther who made up for his deficiency.

  From the moment he saw Esther’s child, Will Benson was besotted by the little girl. Whenever his cart drew into their yard, it became a ritual for him to climb down and go in search of Kate. Finding her, he would pick her up and, as she grew, offer his pockets for her to delve into with her tiny hands and searching fingers. She would giggle and pull out sweets and pretty ribbons and trinkets one after the other.

  ‘You spoil her, Will,’ Esther would admonish, but she would smile as she said it. It was difficult not to spoil the bright-eyed child, though she was not always as cherubic as she appeared to Will. Sometimes there were childish tantrums if she did not get her own way, and it was left to Esther to administer the sharp smack of correction. At such times, Matthew would frown and turn away, irritated by Kates naughtiness.

  ‘She only does it when you’re around,’ Esther would say. ‘She does it to get your attention. If only you would take a little notice of your own daughter sometimes . . .’

  Matthew would be gone, slamming the door behind him. With Will Benson, however, Kate had no need to provoke his attention – it was hers without asking. For him, Kate was all smiles and dimples and angelic behaviour. He fussed over Kate like a hen with one chick and when she began to walk it was as if he would like to cocoon her against all hurt.

  ‘Should you be letting her play in the yard, Esther?’ he asked one bright, breezy washing day, when Esther let the child play whilst she moved between the wash-house and the clothes line in the front garden. ‘Won’t she get dirty?’ A worried frown creased his forehead.

  Esther laughed as she slapped the wet clothes on to the mangle and turned the handle rapidly, the suds flowing back into the dolly tub. Then the garments fell into the cold rinsing water in a tub on the other side of the mangle. ‘A little dirt won’t hurt her. Let her play,’ and added softly as she remembered her own harsh childhood, ‘children need to play.’

  ‘But what about the pond? What if she fell in?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll mind she doesn’t get near that,’ Esther promised him. ‘I’ll have it fenced off by she’s really walking.’

  The subject of their conversation turned solemn eyes from one to the other as they spoke and Esther smiled as Will squatted down and pulled a tiny doll from his jacket pocket. At once Kate scrambled to her feet and tottered towards him, her chubby hands outstretched. A smile of satisfaction spread across his face.

  Esther shook her head. ‘I dun’t know, Will Benson, you’ve a way with the women even yet,’ she teased him, as he swung Kate up into his arms and walked round to the front of the house with Esther as she carried a basket of wet clothes to hang on the line.

  ‘Eh, lass, I aint’ been around the front here lately. You’ve done wonders with this garden.’

  The trees had been pruned and promised apples and pears and plums in a few weeks, and the grass beneath had been neatly cut. At the far end, on oblong had been dug to make a kitchen garden and already Will could see potatoes, cabbages and carrots growing.

  So the year of 1913 and the first half of 1914 passed peacefully enough for the small community of Fleethaven Point and Brumbys’ Farm prospered under Esther’s hard work and common sense.

  It was a time of calm before the storms that were to follow; storms that were to near as under the fabric of their lives.

  Eighteen

  AFTER morning service on that first Sunday in August 1914, Esther was gratified that not only did the vicar now greet them warmly, but the squire took the trouble to stop and shake Matthew’s hand and ask how they both were and was everything going well on the farm. ‘Old Sam would have been very pleased, very pleased,’ he boomed. ‘Almost three years now, isn’t it? It doesn’t seem it. How time flies.’ He smiled benignly down at Kate’s upturned face and tickled her under the chin. ‘What a sweet child.’

  Kate dimpled at him and pulled in her chin playfully, already artful in the ways of attracting and receiving attention. The squire looked up and winked at Matthew. ‘And plenty of time to add to the brood, eh Hilton?’

  He glanced back with pride at his own two sons escorting their mother from the church. ‘Nothing like family life, Hilton. ‘Nothing in the world to beat it. My eldest boy is going up to Oxford in October. We’ve just heard he’s got a place.’

  Matthew nodded as if he fully understood and murmured, ‘That is good news, sir,’ and hoped it was the right thing to say. There was no mistaking the pride in the squire’s voice that must suggest a great achievement on the part of his son.

  ‘What’s he mean, “going up to Oxford”? It’s a place, ain’t it?’ Esther whispered as the squire passed out of earshot.

  Matthew shrugged his broad shoulders.

  ‘I’ll ask Will,’ Esther murmured, ‘he’ll know.’

  She was smugly satisfied to see that the Willoughbys, walking down the aisle only a few paces behind the squire and his family, could not have failed to overhear the conversation, but as usual Martha Willoughby and her sister swept past them, holding their skirts with delicacy and all but sticking their noses in the air.

  Walking home, Matthew said, ‘It’s a Bank Holiday tomorrow, Esther. I’ll tek ya on the pier.’

  She looked at him, their eyes on a level for Matthew was no taller than she was. ‘The pier? What’s the pier? I ain’t never seen one. Where is it?’

  He stopped in surprise and turned to face her in the lane. ‘Dun’t ya know what a pier is? Why, we’ve a fine one off the main beach,’ he said, jerking his head backwards towards the town. He looked at her closely. ‘You pulling my leg, Esther? You must have seen it.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, honest.’ She gave his arm a little shake. ‘Tell me, Matthew.’

  They walked on slowly. ‘Well,’ Matthew began hesitantly. He was not adept at describing things. ‘It’s a long wood and iron thing built out into the sea. Ya can walk down it, an’ at the end is a saloon where they have music concerts on a Sunday afternoon. I ’spect there’ll be one tomorrow too. I thought you might like to go.’

  ‘I’ve heard of concerts, Matthew, but I’ve never been to one. I’d love to go, I really would.’

  ‘Well, we’ll go, Esther,’ Matthew said generously. ‘We’ll go tomorrow’

  ‘Have you been before?’

  The moment the question was asked, Esther realized her mistake, for his eyes clouded over and his brow creased in the familiar frown. ‘Yeah, a few years back,’ he muttered shortly.

  He must have taken Beth, Esther thought, and now I’ve reminded him of her. She sighed inwardly. It was not the first time during the three years of their marriage that she had unthinkingly said something that had reminded him of Beth, or his son, Daniel. It was impossible to go through life trying to avoid saying or doing anything that would remind him of them. So in the end, Esther had given up worrying. How could any of them ever forget when they all lived so close to each other? They just had to live with it.

  Esther had thought that Matthew would forget his promise to take her on the pier, but the following morning he said, ‘Well, aren’t you ready? You’re not going into town dressed in yar pinny, are ya?’

 
‘What?’

  He was already dressed in his Sunday best suit, the gold watch-chain looped proudly across his chest. With a great play at being a gentleman, he pulled the watch from his pocket and let it rest in the palm of his hand. He looked at it, then lifted it to his ear to listen to its tick. ‘Get a move on, Esther, if Ah’m taking you to the pier, else it’ll be dark by we gets there.’

  Esther’s eyes glowed with excitement as she hurried upstairs to put on her best dress and bonnet and to dress Kate.

  So on Bank Holiday Monday, the third day of August 1914, a hot summer day, with just a light, friendly breeze blowing in from the sea, they walked towards the town along the lane that was now so familiar to Esther. Kate walked a good distance on her sturdy legs, but when she cried that she was tired, it was Esther who humped her on to her hip and carried her.

  When they reached the outskirts of the town, Matthew turned up one of the avenues leading to the dunes, through a pathway bordered by prickly sea-buckthorn and on to the beach itself.

  Esther gasped at the sight before her. In the distance she could see the pier, a long arm extending right out into the water, with a building at the end. She could see tiny ant–like figures moving along the pier. Then on the sands there were roundabouts and swings and stalls selling whelks and mussels.

  A smile curved her lips and she gripped Matthew’s arm. He laughed at her excitement; she was just like a child on a Sunday treat. Wasn’t that just what she was? A child who had never known anything but cuffs and knocks and hard, grinding work, with never a moment given over to sinful pleasure, as her aunt would have called this outing. But Esther wasn’t giving a thought to her aunt today. Today was for fun.

  ‘What is it, Matthew? What are all these people doing on the beach? Won’t the tide come in and wash away their stalls and such?’

  ‘The sea dun’t come up this high, not in summer. Mebbe in winter or spring when the real high tides come and the winds whip ’em up too. But these folks is all gone by the winter. These are summer folk.’