The Deptford Histories

by Robin Jarvis

  Two more tunes and dances passed before the others returned, hot and breathless but bearing a jug of berrybrew from the feast which was now spread with dainty biscuits and little cakes.

  “Here y’are, Tom,” Woodget said, passing him a bowl, “right good stuff this is. Old Vetch makes it hisself and only brings it out for the Spring ceremonies. In the autumn we all go a-brambling for him—daresay I picked some of this ’ere brew meself, two year back.”

  Thomas took the bowl and sniffed the dark purple liquid his friend poured into it. “Smells like over-ripe fruit,” he commented. “Daresay it’s good for wasps but I don’t want any. We didn’t have none o’ this where I come from.”

  “Why, Tommy Stubbs!” Bess chided, sipping at her own bowl and shivering slightly at the drink’s potency. “I do believe you’re afraid. See, it’s perfectly delicious. Go on—you must try it at least.”

  Stung by her gentle teasing, Thomas lifted the bowl to his lips once more and took a great swig.

  Woodget and Bess stared at him expectantly as the mouse held the liquid in his mouth for several moments and swilled it around his tongue, wondering whether to spit it out or not.

  “’Tain’t poison, Tom,” Woodget chuckled. “Old Vetch makes the best brew hereabouts.”

  Thomas gulped it down then opened his mouth and gasped loudly as the powerful drink tingled on his tongue and his eyes began to water.

  “Poor Tommy!” Bess cried, throwing her arms about him. “It’s a strong brew to sup as your first. P’raps we should put some water in it for you next time.”

  Spluttering, Thomas shook his head then clicked his tongue a few times before a stupid grin appeared on his face.

  “It weren’t that bad after all,” he announced. “Tasted quite nice really. Is there any more?”

  “Not for the moment, Tommy Stubbs,” Bess laughed, taking the bowl from him. “I’ll have this next dance if you don’t mind—a couple more of them and you won’t be able to stand up straight.”

  With Woodget waving them into the clearing, the two mice took hold of each other’s paws but the music changed before they could begin and when the musicians struck up the next tune it was a slow, romantic waltz.

  With his berrybrew in his little pink paws, Woodget regarded them contentedly. They were the two friends he loved more than anything in the world and it was strange to reflect that before the winter he had never known Thomas.

  “Don’t know what I’ll do when he decides the time’s come for him to pack up and set off on that voyage he’s always speaking of,” the fieldmouse mused into his bowl. “Me an’ Bess’ll miss him real bad.”

  Into the evening the music played and the two mice continued to take it in turns to dance with the comely maiden. The first jug of berrybrew was emptied and when the second was only half full and Masters Stubbs and Pipple were momentarily alone under the leaves of the hawthorn tree, Thomas began the conversation which was to alter their lives forever more.

  The scent of the blossom laced the darkling air as strongly as Old Vetch’s intoxicating beverage and, staring up at the first pale stars which glimmered in the dusky heavens, Thomas said, “I like that Bess girl.”

  Twirling a spray of flowers under his twitching nose, Woodget nodded drunkenly. “Bessh’s a goodun,” he slurred. “I knowed her all my life you know, Tom. Did... did you know that? All my lickle life I knowed her. She... she’sh a goodun, I tell ’ee.”

  “’At’s true enough,” his friend agreed. “I never did think to find a mousemaid like her, not ever. You know, Woodj—she just might be the sort a body might give up his dreams for.”

  Woodget planted the spray in the ground and kissed it benignly. “Now you grow into a luvverly big tree,” he said with all the seriousness he could muster. “Can’t have too much hawthorn—oh no, that we can’t. Green’sh own tree it ish, ain’t that right, Tom?”

  Thomas rubbed his chin thoughtfully and the resolve mounted in his heart. “I think I’ve decided, Woodj,” he said finally. “It’s the right thing for us both, I see that now.”

  “That’sh nice,” the fieldmouse tittered, his blurred interest now taken with a beautiful silver moth which was fluttering close. “I agree—oh mosht defin... deff... oh yesh!”

  “Then that’s what I’ll do,” Thomas muttered. “Forgo those idiotic dreams of seeing far-off lands. Why go all the way to find summat that ain’t there? This is where my heart’ll be the whole time—I know that now.”

  “You shtayin’ then, Tom?” Woodget sighed happily. “That’sh wunnerful.”

  His friend nodded and stared at the other mice gathered in the clearing. Small glass jars containing candle stumps were twinkling in the thickening gloom, paper lanterns were strung across the hedgerow and standing in the light of them, with her hair catching the glints and flickers of the flames, was the object of his devotion.

  “I love her, Woodj,” Thomas muttered. “She’s the loveliest maid on the good Green’s earth.”

  The moth spiralled directly over Woodget’s head but the fieldmouse was suddenly blind to it and gazed across at his friend with a look of disbelief and sorrow written upon his face.

  “What... what was that, Tom?” he whispered, sobering quickly.

  Thomas drained the rest of his bowl and took a deep, determined breath. “Tonight,” he said firmly, “I’ll ask for her paw in marriage.”

  Woodget’s eyes opened wide and his large ears drooped mournfully. “You... you sure, Tom?” he stammered. “What if’n she says no?”

  “Oh, she’ll not do that,” came the awful reply. “I know what’s in her heart same as I do what’s in mine. That maid’s right for me and me for her—we were meant. Why else was I brought to this place if not for that? I always reckoned it was fate what drove me out last winter; it weren’t to set forth on no voyage, but to find her.”

  Woodget said nothing, but his world had crashed in around him and his spirit grieved bitterly. He had never said anything but he too had thought that one day he and Bess might wed—it seemed the most natural thing in the world—yet now that dream was shattered.

  Oblivious to his friend’s despair, Thomas scrambled to his feet and straightened the red kerchief he wore about his neck. “Right,” he said flatly, “this is it, now or never—I’m going to ask her.”

  In a moment he was gone and the small fieldmouse was left alone feeling wretched while dismal tears welled up in his eyes. How could he bear to remain here? How could he stay and watch them begin their life together? Woodget’s despairing heart fluttered in his breast and he sniffed desolately. There was only one thing he could do and bleakly he stumbled away into the night.

  “Hello, Master Thomas,” Cudweed cooed as the mouse strode determinedly by. “T’ve forgiven you for frighting me this mornin’. Won’t you dance with me? Thomas?”

  Not hearing the plump girl’s call he pushed onto where Bess was chatting to a group of her friends. Hearing the cries of Woodget’s frightful sister they turned and saw him approaching.

  “Ahem,” Thomas began, clearing his throat to ensure his voice came out level and did not betray the nerves which were jiggling inside him.

  “What is it, Tommy?” Bess asked. “No more dancing for a while—I swear you and Woody are trying to wear my feet out between the pair of you.”

  Thomas caught hold of her arm. “It isn’t about the dancing,” he said with urgency in his voice.

  Bess stared at him puzzled for a moment then gripped his paw tightly. “Nothing’s happened to him, has it?” she cried. “Where is he?”

  “Woodget’s fine,” Thomas hissed back. “Look, can we walk a little? Just over there out of this crowd. I got me something to say.”

  Bess raised her eyebrows questioningly but allowed him to lead her away from the main gathering and they strolled through the wild grasses, each wondering what the other was thinking.

  “What is it, Tommy?” she asked eventually. “You can tell me now, there bain’t no one here to mark
what you say.”

  Thomas stared at the ground, and fumbled with his kerchief before answering—then it all tumbled out in a great rush of words.

  “It’s like this, see,” he spluttered, “there ain’t nowt for it but to tell you and mebbe it’s Vetch’s brew made my tongue loose or mebbe it’s give me the pluck to ask you what’s been on my mind but didn’t have the nous to recognise. One fact I do know is that what I feel is true and ain’t no giddiness caused by that stuff so don’t you go a-thinking it is.”

  Bess stared at him, taken aback by his outburst and wondering what he could be talking about.

  “Let me finish,” he declared, seeing that she was about to interrupt. “It’s like this, Bess, and I can’t say it no plainer, though I’ll wager others might be able to say it prettier and p’raps choose better moments but I ain’t them and so this is it.”

  He paused to catch a breath before continuing and Bess was even more perplexed although a shadow of doubt was forming at the back of her mind.

  “What I say is this then,” he jabbered. “I likes you and I thinks you like me so what you say we get hitched, us two?”

  Bess merely stared at him in bewilderment.

  “I said, will you be my wife?” he cried, squeezing her paws desperately.

  “Thomas,” she finally managed to utter, “I had no idea—I never reckoned.”

  “I’ll be a good husband,” he promised. “The sea won’t never tempt me—that were just a boyish fancy. You’re the strongest anchor a mouse could have—I never want to see another place if it means being away from you.”

  Bess’s expression changed from confusion to sorrow and she bit her lip anxiously. “Oh Thomas,” she wept, “I’m so sorry, I never meant to give you the wrong notion. I thought we were just having a good time, we three. I’m so very sorry, but I don’t love you—I likes you but that’s all there is. My heart belongs to another.”

  The mouse pulled away from her and a horrible cold feeling washed over him. “A... another?” he mumbled, turning aside so that she could not see the pain upon his face.

  “Did you not see?” she asked softly. “Could you not guess? I love Woodget, we have always been together and always will. That is the way of it.”

  “He... he never mentioned it,” Thomas said thickly.

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I’ve been waitin’ and a-waitin’ but still no word—I know what he feels better’n him but he’s shy when it comes to matters like that. If he don’t speak soon I’ll have to do the asking myself—don’t know why I haven’t already.”

  There was an awkward silence broken only by a miserable sniff from Thomas’s nose and he wiped it on the back of his paw.

  “Don’t take it so hard, Tommy,” Bess said. “We can still be friends, can’t we?”

  The mouse shuffled uncomfortably and when he next looked up at her she could see how she had hurt him. “Course,” he muttered, “but I won’t be stoppin’ round here for much longer. I’ve done decided now—there’s nowt to keep me, so come tomorrow I’ll be settin’ off on that voyage.”

  “I’ll miss you,” she said honestly, “and so will Woodget.”

  Thomas glanced back at the dancers, across to the hawthorn tree where he had left the little fieldmouse. “He’s mighty lucky to have you, Bess,” he managed to say. “I... I think you’d best get back to him. I got to get my bits an’ pieces ready if’n I’m to leave first light.”

  Bess nodded and began walking back the way they had come, then turned and said softly, “You don’t have to leave, Tommy.”

  “Yes, I do,” came his regretful reply.

  The mousemaid gave a sad, understanding smile and left him standing alone in the tall grasses.

  Thomas’s head was swimming, partly from the effects of the berrybrew but mainly because of Bess’s rejection. How could he have been so wrong? Morosely, he stared up at the stars and wondered what his future held—what would become of him now? The sea journeys he had once yearned to embark upon now seemed uninteresting and contained no hope of joy.

  “A right Tomfool you are,” he rebuked himself aloud. “What did you have to go and open your big stupid mouth for?”

  At that moment his wallowing thoughts were interrupted by a heartfelt cry which rang out over the glimmering meadow, and at once the music ceased.

  “Bess!” he shouted.

  In a trice, Thomas bounded back to the clearing. The assembled mice were already scurrying back over the yard to the farmhouse to discover the source of the commotion and he jostled past them impatiently.

  “Thomas!” Bess cried. “Thomas!”

  As the mice hurried to the building, Bess came racing towards them clutching a scrap of paper in her paw and searching for the tall mouse amongst the crowd.

  Then he was before her and to his dismay he saw the anguish in her face.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “He’s gone!” Bess replied, thrusting the paper into his grasp, “Look!”

  With trembling fingers, Thomas uncrumpled the note and his brow grew stern when he read the unhappy message.

  To Tom and Bess,

  This is just so as you don’t think I’ve done owt daft, tho I doesn’t blame no one for thinking I would.

  My dad allus said I couldn’t see wat was under my nose and it looks as if he were right. I never reckoned you were keen on each other, now I feel as though I’ve been gettin in the way all this time. Must have been real narksome for you to have me tag along wheresoever you went and whatsoever you did. But as my dad also says, a body can’t trip over a thing and not know it’s there.

  I know how things are twixt you now. Oaks and ivy—I sure does feel right gormless for not twigging sooner but there you are—I didn’t and so I don’t fancy staying in Betony Bank no more. That’s as plain as I can make it. I ain’t much good at my letters so I’ll say goodbye here and have done.

  Woodget

  PS Tell our Cudweed to look after our folks and tell them I wish them nowt but the bestest cos they were real good to me and I’ll think of them allus.

  Thomas raised his eyes from the paper and his face was set and grave.

  “This is my fault,” he cursed himself. “That poor lad’s head is stuffed with the nonsense I was spouting.”

  Around him the field mice shook their heads and Woodget’s parents held onto each other for support.

  “We must find him,” Bess said. “He can’t have gone far.”

  “But he could be anywhere!” came the flustered replies. “There aren’t enough of us to search—he’s sure to be lost forever.”

  “Well, he can’t have gone through the meadow,” she told them, “we’d have seen him. We must split into groups and try the other ways.”

  “Hold!” shouted Thomas unexpectedly. “I know where he’s bound. There’s only one place he’d go.”

  Bess gazed at him fearfully as the truth dawned on her. “The harbour!” she gasped. “He’s gone to catch a ship!”

  “That’s how I read it,” Thomas nodded. “He thinks I’ve taken his place so he’s gone and took mine—the moonkissed ninny.”

  “Then we must hurry!” she urged. “He might be halfway there by now and if he should find a ship before we get to him...”

  “Wait!” Thomas said. “This is all my doing and mine alone. I’ll go after him and bring him safe home. No need for anyone else, this is my task.”

  Bess gazed at him imploringly. “Bring him back to me, Tommy,” she whispered. “Bring him safe home.”

  The mouse took her paws in his and looked steadily into her tearful eyes. “I swear, Bess,” he told her, “I swear he’ll be in your arms before long, as the Green is my witness. I’ll atone for the mess I’ve made.”

  And with that, Thomas ran from the yard, darted under the hedge and out onto the narrow stony path beyond where the wild darkness claimed him.

  In the long despairing years that followed, he never once set eyes on Bess Sa
ndibrook again, and in those after-times the generosity of the Betony Bankers was diminished and they never again trusted outsiders nor welcomed them into their homes.

  2 - Mulligan

  A peaceful calm lay over the small harbour and with a contented, graceful motion the fishing boats rose and fell upon the gently lapping waves. Mooring ropes were softly creaking, sloshing abstractly in the sluggish seawater and trailing up to the quayside where they were lost amidst the creels and lobster pots which were stacked into mountainous and unsteady wicker steeples.

  The buildings that rose, stark and threatening, beyond the old harbour road were silent and those who dwelt there at rest. No one marked the goings-on upon the quayside, no one was witness to the steady traffic of small creatures who frequented that place in the dark, moonless hours.

  Shadowy shapes, intent on their own pressing business and paying no heed to any other, were flitting over the wide, salt-scrubbed stones. It was an unusual and unsettling location to be for one unaccustomed to the bustle of harbour life and there were always some who endeavoured to exploit the gullible traveller as best they could.

  As the night deepened and the gulls sleepily rode the waves, a small and solitary figure wended his sorry way down the path from the grassy hills and stood stock-still when the vast expanse of the great midnight sea ranged into view.

  With a blue woollen hat that Bess had knitted for him last winter pulled down just above his ears and a cloth bag containing his personal treasures slung over his shoulder, Woodget gazed at the limitless waters and held his breath. Straining his bright eyes, he tried to see the edge of the briny realm, but it merged with the night and the only indication of its immeasurable size was when the shimmering reflection of the starlight was caught in the foaming waves far from shore.

  Never had he imagined anything could be so immense and unbounded. The sky didn’t count because you could never touch that, whereas the water was actually there—you could feel it; and as he breathed once more, the little fieldmouse’s sensitive nose thrilled at the rich salty reek that spoke of waving weeds and cold fathomless depths.

  “Oaks and ivy!” he murmured. “I did think the barley field were big—but that was as an acorn is to a forest. T’would take a lifetime and more to cross that and no mistake. Ain’t no ship ever built could sail from here to yonder.”