Stratford Jewel

by Oliver, Marina

  Rosa knelt and followed his example, dipping her hands into the icy water, but their efforts couldn't move the punt out of the main current. No other boats were nearby, and the only people on either bank were too far away to have noticed that they were in difficulty.

  'We'll have to swim,' Mr Greenwood said grimly. 'If we wait until we are too close to the weirs we may be swept over before we have a chance. Let yourself over the side gently, don't jump in. There may be weeds or submerged branches. Do you think you can make it?'

  Rosa had kicked off her shoes and was already sitting on the side, ready to slide into the water. 'Yes. I've swum further in the sea,' she said swiftly, shivering as the cold water numbed her legs. 'But you can barely swim ten yards.'

  'I'll hang onto the side of the punt, and so long as that holds me up I can try to push it to the side. Go, Rosa, don't wait for me!'

  She obeyed and struck out for the bank, her teeth chattering, her heavy winter clothes instantly waterlogged and dragging her down. She might be able to find something there which she could use to help. If not, surely she could attract someone's attention, higher up from the surface of the water.

  After a few yards she turned her head to see where her father was. She was just in time to see him fall in as the punt turned over, and she cried out a warning. For some reason, perhaps an eddy in the water, perhaps the shifting of weight as he jumped, the punt slewed round and drifted broadside on. Rosa couldn't see her father, and she prayed desperately he would be able to catch hold of it. Then as she twisted in the water she saw her father surface the far side of the upturned punt, and fling up his arm to ward off the now wildly swinging boat. Frantic with fear she tried to swim back, but the current was against her. Her father was no longer moving of his own volition, but part of his clothing had caught in some projection of the punt, and he was being swept downstream by the flood water more rapidly than she, in quieter water, could follow.

  Rosa could see foaming water on the edges of the weir. She hoped the lock gate was closed, and she wouldn't be swirled into it. With luck she'd be swept onto one of the islands which separated the lock and the two sections of the weir. The rocks which broke the surface were looming up remarkably fast, and she knew she was being borne along by the current. She could not overtake her father, but maybe if she could reach the bank she could run faster than the stream. There was so little time left, but she had to try. Perhaps the punt would jam across the rocks, and her father might be saved. With all her strength Rosa tried to swim for the bank, but it receded visibly, and she feared that she too would be swept over the vicious path of the weir.

  ***

  Chapter 7

  'Hang on! Hold tight, we're coming!'

  Rosa knew her grip on the slippery rock was weakening. Her hands were so cold she could barely feel anything with them. The small island separating the weirs was only a short distance away from her grasp, but she was too exhausted to struggle towards it. Suddenly finding something beneath her foot, a submerged branch, she thought hazily, she forced her body a few inches further out of the swirling torrent and gulped in a lungful of air while scrabbling for better purchase. She thought she heard voices, but she had ears full of water and was too low down to see more than a few feet ahead. She couldn't see her father, nor pull herself further out of the icy water. She could just see the punt broadside on and wedged against the rocks between her and the furthest island. Maybe her father was hanging on to it. She must reach it, but it was too far away unless she could scramble along the top of the weir yet prevent herself from being swept over it. Rosa sobbed with frustration and redoubled her efforts.

  The punt was rocking, crashing against the stones. Soon it might break up or be swept completely over the restraining rocks and then her father would have no chance at all. Rosa needed to make haste before it was too late. Hanging on to the rocks, not noticing how they cut into her flesh, she searched for a handhold nearer the punt. Her hand closed round a piece of wood. It felt like a branch, but when she tried to lever herself further out of the water it snapped and she lost her balance, saving herself only by catching at the rough edge of a rock. She lacerated her palms and fingers still more, but the cold was so intense she felt no pain. She had something firm to depend on, and with its help scrambled a few inches further out of the water. Then a shadow fell on her and she heard brisk but unhurried instuctions.

  'Can you grab the reins? Keep hold of them and you won't go over. The punt's holding.'

  Miraculously the strip of leather fell into the water just in front of her face. It was swept towards her and cautiously Rosa let go of the rock with one hand and grabbed for it, but she was too numb to retain any grasp. She slipped, was swept off the rocks, and felt the water dragging her away from this lifeline. As she went under, choking, strong hands seized her and she was hauled from the river. The long bare strands of willow swayed above her in a macabre dance as she was flung over someone's shoulder and both a mouthful of river water and breath were driven from her body. She gasped, and seeing the lock gate swing dizzily beneath her found strength to protest.

  'Father, I must get to him! Let me go!'

  'Keep still or we'll both fall in.'

  Rosa suddenly saw the water in the lock a very long way beneath her. She shut her eyes as her rescuer carried her to safety on the bank, and was thankful to be deposited on the ground, the world once more becoming still.

  'You'll soon feel better. But you must take off those clothes.'

  'Adam? How – but Father, he's in the river! Get to him, please, Adam, he can't swim!'

  She was shivering uncontrollably, and her chattering teeth made it difficult to get the words out. Ruthlessly Adam tore off her soaking garments. She couldn't stop shaking, her limbs heavy and useless. Adam wrapped his riding coat and then a horse-blanket round her, then re-attached the reins to the bridle. 'I was with friends, once they saw you safe they went down the bank to look for your father. I must get you home before you die of cold.'

  Rosa protested she was all right, she must rescue her father, but Adam ignored her. She was too exhausted to resist when he lifted her into the saddle and sprang up behind her.

  'Hold tight. Nelson can carry us both for a short distance. We have to get you to bed and call the doctor.'

  *

  Max spread sheets of drawings on the table. Reuben and Abe leant over them, studying them intently.

  'The Committee want as flexible a design as possible, allowing for an apron stage, and an orchestra pit,' Max explained. 'They've specified adequate space in the wings and flies for rapid scene changes, I'm pleased to see, and good facilities for actors with spacious dressing rooms and greenroom, and the stage staff with workrooms and wardrobes.'

  'And seating for a thousand in two tiers,' Abe added. 'Does that mean just stalls and one dress circle?'

  'No, two circles.'

  'Well, that will help get such a big audience in, and reasonably close to the stage,' Reuben said. 'I like these preliminary ideas of yours, Max.'

  'They didn't give much other indication of what they wanted, just leaving the design to the architects.'

  'Asking for a simple, beautiful and convenient building,' Abe said. 'Of course, they would want a simple style after that other complicated monstrosity which burnt down. Are they sure no one fired it deliberately?'

  Max laughed. 'I don't think so. It was almost certainly a smouldering cigarette. There had been workmen in during the morning.'

  'The entries have to be in by June, which doesn't give us much time. Let's look at the details.'

  Abe muttered to himself, and Reuben turned to Max. 'Did you find out what the Company wants?' he asked quietly.

  'Plenty of space, good wings and flies, a rehearsal room, workrooms, storage. It's a lot to cram into that site.'

  'Your photographs and plans will be invaluable, but Abe will have to see the actual place. One doesn't get the same feel for what would fit in, be appropriate, match the surroundings. We'll start
on some of the internal design while Abe's in England.'

  *

  Jack flicked his whip at Sid when the lad was tardy responding to his yell. Sid dodged, but made no excuse and Jack strode off without a word. He went into the kitchen.

  'Any scones today, Winnie?' he demanded. 'I'm ravenous.' When Winnie, huddled into the armchair beside the range, gave a loud sob he looked at her properly. 'What is it? Winnie, are you ill?'

  Winnie struggled to speak. 'Oh, Master Jack, I don't know how to say it. Your poor father! And Miss Rosa!'

  'What's happened? Where are they?' Jack demanded, suddenly terribly afraid.

  'Drowned!' Winnie collapsed into a storm of weeping, and wouldn't be comforted despite Jack's attempts to calm her.

  'Both? You mean Father – ? And Rosa – ?' He gulped and looked wildly round. Then he made for the door to the rest of the house, but it opened and Adam came through, followed by Dr Monkton. Jack seized Adam's sleeve. 'What are you doing here? For God's sake tell me what's happened!'

  Dr Monkton stepped forward and made him sit in one of the chairs beside the table. 'Get brandy,' he said over his shoulder and Adam nodded and left the room. 'Rosa is sedated, she has bruises and cuts, and is very shocked, but otherwise has taken no harm. Your father, I'm afraid, died in the accident.'

  Jack stared at him, his mind in a turmoil. His father dead? But he wasn't old. The mid-fifties wasn't old. Then he felt a surge of elation. Rosa was safe. He'd believed for one endless age that Rosa was dead. She wasn't dead. But his father was. As Adam returned with the brandy and handed the glass to the doctor Jack began to sob, great tearing sobs dragged from deep within him. The doctor forced brandy between his lips, Jack coughed, then took a few deep breaths, but seemed unable to comprehend what had happened. Sobs still shook his big frame, and all he did when they spoke to him was rock backwards and forwards in the chair, clutching his head in his hands.

  'I'll sedate him. Help me get him to bed, Adam, then go home and change your wet clothes or we'll have you ill too.'

  'I can't leave Winnie,' Adam said as he and Dr Monkton forced Jack to stand and half-carried him upstairs. 'I'll borrow some of Jack's togs and stay here.'

  'Perhaps when Winnie's had time for it to sink in she'll be able to suggest a sensible woman who can come and help.'

  Adam nodded. Between them they put Jack to bed, and the doctor took his leave. Adam found dry clothes and changed, then stayed with Jack until he fell asleep. He looked into Rosa's room, but she was peacefully sleeping, so with a sigh Adam went downstairs. Winnie had recovered enough to make a pot of tea, and weakly gestured to Adam to help himself. He poured and drank a cup swiftly, standing looking out of the window.

  'That lad can't manage,' he exclaimed suddenly. Sid, diminutive, had unhitched the waggon and was struggling to pull the heavy harness off Mustard's back. 'I'll go and help,' he said to Winnie. She nodded, but he doubted she'd understood.

  Sid gave a sigh of relief when Adam appeared. 'Ta, Gaffer. Couldn't find the big box,' he said apologetically. 'I can manage when I've got that'n, but not wi' this small 'un.'

  Even Adam had to stand on the box to lift Mustard's harness off. Then Sid led the big horse into the stable and began to rub him down with wisps of straw. 'Do you know where we might get another driver?' Adam asked as he wiped the bit before hanging it up on a nail. 'Someone who can help until Mr Jack gets things sorted out?'

  Sid sniffed. 'Me uncle Perce wants a job,' he said. His voice broke but he controlled it. 'Lorst 'is when 'is boss bought a pesky motor. Coachman, 'e was, in Birmingham.'

  'Tell him to come and see Mr Jack tomorrow, will you?'

  Adam finished with the harness and went back into the house. Winnie was still huddled before the fire, but she was able to talk.

  *

  'That man's almost living here,' Jack complained two days after his father's death as he made the last inspection of the stables before going to bed.

  'Mr Thorn's very worried about Rosa,' Winnie said tiredly. 'I'm thankful he's here to take care of her. And young Agnes has been a blessing, just sitting with her. I can't do that as well. There's more than enough for me to do as it is.'

  Jack grunted, and ignored Winnie's faint protest as he took the brandy decanter and went upstairs.

  Rosa had seemed in a trance since the accident. She was calm, although her eyes frequently filled with tears. She spent each day sitting at the parlour window, watching the street. She ate what Winnie set before her, but apart from quiet words of thanks did not speak. Jack, thrown into the need for arranging his father's funeral as well as trying to keep the business running, was abrupt and uncommunicative. All of them were numb with shock.

  On the following morning Rosa came downstairs and sat by the table while Winnie fussed around insisting she ate the ham and eggs set before her. Agnes had already arrived and was drinking a cup of tea and looking with concern at Rosa. Adam came in from the stables, where he'd been since early morning helping Sid and Ben, just as Jack came downstairs. Jack glared at them all impartially, then spoke to Agnes.

  'Agnes, what are you and Adam doing here?' Heavy-eyed, he held on to the door jamb. As Adam went towards him Jack pushed past and sank into a chair by the table. 'Winnie, is there any tea?'

  'I'll make a fresh pot. Then I'll do you some bacon and eggs.'

  Jack shuddered. 'Nothing to eat. I couldn't. Adam, you haven't explained why you're still here.'

  'Someone has to keep the business running. Are you going to see that man Percy who wants a job as driver? He came yesterday but you sent him away. You'll have to stay in the office now, so you'll need someone else.'

  Jack's shoulders drooped. 'I'm quite capable of managing my own affairs. You can take your prying little nose away, too,' he shouted at Agnes, who promptly burst into tears and limped outside. Jack took the cup of tea Winnie put before him and sipped the scalding liquid. Adam went quietly out of the house and stood in the stable yard, breathing in the fresh morning air. Agnes was sobbing quietly, leaning against the wall, and he stretched out a hand to pat her shoulder.

  'Oh Adam, it's all so beastly!' she wailed.

  'Don't let Jack upset you. He doesn't mean half what he says, and they're all very unhappy. Rosa needs you. You will come back, won't you?'

  'Yes, if you want me to,' Agnes gulped.

  'Dry your eyes now, and I'll walk home with you.'

  He was seething inwardly. He'd had the greatest urge to knock Jack down. Only concern for Rosa had restrained him. He'd give Jack time to cool down, then go back.

  *

  By the fourth day after her father's death Rosa was calm. She had wept until she had no more tears, and seeing the indecision with which Jack faced the future took herself to task. First her father must be laid to rest. Then she'd force her sluggish thoughts to other matters.

  'Might Celia see the newspapers?' she asked Adam, who came every day to offer what help he could. 'I do wish she'd write.'

  'You mean reports of the accident?' Adam asked. 'That won't be in the London papers. But we could insert a notice about his death in the Times. She might see that, or someone might recognise the name and mention it to her. Shall I do it?'

  'Would you? I wouldn't know how, and anyway I have to see the vicar and – and arrange the service.'

  'Can't Jack do that?'

  'He made the first arrangements, but now the business needs him. There's such a lot do be done.'

  'He might spare some thought for you.'

  'He knows you're helping me,' Rosa said swiftly.

  'He knows. I don't think he approves.'

  'Adam, please don't quarrel with him. He's very unhappy.'

  'I've no intention of coming to blows with him. Shall I come with you to see the vicar?'

  'Would you? I'd be grateful.'

  Jack, however, was far from grateful. He was in the parlour when Adam and Rosa returned.

  'I believe I asked you to keep your nose out of my family's business,' he said ang
rily to Adam.

  'Jack, that's not fair!' Rosa blazed. 'You're too busy, you said you didn't have time to arrange the funeral, so if Adam wants to help I'm grateful to him. If it hadn't been for Adam I'd have been dead too.'

  'He's done his good deed for the week. Let him be satisfied with that. I'm master here now, Adam Thorn, and you are not welcome. Is that clear?'

  'Perfectly.' Adam's face was white, but his eyes glittered with suppressed fury. 'However, it is Rosa's home too, and unless she tells me to go I shall continue to offer her my help.'

  In the end Jack stormed out, and it was midnight before he staggered home. The headache and the clouded eyes he showed the following day bore witness to his attempt at seeking drunken oblivion, but he made no more protests at Adam's continued presence.

  Rosa felt as though she was inhabiting a dream, although she hadn't imagined dreams could hurt so much. When she had respite from immediate problems she relived those horrendous minutes of the accident, torturing herself with thoughts of what she might have done to avert the tragedy. If she'd been paying more attention; if she'd insisted that they both held on to the punt, their combined strength might have pushed it to the bank; if she'd realised the danger earlier; if she'd screamed and tried to attract attention, her father might still be alive.

  Either Celia hadn't seen the advertisement in the Times, or didn't care enough to come home. Rosa shuddered as she recalled Jack's renewed explosion of anger at what he called Adam's interference when he saw the notice. The day of the funeral arrived without a word from Celia, and with Jack barely on speaking terms with either Adam or Rosa.

  Many of Mr Greenwood's business acquaintances came, as well as family friends. Rosa was aware that an unusually large number of Celia's friends came to the church, braving yet another fierce downpour, but despite the buzz of gossip that was almost tangible none of them questioned Rosa directly about her sister. Winnie had prepared a veritable feast and Rosa moved mechanically amongst the crowd, thanking them for coming, gravely accepting awkwardly offered condolences. To her relief the mourners didn't stay long. Perhaps Jack's churlish looks drove them away, perhaps it was the embarrassment of rumours about Celia. Whatever it was, Rosa was thankful to see them go.