by Val Wood
He put his hand on the sneck, but still he hesitated. ‘Does Jack Terrison come here? To call, I mean?’
Mary-Ellen was bewildered for a moment, and then she said, ‘What if he does? He’d onny come in his own time anyway. Not in yours.’
‘I was curious, that’s all. I wondered – if you and he had an understanding?’
She blinked. Why should he ask about Jack Terrison? A warm feeling spread over her and she felt her breath quicken. ‘We might have,’ she said, and saw regret in his eyes. ‘On ’other hand, we might not. Anyway, he onny works for you. His life’s his own!’
Joseph nodded. ‘That’s true.’ He turned again to leave, and then looked back at her. ‘You’re a wilful woman, Mary-Ellen,’ he murmured. ‘I pity any man who becomes entangled with you.’
She leaned against the door jamb and watched him ride away, back up the track towards the river. The sky was darkening with a threat of more snow. She could feel a tingling in her nostrils and a sharpness which cut through her thin bodice and shawl, making her shiver. There’s going to be a blizzard. Will he get back in time or will he be caught in it? No matter, he’s wearing a heavy cape. But will his horse slip on the bank? It’s narrow in places and the tide will be rushing in.
She turned away and banged the door shut in a sudden burst of temper. She was wilful, as he’d said; she was aware of that. But why did she feel frustrated and down-hearted? What had she wanted from him? What had he wanted from her? She took a breath and closed her eyes for a second. There had been nothing spoken, no question asked, no hint of why he was really there, yet she had known that the reason was something other than the courtesy of a new landlord as he had suggested.
‘Whatever it was,’ she muttered, ‘it spells danger. For me and for him. He can’t come visiting whenever he feels like it, even if he thinks he can. A gentleman and a poor wench! What would folks say? What would they think?’ And what folks would they be? she argued with herself, when you don’t see a soul from one week to the next.
She sat down on the chair by the fire, which at last was throwing out some heat, and put her hands towards it. He was jesting, she thought. That’s what some men do, aye and some women too I shouldn’t wonder. They call it flirting, I believe, but it means nothing much, though I don’t suppose he’d do it with a gentlewoman in case she took him seriously. Mary-Ellen had never had cause to flirt, not ever, mainly because she hadn’t met a man who had taken her fancy. No-one whom she had considered remotely attractive enough to egg on with a saucy smile.
‘I’d never know how to do that anyway,’ she muttered aloud. ‘If I was attracted to anybody then he’d have to take me as I am. I’ll not pretend to be summat I’m not, just to attract a man’s attention. I’ll stay an old maid rather than that.’
Yet she had felt a longing. A coursing through her veins of some desire which was strange and unfamiliar to her. A desire that had been kindled by Joseph Ellis; by the interest she had seen in his eyes that first day they had met in Patrington and had done her best to ignore.
He’s very handsome, she thought. But that’s not all. There aren’t that many men who have a pleasing manner that sets them apart from the others. Is it his eyes? Or his bearing? His voice maybe? It’s deep, yet soft enough to make a lass drop her guard and be seduced by sweet words. But I’ll not be tempted. Not me. ’Only time I’ll be persuaded is when some man can offer me something I really want, and what that is I haven’t yet discovered.
The snow came down that evening whilst Mary-Ellen and her father slept. She got up once and put more wood on the fire, and then huddled deeper under her blanket. She could hear the wind gusting down the chimney and the hiss of snow as it settled on the burning embers.
The next morning, Isaac got up and opened the door, relieved himself from the doorway, then got back into bed. ‘They’ll not be fishing today,’ he grunted. ‘And if they do they’ll have to go without me.’
In a few minutes, Mary-Ellen could hear him snoring again. She lay for a while, but she was restless and couldn’t settle back to sleep, even though she guessed it was probably very early. She could see a deep layer of white on the windowsill and the snow still coming down in a fast flurry. She rose up from her bed and wrapped her blanket round her. Her toes curled on the cold floor and she put on the thick stockings she had left on the chair the night before.
She stirred the fire and swung a kettle of water over the heat to make a drink, and thought of how the day would stretch long and dismal in front of her.
Her father got up an hour later, and went outside to chop wood. He brought in a large basket which they normally used for potatoes, but he had filled to the brim with logs, and then went out again to bring in a sack of kindling. ‘I’ll have to go and look to see if any branches have come down,’ he said. ‘We’re running short of wood. It won’t last if this cold weather keeps up.’
They ate a breakfast of gruel and weak tea, and then he put on his hat and jacket and the scarf which his wife had knitted him many years before, and set off. Mary-Ellen cleared away, put water on to boil again and then took out her mending basket. She darned her father’s socks, put a button on his other shirt, and mended a rent in his nightshirt.
The next day was much the same; the snow still fell but there was a glimmer of sunshine. Mary-Ellen wrapped herself up in several layers, including a flannel shirt belonging to her father, and put a shawl about her head and another round her shoulders.
‘Where ’you going?’ Her father was huddled close to the fire.
‘I have to go out,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay in any longer. I feel trapped. I’ll just walk as far as ’river bank.’
‘Put my coat on,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll freeze to death out there. And just watch you don’t slip and tummel into ’water. You’ll not get out if you do.’
‘I’ll not fall in,’ she said. ‘When have I ever?’
He grinned. ‘Nay, you never have. But there’s allus a first time. You know what you’re doing, I realize that.’ There was a touch of pride in his voice and Mary Ellen looked at him in surprise. He was never one to give praise or acclaim. If she cooked a good dinner, the fact that he ate it was commendation enough. But this was something more and it disturbed her.
‘I know that you could manage if owt should happen to me,’ he muttered, his gaze on the flames. ‘I’ve brought you up as if you were a lad, able to fend for yoursen. There’s not many lasses can do what you can do. I know it’s not allus easy for you, Mary-Ellen, but life’s hard and you should expect nowt from it, onny hard knocks. I’m sorry it’s this way, but there it is. That’s how it’s been doled out for us.’
She had never in her life heard such a long speech from him and for a moment she was tongue-tied. She cleared her throat. ‘Nowt’s going to happen to you, Da,’ she said huskily.
‘No,’ he grunted, and spat into the fire. ‘Course it’s not.’
The track was rutted but the potholes were hidden by the snow and a few times she almost tripped. But she plodded on, exhilarated by the effort and the sharp crisp air, in spite of the heavy snow which was still falling. She noted where there were some broken branches, poking up from the drifts. Slender sticks which would burn well and start off a fire; she would collect a bundle on the way home.
She took in a deep satisfying breath as she reached the bank and saw the sun rippling on the surface of the river. The best place in the world to live, she breathed, and then smiled to herself at the thought that she neither knew, nor ever would know, any other. There were ships on the estuary, heading out towards Spurn Point and the sea. The breeze was carrying them swiftly and she thought that the snow wouldn’t hamper those on the water in the way that those on the land would be obstructed, their everyday work curtailed.
I’ll walk as far as Weeton, she decided, and make sure that Da’s boat is secure. The saltmarsh wasn’t so wide at Weeton, the village to the east of Welwick, and it was there her father moored the old coggy boat which he used for
fishing on his own account.
She had walked for about fifteen minutes and was considering turning about and going back, for the path along the bank was slippery and very uneven and she didn’t want to take a fall, when she saw a horse and rider coming towards her. She stopped and waited. One of them would have to give way and it would have to be her. She stepped back into the scrub of hawthorn bushes to make room.
The rider hailed her, lifting a hand in appreciation as he came nearer, and with a start she saw it was Joseph Ellis. He hadn’t recognized her. He drew closer and then reined in.
‘Mary-Ellen? Is it you beneath all those wrappings?’
She was muffled up to the eyes in shawls and her father’s overlarge coat, which had the collar turned up. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’
‘Whatever are you doing out on a day like this?’ He looked down at her in astonishment. Then he grinned. ‘You’re a regular snow maiden.’
‘I came out for some air.’ She lowered the shawl from where it had been covering her mouth. ‘We’ve been cooped up in ’house since day before yesterday, and I had to get out. I was going to walk as far as Weeton but I’ve changed my mind. I shall turn back.’
‘What’s at Weeton?’ he asked. ‘Another aunt? Can I carry a message for you?’
Mary-Ellen shook her head. ‘I was onny going to check up on my father’s boat. Make sure it was safely moored.’
‘There are two boats tied up to a stump,’ he said. ‘I noticed as I came past. Would one be your father’s?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It will be. Thank you.’
He opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it and surveyed her. Then he said, ‘I too am only taking the air and giving Ebony some exercise. I, er, was going to turn at Welwick Thorpe. Could I offer you a ride or would that be out of order? I do seem to make a habit of doing or saying the wrong thing!’
She caught a hint of amusement in his voice which irked her, and she felt at a disadvantage as he gazed down at her from his mount’s back.
‘There’d be no point in me taking a walk if I was to accept a ride,’ she said contentiously. ‘But don’t let me detain you. You’ll need to get back afore dark.’
He touched his hat and without a word he moved on, his horse making a snickering sound as they passed her. She turned round and followed him, until as he came to a wider part of the track he deftly manoeuvred Ebony and turned him back, facing the way he had come. As they came up close to her she once more moved back into the bushes. He lifted his hat in salutation, but didn’t speak, only pursed his lips as if he was hiding a grin.
She walked on without looking back. If he thought I’d dip my knee to him he’d be mistaken, she scoffed. I’ll not do that for any gentry, man or woman. She looked out at the estuary. The water was choppy, the surface breaking and surging as the tide turned. I wonder why he was riding from Skeffling to Welwick Thorpe. Why didn’t he go the other way towards Kilnsea? He’d have had a much better ride.
An unbidden smile played around her mouth. He was hoping to see me! A deep, powerful elation rushed over her. One that she had experienced before. It wasn’t true when she had told her father that she had never fallen in the river. When she was eleven, she had tripped and had felt the waters close over her head. After the initial panic she had held her breath until she rose to the surface. It had been a terrifying ordeal, but also exhilarating. I must be careful, she told herself now. Or I could drown.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I didn’t tell you that I visited the tenants at Welwick and Welwick Thorpe last Sunday,’ Joseph told his father during supper that evening. They had dined on cold mutton, roast potatoes, mashed turnip and carrots, and were about to start on marmalade pudding. ‘They seem to be reliable. I just missed Page, though. Seemingly he’d had to go out in the afternoon.’
‘He was probably having his afternoon nap like your father,’ his mother remarked, ‘and said he wasn’t to be disturbed!’
‘Gone down to the hostelry more like,’ his father grunted, pouring extra sauce over his pudding. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter. He knows who we are and that’s all that counts.’
Joseph glanced at his mother and sister, Julia. ‘I know that he wasn’t having a nap, Mother, because I went inside the cottage. It’s only one room where they live and sleep, and I was thinking—’
His father looked up. ‘What?’
Joseph shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, there’s a daughter, as you know, and I happened to notice that there was only one bed—’
His mother drew in a breath and Julia’s mouth opened into a round ‘oh’, and a pink spot appeared on each side of her face.
‘That’s enough!’ his father barked. ‘Not in front of your mother and sister!’
‘No. No!’ Joseph protested. ‘You don’t understand! There was a straw mattress rolled up in the corner of the room and the girl sleeps on that in front of the fire. It’s an earth floor, and it must be most uncomfortable as well as damp. I wondered if we could perhaps build on an extra room? It wouldn’t take much. The present house is boulder and rubble with some ashlar stone—’
‘The daughter – she’s about seventeen, eighteen, as I recall,’ his father interrupted. ‘She’ll surely be getting married before long and moving out. That’ll mean her father has a room he doesn’t want and yet has to pay for. The rent will have to go up if we do any building work. No,’ he decided. ‘Best leave well alone. They’ve not complained, have they?’ and when Joseph shook his head, he added, ‘Well, there you are then.’
Later, Joseph’s sister took him on one side. ‘This young woman you mentioned,’ she whispered. ‘Does she not have a mother?’
‘Seemingly not if she lives with her father,’ he answered abruptly. The discussion hadn’t gone the way he wanted. But, he reminded himself, I was looking for a means, an excuse, to visit her again.
‘Would she, do you know, would she be disposed to accept charity? What I mean is, if we were to give her an extra blanket or a warm gown? I have several that I’m no longer fond of, and I’m sure Mama would not object. Would she be grateful, do you think? I’m assuming that they are poor?’
Joseph looked down at his sister. Though out here in Holderness fashion wasn’t predominant, Julia liked to appear at her best. She wore a full prettily patterned gown with a ruched bodice and a wide buckled belt round her small waist. Her brown hair was parted smoothly down the centre and arranged in pretty ringlets over her ears. He pondered that Julia was completely submissive and biddable, adhered faithfully to the pattern of what was expected of her and had not one ounce of the fire and personality of Mary-Ellen. I’m being unkind, he thought. She is obliging and well meaning, yet has no will of her own. She only knows what she has been taught.
‘They are certainly poor by our standards, Julia,’ he sighed. ‘But it’s my considered opinion that if you were to give her a charitable gift, then she would either refuse it or give it away to someone else.’
‘Not sell it, then?’ she exclaimed. ‘But give it to someone poorer than herself?’
‘Probably.’ He nodded and, excusing himself, left the room. More likely throw it in the river, he judged resentfully. I can just see her, scraping and dipping, mealy-mouthed in front of Julia. Thank you kindly, Miss Ellis. Much obliged, Miss Ellis! Huh, he grunted beneath his breath. A lick with the rough side of her tongue more likely!
The next morning he strode out across the stack yard. It had been cleared of snow and he went towards one of the cart sheds where the door was propped open. Jack Terrison was inside swinging an axe. A pile of chopped logs was against the wall.
‘Where’s this come from?’ Joseph asked him, indicating the pile of branches.
Jack put down the axe and touched his cap. ‘That old ash from ’bottom of West Field, sir. It’s lost several branches, all dead wood. I noticed it a week ago and thought as it’d burn well. I reckoned I might as well do this seeing as we can’t get out into ’fields. Keep me warm as w
ell.’ He grinned, and then added hastily, ‘I’ve seen to ’hosses, sir. Turned ’em out into ’foldyard, but ’hind says there’ll be no fieldwork today. Snow’s still too thick.’
Joseph considered. The wood shed was full of logs, all cut for the house. This lot would have to be stacked against the side. He rubbed his chin. ‘Tell you what, Terrison. Fill up one of the small carts and take it over to Mr Page at Welwick Thorpe.’
He saw Terrison’s eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘I noticed they were short of wood when I was there after the hirings.’ A small white lie, he conceded, but Jack Terrison had seen him leaving that day when he had given Mary-Ellen a lift back home. But Joseph saw no reason to explain to his employee that he had been there again since Martinmas.
‘And then, if the weather worsens,’ he added, justifying his generosity, ‘we’ll perhaps send some over to the Marstons at Welwick.’
Jack Terrison’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘By heck, sir. They’ll think it’s Christmas come early. She works here, you know – young Janey,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Jane Marston. Mary-Ellen’s cousin. She works in ’kitchen. Started at Martinmas.’
‘Oh! See to it then.’ Joseph turned away. Then he added, half jokingly, ‘And don’t be spending all morning philandering with Miss Page. There’s plenty for you to do here.’
‘No chance o’ that, sir,’ Jack said. ‘She’ll not entertain me. Send me off wi’ sharp words and a flea in me ear more like!’
Good, Joseph breathed. If she’s not interested in him, then perhaps there’s a chance for me. He was a fool, he knew very well. Nothing could come of it. No relationship between them could flower. There would be no introducing her to his parents or his sister, and neither would her father welcome him. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Day and night he thought of her. She haunted his dreams as he lay in bed, and pervaded his waking hours with the consciousness of her existence. He was amazed that no-one noticed his preoccupation, for it seemed to him that he walked around in a daze most of the time. Sleepwalking with Mary-Ellen in his arms.
