by Val Wood
‘Doesn’t this lady have any bairns?’ Susannah asked.
‘Not little ’uns like you and Thomas. They’re grown now.’
Susannah thought for a moment and then said, ‘She won’t want to keep me, will she? Cos if she does, then I’ll be naughty so that she sends me away.’
Aunt Lol gave a lopsided smile. ‘You don’t need to worry on that score,’ she said. ‘Besides, I can’t part wi’ you, can I? How would I ever manage without you?’
Susannah put her arms round Aunt Lol’s legs. ‘I don’t ever want to leave you, Aunt Lol. I’ll stay with you and Uncle Ben and Thomas and Sally and everybody for ever.’
‘I’m to tek you to ’front of ’house,’ the driver of the dog cart told Lol. ‘Housekeeper’ll see to you then.’
Lol didn’t answer, but climbed into the cart. She had been prepared to be taken to the kitchen entrance, but then, on reconsidering, realized that Mrs Ellis wouldn’t want the servants speculating as to the reason why they were there or questioning Jane, who would be unable to give a coherent answer. Jane was still general dogsbody in the kitchen and likely to remain so. She had no ambition to better herself and since Mary-Ellen’s death had become very morose.
‘Please come in, Mrs Marston.’ The housekeeper opened the door to them. She had obviously been watching out for the dog cart. ‘Mrs Ellis is ready to see the child. If you would kindly wait in here.’ She opened a door leading into a small sitting room whose walls were lined with books. ‘Perhaps you would like a pot of coffee or tea?’
‘Aye, I would,’ Lol answered. ‘Tea if you please. Strong, wi’ sugar. Off you go,’ she told Susannah, whose eyes were wide and gazing in awe and wonder at the furnishings and large windows and the fire, blazing even though it was a warm day. ‘I’ll be waiting here when Mrs Ellis is finished wi’ you.’
‘Can’t you come wi’ me?’ Susannah said.
‘No.’ The housekeeper took hold of her hand. ‘You’ll be all right with me. Come along.’
She led a reluctant Susannah along the hall and up the stairs and then along another corridor, and tapped on a door. A voice called ‘Come in’, and they entered a large airy room with comfortable chairs and a sofa and a writing desk. In front of the window was a table with a vase of flowers on it.
Mrs Ellis was sitting on the sofa. Her hair was a faded gold and she turned to Susannah, putting out her hand and saying, ‘Come here, my dear, and let me look at you.’
Susannah turned enquiringly to the woman who had brought her upstairs, but she had gone, closing the door behind her. She bit on a finger and slowly went towards the golden-haired lady. ‘I can’t stop,’ she whispered. ‘Aunt Lol needs me.’
‘Aunt Lol? Is that Mrs Marston?’ Mrs Ellis asked. ‘Does she take care of you?’
Susannah remembered that she hadn’t dipped her knee as Aunt Lol had told her to, so she did it now. ‘Yes. Cos I haven’t got a ma.’
‘Where is your mother?’ Mrs Ellis said gently.
‘She’s dead and gone to heaven.’
Mrs Ellis gave a little cough. ‘And your father? Where is he?’
Susannah frowned. She hadn’t worked that out yet. Uncle Ben was Thomas’s father and he was Sally’s and Jane’s and Daniel’s father too, but once when she had called him Da, as the others did, Daniel had laughed and said that he wasn’t her father and not even her proper uncle, and he had been given a slap round the ear by Aunt Lol.
‘I don’t think I’ve got one,’ she said. ‘At least I’ve never seen him. Perhaps he’s in heaven with my ma.’
Mrs Ellis put her hand over her mouth and looked as if she was going to cry, but she said in a strangled kind of voice, ‘And what name are you known by?’
‘Susannah Page.’ Susannah wondered why this lady was asking so many questions.
‘And how old are you, Susannah?’
‘I’m four and a half a year.’ Susannah gave a confident smile. She had worked that out for herself. ‘My birthday’s in November and then I’ll be five.’
‘Would you like to go to school when you’re old enough?’
Susannah considered. She had heard Aunt Lol and Uncle Ben talking about that. Aunt Lol had said she was going to discuss it with somebody. ‘Only if Thomas can go as well,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go without him.’
‘And who is Thomas?’
‘Erm,’ Susannah put her finger to her mouth and nibbled on it. ‘I think he’s my brother, but I’m not sure.’ She gave a deep sigh. It was very complicated. ‘Aunt Lol’s his ma anyway.’
Mrs Ellis put out her hand to draw her near and gently stroked her cheek. ‘We’ll see what we can do about school,’ she said quietly. ‘When the time comes. For you and Thomas.’
Susannah heaved a breath. So that was what all this was about. She dipped her knee again. ‘Thank you,’ she said shyly. ‘I’ll tell Aunt Lol.’
Mrs Ellis asked her if she would press the bell at the side of the fireplace and within a few minutes the woman who had brought her upstairs appeared as if by magic at the door. ‘Thank you,’ Mrs Ellis said to her. ‘You may return her to her guardian.’ She turned to Susannah. ‘Goodbye, my dear. It was very nice meeting you.’ She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to her nose.
She’s got a cold, Susannah thought as she took the housekeeper’s hand to be led away. Her eyes are all watery.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The barouche trundled across the moat, rattling the two passengers from side to side. ‘My God! Wherever are you bringing me, Joseph?’ The woman, swathed in fur and wearing a black feathered hat, had a strong French accent.
‘Home!’ Joseph muttered, knowing that he had made a terrible mistake. He had known it as soon as they reached the small town of Hedon in Holderness; knew by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the return of the melancholia which had sent him off to Europe to recuperate, that he shouldn’t have come back, and certainly not with a wife, and a Frenchwoman at that.
He had hired a post chaise and pair to bring them from London to Hull. There he had paid the balance owing for the driver’s services, stayed the night in a coaching house, and hired a brougham and driver to bring them to Skeffling. His wife, Arlette, whom he had met and married in Paris, had not stopped exclaiming at the emptiness of the landscape, the poor state of the roads and the lack of visible population since they had set out from Hull.
‘This is just like rural France,’ she had complained. ‘Where are ze theatres, ze concert ’alls?’ she whimpered. ‘Here there is nossing. What is there to do all day?’
‘There are theatres in Hull,’ he contended. ‘But we rarely go. We are a working family. I told you that when we met.’
‘But you spent so much time in France and Switzerland. You were not working then,’ she pouted. ‘We should ’ave stayed in Paris.’
‘I’m a farmer,’ he said testily. ‘My father has carried the weight of the farm on his own for over four years. I have to show some responsibility.’
I had to get away, he reflected. I couldn’t bear to be in Holderness when Mary-Ellen was gone from me. I was ready to die; didn’t want to live without her. It was his parents who had first suggested he went away to recuperate, though they hadn’t anticipated that he would leave the country. But he had decided for himself that he would go to Europe.
He went first to France, walking and sleeping under hedges, eating where he could and looking like a tramp with his long hair and rough beard; and then he travelled to Switzerland, where amongst the mountains he didn’t feel Mary-Ellen’s presence so strongly. He stayed in a monastery, living a sober and simple life. He chopped wood, dug ditches, and did menial jobs which were easy for him and difficult for the elderly monks who were resident there. He was welcomed and given the peace and understanding that he was looking for.
When he thought he was well again, he left the monastery and travelled back to France, where once again he was smitten by loneliness and loss. He frequented bars
and hotels, and in Paris he met Arlette. She was elegant, worldly and cultured, all the things that Mary-Ellen was not. She was also amusing, alluring and passionate and he was tempted by her obvious interest in him, and he began to smile again. After only three weeks of knowing her, in a moment of weakness, he had asked her to marry him. To his utter amazement she said yes, and took him to her bed.
They married immediately by special licence and within a month they travelled to England to begin his life again.
He had written to his parents to tell them of his return, but hadn’t told them that he was married and bringing a wife. He thought they would be pleased that he was attempting to put the past behind him, but was unsure what they would think of Arlette’s cosmopolitan outlook on life or how she would fit in with their lifestyle.
The carriage drew up at the door, and Arlette took his hand as he helped her down. ‘So, you are rich, Joseph?’ she murmured. ‘Such a grand ’ouse.’
‘We work for what we have,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t come easily.’
‘You ’ave many servants, yes? You won’t want me to cook ze dinner?’
‘No.’ He laughed. She was so amusing sometimes. ‘We have a cook to do that.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I am pleased to ’ear it.’
‘Here are my parents, Arlette.’ He saw his mother and father and some of the servants gathered at the door to greet him. Though he knew that they would be surprised to see that he was not alone, their breeding and good manners would not allow their astonishment to show in front of the servants. They came down the steps to greet him.
‘Mother, Father,’ he said. ‘May I present my wife, Arlette?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Susannah and Thomas were in the small patch of garden at the side of the house where they had been sent to bank up the soil around the potatoes, when a man on a black horse rode up the lane and stopped beside them. He looked down on them, not speaking for a moment. Then he asked if Mrs Marston was at home. Susannah said she would fetch her, but he told Thomas to go instead. Susannah stood shyly in front of him twisting the hem of her apron.
‘What is your name?’ he said, and she thought he sounded sad.
‘Susannah, sir.’ She stared right up at him, looking into his blue eyes. She didn’t think she had ever seen him before.
‘Are you happy, Susannah?’ he asked.
She considered. No-one had ever asked her that before. ‘I think so,’ she said, but before she could say anything else Aunt Lol had come out and put her hand on her shoulder.
‘I heard you were back, sir,’ she murmured. ‘And that you’d brought a wife home.’
‘Yes,’ he said, and added, ‘The little girl looks well.’
Aunt Lol nodded. ‘She ails nowt, thank God.’ She hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘I hope you’ll find some peace and be content, sir.’
He glanced towards Susannah. ‘I doubt that I’ll find peace or contentment ever again, Mrs Marston.’
‘You mun try, sir. You’ve a wife to consider.’
He gave a dry laugh. ‘Yes, indeed.’
‘You’ll not blame ’bairn, sir? It was an act of God.’
‘Was it?’ he said harshly. ‘Then God wasn’t thinking of me.’ He glanced again at Susannah. ‘But no, I don’t blame the child. Only myself.’ He gathered up the reins in his hand. ‘Do you want for anything, Mrs Marston? You only have to ask.’
Lol shook her head. ‘We’re well provided for,’ she said. ‘We’ve all we need.’
His mouth creased crookedly. ‘Then you are fortunate indeed,’ he muttered, and rode away.
‘Who’s that?’ Susannah asked her. ‘I’ve not seen him afore.’
‘Nobody,’ Aunt Lol said, gazing after the rider. ‘Nobody at all.’
Mr Ellis senior, when he had come in those early days, to make the arrangements for Susannah’s welfare, had specifically asked her not to tell the child who her father was; neither should she tell anyone else, if they asked.
‘My son will no doubt marry one day and have other children,’ he had said. ‘And it would be awkward for him if – well, I know how rumours go round in villages; but if there’s no flame to fan it, then the fire goes out, if you understand my meaning. And there’s no reason for anyone else to know of his unfortunate indiscretion.’
Lol had gazed stonily at him as he fiddled with his pocket book. She understood his meaning, right enough. If word got out about Susannah’s father, and if it was thought she had spoken carelessly, then the money would dry up, and God knew, she considered, life was hard enough. Ben wasn’t well. His joints creaked and ached, but he had to keep working or they were all for the poorhouse. Susannah, in fate’s strange way, had been a blessing to them, and as for the villagers’ gossiping, well, it would be a nine day wonder.
‘Nobody!’ Susannah sang out blithely. ‘Mr Nobody.’
Susannah and Thomas, both in new boots, attended the school which was held in the church. Thomas hadn’t wanted to go. He complained bitterly that the other lads in the village would make fun of him.
‘Not when they hear that you can read,’ his mother assured him. ‘When they hear that, they’ll be spittin’ jealous!’
‘But what’ll I read, Ma?’ he grumbled. ‘We never gets a letter from ’postie.’
‘You’ll read books,’ she said, ‘or else you can read what it says on ’shop windows in Patrington when we go on market day, and you can tell me what it says. Or you can tell your fayther what’s in ’newspaper if ever he brings a bit of a page home from ’Wheatsheaf.’
He wasn’t convinced, but was told he had to go, no matter what, to look after Susannah who was a year younger than him, and to make sure that no-one bullied her. At the end of their first year he could make out the letters of the alphabet and chalk them on his slate, but couldn’t put them together to form words. He could add up numbers in his head, but mixed up his nines and sixes when writing them down.
Susannah sat and listened to the teacher, and although she was often rapped on the knuckles for helping Thomas she absorbed what she was told, and by seven she could read well and was able to add and subtract.
‘Susannah does well, Mrs Marston,’ Lol was told by the teacher, who was curious as to how such a shabby, poor-looking woman could afford to send to school two children who were not paid for by the parish. She had heard that Mrs Marston was the child’s aunt and that her mother was dead, but that was all she knew. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t say ’same for Thomas.’
‘Aye, well, nivver mind,’ Lol said. ‘He’ll be a farm labourer, I expect, or work at ’brickworks, so he’ll not need a great deal o’ larnin’. You concentrate on Susannah,’ she told her. ‘She’s ’one who’ll need ’schoolin’ if she’s to get anywhere.’
Susannah became aware of the man who appeared on the black horse from time to time. Occasionally he would arrive at the cottage to see Aunt Lol, but spoke to her too and would ask her how she was getting on at school, did she have friends, and was she happy. She vaguely remembered him asking her that once before, but the best thing was that he called in November when it was her birthday, and had given her small gifts of hair ribbons and once a little doll.
She saw him by the river one day where the men were draining the saltmarsh and embanking. She and Thomas were not supposed to go there, but Thomas had said that it would be all right and that no-one would find out. The man had turned to watch them, but didn’t say anything; neither did he tell Aunt Lol.
Once, during the summer holidays when there was no school, they raced along the bank and went right out of Welwick until they could go no further because of a wide dyke. The land they were standing on had been reclaimed from the Humber, Thomas said, and when Susannah asked him how he knew he said that Daniel had told him.
‘We’re standing in ’river,’ he said. ‘Just like them Sunk Island folk.’ He pointed across the wide drain to the land at the other side. ‘All that land over there,’ he told her. ‘It belongs to Que
en Victoria now cos it used to be under water; and,’ he gabbled garrulously on, ‘they say as some bairns over there are born wi’ webbed feet.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Susannah gave him a push. ‘You’re mekkin’ it up.’
‘I’m not, an’ I’ll tell you summat else,’ Thomas said. ‘Onny you’re not to tell Ma I telled you.’
‘What?’
‘Down there.’ He pointed this time across the field behind them, where an old track showed through the grass and nettle. ‘That’s ’place where you was born, onny it’s not there now cos it got burned down.’
‘Where I was born? I was born in our house, same as you.’
Thomas’s cheeks flushed. ‘Daniel said I hadn’t to tell you. He said it was secret and nobody else knew but Ma and Da, onny he knew cos he’d heard ’em talking.’
Susannah chewed on her lip. ‘Let’s go and see then,’ she said. ‘Cos I think that Daniel’s telling fibs.’
She never felt wholly comfortable with Daniel. He was fourteen and worked at one of the farms in Welwick. He came home dog tired, and often snapped at her and Thomas when they were rowdy. Sometimes he would pull faces and cross his eyes and call them peazans and he always knew what was going on in the villages. ‘You’re a proper old woman for gossiping,’ his mother scolded him. ‘You want to watch that tongue o’ yourn.’
They clambered down the bank and set off down the track which ran between beds of nettles, drifts of cow parsley, fine whispering grasses and clumps of sea asters, and came eventually to a heap of scorched roof tiles.
‘It’s not been a house,’ Susannah stated. ‘There’s no bricks or cobbles. It’s been a shed or summat.’
‘It’s been a hen house or—’
‘A cow stall!’ Susannah interrupted.
‘Here’s some bricks!’ Thomas had been searching about in the long grass. ‘And some cobbles as well. Look,’ he said. ‘There’s a whole heap o’ them!’
