by Val Wood
‘I daren’t go, Ma,’ Jane whined. ‘Can’t we wait till you’re up?’
‘No! ’Way I feel I might not be getting up. Though I might sit by ’fire if you’ll build it up, Susannah.’
‘We’ll be as quick as we can, Aunt Lol.’ Susannah wrinkled her forehead. She had never known Aunt Lol to be ill. ‘Stay in bed and I’ll heat some soup for you when we come back.’
Lol didn’t answer, but only turned over, groaning slightly.
The parson was in the church when they arrived, which saved them from a long walk to his home in the village of Holmpton close to the sea. ‘I’ll publish the banns at Welwick and then Holmpton,’ he said, on being informed of the circumstances. ‘And if there are no objections you can wed the week after the third Sunday. Ask your future husband to come and see me,’ he added. ‘And I shall expect to see you both in church to hear the banns being read.’ He looked down at Susannah. ‘I’ve seen you in school, haven’t I?’ he asked. ‘What’s your name? You don’t come to church very often. Have you been baptized?’
Susannah bit on her lip. ‘I’m not sure, sir,’ she whispered. ‘My name’s Susannah Page.’ Aunt Lol wasn’t a churchgoer, believing that God’s house was meant for weddings, christenings and funerals, and therefore never pressing the children to attend.
‘Ah! Your aunt brought you to church for baptism not long after you were born, if I remember correctly.’ He nodded sagely. ‘Your poor unfortunate mother. Mrs Marston always does the right thing by everybody. Very well,’ he said, dismissing them. ‘I’ll see you in church, Jane, for the banns and the marriage.’
When they arrived back at the cottage they found Lol on the floor. She had turned dizzy and fallen, she said, as she tried to get to the chair by the fire. ‘Help me get her back into bed, Jane,’ Susannah said. ‘I can’t lift her by myself.’
‘In my condition?’ Jane wailed. ‘I shouldn’t be lifting owt!’
‘But she can’t stay on ’floor. We have to get her into bed.’
‘I can manage,’ Lol mumbled. ‘Just give me a minute.’
‘No,’ Susannah said, taking charge when it seemed that Jane didn’t know how to. ‘Fetch them pillows off my bed, Jane, and prop them round her so she’s not in a draught. We’ll make you a bed on the floor, Aunt Lol. Just until you can help yourself up or until maybe Daniel or somebody calls.’
‘Bless you, Susannah,’ Lol murmured, blinking up at her. ‘You’ll do all right. Even when I’m not here to look after you.’
Susannah sat back on her haunches, tucking her skirt beneath her. She hadn’t noticed before, but Aunt Lol seemed older, her face more lined and sunken. She stroked her cheek. ‘Won’t you always be here to look after me?’ she asked, feeling a sudden chill run over her.
Lol took hold of her hand and pressed it, stroking the soft pocket of smooth flesh between Susannah’s thumb and forefinger. ‘No,’ she said. ‘One day you’ll be on your own.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lol managed to walk to Welwick church to see Jane married, but the fever had taken something from her; she had little energy and no inclination to talk. After the brief ceremony, Jane walked home with her mother and Susannah, whilst her new husband went back to work at Ellis’s. Daniel had taken the afternoon off to be a witness, and he was the only one out of the five of them to call in at the Wheatsheaf and drink to the health of the newly-weds.
‘Well, I’m a married woman now,’ Jane commented. ‘But I don’t feel any different.’
‘You’re not any different,’ her mother groused. ‘But at least your bairn will have a name. It can hold its head up.’
Something clicked in Susannah’s mind. ‘Can I, Aunt Lol? Hold my head up? Have I got a name?’
Lol glanced at her. ‘I reckon you will,’ she said softly. ‘But on your own account, nobody else’s.’
Susannah gave a little sigh of despondency. There never seemed to be a straight answer. It was that nobody again.
The rest of the summer was cold and wet and Jane complained bitterly that Wilf hadn’t been to see her. Lol told her to think herself lucky; in Lol’s opinion he wouldn’t make much of a husband anyway. ‘He’s got a mean streak, if you ask me,’ she said. ‘You can see it in his face.’
‘So why did he marry me then?’ Jane scoffed. ‘He didn’t have to. Some men would have denied ’babby was theirs.’
‘Onny because I threatened I’d tell Ellis,’ her mother said. ‘He didn’t want to risk losing his job.’
Jane huffed. ‘Well, ’Ellises have no reason to talk! We hardly see hide nor hair of ’em.’
‘Well, he doesn’t know that, does he? Your husband, I mean. He knows nowt and don’t you go tellin’ him. We get ’allowance regular and that’s that.’
Susannah looked from one to the other. What were they talking about?
In October Aunt Lol was taken ill again. She had been outside chopping wood and caught another chill. She wheezed all night long and coughed throughout the following day. That evening Jane started to miscarry.
‘I’ll fetch Mrs Davison from South End,’ Lol gasped, hardly able to take a breath. ‘She’ll be able to help you, Janey. I haven’t got ’strength.’
Jane started to blubber and moan. ‘He’ll not stop wi’ me if I lose ’bairn.’
‘Then you’ll have to mek sure you get caught wi’ another,’ her mother rasped as she put her shawl over her head. ‘Though why you’d bother beats me.’
‘Aunt Lol, let me go!’ Susannah said. ‘I know where Mrs Davison lives.’
‘I’ll not have you go out on such a night.’ Lol unbolted the door. ‘Just get them old sheets out of ’cupboard and mek Jane lie still. She might yet keep it; but if she doesn’t, then it’s God’s will.’
She arrived back twenty minutes later, bringing with her Mrs Davison who, Susannah thought, was even older than Aunt Lol. Susannah made a pot of tea for Lol, who was sweating profusely even though she said she felt cold, and also gave a cup to Mrs Davison. The latter had taken off her coat and rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, which frightened Jane rigid.
Susannah sat by the fire, trying not to listen to the sounds from the bedroom of Jane’s crying and Mrs Davison’s short-tempered admonishments. ‘Good heavens, girl,’ she heard her say. ‘If you think this is a belly ache, you’d not want to go full term! Anyway, you’ve lost it. Nowt I can do. But I dare say you’ll catch on again afore you can blink an eye.’
‘I shan’t!’ Jane wailed. ‘I’m done wi’ it. He can go to ’other side o’ ’world for all I care.’
Lol put her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. ‘Doubt he’ll do that,’ she muttered. ‘He’ll want his marital rights. Susannah!’ she said, with her eyes still shut. ‘When you choose a man to be ’fayther o’ your bairns, mek sure that he wants ’em as much as you do. That he’ll want to tek responsibility for ’em.’
‘How will I do that, Aunt Lol?’
Lol opened her eyes. She looked unutterably weary. ‘I miss Ben, you know,’ she said softly. ‘He was a good man. One of ’best. I shan’t be sorry to leave here and go and join him.’
Susannah knelt by her feet. ‘Please don’t,’ she begged, tears filling her eyes. ‘What’ll I do without you?’
Lol put her hand on Susannah’s head. ‘I promised your ma I’d look after you, just as I promised her ma I’d look after Mary-Ellen. And I have. I did. But I’m tired, Susannah. I need somebody to look after me.’
‘I will! I will!’ Tears ran down Susannah’s cheeks. ‘I’ll look after you, Aunt Lol. I won’t go to school. Please don’t die. I’ll have no-one if you’re not here!’
Lol sighed. ‘You’ll grow up to be strong. And clever too. I know that. Not like Jane. She needs somebody to look out for her, but I’ll not mek you promise that; you’re too young and besides, she’s got a husband who can do that, if he’s a mind to. You look out for yourself, Susannah.’
Wilfred Topham put in an appearance when he was sent for after Jane
miscarried. Susannah heard raised voices, Jane’s mewling one and Wilf’s shouting one, but Aunt Lol’s could hardly be heard, it was so weak and husky as she implored them to settle their differences.
Lol took to her bed after that. Her chill turned to pneumonia and she put up no resistance to it but simply faded away. Jane was inconsolable after her mother died. ‘What’ll we do, Susannah?’ she wailed. ‘It’s just me and you now, and I can’t manage on me own. You’ll have to help me wi’ things.’
‘But you’ve got a husband,’ Susannah said. ‘I expect he’ll come when he can.’
Susannah was convinced that Aunt Lol had just given up. ‘She’d done what she could for everybody,’ she wept to Thomas after the funeral. ‘And now she’s left us to get on without her as best we can.’
‘Aye. Well, I’m all right.’ Thomas rubbed his nose on his sleeve. ‘I’ve got a regular job now, so it’s just you and Jane; onny you can’t really count Jane cos she’s got a husband to look after her, so it’s onny you. And you’ll be able to go to work; you’re just about old enough.’
‘Aunt Lol wanted me to stay on at school.’ Susannah wiped her eyes. ‘How did she manage to pay for us, Thomas?’ she said. ‘Nearly all ’other bairns are paid for by ’parish.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘It were Mrs Ellis who paid for us,’ he said. ‘I expect it was cos you was a norphan, and you wouldn’t go wi’out me.’
Susannah blinked as a distant memory played in her head. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Is that what rich folk do? Pay for poor bairns’ schooling?’
‘Aye, I reckon so. P’raps they’ve got so much money they have to give it away.’
Wilf Topham didn’t go to Lol’s funeral, but he came the next evening to tell them he had been to see the agent to arrange to take over the tenancy of the cottage. Jane was relieved for it meant that he would be responsible for the rent. ‘I shan’t be living here all ’time,’ he said. ‘Not in ’winter, but in ’summer I’ll come when ’mornings and ’nights are light; and I’ll expect plenty o’ food on ’table,’ he added brusquely. ‘You’ll have to get a job o’ work,’ he told Jane. ‘You can get yoursen off to ’flax mill in Patrington. They pay well there.’ He turned to stare at Susannah. ‘And tek her wi’ you. I’m not keeping her for nowt.’
‘She’s still at school, Wilf,’ Jane interrupted. ‘Ma allus said she had to go.’
‘Your ma’s not here to say what goes on. And I say I’m not paying for her keep!’ He scowled. ‘She’s not one of your kin anyway, is she? Not one of your sisters, I mean?’
‘She’s my cousin’s bairn,’ Jane said tearfully. ‘Her ma was my best friend. Susannah’s allus lived wi’ us.’
‘Well she can still live here! She’ll be company for you when I’m not here; but I’m not working all hours God sends to keep somebody who’s not even related! She’s old enough to work.’ His voice had risen and Susannah cringed. She really didn’t like him.
‘Any road,’ he said to Susannah. ‘Get yoursen outside for an hour. I’ve got things I want to discuss wi’ Jane that don’t concern you. Go on,’ he said, unfastening his breeches belt. ‘Afore I give you a taste o’ ’strap.’
Susannah saw the scared look on Jane’s face and hastily gathered up her books, which had been scattered about the table. She grabbed a shawl and scuttled out of the door.
It was a fine night and not dark as there was a full moon shining. Susannah hesitated for only a moment. She didn’t want to sit waiting on the doorstep, so she put her books by the door, weighted them down with a stone and set off to walk the mile to the estuary bank. Sheep Trod Lane was an ancient thoroughfare which it was thought had once been used for animal access to the saltmarsh grazing. Now the low-lying open land was constantly drained by dykes and sluices into the Humber; the silting of the saltmarsh growths was claimed by the Crown though contested by the owners of the adjoining land who wished to eventually use it for agriculture.
Susannah wasn’t afraid of the night; rather she enjoyed the solitariness of it. She listened intently to hear the cry of night-time creatures, the rustling of rats, the hoot of owls; and she breathed in a deep breath to catch the aroma of long grass, estuary water and the salty tang of the sea.
She gave a little satisfied smile as she remembered what her teacher had told her. The Humber had once been a valley. A submerged valley. During the melting of the ice sheets, a watery cataract had poured down from the Wolds, plunging into the long depression and rushing to meet up with the watery waste of the sea. ‘And then,’ she chanted as she sloshed through a deep pocket of mud, ‘the great torrent of sea turned about and drove it all the way back to Hessle, where I’ve never been, and to the Ferriby Sands and beyond.’
Reaching the bank she scrambled up and looked down at the glinting saltmarsh and the rippling shining water of the Humber. ‘I never want to leave here,’ she murmured. ‘Never. Never. Never!’ Then she gave a sudden shudder as she thought of Wilf Topham. What was he discussing with Jane that she shouldn’t hear? The family had never had secrets from each other; at least she didn’t think they had. Except perhaps Daniel, who sometimes made remarks that she didn’t understand. So why was Wilf shutting her out now?
As she stared out at the Humber, she heard a snickering snort and the sound of hoofbeats. Startled, she looked up. From out of the darkness a horse and rider were coming fast towards her along the riverside path. She hastily jumped down out of the way, but the rider had seen her. ‘Who’s there?’ a harsh male voice called out. ‘What’s your business here?’
She got up from where she had fallen on her knees into the grassy delve. ‘Nobody, sir,’ she stammered nervously. ‘Onny me. Susannah Page.’
The rider dismounted and Susannah prepared to run. Who was it? Did he mean her harm?
‘Susannah?’ The voice had softened. ‘Not Susannah from Mrs Marston’s house?’
‘Y-yes. Onny my aunt is dead now. We’ve just buried her.’
‘Is she? I didn’t know!’ The man came closer to the edge and looked down. He seemed very tall up there on the bank. She couldn’t see his face as it was hidden by his hat. ‘I’ve been away. I’m so sorry to hear that. She was a good woman.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured. ‘I miss her.’
‘Why are you out here on your own? You shouldn’t be. It’s dangerous.’
‘River doesn’t come over ’bank now,’ she replied. ‘Not since ’embanking.’
‘I know.’ She heard a tinge of amusement in his voice. ‘But you still shouldn’t be here. You could slip into the marsh and you wouldn’t be able to get out.’
‘’Tide’s out,’ she was emboldened to say. ‘It’s not very deep.’
He came closer. ‘Put your head up, Susannah, and let me look at you.’
She took a step back and then lifted her face so that the moon shone on her features. She saw his mouth move though she still couldn’t see his eyes. She heard him take a breath, and then he repeated quietly, ‘Why did you say you were out here by the river all alone? Do you come here to think, as I do?’
‘I came because Wilf Topham, who’s married to our Jane, wanted to talk to her privately; so he told me to wait outside.’
‘Wilf Topham?’
‘He works for Mr Ellis,’ she said. ‘But he’s got Aunt Lol’s cottage now.’
‘Has he? I see.’ His voice had changed again to one of abruptness and she wondered if perhaps she had said too much to this stranger.
‘I have to go now,’ she said, backing away. ‘Jane will be worrying about me.’
‘Well, I hope someone is,’ he muttered. ‘Would you like me to give you a lift back on my horse?’
‘Oh, no! Thank you!’ She knew better than to accept. He might carry her off and murder her. Thomas said that sometimes happened to girls. She turned away. ‘Good night, sir,’ she said, poised to run.
‘Good night, Susannah,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Take good care. Go straight home.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she gasped, s
tarting to run. ‘I will.’
Jane was hanging a sheet on the line the next morning and contemplating that she’d never get the stain out. I can’t believe how a man can change. He used to be so saucy and good-natured. Kissed and cuddled me that time in ’Ellises’ kitchen garden where he found me when I’d been sent to fetch a bunch of carrots. Though why he was there she didn’t know. He must have followed her, she’d worked out at the time.
He’d teased and tickled her into submission, taking her behind the gardeners’ shed where they kept the barrows and spades. And although it had hurt a bit, he’d said how lovely she was and could he see her again. He’d been that eager that she couldn’t say no. But then, she grimaced, he never came near after I got caught with ’babby, not even when we’d got married. Not until last night when he came and told Susannah to clear off. She’d no sooner gone than he shoved me into the bedroom and onto the bed. Didn’t even have time to get my skirt off before his breeches were down.
She put her hand to her mouth and tried to suppress her tears. He never took no notice when I screamed at how he was hurting me. I told him I was still sore after losing ’babby, but he didn’t care. Not one bit, he didn’t. He said I’d be even more sore if I didn’t stop bawling. And then— She gave a sob. Even after he’d finished, he made me wait on the bed until he’d recovered, and then climbed on top of me all over again. Brutal, he was. No other word for it. He didn’t even care when I said I was bleeding and that the sheet would be ruined.
She touched her cheek where it was tender. Walloped me one, he did, and said he wasn’t bothered about ’flaming sheet. Well, he doesn’t have to wash it, does he? She sniffled back her tears. I could hardly walk when Susannah came back after he’d gone; bent double I was. She must have been waiting outside, poor bairn, but I couldn’t tell her what happened. She’s too young. I wish my ma was here. She’d have given him a mouthful all right. And he said I’ve got to look for work. Well, not today I won’t. I’d not be able to walk all that way to Patrington, not after what I’ve suffered. I’ll go tomorrow.
