Nobody's Child

by Val Wood

  She started to cry. I’ve got nobody, she wept. Nobody wants me. Why did my ma have to die? Why didn’t I die as well?

  ‘What’s this? Tears on a Sat’day!’ Mrs Brewster bustled in. ‘Most bairns are happy on a Sat’day when there’s no school to go to.’

  Susannah wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I liked school, Mrs Brewster.’ She sniffled. ‘I wanted to stay on, onny – only – I wasn’t allowed.’

  Mrs Brewster sat down opposite and leaned towards her with her elbows on her knees. She had a chicken feather stuck in her bonnet and Susannah gave a trembling smile. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Mrs Brewster asked gently. ‘Or are you not ready yet?’

  Susannah shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘All right, m’dear.’ Mrs Brewster got up. ‘Mebbe later?’ She took off her shawl and replaced it with a black cloak from the back of the door. She picked up her umbrella and a wicker basket. ‘Let’s be off then. We can’t sit around worriting. ’Butcher will have sold out of his best if we don’t get there soon.’

  The rain had eased and the sky was brightening, though a brisk wind sent clouds scudding across the sky as Susannah accompanied Mrs Brewster down the track and onto the tree-lined road which led into the town. They passed the ancient house that Susannah had seen when she’d arrived the day before and Mrs Brewster told her it was called the Old Hall and said that there was another old house called the New Hall at the other end of the street. They came into the main thoroughfare and Mrs Brewster nodded to acquaintances. ‘We’ve got our own mayor,’ she told Susannah again. ‘We don’t have to kowtow to anybody outside o’ town. And we had members in parliament to speak for us until a few years back. But that’s finished now. Took off us it was,’ she said. ‘Mr Brewster was most put out about it; he said there was bound to be corruption somewhere. But we’ve still got all of ’insignia,’ she prattled on. ‘Maces and seals and silver spoons and wine bowls ’n’ what not. Worth a bob or two I shouldn’t wonder.

  ‘Here’s where you get ’carrier,’ she told Susannah as they passed the Sun Inn. ‘Busiest inn in Hedon. Coaches stop here. Farmers have their meetings. Samaritans too; and town hall folk eat their dinner here.’

  Susannah looked through the archway at the side of the building and saw horses, carts and gigs in the stable yard behind. She felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach as she thought of what Monday morning might bring.

  They called at the cobbler’s shop to leave Mr Brewster’s boots for repair and then walked across the cobbled Market Place where Mrs Brewster bought a leg of pork, a parcel of mutton chops, and some liver and kidney and brisket of beef from the butcher.

  ‘That’s a lot of meat, Mrs Brewster.’ Susannah took the basket from her to carry it. She had never seen so much meat before. ‘Are you expecting company?’

  ‘Mr Brewster enjoys his meat,’ she said. ‘But I cook for ’customers sometimes. They like a slice o’ pork with homemade pickle to go with their ale.’ She tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. ‘And I’ve noticed that when they eat, they allus drink more.’ She wagged the finger at Susannah. ‘Remember that if ever you should keep an ’ostelry.

  ‘Now then,’ she said, when she had finished her shopping. She had bought a length of material, knitting needles and wool from the haberdasher’s, flour and a block of salt from the grocer’s. ‘Let me just show you ’King.’

  ‘The king!’ Susannah gasped. ‘Which king has come to Hedon?’

  ‘He lives here,’ Mrs Brewster said solemnly. ‘He’s lived here a long time!’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Brewster! I know what you mean. You mean ’King of Holderness!’ Susannah laughed. ‘My teacher told me about that. We’ve got – I mean, Patrington’s got ’Queen of Holderness!’

  They turned a corner from the Market Place and St Augustine’s church stood proudly in front of them. It does look very kingly, Susannah thought as she stared up at the square tower. It’s very stately and magnificent. ‘It’s not at all like the Queen,’ she told Mrs Brewster. ‘St Patrick’s church has a tall spire pointing up to the sky.’

  ‘That must be a fine sight to see,’ Mrs Brewster commented, and went on, ‘We’ve got a national school in Hedon, so that even bairns without money can go.’ She looked at Susannah. ‘You could have gone if you’d been stopping.’

  Susannah shook her head. ‘I think I’m too old now, Mrs Brewster, but it would have been nice,’ she said regretfully. ‘We didn’t have a national school in – in ’place where I lived.’

  ‘That’d be Patrington, was it?’ Mrs Brewster said astutely. ‘Is that where you said?’

  ‘No.’ Susannah heaved a breath. She didn’t like evasion. She liked things to be straightforward. ‘I worked in Patrington for a bit. I lived in one of ’villages nearby.’

  ‘Ah!’ The old lady nodded. Then she walked on past the church towards a green rise with chestnut trees set in the middle of it. ‘This is where ’young folk gather on a Sunday after church or chapel,’ she said. ‘Everybody wears their Sunday best and has a bit of a gossip. And we get travelling theatres that put on plays and melodramas.’ She pointed to a grassy ringed area. ‘When I was a bairn they used to have bull baiting over yonder. But I never did like to watch that.’

  They walked back towards the Market Place and Susannah fell silent. Hedon seemed like a good place to live, but what kind of work could she do? She had no experience of anything, having worked for only such a short time at Enholmes. She cast a glance round at the shops. There was everything here that anyone would want to buy, as Mrs Brewster had said. Would they take her on? she wondered. But she would still need to live somewhere and that meant paying rent.

  ‘Drat! I’ve forgotten Mr Brewster’s newspaper.’ Mrs Brewster turned abruptly to cross the square again.

  ‘Wait!’ Susannah warned, as a horse and cart loomed towards them. Mrs Brewster staggered as her momentum was checked; she fell, dropping her parcels and putting out her hands to stop herself.

  ‘Ooh!’ she groaned as she sat in the road, holding her right wrist and with her bonnet askew. ‘Oh, my word! I’ve done some damage here.’

  The man driving the cart pulled up and dashed towards them. ‘Are you all right, missis? You’ve took a nasty tumble.’

  People began to gather round. ‘I shall be all right if somebody’ll just help me to my feet,’ Mrs Brewster said. ‘And then I’ll go on my way with ’help of my young friend here. There’s no need for a fuss.’

  The driver and another man heaved her up, and Susannah put down the basket and brushed her muddied cloak. ‘Let me take those parcels, Mrs Brewster,’ she said. ‘I can carry them.’

  Mrs Brewster tottered towards the Dog and Duck Inn, and leaned against the wall. She had gone quite pale. ‘I hope nobody thinks I’ve been drinking in here,’ she muttered. ‘By!’ She winced, holding her wrist and drawing in a breath. ‘It don’t half hurt.’

  ‘We’d best get back,’ Susannah said anxiously. ‘Can you manage to walk or would you like to sit down for a bit?’

  ‘Nowt wrong wi’ me legs,’ she said weakly. ‘But I could do wi’ a cup o’ tea. Help me along to ’Sun, there’s a good lass. I know ’landlady in there. She’ll mek me a pot, I know.’

  Mrs Brewster clutched Susannah’s arm as they went back up St Augustine’s Gate towards the inn, going through the archway and into the courtyard. The Sun was a long building with several stables and coach houses at the back of it. They stepped inside the door into a dark corridor with several doors leading off it. A woman came out of one of them and greeted them.

  ‘Maggie!’ Mrs Brewster panted. ‘I’ve took a fall. Mek us a pot o’ tea, will you? This is Susannah,’ she added. ‘One of Mr Brewster’s nieces.’

  Maggie acknowledged Susannah and then gently took hold of Mrs Brewster’s wrist, which was set at a crooked angle and starting to swell. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I reckon it’s broke. Come in, come in.’

  She led
them into a long room and towards the fire at the end of it. ‘Sit down, mek yourself comfy and I’ll brew you a pot o’ strong tea.’ She raised her eyebrows at Susannah. ‘What a good thing you was here,’ she said. ‘Your auntie’s going to be glad of all ’help she can get. She’s not going to be able to use that hand for a bit, that’s for sure.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Mrs Brewster was very shaky when they arrived back at the Fleet Inn and they were both cold and wet for it had started to drizzle with rain as they walked back. Susannah helped her take off her cloak and boots, and brought her a footstool so that she could rest. Then she filled the kettle and hooked it over the fire to make another pot of tea, for the old lady said she was ready for a home brew. ‘Just slip into ’taproom and tell Mr Brewster I’ll be a bit late with his dinner today,’ she said weakly. ‘He’ll have his nose in ’air expecting to smell his pork cooking.’ She gave a great heave of breath. ‘I don’t think I’ve ’energy to cook at ’minute.’

  ‘I’ve never cooked a joint of meat, Mrs Brewster,’ Susannah told her, ‘but I could cook mutton chops or liver if you tell me where you keep your pans and everything.’

  ‘Could you?’ Mrs Brewster grimaced from the pain in her wrist. ‘Well, that would be right grand, and it wouldn’t matter for once if we didn’t have a joint to cut at. We could have pork tomorrow instead.’ She sat back, looking more relaxed. ‘Yes, that would do very nicely.’

  Susannah made the tea and poured her a strong cup, and then went to find Mr Brewster who was in the taproom talking to two customers.

  ‘Who’s this fine young lass then?’ one of them said. ‘This isn’t a Hedon bairn.’

  ‘My niece,’ Mr Brewster said. ‘Come to call on us, she has.’

  ‘Well that’s grand,’ said the other man. ‘How do, miss?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, sir.’ Susannah dipped her knee, and then turned to Mr Brewster. ‘Could you just step into ’kitchen for a minute, Mr – Uncle Brewster? You’re needed in there for something.’

  Mr Brewster shook his head and winked at his companions. ‘Never any peace,’ he said. ‘These women are allus wantin’ summat or other.’

  ‘That they are.’ The men laughed. ‘That’s why we’re here in ’Fleet, out of ’way.’

  Susannah led the way into the kitchen and at the door turned to Mr Brewster with a whisper. ‘Mrs Brewster’s had a fall. We think she’s broken her wrist. She’s a bit shaken up.’

  ‘Oh dearie, dearie me! That’ll put ’cat among ’pigeons. She’ll not like that.’ Mr Brewster tutted. ‘She’ll not like to be put out of her routine.’ He followed Susannah into the kitchen and surveyed his wife. ‘Now then, me deario, whatever have you been up to?’ He tenderly lifted her limp and swollen wrist. ‘I’ll get you some comfrey for that. Soon have you right as ninepence.’

  ‘It’ll take more than comfrey,’ Mrs Brewster replied. ‘I reckon it’s broke. But there, nature’ll mend it sooner or later. Susannah,’ she said, ‘do you know ’willow tree? What it looks like?’

  ‘Yes.’ Susannah stood in front of her. ‘Would you like me to strip some bark?’

  ‘Aye, I would. Mebbe it’ll kill ’pain, for it’s hurting no end.’

  ‘Aunt Lol used to wrap our knees with comfrey if ever we fell and hurt ourselves,’ Susannah said without thinking. ‘And she used to chew willow bark if she had a headache. Where will I find it?’

  Mrs Brewster reflectively studied her. ‘Alongside ’little stream you’ll see some willows, and comfrey grows at ’bottom of ’garden, near to where ’chickens are scratching. You might have to search around to find it cos winter rain will have knocked it back. If you can’t find any I’ve got some dried leaves in ’cupboard, but fresh is best.’

  Susannah put on her shawl again, took a sharp knife from the drawer and went outside. The garden at the side of the inn ran alongside the narrow beck. Chickens scratched about in the long grass and a nanny goat was tethered by a thick rope to a stake in the ground. It bleated plaintively at her as she approached and she murmured soothing words to it. The willow trees hung leafless fragile branches over the water and with the knife she carefully peeled a long strip of bark from the trunk of one of them and put it in her pocket. The comfrey was more difficult to find as there were no flowers to identify it, but eventually she found several of the leaves, flattened as Mrs Brewster had said, and lying close to the ground.

  She straightened up and looked along the beck. Was this the water that ran into what had once been the port of Hedon? She understood that ships still came into the haven, but that they had to be quick to unload their cargo before the tide turned and left them stranded. It’s very narrow, she thought. It seems hardly wide enough to take even a small boat. Perhaps I’ll take a walk down there and have a look when the weather is better.

  She stopped mid-thought. But I won’t be here! She swallowed, feeling miserable. Tomorrow is my last day. I have to leave on Monday.

  On returning to the house, Susannah put the comfrey leaves in a basin and poured boiling water over them. Then, taking a pair of wooden tongs which she had found in a drawer where Mrs Brewster had said they would be, she lifted the leaves out, drained them, wrapped them in a clean cloth and carefully placed the dressing round Mrs Brewster’s broken wrist. ‘There,’ she said jubilantly. ‘That’s what Aunt Lol used to do.’ Then she washed the willow bark and gave a piece to Mrs Brewster to chew on.

  Mr Brewster went back to tend his customers and the old lady’s jaws moved rhythmically as she masticated the bark, watching closely as Susannah prepared the midday meal to her instructions. She put chopped onions in a meat pan with a knob of beef dripping, and then placed the mutton chops on top of them with stems of rosemary scattered over, and put the pan in the oven.

  ‘There’s a few apples left over from ’autumn crop in yon stable, if you’d care to fetch ’em,’ Mrs Brewster said. ‘They’d go real nice with that mutton. You’ll have to pick ’em over, for they’re all but finished. Then you can put ’rest out for ’hens.’

  ‘All right.’ Susannah smiled at her. She was enjoying herself, feeling useful as Mrs Brewster sat nursing her wrist. She ran across the yard and found the box of apples on a shelf in the stable, which was filled with spades and forks and wheelbarrows and all things to do with gardening. The brick walls were cracked and broken, with fat cushions of dark green moss growing through them and ivy spiralling down from the pantiled roof. Lacy cobwebs brushed against her hair.

  ‘Let ’meat cook for a bit,’ Mrs Brewster said when she returned with four large bruised apples. ‘Then chop up ’apples and add to it. It makes a lovely taste.’

  ‘Does this dish we’re cooking have a name?’ Susannah asked, as she peeled the fruit.

  ‘Well, I call it squab pie, which is what my mother called it, but don’t ask me why, cos I don’t know. Now,’ Mrs Brewster said. ‘Come and sit here by me while ’dinner’s cooking. I want to talk to you.’

  Susannah pulled up another chair by the fire and gazed wide-eyed at Mrs Brewster. Was she going to tell her how much her bed and board would be, or say that she’d have to leave as she couldn’t manage with a visitor, now that she’d broken her wrist?

  ‘Mr Brewster and me have had a little talk,’ she began, ‘while you were out in ’garden looking for ’comfrey. He said as you’d not be able to find it cos you were just a bairn and wouldn’t know one bit o’ green from another. And I said that you were a country lass and would know it.’ She gave a satisfied smile and added, ‘And you did.

  ‘But what we thought,’ she continued, ‘if you were willing, that is – we would ask you if you’d like to stop on here for a bit, if you’re not in too much of a hurry to go into Hull.’ A smile lifted Susannah’s mouth and her eyes began to sparkle, and Mrs Brewster went on, ‘You’ve proved an asset today, no doubt about it, but there’s just one thing I must ask you first.’

  ‘Yes?’ Susannah said anxiously.

  ‘I need to know w
hat happened to you. I want you to give me ’reason why you’re on your own, just so that I’m sure that there’s nobody frettin’ over your disappearance.’

  Tears started to gather in Susannah’s eyes. ‘Nobody’s fretting over me, Mrs Brewster. I’m an orphan and only Aunt Jane knows I’m gone, and it was her idea. She said I should leave home to get away from Wilf Topham.’

  ‘What! Is this a grown woman who suggested that?’ Mrs Brewster appeared horrified at the very idea. ‘And who is this Wilf Topham?’

  ‘He’s Aunt Jane’s husband and he’s a bully and hits her. She was afraid that he might start hitting me; he did once.’ Susannah paused. ‘But Aunt Jane doesn’t really know how to look after anybody, especially children,’ she explained. ‘She’s not – not …’ She hesitated, not wanting to be disloyal to Jane. ‘Well, she doesn’t really know how to go about things.’

  ‘You mean she’s not right sharp, is that it?’

  Susannah nodded, pulling a wry mouth. ‘Yes. Aunt Lol used to do everything for all of us before she died.’ The tears which had been hovering started to cascade down her cheeks. ‘And I really do miss her.’

  ‘There, there, m’dear. Don’t cry. So you’ve no ma or da worrying over you? Onny this Aunt Jane who said you ought to run away?’

  Susannah nodded again, snuffling away her tears. ‘Aunt Jane’s got brothers and sisters. Thomas is ’youngest and used to be my best friend, onny now he’s a farm lad we don’t see him; and Wilf said I had to leave school and go to work cos he wasn’t going to keep me.’ She didn’t mention the school money which Mrs Ellis had paid and which Wilf had kept, because it was all so complicated. ‘So nobody will be bothered about me or where I am.’ She began to weep again, feeling very sorry for herself.