by Val Wood
When he asked Susannah what relation she was to the Brewsters, she had confessed all. About being an orphan, about running away, and about Mrs Brewster’s asking her to stay with them.
‘They’ve never once suggested that I should move on, and I’m always introduced as Mr Brewster’s niece,’ she had told him.
He had shyly taken her hand. ‘They must be really pleased to have you, Susannah,’ he said softly. ‘They must think of you as a daughter, or perhaps more of a granddaughter, for they are quite elderly. You’ll be a great comfort to them.’
She hadn’t thought of that, but only of how grateful and secure she felt being with them. That first winter and spring, she had kept close to the house and only ever ventured into Hedon with Mrs Brewster, carrying her shopping until her broken wrist mended itself. She was afraid, though she confessed it only to herself, that Wilf Topham would come to look for her, and so she rarely went into the inn if there were strangers there, and then only after carefully glancing round to ascertain that all was safe.
The planned journey into Hull was never mentioned, and after that first Easter Mrs Brewster asked her if she would like to go to the national school. She was delighted to, and after an interview with the headmaster in which Mrs Brewster told him that Susannah was an orphan and living with them, he agreed to take her. She proved to be an apt and able scholar and stayed until she was fourteen, walking alone down the avenue of elms into the town and often returning with her school friends via the old haven where they would spend time larking around and tossing stones and chunks of wood over the bridge into the water.
Freddie and his father had come again the following year and he and Susannah picked up their friendship again, falling into it as easily and comfortably as if they had never been apart. Freddie suggested to her that it might be kind to write to her aunt Jane, to let her know that she was safe and well, and said that if she wished he would post a letter for her in Hull as he and his father journeyed back to their home in Anlaby, a village on the west side of that town. She confessed that she had been concerned that Jane might be worried about her, but had been afraid to write and give away her whereabouts with the Hedon postmark. She wrote a short message and sealing it in a brown envelope gave it to Freddie.
He and his father came each year until last year when Mr Cannon came alone, and told her that Freddie was working hard with final examinations before he went to university.
‘We might not see so much of him if he’s going to university,’ Mrs Brewster remarked as she put the eggs into a bowl of water to wash. ‘He’ll have other interests, I expect, and won’t want to be with his father. Young men don’t. He’ll want to fly his own kite.’
‘He doesn’t want to go into law, anyway,’ Susannah said. ‘He told me so. He’d like to set up a business of some kind, but Mr Cannon said it was out of the question that he should go into trade, and he must choose a profession, so Freddie said perhaps he would be a teacher.’
Mrs Brewster pulled a face and said disparagingly that she didn’t know why trade was considered to be low. ‘Innkeepers especially,’ she grumbled. ‘We have no standing whatsoever. And yet it’s a living that’s handed on generation after generation. Mr Brewster’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather too, were innkeepers, and before that his great-great-grandmother kept an alehouse. That’s why they’re called Brewster. Bet they didn’t teach you that at school, did they?’
‘No, they didn’t!’
‘Well, had it been a man, they’d have been called Brewer, but because it was a female it was Brewster, and she never married so the name was kept.’
‘You mean – that she had children out of wedlock?’ Susannah’s voice dropped low.
‘Seemingly so.’ Mrs Brewster nodded. ‘So don’t you ever feel shame cos your poor ma didn’t marry! There might have been reasons why she didn’t, or why your father couldn’t marry her. Don’t judge what you don’t know.’
Susannah thought on this. It was true she had felt some shame, especially when she was at school, and only ever said that she was an orphan, never that she hadn’t known who her father was. Not even to Freddie.
She was now turned seventeen and accepted in Hedon as the orphaned niece of Mr Brewster. She felt comfortable and quite at home in this market town, and knew many people. She also worked in the inn, no longer afraid that Wilf Topham would come looking for her. She knew how to draw beer from a cask and what measure of gin to serve, though there was little call for that by the Fleet customers, being too expensive at sixpence a quart. ‘It’s the excise duty,’ she explained, mainly to women, wives of the beer drinkers, when they complained of the price.
‘I was thinking, Aunt Brewster,’ she said a few days later as they were preparing food for Freddie and his father’s arrival. ‘Suppose we were to offer coffee or tea to the wives when they come in with the men? They don’t all like gin and ale.’
‘Well, ’Fleet was allus an alehouse,’ Aunt Brewster commented. ‘It was safer than water, you see, way back in time. And that’s what we served for many a long year, straight from ’cask. Then ’owners had ’counter put in and we started selling gin, and then some of ’men off ’barges would bring in sausages for me to fry, which is why I started cooking a bit o’ beef and suchlike to make them sandwiches for their dinner.’ She put her fist on her hip. ‘I suppose we could ask ’women if they’d like summat else instead, but it’d mean extra doings.’
Susannah pondered. Their customers were few; bargemen, wood workers and other regulars from Hedon who liked the quietness of the inn. At harvest time they were busier, when labouring men from the town went in search of work on the farms and called in on their way home to quench their thirst after a hard day in the fields. The walkers came in at all times of the year, but mostly spring and autumn, whilst the bird-watchers came in the winter, and Susannah felt that these groups of people from out of the area might prefer a pot of hot coffee or tea, rather than a glass of cold ale.
Aunt Brewster commented, ‘You’d mek a good innkeeper, Susannah. You’ve got ’head for it, and men don’t seem to mind if it’s a woman running an ’ostelry. But this place is falling round our ears and ’owners don’t seem to want to spend money on it. There again,’ she added, ‘you might want to aim higher than just running an inn. ’Schoolmaster said you could teach if you’d a mind to.’
Susannah had only occasionally given thought to the future, and rarely to the past; she had closed her mind to that and was content with her present life, but she conceded that Aunt Brewster, as she always called her now, was right; perhaps she should start thinking about what else she could do. Mr Brewster was very lame and she often helped him with the ale casks, and Mrs Brewster was quite forgetful at times and had to be reminded of tasks to be done. I couldn’t think of leaving them, she mused, as she rolled pastry for a meat pie. Not when they’ve been so kind to me. Perhaps, though, I might discuss my future with Freddie if I get the chance.
When Freddie arrived for supper with his father that evening, she felt a great uplifting of her spirits. He gave her his shy smile, and she thought how tall and handsome he had become. He wore his sideburns long and his dark curly hair was cut to just above his collar. He gave her a polite bow and lowered his dark eyes, murmuring haltingly, ‘I’ve so looked forward to seeing you again, Susannah. It seems such a long time since I was here.’
‘I’m glad to see you, too, Freddie,’ she said, and wondered if perhaps she should call him Mr Cannon, or Mr Freddie, now that he was grown up.
A table was set for Freddie and his father in a corner of the saloon. She had placed a lamp on a shelf nearby, and a small vase of bud roses in the centre of the white tablecloth. Freddie bent to smell the flowers and smiled appreciatively at Susannah. ‘They’re very early,’ he said. ‘The perfume is delightful.’
‘Yes.’ Susannah was pleased that he had noticed, though she doubted if his father had. He had only briefly acknowledged her. ‘They’re the first. They came into bloom onl
y yesterday.’ She turned to Mr Cannon. ‘We managed to get some shrimps from Paull, Mr Cannon,’ she said. ‘Mrs Brewster has potted some. Would you care to try them? And then steak and kidney pie to follow?’
‘And after that?’ Freddie quizzed.
‘Rice pudding with a browned nutmeg top.’ She smiled. ‘Just as you requested, Mr Freddie. Or there’s apple pie and custard.’
His eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to say something, but on glancing at his father seemed to change his mind and thanked her instead.
The Fleet was busy that night, and Mrs Brewster asked Susannah to look after the Cannons whilst she helped her husband to serve the other customers. It was a fine night after a warm day and many local people had come out for a stroll along the waterway. There had also been a meeting of the Holderness Agricultural Society at the Sun Inn, and as the railway line had now come to Hedon, countrymen had arrived by train from Withernsea and surrounding villages and were sampling the ales of the many Hedon establishments.
Susannah looked up from clearing the dishes from the Cannons’ table as the door opened and a group of men came in, talking and laughing loudly. Strangers to the Fleet, she thought, not recognizing any of them, and she excused herself as she manoeuvred her way through to go into the house.
One or two doffed their caps and another, younger one winked, but she pretended she hadn’t seen him. She had learned when to banter and when not, and she certainly wouldn’t with strangers. Another, an older man, stared at her, his mouth slightly open as if drawing a breath.
Later, she and Freddie walked beneath leafy trees on the grassy path by the stream side. He told her of his first year at university, where he was studying law. ‘You’ve decided to follow your father’s profession after all,’ she said. ‘Will you join him when you’ve finished your studies?’
‘No, I don’t think so, but I decided that if I studied law it would stand me in good stead for whatever else I might do. And Father thinks that I will join him in his practice, so he’s quite happy at the moment.’ His fingers touched hers and he grasped her hand. ‘I missed seeing you last year, Susannah. It has seemed such a long time that this year I thought I might come again in the summer as well. But there’s such a lot of work to do that I might have to forgo another visit.’
‘Oh, I’m really sorry.’ Susannah was disappointed. ‘I do so look forward to seeing you.’
‘Do you?’ He turned towards her and gently squeezed her fingers. ‘I rather hoped you would say that.’ He smiled at her. ‘Then I shall endeavour to come if I can.’
She gazed up at him, blushing slightly. ‘During your summer holidays, could you not stay in one of the inns in Hedon and bring your work with you? Then you could work in a morning and walk in ’afternoon or evening. And,’ she added shyly, ‘you could eat with us. Mrs Brewster wouldn’t mind and neither would she charge you very much.’
‘You mean, eat with you and the Brewsters?’ His expression lightened. ‘In your kitchen?’
‘You wouldn’t want to do that, of course. I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’m sorry.’ She was embarrassed at her audacity.
‘No. No! I think it’s an excellent idea!’ He was enthusiastic. ‘I’d like to very much.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘But we won’t speak of it just yet. My father is, well, a little old-fashioned, and might not approve. But I’ll write and let you know when I’m coming and where I am staying, and perhaps you will ask your Aunt Brewster for her consent?’
‘Her consent?’ For a moment she was confused. She stared up at him, and saw he was looking at her.
He gently touched her cheek, and, with his eyes soft on hers, bent to kiss her. ‘To eat in her kitchen, Susannah,’ he murmured. ‘Did you think I meant something else?’ She lowered her eyes, but he lifted her chin so that she had to look up at him. ‘It’s too soon for anything else, isn’t it?’ he asked softly. ‘We are too young.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘We are. Much too young.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jack Terrison called at Welwick poorhouse and asked permission to speak to Mrs Jane Topham on a personal matter. He stood waiting in the hall of what was little more than a cottage, and thought that the building was in a dilapidated state of repair. He wouldn’t like to think that any relation of his was living here. But Jane had applied to come. She couldn’t afford to pay the rent on her own cottage, and neither could she obtain work.
To give Joseph Ellis his due, he pondered, he had tried to help her initially after her husband had disappeared, but she did little to improve her situation, claiming that her health was poor after suffering her last miscarriage and the beating given her by her husband. She was offered a smaller dwelling house and after applying for parish relief for maintenance found that she was still unable to manage. It was suggested that she should apply to Patrington Union workhouse as she was an abandoned wife, but she refused, saying she preferred to stay in Welwick where she had been born and would live in the poorhouse even though it was falling down.
Huddled into her shawl, she tottered towards him now and he reflected that she looked a lot older than she was, with her greying hair, sunken cheeks and sallow complexion. She can’t be more than thirty-one or two, he considered; she was younger than me when she started in the kitchens at Burstall House. Years of work left in her if only she would pull herself together. Maybe the news he was bringing would perk her up.
‘Noo then, Jane! How ’you doing?’
She frowned at him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Course you do! Jack Terrison as works at Ellis’s?’ He took off his hat. ‘You remember me!’
‘Well if you say so. From Welwick, are you?’ She peered at him, but he felt that she was putting on an act for the matron who was standing behind her, listening.
‘Aye. I used to be a friend o’ Mary-Ellen, don’t you remember?’ This wasn’t strictly true, but his memory denied the disappointment that he and Mary-Ellen had never been much more than acquaintances.
‘That’s going back a bit,’ she muttered. ‘She’s been dead these long years.’
‘I’ve called to talk to you about her daughter.’ He carefully spaced out his words as if she was hard of hearing. ‘Can we tek a walk outside?’
‘She’ll not have to be long,’ the matron interrupted. ‘She’s to help wi ’supper.’
‘We’ve got to work, you know,’ Jane grumbled as they went out of the door. ‘Folks think as you do nowt living here, but it’s not true.’ She wagged her thumb towards the matron. ‘She keeps you at it all day long. We’ve to earn our keep.’ They stood outside the house and Jane looked up and down the quiet road. ‘Nowt much happening, is there? Has anybody died or owt?’
‘I expect so,’ Jack said morosely. ‘Folks do. I went into Hedon one day last week,’ he told her. ‘To a meeting. I thought I saw Mary-Ellen’s daughter, Susannah. Some lass, anyway; dead spit of her, she was.’
‘Not her,’ Jane said. ‘She ran off and went to work in Hull. She sent me a note from there some time back. Not heard owt since.’
‘Did she say she was working in Hull?’
Jane shook her head. ‘Didn’t say much at all,’ she mumbled. ‘Onny that she was well and hoped as I was. Little does she know how I’ve suffered. I showed it to Mr Joseph,’ she said, and then suddenly clamped her mouth shut.
‘Why’d you do that?’ Jack asked curiously.
‘It was just afore I moved here to ’poorhouse. He asked me if I’d heard from Wilf or Susannah,’ she said slyly. ‘So’s he could tell ’authorities that I’d no dependants and that there was nobody to maintain me, I expect. I’m born and bred in Welwick,’ she added smugly, ‘so Welwick parish has to support me.’
‘Well, this lass I saw in Hedon, I’d swear as it was Susannah. Serving in an inn she was, and it was just sheer luck that I happened along there wi’ some other fellas.’
‘You’d not know her now,’ Jane pronounced. ‘She’ll be grown up. It’s ower five years since she le
ft.’
Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Aye – well, I just thought I’d drop by and tell you,’ he said. ‘She looked right bonny, if it was her. She was smiling, anyway.’
Jane gazed down the road and her eyes became moist. ‘Not her then. Poor bairn hardly ever smiled.’ She took a breath. ‘Nowt much to smile about, is there?’
Jack pondered on whether to inform Joseph Ellis that he had seen Susannah, for he was convinced that it was she, in spite of what Jane maintained. But then, why should I tell him? She’s not his concern. At least, I don’t think she is. He chewed over the fact that his employer had spent several days away from the farm just after Susannah had disappeared. That was when he had been promoted to waggoner and Ellis had asked him to oversee things whilst he was away. I might just drop it in, casual like, he decided. When ’opportunity is right.
The occasion occurred a week later when Joseph Ellis asked him about the meeting of the Holderness Agricultural Society, and queried if it had been beneficial.
They chatted about farming matters for a while, and then Jack added, ‘Odd thing happened when I was in Hedon. After ’meeting was over, I’d time to kill before getting ’train back to Patrington, so I called in at one of ’hostelries. There was a young serving lass in there – a ringer for Susannah Page. You’ll happen remember her, sir? Lived with her aunt in Welwick until a few years back? Ran away, cos of Wilf Topham. Anyway, I dropped by to see Jane Topham last week to tell her, but she reckoned it wouldn’t be her as she’d gone to work in Hull.’
‘Where?’ Joseph Ellis said abruptly. ‘Which hostelry?’
‘’Fleet,’ Jack said, curious about the sudden change in his employer’s manner. ‘You’ll mebbe not know it. It’s tucked away alongside an old track, just off ’Thorngumbald road, near where they say ’owd Hedon Fleet used to flow till they cut Keyingham drain. I was told ’hostelry had good ale, which is why I went. And they did,’ he added.
‘This girl!’ Joseph cleared his throat. ‘If it is her, she ought to be told about her aunt. They’re going to pull the Welwick poorhouse down before long and she’ll be transferred to Patrington.’
