by Val Wood
At first light that morning two men had taken out a rowing boat and boat hook to where it was said the body had been seen, but had found nothing. ‘Might have been a dead dog,’ said one. ‘Aye,’ agreed his companion, ‘and been washed away again. Or mebbe a tree branch. Folks see all kinds o’ things in ’dark. Could’ve been owt.’
Now they were searching again, knowing that two men were missing and feared drowned from almost a year ago, and this time there was a constable waiting on shore and a couple of fishermen sitting in a coggy boat in their long boots, as well as the crowd of onlookers, some with a reason for being there and others simply ghoulish bystanders.
Two women were watching separately, though only a few feet apart from each other. One gave up after about fifteen minutes and made her way back to a riverside cottage, where she went inside and closed the door firmly behind her. The other, a shawl wrapped round her, hiding her face, her head low and buried deep within her coat collar, stayed and kept vigil.
One of the men in the rowing boat put his hand up in the air to signify that they had found something, the coggy boat put off and the crowd drew in a collective breath. The lone woman turned her head as if uncertain whether to go or stay, but then impulsively drew further back into the crowd, hiding in obscurity.
Fletcher, who had been met by Tom on his journey back from depositing his mother at Mrs Marshall’s, hurried down to the water’s edge to tell the constable who he was. Everyone watched as the boat hook was dipped into the water to catch hold of something, and saw one of the men turn his face as gaseous bubbles rose to the surface.
The constable cleared the crowd away, telling them that only those who had a genuine cause for staying could do so. He paused at the woman, but before he could say anything she turned, shaking her head and putting her hands to her eyes as she walked away.
‘It’s him,’ Fletcher told the constable when they brought the body to shore. ‘Noah. I recognize his jacket, what’s left of it.’
‘Yeh,’ Tom murmured. ‘So do I. Come on, lad. We can do no more here. We need to tell Harriet, and your ma.’
‘Ah, yes, my mother.’ He glanced along the path that led towards Mrs Marshall’s cottage. ‘She needs to know. But not today. I’ll tell her tomorrow.’
Harriet and Fletcher sat opposite each other at Mary’s fireside. Tom, at ease in his aunt’s house, made them both tea with plenty of sugar and chatted to fill the silence, telling Harriet that Aunt Mary’s cottage had been his second home when he was a lad. He built up the fire before taking his leave, saying, ‘You’ll have plenty to talk about.’ Which they had, but neither could find a word to say.
Eventually, when Harriet had put Daniel to sleep and dusk was falling, Fletcher rose to go. ‘I’d better get off,’ he said reluctantly. ‘You’ll need time to yourself.’
She paused for a moment, gazing at him, before putting out her hand to grasp his. ‘No. Don’t,’ she said. ‘Please stay. I don’t want to be alone.’
The doctor gazed at Mary over the top of his gold-rimmed eyeglasses. ‘You did well, Mrs Boyle, to spot the twin pregnancy. Very well indeed.’
‘Comes of experience, sir.’ Mary wasn’t going to succumb to his patronizing praise. She knew what she knew. ‘I’ve delivered a few in my time.’
‘Well done.’ He smiled condescendingly. ‘And Mrs Hart wants you to stay until after the birth? Well, I’m quite happy to go along with that if it eases the mother’s mind, but be sure to send for me if there’s as much as an inkling that the birth is imminent.’ She thought he looked as though he was about to pat her on the head and bridled instinctively as he added, ‘But it won’t be yet awhile.’
‘Very good, sir,’ she concurred, wondering why he hadn’t noticed the other baby himself, and also why he hadn’t mentioned to Mrs Hart that sometimes a twin birth was early, as this one might be.
‘Is my wife going to be all right?’ Christopher asked her after the doctor had gone. ‘Two babies! I never expected that.’
‘There can be complications, sir,’ Mary told him. ‘And I won’t pretend it will be easy for Mrs Hart, but she’s a strong healthy woman and I’ll do my best for her.’
He put his hand on her shoulder – she didn’t mind that – and said, ‘I’m sure you will. I’m relying on you.’
She was given her own room after all, and didn’t have to share with a maid. It had been Christopher’s and then Amy’s nanny’s room and was furnished with a bed and a sofa, easy chair, table and chairs, and had a bright fire burning in the hearth with a pricked rug in front of it, and a window overlooking the kitchen garden.
Perfect, she thought, looking round with a satisfied smile. I could be very comfortable here.
Noah’s funeral couldn’t be held until all official certificates were issued, and these were delayed until formal identification was complete. Fletcher was bolstered by Tom’s presence as he signed documents, and he in turn supported Harriet.
It was a week later that a messenger from the manor came to the door and handed Harriet a letter. ‘Mrs Hart sent this,’ the young lad said. ‘She said I had to be quick as it was urgent.’
Inside the envelope was another envelope addressed to Harriet, and a note from Melissa Hart that read, I trust this is good news for you following the distress you have recently undergone, for which I send my sincere condolences and pray that you can find solace. In a postscript she added, I hope that shortly I will have my own dreams fulfilled.
Harriet sat down. Daniel was sleeping and Fletcher was at Marsh Farm continuing the clearance of the outbuildings, for November was coming up fast. She turned the envelope over in her hand. It could only be from one person. Rosamund – Rosie, as was. She would have heard about Noah. So had Ellen, for Fletcher had been to tell her. She had said little, except that she hoped his soul would rest in peace.
‘Is that all?’ he’d said. ‘Have you no sorrow for your adopted son?’
Ellen had thought for a moment before saying, ‘I’m onny sorry that he didn’t find a mother to care for him. His own mother should have done that and not given him to someone else.’ She’d paused for a moment before adding, ‘But I’m sorry for a life passing.’
Fletcher had shaken his head and left, realizing how little he had known her. When he told Harriet she had simply murmured, ‘Poor Noah.’
But now, what had Rosie to say? Was she too going to deny her son’s existence? Would she say that her precious name wasn’t to be mentioned, that reputation was more important to her than her son?
Harriet reached for a table knife to slit the envelope. She drew out two sheets of paper written on with a neat hand, and within them another sheet of folded paper.
Dear Harriet,
I hope you don’t mind if I use your given name. I’ve thought often of you and your son, Daniel, and have had many mixed emotions since your visit. The child, of course, is of my blood too and that of the man I feel sure I could have loved, given the opportunity, but because of my circumstances could not.
I was there at Brough Haven when Noah was discovered and I suffered great distress; on my way home I found myself in the vicinity of Mrs Stone’s house and knocked on her door. In spite of her background and past way of life, she can be kind, as she was on this occasion, and she took me in and let me talk. Her sound advice was that if I wanted to rid myself of the terrible guilt I felt then, and have felt for most of my life, I should put things right, and that is what I intend to do. The first step is to send you Noah’s birth certificate. When he was born, I registered him as mine and Marco’s.
With trembling fingers, Harriet opened the other sheet of paper, which was divided into sections; here was the name of the male child, Noah; the name of the mother, Rosamund Morley, and the father’s name, Marco Orsini, and occupation, seaman.
Harriet covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Noah Morley, or Noah Orsini, if his father had come back to claim him as his own; not Tuke at all.
After she had calmed down a
nd stopped crying, she finished reading the letter. Rosie said she would like to make up for the loss of so much that was precious by arranging a funeral for Noah, which she would pay for, at which she would acknowledge Noah as her son. She completed the letter by saying she hoped that Harriet would allow her to play a small part in Daniel’s life.
When Fletcher called later that day, he saw a change in Harriet. She seemed brighter, and although there was sadness in her eyes, she smiled. ‘You’ve summat to tell me?’ he asked.
When she nodded, he said, ‘Can I tell you my news first? I haven’t said owt before, because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, but after ’other night, that night when we’d found Noah …’ He hesitated. ‘I thought – I thought that mebbe you – well, mebbe there might be some hope for me. That you wanted me in your life, even if we couldn’t be married.’
‘Do you want to marry me, Fletcher?’ she asked huskily.
He took hold of her hand. ‘You know I do, more than anything else in ’world, if onny we could.’
‘So what news were you going to tell me that can’t wait for me to tell mine?’
‘It’s Tom Bolton,’ he said. ‘He’s asked if I’ll join wi’ him and buy a plot o’ land up at Elloughton Dale. You’ll mebbe not know it, but it’s not far from here. I’ve a bit of money that I earned in America, not much, but enough, and he has too, being a single man; and I’ve thought it through and I’d like to. But I can’t do it without you, Harriet – you and Daniel. If you’d rather, we’ll go and live elsewhere. We could even go to America.’
Harriet smiled and handed him Rosie’s letter and Noah’s birth certificate. ‘We’ll have to be patient for a little bit longer,’ she whispered, her tears falling fast. ‘Noah deserves that at least, and we’re in no hurry.’
Fletcher finished reading and put his arms round her. He kissed her wet cheeks, and with his own eyes streaming and a lump in his throat he said, ‘No, we’re not in a hurry, not in a hurry at all.’ He kissed her again, on her forehead, and both cheeks, and then her lips. ‘Well,’ he gave her a watery smile and another kiss, ‘not too much of a hurry, anyway.’
‘Come along, Mrs Hart,’ Mary cajoled. ‘One more push, m’dear, and we’re nearly there. That’s it – easy now, good girl, and here we are – one babby, one handsome son to please your husband. Here now, tek a look at him.’ She wrapped the newborn in a soft blanket and gently tipped him up until he yelled in protest, and then turned him towards his mother. ‘Aye, a proper lad, letting himself be heard.’
Melissa lifted her head to take a better look at her son, but was gently pushed back again by Mary’s firm hand. ‘Hold him for a minute,’ she said, putting him in Melissa’s arms. ‘Just so’s he can get ’smell of you, but then I want you to tek a rest ready for ’next one.’
‘Goodness,’ Melissa said weakly, gazing down at him. ‘I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to go through that again.’
‘Course you have.’ Mary took the baby from her and put him on his side in the prepared bassinet. ‘Next one will be easier and quicker. Close your eyes and tek some nice deep breaths for ten minutes.’
She ran her hand over Melissa’s belly and gently pressed. ‘Won’t be long. It’s starting to turn,’ she said softly, and fifteen minutes later, easing out into a whole new world, came her daughter.
‘Oh, Mary.’ Melissa wept with joy as she held her babies one on each side of her. ‘Will you stay? Will you stay and be the children’s nanny? Help me to look after them? Please say that you will.’
Mary thought for a mere heartbeat. Her response was immediate but she didn’t want Mrs Hart to think her too eager. It was what she had wished for, and even on her first night at the manor hopeful plans had already been forming. Her nephew Tom could have her cottage. He’d always liked it there and mebbe one day he’d find a nice young woman to share it with, whilst she would be deliriously happy in the nanny’s room, her meals provided, her washing done for her, a coal fire lit every day, and the extra joy of caring for two babies who would be almost like her own.
‘Well, ma’am,’ she hedged. ‘That sounds like a very nice proposition.’
‘Oh, please!’ Melissa implored. ‘However will I manage without you?’
‘Well, that would be very nice, thank you, ma’am.’ Mary beamed. ‘I’d like that very much.’
ENDING
Daniel was a toddler of two and a half when the marriage of Harriet and Fletcher took place on a warm and sunny June day in the old church of St Mary’s in Elloughton. They had waited eighteen months, as was right and proper, befitting a young widow after bereavement, and until the purchase of the Elloughton Dale farmland had gone through and the house Fletcher was building for his and Harriet’s life together was nearing completion. During this time Harriet had stayed in Mary’s cottage and now Tom was planning to move in after she and Fletcher were married.
The new farmhouse windows overlooked meadows and woodland, and in the near distance the villages of Elloughton and Brough and the familiar waters of the Humber, gleaming like silver in the sun or on darker days rich chestnut brown, could be clearly seen. The land at Marsh Farm was being prepared for warping; ditches had been dug and sluices built, and soon the estuary waters would be allowed in. But the old house that had harboured such resentment and loathing was, without maintenance, slowly disintegrating. The roof had fallen in, the walls were beginning to crumble and no one seemed to care. Nathaniel Tuke had not yet been found.
Tom Bolton was Fletcher’s best man. Rosie Gilbank, loving her role as a grandmother, sat in a front pew with Daniel on her knee, but Ellen Tuke sent a message to say she wouldn’t be attending the ceremony, giving the excuse that she couldn’t leave her old friend Mrs Marshall whose health was failing. Only a few people had been invited, as they wanted a quiet, simple ceremony, but the Harts’ carriage had made a detour and stopped at the church gate as Mary had asked if they might, for the Harts, with the twins and Mary and a nursemaid, were travelling that day on a long visit to see Christopher Hart’s daughter Amy and her new baby.
Harriet was wearing a new blue flowered muslin gown and matching bonnet that Fletcher insisted they bought for such a special occasion, and she thought as she prepared for her wedding that Noah would have thought the expenditure wasteful and unnecessary. She thought of Noah with wistful understanding now, and didn’t blame him for his behaviour after the ill-usage he had suffered. And as for her marriage to him, she had no regrets, for it had brought her to Fletcher and given her Daniel. It had also brought her a good friend in Rosie, who had declared her life was richer because of her grandson, whom she loved dearly.
When they left the church after their vows, Harriet, with Fletcher and Rosie, watched as Daniel placed a rose from her bouquet on his father Noah’s grave. The headstone, which Rosie had paid for, simply said Noah Morley-Orsini, known as Noah Tuke.
‘That will confuse everyone for years to come,’ Fletcher remarked wryly, and Rosie smiled and agreed.
As they walked back to the church door the Harts were waiting with Mary and the children to give their best wishes. Christopher raised his top hat, Mary beamed and waved, and Melissa looked keenly at Fletcher, who, Harriet considered, was looking particularly handsome in his black trousers, grey frock coat and waistcoat and white cravat, his hair cut short and curling about his collar. But Harriet thought she saw concern in Melissa’s scrutiny. As their eyes met, Harriet gave a slight bob of her knee and a smile of warmth, understanding and reassurance. We are what we are, she seemed to convey, and what has gone before is in the past. She glanced fondly at the children, the Hart twins, Christopher Charles and Beatrice, and Daniel who had rushed over to join them, and thought: this is a sort of ending, but also a beginning; a life of love and caring is in the future now.
SOURCES
Books for general reading:
A Dynamic Estuary: Man, Nature and the Humber, Hull University Press, 1988, edited by N. V. Jones
Humber Persp
ectives. A Region through the Ages, Hull University Press, 1990, edited by S. Ellis and D. R. Crowther
About the Author
Since winning the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction for her first novel, The Hungry Tide, Val Wood has published eighteen novels and has become one of the most popular authors in the UK.
Born in the mining town of Castleford, Val came to East Yorkshire as a child and has lived in Hull and rural Holderness where many of her novels are set. She now lives in the market town of Beverley.
When she is not writing, Val is busy promoting libraries and supporting many charities.
Val is currently writing her twentieth novel and has no intention of stopping!
Find out more about Val Wood’s novels by visiting her website at www.valeriewood.co.uk
Also by Val Wood
THE HUNGRY TIDE
ANNIE
CHILDREN OF THE TIDE
THE ROMANY GIRL
EMILY
GOING HOME
ROSA’S ISLAND
THE DOORSTEP GIRLS
FAR FROM HOME
THE KITCHEN MAID
THE SONGBIRD
NOBODY’S CHILD
FALLEN ANGELS
THE LONG WALK HOME
RICH GIRL, POOR GIRL
HOMECOMING GIRLS
THE HARBOUR GIRL
THE INNKEEPER’S DAUGHTER
For more information on Val Wood and her books, see her website at www.valeriewood.co.uk
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First published in Great Britain
