Children Of The Tide

by Valerie Wood

  Gilbert had heard the child cry, he’d knocked softly on her bedroom door and asked if he could come in. He said that he couldn’t sleep and offered to go down to the kitchen to warm some milk. He watched her as she tried to spoon it into the baby’s tiny mouth and then, surprisingly for Gilbert, she thought, he stroked the child’s cheek with his finger.

  Johnson drove the carriage into Masterson and Rayner’s yard, and Sammi asked him to wait for them there. ‘You won’t be long, Miss Sammi?’ he queried. ‘Your mother needs ’carriage this afternoon.’

  She promised that they wouldn’t be, and James held one arm as they walked across the High Street and she crooked the baby into the other. They retraced their steps from the previous evening and made their way down Silver Street, the street of jewellers and pawnbrokers, and into the ancient street named Land of Green Ginger, looking for charity homes and hospitals.

  The old town of Hull was expanding rapidly as the increasing population demanded more space. The crumbled medieval walls had come down long ago, and the land was built upon to accommodate the migrant settlers who came seeking employment: labourers and craftsmen, fishermen, railway workers, merchants and manufacturers, all vied for space; and, crushed in between and behind the impressive business premises in the main streets of the town, the heaving and crowded slum dwellings were homes for the poor and the destitute.

  ‘There can’t be one down here, James.’ Sammi put her hand across her nose and mouth. ‘We’ve come the wrong way!’

  They had turned a corner and found themselves in a stinking alley. An overflowing cesspit had spewed its contents towards the dilapidated and decayed houses, and the stench was intolerable. They hurried back the way they had come, back to the crowded Whitefriargate, where shoppers strolled past the parade of shops, and fashionable ladies inclined their heads to bankers in top hats and stovepipe trousers, and brushed shoulders with fishwives in shawls and clogs.

  They found a hospital, tucked away off the main street, a neat but dark house with a locked and barred gate and iron railings around its front area. James rattled on the gate to attract attention, but no-one came.

  ‘Tha must wait till eleven,’ a passing woman shouted to them, ‘they don’t admit bairns till then.

  ‘We can’t wait, James. I have to get home.’ Sammi was tense. ‘We’ll try somewhere else.’ She called to the retreating back of the woman. ‘Excuse me. Is there another home? This child has been abandoned.’

  The woman came back. ‘Is it a pauper’s child? They’ll not tek it here if it isn’t.’

  They both remained silent. The word pauper had filled them with dread.

  ‘Try ’Morris Hospital,’ she indicated with her head back the way they had come. ‘They might tek it, but—’ she seemed to be assessing them, casting her eyes at their appearance, at Sammi’s fine wool buttoned jacket, at her velvet pork-pie hat with feathers and trailing ribbon which perched neatly on her head, at James’s cut-away coat and checked trousers – ‘on ’other hand they might not.’ The woman pulled herself upright and stared accusingly at them. ‘What’s a fine young couple doing giving away a poor bairn?’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ James began, but Sammi pulled him away.

  ‘Come, James. We must go.’ She took his arm. ‘Hurry.’

  The door was open to the Morris Hospital, and they walked into a small dark hall. The building was old, the paint on the windows and doors peeling, but there was a strong smell of disinfectant as if there was a battle going on against dirt and disease.

  ‘Is there anyone there?’ James called out. ‘Hello!’

  A small face peered round a doorway and a pair of round blue eyes looked up at them. There were tear streaks down the cheeks of the small girl, and her nose was running; her brown hair was cut short above her ears and plastered down with some greasy substance. ‘Matron’s through in ’kitchen,’ she sniffled. ‘She’s telling Cook about us dinner.’ She motioned to a door down the hall and then disappeared again behind the doorway.

  James knocked on the kitchen door and opened it. The room was full of steam, and there was a strong smell of cabbage. A woman encased in a long white apron was standing by a blackened iron cooking range, beating furiously at the contents of a pan, while on the fire bars a range of cauldrons stood spitting and steaming. A young girl of about seven years was standing on a stool at a long wooden table, up to her reddened elbows in a bucket of water. She looked up as they entered, but made no comment, nor did her face change expression. Her hair, too, was cut short and spiky, and she was scrubbing potatoes for all her worth with a stiff-bristled brush. Another child, a boy, was on his hands and knees washing the stone-flagged floor.

  A woman was standing at the other end of the table slicing up chunks of bread, and she shouted as the door creaked on its hinges, ‘I don’t allow anybody in this kitchen! Didn’t tha see ’notice on ’door?’

  ‘Oh! No. Sorry,’ said James. ‘I was looking for, er, there doesn’t seem to be anybody about.’

  She looked up and wiped her hands on her apron as she heard him speak. ‘Beg pardon, sir. Can I do anything for you?’ Her voice and manner changed from rough and hostile to fawning servility. ‘Come this way.’ She beckoned them back down the hall, but turned as she left the kitchen and bellowed to the child, making Sammi jump and waking the baby who started to cry. ‘Look sharp with them spuds! We haven’t got all day.’

  She led them into a small, stuffy room which had a coal fire burning in a grate, above the mantelpiece a crude coronation portrait of Queen Victoria gazed down. She placed herself behind a desk and indicated for them to be seated.

  Sammi perched on the edge of one of the chairs and was glad she was wearing a cage beneath her moiré skirt, for the prickly horsehair stuffing would have been very uncomfortable. James declined the offer and remained standing.

  ‘So what can I do for you, sir, madam?’ The matron gazed at them.

  James swallowed and looked at Sammi. ‘We need your advice if you would be so kind,’ he began. ‘This child—’ he waved his hand vaguely to the child in Sammi’s arms; he was still crying, a plaintive wailing, like cats, James thought, suddenly becoming irritated by the sound. Why was it crying?

  ‘Does it want feeding?’ the woman asked. ‘Sounds to me as if it’s hungry.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sammi rocked him gently to quieten him. ‘He’s only a day old and has only had a few spoons of milk.’

  ‘Why not? Hasn’t your milk come through?’

  ‘Oh! He’s not my child!’ Sammi blushed scarlet. ‘He’s been abandoned – his mother is dead and his grandmother brought him and left him with us, and we don’t know where to take him.’

  Matron’s mouth narrowed. ‘Why would she do that, pray?’ She glanced at James. ‘Who’s the father?’

  Now James blushed and he fingered his high collar nervously. ‘She said it was mine.’ He cleared his throat as his statement came out high-pitched and squeaky.

  The matron spoke patronizingly. ‘And you thought to bring him here, did you, sir? You thought that somebody else could look after ’little fellow?’

  Sammi felt tears gathering in her eyes. She was imagining this baby left behind, with no-one to rock him or comfort him as she was doing now. She thought of him with his hair cropped short, scrubbing the floor of the kitchens.

  ‘Governors will only take him if he was born in Hull,’ the matron rasped. ‘I’d have to make a request out, giving ’details of where he was found, ’name of his mother and father, things like that.’ She stared hard at James, her small eyes piercing into him accusingly. ‘Are you sure you want that, sir? How will your parents feel?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Frustration engulfed him. ‘I’ve only the woman’s word that it is mine. I can’t remember—’ He saw the curl of the woman’s lip as he haltingly tried to explain. Now she’s going to think I’m a decadent young buck with bastards all over the place.

  Sammi shivered, then rose to her feet. ‘We’
ve changed our minds.’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘We won’t leave him after all.’

  ‘But Sammi!’ James spluttered. ‘What will I do with him?’

  ‘Good day to you.’ Sammi made towards the door. ‘We’re sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘Wait, miss.’ The matron hesitated. ‘If ’bairn really has been abandoned, with no-one who’ll claim him, then governors might take him. But it’s not much of a life; there’s no comfort here, nobody to hold your hand when you’re feeling sorry for yourself. I know,’ she said grimly. ‘I’ve been here twenty years. It’s a life sentence, and it makes thee hard.’

  Sammi shook her head. ‘Thank you, but no. We’ll not leave him.’

  As they returned to the hall, a bell rang with ear-shattering intensity. Doors opened upstairs and down, and there was a great clattering of feet and shuffling of bodies as children and old people appeared from every corner of the building and descended into the hall and lined up in an orderly fashion against the wall.

  They all looked clean, the children especially were red and shiny as if they had just been scrubbed, and their clothes, though thin and patched, were not untidy.

  Sammi looked at them, her eyes searching each face in front of her. She was looking for some gaiety, a joyous spirit, an animation that would show there was a kind of hope living in this place. But there was none. Each child’s face stared back at her, unseeing, only waiting for the next meal, the next order, the next job of work to be done, while the old people, in submissive resignation, were simply waiting.

  She turned again to the matron. ‘Thank you, but no.’

  James chased after her as she hurried away down the narrow street. ‘But Sammi! What can I do?’ Wild ideas of leaving the child in a doorway flashed into his mind, but he shook his head to dispel them. Sammi would be horrified if she knew he had even thought it. ‘Sammi! Help me!’

  She stopped and turned towards him. ‘What we are going to do, James, is—’ Her face was set and determined. ‘You are going to see your master in York. You must tell him that you need to earn your living, and you will send me money for the child as soon as you have some. And I, I am taking him home with me.’

  Gilbert waited in a corner of the stables behind the house until he heard the rattle of the carriage moving off. He harnessed up Caesar and Brutus, climbed into his gig, and in response to an imperceptible flick of the reins the pair moved off. The horses started to lengthen their stride into a lively trot as they entered the lane outside the gates, but he checked them, holding them on an unaccustomed short rein and keeping well back from the carriage in front.

  He pulled in beneath the shade of trees when they stopped at the workhouse, and heaved a sigh of relief as they moved off again. He followed them as they drove towards High Street and saw them coming out on foot from the company yard.

  ‘’Morning, Master Gilbert,’ his father’s senior clerk called to him from across the narrow street. He had a thick wad of papers in his hand. ‘Mr Rayner’s been looking for you. He’s gone on to the meeting. He said to tell you to come as quick as you can. I was taking these to him.’ He lifted up the papers in his hand. ‘But if you’re going …’

  ‘Erm, take them down for me, will you, Hardwick? I’ve an urgent call to make. If my father should ask, tell him I’ve been delayed, would you?’

  Hardwick raised his eyebrows. ‘Very good, sir.’

  Damn. Father’s going to be furious. Gilbert drove into the yard at the back of the office and jumped down from the gig. But I must see where they are taking him. He called to a stable lad and threw him the reins, then dashed out of the yard in pursuit of his brother and Sammi. He followed them as they walked down Whitefriargate, and waited in a doorway until they came scurrying out of an old part of the town, and saw them hesitate before hurrying on again.

  Oh, God! He rubbed his whiskers hard as he thought. They’re looking for a hospital. What can I do? They’re terrible places. He’ll not survive. But if I go after them and tell them that the child is mine, Harriet won’t marry me. The wedding will be called off!

  He was already racked with guilt at letting James take the blame, and he had spent a sleepless night worrying what to do. He had heard the infant cry during the early hours and, trusting that no-one else would hear him, he’d knocked on Sammi’s door. His mother would have had apoplexy if she had known he was in his cousin’s room, but he gave no regard to that, and Sammi had let him in. He had been surprised at her maternal instinct as she held the child in her arms, trying to soothe it.

  ‘I’m used to babies,’ she’d whispered. ‘When the village women have them, I always go to see them and ask if I can hold them. And we have puppies and kittens at home, and baby lambs, and they’re all the same really.’

  But they’re not the same, he thought, as he followed them again and watched them turn towards another hospital. Dogs can be trained and mastered. Cats can fend for themselves. Infants grow into people. He could only just remember James being born, and more clearly his sister Anne, but he remembered how he wasn’t allowed to touch them in case he hurt them. This child he’d touched. He’d stroked his soft cheek and marvelled at his tiny hands and nails, and had seen as Sammi took off his covering blanket, his downy head of pale hair.

  He drew out his pocket watch. He didn’t know what excuse he would make to his father. The meeting was an important one. The local shipping and whaling merchants were meeting to discuss the ever-declining whaling industry.

  Sammi appeared suddenly from the end of a street. She was still holding the child, and looked as if she had been crying, then James came running after her. He, too, looked upset.

  This is no good. Gilbert suddenly made a decision. I’ll have to tell them. They’re so young, they can’t take on my responsibilities.

  ‘Good morning, young Rayner! What are you doing mooching about at this time of day? No work to do?’

  Gilbert looked stupefied as Austin Billington, his future father-in-law, stopped in front of him. He lifted his top hat. ‘Good morning, sir. I, er, I’m just about a spot of business, just, er, wondering which call to do first.’

  ‘Mm. I see.’ Austin Billington was wearing a dark, formal frock coat with a brightly patterned waistcoat beneath it. In his lapel he wore a rose which he bought every day from the flower seller before he went into his bank. ‘We were only talking about you at breakfast. Most of the arrangements have been made for the wedding. We only want your final list of guests.’

  ‘Yes, I, er, I haven’t forgotten, sir. I’ll let you have it by this weekend.’

  ‘Yes, I was only saying to Mrs Billington that perhaps it is as well that we had to delay the marriage because of her ill health, though I know you young people wouldn’t agree,’ he chortled and winked and stroked his pointed greying beard. ‘But I do believe we are going to have some very good weather in the next few weeks, and there’s nothing quite like a June wedding. But there we are, I always was a sentimental old fool.’

  Gilbert laughed heartily, though inwardly disagreeing. There was nothing sentimental about this hard-hearted banker, except where his daughter was concerned, and Gilbert knew with a sinking heart that, if word should get out about the child, he would be finished completely in this town. Billington would make sure of it. He walked with him to the steps of his bank and then turned to go back to the High Street. James and Sammi had gone. He was sunk in misery. Perhaps, he thought, they had been turned away from the hospital, and it seemed to him now that the only solution would be to find a foster home for the child, and for that, someone would have to pay.

  As he walked into the yard, Sammi was stepping into the carriage. She was empty-handed. ‘Hello, Gilbert. I can’t stop, I’m afraid. I’m already in trouble with Johnson for being late.’

  He gave her a small smile. ‘I’m in trouble too, Sammi. It’s not a very good start to the day, is it?’

  She got down from the carriage steps. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Gilbert, everybody’s got such troubles,
and poor James more than anybody.’

  He nodded, hesitating. ‘Where’s the child, Sammi? What’s happening to him? Has James taken him somewhere?’

  She looked up at him solemnly, her brown eyes appealing to him. ‘You won’t tell anyone just yet?’

  He swallowed hard, he was hardly likely to. ‘No. I won’t, Sammi. Trust me.’

  She took his arm and showed him inside the carriage. There, tucked up in a corner of the upholstered seat, was a small wrapped bundle. ‘I’m taking him home to Garston Hall.’

  He felt such a tremendous lightening of spirit, a great sense of relief flooding over him. Aunt Ellen! Of course! She wouldn’t turn the child away. He wasn’t so sure that Uncle William would approve, but he was convinced that Sammi’s warm-hearted mother would come up with a solution.

  Perhaps I won’t have to confess after all – not yet, anyway. His mind flickered to his wedding: perhaps afterwards he could tell? And it wasn’t unusual, he thought, as his conscience eased, for families to look after each other’s children. The poorer working classes did it all the time.

  ‘Oh, Sammi. What an angel you are.’ He put his arms around her and gave her a great smacking kiss on her cheek. ‘I love you.’

  She pushed him away. ‘Get off, Gilbert! You’re as bad as James. That’s just what he said.’

  He watched the carriage as it lumbered away, then Sammi put her head out of the window. ‘Will you give my love to Billy? Tell him I can’t stop.’

  He nodded. Her brother would be beavering away, anxious to be doing well at his first week’s work with Masterson and Rayner.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gilbert,’ she called again, just before the carriage pulled out into the street. ‘I forgot to ask. What did you say your trouble was?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all.’ He waved a good-bye to her. ‘It’s only that I’m late.’

  4

  As the carriage approached the village of Tillington, Sammi put her forehead against the window and looked out. The mill beyond the church showed black against the wide sky, and the white canvas sails were sweeping square to the north-east wind, their shades partly closed to spill the gusty breeze.