Children Of The Tide

by Valerie Wood

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing these jobs, Sammi. You’re a guest here, even though you are family. What would your mother think? Or your father?’

  ‘I’m only trying to help, Tom. Nancy never gets here on time, and my parents wouldn’t expect me to stay and be waited upon, especially when I came without invitation.’

  ‘You know you are always welcome,’ he said brusquely. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  The outer door crashed open and Nancy came rushing in. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, miss,’ she began and then stopped as she saw Sammi and Tom. ‘Miss Betsy – isn’t she here?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tom said sharply. ‘She is here, and tired of waiting for you. This is the last time you’ll be late. You will arrive here at six o’clock every morning except Sunday and the days you are given off, and if you are as much as five minutes late, you will be given notice.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied petulantly. ‘But Miss Betsy – she doesn’t mind if I’m a few minutes late.’

  He leaned towards her. ‘Well, I mind, and as I’m the one who has to work to pay your wages, I’m telling you that you will be on time.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed her knee and picked up the empty coal bucket and the water pail and hurried towards the door. ‘I will.’

  Betsy called Sammi into the parlour after her father had gone outside. ‘Sammi! What am I to do? Da wanted to know why Mark and I had quarrelled, and I had to tell him that it was because of Luke, and now he says that Luke must call and see him. He says he’s agreeable to my meeting him if you will be with me, but he says that there has to be a proper understanding.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased, Betsy.’ Sammi was delighted for her. ‘Of course I will go with you.’

  ‘But Sammi! You don’t understand. I don’t want anyone with me! I want to be alone with Luke. How can I bear it if there is anyone else there?’

  Sammi heard Tom’s warning ringing in her ears. Betsy was giving out meanings to Luke and she was sure that he would understand very well. She was besotted by him, but was he by her? ‘But Betsy,’ she replied, ‘Luke will surely be very pleased that your father has no objections, and that he can call on you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Betsy said slowly. ‘I’m not at all sure.’

  Luke wasn’t very pleased. ‘I don’t know, Betsy,’ he said, fingering the red scarf around his neck. ‘I don’t know if I want to come calling. I’m not ready for that. I’ve no money or prospects to offer, even if I’d a mind to.’

  ‘I thought you loved me, Luke,’ Betsy whispered. The breeze that morning was brisk and sharp, and she shivered.

  He looked down at his boots, shamefaced. ‘I’m not sure if I know ’difference.’

  ‘Difference?’ She clasped his arm. ‘Difference between what?’

  He gathered her into his arms. ‘’Difference between wanting thee, and wanting to wed thee and spending ’rest of our lives together.’

  She felt the warmth of his body pressed against hers and rubbed her face against his chest, then she lifted up her face for him to kiss her. ‘I do know how you feel, Luke,’ she said softly. ‘I do understand. I think we must be very wicked, you and me. We have the devil in us.’ A tear trickled down her cheek and he kissed it away. ‘But I’m more wicked than you, for you’re a man and can’t help it, but I’m a woman and shouldn’t have such feelings.’

  ‘Mrs Bishop, may I talk to you?’ Sammi stepped inside the open cottage door.

  ‘Bless thee, course tha can.’ Mrs Bishop motioned her to sit down. ‘Summat’s troubling thee, Miss Rayner; has been for a day or two, I could tell. Bairn’s all right, tha needn’t worry about him.’

  ‘No, I can see that.’ She smiled; Adam was round-cheeked and thriving. ‘Mrs Bishop,’ she paused, ‘if you should become ill or die and not be able to look after your children, what would happen to them?’

  ‘Why, Mr Bishop’d put older ones out to work and young uns’d muddle along, I expect, but babbies …’ She had three who were under four. ‘Well, I don’t rightly know.’ A frown wrinkled her brow. ‘My sister Dora would take Minnie, I expect, and maybe our Jack and his wife’d take Ben, but this bairn,’ she looked down at the sleeping child in her cot. ‘She’s not thriving well, she wouldn’t tek to another nurse. I doubt she’d survive.’ She sighed. ‘It’s what happens, Miss Rayner, to folks like us who haven’t ’money to make other arrangements.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sammi was penitent. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘Nay, I’m not upset. I’ve thought about it often.’ Then she gave a big smile. ‘But I’m not going to dee. I’ll have more babbies yet unless I can get shot of my old man. But tha’s got a reason for asking, Miss Rayner?’

  Sammi took a deep breath. ‘Adam’s mother is dead. She died in childbirth. His father is one of my cousins.’ Mrs Bishop nodded but remained silent. ‘I feel very strongly that he should be taken care of by our family, as yours would be,’ she added, ‘if anything happened to you. But my cousin is very young and immature, and has been sent away to avoid scandal. His family,’ she said, ‘seem loathe to do anything about the situation.’

  ‘So tha’s asking me to tek him, Miss Rayner? To bring him up?’

  ‘Yes. I will pay towards his keep until the matter is resolved, or until my cousin is able to. I must tell you, however, that my father is most displeased with me for bringing him here, and that might have a bearing on your decision.’

  ‘Aye, it might. Seeing as Mr Bishop works for thy father.’

  They sat for a while, not speaking, and then Mrs Bishop said, ‘Folks will talk, miss. They are doing already – and if there’s a family likeness …’

  ‘It will be a nine-day wonder, Mrs Bishop, and I know you will be discreet.’

  Mrs Bishop surveyed Sammi from candid eyes, then she said softly, ‘It wouldn’t be fair to thee, miss. Gossip would be contained in Holderness, it wouldn’t reach Hull and thy cousin’s friends; but what about friends of thy parents and their sons and daughters? They’ll cut thee dead.’

  ‘Then so be it. I can’t throw this child on the scrap-heap because I’m afraid of what people might say. Please, Mrs Bishop,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t know who else to ask or what to do.’

  ‘I can’t, miss.’ Mrs Bishop spoke compassionately. ‘Not to a young woman like thee. It’d ruin thy chances of being wed. But what I’ll do,’ she reached over and patted Sammi’s hand, ‘I’ll tek him for six months. Set him up good and proper, and maybe by then thy cousin’s family will have come round and will tek to little fellow.’ She nodded her head and smiled. ‘When they see him, they’ll want him, mark my words. Will that do?’

  Sammi got up to leave, she tried to smile her thanks but her mouth trembled. ‘Thank you, Mrs Bishop. I suppose it will have to.’

  18

  ‘There’s a letter from James, Gilbert.’

  ‘At last! What does he say? Has he found somewhere to live?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His mother averted her eyes. ‘I haven’t read it.’

  She looks very pale, Gilbert observed. She still hasn’t recovered from the shock of Father’s sudden seizure. ‘Why haven’t you read it, Mother?’ he asked gently. ‘You want to know what he’s doing, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s addressed to your father,’ she whispered. ‘You know I don’t open his letters.’

  He took the envelope from her. James’s extravagant handwriting was unmistakable. ‘Under the circumstances, Mother, we have to open Father’s correspondence, and as it’s patently from James, it’s obviously meant for both of you!’

  ‘Read it then,’ she said, and sat down in her chair by the window, folding her hands in her lap. ‘And then you can take it upstairs and read it to your father and put his mind at rest.’

  He walked up and down the room as he read it aloud, and smiled as he read out that James knew that he was destined to be an artist! ‘I can feel it in my blood!’ he read, ‘in my veins!’ He looked up, a glimmer of amusement on his face which faded
when he saw his mother’s paleness.

  ‘Are you not well, Mother? Would you like your smelling salts?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ll be all right. Just a headache dear, nothing more. Give me the letter. I’ll read it to your father. He’s been very anxious.’

  Gilbert followed her upstairs to his father’s room, where he lay propped up on pillows. His countenance was grey and even his hair seemed to have lost much of its colour.

  Mildred read the letter aloud but, Gilbert noticed, missing out some parts of it, noticeably the words where James enthused about becoming an artist.

  ‘He seems to be settling, Father,’ Gilbert said heartily. ‘We don’t have to worry about him, he’s having a fine time in the capital.’

  Isaac nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I trust he will do well. He has talent. Peacock always said so in his reports.’ He stopped for breath and held his chest. He looked bleakly at his wife. ‘It requires to be nurtured and encouraged, that’s what he used to say. It can’t be stopped, my dear. It has to be.’

  Gilbert looked from one parent to the other. He didn’t understand what his father was talking about, and his mother was staring blankly at a point above his father’s head.

  ‘Gilbert. You must send James some money. He doesn’t ask for any, I notice, nevertheless …’ He put his head back onto the pillows. ‘Fetch paper, pen and ink, and you can draft out an authority and I’ll sign it.’ He took a faltering breath. ‘And I’ll do another for Collins at the bank. My lawyer is coming this afternoon. You’ll have to have power of attorney to sign for the firm’s accounts. Hardwick will guide you. He’s a good man.’

  Gilbert wrote in a neat hand the instructions as his father told him, that Gilbert Foster Rayner had the authority to pay on all promissory notes and for monies owing by Masterson and Rayner.

  ‘I must rest now, Gilbert. I’m very tired. Take that to Collins; explain what’s happened, if he doesn’t already know, and send that money off to James.’

  Gilbert nodded. The bank already knew the circumstances and had paid small accounts on their behalf, but there were bigger amounts to pay, insurance cover for two of their ships was due, and the bank wouldn’t pay without his father’s authority. ‘I regret to say, Mr Gilbert,’ Collins had said previously, his sombre, joyless manner leaving Gilbert sunk into depression, ‘but management is often easier after a death. The authority would have automatically come to you had your father died, he had already arranged that. A company account is much more difficult to administer in circumstances such as this, when a senior partner is merely incapacitated.’ Gilbert had almost felt that he should apologize to the banker for his father’s lack of consideration in surviving; but he had been too down-hearted and worried to do or say what he really felt.

  If only Father would agree to changing banks, he thought as he flicked the reins and moved down the drive. He turned to look back and saw his mother standing by the bedroom window, as still as stone, without a wave of her hand or a nod of her head.

  There was a smart gig waiting in the yard when he arrived, which was causing some inconvenience to the porters and labourers who were manouvring their wooden sleds around it, and with a sense of impending disaster he realized that the vehicle belonged to Craddock and that he must be waiting for him inside.

  Billy came out to greet him. ‘Hardwick wants to see you as soon as you have a minute, and Charles Craddock is waiting. I put him up in your office. I hope that was all right.’

  ‘Yes, but Billy – if he should come again, fob him off, will you? The fellow is a perfect nuisance.’ He ran upstairs to the office. My office, he thought. I didn’t expect to lay claim to it quite so soon.

  Craddock was sprawled in a chair opposite Gilbert’s desk. He wasn’t dressed for work, Gilbert mused, in his fancy waistcoat and embroidered braces which he had both his thumbs through; he was obviously off racing or to some gaming party.

  ‘Ah, Rayner. I hadn’t realized that you came in to the office so late. Had a late night, eh?’ He nudged Gilbert with his elbow as he stood up to greet him. ‘Making the most of bachelorhood before it’s too late!’

  ‘You forget, Craddock, that my father is very ill.’ Gilbert was abrupt. ‘There are other things to be seen to. I don’t sit at my desk all day long.’

  ‘Quite. Quite. I do understand. I remember when my father died what a lot of organizing there was to do.’

  And what a lot of money there was to be spent, Gilbert reflected grimly, and from what I hear, most of it has been.

  ‘Anyway, old chap. I know that I said I would wait a while longer for what you owed me, but the fact is, I’m in a bit of a hole. I need some ready money pretty quickly if I’m to survive; so I was wondering – could you let me have a little on account, say fifty pounds?’ He fixed his gaze on Gilbert. ‘You know I wouldn’t press you unless it was really necessary, but I do need it straight away. Say in an hour.’

  Gilbert sat down at his desk and hoped that the dismay he felt didn’t show in his expression as he returned his stare. He owed him two hundred pounds. I must have been mad, gambling with a man like him. What on earth possessed me?

  ‘Come back then,’ he said unblinkingly, ‘in an hour. I’ll have it for you then.’

  Craddock looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. ‘Well, there we are then. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ He picked up his shiny top hat. ‘Everything going well with the wedding plans? Little lady getting excited? I’m really looking forward to it, as is my, er, friend.’

  Gilbert felt a fleeting stab of panic. Who was the blighter bringing with him? Too late now to lay down any stipulation. The invitation had been sent. ‘I’ll see you in an hour.’ He rose from his seat. ‘The money will be waiting.’

  He sank down again as Craddock left, and put his chin in his hands. Where am I going to get the money from? He stared down at the desk and the two envelopes which contained the authority from his father. I should have asked Father for a loan. He would have given me one. But I don’t want to upset him.

  He shuddered as the remark which Collins at the bank had made, about it being easier if his father had died, came back to him. And shuddered again at the realization that he, too, would have been far richer had his father not recovered. What sort of man am I to even think of such things? Contemptuous. Worse even than Craddock. No. I would rather be in this fix and have Father alive and well, than have his wealth and him gone from us. But what can I do?

  He knew what he could do. He was merely putting up a fight with his conscience that he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t draw money from the firm’s account to pay his debts. As he pondered, he thought of James and the money he was to send him from his father’s personal account. Fifty pounds, his father had at first stipulated, and then reconsidered. ‘Make it a hundred, Gilbert.’ He’d called Gilbert back as he was leaving. ‘London is more expensive than here, and he’ll need to buy materials for his work.’

  Fifty pounds would probably be as much as James will need, he persuaded himself. I could borrow the other fifty and then give it back when I receive my salary. It won’t be for long.

  He started up from his desk. An hour. That was all the time he had. He gathered up the envelopes and rushed downstairs.

  ‘Billy!’ he called. ‘Hold the fort, will you? Tell Hardwick I’ll see him when I get back. I’m just going to the bank.’

  Billy was curious about young Jenny and the band of children. He’d noticed them several times since the last encounter by the Holy Trinity Church and thought it odd that he hadn’t seen them previously. They’ve been here all the time, he thought, yet I wasn’t aware of them.

  So after supper one evening, he slipped out of his lodgings and walked briskly across towards the old church and the area where Jenny had said they lived. There was a smell of wood smoke, almost like autumn at home, he thought, and not at all like early summer; but there was also a strong smell of soot still lingering from the bur
nt-out warehouse. None of the children were about, just an occasional figure wending his way home, and a few stray dogs sniffing in the gutters. He sat on the churchyard wall and pondered why he had come. Nothing to do with me how others choose to live, but it seems wrong, somehow; and do these children actually have a choice?

  The moon slid out from behind a cloud and shone its bright light through the open roof of the warehouse, illuminating the glassless broken windows with lustrous silver curtains. For a moment he forgot the children as he watched the scene, as if waiting for a theatre performance to begin, then suddenly he became aware of a movement, shadows merely, as one by one children appeared, it seemed, like rats from a hole in the ground.

  He kept perfectly still; he didn’t know if they had seen him, but a moment later knew that they had, as Jenny and the boy she called Tim appeared at his side.

  ‘Hello, Mr Rayner.’ She grinned at him. ‘What’s tha doing here?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’ The moonlight cast a glow on her, making her hair silver and casting a shadow on her thin cheeks.

  ‘Not much we don’t know about round here,’ she said. ‘But I saw thee one day and followed thee down ’High Street.’

  ‘Ah! But why did you do that?’

  ‘I wanted to see them fine hosses again, just to stroke ’em,’ she nodded.