by Valerie Wood
He grinned. She was a spirited creature, sharp-tongued and mutinous. She wouldn’t have given up her belongings without a fight, even if he hadn’t come along.
‘I’ll go back to my doorway, then. G’night.’
‘’Night, mister.’ She shrank back into her corner. ‘And thank ye kindly.’
‘Any time,’ he said, as he walked away. ‘Tha’s welcome.’
As morning broke, he peered out from his doorway; a shower of rain pattered onto the river, but it wasn’t so cold. He looked towards the girl’s doorway and saw that she was looking towards his.
‘’Morning,’ he called. ‘Time to move on. ’Watchman will be round to shift us afore long.’
She came towards him, dragging her bag with her. The rain dampened her hair, spinning a web of raindrops on it and teasing it into dark curls around her neck. ‘I was rude last night,’ she said. ‘I was so scared out of my wits that I didn’t thank ye properly.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t expect owt. I wasn’t looking for a reward. Will tha sit down a minute?’ He shuffled up in his doorway. ‘Then I’ll have to be off.’
‘Where are ye off to?’ She gazed at him curiously as she sat next to him, and he thought how pretty she was. Round face, big blue eyes and full petulant mouth.
‘I haven’t decided. I might go home to Yorkshire or I might book a ticket for Australia.’
‘That’s where I’m thinking of going too,’ she exclaimed. ‘But I’m feared of crossing alone,’ she added and gazed across the water. ‘But to be sure, it can’t be worse than staying alone here. I’ve had more doors shut in my face than I ever did in Dublin. They think the Irish are all tinkers or thieves.’
She told him that her name was Moira and that her parents were dead, her two brothers in Australia. ‘I came to look for work in England, but it’s as desperate here as in old Ireland, so I thought I’d go look for my brothers. I’ve just enough money for a ticket.’
‘Australia’s a big place,’ he smiled. ‘How will tha find them?’
‘Sure won’t everybody know them already? The fighting O’Connors, they’ll have left a trail. I’ll find them right enough.’
He found himself, for the first time ever, opening up from his usual taciturn self, and as the sky lightened into day, confided in her of the family he had left behind. ‘My da,’ he said, ‘he’s as strong as an ox, straight as a die and full of humour. Tom, my brother, he’s strong too, but more refined, more like a thoroughbred. And young George – why, George goes through life with a smile on his lips, he gambols through life like a, like a—’
‘A colt?’ she laughed.
‘Aye, that’s it,’ he nodded. ‘Like a young colt that’s not been broken in.’
‘And your sister? How would you describe her?’ She seemed eager to know, listening to his every word.
‘Betsy!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She’s headstrong and wilful and will only do what she wants. She can’t be tamed, can’t Betsy.’ He thought of their last confrontation. I only meant it for ’best, he brooded. Because I cared. ‘She’s pretty,’ he said. ‘Dark and pretty, rather like thee.’
‘It’s lucky ye are,’ she murmured, ‘to have a loving family. To have someone who cares about what happens to ye. I have no-one,’ she added. ‘If only I had.’
‘Your brothers?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘They left Ireland five years ago. Not a word from them since then. They might be dead for all I know; but that’s why I want to go – to find out for sure.’
‘I’m going for some breakfast,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Does tha want to come? It’s cheap and just ’round ’corner.’
He saw the hesitation on her face. ‘I can’t spend my ticket money,’ she said. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Come on,’ he persuaded. ‘I’ve enough to feed a sparrow like thee.’
Beneath his shirt in a cloth bag he had money for emergencies, but for some obscure reason he was willing to spend it on this unknown girl. A warmth crept through him in the act of giving, and as she smiled her thanks he felt a sudden sense of elation, of protectiveness and awakening gladness.
‘Shall I carry tha bag?’ She shook her head and clung to it and he smiled. ‘All right, then. Let’s go and sup, and then we’ll talk about finding tha brothers.’
* * *
They stood side by side as they waited in the queue of immigrants outside the shipping office. A young married couple stood near, about to spend their savings on a new life. Three brawny fellows with rough hands and eager eyes, bent on finding their fortunes in gold, were shuffling their feet impatiently as they waited their turn. An old widow going to join her son looked so frail as she clutched her bag of belongings that they doubted she would last the voyage.
Moira glanced up at Mark. ‘I’ve something to say before we book our passage, and I don’t want ye to take offence. But it has to be said. You’ve been more than generous to me and I swear to God that one day I’ll pay ye back.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘But, but I’m a good living girl and – and, well—’ She challenged him with a hint of nervousness. ‘Ye’ll not be tricking me and booking us as married people?’
‘We’ll be travelling steerage,’ he assured her. ‘We won’t have a choice. But come in front.’ He moved her in front of him. ‘Book thy ’ticket first and then tha’ll be sure.’
A smile lit up her face. ‘Ye have a funny way of talking, Mark Foster!’
‘It’s Holderness way,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s an ancient dialect as strong and forceful as ’folk who live there. No fancy words to hide ’meaning.’ His voice softened. ‘Not like ’Irish colleens who soften words wi’ charm.’
‘That sounded almost like a compliment,’ she gazed disarmingly at him. ‘But don’t be forgetting – we travel in friendship!’
The queue shuffled forward, four more people in front and then their turn.
‘I won’t forget,’ he said quietly, and put out his hand. She blinked and swallowed and he saw tears welling in her eyes as she put her hand into his and he closed his fingers over hers.
45
On Boxing Day, Tom rode over to Monkston with gifts for them all. The two families would normally have joined together at Garston Hall for Christmas luncheon, but this year his father said he wanted to stay at home, and so each family dined alone. And at both houses Betsy’s disappearance caused an air of gravity, though everyone did their best to be cheerful.
The snow was crisp on the ground and, although it wasn’t deep, the weather wasn’t conducive to being outdoors as the wind was biting, bringing tears to the eyes and reddening cheeks. Tom’s ears and nose tingled when he came inside, and he gratefully accepted a glass of hot toddy and a mince pie. He thanked them for the gifts of goose and ham and Christmas pudding, which the Rayners’ cook had prepared and sent over.
‘I’m really grateful,’ he said. ‘Jenny is very good, but she wouldn’t have known where to start with preparations. She said she had never seen so much food in her life, and then burst into tears as she remembered the friends she had left behind in the cellars.’
They were all silent for a moment and then Ellen said with a catch in her voice, ‘Yes, we must never forget how lucky we are.’ Then she added softly, ‘There’s still no news, Tom?’ When he bleakly shook his head, unable to speak, she whispered, ‘Then we must think the worst, my dear, for she would surely have been in touch at Christmas.’
Sammi rocked Adam on her knee; he had come to stay until Aunt Mildred came for him. Mrs Bishop had weaned him and he was thriving on cow’s milk from a bottle. ‘We mustn’t give up hope, Mama.’ She, too, had a catch in her voice as she spoke. ‘We must renew our efforts to find her.’
Tom nodded. ‘I intend going into Hull again. I’ve asked at hotels and lodging houses, and in shops where she might be working.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Now I will go lower down the scale, for she must surely have little or no money.’
‘We must ask Billy again, a
lthough he says he keeps looking,’ William broke in. ‘But the town is full of seamen and navvies and immigrants coming in. It must be difficult for the authorities to know who belongs to the town and who doesn’t.’
‘Where is Billy?’ Tom asked, draining his glass. ‘Has he gone back already?’
‘He hasn’t been with us.’ Richard turned from the window where he had been observing the wintry landscape. ‘He stayed in Hull to set up soup kitchens for paupers.’ He pursed his lips. ‘The weather is going to get worse.’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist, Richard.’ Victoria was untying the parcel which Tom had brought.
‘Look at that sky,’ he insisted. ‘There’s more snow to come. It’s going to be a long winter.’
Tom had brought gloves for Aunt Ellen, cigars for Uncle William, warm scarves for Richard and Billy, ribbons for Victoria and a hair comb for Sammi.
They thanked him and then Sammi gave him their presents: a new pipe for Uncle Thomas, a striped flannel shirt for George, socks for Mark to be kept for him, and a sachet of handkerchiefs for Betsy.
‘I embroidered the initial,’ Victoria said quietly. ‘I know it should have been E, for Elizabeth, but we all know and love her as Betsy, so I put a B on instead.’
‘Thank you, Victoria.’ Tom gave her a sad smile. ‘She’ll like that, I know.’
He opened his present there and then, at Sammi’s insistence, rather than take it home. It was a silk cravat, made from the same green silk that Sammi’s dress for Gilbert’s wedding was made from.
‘I made it myself, Tom,’ she said with a virtuous smile and a keen gleam in her eyes. ‘You know how we ladies love to sew.’
He glanced up and said softly, ‘It’s beautiful, Sammi. Thank you.’ He bent to kiss her cheek and as she turned her head his lips brushed accidentally against hers. For a fleeting moment he closed his eyes and breathed in her nearness, and as he opened them he saw his aunt and uncle both gazing earnestly at him.
He straightened up. ‘I’d better get back,’ he murmured, ‘I’ve left George and Reedbarrow working.’
‘Wait a moment, Tom, I’ll get a wrap and walk down the drive with you.’
‘It’s so cold, Sammi,’ her mother interrupted.
‘A brisk walk, that’s all, Mama. I’ve been in all day.’
‘Would you like to come, Victoria?’ Tom asked. ‘This weather would put roses in your cheeks.’
‘Certainly not. Out of the question.’ Aunt Ellen smilingly reproved him. ‘She hasn’t got Sammi’s constitution.’
‘You can look after Adam, Victoria.’ Sammi gave the child to her sister. ‘It will be our last chance to spoil him.’
The wind whipped against her cloak and tore the hood from her hair as they stepped outside, and she took Tom’s arm, whilst he led his horse with his other hand.
‘You shouldn’t have come, Sammi!’ His voice was lost against the wind. ‘You’ll be blown away coming back.’
She put her head down to break the force and he drew her closer, putting his arm around her.
‘Go back,’ he urged. ‘It’s much worse than it was.’
‘Just to the end of the drive.’ She was breathless. ‘It’s so exhilarating after being indoors.’
‘I’ll have to hurry.’ Tom mounted his horse as they reached the lane. ‘We’ll have to shut down if the weather worsens.’
‘You’ll take care?’ she said anxiously. ‘You won’t go up into the cap?’
He reached down and patted her shoulder. ‘I might have to. Don’t worry,’ he assured. ‘I’ll be careful.’
‘I shall worry, Tom.’ She caught hold of his hand.
His face became set. ‘Don’t.’ He released his hand from her grasp. ‘I’m a miller, Sammi. Milling is what I do.’
She watched him as he trotted away, the sturdy mount covering the hard ground without effort. She waited for him to turn around but he didn’t, she only saw the squareness of his back set resolutely against her.
As she turned reluctantly back into the drive she glanced down the lane towards the sea and saw the heaving mass of grey water and the foaming white wave crests. She swung around again and walked towards it. The end of the lane was pitted and broken, the edge cracked and fissured. Someone had erected a crude wooden fence as a warning, and it leaned drunkenly, as the earth which held it sank precariously before its descent to the bottom of the cliff. Sammi peered cautiously over. The tide was high and breaking great spumes of white, foaming spray against the cliffs, its force dashing so high that she could feel moist droplets against her face.
‘Miss Rayner! Miss Sammi!’ A thin voice called to her through the gusts of wind and the roaring of the sea.
She turned, and the power of the squall rocked her. An old man was standing in the doorway of one of the cottages, holding on to the edge of the door so that it wasn’t torn from his grasp.
‘I thought you were moving to Tillington, Mr Geenwood? My father said that you were!’ She walked with difficulty towards him. ‘Isn’t it wild!’
‘Aye, it’s a bit of a blow.’ His leathery face turned towards the sea. ‘Yon fence will go ower afore ’day is out.’
‘I thought you were going to Tillington?’ she repeated.
‘Aye, everybody did. I reckoned on that I was going, till they got all packed up; my lad and his wife and bairns have gone.’ He cackled toothlessly at her. ‘And then I telled ’em I wasn’t shifting. This place’ll see me out. I reckon on eighteen months afore it goes ower and I doubt I’ll be here then.’ He considered thoughtfully for a minute and then chuckled. ‘I’ll be a grand ’un if I’m still here; I’ll be nigh on eighty and past me best.’
She smiled with him and added, ‘Well, be careful, won’t you? And if you are worried you must come up to the house and someone will take you to your son.’
‘It’s not me that’s to be careful, miss. That’s why I was calling thee. Tha was taking a chance leaning ower edge; but then, tha allus was a ’arum-scarum young body, if tha’11 pardon me saying.’
‘Why, whatever do you mean, Mr Greenwood?’ she laughed.
‘Why, Miss Sammi, tha allus did take a chance. Allus first to take a risk. I used to watch all ’bairns round here, even thee and thy brothers, and there was allus one who didn’t hang back.’ He pulled his cap further over his ears. ‘I used to say to my missus, that Miss Sammi, she’s not afraid to venture. She’ll allus take first step.’
She studied this sagacious old man. ‘Was I foolhardy, Mr Greenwood? Is that what you mean?’
‘Why bless thee no, miss, I didn’t mean that. Tha seemed to weigh up all pros and cons and then determine what must be done. Aye, tha can tell bairn’s character right from ’start. Resolute, that’s what tha was.’
She turned away and said good-bye. Then she turned back. ‘Thank you, Mr Greenwood. I’ll remember what you said.’
* * *
Betsy walked slowly back to her lodgings. She had arrived as usual at work only to be stopped at the gate by the foreman who told her that there was no more work for her.
‘Why not?’ Dismay engulfed her. She didn’t know where else she could look for employment. ‘Was there cause for complaint?’
‘No. But I can hire and fire as I please.’ Then he’d shaken his head. ‘But tha’s not cut out for this sort of work. Tha’s been used to summat better!’
‘I need the work,’ she’d pleaded with him.
‘Sorry.’ He’d turned away. ‘Anyway, it’s nowt to do with thee; I’m having to lay others off as well. We’re waiting on ’whalers coming in. If there’s no blubber, then there’s no work, and tha can’t have wages for sitting around all day.’
She was tired as she walked into the rubbish-strewn court; it was a long walk along the river to the Greenland Yards, and now she’d had to make the return journey, with the additional worry of no wages to pay the landlord.
She opened the door and stepped inside the dank and dark entrance and climbed the stairs to her room. Her d
oor was open and two strangers, a man and a woman were inside.
‘What are you doing in my room?’ It was a hovel, but it was the only place she could call home.
The man was lying on the bed. He raised his head as she came in but he didn’t get up. ‘It’s ours now,’ he said. ‘’Landlord said we could have it. He said as tha were owing him rent and would have to go. We’ve paid him two weeks up front.’
The woman was drinking from a bottle, the liquid was clear and Betsy guessed it was gin. She waved it towards her. ‘Does tha want a drop?’ she asked. ‘Tha looks a bit ropey.’
Betsy shook her head. Her mind was numb. What was she to do?
‘Tha can kip here with us for a day or two,’ the woman said generously, ‘till tha finds somewhere else. He won’t mind.’ She inclined her head to the man lying on the only bed. ‘Wilt tha?’
He looked across at Betsy. ‘She’ll tek up a bit of room, but no I shan’t mind, not for a night or two.’
Betsy shuddered. He was lying on the bed with his boots on. One of the toecaps was missing and a large blackened toe protruded. His hair was greasy and unwashed and his head lay on her pillow.
‘I couldn’t find owt that belonged to thee,’ the woman said, conversationally. ‘’Landlord said tha didn’t have much.’
‘No. He was right.’ Betsy turned towards the door. ‘Where can I go?’ She stared at them vacantly. ‘Who will take me in?’
The woman put down the bottle and putting her elbows on her widespread knees and her chin in her hands, scrutinized Betsy. ‘Is tha pregnant?’
Betsy denied it. ‘I’ve got dropsy.’
The man sniggered and nodded knowingly.
‘That’s a pity.’ The woman continued to gaze at her. ‘Tha could go to ’workhouse if tha was pregnant. No questions asked. But if tha’s onny sick I don’t know if they’ll take thee.’ She picked up the bottle again and, tipping it up, took a long drink. ‘If I were thee,’ she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ‘if I were thee, I’d be pregnant. At least tha’ll get a bed to lie on.’
Betsy trudged back towards the main streets of the town. The ground underfoot was slushy with wet snow which had thawed with the impact of tramping feet upon it. She passed the squalid court which she had accidentally wandered into all those weeks ago, before Charles Craddock had turned her out.
