by Valerie Wood
Will shrugged and bent awkwardly to pick up his crutch, keeping a wary eye on Crawford as he did so. ‘I said they’ve gone back – I took them.’
Crawford took a step forward. ‘Tha crazy fool. I told Frank Morton not to tek thee on, that tha wasn’t up to it.’ He shook his fist in Will’s face. ‘Don’t think that I’m taking risks for nowt. How do I know they’ve gone back? How do I know that it hasn’t been shared out between ’pair of thee?’
‘Tha doesn’t know. Tha just has to take my word for it. This is one time when tha has to trust somebody.’
Crawford fumed, his dark skin flushing, the veins standing out on his temples. ‘Frank Morton’ll answer for this. Don’t think this is ’end of it. He’ll not hide from me – I’ll find him, don’t worry about that!’
Will watched him as he blustered, his thick fingers clasping and unclasping impotently.
‘Tha hasn’t heard about Frank then?’
Jack Crawford looked blankly at Will, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
‘Tha didn’t hear all ’commotion down at ’South End?’ Will spoke slowly and deliberately.
‘I don’t know what tha’s talking about. If tha’s got summat to say, spit it out!’
Will gave a thin smile. ‘They’ve just pulled him out of ’river – with a knife in his guts.’
He waited a moment for the information to take effect. ‘I dare say ’constables are asking questions already, looking for somebody with a grudge!’
A muscle twitched in Jack Crawford’s cheek and he glanced up and down the alley.
‘It’s got nowt to do with me, I haven’t seen him.’
‘But tha’s been looking for him,’ said Will softly. ‘How many folk did tha ask? Who knows that tha had a reason for finding him?’
Crawford backed away, edging his way down the alley. ‘I said, it’s nowt to do with me, and it hasn’t!’
‘But nobody will believe thee, thy reputation will see to that. If I were in thy breeches,’ Will’s voice was persuasive, ‘I wouldn’t wait about till they came for me.’
Jack Crawford hesitated, then snarled, ‘If I hear so much as a whisper that tha’s been spreading rumour about me, Foster, then make no mistake I shall be after thy blood.’
‘Threats?’ said Will coldly. ‘And me just a poor cripple! Tha’d best be careful for fear somebody hears thee.’
With a final shake of his fist, Crawford turned his back and headed out of the alley towards the river, and when Will emerged a minute later he was gone, hidden by the mass of merchandise piled high in crates and barrels at the staith side.
Tom couldn’t contain his excitement as he saw his father driving the cart down the road towards the entry. He’d been chasing in and out for the last hour, anxiously looking for him to tell him the news about Francis, and his disappointment was keen when he discovered that he already knew and had even seen the body.
‘What did it look like? Did tha see ’blood? What was—?’
His father interrupted him sharply. ‘That’s enough, Tom. Don’t forget that it’s a man’s life tha’s talking about.’
‘Ma’s with Mrs Morton. She’s wailing and roaring.’
‘Who is?’ Will frowned.
‘Mrs Morton,’ answered Tom enthusiastically. ‘She says she’ll find out who did it, and have ’em strung up on ’gibbet.’
Will groaned. He should have expected that Mrs Morton would want to wreak vengeance on her son’s killer. Francis had been her favourite, the eldest son who in her eyes could do no wrong, and who kept her in comfort and small luxuries.
* * *
‘I’m sorry about thy trouble, Mrs Morton.’ He could hardly make himself heard above the hubbub of women and children who had crowded into the small, hot, upstairs room, out of curiosity or to give support to the grieving woman.
Mrs Morton took a deep breath and for a moment Will thought she was going to start wailing again, but instead she blew her nose vigorously on the end of her shawl and said, ‘Aye, it’s a bad day, Will, but I’ll get through it with the help of my friends. Thy Maria’s been a great support and it’s grand to know that she’s here to lean on.’
Will glanced across at Maria, as she sat gently rocking the Morton’s baby, a questioning look on his face. She shook her head slightly in answer to his unspoken question.
‘Aye, and I’m only sorry that we can’t stay. Maria won’t have had ’chance to tell thee that we’re moving on.’ He added firmly, ‘I’ve ’chance of a job, but we’ve got to go now. ’Cart’s here, Maria, we must get loaded up.’
Mrs Morton looked askance, first at Will and then at Maria, who whispered quietly, ‘I’m so sorry, we would have stayed if we could.’
Mrs Morton sniffed. ‘’Course if tha has to go, I expect I shall manage.’ She looked at Will for a moment and then said malevolently, ‘I heard thee and our Francis having a fight ’other night.’
There was a sudden hush as everyone in the room stopped their talking to listen.
‘Aye, we did have a scrap. He was bothering Maria and I threw him out. But that was ’end of it.’ He looked her in the eyes. ‘He’s crossed plenty of folk, has Francis, there’s a few who wanted him out of ’way – only I’m not one of them.’
The women in the room nodded their heads in agreement, and some tut-tutted sympathetically at the thought of Will, with his disability, having to protect his pregnant wife from the lecherous Francis.
‘I didn’t mean owt,’ Mrs Morton was quick to reply as she sensed she was losing her audience’s support. ‘I know he had some enemies, and I knew—’ she nodded her head significantly. ‘I knew when he didn’t come home ’other night, that summat was up. He’s stayed away before, but I’ve always known where to find him.’ She spat out her words maliciously. ‘Especially when he’s been with that whore, Annie Swinburn. Mark my words, she’s not blameless, she’ll know summat about this!’
Maria got up from the chair and handed the baby back to Mrs Morton. ‘Take ’bairn, Mrs Morton, he’ll be some comfort to thee. And don’t think badly of Annie. She’s had a hard life, but she’s not wicked.’
She put her arm around Lizzie who had been sitting pale and quiet in a corner with Alice on her knee. ‘There’s some folk who take a lot of knocks, and there’s no point in our adding to them.’
She turned to the women in the room as she prepared to leave. Some of them were her age, some older; most of them looked shabby and worn, but one or two others had the shrewd look of those who lived by their wits, as the Mortons did. All of them she had known the whole of her life.
‘I’m right sorry to leave thee,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever see any of thee again, but I’ll think on thee often.’
Some of the women came across to her then and kissed her on her cheek and hugged Alice and Lizzie, whilst Tom, in alarm that they might want to embrace him, slipped hastily down the stairs, followed as swiftly as he could by his father.
‘Anybody would think we were going off to ’North Pole, fuss they’re making in there,’ Will grumbled as he and Tom loaded up the cart. They had just one long bench and a table, two chairs, a few iron pans, plates and cups and a couple of blankets. The wooden bed which Will had made many years before they had to leave behind as it wouldn’t fit on the cart, but they took the feather bed and bolster which Maria and her mother had stuffed laboriously before she and Will were married.
‘It looks as if we are going there,’ said Tom as he tried to heave Will’s seaman’s bag on to the cart. It was the largest sack on the cart, for Will had always been well catered for with warm shirts and breeches, a thick jacket to keep out the arctic cold and heavy boots and shoes.
‘Aye, well, these might come in useful, ’east wind can be a bit sharp out on ’coast.’
He shouted through the door, ‘Come on, Maria, let’s be off.’ Will wanted to be at Monkston before nightfall, the nights were drawing in now that autumn had arrived, and the evenings were damp
and chill. The lamps had to be lit early and he had no desire to be unloading in the dark.
Maria emerged reluctantly from the house and took one last look back as she closed the door behind her.
‘My poor, sad Mary,’ said Will as he helped her into the cart. ‘We’re not going to ’end of world, lass, we’re less than twenty miles away.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Tha’ll be able to come back, see thy friends, go to ’market, or even—’ he added, trying to engender some enthusiasm – ‘come back for ’Fair.’
Maria choked back her tears. ‘It might just as well be ’end of world, as far as I’m concerned,’ she answered, trying to smile, her eyes wet and bright, ‘but tha doesn’t have to worry. I’m happy to come with thee, Will, and so are ’bairns. We’ll start a fresh life, and our babby will begin a brand new line of Foster country folk.’
They set out, a small cavalcade journeying to an unknown destination, Will and Maria riding in the cart with Alice between them, and Tom and Lizzie alternately running in front or lagging behind as they stopped to brag about their journey to the curious children who enquired.
‘They’ll be worn out before we’re halfway there,’ said Maria as she looked back and waved to them to hurry.
‘Wait, wait.’ Tom and Lizzie ran to catch up as they approached the river and North Bridge.
‘Get into ’back of ’cart for a minute,’ said Will, ‘and we’ll all travel out of town together.’
They scrambled in and the cart tipped precariously with the extra weight. The horse strained as Will shook the reins and they crossed the rickety old bridge. Tom, Lizzie, and Alice, who stood on her mother’s knee to see down into the water, all waved and shouted goodbye to anyone who was watching from the ships below.
The first few miles were long and arduous, especially for Tom and Lizzie, who after the initial excitement of setting out on what they thought would be a great adventure, became bored and weary and were increasingly admonished to look sharp or they would be left behind. Lizzie would then run breathlessly after them as if terrified of being abandoned, whilst Tom defiantly slowed down, dragging his boots through the pools of muddy water. They decided to stop to give the children a rest and to take a drink from a stream running just beyond the roadside.
‘It’s good fresh water in Holderness,’ said Will. ‘Mr Masterson told me – and plenty of it. That’s one thing we shan’t be short of.’
‘Perhaps we could sell it then,’ said Tom as he cupped his hand and drank the clear sparkling liquid greedily.
Will and Maria both laughed. ‘Tha’ll make a business man yet, Tom,’ said his father. ‘But tha’ll have to find summat else to sell apart from water.’
Lizzie took off her boots and tenderly rubbed her feet, then with a grimace dabbled them in the cold running water. Maria saw that she had two broken blisters, red and raw, one on each heel.
‘They’re not my boots,’ she said in an apologetic tone in answer to Maria’s questioning. ‘Somebody gave them to my ma. They were too small for her, but they’re too big for me.’
Maria threw the boots into the back of the cart. ‘We’ll keep them until tha’s grown a bit. Tha’s better off without them. Climb up into ’cart, and thee, Tom. Tha can both have a ride, and Alice and me will walk for a bit.’
Will looked at her anxiously. ‘Is tha sure that tha can manage?’
‘Aye, I can do with a walk after all that jolting. But don’t get too far ahead,’ she added hastily. ‘We don’t want to get lost.’
He laughed. ‘Tha’ll not get lost out here. Tha can practically see ’coast from here.’ And whilst he was exaggerating, Maria saw what he meant, for the road stretched forever onward over the hummocky plain of Holderness, and though it dipped and curved, so wide and flat was the landscape it could still be seen in the far distance as it twisted and snaked on towards the horizon.
‘When will we be there?’ Alice was plaintive as they trudged hand in hand, and her father, horse and cart and passengers were becoming blurred shapes in the distance.
‘Shh, be patient. Soon!’ Maria answered her daughter with a conviction that she didn’t feel.
At the top of a shallow incline they came to a hamlet of a few scattered timber-framed houses, an old church and an inn, and took a drink from the pump. There were no people around, just a stray dog who barked at them from the safety of one of the buildings. Then a woman came out of one of the houses and watched them curiously for a few minutes before disappearing again inside.
Maria looked down the hill. To their right grew a dense cover of trees, dark against the skyline, whilst below and as far as she could see, the harvested stubble of gathered wheat glowed the colour of warm sand in the afternoon light, the muddy road running between like a sluggish, meandering river. The sky had lightened after the rain, the breeze whipping up the mantle of grey into a froth of soft rolling clouds, sending them scudding rapidly inland towards the shelter of the Wolds and leaving behind a wide sky streaked with long shafts of white and gold from the hidden sunlight.
She was overawed by the immensity of the broad landscape, used as she was to the limiting vision and confines of town walls, and dismayed by the loneliness and isolation. As she paused, trying to find the determination to go on, she heard a sound behind them. A man was coming towards them leading a thin, scrawny-looking old horse. He had plainly come from out of one of the village buildings behind them, for he turned to speak in answer to the woman who had marked them previously, and who now stood in the middle of the road, her arms folded in front of her and calling out instructions to him.
He nodded to Maria, his head kept low so that he was looking at her from under his faded old hat. ‘Missus said to give thee this.’ He handed her a hunk of bread, crusty and warm.
Maria took it gratefully and turned to thank the woman, but she had gone again into the darkness of her doorway.
‘Would ’little lass tek a ride on owd hoss?’ His dialect was thick but he gestured Alice towards the horse so that there was no mistaking his meaning.
They made better progress as Alice sat contentedly on the horse’s back, munching on a piece of bread, and Maria, easier in her mind for the addition of company, however taciturn, strode out more briskly down the hill.
‘There’s Will!’ she exclaimed in relief as she saw the can coming back towards them.
‘I’ve dropped ’bairns off,’ he said. ‘I was getting worried about thee, tha took so long.’
He turned to the man with the horse. ‘I thank thee kindly. It’s right neighbourly of thee to help my wife.’
‘Don’t thee worry about that,’ the man replied. ‘We have to help each other out here, or we don’t get by.’
He looked at the bits of furniture in the back of the cart. ‘I reckon tha’s going to Monkston, to work at Garston Hall?’
Will and Maria looked at each other. News travelled fast, it seemed.
The man caught the look and smiled knowingly. ‘There’s nowt much happens around here that folk don’t get to know about. Trouble is,’ he went on, suddenly finding his tongue, ‘nowt much happens, so if somebody dies or has a babby,’ he looked significantly at Maria, ‘or flits and moves on, then ’news keeps ’women’s jaws moving for weeks.’
He helped Maria into the cart. ‘I’ll go with thee as far as Ol’bro’,’ he pointed up the road with his stick, ‘and give ’other childre a ride. Monkston’s not so far from there. Tha should be there afore nightfall.’
By degrees they finally arrived in the old village of Aldbrough, where their companion, who didn’t offer his name, or ask theirs, left them.
‘Keep going ’till tha gets to Tillington,’ he called as he moved off towards the inn. ‘Then go down ’road towards ’sea. It’s a bit rough and snaggy in places, but tha’ll get there alreet.’
They could see the square tower of the grey stone church of Tillington at the top of a hill as they approached from the winding road, a scattering of houses and barns surrounding it.
; Maria got out of the cart to stretch her legs and walked up towards the church. It looked to her very ancient, and here and there the crumbling stonework was supported by rocks and boulders. It had a trim, neat churchyard and the small number of graves reflected the size and population of the hamlet.
As she stood quietly reflecting and looking down at the earthy mounds, she became aware of a strange sensation creeping over her. An image of her dead mother came to mind; her mother who, it had been whispered, was ‘fey’, and could see what others could not. A muffled roaring filled her ears and her body seemed to be getting lighter. She felt a great wind buffeting and lifting her off her feet and with a sudden cry she bent double as if to protect her unborn child.
‘Maria – Maria! What is it? It’s not thy time, is it?’
From far off through a mist she could see Will’s anxious face and felt the support of his arms. She gave a sudden shudder and shook her head. ‘I’m all right,’ she answered weakly. ‘I just felt a bit strange, and I heard a roaring in my head. A ghost walking over my grave, that’s all.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Maria.’ Will’s voice was sharp. ‘Tha knows I don’t like it. It’s been too much for thee, travelling all this way. I should have sent thee on ’carrier’s waggon, it would have been more comfortable than in this old crate. Or if we could have afforded ’coach—!’
‘Well, we can’t, it’s not for ’likes of us. Let’s get on, I shall be all right now.’
They helped her back into the cart and Lizzie solicitously padded the blankets behind her so that she could rest more easily. They moved off on the last lap of their journey down the narrow track into the village of Monkston.
Garston Hall was set back from the village and approached by a long winding drive, and heavy iron entrance gates loomed large above them as they approached. The village meandered down a rutted road towards the sea and had, in some time past, enjoyed prosperity, judging by the number of thatched houses and farmsteads. It had an inn, and a fine church close to the sea, but some of the houses were now empty and derelict, their front doors swinging and creaking between the mud and chalk walls.
