The Hungry Tide

by Valerie Wood

‘Yes,’ said Isobel faintly, ‘and find Mr Masterson immediately. Tell him he’s wanted at once!’

  * * *

  Isaac strode up the stairs two at a time, his breathing rapid. He’d been given a garbled message by his clerk to go home at once, and he had naturally assumed that Isobel had started labour, even though it was not yet her time. And now that fool of a doctor who he had bumped into outside the door had wittered incomprehensibly about somebody losing a leg and that she must rest and not be alarmed in any way.

  ‘Isobel, my dear. What has happened?’ he began.

  ‘Isaac – I won’t have it. I just will not have it.’

  Far from looking ill or in pain, Isobel was sitting up beneath the silk draped hangings of her bed, propped up amongst several white downy pillows, her cheeks a soft pink and her eyes sparkling.

  Isaac stopped, confused, at the end of the bed. He had seen that look in Isobel’s eyes before. It wasn’t fever that was making them sparkle but anger.

  ‘Won’t have it? What are you talking about, Isobel?’

  He came to her side and sat on the edge of the bed, ruffling the lace counterpane, and took her hand in his. ‘It will soon be over, my love, you’re not to worry about it. The doctor is an excellent man!’

  She snatched her hand away. ‘I’m not talking about the baby!’ Her voice was shrill and the tone of it left him in no doubt of her views on his mental capacity. ‘I’m talking about Will Foster! I will not have that man near me. Not under any circumstances. How could you think of it?’

  He looked at her in amazement. Did women in her condition have these strange turns? He had no way of knowing, but he tried to humour her.

  ‘Come now,’ he laughed weakly. ‘What have you against him? He’s a good honest worker, one of the best – and his wife—!’

  ‘I’ve met her,’ she shrieked at him. ‘But nobody thought to tell me that he was maimed!’ She started to sob. ‘You know how I hate that sort of thing!’

  ‘That sort of thing!’ he exploded. ‘Good God, woman, he almost lost his life trying to save John, and you say you can’t stand that sort of thing! How do you think he feels?’

  He got up and stormed across the room to bang the door, conscious that the servants could hear them.

  ‘Well, give him some money or something,’ she wailed. ‘I just don’t want him working for me!’

  ‘I will not give him money,’ he answered sharply. ‘A man like that has his pride. He wants to earn a living like anyone else, not accept charity.’

  They sat in silence for a while, Isaac trying to control his temper and Isobel stifling her sobs.

  ‘What will people think?’ she said at last. ‘We’ve got a wizened old woman for a housekeeper and a man with a terrible disability.’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention his loss of a leg and started to snivel again. ‘And none of the servants will come with us!’

  ‘People! I’m not bothered about what people think! I only know that I owe that man something, and this is how I can repay him, by giving him a fresh start. Goodness knows it’s little enough, being a farm labourer and general packhorse when he might have risen to being mate on one of my ships.’

  He sighed and took her hand again. ‘Try to understand, Isobel, that it isn’t ever easy for some people. They struggle all of their lives just to keep body and soul together, and then in the end they still haven’t anything to show for it. It is our duty, when we have so much, to try and ease their misery.’

  She looked at him coldly. ‘Then do as you please, Isaac. But do not expect me to accept him. He can stay if you think that you owe him a debt, but I repeat, I will not have him near me, and that is my final word on the matter.’ She slid down into the feather bed, drawing the fine linen sheets up to her chin. ‘And now if you don’t mind leaving me, I would like to rest.’

  Isaac marched out of the house and strode purposefully down the garden and into the yard at the back of the house. Already his men were moving equipment and goods from the staith side into the yard, ready for the time when they should move into the house. His irritation cooled as he gave instructions and once more became absorbed in the day-to-day continuance of his business, and it wasn’t until later in the day when John appeared with a query that he remembered the problem of Will Foster and Isobel’s antipathy towards him.

  ‘I wanted to have a word with you, John,’ he said. It seemed to Isaac that he was leaning more and more on his nephew, particularly when dealing with people. He appeared to have a natural flair for talking to and understanding them and their problems, which Isaac in his impatience was lacking.

  ‘How do you think Will Foster is managing out at Garston?’ he began hesitatingly.

  ‘It’s a little early to say yet, Uncle. They will only just be settling in. We haven’t had news yet from the agent.’

  ‘No – I was thinking more of how he would manage to get about, on his crutch, you know?’

  ‘Oh, he manages very well, he’s very agile and very strong, I wouldn’t think he has any trouble at all.’

  Isaac nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. Would you come inside for a moment, I must speak to you privately.’

  They moved indoors to the small back room overlooking the river which John had claimed for his own office, and sat down on the hard wooden chairs.

  ‘I’ve got a slight problem, John, and although I don’t like to ask you to deal with all the awkward matters, I think it would be less embarrassing in this instance if you will do so.’ He got up and looked out of the window to the busy river just feet below. ‘Isobel has an aversion, as you may be aware, of anything slightly less than normal.

  ‘Damn it all!’ He turned in exasperation to face his nephew. ‘He’s a perfectly capable fellow, but she says she won’t have him near her. Isobel, I mean,’ he said as he saw the perplexed look on John’s face, ‘and Will Foster. She doesn’t like the thought of his leg!’

  ‘You’re not thinking of bringing the Fosters back!’

  ‘No, no. I won’t go back on my word. But we have to think of something, otherwise I’ll never have a minute’s peace!’

  ‘There isn’t anything we can think of,’ John replied in exasperation. ‘And in any case he isn’t going to be anywhere near Aunt Isobel. He’ll be busy outside most of the time, and on the land.’ He was thoughtful for a moment. ‘So short of fixing him up with a wooden leg, I don’t see what’s to be done.’

  Isaac looked up. ‘That’s a good idea. They can do that for him at the Infirmary.’

  ‘But he can’t possibly afford it, sir. They haven’t any money at all, I know that for a fact.’

  ‘Never mind that. Isobel has spent so much money on fancy new furniture and suchlike for Garston Hall, that I think a few guineas more won’t send us out of business.’ Isaac breathed a great sigh of relief. ‘Go out and see him, will you, John, there’s a good fellow, and arrange to get him fixed up. Wait a minute.’ He pondered as John opened the door. ‘Boots, long ones – up to the knee. That’s what he needs. See to it, will you?

  ‘Oh, one more thing, the new furniture will be arriving at Garston Hall any time now, so you might tell them to be prepared. Perhaps you would stay on there for a few days just to organize things?’

  John was none too pleased as he left his uncle. He had organized his working days very efficiently he thought, and now because of his aunt’s absurd behaviour, he had to re-arrange them. But more than anything he was extremely uneasy at having to give a man the humiliating order that when the mistress of the house appeared he was to remain invisible and out of sight like some leper.

  John dismounted in the inn yard and called for ale and bread and cheese. The day was fine and he sat outside on the rough bench and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, though the breeze blew coolly.

  He gazed at the tranquillity of the landscape. The wheat had been cut and the meadows below him had been thrown open to cattle and sheep for common grazing.

  How peaceful it looks, he thought. Almost as
if life has passed it by. No sign of discontent or strife here, and yet just over the sea in France men of the land and in the cities were revolting against poverty and starvation, threatening both the new constitution and the old monarchy. Only last year, thousands of women had marched to the king in Versailles demanding bread for their starving families. Harvests had been disastrous and they had nothing more to lose. Since then there had been a great deal of blood shed and he understood that even the French king’s life was in danger.

  He stretched his legs and reflected that he could almost wish for some excitement himself. His blood had stirred when he read of the news coming from France, and yet he had been sickened by the tales of massacre. He wondered too, should he decide to go to see for himself what was happening there, where his loyalties would lie, for he had much sympathy with the starving masses.

  His uncle, perhaps realizing his restlessness, had drawn him more and more into the business, in particular with the kitting out of the whaler the Polar Star, which after a substantial refit would sail next March, and with the promise that he would sail with her.

  The landlord re-appeared holding a jug of ale. ‘Will tha tek a drop more, sir? Travelling is thirsty work.’

  John nodded, having just taken a mouthful of cheese.

  ‘Going very far, sir?’

  ‘Only as far as Monkston. Not so far now.’

  ‘Tha’ll be going to Garston Hall then?’ said the landlord, his tone becoming deferential. ‘Would Mrs Masterson be family by any chance, a sister or—?’

  ‘What is it to you.’ John’s tone was sharp. He didn’t care for the man’s fawning attitude.

  ‘Begging tha pardon, sir. I’m not meaning to be curious like, but I do have a reason for asking.’

  John relented. ‘My aunt. Mrs Masterson is my aunt. Now what is it you want, for I must be on my way?’

  ‘Have just a drop more, it’s my best.’ He poured more ale into the pewter tankard, ignoring John’s protests.

  ‘Fact is, sir – dost tha mind if I sit beside thee?’ He squeezed his fat frame on to the bench and John, wondering now how he could get away without seeming arrogant, moved along to make more room.

  ‘Fact is,’ the man repeated, ‘I wondered if maybe Mrs Masterson was wanting any more staff. I’ve a daughter who—’

  ‘I’ve really no notion of my aunt’s requirements.’

  ‘I’ve got four daughters at home,’ the landlord said gloomily, ‘and no wife to keep them in order. Two of them are spinsters and help me here at ’hostelry, and one is spoken for, but I want to place ’youngest if I can. Somewhere where I know she’ll learn to be useful and how to behave and all that.’

  He looked sideways at John, and then said confidentially, ‘Fact is, she wants to go and work in Hull, says it’s dull out here. All ’young folk are going, ’farmers are enclosing their land and don’t need so many workers.’

  John shifted uncomfortably. He knew that his uncle had struck a very favourable bargain when buying his estate. The village farmers could no longer afford to hedge and ditch their strip fields as Parliament decreed, and the richer landowners and merchants like Isaac Masterson who could afford it were buying up more and more land that had previously given a living to whole villages.

  ‘But your daughter wouldn’t have become a farmer surely!’

  ‘No, sir, but she would likely have married somebody with a bit of land and been set up. As it is, I’m afraid of her going to Hull. She’s a right bonny lass and I don’t want her to go wrong.’ He rose from the bench. ‘If tha has just a minute to spare, sir, I’ll fetch her for thee to look at.’

  John opened his mouth to object; he didn’t want to inspect the man’s daughter like some curiosity or prize heifer, but the landlord had already reached the inn door and had raised his voice to a bellow to whoever was inside.

  Promptly, as if she had been waiting for a signal, a young girl appeared, and John as he saw her, quite without thinking, rose to his feet.

  The landlord smiled in satisfaction. ‘This is my youngest daughter, sir. Susan’s her name. If I say so myself there isn’t a finer looking wench this side of ’country.’

  John guessed her age to be fifteen or sixteen years, but she was well rounded, and had he been older and wiser he would have realized her charms were displayed with skill. Rounded breasts rose gently above the low neckline of her dress and she placed her small brown hands against them discreetly, drawing his attention to them and her soft plump throat. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

  ‘Say how de do to ’gentleman, Susan. Show thy manners!’ The innkeeper gave his daughter a playful nudge.

  She ignored him and moved towards John and gave a small curtsey. ‘Good morning, sir.’ She looked at him coolly, no hint of subservience in her eyes as there was in her father’s, and then with a catch of amusement in her voice and as if rehearsed she said, parrot fashion, ‘It’s a fine morning for travel, I hope tha’s had a good journey.’

  John felt that she was amusing herself at his expense for he caught a sparkle in her eyes and, as she spoke she turned herself around slowly, her arms outspread as if about to dance.

  ‘Now then, Susan, behave thyself,’ admonished her father.

  ‘I’m only showing what’s on offer, Fayther,’ she answered, her eyes never leaving John’s face until quite suddenly he found himself flushing uncontrollably. The blood thundered in his ears until he felt his head would explode and he sat down suddenly.

  ‘I – er.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I will speak to my aunt and ask if there is likely to be a position available. I can’t guarantee anything, of course, as I think arrangements have been made. But I will ask,’ he repeated weakly, as the girl continued to gaze at him.

  She bent towards him, leaning on the table so that he was aware of the soft rise and fall of her breasts as she spoke in a husky whisper.

  ‘I would be very grateful.’ Her eyes, almost violet in colour, held his, then she lowered her lashes demurely and he saw the contours of her cheekbones and the small pink lobes of her ears.

  As he rode away down the hill he twisted round in the saddle to look back. They were still there, silhouetted against the skyline, and the innkeeper raised an arm in farewell. The girl simply stood at her father’s side and made no response until, as John turned away, she turned back into the inn yard and in response to her father’s grin, started to spin, round and round the yard, faster and faster, her arms held wide, her skirts and petticoats flying high above her bare legs and her voice raised in laughter.

  ‘I’m sorry, Will.’

  ‘I can’t believe what tha’s saying. How can anybody say summat like that? I thought folk of thy class were supposed to be sensitive and kind!’

  Will threw down the scythe angrily and turned his back.

  John had found him down in the bottom field, clearing a patch of nettles and bramble where Mrs Scryven had said he would be. ‘Here, Mr John,’ she’d said, ‘take a drop of this with thee,’ and handed him a jug of sweet elderberry wine.

  Will’s reaction had been stronger than he’d expected as he told him that Mrs Masterson didn’t want him around the house or garden when she was about.

  ‘Why?’ he asked angrily. ‘Why did she have to say it? She’s not likely to see me anyway. I’m hardly going to be serving her tea in her bedchamber!’

  ‘She’s – well, she’s—’ John searched for the right phrase to justify his aunt’s behaviour. ‘It’s her condition!’ he said in desperation.

  Will grunted cynically. ‘We’ve already heard about that. I know women do change, but they become gentler – not nasty and mean.’

  ‘Oh, steady on!’ John felt that he had to protect his aunt’s honour, even though he was inclined to agree that she was being unreasonable. ‘Anyway, I haven’t told you everything. Sit down and let’s drink this excellent brew of Mrs Scryven’s, and maybe you’ll be in a better frame of mind.’

  ‘I’ve half a mind to pack this in and g
o back to Hull. Take my chance. At least I know what to expect from my own kind,’ Will said bitterly.

  ‘Your own kind as you call them couldn’t help you before, why should they now?’ John took a long draught from the jug. ‘Anyhow, you can’t go now, Maria’s near her time.’

  Will took the jug from him and took a swig. ‘Well, seeing as tha’s such an expert on these matters! Go on then, let’s hear what tha has to say.’

  John lay back on the grass his arms behind his head. He could understand Will’s anger, he would feel the same way himself, it was rather like undermining a man’s virility. He thought of his own as yet unproven manhood and gave a deep sigh as he thought again of the girl at the inn. Susan. Her name had been on his lips all afternoon, her face so constantly drifting in front of him that he felt that he only had to reach out and he would be able to touch her, to run his fingers through her golden curls and stroke the softness of her skin.

  As he’d turned round after seeing her standing at the top of the hill, he’d urged his horse on to a vigorous gallop, the pounding of the hooves matching the rhythm of his pulse. He’d given a joyful yell at the top of his voice which startled both the horse and a brace of pheasants who rose from beneath a hedge in heavy, cacophonous flight, and which in turn startled him, almost unseating him.

  ‘Well, are we going to sit here all night?’

  ‘What! Oh, sorry. I was miles away.’

  ‘Thinking about a lass, I bet!’

  ‘As a matter of fact – yes, I was. Do you think it possible to fall in love at a first meeting, Will?’

  ‘Aye, I do. But tha’s better not saying owt about it till tha’s sure. Lasses have a way of trying to arrange things and tha’ll find thyself wed before tha knows what’s happening.’

  ‘Wed! I’m not thinking of getting wed!’ He sat up with a start and thought with amusement of the reaction he would receive from his aunt should he suggest marrying the innkeeper’s comely daughter. Isobel had produced a parade of suitable young ladies from amongst their élite circle of friends, and was forever suggesting that he should entertain more, but from the bevy he had met, not one had set his senses on fire in the way that Susan had.