by Valerie Wood
What would he tell Maria if he didn’t find the boy, if press gangs had him, or if he’d fallen in the river skylarking about? Worries beset Will and gnawed at his mind. I can’t go home without him, and that’s that, even if I have to stay here for a twelve month! he told himself. I’ll skin him alive when I do find him! If I find him!
His search took him deeper into the alleyways by the Old Harbour and he wandered in and out calling Tom’s name, his voice bouncing eerily off the walls and his crutch tapping against the cobbles.
A woman stopped him. Her clothes were the worn and shapeless cast-offs of a woman of a different kind, but she had made an effort to be fashionable, with her hair dressed high and her white cheeks rouged.
‘Is tha looking for somebody special, dearie, or will I do?’ Her few yellow teeth gaped into a smile and she lifted her torn skirt invitingly.
Will smiled back at her and winked. ‘Not this time, love. I’m looking for my lad, he’s gone missing. If tha should see one wandering about, ask him if he’s Tom Foster, wilt tha? And if he is, send him round to Rob Hardwick’s.’
‘Aye, I will. Though I can’t ask all ’young lads that pass by here. It would tek all night for one thing, and ruin my reputation for another. I don’t mek a habit of accosting young ’uns!’
Will felt deep into his breeches pocket. There was just one coin left. ‘Here, take this, it’s all I’ve got but I’d be grateful if tha’d keep a look out.’
She hesitated for a moment as she looked at the coin in his hand, then waved it away. ‘I don’t want tha money. Not unless I’ve earned it.’ She smiled again and drew nearer. ‘Tha wouldn’t be disappointed!’
Will shook his head. ‘I’ve got a good wife at home, and besides I must look for my lad.’
She smiled wistfully. ‘Then tha’s both lucky, for there’s others with good women at home who still come searching for such as me.’
He blew her a kiss as consolation and turned away.
‘Wait on.’ She called him back. ‘What does he look like, this lad of yourn?’
Will described him. ‘And his hair is black and curly.’
‘Well, it might be nowt, but there was a young lad this morning, making a devil of a row. Woke me up he did, and when I looked out—’ she pointed to a window above her. ‘There was this fella pulling a young lad along by his ear. I didn’t think owt about it at ’time of course. But he was kicking and shouting at ’chap who had hold of him.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose it was your lad. ’Chap with him was dark as well.’
‘Where did they go?’
She shrugged, ‘I didn’t watch, I wanted to get back to bed. But they were heading down towards ’George.’
He hurried back down the High Street, even though he and Rob had already covered this ground. He looked up at the Mastersons’ house as he passed and saw by the lamp in the uncurtained windows that the room was bare but for packing cases stacked against the walls ready for removal.
Mastersons are nearly ready for off, he thought. I’ll have to look sharp over this business, I shall be needed out at Garston Hall.
He came to the entrance of the George inn yard and hesitated under the shadow of the pillars, wondering whether to cut through and look in the adjoining inn. Someone in there might have seen Tom. He looked across the old courtyard, at the closed stable doors ranging it with the galleried hay lofts above, and was about to move across when he heard the sound of a door opening and closing quietly above his head and footsteps coming down the wooden stairs into the yard.
There was something familiar about the shape of the man who came down the steps. He was plainly unfamiliar with the area for he felt his way cautiously and then, misjudging the last two steps, slipped, cursing. Will watched him as he made his way across the courtyard to the inn. As he opened the door the beam of lamplight highlighted his shape and bearing and, though his face was turned away, Will was in no doubt about his identity.
Cautiously he climbed the stairs to the upper storey, pulling himself up by the stair rail. He listened at one door and quietly opened it. It was pitch black and smelt of damp hay. He called softly. ‘Tom? Tom?’ There was no sound apart from the scurryings of rats. Quietly he closed the door again and moved along the gallery to the next. As he opened it there was a sudden crash on the floor which startled him.
‘Who’s there? Tom is, that thee?’
A muffled shout and banging came in answer and though Will had no light, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw across the straw-strewn floor a writhing bundle. He dropped down on to the floor, as the beams were low, and scrabbled his way through the bales of hay and straw. There, trussed up like a chicken, was Tom, his hands and feet tied and a filthy rag knotted around his mouth.
He started to gabble incoherently as his father released him.
‘He was going to sell me to ’press gang, Fayther. He said as it was to get even. That tha owed him summat.’
‘All right, all right, quietly, son. Tha’s safe now. Don’t worry.’
He released the ties and gently rubbed Tom’s ankles and wrists where the twine had cut into him. ‘Can tha manage to get down ’steps, or is tha too stiff?’
Tom rose painfully to his feet but his knees buckled beneath him.
‘I’ve been tied up nearly all day, I can’t feel my legs.’ His voice was hoarse and cracked.
‘Never mind, put thy hands round my neck and climb on to my back. I’ll carry thee down.’
Will put both hands on the stair rail and carefully swung himself one step at a time down the stairs.
‘Now sit here in this corner for a bit and keep rubbing thy hands and feet. Stay there till I get back. I’ll not be more than a few minutes.’
Reassuring the boy, he turned back towards the inn. It was hot and stuffy inside with a strong smell of whale oil burning in the lamps. The room was filled to capacity and there was a loud buzz of talk. A woman was singing boisterously as she moved in and out of the tables, filling up the ale tankards generously from a large earthenware jug, the brown liquid brimming over and slopping on to the tables.
Will raised his voice and banged with his crutch on the floor. ‘Wilt tha listen.’
There was a sudden silence as the crowd turned towards him, then a woman laughed hysterically and made a ribald remark. General laughter broke out, drowning his voice. He reached out towards a table and took a glass from the nearest drinker and holding it high above his head he smashed it down on to the floor.
Its owner got up from the table, his hands clenched.
‘My fight’s not with thee, my friend.’ Will held him off, his hand open to pacify him. He raised his voice to the now silent throng who had turned towards him, their eyes wary and their bodies tense, preparing for a fight.
‘There’s a man among thee, if I can call him a man, who fights with childre’. Somebody who has a grudge against me, and who instead of fighting fair and square, chooses to take my lad, who’s no more than eight years old, and ties him up in a rat-infested hole, ready to sell to ’press gang!’
The crowd’s voice erupted. They had no love for the pressmen or those in their pay. ‘Point him out, man, we’ll string him up for thee.’ ‘Cut his throat, that’s best thing for him.’
Will held up his hand. ‘I can fight my own battles.’ From the corner of his eyes he saw a figure slide down into his seat, pulling his hat further over his face. ‘I just want to let him know that I’ve marked him. That I know he’s here and I’m ready, whenever he is.’
Loud cheering broke out at this and the man who had lost his drink came over to Will. ‘Just give us his name and we’ll find him for thee. We want no navy agents here.’
Will refused. ‘It’s my fight, nobody touches my family without answering to me.’
A woman stood up and shouted across the room, ‘We should do summat. ’Press men took my lad. He were just a bairn – nine year old, barely off ’breast when they took him.’ Tears streamed down her worn face. ‘I�
�ve nivver seen him since.’ She sat down at a table, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed and hiccupped drunkenly.
There were mutterings and then another woman got up. ‘She’s right, what are we waiting here for? My man got took and he was in good work at ’Yards, but that didn’t stop ’em.’ Her voice was loud and angry. ‘Let’s go and find ’em. Show ’em we mean business.’
There was a roar from the men in the crowd as the women and the alcohol incited them to action, and as Will made his way to the door he heard the anxious voice of the landlord imploring the crowd not to be hasty, but to stay and enjoy the fine ale.
‘Come on, Tom, let’s be off. I reckon we’ve stirred up a bit of trouble between us.’
There was no answer from Tom. He was curled up fast asleep in the corner where Will had left him. He woke him up and once more hitching him up on to his back he made his way towards Rob’s house, taking a longer route to avoid the Market Place and the hostile crowds who were streaming there out of the inns and dram shops to join the fierce demonstration against the press gangs, the navy, the price of bread and countless other grievances which they felt were persecuting them.
Rob had almost finished the limb. He had shaped and smoothed and planed, tapering the timber down slimly to where the ankle should be. From a separate piece of wood he had carved a foot, rounding the ball and heel, and at the top he had taken an auger and gouged a hole for the tapered leg to fit into.
‘Tha should have been a carpenter, Rob,’ said Will admiringly. ‘Tha might have been thine own master now.’
‘Aye, I should have, instead of following me da into whaling. But money was short as it always is, and I had to go where I was sent.’
Tom was leaning against his father swaying slightly, his eyes half closed with weariness. ‘Fayther, I wanted to tell thee – I wanted to tell thee about that man.’
Mrs Hardwick put her brawny arms around him and led him to the bed. ‘Tell us tomorrow, chuck.’ She pulled off his boots and tipped him in, dirt, straw and all, with the other children, where shivering he huddled up to the warmth of their bodies and was asleep in an instant.
‘And what’s ’name of this villain who steals childre’?’ she demanded as Will related how he had found Tom and the subsequent events at the inn.
‘Jack Crawford,’ Will replied absently. ‘He thinks I owe him, but it was all a misunderstanding.’ He avoided telling them of the connection with Francis Morton. ‘He’s a villain all right, no doubt about it, he’ll stop at nowt.’
Mrs Hardwick poured them both a tankard of ale, then wrapping a shawl around her shoulders said to her husband, ‘I’m just stepping out for a minute. I want to see what’s happening down at ’Market.’
‘Just watch thy step,’ Rob growled. ‘Don’t go poking thy nose in if there’s trouble there.’
‘Would I do that, Rob Hardwick? Tha knows me better than that!’
‘Aye, that’s just it, I do!’
The crush of the crowd was so thick in the Market Place that she could hardly get through, but had to skirt the edges, squeezing her large frame past the shop doorways and windows. Some of the shopkeepers were putting up their shutters, anxious to avoid the glass being broken if there was trouble, whilst others, keen to take advantage of the large crowd, were shouting out the excellence of their goods.
She saw two women of her acquaintance and beckoned them over. She spoke earnestly for a few minutes and then moved on to a different area, and the women did the same, going their separate ways.
Soon an angry murmur rippled through the crowd. ‘Sold a bairn to ’press gang.’ ‘His name’s Jack Crawford.’ ‘Call him Blackjack.’ ‘’Press gang murdered ’lad.’ ‘To hell with ’press men.’ ‘Down with ’navy.’
The clamour grew louder and fighting broke out, fruit and vegetable stalls were overturned and the produce trampled underfoot. Shouts and screams and breaking glass were heard and occupants of nearby dwellings opened their windows to complain and add their raised voices to the confusion. The clatter of hooves rattled over the cobbles as the military arrived, and further reinforcements were sent for from the citadel across the Old Harbour waterway.
As the rioting reached its zenith, two figures slipped away from opposite edges of the crowd. The woman, a smile twisting her lips, put her shawl round her head to protect her from the cold night air and hurried home. The man, with his head and shoulders hunched low, slithered stealthily down the back streets, cutting through the quieter parts of the town, and headed northwards up the country roads towards Beverley. The silence of the country was broken only by the mocking call of an owl and a creaking of rope on wood. He cast a glance upwards as he scurried on and shuddered as he saw the frame of the gallows silhouetted against the night sky.
Rob had finished the limb by the next morning and Will took it straight to the bootmaker who promised to start working on the leather right away. Must feel good to have influence like Mr Masterson, Will mused. Just ask and it’s done.
‘Come on then, Tom,’ he said on his return. ‘I’ll tek thee to see Annie’s lads like I said.’
They picked their way through the debris which remained from last night’s rioting. Broken glass from the shattered shop windows crunched beneath their feet, and scavenging dogs and drunken men searched amongst the mangled fruit and broken eggs for something wholesome.
Tom kept close to his father’s side, nervously looking back over his shoulder from time to time.
‘Don’t worry, lad. That villain will be well clear of ’town by this time. He’ll be keeping low for a bit now that his name’s known.’
Mrs Hardcastle had told them of the crowd chanting Jack Crawford’s name.
‘What a hero tha’ll be!’ Will tried to keep the subject lighthearted. ‘What a tale to tell to ’Reedbarrow lads, eh? Only – only try not to say too much to thy ma. Tha knows how she worries, and she’ll be near her time now – might even have had ’babby. How about that, Tom? A country bairn!’
‘I’m stopping in ’country,’ said Tom determinedly. ‘I’m not likely to get taken there!’
As they walked down the corridor of the Seamen’s Hospital, two rows of children marched towards them, girls at one side and boys at the other. The girls were wearing sacking aprons over their grey dresses and their hair was tucked under crisp white bonnets. The boys were dressed in grey jackets and breeches. They all wore shiny black boots and they all carried scrubbing brushes, every other one carrying a metal pail. Bringing up the rear of the platoon was a large, formidable woman, who on drawing abreast of Will and Tom, called out in stentorian tones, ‘Boys to ’left, girls to ’right,’ and with not one ill-matched step they streamed off obediently.
She looked impassively at Will and then down at Tom. ‘We only tek childre’ of maimed or drowned seamen. And tha has to go before ’committee.’
‘No, no. We’ve not come for us. We’ve come to see ’Swinburn lads. I came yesterday.’ He was interrupted by the woman, who swung around, ordering them to follow her. She took them into a small office where she sat down behind a huge desk and surveyed them. She was obviously somewhat perplexed.
‘Is tha a relation of ’Swinburn lads or what?’
Will shook his head. ‘No, we’re friends, that’s all, though we’re guardians of ’eldest girl till Mrs Swinburn gets back.’
‘I’m matron of this institution and I need to pass on some news to Mrs Swinburn. Has tha any idea where she is?’
Will shook his head. ‘No. I don’t know where she is. We haven’t heard.’ He looked back at her earnestly. ‘She won’t abandon them, she’ll come back one of these days.’
‘That’ll be too late.’ She stared at them stonily. ‘Eldest lad is dead. ‘Died last night in his sleep. We have to make arrangements for the funeral.’
Will put his hand on Tom’s shoulder for he had felt the boy shudder as the woman brusquely gave them the news.
‘What about ’young ’un, Jimmy, is he all
right?’
‘No, he’s not, he’s gone mad. We’ve had to lock him up for his own safety. He said he wasn’t stopping here on his own.’ She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. ‘I know he’s had a shock, but there was no need for all them ’isterics, throwing things and that. He’s going to be trouble, that lad.’
‘Can we see him for a few minutes?’
She looked dubious, then relented. ‘Come with me then.’ She preceded them down a long corridor, then down two flights of stone steps which led to store rooms. She stopped outside a heavy wooden door and took out a set of keys. ‘Tha musn’t think that this is for punishment,’ she said. ‘It’s just so’s we know where he is and so’s he won’t run away. We’re responsible until somebody comes for him.’
Will looked through the barred opening at the top of the door and saw a white-faced Jimmy sitting forlornly on the edge of a bed, his head and shoulders hanging dispiritedly. He looked up at the sound of the woman’s voice, and though the matron may not have thought that he was being punished, Jimmy seemed to have different ideas, for no sooner was the door open than he propelled himself furiously towards her and attacked her stout person with small, flailing fists.
‘Hey, hey, that’s no way to behave.’ Will grabbed the impetuous child.
‘She locked me up.’ he shouted. ‘Said I couldn’t have no dinner. Don’t think I’m stopping here, ’cos I’m not.’ He glared at her and made a run for the door.
Will put out his arm to stop him, forcibly picked him up as he kicked and struggled, took him over to the bed and sat down.
‘Just be quiet for a minute, wilt tha, while I think on what’s best to be done?’
Jimmy sat silently, his temper ebbing away, leaving a pale, tear-stained, miserable child who plucked anxiously at his lower lip. He stared at Tom, who looked away and down at the stone floor, not knowing what to say to his friend. All the things he was going to tell him about the games he’d had by the sea with his new friends, now seemed trivial and unimportant.
Will looked at the small room, the high window, the iron bed, then back at Jimmy and finally his gaze rested on Tom, who stood silently staring at the floor.
