by Valerie Wood
‘I’ll tell thee summat,’ he said when he got his breath back. ‘That little lass o’ thine might see a bit of ’istory.’ He nodded his head sagely. ‘We’ll be part of it, even though we shan’t be here, ’leastways most of us won’t be.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Will perplexed. ‘Tha’s lost me, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s just it.’ The old man scratched his head absently. ‘Lost. We’ll all be lost.’
Will glanced at the other men. He thought the old fellow must be wandering in his head. But some of the others were muttering together in agreement, whilst the rest pondered silently over their tankards.
‘There’s nowt we can do about it. Leastways not in our lifetime.’ He rumbled on as if talking to himself. ‘It’s gone on right through ’istory and ’istory always repeats itself.’
Dick Reedbarrow caught Will’s eye. ‘He’s talking about destruction of ’cliffs. There’s more gone over this winter.’
‘Summat should be done about it,’ Ralph Graves broke in angrily. ‘Parli’ment should do summat. They should build a wall like we’ve tried to do.’
‘Nay, man,’ interrupted another. ‘It’d cost ’undreds, and we’re not that important.’
Nathan Crabtree smiled a toothless smile. ‘I’ve tell’d thee afore and I’ll tell thee again, it’s part of ’istory, same as all them other towns that was lost. Monkston will go ’same way – in time.’
He wagged a finger at the assembly but spoke specifically to Will. ‘What folk don’t realize, is that out ’ere, time is measured in centuries. Them cliffs have bin eaten away bit by bit for as long as man can remember. Life still goes on unchanged, bairns get born and ’awd folks dee and other things go on in between, and I’m not saying that thy little lass won’t grow up and have her own babbies here; but sooner or later we shall have to move back or be consumed, and our old bones’ll be crushed and washed away along wi’ all ’others.’
There was silence as he finished speaking and he put his head back and closed his eyes as if exhausted with the effort.
Ralph Graves surveyed Will churlishly. ‘Tha’ll be a bit of an expert, seeing as tha was a sea-going man. What would thee do to keep watter back?’
Will shook his head, for the man was plainly looking for a confrontation. ‘Tha can’t tame ’sea, never will in a million years. I’ve heard of ’lost towns of course, there isn’t a seaman who hasn’t. There’s some who’ll swear they’ve seen ’top of a steeple at low tide, or heard ’sound of a church bell through ’waves. And I wouldn’t disbelieve it.’
Old Nathan nodded in agreement, his eyes still closed. ‘That’s reet, that’s reet.’
‘But as for keeping it back,’ Will added earnestly, ‘from Bridlington Bay right down ’coast, ’cliffs are breaking up, and some say ’land is drifting down as far as Spurn and building up ’peninsula. But it’s like Mr Crabtree here says.’ He was careful not to breach the bounds of etiquette by calling the old man by his first name until invited. ‘Monkston probably will go ’same way, along with Old Ol’boro, Hartburn and Ravenser and all ’others, for there’s no science on this earth that’ll stop it.’
Nathan Crabtree started to hum under his breath and then to sing in a cracked, hoarse voice. Some of the men grinned and withdrew back to the places where they had been sitting previously. The discussion was over, but Will sat on and listened. The tune was unrecognizable and the old man had forgotten most of the words, yet here and there he caught the thread and was aware of an intangible shadow hovering within his consciousness as the old man sang.
Where life and beauty
Dwelt long ago,
The oozy rushes
And seaweed grow
And no-one sees
And no-one hears
And none remembers
The far off years.
14
‘Oh what a treat! It will be nice to see John. He will do me so much good. I declare, I feel better already just anticipating his visit.’
Isobel smiled warmly at Isaac when he gave her news of John’s arrival the next weekend. ‘I have missed him terribly. Just one brief visit since we came here, I did expect that he would have been over more frequently.’
‘I really can’t spare him so often, Isobel. He came when you were ill, and I have been giving him regular reports of your health and that of Lucy. Also the weather hasn’t been at all conducive to travelling.’
He shifted uncomfortably on the fragile chair in Isobel’s sitting-room. ‘Are you going to come downstairs now that you are feeling better? The doctor says that you are quite well enough.’
‘Perhaps I might, I have been thinking about it.’
In truth she was getting rather bored. Her health was improving gradually, and she was entertaining thoughts of inviting her local neighbours to visit, though she did not as yet feel strong enough to go out visiting them. Invitations and cards had been left, but sadly she had had to decline for the present.
‘When John comes at the weekend, I want to show him all the improvements we have made already. We’ve planted out hawthorn to compact the growing area, though we’ve left some of the old woodland for shelter, and built new pens for the spring lambs. If he has a mind and the sea isn’t too rough, I thought we might go fishing.’
Isaac had bought a cobble, and he and Will had discovered a mutual interest. With rod and line they had spent several satisfying hours far out at sea. Master and servant, the expeditions reaffirmed what they already knew, that the elements rendered no distinction between men’s status, and in the battle to preserve their vulnerable lives they were equal. They were not so foolhardy as to flout danger, but they both responded to the elation of landing a fish while waves towered above them, threatening to capsize their wooden ark, and they treated the sea as an awesome and terrible friend.
Isobel’s mouth pouted childishly. ‘Don’t forget that I would like his company too, Isaac. And don’t for goodness sake bore him with all your farming gossip. Why, you’re worse with your talk of oats and the price of wheat and sheep than you ever were with your ships!’
‘Isobel!’ He rose from the chair impatiently. ‘Our ships keep us in comfort, you seem to forget that. We have property, servants, and the farming isn’t a whim, I’m not just playing at it! I intend to succeed. I intend to make this land efficient and profitable. I intend to co-operate with the local community so that they might have a share in the success of this venture.’ Indignantly he paced the floor and Isobel grew alarmed.
‘Very well, Isaac, do please calm yourself. You are making me feel quite faint.’ She reached for the smelling salts on her table and immediately he was contrite.
‘I’m sorry, my dear. Do please forgive me. I know how irritating you find business talk. But don’t you see, I’m sure that the people around here think that I am just amusing myself and don’t take me seriously, and I should hate to think that you felt the same.’
‘Why, Isaac, as if I should do that. I am perfectly aware how important it is to you, and you must not take any notice of these other people, whoever they are, their opinion is of no account whatsoever. Now, shall I ring for tea?’
Isaac had once explained to John that in order to have the respect of one’s work force, it was necessary, in his opinion, to show capability oneself, and with farming there are no instant results to show success or failure. He knew that there was antagonism towards unscrupulous rich merchants coming from town into the country. They bought up the scattered strips of land from the peasant farmers who could not afford to enclose them as the government decreed, and evicted them from their homes, leaving them destitute and without any means of gaining a livelihood.
Isaac intended to use local labour, though he knew that the larger land holdings would be easier to work with fewer men employed, and should in theory be far more efficient. Only time would tell whether this was correct but, being a considerate man, he was uncomfortable as he passed through the small village and felt the animosity of some o
f the men who lounged outside the doors of their cottages and who turned morosely to watch his carriage drive down the muddy road.
‘When you are feeling well, my dear, do you think that it might be a good idea if you paid a visit to the villagers? Get to know them, and let them get to know you? Let them see that you are interested in their welfare?’
She stared at him stupefied.
‘I think it would show that we mean well,’ he said, pacing the floor and trying to engender some enthusiasm. ‘That we do wish to belong.’
She gave a deep sigh. ‘I don’t think you realize, Isaac, that I am still in a weakened state and am quite likely to catch some dreadful disease that might be harboured in those houses.’
He raised his hands in protest. ‘Heaven forbid that I should suggest that you take tea with them! But to take them some comforts and pass the time of day would be charitable.’
She smiled sweetly at him. Yes, of course she would like to be considered charitable, to do good deeds. Just as long as it wasn’t too taxing on her energies. And, she mused thoughtfully, her circle of contemporaries would be more than impressed when they discovered that her new life as a gracious benefactor was filled with compassionate and bountiful acts of goodwill.
‘When I am up and about again, Isaac, I will do what I can.’
He sat silently as Susan brought in the tea and carefully poured it from the silver teapot. ‘Mrs Scryven’s just made them honey cakes, ma-am. She says she hopes that you’ll try them.’
Isobel nodded. ‘Will you ask Mrs Foster to come up. I need to speak to her about the arrangements for the weekend when Mr John will be here.’
Susan bobbed, a smile hovering about her lips, and left the room.
‘Pretty girl, that one. What eyes she has!’ Isaac sipped his tea. ‘I can’t see you keeping her for very long. Some young fellow will snap her up, mark my words.’
‘Isaac, really,’ she tutted. ‘Pray don’t mention it. I should hate to lose her, she’s such a comfort.’
Isaac bit into the soft, sticky texture of a honey cake and spoke with his mouth half full. ‘We’d find another maid soon enough, but we’d never find another cook like Mrs Scryven. What an angel, what delights she produces! She’s the one we must look after!’
‘Has Mr John arrived yet?’ Isobel stretched and yawned and inspected the breakfast tray which Susan had brought in response to the bell. Fresh bread, kidneys and newly laid eggs were there to tempt her jaded appetite, and a small vase of spring flowers, snowdrops and the slender stems and starlike yellow flowers of winter jasmine, were set upon the crisp white cloth.
‘Yes, ma-am. He got here about ten-o-clock.’ The girl drew back the curtains, letting in the sunlight. ‘It’s a grand morning, ma-am.’
‘Mm, so it is. I have decided to come downstairs today, so would you prepare my yellow morning dress, and we’ll use the front drawing-room so be quite sure that it is warm.’
‘Yes, ma-am. ’Fire is lit already. Mr Masterson said to tell you that they’d be back about eleven and will take breakfast then.’
Isobel ate sparingly, and then rose from her bed. She had slept well and felt refreshed. Some of her old sparkle seemed to be returning and she was looking forward to greeting John and hearing the news and gossip of Hull, for Isaac gave her none.
She stood in her night robe and surveyed the view. Snowdrops were appearing in scattered drifts across the lawn, and here and there in sheltered corners were splashes of gold from winter aconites. She leaned forward to look towards the round tower at the east end of the Hall as her gaze was caught by another shower of gold, which tumbled and cascaded over the grey stone. Winter jasmine delighted her eyes. It must be nearly spring, she thought, unaware that its beauty had been there to enchant all the winter had she only cared to look.
As she gazed she saw figures approaching from across the fields towards the pasture land, three people, one of which she knew to be Isaac, his stocky figure in his greatcoat and tall beaver hat instantly recognizable. The two others walking on either side of him she was unsure of. John, it must be John. Her face softened into a smile. He looked taller, broader, since she had last seen him.
She watched as Isaac and John turned to the other man, who swung his stick jauntily on to his shoulder, and John threw back his head and laughed as if at a joke. As they came nearer she narrowed her eyes in order to see if it was anyone she knew, but the face was unfamiliar, and she would surely have remembered the thick beard and mass of curly red hair, like a beacon atop his broad shoulders, made wider by the thick padded jacket he was wearing. A new friend of John’s perhaps, although somewhat older. How annoying of Isaac not to tell her; she did prefer to be prepared to receive extra guests.
She turned towards the door as Susan knocked and waited with hot water. ‘Has Mr John brought a guest, Susan? I have this moment seen him with someone.’
The girl joined her at the window, but the men had disappeared from sight behind the high hedge which sheltered the lawns from the open paddock.
‘Nobody told me, ma-am, but then they wouldn’t.’
Isobel raised her eyebrows at the veiled hint of sarcasm in her voice, though if Susan was expecting a response from her mistress, then she didn’t yet know her well enough.
‘I won’t wear my yellow after all,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I think I am still too pale. Get out my rose figured silk, it will give me a little colour. And then you can dress my hair. Do hurry up, girl, don’t just stand there, the morning is practically over.’
She came down the staircase slowly, her legs trembling a little at the unaccustomed exercise. Isaac heard her through the open door of the drawing-room and came hurrying out to her.
‘How delightful to see you downstairs at last, my dear. John, come here and greet your aunt.’
John, smiling, bent to kiss her hand, then gave her a warm embrace. He held her out at arms’ length in order to see her better. ‘How well you look, Aunt Isobel. Motherhood suits you very well. A turn or two around the garden once the weather is warmer, and you will soon have roses in your cheeks.’
She laughed merrily. ‘Come, John, you surely know me better than that. It is not yet the height of fashion to acquire the country girl look.’ She turned to Susan who was hovering behind her. ‘Tell Mrs Foster to bring us fresh tea and chocolate.’
‘Yes, ma-am.’ Susan slipped away, but not before looking into John’s eyes which had caught hers, and giving him a demure smile, the tip of her pink tongue showing between her white teeth.
‘So, John,’ said Isobel as she sat graciously in the chair which they had placed for her by the fire. ‘Where is your mysterious friend? Where are you hiding him?’ She moved the firescreen nearer. She had taken the trouble to wear a touch of powder to hide the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and brushed a little colour on her cheeks, and didn’t want the heat of the fire to redden and scorch her delicate skin.
‘Mysterious friend? I don’t understand.’ John gazed at her quizzically.
‘Come now,’ she laughed teasingly. ‘I saw you. Both of you. You didn’t think to tell me of an extra guest, Isaac?’ she added reprovingly, but with a smile in her voice.
The two men looked at each other and Isaac shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know who you mean, Isobel. There is no-one here but us.’
‘Well, I must have been dreaming,’ she said gaily. ‘I dreamed that I saw you and John with a giant of a man.’ She smiled girlishly. ‘With a mop of flaming red hair.’
Maria, who had knocked and quietly entered with a tray, hesitated, her breath held.
‘With red hair!’ John exclaimed impetuously. ‘The only red hair around here is that old sea dog Will Foster.’
Isaac threw him a warning glance, but it was too late. John had forgotten the circumstances in which Will’s presence was deemed to be undesirable.
Maria put down the tray and whispered, ‘Shall I pour, ma-am?’
Isobel, pale beneath her false colour, closed her ey
es momentarily and gestured negatively with her hand to dismiss her.
John glanced at Maria as she withdrew, her face as impassive with a slight flush to her cheeks as his aunt’s was pallid and confused.
‘You must have seen us with Foster, that was it, I expect?’ said Isaac dubiously. ‘We were just inspecting the land.’ He nodded several times as if replying to his own question. ‘That would be it. Just showing John what we’ve been doing,’ he finished feebly.
Isobel made no reply but deliberately attended to pouring the tea and chocolate as if that was the most important matter in hand and which required her full attention. That she was embarrassed and ashamed was known only to her, for to any observer the discussion was concluded and the mistress of the house was already turning the conversation with considerable dexterity on to other, safer subjects.
Her reason for being embarrassed was not so important to her, although she felt an angry stab of hurt pride that she hadn’t seen that Foster was only a common labouring man, that by his bearing she had mistaken him for a gentleman, although of course, she excused herself, as she smiled and attended agreeably to the conversation between Isaac and John, I did only see him from a distance.
Her shame, which she could admit to no-one and which she didn’t wish to acknowledge even to herself, stemmed from the morning as she had risen from her bed and looked out of the window and seen the freshness of the day. She had suddenly been aware that she was alive and recovered from childbirth, that her body though frail was whole, and the sight of a handsome man, virile and strong, reminded her in a way that no lady of her station would ever confess that she was, after all, a woman.
‘Mistress has gone to rest before supper, Maria.’ Susan had come into the nursery where she found Maria nursing Sarah, whilst a contented Lucy, fed and free of her bindings, kicked and cooed as Alice tickled her toes.
‘Take an hour’s rest, while tha can, Susan,’ said Maria. ‘We’ll happen be up late tonight as Mr John is here.’
