The Hungry Tide

by Valerie Wood

  Sarah attended to their wants, helping first of all Mrs Masterson, then Lucy out of their dresses and stays and into their bedgowns. She unpinned Mrs Masterson’s hairpiece which she thought must have been very hot and itchy to wear all day, and took down Lucy’s long hair and brushed it, then helped them both into bed. Finally she lit a candle at their bedsides and turned down the lamps and went along the corridor to her own small room.

  Mr John can’t surely be waiting, she thought, I’ve been such a long time, but she unhooked her cloak from behind the door and went downstairs. The inn was noisy; she could hear the raucous sound of men’s laughter and she hesitated about going through the main room to the front door, and instead slipped into the sitting-room where they had taken their meal.

  John was lying sprawled in his chair sound asleep. He had taken off his boots, and his stocking-clad feet were turned towards the cooling embers in the grate. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and she could see the curly hair of his chest beneath his collar bone.

  As she stood quietly looking at him, determining whether or not to wake him, he stirred in his sleep, a smile hovering about his mouth. Involuntarily she smiled back, a warmth stealing over her, and she thought how much younger he seemed when his defences were down, his air of self-assured confidence slipped away.

  Gently she touched his arm to waken him, but he merely sighed deeply and turned his head away. She bent over him and stroked his neck, the way she knew people did with babies, to waken them gently without fright, and he put up his hand to hers to stop the tickling. He opened his eyes wide and looked at her and she looked wonderingly back at him, her pulse throbbing in her throat, for he groaned softly and closed his eyes again.

  ‘Mr John!’ She squeezed his hand which still held hers. ‘Mr John, wake up. You must go to bed.’

  He opened his eyes again and gazed back at her. ‘Sarah?’ His voice was deep and throaty. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’ He looked down at the small hand held in his palm. ‘But I see that I wasn’t.’ He dropped her hand abruptly and turned away, putting his hands to his forehead. ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned softly. ‘What am I going to do?’

  Alarmed, she stood back from him. She started to tremble, a hammering began in her ears and spread through her body, her pulses raced, and she felt faint. She could hear the strange, yet familiar sound of powerful, rushing water, and it seemed as if the ground was going to give way beneath her.

  The room was becoming darker and she took hold of the back of his chair. Some force was dragging her down into unconsciousness but she fought back, gasping for breath and trying to keep possession of her senses.

  John abruptly jumped up as he became aware of her paleness and distress and caught her by her arms. ‘My dear, you are ill. Come, sit down.’ He sat her in his chair and poured a glass of wine from the bottle still on the table. He held the glass to her mouth whilst with trembling lips she sipped the sweet red wine.

  ‘You should be in bed. It’s been a long tiring day.’

  ‘Your walk?’ she questioned weakly.

  He knelt beside her. The colour was returning to her cheeks. ‘Could you manage a turn around the square? The air might be beneficial.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. I do usually take a short walk before bedtime.’

  The air was fresher after the rain, and mist was rising from the road, hovering in drifts about their knees. They laughed together as they looked down and saw that their feet had disappeared.

  ‘That’s better.’ John smiled at her. ‘You have been very solemn these last few days. Not as happy as I am used to seeing you. I was afraid that you were unwell or displeased over something?’

  She dared not admit that it was he who was making her ill at ease, that his presence made her nervous, but that his absence made her more so. She could not confess that she was irritable and unsettled when he was not there, and filled with a confused, incomplete happiness when he was.

  Instead she answered softly, ‘I feel as if I am adventuring into the unknown. As if all my own familiar people and places have abandoned me and set me adrift.’

  ‘But, Sarah!’ He took her arm. ‘We are here, Lucy, and my aunt. And you know that I—’ He stopped short, not knowing how or what else to say, and finished lamely, ‘I won’t let anyone be unkind to you.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed and they walked back towards the inn. ‘I’m just being silly.’ She laughed to cover her insecurity. ‘Don’t tek any notice, maister. Tha knaws I’m just a daft country lass.’

  He threw back his head and laughed with her. The landlord was in the hall as they went upstairs, and John turned to him as he saw the knowing look on his face and put him firmly in his place. ‘Will you be sure to send early tea to my cousins and my aunt in the morning, and bring me hot water at six. We shall be away straight after breakfast.’

  Sarah smiled at him gratefully as he left her at her door. He bent to kiss her hand and then impulsively he kissed her cheek. ‘Good night, cousin,’ he called, and noisily made his way to his own room.

  Mrs Masterson was snoring gently and Lucy was idly playing with the ribbons on her dress as they approached London. Sarah leaned towards the carriage window, looking out at the tidy new streets and parades of shops and houses which were being built on the edge of the city. As they clattered on the volume of traffic increased, and Lucy then sat up and took notice as grand carriages, barouches and chaises sped by and she tried to see the occupants.

  Presently they drove along wide thoroughfares with fine handsome houses, and John pointed out places of importance, and for Sarah’s sake singled out the green parks and gardens which he said were in the heart of the city.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should waken your mother, Lucy.’ As he spoke they drew alongside a wrought-iron fence which bordered a residential square and came to a halt at a high, guarded gate. At a word from Harris, the coachman, the man at the gate unfastened the lock and the carriage rolled slowly along the wide street.

  There was a green area set in the middle of the square and on the left as they approached were small neat dwellings of two and three storeys, with painted panelled doors leading straight on to the street. On the opposite side were much grander houses of five floors; and although in essence they were all similar, with their classical façades and tall windows, and four or five stone steps leading to the wide front doors, some were superior to others. It was at one of these that the carriage drew to a halt, and from whose door, as if by signal, a uniformed footman appeared to open the carriage door and help them descend.

  As they approached the steps to the elegant, columned portico, a smiling Miss Pardoe was there to greet them, a second footman and two housemaids in attendance. Mrs Masterson was enchanted with the house, which was fronted by fine, black, wrought-iron railings and was spacious and elegant within, with an outer hall and then an inner hall with central pillars, tall windows and sculptured busts and paintings adorning the white walls.

  Sarah was given a small room adjoining Lucy’s and to this she retired, after helping the maid to unpack Lucy’s and Mrs Masterson’s gowns, unfolding them carefully from their wrappings and shaking them free of creases. A perfume of lavender and mint had risen from them as she did so, and the young girl, who said her name was Rose, had wrinkled her nose in pleasure.

  ‘’Course, you come from the country, don’t ya?’ She had a nasal whine to her voice and Sarah smiled. It would be no use to adopt her native Yorkshire dialect here for the benefit of the servants, for she knew that they would not understand a word she uttered.

  ‘Yes, we do. We grow our own lavender and mint, and we place it around our clothes and bedding to keep away the moth.’

  ‘So do we,’ said Rose. ‘Only we buy ours down at the market. We don’t ’ave the bother of growing it ourselves. Can’t anyhow, ’cos we don’t ’ave a garden of our own.’

  Sarah’s room, which was behind Lucy’s, had a window overlooking the back of the house, and she
peered out into the dusk. The house had adjoining walls with its neighbours and these abutted around a small courtyard. From the dim light coming from the basement, which she assumed housed the kitchens, she thought she could see the shadow of ferns and plants growing down there.

  Perhaps that is a garden, she mused. There has to be a garden or some grass somewhere, or where do the ladies walk? Even Mrs Masterson, who was not over fond of fresh air, took a walk two or sometimes three times a week, if the weather was kind, around the lawns of Garston Hall.

  She had seen the green area in the middle of the square as the carriage had rolled up to the house, but in the bustle of their arrival, she had not had the chance to take proper notice of her surroundings, but saw only that the grass had an iron railing around it with a closed gate.

  ‘Excuse me, ma-am.’ Sarah dropped a curtsey as she knocked and entered Mrs Masterson’s room. Mrs Masterson was dressed and waiting for the supper bell. She looked very grand in her dark blue draped silk gown and transparent muslin sleeves. The maid had dressed her hair as she had requested, with feathers and small pearls attached to fine net to adorn it.

  ‘I wondered, ma-am, if it would be permissible to sup in my own room this evening?’ She felt desperately tired and in no mood to answer questions from curious servants in the kitchen. She also knew that she would be in the way, that the last thing the cook needed would be a stranger in her kitchen when they were busy preparing and serving food to the household and guests.

  ‘I’m sure that will be perfectly in order, Sarah. Unless of course you can make yourself useful.’ She gazed thoughtfully at her and then nodded her head carefully so as not to disturb her coiffure. ‘And then you may go to bed. Lucy and I won’t be needing you any more tonight, the maids seem to be very capable and will help us to bed. Just lay out my new green morning gown, for I understand we are to be at home to visitors tomorrow, and then you may retire.’

  Sarah closed the door quietly behind her. She felt superfluous. Lucy was dressed, and already giggling and laughing in Miss Pardoe’s cousins’ room as they waited to go down to the dining room. Her nervousness at being thought provincial was forgotten, for on being introduced to them she had seen at once that she was much prettier than they. She had conceded to Sarah confidentially that whilst the elder, Cassandra, had a certain dignified elegance, Blanche was really quite dumpy and plain, and she didn’t think at all that she would ever grow out of it.

  Sarah’s private opinion was that though Miss Blanche was no beauty, she seemed kind and had a nice smile, whilst Miss Cassandra had no warmth whatsoever, and no amount of elegance could compensate for her total lack of civility.

  She made her way down the winding back staircase towards the sounds and smells of the kitchen. Rising heat, the clattering of pans and loud voices alerted her as she reached the lower floor and she hesitated outside the door for a moment before taking a deep breath and firmly rapping with her knuckles. There was no cessation of sound, only the shriek of someone chastising an inferior for letting a pudding boil dry.

  She opened the door and looked in. The room was crowded with people. Maids in black with trim white aprons and caps, scurried hurriedly with trays of dishes which they handed to waiting footmen, whilst red-faced girls dressed in grey stirred pans over the huge smoking range, and ducked to avoid the slaps which the cook was handing out to all and sundry as she wrestled to get the food served to the ladies and gentlemen waiting upstairs.

  Sarah slipped unnoticed into the room and put on an apron which was hanging behind a door. She went towards the range and looked into a pan. The sauce in it was bubbling furiously, so she drew it away from the heat and took up a wooden spoon to stir it gently. The young girl at the side of her looked at her open-mouthed and then dipped an awkward hesitant curtsey.

  ‘You don’t need to dip to me.’ Sarah smiled at her. ‘I’m Sarah Foster, companion to Miss Masterson.’

  ‘We ’eard abaht you,’ said the girl, wiping a sweating brow with the back of her hand, ‘from Rose. She said you wasn’t at all stuffy, but neither was you common.’

  The cook came up and pushed the girl away, telling her to look sharp and drain the vegetables. She looked at Sarah curiously, then took the spoon away from her and examined the sauce. ‘Thank you, miss, I reckon you’ve saved it from burning. Them girls ’ave no idea in their ’eads. Full of sawdust, they are.’

  ‘I’m glad I could help,’ said Sarah. ‘I didn’t want to get in the way and only came down to ask if I might take my supper in my room? I’m very tired after our journey.’

  ‘Bless you, miss, ’course you can. I wouldn’t expect that you’d want to eat down ’ere in the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, but I would!’ Sarah was abashed. ‘I do at home. I mean – unless I eat with Miss Lucy.’ She blushed in confusion. ‘Things are different there – not quite so formal as in the city.’

  ‘I understand, miss.’ Cook nodded sympathetically as she viewed Sarah’s quandary. ‘I’ll get Rose to bring you a tray up, just as soon as the gentry ’ave been served.’

  It hadn’t been her intention to be waited on, she could have carried her own tray, but rather than complicate matters when she could see that Cook was anxious now for her to go, she thanked her and slipped out of the kitchen, only to hear her say to no-one in particular, ‘Poor young woman, doesn’t know where she belongs.’

  Sarah slept well in the narrow feather bed and rose as usual at first light. She washed and dressed and then looked in at Lucy who was sleeping soundly. Quietly she crept downstairs and into the kitchen, where she found the same young girl that she had spoken to last night kneeling on the floor feeding sticks and small pieces of coal into the range in an effort to relight it.

  ‘Cook’ll kill me for letting it out,’ she said when she saw Sarah. ‘I was supposed to mend it before I went to bed, only I forgot.’

  Sarah helped herself to a slice of bread and some cheese which she found in the cool pantry and poured a cup of milk. It was thin stuff compared with the thick creamy liquid from their own cows at home. Then she asked the girl if she could tell her how to get into the garden.

  ‘Do you mean the garden in the square?’ she answered in surprise. ‘’Cos that’s kept locked, and anyway we can’t go in it.’ Confusion showed on her sooty face. ‘Leastways, we can’t, but I don’t know about you, miss.’

  Sarah felt exasperated. ‘Well, what about the garden at the back, surely we can get out there?’

  The girl looked at her blankly. ‘If you mean the yard – yes, you can go out there. Through that door there.’

  Sarah opened the door which led her into a small dark hallway, and, fumbling, found another door which was locked and bolted. She turned the large iron key and slid the bolt and found herself in a small, confined courtyard which had indeed a few poor plants and wilting ferns. An ivy struggled up one of the walls to reach the light and in the middle was a palm tree. It seemed incongruous to Sarah for it to have a home in such surroundings, for although it looked as if the courtyard had once been a pleasant area in which to sit, judging by the wrought iron seat, stone urns and statuary which were there, it now had a neglected air, made worse by the old cooking pans, brushes and rubbish which had been thrown there.

  She opened a gate in the wall and looked down a long narrow passage leading out into the street. She decided to take the risk of getting lost and walked down it for a considerable way before taking a left turn which brought her round to the front of the street and opposite the enclosed garden.

  Cheerfully she ran across the road and looked through the railings at the grassy area. Small beds of roses were set at the side of a gravelled path which ran all the way round, and slender ash and London plane trees with their smoothly mottled trunks and black branches marched alternately between them. She was delighted to see that the trees were still in full leaf and had not yet started to fall, their cascading branches casting small pools of shade over the grass, and for the first time since she had left home
she felt herself relax. The birds were singing and plump pigeons were pecking at the gravel on the path making their comforting, croaking cry.

  She walked on until she came to the gate but saw to her dismay that not only was it closed but chained and padlocked, so that there was no hope at all of her getting in to walk there as she had intended. What kind of place is this, she thought angrily, when they lock up grass and trees, and she shook the gate until it rattled. She walked round to the other side of the garden, hoping to find another entrance, but there was only the one. As she continued around the perimeter, she looked across the square towards the Pardoes’ residence where she saw that a groom was standing, holding a glossy bay mare which John was preparing to mount.

  She ran across the road towards him, calling his name. ‘Mr John, Mr John, are you leaving already?’

  ‘Sarah, what are you doing out here so early?’ He ignored her question and looked down at her, a furrow wrinkling his brow. ‘How did you get out, the doors have only just been unlocked?’

  ‘I came out through the back, through the courtyard. I wanted to walk in the garden, only it’s locked, I can’t get in – Mr John, are you going home?’ Her voice broke as she tried to cover her dismay that he might be returning north.

  He dismissed the groom who was listening with interest to the young woman who had dashed across the road in a most unladylike manner, her red hair and skirts flying, to accost the gentleman visitor in such a familiar way.

  ‘I’m not leaving, Sarah. Not yet. Merely going out for a ride into the park.’ He saw the relief on her face and explained gently. ‘But I shall be leaving in about a week. I can’t stay as long as I would wish, I must get back to Hull. Mr Masterson can’t manage alone for any longer.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand. If you should go to Monkston, will you please tell them—’ She looked away.

  ‘Yes, what shall I tell them, Sarah?’ He wanted to sweep her up behind him and carry her off, away from this city of brick and stone, of statues and monuments. She looked so defenceless and vulnerable standing there in a fine London street, like a wild flower grown from a seed which had been dropped by a careless bird, and left to struggle for survival or wilt and die.