by Valerie Wood
There were other country women waiting also for the ride into Hull and they looked at her curiously as she approached and nudged one another as they recognized her. She felt some antagonism towards her, but taking courage in both hands she smiled shyly and spoke to them.
‘Good morning to thee. I’ve not been to market before, could any of thee advise me on the best place to stand?’
They stared at her for a moment then one of the women said, ‘Try to get a place in ’middle of ’market, that’s where ’crowds go.’
Another butted in. ‘Aye, but tha has to be careful there or tha’ll lose all tha stuff just as soon as tha back is turned.’
Within a few minutes there was an earnest discussion and not a few dissensions on the desirability of certain areas where she should or should not go.
‘Stay by us, honey,’ said a large florid woman. ‘We’ll watch that nobody filches from thee. It’s not easy when tha’s not used to it, but tha’ll be all right with us.’ She peered into Sarah’s basket and, satisfied that there would be no competition with the contents of her own, she smiled encouragingly.
At the end of the day Sarah had an empty basket and a purse full of coins. She had sewn a hidden pocket beneath her skirt and she shook it just for the satisfaction of hearing the clinking sound. As she walked towards the Blue Bell inn to catch the cart home she stopped to look in Miss Ellie’s window. At this rate, she would be able to buy herself a new bonnet: Then she dismissed the fleeting thought as she remembered that she would no longer have any occasion to wear one.
On impulse she opened the door and the bell jingled. Miss Ellie appeared immediately, a frilled handkerchief in her hand. Her fixed smile faded as she saw the market girl standing there.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Ellie. You may not remember me, Sarah Foster?’
Miss Ellie wrinkled her brow. The well modulated voice was not in keeping with the plain dress and apron the girl wore. Then recognition came. ‘Of course, Mrs Masterson’s – er, companion, was it?’
‘Not any more. I work for myself now. I grow and sell flowers and herbs and make up potions for the sick.’
‘A herb woman? Indeed, and what can I do for you?’ Her voice was curious but mildly mocking.
‘Do you remember that the last time I came here, you gave me a silk rose? Well, I wondered if you would be willing to buy some real flowers? Not to decorate your hats but to display here in your salon, and perhaps some dried flowers which keep their perfume, and which would mask that awful smell outside.’
Miss Ellie opened her mouth in surprise and then laughed out loud. ‘You must be a mind reader, my dear!’ She put her hanky to her nose. ‘I have been nearly sick today with the smell of that boiling blubber. Wouldn’t you think that having been born and bred in this town, I’d be used to it by now? There’s no wonder that every one who can is moving out. Sit down, my dear, and tell me what you have to sell.’
Sarah was pleased with her day as she waved goodbye to her fellow travellers at the top of Aldbrough hill and set off down the road to Monkston. Her feet were aching after standing all the day but she felt a great sense of achievement. Miss Ellie had promised to buy a quantity of flowers once a week and also said she would take half a dozen posies of dried flowers to sell for her, on condition that if no-one bought them Sarah would take them back.
She had walked about a mile when she heard the sound of hooves and the rattle of a carriage coming up fast behind her. She moved to the side of the narrow road and looked back. It was the Mastersons’ carriage, bearing down fast towards her.
Harris lifted his whip in greeting as he approached and slightly tightened the reins as he anticipated the signal from inside to slow down and stop, but none came. Mrs Masterson and Lucy were either asleep or didn’t see Sarah close by the hedge, and as he looked back over his shoulder he saw her walking briskly, her head tossed back and her chin defiant.
* * *
John saw her quite by chance one morning as he cut through the Market Place towards the High Street. His attention was caught by a group of soldiers who were gathered around a stall, and as he saw them move laughingly away he saw that the object of their attention was Sarah. He stood for a moment watching her, absorbing every detail of her face as if he must etch it into his mind for ever. Her small chin and straight nose, the rounded curve of her cheek, the wispy spirals of red hair which had escaped from her plait.
Suddenly as if she had received a signal she looked up and saw him. She didn’t smile but her mouth worked for a moment as if she was about to say something and he thought he saw a sad appeal in her brown eyes.
He walked across to her and gave her a small formal bow, ‘Sarah.’
She inclined her head. ‘Good day, Mr John. Are you well?’
‘Quite well, thank you. And you? You look very well.’ He noted her slimness and thought that though it might be considered unfashionable in some quarters, it gave Sarah an elegance which was apparent in spite of her plain gown and apron. Her skin had a soft golden glow though there were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and he saw that the soft downy hair on her brown arms had been bleached white by the sun.
‘You’re beautiful, Sarah.’ He uttered the words softly. ‘How am I going to exist without you?’
She turned her head away and looked down. ‘Please. Don’t make it even more difficult for me.’
‘Difficult for you?’ He raised his voice. ‘What about me? Don’t you ever think about how I feel?’
‘Yes,’ she replied softly. ‘I think of nothing else.’
He walked swiftly away. It was an intolerable situation. How could he possibly concentrate on business when she was sitting virtually yards away from him? And what were those soldiers doing, gathering there? Supposing they came back and made a nuisance of themselves? How would she deal with that? It was impossible.
As he walked into the yard a young boy of about eight or nine years old got up from where he was sitting in a corner and taking off his cap came over to him. ‘Spare me a copper, mister.’
John impatiently shooed him away.
‘Got any work, then, sir?’
John put his hand to his head in frustration. He could do without begging children as well as everything else. Then his better nature came to the fore and he put his hand in his pocket.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said. ‘You can earn this, young fellow.’ He tossed a coin in the air and the boy caught it eagerly. ‘If you do what I ask, then there are another two like this one at the end of the day.’
The boy couldn’t believe his luck. All he had to do was sit in the Market Place and watch a young woman, a pretty one at that, and let the gentleman know if anyone bothered her. He sat in the corner of a shop doorway eating a pie which he had bought with the first coin and felt the sun on his face. He saw the young woman looking across at him and he raised his hand cheerily and waved.
November came and she made her last visit to the market. Over the past few weeks she had sometimes sold nothing at all, going home with an empty money bag. The townspeople were buying only the bare essentials as they prepared for the coming winter when work would be scarce and food costly for their meagre earnings. They had bought her cough syrup and honey as winter colds and fevers began, but her flowers and herbs they discarded. However, she was satisfied with her profits and she had a small hoard of money which would last until next spring.
As she repacked her basket she saw the young boy who had spent so much time watching her from across the street, and she beckoned him to come over. He did so reluctantly, hanging back halfheartedly amongst the carts and stalls as if he thought he was going to be reprimanded for loitering, but instead of chastising him she handed him a jar of blackberry jam.
‘Here, take this to your ma. I shan’t be coming again until next year.’
He thanked her, his eyes wide with gratitude, though he felt it was a pity she was going for he would now be out of work again. As he walked away carefully holding the jar she called to
him, ‘Be sure to give Mr Rayner my kind thanks.’
She had a sad, lovely smile, he thought, but on reflection he decided shrewdly that perhaps he would forget to give the message. Mr Rayner hadn’t indicated that his presence was to be a secret from the pretty young woman, but on the other hand he hadn’t said that it wasn’t. After all, he had to think of next year.
He watched her as she climbed into a farm waggon and drove off, a big hulking fellow at her side. He had just decided that perhaps he wouldn’t mention that either, when he saw it was too late, for as he turned he almost ran into Mr Rayner who was also watching. ‘That’s it for this year, sir. I don’t think she’ll be back until next summer.’
‘No,’ said John, gazing after them. ‘I think you’re probably right.’ He gave a deep sigh, then looked down at the boy. ‘Come on then, lad. Let’s see if we can find you something else to do.’
‘I just came to see if tha’s all right, Miss Sarah. There’s a right old gale blowing out there.’ Joe’s bulk filled her narrow doorway.
‘You’d better come inside.’ She admitted him reluctantly, for she had made it a policy not to allow men inside the house but to keep them on the doorstep. Joe, however, had been kind and willing, bringing her logs for the fire and making himself available for any heavy work, or collecting her from the market whenever he could.
There had been a few visits from village men who ostensibly had come on messages from their wives or mothers, but who would ask her if she had something she could recommend for their aches and pains. ‘Such a pain in my back, Miss Sarah, if you would just take a look.’ Or, ‘If I could just come inside and show you my sore leg, arm, neck or wherever.’ She had firmly kept them outside the door and charged them double for a preparation, reckoning that it would be more sensible to discourage them by hurting their pocket rather than their pride.
For the genuinely sick she made no charge, but asked them to give what they could afford, and those who could afford nothing would give her their grateful thanks, or leave a bag of kindling on her doorstep.
‘Tha shouldn’t be here alone.’ Joe’s gloom was discouraging. ‘’Cliff isn’t safe. Great chunks have fallen off near our barn. We’ll have to move animals’ bedding out.’
‘I’m sorry, Joe. What a worry for you.’
‘Aye, well, at least ’house is still safe. But this cottage is a lot nearer to ’sea than I’d be happy about. Tha should move.’
She had been a little uneasy herself of late, but she didn’t want to admit it. She thought that the sea sounded louder than when she first came, but it wasn’t the pounding of the waves below the cliffs that disturbed her, that sound she had always found soothing and comforting, it was the slight imperceptible movement that she thought she could feel as she lay in her bed. She had told herself that it was just her imagination, that she couldn’t possibly feel the shifting of the sand and clay beneath her, but her old recurring dream of falling, and the sound of rushing water filling her ears, would waken her during the night, and she would get out of bed, put on her shawl, walk to the cliff edge and look over to see if there had been another fall, trying to convince herself that the lapping water was no nearer than before.
‘Where should I move to, Joe? I can’t go to Field House, nor would I want to.’ She couldn’t possibly do that. Her parents’ home was on Garston land and she was sure that Mrs Masterson wouldn’t approve of villagers coming and going there, while they too would be reluctant to visit her.
Joe looked down and intently examined his carefully scraped boots, then cleared his throat nervously. ‘Hast tha ever thought of getting wed?’
She watched a slow flush rise, colouring his neck and face, and he pressed his lips firmly together as if to close in any further communication.
‘I did think of it once,’ she answered slowly, ‘only I decided against it.’
He looked at her, his gentle eyes wistful and appealing. ‘Well, if tha should ever think on it again, Miss Sarah.’
‘Sarah,’ she gently reminded him.
He nodded and looked down at his boots again. ‘It’s just – well, I know tha’s had a better education than me, and I’m just a rough clodhopper, but I work hard and I’d provide for thee.’ He looked up again and this time she saw the eagerness in his eyes. ‘I’d work all ’hours God sends if tha’d have me, Sarah. Tha’d want for nowt.’
‘But I don’t love thee, Joe.’ Softly she slipped back into the language she knew would make him comfortable.
‘But I love thee. I always have, since ’first time I saw thee. So it wouldn’t matter. And in time tha maybe would come to like me.’
She smiled and touched his arm. ‘But I do like thee, Joe. Tha’s a dear, sweet man and I’m very fond of thee. But not enough to wed thee.’
‘Aye, I understand.’ He put his hand on the door and paused before he went out. ‘If I ask thee again, tha won’t be offended?’
She shook her head, tears rising to her eyes. ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘I won’t be offended at all.’
He asked her again two weeks later, and laughingly she refused, and again two weeks after that and she shook her head solemnly. And right through to the beginning of the next year until finally she invited him in to sit down and talk.
‘Tha’d get on well with my sister Nellie,’ he said eagerly. ‘She’d be glad of female company after looking after us lads and me da all her life, and tha’d share ’work so it wouldn’t be too hard.’
‘You mean we would live there with your father and brothers?’ she said hesitantly. ‘Paul as well?’
He gripped his big hands together, his knuckles showing white. ‘Tha needn’t worry about him, Sarah. He’ll not be stopping. He’s got a lass in trouble over at Tillington, and her fayther says if he doesn’t marry or support her he’ll come after him with his dogs.’ He gazed at her with his grey, honest eyes. ‘He’ll not bother thee any more, I’ll see to that.’
‘You know then that he comes here?’ She had heard often the soft footsteps at her locked door and seen the lifting of the sneck. She would shout at him to go away and he did, laughing softly to himself.
He nodded and looked away. ‘I said I’d slug him if he didn’t leave thee alone. He’s nowt but a troublemaker.’
There was something else, for his manner was restless. ‘What else, Joe? What else about Paul?’
He got up and stood over her. ‘He told me about Mr Rayner, about tha meeting him at ’old church, and him being here.’
In consternation she started to explain, but he raised his hand to hush her as he continued, ‘But there was no need for him to tell me. I already knew. I saw him that night after thy Tom’s wedding, I watched him come in and waited till he came out.’
He put his hand on her head and gently stroked her hair. ‘He’ll not marry thee, Sarah, love. That sort stick to their own. Just ’same as we do!’
She turned away. How wrong Joe was. John would have taken a chance, she was the one who wouldn’t. A great lassitude came over her. She was so weary of struggling with her emotions, of trying to keep them in check. Perhaps if she were married to someone else she would forget him. No – never, never. But maybe John would let her go, cut the bond which held them and set her free.
She raised her head. Dear Joe, he was willing to take her though he knew she loved someone else. She badly needed comfort, someone to take away this ache inside. She put out her hand and he grasped it tightly.
‘All right Joe, I’ll marry thee.’
He shook his head in amazement. After all his hopes he could hardly believe it. ‘Tha means it, Sarah? Promise?’ He could barely speak.
‘Yes, Joe. I mean it. I promise.’ Her eyes were bright and moist, but she gave him a trembling smile. It was something after all to give happiness to someone else, even though you were dying inside.
‘And you’ll not see him again?’ His voice was anxious but she detected a command in his plea.
She felt she was bleeding as the wound cut deepe
r. ‘Just once, Joe, to tell him. I owe him that at least.’
‘Aye, that’s right. Tha’ll need to tell him. Then it’s finished with.’
Sarah waved to Harris to stop as he was driving out of the iron gates of Garston Hall. ‘Will you give this message to Mr Rayner, please. Be sure to give it to him yourself and not hand it to anyone else.’
She was sure that Harris would be discreet, but she had penned the letter to John in terms that would not give rise to suspicion if anyone else should read it.
‘’Be glad to, Miss Sarah, I’ll be seeing him this morning.’ He started to move off and then turned round to call to her. ‘I heard thy ma say she was going to come over to see thee, she’s on her way now.’
She smiled her thanks and set off down the path which wound round to the rear of the house to meet her. Maria waved to her from the kitchen door.
‘Tha’s saved me a journey, Sarah. I was just coming to see thee. Mr Masterson is asking after thee.’
‘Oh, but—?’
‘It’s all right, ’mistress and Miss Lucy are away. They’ve gone gadding off to London again, and poor maister is in such pain with his leg.’
She pushed back a stray lock of hair beneath her linen cap and Sarah noticed the predominant silver strands, and the fine lines etched on her mother’s forehead. Maria had aged since the fever and had taken a long time to recover, but the arrival of Lizzie’s and Tom’s bawling lusty son on Christmas Day had given her a renewed lease of energy, and while she and Lizzie and Sarah had gazed fondly at the newest Foster, Tom and Will, with the assistance of Joe and Martin Reedbarrow, had got roaring drunk as they’d wetted the baby’s head.
Sarah ran her fingers along the bannister rail as she slowly climbed the wide staircase up to Mr Masterson’s room. She thought of John: he’d said that he’d slid down here on the day she was born. She remembered looking down at him as he had stood in the hall on the day he told her about it, and she remembered too the strange nervous exhilaration she had felt as she listened and watched him, searching his face to know if he felt it too.
