The Hungry Tide

by Valerie Wood

  ‘I don’t of course expect you to make a decision now, but if you should decide that it would be possible, then I would ask you to approach my father in the usual way.’

  She smiled then and her face looked softer, gentler. ‘He would be horrified to think that his daughter had approached a gentleman with such an offer, so I must ask you to be completely discreet, but I must also explain that I do not intend to let anyone else make decisions which affect my life. I never have and I never will.’

  He took her hand and kissed it gently. ‘I think that you are very brave, Miss Pardoe, and I admire your spirit. I am honoured to have your regard.’

  She interrupted him before he could say more. ‘Matilda, please. As I say, I do not expect you to decide now, in fact I would prefer it if you would give it careful thought, perhaps during your voyage. It is a once in a lifetime decision, after all, not to be taken lightly.’ She hesitated slightly. ‘I cannot speak of love as I have not experienced it, but I have to say that I would expect and give complete fidelity. I would not tolerate any other liaison after marriage, as some I know do.’

  It was during supper, during a momentary break in the garrulous chatter of her aunt, that John realized the degree of astuteness in Matilda Pardoe. She enquired if he would be visiting his aunt and cousin whilst in London, and on hearing that he would not as he wished to return north immediately the next morning, she asked quite casually the whereabouts of Sarah.

  ‘I understand that she is no longer in your cousin’s employ?’

  He thought it strange that she should even enquire, but answered lightly that she was not. ‘She wished to be independent. She has become a herb woman,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Matilda answered. ‘She was wasted as a servant.’ She glanced at him from beneath her dark lashes. ‘She has not married some rich farmer?’

  ‘No.’ John’s tone was curt. ‘But I understand that she is to marry a poor one.’

  ‘Such a pity.’ Matilda’s eyes were wide and appraising, with a dark, perceptive gleam. ‘Such beauty and intelligence. She must be marrying for love?’

  John stood with his arms folded, silently watching the crew as they came aboard. Some came quietly and soberly, glancing over their shoulders to wave and give a sombre smile to those waiting on the quayside, mothers, wives and children, who had braved the cold, dim morning to see their men depart.

  Others of the crew came staggering on to the deck, given a helping hand by those only slightly less inebriated than themselves, as they disgorged from the warmth of the taverns where they had spent the last of their money and time on shore before leaving for less hospitable territory.

  He greeted Rob Hardwick and his son as they came on board. He noticed that the older man was very stooped and his legs were bent. He couldn’t surely expect to do many more trips. He was a good, reliable seaman, but this wasn’t an old man’s occupation. Strength and swiftness were needed as well as experience, and John sighed regretfully. He didn’t like to do it, but he would have to tell him at the end of the voyage that this would be his last sailing.

  He nodded, too, to Jimmy Swinburn, now out of his apprenticeship and an experienced linesman as his father had been, but he received only a grunt as the sullen young seaman averted his eyes to look down at the dockside where a pair of slatternly drabs were calling to him and blowing kisses.

  No-one to wave a last goodbye to me, John brooded. No-one to wish God speed and a safe return. He dismissed the melancholy thought. There was only one person he would have wished to see waving her handkerchief as they passed out of the harbour mouth into the muddy waters of the Humber, and she was miles away, no doubt just rising from her bed, for it was barely five o’clock. He imagined her stretching her brown arms above her head, her skin still warm from sleep and her hair tousled about her face and shoulders.

  One day, Sarah, he meditated some hours later, as they drew away from the pilot boat and rounded the sandbanks of Spurn Head into the wide reaches of the German Ocean, one day you’ll be mine. Though you may be promised to someone else in this life, I’ll return for you one day, and you won’t refuse me then. He saw her face before him, smiling sadly, and thought he felt a slight, soft touch on his cheek, like a loving, goodbye kiss.

  Sarah rose in darkness and with the aid of a dim lantern manoeuvred the horse between the shafts of the small cart. She had persuaded Tom to loan her the mare with the promise that she would return her by midday and did nothing to correct his mistaken impression that she wanted to leave on an early excursion into Hull.

  She walked at the mare’s head until she was clear of the village, murmuring softly to her in the darkness, and then turned back to take the narrow road leading down the coast. The mare was as surefooted as she was and there was light enough reflected from the sea to travel by. Although Sarah hadn’t before journeyed the total length of road which ended at the narrow spit of Spurn, she knew by word of mouth which areas had eroded, and which parts of the road had disintegrated under the constant battering of the sea, and how to avoid them.

  Dawn was breaking as she travelled through the still sleeping village of Waxholme and skirted the deserted cottages of Owthorne which trembled on the cliff edge, and headed on towards the high cliffs of Dimlington Heights where she would have a long view of the coastline and the sails of the ships as they sailed out of the estuary and into the German Ocean on their route to the Shetlands and the Arctic.

  It had been her mother who had mentioned that Mr John was sailing on the Northern Star and that her father’s old seamate Rob Hardwick would also be on board.

  ‘When does she sail, Ma?’ Sarah had casually asked.

  ‘I know for a fact that it’s ’day after tomorrow,’ Maria had replied. ‘Mr Masterson said it particularly. Said he wished he could have been there to see her go. He said it would be a hard voyage as they’re pushing further north than they’ve ever done before, and I said I was glad that Will wasn’t going, and he said particularly that it would be a day to remember.’

  Sarah was determined to be there. She couldn’t go to the dockside as there might be someone who would recognize her as Will Foster’s daughter and wonder why she was there, and most certainly there would be people who knew John, and she didn’t want to embarrass him; yet no-one would think it odd if a lone woman on a cliff top stood gazing at a ship as it ploughed its way across the sea.

  She stood by the beacon at Dimlington Heights and stared across the water, but apart from the vessels returning to harbour and a few scattered fishing boats and cobbles, there were no ships sailing out from the home shores. I’m too early, she thought, there hasn’t been time to clear the Humber. She looked up at the sun breaking through the clouds and decided to drive on down to Spurn where she would see the ships as they rounded the point.

  She cracked the whip and urged on the mare, making good progress where the road was sound and getting down to lead her when it drew near the cliff edge. Several times she looked down and saw at the foot of the cliffs ridges and mounds of red and grey clay from previous falls, with here and there timber and thatch and old chairs sitting incongruously abandoned amongst the abundant grass and vegetation which was flourishing there.

  As she drove up the hill towards the high cliffs above the village of Kilnsea, she took a long look as she passed at the spired church standing only yards from the sea shore. This was a big village, bigger than Monkston, maybe thirty or so houses and farms, but the road ran perilously close to the edge and the cliffs were cracked and fissured.

  She stopped to water the mare from a fast-running stream and bent to cup her hands and take a drink herself The morning was running on fast and she worried that she might not get back in time to deliver the horse and cart to Tom as she’d promised. She rinsed her face with the clear water and looked south again down towards the headland, narrowing her eyes as she saw rounding the narrow strip of land a fleet of whaling ships, their sails spread wide.

  She left the h
orse to graze and stood silently watching, her hand shielding her eyes against the brightness of the morning sky. There were five ships, two of which she knew belonged to the Masterson fleet, but from this distance she could not make out their names and had no means of knowing which they were.

  She stood locked in calm meditation until her eyes fixed on the leading vessel, a swift, three-masted barque. She concentrated fully on this ship, clearing her mind of all thoughts and sounds as she searched, and knew for sure that this was the ship which held John.

  ‘I know I said I wouldn’t do this any more,’ she whispered. ‘I said I would not link my mind to yours, that I would give you some peace. But I can’t help myself. I’m bound to you as if we were one flesh and blood, and if I’m not to see you again, never again to feel your arms about me, the warmth of your lips on mine, then I must say goodbye.’

  She touched her fingers to her lips and spread her arms wide towards the ocean. The wind buffeted and caught her, blowing her skirts and hair wildly, gathering up the dust and sand from beneath her feet and tossing it seawards. Her thoughts were carried too, blown towards the ship as it moved gracefully out of her sight towards the horizon. She felt a sudden warmth envelop her as love reached out, and she smiled sadly and touched her lips again. ‘Goodbye,’ she breathed. ‘God speed.’

  She turned away to gather in the horse, which had wandered off in search of more succulent grass, and as she climbed back into the cart and headed for home she looked once more to the horizon. The fleet could barely be seen, had become merely smudges of white on the blue sea. As she stared, in her mind the white became bigger and colder, white sheets of ice which stretched for ever beneath an alien sky. She shivered as the coldness touched her spine, tingling her fingertips and toes, and she hugged her arms around herself to bring back some comfort from the cold, sharp, icy fear which clutched her and held her fast.

  24

  ‘We’ll wed as soon as ’spring sowing is finished, Sarah.’ Joe lowered his big frame into a chair by Sarah’s fireside.

  ‘But—but that will be soon, Masterson’s have nearly finished,’ she stammered. ‘I shan’t – I shan’t be ready.’

  ‘Aye, well, they’ve got plenty of help. We shall be a week or two yet, even if ’weather holds. That’ll give thee enough time to do whatever it is tha has to do.’

  He smiled at her indulgently and pulled her down towards him to sit on his knee. He nuzzled his beard into her neck and she grimaced as the rough bristles rubbed her skin.

  ‘’Course, we don’t have to wait for ceremony, Sarah,’ he said softly. ‘Tha only has to say ’word and I’ll stay. I want to, tha knows that, I’ve telled thee plenty of times.’

  ‘I know, Joe,’ she said awkwardly, sliding off his knee on the pretext of putting a pan on the fire. ‘But I’d rather wait.’

  He nodded glumly. That she was reluctant he could understand, she wasn’t like other women, who were happy to tumble with their men once the banns were read. Being brought up to act and think like a lady had spoilt her, he decided, but she would have to change her ways if she was to be a farmer’s wife. He would expect his marital rights, and often, for he was a normal healthy young fellow, but he wouldn’t want to compel or force her. There would be no happiness in that for either of them.

  He sighed, it wasn’t going to be easy. His sister, he knew, would not stand for any nonsense, and if they were all to live together Nellie would still expect to be mistress of the house. Not that Sarah didn’t work hard, he had seen last year how she did. Never expecting any help, she’d worked her garden and collected the produce alone. He’d seen the dirt beneath her fingernails, though her hands hadn’t become rough and horny like his sister’s, but were still soft and smooth. Nevertheless, she had also become independent, and he could see that sparks might fly as female temperaments clashed.

  When spring sowing was finished she put him off again, making the excuse that she was busy in her garden and she wanted this to be a good year so that she might have some money to bring him. He couldn’t argue with this as money was short. They had lost another piece of crop-growing land to the sea and two of their pigs had died of disease.

  ‘If this keeps on we shall have to think about renting a piece of land ower at Tillington and leaving this lot for ’sea to do what it wants wi’ it.’ He hunched his hands into his pocket. ‘Thy Tom did well to get that land. Folks’ll always need millers. He’ll be getting his own hoss and carriage afore long.’

  Sarah touched his arm. ‘He works hard, does Tom. Day and night sometimes. Don’t begrudge him, Joe.’

  ‘I don’t begrudge him,’ he answered feelingly. ‘Though there’s some as do. It’s just I feel that bitter when I see all that me da and grandfayther have worked for tummel ower cliff edge, and there’s nowt I can do about it.’

  Summer came, and she said she was too busy with her trips to market to think about a wedding. Miss Ellie was taking a regular supply of roses, and she was selling bottles of last year’s fruit and jams and jellies in the market as well as her herbs and potions. She became known, and customers would come looking for her to buy her produce.

  She noticed the small boy who had watched her last year. He was sitting in the same spot, idly whittling a piece of wood and occasionally glancing in her direction.

  Sarah waved to him one morning and beckoned him over. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m just carving this wood, miss.’ He opened his hand to show her.

  ‘No, I meant what were you doing here, why are you still watching me?’ She spoke gently, a smile in her voice. ‘Don’t you know that Mr Rayner is away at sea?’

  ‘Oh, I know that, miss,’ he said airily. ‘But I have me orders.’ He stuck his chin up in the air and his eyes gleamed proudly. ‘I’m on Mastersons’ payroll, same as me da and grandfayther.’ He leaned towards her confidentially. ‘Three generations now, that’s what me grandfayther said.’ He cocked his head towards the river. ‘They’ve sailed in ’same ship as ’gaffer – Mr Rayner, I mean, miss. But Mr Rayner said as ’ow I was to still keep an eye on thee while he’s away and make sure that nobody bothers thee.’

  She had trouble speaking, so choked was she with emotion. ‘And will you be a whaling man? I don’t know your name, what is it?’

  ‘Bob, miss, Bob Hardwick, named after me grandfayther. He knows thy da, or so he says.’ He fingered the wood delicately. ‘But as for ’other question, miss, about being a whaling man, Mr Rayner says he’ll apprentice me to a carpenter, that’s what I really want to do. He says whaling is no life for a young lad. Too cold and too bloody.’

  The boy laughed. ‘But I might still go as a ship’s carpenter. ’Sea’s in me blood, tha knows; three generations, like me grandfayther says.’

  As summer wore on, Joe was too busy to take time off for a wedding; the weather was hot and dry and the harvest had to be brought home, but he was becoming increasingly irritable and deep frowns lined his normally placid face.

  ‘As soon as harvest is ower, Sarah. I’ll not wait much longer. I shall start to think tha doesn’t want to be wed.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she didn’t. She couldn’t bear to inflict sorrow on this gentle giant of a man, couldn’t watch the misery that it would bring if she told him that she had changed her mind and wouldn’t marry him. How would he face his friends that he had known all of his life, if she should turn him down now?

  He put his arms around her. ‘Sometimes I think tha still thinks on yon fine fellow.’ He could never bring himself to mention John Rayner by name.

  She put her head on his chest and felt the roughness of his jacket against her cheek. ‘I think of a lot of things, Joe, but I said I would marry you, and I will, but please, don’t rush me, give me time.’

  She needed time to rid herself of the ache which she felt each time she thought of John, the persistent torment which never went away, but was with her day and night, haunting her dreams and every waking moment. She
tossed restlessly in her bed each night or walked the damp sands until morning came, leaving her wide-eyed and weary yet unable to rid herself of his image.

  As summer drew to a close and the smells of autumn filled the air, she became more and more uneasy. The fleet should have been straggling home by the end of September or before if they had had a successful voyage, but none of the ships had yet been sighted. All had headed further north in their attempt to catch more whales and she had heard rumblings in the Market Place that bad weather had been expected. Once John is safely home, then I’ll marry Joe, she promised herself, but wondered how long she could keep delaying him, what further excuses she could make.

  Christmas came and went and still no news, and the townspeople of Hull went into mourning. Three overdue ships had arrived, one of them from the Masterson fleet, but they had no further news of the Northern Star or the Stellar which had followed it up the Lancaster Sound. Isaac Masterson spent more time in Hull at his office, using John’s rooms for eating and sleeping, not wanting to tear himself away from the river, and to be on hand if any news came through from other returning ships. The local newspaper published a gloomy account of the possible hazards that they might have encountered and gave a list of names of the men and apprentices who were on board.

  Will brought the newspaper home and asked Sarah to read the report to him. She did so with growing despair, and a chill filled her heart as something within her died. Her parents looked at her as she covered her face with her hands.

  ‘Sarah? What is it, love?’ Her mother’s anxious voice roused her and she blew her nose and tried to stem her tears.

  ‘I keep thinking of those poor men,’ she choked, her face white. ‘And their wives. That young boy; his father and grandfather, you know them, Fayther, were both on the ship, and Mr John – the Mastersons will never get over their grief.’

  ‘Aye, that’s true, it’s hit us all hard. Such a fine, handsome man, a real gentleman was Mr John, there’ll never be another like him.’ Maria wiped away a tear and patted her daughter on the shoulder as she sat, her head bowed.