Children of the Tide (42 page)

He listened to the presentation speech and transfer of conveyance, clapping when the spade struck the sod and the tree was planted. As the ceremony finished and the crowd headed for the refreshment tent, he turned and glanced up at the platform behind him. There was a sea of faces: a colourful pattern of bobbing hats and rustling, swaying gowns, a sprinkling of greys and blacks from the men’s formal suits and top hats. Some colours predominated: red, green, purple, white. There was a young woman in a yellow gown who had a look of Betsy. How she, too, would have loved the day if she could have come.

There had never been such an event in Hull before. Not even the Hull Fair could compare with an event such as this, when all members of society were here to join in the celebrations. Rich and poor, all were here to enjoy the opening of the first public park. He caught sight of the Mayor as he was escorted to the refreshment tent, and saw him stop to have a word
with the people who were standing around watching. Ragged people, some of them, with dirty-faced children, tradespeople, ladies in elegant dress, all mingling harmoniously and sharing the pleasure of the day.

Then he saw Gilbert walking across towards the Mayor. Zachariah Pearson spoke briefly to him and Gilbert put his hand to his chin, nodding earnestly, then made his way across to Billy.

‘Billy! Sorry to disappoint you, but Mr Pearson said he would prefer to see you at tomorrow’s event. He’s very busy you know, old fellow. You’re lucky I’ve been able to arrange something so quickly.’ Gilbert seemed to be puffed up with his own importance after being chosen to take part in the parade with other members of the Chamber of Commerce and Shipping.

‘Oh!’ Billy was cast down. He had been so buoyed up with anticipation, so keen to get on with organizing something for the children.

‘Tomorrow will be more suitable,’ Gilbert pressed on. ‘The Mayor’s children are planting another tree, and all the children from the town are being invited. You could even invite your young ruffians if you wanted,’ he condescended. ‘There’ll be games and Aunt Sallies, juggling and so on.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Billy wasn’t able to hide his despondence. ‘I have already told them.’

‘What a wonderful gift Mr Pearson has given the town.’ Gilbert looked around at the throng, his expression conveying that he, too, had been involved with the great act of beneficence. ‘A day when people can forget their grievances and miseries!’

Billy shook his head. ‘They’re not forgotten, Gilbert,’ he said quietly. ‘They’re simply put on one side.’

Betsy climbed into the gig with some difficulty, even though Charles Craddock had hold of her by the waist. She giggled as he tickled her and pushed his
hand away. ‘Behave yourself.’ She gave him a playful slap and he pinched her cheek.

They waited in a queue of traffic to move out of the park gates and he bent towards her. ‘Do you have to go home yet? Can you not stay a little longer?’

She felt so light-headed and her legs were wobbly. She hadn’t had enough to eat. They couldn’t get near the food table for the crush of people, and so they had had only more oysters and another bottle or two of champagne, or was it three, she wondered.

‘You could come back home with me for supper,’ he said persuasively. ‘And then watch the fireworks and the procession.’

‘I’m so hungry,’ she wailed.

‘Then that’s settled.’ He bent to give her a kiss and she put her mouth towards him. ‘We’ll eat first and then decide what to do afterwards.’

A shout from the carriage behind telling them to get a move-on disturbed them, so Craddock flicked his whip and turned out of the park to head for town.

A maid opened his house door as he rattled on the knocker. He nodded to her. ‘Tell Smith to put the gig away and then get off home. I shan’t need him again. Is supper ready?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed her knee. ‘I’ve left a tray. Will that be all, sir?’

‘Yes.’ He motioned Betsy through into a small drawing-room and dismissed the maid, who slipped away down a staircase.

Betsy shook her head to clear it. Wouldn’t they need the gig again? Or perhaps he had another carriage in which to take her home?

He took off her shawl and then unfastened the ribbons on her bonnet. They had knotted and he fumbled impatiently.

‘Let me,’ Betsy giggled. ‘I can see you are not used to ladies’ fripperies.’

He smiled and put his hands around her waist. ‘I’m not.’ He drew her close. ‘You’ll have to teach me.’

‘Naughty.’ She tapped his hand. ‘Now, what about my supper?’

He pointed to a table. A lamp was burning on it and a tray of food was set: bread, slices of beef and ham, boiled eggs, sweet apple tart, a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

‘You were expecting company?’ she asked. ‘Two glasses?’

‘The girl knows that I often bring a fellow or two back with me after I have been out.’ He scrutinized her as she gazed around the room. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s very lavish.’ She observed the luxurious red velvet curtains, the opulent silk cushions scattered on the deep buttoned sofas and chairs, and the soft glow of the lamps in the corners of the room. ‘But it doesn’t seem like a man’s room.’

The corner of his lips twitched slightly. ‘I will show you the rest later, after we have eaten.’

They ate their supper and as Betsy relaxed onto a deep sofa she began to feel very tired.

‘You’re not looking forward to that long drive home, are you?’ he asked, bringing her another glass of wine and coming to sit beside her.

‘I confess I’m not, and I feel so guilty that you will have to drive back again. We have no spare guest room, I’m afraid.’
And I can’t imagine Tom or George wanting to share their beds with you
, she thought soberly.

‘Ah,’ he said softly and then put his glass down on a side table and stroked her hand. ‘And I would find it very difficult to sleep on a sofa, knowing that you were only a flight of stairs away.’

She smiled, seeing the desire in his eyes, and the way in which they followed the curve of her neck down to her breasts.
I don’t want to go home yet
, she thought.
I’d rather stay and watch the fireworks and the procession. Perhaps I could persuade him to let me stay the night; he has a maid here, it would be quite a proper thing to do
.

He picked up his glass of wine again and held it to
her lips. ‘Do you have to go home, my sweet little Betsy? Would your family be very anxious?’

‘Yes, probably. Though they think I am with my cousin.’ She gave a small gasp as the truth slipped out.

‘Ah! So they don’t know where you are?’ His eyes gleamed with interest. ‘What a naughty girl you are to deceive your mama.’

‘Not my mother,’ she said petulantly. ‘I haven’t a mother. I have a father and three brothers.’

‘A father and three brothers!’ Alarm showed on his face and she laughed, the wine was making her feel quite merry again, her tiredness disappearing.

‘My father is a cripple and one of my brothers has gone away.’ She leaned towards him and put her face close to his. ‘So there would only be two who would come chasing you.’

‘I remember one of your brothers,’ he said grimly. ‘He was at your cousin’s wedding.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘But they don’t know where you are?’ He fingered the buttons on her bodice. ‘Does anyone else? Do you not have a sweetheart whom you confide in?’

She thought dreamily of Luke, his big strong body, his head of golden hair. If only he had more delicacy, more refinement, instead of his vital needs, how perfect he would be. ‘No,’ she whispered, and felt a twinge of guilt. ‘There is no-one special.’

He started to unfasten the buttons. ‘You’re lying, my beautiful Betsy,’ he whispered and put his hand inside her bodice and eased out her breasts. ‘But I don’t mind if you are, my plump little pigeon.’ He licked his lips and lowered them to her nipples. ‘I’m fond of a little intrigue. It’s what makes life so enjoyable.’

She lay back on the sofa and watched his soft white hands as he took off her boots and lifted her skirts to unroll her stockings.
It’s too late now, Betsy
, she thought hazily and closed her eyes.
Too late to change your mind
.

* * *

He caught her wrist as she was about to slip out of bed. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked and roughly pulled her back.

‘Ooh!’ She rubbed her wrist and tried to prise off his fingers. ‘I was only going to look at the fireworks.’

He rolled on top of her. ‘You little firecracker, you don’t have to look outside, there are enough explosions going on in here.’

‘You said we could watch the procession.’ She breathed heavily beneath his weight.

‘So we can, what’s left of it.’ He swung off her. ‘Get up,’ he demanded. ‘Go and stand over there, by the lamp.’ She picked up her cotton shift. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Leave that. Just as you are.’

She felt embarrassed in her nakedness. It had been all right beneath the sheets, but now she felt exposed. But she did as he asked and stood with the light shining on her and her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Turn around.’

She turned her back to him, facing the window. The night sky was lit by Shooting Stars, by Catherine Wheels and great flashes of colour to the accompaniment of crashes and bangs as the fireworks were set off.

He came and stood behind her, pressing himself close and nuzzling his head into her hair and neck. He ran his hands around her belly and breasts. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Magnificent. As round as a dumpling. Just as a woman should be.’ He dug his fingers into her flesh, kneading and squeezing and pinching and then turned her round. His lips were wet and the dark pupils of his eyes dilated. She swallowed. Not again. How many more times? Did the man not tire?

It seemed that he did not, for once more he took her and then fell asleep, his arms flung across her so that she couldn’t get up without disturbing him. She looked around the room. This, too, was lavishly
furnished with heavy curtains and drapes, and mirrors on the wardrobe doors so that she could see herself as she lay in bed beside him. She felt mildly shocked, with a sense of dismay that he would have been watching all that they were doing.

She slid under his arm and, checking that he was still asleep, crept out of bed and stood in front of one of the mirrors. She had never seen herself completely naked before. They didn’t have full-length mirrors at home, and if they had, she wouldn’t have thought of looking at herself like this.
It’s like looking at a picture
, she mused,
only the women in the picture are always draped in something flimsy, but I’ve always thought that that made them seem more erotic
.

As she gazed past herself in the mirror, she saw the lamp glowing by the bed and the swathed hangings from the tester, and then blinked as she realized that Charles Craddock was leaning on his elbow watching her, an amused smile on his face.

‘Do you like what you see?’ he asked.

‘I – I don’t know,’ she said.
I only know that I am getting plumper
, she thought, as she turned to face him.
But still, he likes the way I am
. ‘Do you like what you see?’

‘Oh, yes. I do.’ He held out his hand for her to come and she climbed back into bed. ‘I’ve been thinking as I was watching you, my romping country wench. Why don’t you stay a few days? You’ll probably be in trouble if you go home now, so why not stay? Write a letter to your father and tell him that you are staying with friends. What about it?’

She looked dubious. ‘Well, I don’t know. And I haven’t a change of gown.’

‘Phww. That’s nothing. Tomorrow we will buy you a dozen gowns, and a new bonnet.’ He put his hand under her chin. ‘And tonight, if I don’t take you home, I shall take you to a party.’

‘A party!’ she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. ‘What kind of a party?’

‘A gambling party. And if I win, then you shall have a present.’

A party! And a present! She had made up her mind already. What had she to go home for? There was no fun, only dreariness, with three men to look after. She felt a brief pang of grief as she thought of her father. She would write immediately and go out and post the letter.

‘All right,’ she said, with seeming reluctance. ‘I’ll stay.’

‘I thought you would.’ He smiled and drew her towards him. ‘Now, come here.’

Tom went again to the gate and looked down the lane. He called to George. ‘Go down to the village, will you, and see if there’s any sign of them.’ He was beginning to worry. It was seven o’clock and still no sign of Betsy and Sammi.

‘I can’t think what’s keeping them, Da,’ he said as he went back into the house. ‘They must have cleaned the shops out lock, stock and barrel by this time.’

‘They’ll be back.’ His father pressed his hands against the arms of his chair, taking his weight on his arms and stood on one foot for a moment, before dropping back into the chair again. ‘Two lasses together, they’ll be having a fine old time. It’s good for Betsy to get out, she’s been looking peaky lately.’

Tom nodded. It was just that he had a sneaking suspicion that Betsy was up to something; she’d been so vague about her trip out with Sammi. ‘Where did she say she was going, Da? Was it into Hull or Hornsea?’

‘Well, I don’t rightly know. I don’t recall her saying exactly.’

That’s right, she didn’t
, Tom pondered. Nor did she say how they were going. ‘Were they going in Sammi’s trap, or was Johnson driving them in the carriage?’

‘They must have been going to Hornsea. She said summat about Sammi’s trap.’ His father shifted uncomfortably and winced. ‘I can’t remember what. Summat about meeting her in ’village to save turning round. So she’d never drive all ’way to Hull in ’trap, would she?’

‘No. No, of course she wouldn’t.’

‘There’s no sign of ’em.’ George came back inside. ‘So we’d best get our own supper.’

At half-past eight, Tom strode into the village himself and walked down the main street and stood looking down the long road which led into Hull. The road curved sinuously over the hummocky plain, dipping and gently rising, disappearing below the hollows and then reappearing again a few miles on. It was empty. Not a horse or cart or carriage, not a man or woman to disturb its tranquillity. It was as empty as it had been when he had last waved good-bye to Mark.