Children of the Tide (55 page)

He straightened up. ‘I’d better get back,’ he murmured, ‘I’ve left George and Reedbarrow working.’

‘Wait a moment, Tom, I’ll get a wrap and walk down the drive with you.’

‘It’s so cold, Sammi,’ her mother interrupted.

‘A brisk walk, that’s all, Mama. I’ve been in all day.’

‘Would you like to come, Victoria?’ Tom asked. ‘This weather would put roses in your cheeks.’

‘Certainly not. Out of the question.’ Aunt Ellen smilingly reproved him. ‘She hasn’t got Sammi’s constitution.’

‘You can look after Adam, Victoria.’ Sammi gave the child to her sister. ‘It will be our last chance to spoil him.’

The wind whipped against her cloak and tore the hood from her hair as they stepped outside, and she took Tom’s arm, whilst he led his horse with his other hand.

‘You shouldn’t have come, Sammi!’ His voice was lost against the wind. ‘You’ll be blown away coming back.’

She put her head down to break the force and he drew her closer, putting his arm around her.

‘Go back,’ he urged. ‘It’s much worse than it was.’

‘Just to the end of the drive.’ She was breathless. ‘It’s so exhilarating after being indoors.’

‘I’ll have to hurry.’ Tom mounted his horse as they
reached the lane. ‘We’ll have to shut down if the weather worsens.’

‘You’ll take care?’ she said anxiously. ‘You won’t go up into the cap?’

He reached down and patted her shoulder. ‘I might have to. Don’t worry,’ he assured. ‘I’ll be careful.’

‘I shall worry, Tom.’ She caught hold of his hand.

His face became set. ‘Don’t.’ He released his hand from her grasp. ‘I’m a miller, Sammi. Milling is what I do.’

She watched him as he trotted away, the sturdy mount covering the hard ground without effort. She waited for him to turn around but he didn’t, she only saw the squareness of his back set resolutely against her.

As she turned reluctantly back into the drive she glanced down the lane towards the sea and saw the heaving mass of grey water and the foaming white wave crests. She swung around again and walked towards it. The end of the lane was pitted and broken, the edge cracked and fissured. Someone had erected a crude wooden fence as a warning, and it leaned drunkenly, as the earth which held it sank precariously before its descent to the bottom of the cliff. Sammi peered cautiously over. The tide was high and breaking great spumes of white, foaming spray against the cliffs, its force dashing so high that she could feel moist droplets against her face.

‘Miss Rayner! Miss Sammi!’ A thin voice called to her through the gusts of wind and the roaring of the sea.

She turned, and the power of the squall rocked her. An old man was standing in the doorway of one of the cottages, holding on to the edge of the door so that it wasn’t torn from his grasp.

‘I thought you were moving to Tillington, Mr Geenwood? My father said that you were!’ She walked with difficulty towards him. ‘Isn’t it wild!’

‘Aye, it’s a bit of a blow.’ His leathery face turned
towards the sea. ‘Yon fence will go ower afore ’day is out.’

‘I thought you were going to Tillington?’ she repeated.

‘Aye, everybody did. I reckoned on that I was going, till they got all packed up; my lad and his wife and bairns have gone.’ He cackled toothlessly at her. ‘And then I telled ’em I wasn’t shifting. This place’ll see me out. I reckon on eighteen months afore it goes ower and I doubt I’ll be here then.’ He considered thoughtfully for a minute and then chuckled. ‘I’ll be a grand ’un if I’m still here; I’ll be nigh on eighty and past me best.’

She smiled with him and added, ‘Well, be careful, won’t you? And if you are worried you must come up to the house and someone will take you to your son.’

‘It’s not me that’s to be careful, miss. That’s why I was calling thee. Tha was taking a chance leaning ower edge; but then, tha allus was a ’arum-scarum young body, if tha’11 pardon me saying.’

‘Why, whatever do you mean, Mr Greenwood?’ she laughed.

‘Why, Miss Sammi, tha allus did take a chance. Allus first to take a risk. I used to watch all ’bairns round here, even thee and thy brothers, and there was allus one who didn’t hang back.’ He pulled his cap further over his ears. ‘I used to say to my missus, that Miss Sammi, she’s not afraid to venture. She’ll allus take first step.’

She studied this sagacious old man. ‘Was I foolhardy, Mr Greenwood? Is that what you mean?’

‘Why bless thee no, miss, I didn’t mean that. Tha seemed to weigh up all pros and cons and then determine what must be done. Aye, tha can tell bairn’s character right from ’start. Resolute, that’s what tha was.’

She turned away and said good-bye. Then she turned back. ‘Thank you, Mr Greenwood. I’ll remember what you said.’

Betsy walked slowly back to her lodgings. She had arrived as usual at work only to be stopped at the gate by the foreman who told her that there was no more work for her.

‘Why not?’ Dismay engulfed her. She didn’t know where else she could look for employment. ‘Was there cause for complaint?’

‘No. But I can hire and fire as I please.’ Then he’d shaken his head. ‘But tha’s not cut out for this sort of work. Tha’s been used to summat better!’

‘I need the work,’ she’d pleaded with him.

‘Sorry.’ He’d turned away. ‘Anyway, it’s nowt to do with thee; I’m having to lay others off as well. We’re waiting on ’whalers coming in. If there’s no blubber, then there’s no work, and tha can’t have wages for sitting around all day.’

She was tired as she walked into the rubbish-strewn court; it was a long walk along the river to the Greenland Yards, and now she’d had to make the return journey, with the additional worry of no wages to pay the landlord.

She opened the door and stepped inside the dank and dark entrance and climbed the stairs to her room. Her door was open and two strangers, a man and a woman were inside.

‘What are you doing in my room?’ It was a hovel, but it was the only place she could call home.

The man was lying on the bed. He raised his head as she came in but he didn’t get up. ‘It’s ours now,’ he said. ‘’Landlord said we could have it. He said as tha were owing him rent and would have to go. We’ve paid him two weeks up front.’

The woman was drinking from a bottle, the liquid was clear and Betsy guessed it was gin. She waved it towards her. ‘Does tha want a drop?’ she asked. ‘Tha looks a bit ropey.’

Betsy shook her head. Her mind was numb. What was she to do?

‘Tha can kip here with us for a day or two,’ the woman said generously, ‘till tha finds somewhere else. He won’t mind.’ She inclined her head to the man lying on the only bed. ‘Wilt tha?’

He looked across at Betsy. ‘She’ll tek up a bit of room, but no I shan’t mind, not for a night or two.’

Betsy shuddered. He was lying on the bed with his boots on. One of the toecaps was missing and a large blackened toe protruded. His hair was greasy and unwashed and his head lay on her pillow.

‘I couldn’t find owt that belonged to thee,’ the woman said, conversationally. ‘’Landlord said tha didn’t have much.’

‘No. He was right.’ Betsy turned towards the door. ‘Where can I go?’ She stared at them vacantly. ‘Who will take me in?’

The woman put down the bottle and putting her elbows on her widespread knees and her chin in her hands, scrutinized Betsy. ‘Is tha pregnant?’

Betsy denied it. ‘I’ve got dropsy.’

The man sniggered and nodded knowingly.

‘That’s a pity.’ The woman continued to gaze at her. ‘Tha could go to ’workhouse if tha was pregnant. No questions asked. But if tha’s onny sick I don’t know if they’ll take thee.’ She picked up the bottle again and, tipping it up, took a long drink. ‘If I were thee,’ she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ‘if I were thee, I’d be pregnant. At least tha’ll get a bed to lie on.’

Betsy trudged back towards the main streets of the town. The ground underfoot was slushy with wet snow which had thawed with the impact of tramping feet upon it. She passed the squalid court which she had accidentally wandered into all those weeks ago, before Charles Craddock had turned her out.

She stopped and looked down it. People were still standing around in desultory fashion, in spite of the cold; some were swinging their arms or blowing on their hands to warm them. No-one took any notice of
her. No-one threw stones as they had done previously.
They don’t notice me now
, she thought dully.
I look the same as they do
.

Her feet took her up and down streets which she didn’t know, in and out of alleyways which were unfamiliar to her, and she wandered, empty of thought and reasoning, unhindered and unconstrained by the residents who stared at her as apathetically as she stared back at them.

As night fell, so the snow came down, and she took shelter in a doorway. Her back and legs ached and she huddled into her cloak trying to keep warm; her eyes kept closing but she fought to stay awake, and as sleep tried to claim her so she was wracked with hallucinations of food and a warm bed and a loving hand on her cheek. The loving hand was cold and rough and she started up suddenly. A man’s face was close to hers and she gave a startled scream.

‘I’m not going to hurt thee,’ he mumbled. ‘I just thought we could sit close and keep warm.’

His clothes were in tatters and his face covered in sores, his eyes a rheumy yellow as they looked distantly at her. ‘I’ll not hurt thee,’ he repeated. ‘I haven’t ’energy to do owt.’

She scrambled to her feet and rushed away and he cursed her as she ran, calling her dreadful names and wishing her every evil under the sun.

She was so cold that she started to shake and she put her arms beneath her cloak to try to trap what little warmth there was. There were other people wandering the streets, even though it was late; some were very merry, shouting and singing, others were trudging with their heads down and their hands in threadbare pockets. She heard a clamour of voices drifting from the Market Place and a refrain started to run through the progression of people who were heading that way. ‘Soup kitchens. Soup kitchens. Come on. Come on.’

Fires had been lit in the street and lamps were
burning on wooden stalls which had been set up in the centre of the Market Place, their glow sending flickering shadows on the golden statue of King William on his horse, which stood nearby. Betsy stared, fascinated. It was almost as if the horse’s legs were moving as the shadows quivered and fluttered, bringing the sculpture to life.

‘Here you are, miss. Have a bowl of soup and some bread.’ A man standing at one of the stalls handed her a bowl of broth.

‘I can’t pay,’ she muttered, and looked with craving at the steaming soup. ‘I haven’t any money.’

He looked up as she spoke and seemed to appraise her. ‘It’s free,’ he said gently. ‘There isn’t any charge. The corporation are paying.’

She took it with cold and trembling fingers, and lifted the bowl to her lips. When she looked up the man was still looking at her.
He looks kind
, she thought. He had a calm, tolerant expression and an easy-going smile. Why would such a man be out on a night like this giving out victuals to paupers when he could probably be at home with a nice wife and family?

Although she felt despair and misery pulling her down, she wasn’t including herself in this picture of wretchedness; she was simply looking out from within herself at a scene set apart: of vagrants and prostitutes, of children and old people, some with only rags on their backs and no shoes for their feet, a queue of wretches patiently waiting their turn for food.

‘Are you not well?’ The man spoke again to her as she sipped the soup.

She looked at him with dull eyes. Why did he say that? How could he guess at the pain she felt? The pain of misery in her heart and the ache in her back which was getting worse by the minute.

‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

Again he appraised her, then he turned back to the
stall and the cauldron of soup which he started to ladle into tin bowls.

‘Billy!’ She heard him call as she turned away from the stall and walked towards the nearest fire to warm herself. ‘Billy. Come here a moment, will you?’

She glanced over her shoulder at the other stall where another man was giving out soup, and a small boy was handing out hunks of bread. A tall slim man with long fair hair. Billy! She thought she would faint as she saw him look up at the other man’s summons.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she heard him say. ‘Let me just dish these out. Tim!’ he called to the boy. ‘Share the bread out, don’t let them grab; there’s enough for everyone.’

He put down the ladle when he had filled a dozen bowls and crossed to the other stall. She watched, frozen to the spot, as the other man spoke to him and pointed across to where she was standing. There was a sudden shout from the crowd. Someone was pushing in, trying to jump the queue. A ripple of discontent flowed through the line of people waiting and as the two men were distracted, Betsy moved away.

A sudden spasm of pain shot through her as she hastened toward the Church of Holy Trinity, trying to hide herself within its shadows. She stopped and leaned against the walls.

‘The soup!’ she gasped. ‘It must have been too hot. It’s burning a hole in me!’ She bent double for a few moments, then as the pain eased, she straightened up and walked on.
Where can I go? Where can I hide? I can’t let Billy find me. I shall feel such shame. What would he think? He’ll tell my da, and Tom and George, and Sammi. Everybody would share the shame of the life I’ve led, of living with a man, especially a man like Craddock
.

She started to weep.
I’m no better than those women waiting in the Market Place
, she judged.
I’m worse! Those women with their painted faces sell their bodies in order to
eat and keep a roof over their heads. I had a good home and I’ve sacrificed it for my own vanity
.

Another red hot pain ran through her, striking down her belly and out between her thighs, and with it came anger and hatred for Craddock for abandoning her.
I’ll have to lie down
. She screwed up her eyes and clenched her lips.
I can’t stand. Where can I go?