Children of the Tide (59 page)

‘She’s gone, Billy,’ the doctor spoke softly. ‘Her last breath taken, the long sleep begun.’

Gilbert was sitting at the top of the stairs, his head bowed to his knees when Billy finally came out of the bedroom. He looked up and, seeing Billy’s grief, he rose and preceded him down the stairs. ‘Billy. Will you go to Tillington or will I?’

Billy swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘I think that perhaps I should, Gilbert. Unless we go together.’

Gilbert hesitated at the door of the sitting-room. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not. Doctor Sheppard has told Harriet. She is very upset, I’d best stay with her. Besides,’ he clenched his trembling lips together, ‘the Fosters are fond of you. I’m sure they would prefer it if you broke the news.’

‘Yes,’ Billy murmured. ‘You’re probably right. Can I borrow a coat, Gilbert? I seem to have lost my clothes.’

Gilbert silently pointed to the coat-stand in the hall,
and Billy unhooked a warm overcoat and a scarf. ‘Stephen said he would see to everything,’ he began.

‘It’s all right,’ Gilbert interrupted. ‘She – Betsy can stay here. We’ll take care of her until her brothers come for her.’ His voice broke. He was having great difficulty in forming his words. ‘Take care on the road, Billy.’ He was going to hire a chaise. ‘Don’t break your neck or turn the carriage over.’

‘I won’t.’ Billy turned and went out of the front door, leaving Gilbert hesitating outside the sitting-room door.

He waited a moment, then, straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath and turned the door-knob to enter the room where Harriet was sitting, a handkerchief to her eyes.

She looked up at him and put out her arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Gilbert. So very sorry. I hardly knew Betsy, but I liked her such a lot. She was so pretty, and jolly and good-natured; and that poor baby, who will take care of her?’

Her face was pale and as he looked at her, his vision blurred with tears, she became almost ethereal. It was as if the faces of his dark-haired wife, and Betsy, the girl Sylvi, whom once he had loved, merged and dissolved, co-existed and became one and the same.

He sat down besides her and she put her arms about him. ‘My poor darling, you are so sad.’

Gilbert started to weep; he put his head onto Harriet’s shoulder, wetting her gown with his tears. ‘Harriet. Please forgive me! There is something I must tell you.’

The early evening sky of Boxing Day was dark and low and threatening as Billy drove up the snow-covered drive of his home at Garston Hall. He had decided, during the seemingly endless road to Holderness, that he would enlist his family to help with breaking the news to Betsy’s family. And someone would have to stay with Uncle Thomas while he drove back to Hull with Tom and George. He was dreadfully tired. The day had taken its toll of him, and his mind was dull and lethargic. He felt drowned in sorrow for Betsy and was barely able to think about what he should say.

But somehow he did find the words to tell his family of the tragedy, and to ask his parents to come back with him to Tillington. Sammi was shocked and speechless, unable to comprehend or believe what he was saying. Then she blurted out, ‘But Tom was here, only a few hours ago. I said we mustn’t give up hope. And now you’re saying – you’re saying …!’

Her father came to her side. ‘We must be brave, Sammi. All of us, for the sake of Thomas and Tom and George. They’ll need our help and fortitude.’ His words were shaky but under control. ‘Go and get your cloak and your mother’s; we’ll all go together.’

The action of doing something helped, and when she came back with her mother’s outdoor things and already dressed in her own warm bonnet and cloak, she was more composed, though she trembled.

‘We’ll take the carriage, and Johnson can drive you and Tom and George back to Hull.’ Their father had taken charge and was busy organizing, planning for
subsequent action. ‘You look ill, Billy. You must come back home with them and stay to recover. This has been a terrible shock for you. Ellen, you and I will stay with Thomas until they bring Betsy home.’

‘May I stay too, Pa?’ Sammi whispered. ‘I’d like to prepare Betsy’s room for her.’ She glanced at Victoria who was sitting in a corner of the room, white-faced and breathless. ‘Victoria isn’t well, Mama will have to come back.’

Martha packed crisp white lavender-scented sheets and lace pillowslips into the carriage for them to take with them, and had said that she would walk to Tillington the next day. ‘For that young maid won’t know what to do,’ she said softly.

Sammi wanted to put her arms around Tom to comfort him as he stood straight as a ramrod when Billy told them what had happened. Then he spoke. ‘Reedbarrow’s child!’ His voice was bitter. ‘Mark warned me she was being led astray. He’ll answer for this!’

‘Betsy said, she said that you were not to blame Luke.’ Billy didn’t want to tell all of what happened to Betsy, he felt that somehow he would be betraying her, yet he couldn’t let Luke take all of the blame. ‘She said that it was her fault as much as his. He doesn’t know about the child. She never told him.’

‘No? Well, I shall tell him. I shall tell him that he’s sent a young girl to her death.’ Tom reached for his coat which was hanging over the back of a chair.

‘Tha’ll go nowhere.’ His father’s voice was firm. ‘Not until I say so. I’m still master here, even though I’m tied to this chair. There’s more to this than we’ve been told. George! Is Reedbarrow still in ’mill?’

George nodded, he looked with frightened glances from one to another.

‘Then fetch him inside,’ his father demanded, his grief superseded by impotent anger. ‘And let’s get to ’bottom of this.’

Sammi pressed Tom’s arm as she and her mother
went into the kitchen to organize Jenny to make tea for everyone, but there was no response, it was as if he didn’t see her or know she was there. They heard a cry of anguish from Luke as he was told of Betsy. There were sounds of raised voices, of anger and weeping, recriminations and apologies.

Presently they went back into the parlour and Jenny handed round a tray of tea. She had put a teaspoonful of whisky in Thomas’s cup and extra sugar in George’s, and gave him a look of sympathy as she handed it to him.

Luke sat, his big body bowed. ‘I would have done ’decent thing,’ he mumbled. ‘But she never said! She said she didn’t want to get wed. Nor did I. Not yet any road, but I would have! And I onny ever wanted Betsy. ’Other lasses meant nowt to me.’

‘Aye, lad, all right,’ Thomas said wearily. ‘We’ll believe thee. She was fond on thee I don’t doubt. Sup tha tea, Tom, and then get off to Hull with Billy. I’ll not rest till she’s brought home. Spare no expense,’ he said abruptly. ‘In spite of what’s happened, she’ll have ’best that money can buy, even though she’ll not be here to see it.’

Luke raised his head and looked at Billy. ‘But where’s she been?’ It was as if comprehension was only just filtering through. ‘Tha said she was found in a cellar, but she can’t have been there since August when she left home. She’d have lost babby if she had been!’

Billy flushed and swallowed. ‘She, she was staying with a friend.’

‘Aye, she told us that in her letter,’ Thomas said. ‘We knew that.’

‘But who was the friend?’ Tom’s voice was harsh. ‘What kind of a friend would let a pregnant woman wander alone in the streets?’

Billy looked pleadingly at Tom, silently beseeching him not to ask the question.

‘Who was it, Billy? You know, don’t you?’ Tom’s
eyes, cold as steel pierced into Billy’s. ‘Who was it? Was it a man?’

Billy looked down at his feet. ‘Yes,’ he said nervously. ‘It was Charles Craddock.’

Johnson was waiting for them, his manner stoical. He had lived all of his life in Holderness and most of his working years had been with the Rayners. He had known all of the young people at Garston Hall and their cousins since they were children, and he was as upset as anyone over Miss Betsy, and would have waited all night if necessary. But he didn’t have to wait long as Tom charged out of the house, followed more slowly by Billy and George.

Luke opened the big wooden gate for the carriage to pass through and as the team picked up their heels in the lane, he suddenly flung himself on board and climbed up beside Johnson.

Tom saw him through the window and put his head out, calling to Johnson to stop. ‘Where do you think you’re going, Reedbarrow?’ he yelled. ‘There’s no need for you to come.’

Luke put his head down towards him. ‘Need or not, I’m coming. I’ve a babby to collect and a score to settle.’

Tom considered. The same thoughts were going through his head. He, too, had a score to settle. He remembered that braggart Craddock from Gilbert’s wedding. Betsy may well have gone willingly to him, but it would give him infinite pleasure to crack his jaw. ‘You’d better go back, George,’ he said. ‘There’s no sense in all of us going.’

George climbed down, relief showing on his face. ‘I think tha’s right, Tom.’

Tom called up again to Luke. ‘You can come inside if you want.’

‘No thanks. I’ll stop on top. I know my place,’ he muttered and Johnson raised his eyebrows and cracked the whip.

Billy stayed downstairs with Gilbert and Harriet while first Tom and then Luke went upstairs to sit by Betsy. Tom came down looking white and shaken, but Luke’s face was flushed with anger, his eyes wild and wet with tears, and he demanded to know if Gilbert knew where this Craddock bloke lived.

‘He might be at his club at this time of night.’ Gilbert spoke quietly. His face was drawn but he was composed and calmer than he had been.

‘Can tha tell me where it is?’ Luke’s manner was not impolite but neither was it complaisant.

‘Do you not want to see the infant?’ Harriet spoke up softly. ‘She’s sleeping, but I’ll take you up.’

‘Not yet, ma-am.’ His brusque attitude changed deferentially as he spoke to Harriet. ‘Thank you. I’ve a bit o’ business to attend to first. Then I’ll see her.’

Gilbert went to the door. ‘Come on then, I’ll take you.’

Harriet opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly said, ‘We won’t be long, Harriet. They can’t get in without me. You have to be a member.’

The snow was coming down thick and fast as they went outside, and the four men piled once more into the carriage to be driven to the gaming club in the heart of the town.

‘You’d better wait outside, Gilbert,’ Tom said as they arrived at the lamplit door in the dark side street. ‘You might be banned from coming again if there’s trouble.’

‘It’s all right.’ Gilbert nodded to the doorman and ushered the others in. ‘I’m resigning anyway.’

They all stood in the doorway of the gaming room, looking round at the tables through a blue haze of cigar smoke. Gilbert, tall and broad, Billy, long and slim as a reed but with his patient face set and determined; Tom even taller, his frame strong and muscular, and Luke towering over them all, his shoulders and large head filling the doorway.

They were mostly men who were gathered around the card tables, though there were a few women, women garishly overdressed and beribboned, some smoking cigars and with wine glasses in their hands; Tom shuddered and wondered if Betsy had ever been brought here.

‘There he is,’ Gilbert murmured. ‘At the table over in the corner. The fellow with the red braces and smoking a cigar.’

‘Right!’ Tom muttered to Gilbert. ‘I want you to take Billy and leave. This isn’t your concern and you have your name to think of. You’ve both done enough. Now go.’

His words were cut short as Luke barged past them and through the milling crowd towards Craddock’s table. He dashed after him as Luke was saying, ‘Is thy name Charlie Craddock?’

Craddock looked up in amusement, his eyes narrowing as he blew out a circle of smoke. ‘Depends who wants to know,’ he drawled. ‘If I owe you money or have seduced your lady friend, then no.’ He glanced round at the table anticipating general laughter, but as he discerned none he turned around, only to have a large hand clutch his shirt collar.

‘Wait. This is my business.’ Tom placed his hand on Luke’s arm and felt the iron strength beneath it as he was pushed away.

‘Ah! Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ Craddock’s eyes lit on Tom as he tried to pull away from Luke’s grip. He blustered. ‘Little Betsy’s brother, aren’t you? How is the little dumpling? Been delivered of her bastard yet?’

His feet didn’t touch the floor as Luke hauled him out of his chair and his face reddened as his grip tightened about his throat.

Tom pulled back his fist and aimed it fairly and squarely on Craddock’s nose. He felt no satisfaction in the blow. He would have preferred to be outside in the open and without the help of Luke
Reedbarrow, who was holding Craddock up with one hand like a rag doll.

Luke dropped him and Craddock scrabbled to his feet, his nose bleeding and hatred etched in his eyes. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he glared at Tom. ‘You and your whore of a sister.’

‘She’s already paid!’ Tom spat out. ‘She’s dead. And you killed her, you dunghill rat.’

He drew his fist back once more but was stopped by Luke who pushed him to one side and with a mighty thrust of his fist punched Craddock in his stomach.

‘That’s for my Betsy,’ he snarled. He lifted Craddock’s doubled-up body by his chin and aimed again between his eyes. ‘And that’s for my babby who’ll never know her ma.’

He turned round and, pushing Tom ahead of him, he elbowed his way through the watching crowd and marched out of the club into the darkness of the night.

‘Spare no expense,’ Betsy’s father had said, and so they didn’t. Betsy was put to rest in the churchyard next to her mother, the polished hearse pulled by a team of glossy black horses with black plumes nodding as they carried her on the short journey from her home.

The York Rayners’ absence was barely missed, and though Mildred came with Gilbert and Harriet, Anne didn’t, and some of the villagers stayed away to show their disapproval of the miller’s fallen daughter; but most came for the final departure of the young girl they all had known, whilst others came out of curiosity to observe the united gathering of the Fosters and Rayners.

Tom, George, Luke and Billy carried the coffin on their shoulders down the churchyard path into the church, the soft black crêpe around their top hats floating behind them in diaphanous veils.