The Fleethaven Trilogy (61 page)

Kate whirled around and lunged at the girl, but too late. Isobel held up the whelk shell. ‘Look, Sicky’s got a pwetty shell. Ah! Here, Brenda, catch.’

Isobel tossed the shell high over Kate’s head and Brenda caught it deftly. Kate turned and caught hold of Brenda’s arms. ‘Give it me!’ she cried. ‘Give it back. It’s mine.’

Brenda threw it to Hazel and the three of them encircled her, throwing it from one to the other.

Kate was almost weeping with frustration. ‘You’ve no right to tek me shell.’ The anger welled up in her and she screamed. ‘Give it me back!’

The door was flung open and the Matron marched into the room. ‘What is all this noise about?’

Immediately Isobel put her hand holding the shell behind her back and turned innocent eyes upon the Matron.

Matron’s gaze came to rest upon Kate’s hot face and dishevelled hair. ‘Katharine Hilton – come with me this instant.’

Without waiting to see if the girl obeyed her, the woman turned and left the room. Kate swung back to Isobel. ‘Give me my shell.’

The hand remained behind the girl’s back. ‘Shell?’ the girl drawled, her cold eyes narrowing, ‘What shell might that be?’

‘You’d better get along to Matron’s room else you’ll be in more trouble,’ Hazel warned.

Kate hesitated, then, casting a vicious glance at Isobel, she muttered through her teeth, ‘You wait, Isobel Cartwright, just you wait!’

Pushing Hazel aside, Kate stormed out of the dormitory.

The Matron was standing in the centre of the medical room with a large pair of scissors in her hands. ‘Now, my girl. Since you cannot, apparently, keep your hair neatly plaited, it’s time we cut it to regulation length.’

Horrified, Kate wheeled around to run from the room but found her way barred by the daunting figure of Miss Denham advancing into the room behind her.

Still in a temper from the girls’ teasing, Kate fought back. ‘No, no. You aren’t going to cut me hair. You’ve no right. I won’t . . .’

The door closed and the immovable figure of Miss Denham leaned against it. ‘You, Katharine Hilton, will do exactly as you are told and we will have no more of this wilful behaviour.’

Hardly before Kate knew what was happening, Miss Denham had caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her towards her, enfolding her in a vice-like grip. Kate’s face was pressed suffocatingly against the woman’s massive bosom. She felt the painful tug on her scalp as the Matron grasped a handful of hair and she heard the scissors cut into her silken curls. Snip, snip, snip and her beautiful auburn tresses slipped to the floor.

When Miss Denham released her, Kate could feel the sudden chill on her neck and she put up her hand to feel the jagged ends brutally cropped just below her ears. Suddenly all the fight went out of her. Her knees gave way and she sank down, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch the shorn locks lying on the floor.

‘Get up, Katharine, and sit in a chair whilst I neaten . . .’

Her spirit returned. She scrambled up and struck out at the woman, knocking the scissors out of her hand and sending them slithering across the floor. ‘Ya’ll not touch me hair – not again.’ Her fury gave her strength. She pushed past Miss Denham, dragged open the door and ran. Down the two flights of stairs, through the hall, out of the huge heavy front door and down the steps into the street before anyone could stop her.

On the pavement, poised on the balls of her feet, she hesitated and glanced back at the grey building towering menacingly above her. Then, her decision made, she picked up her skirts and began to run up the hill towards the cathedral.

S
he was wet, cold, hungry – and lost!

Kate had waited in the cathedral until dark, joining the Evensong worshippers and leaving amidst them, hoping that no one would recognize the school uniform and question why she was there on her own – and without coat or hat.

No one did.

She wandered around the precincts of the towering building until she came to a statue of Lord Tennyson. Tired, she sat down and leaned her back against the base.

‘What are you doing here, little girl?’ The voice spoke directly above her. Kate blinked. For one foolish moment she thought it was the statue speaking to her. Looking round, she saw an elderly man dressed in a long black cassock peering round the corner of the statue.

Kate scrambled up and began to back away from him. Her heart was pounding and at once she was poised on her toes ready for flight. But the man’s tone was friendly. ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you – or be angry. I just wondered – I mean – are you all right? Shouldn’t you be going home?’

‘Yes,’ Kate replied firmly, although he could not fully understand the meaning behind her words. ‘That’s exactly where I should be – home!’

‘Then why . . .?’

‘I dun’t know which way it is. At least – I know I need to go east, towards the . . .’ she stopped. She had been going to say ‘towards the sea’, but perhaps the old man would question that. It was a long way to the sea. Kate took a deep breath and said, ‘I came to Evensong,’ which was the truth but not the whole truth,’ and when I came out, I didn’t know which way to go. So, I was waiting for the stars to come out so I could see the North Star and then I’d know.’

The old man chuckled. ‘You seem a very knowledgeable young lady. Finding your way by the stars, eh? Well, well, I never did.’

‘Danny,’ the very mention of his name brought a lump to her throat, ‘he’s my friend – he taught me.’

‘Did he indeed?’ The elderly man glanced upwards into the darkening sky. ‘Well, my dear, it’s very cloudy tonight. It looks like rain. I don’t think you’re going to see the stars at all tonight.’

Kate tipped her head backwards, feeling the jagged edges of her newly cropped hair against her neck. She sighed. He was right – there would be neither moon nor stars this night.

She looked back again at the old man. ‘Do you know which way is east?’ she ventured.

The man nodded. ‘Yes, my dear. In fact I’ll take you and set you on your way. Once on the road, you just keep straight on.’

They fell into step together and he continued, ‘All the main roads which lead into Lincoln were originally built by the Romans and they all lead straight and true towards the cathedral. Now here we are, this will lead you to Wragby Road.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Is that the one you want?’

Kate hesitated, not wanting to tell the old gentleman a deliberate lie. ‘I’m trying to get to Suddaby . . .’

‘Suddaby? Why that’s miles away . . .’

Kate knew a moment’s fear. She’d made a mistake, but she’d had to take the risk to find out the right road.

‘Me grandad lives there, he’ll be meeting me,’ she told him, silently begging forgiveness for the small lie.

‘But you have no coat. I really don’t like to think of a young girl like you walking all that way alone and in the dark. Won’t you . . .?’

‘I’ll be fine – honest,’ she assured him and began to move away.

‘Take care, then, my dear. Take care.’

‘I will. Thanks, Mester.’

She knew it was a long way to the coast and Fleethaven Point – forty miles or more – but she was not afraid of the distance. All she wanted was to be away from that dreadful school and back home with her family – and with Danny. But she had not, in her moment of precipitate flight, thought of the trouble she would face when she did reach home. For the first time her footsteps slowed. She could almost hear her mother’s voice raised in anger and see her stepfather’s anxious face.

Then the idea, which had come into her mind as an excuse to the priest, now took root. Her grandad. She would go to her grandad. Hadn’t he told her to do just that if she needed help?

And she needed help now.

It was then that she felt the first spots of rain. They were huge droplets, heralding a downpour. Kate looked around anxiously. The city was three miles behind her now and open fields bordered the road on both sides. Only here and there did lights shine into the dusk from the windows of cottages and farmhouses.

She trudged on, bending her face against the rain falling heavily now, quickly soaking through her gym-slip and blouse. The thin-soled house shoes she was wearing offered no protection. She wished she still had her sturdy boots but the matron had thrown them away with a look of disgust upon her face. Kate’s hair – what was left of it – was wet through and rivulets of water were running down her neck.

On her left a clutch of farm buildings loomed in the darkness. Holding her breath, Kate tiptoed to the farm gate. Hoping that it was too wet for even the farm dogs to be prowling around, she felt her way stealthily around the wall of the nearest building until she came to an open door. Inside the darkness was even blacker, but as she walked forwards carefully, her hands outstretched in front of her, she felt her feet rustle in straw – deep, dry straw. She took off her wet tunic and spread it out. Then she burrowed beneath the straw and curled up. Although she was still wet and hungry, now at least there was a little warmth. Exhausted, she was asleep in seconds.

She awoke to the sound of rain pounding on the roof and to see daylight filtering through the wooden boards of the barn walls. Scrambling up, she struggled into her damp gym-slip. She must go; the farmer might set his dogs on her for trespassing. Opening the barn door a crack, Kate peeped out. There was no one about and she was out of the barn, into the road and running before anyone had seen her.

It was still raining – ‘siling’ as her grandad would say. At the thought of her grandad, her spirits lifted.

She could almost hear his voice. ‘If ya needs me, lass,’ he’d told her, ‘just send word and Ah’ll come.’

Well, she’d do better than that; she was going to him.

It wasn’t long before she was soaked. The wet seeped through her clothes and was cold against her skin. She walked briskly in an effort to keep warm, but the wind whipped bitingly across the rolling countryside of the Wolds and she was soon shivering. She was sure she had kept to the main road the old man had shown her but she could not find a signpost that bore the name of Suddaby.

It was at that point that she began to be afraid she was lost.

She was taking little running steps every so often and sobs punctuated her rapid breathing. Her head began to ache and her throat was parched; she was hot and then shivering with cold and the next moment sweating again. She looked around for a farmhouse or cottage, but the road stretched ahead through open country. There were no buildings of any kind now, only fields ploughed in neat furrows on either side as far as she could see.

Kate began to pray. ‘Oh please, please help me . . .’

She was so tired, her legs ached and . . . Faintly, behind her, came the sound she most wished to hear at this moment; the sound of cart-wheels – a carrier’s cart.

‘Oh, Grandad, Grandad,’ she sobbed thankfully. Turning, she stood watching the carrier approach, knowing what a pathetic, bedraggled creature she must appear to him. The cart slowed and she lifted her eyes to the man on the seat at the front.

‘Well, little maid, and what be you a’doin’ out on ya own a day like this’n?’

It was not her grandad. If she had not been exhausted and cold and almost on the point of collapse, her common sense would have told her that it would be too much of a coincidence to even hope that it could be her grandfather. This was not his route anyway. But in her confused state, it had seemed like an answer to her prayer.

She stood, bemused, staring up at the carrier’s wrinkled face. ‘Want a ride, young’un?’ he asked kindly. ‘Ya fair soaked and no mistake. Ain’t ya even got a coat?’

He reached down his gnarled hand and, putting her small, cold hand into his, Kate found herself hoisted on to the seat beside him.

The carrier reached back into his cart. ‘Here, wrap ya’sen in this.’

Gratefully, Kate wrapped the waterproof cape around her. The carrier flicked the reins and his two horses moved forward. ‘Where be you a’goin’?’

‘Suddaby,’ Kate answered, speaking for the first time. Her voice was a rasping croak and it hurt her throat to speak. ‘Me grandad’s the carrier there. He . . .’

‘Who? Not old Will Benson?’

Kate nodded and pulled the wrap closer around her. Now she was not walking, she was shivering uncontrollably, and yet her head felt burning hot.

‘Well, dun’t that beat all! Ah knows old Will real well. Ah’ll tek you straight there, young’un, though we’ve a bit of a ride ahead of us.’

She felt his glance upon her. ‘Should you like to ride in the back – under cover? It’d be warmer for ya.’

‘Yes, please.’

She lay on a piece of old matting on the floor of his carrier’s cart, dozing fitfully. Real sleep was impossible for the jolting of the cart, the rattle of its wheels and the hardness of the floor. She was alternately sweating and shivering, her head ached and there was a growing tightness in her chest. Above her, pans clanged together and pots clinked with every movement.

It seemed as if the journey would never end and then suddenly she felt the cart halt and the carrier was lifting the flap and saying, ‘We’re here, young ‘un, at ya grandad’s, but he bain’t here. He’s out on his rounds, so Mrs Raby, his neighbour, ses.’

Kate roused and pulled herself to the back of the cart. She saw the carrier standing there and with him a tall woman with a grey bun on the top of her head. Sweat prickled her skin and she could not breathe.

Miss Denham! Miss Denham had followed her.

It was then that Kate began to scream.

Their voices were rising and falling, coming and going around her. She felt herself lifted and carried and then laid on a sofa.

‘Poor mite – she’s ill. Ya can see that,’ came the woman’s voice.

It was nothing like the voice of Miss Denham. There came the touch of a work-worn yet caring hand upon her forehead. That was certainly not Miss Denham. Kate sighed with thankfulness and closed her eyes. Their conversation floated around her.

‘Who is she?’

‘Dunno, really. She ses she’s Will Benson’s granddaughter.’

‘Naw. Lass is ramblin’. Him an’ his wife never had no bairns, so how can he have a grandbairn?’