The Long Walk Home (12 page)

A few minutes later, Eleanor stood before her father. He was alone in the drawing room. 'I'm sorry, Papa,' she murmured. 'I'll never . . . never . . .' What was it I did, she thought, confused and fearful. 'I'll never disobey you again.'

Her father nodded, but didn't look at her. 'I trust you have learned your lesson.' He lifted his chin. 'But what I want to know now, and remember the punishment if I should find you lying, is do you know where your brother is?'

Eleanor shook her head. 'In his room?'

'He is not in his room! Did he come upstairs? Did he tell you where he was going?'

Her lips parted. Simon had wanted to tell her something. What a good thing she had told him not to. 'I don't know what you mean, Father. I haven't seen Simon since we were in his room. Before my punishment, I mean.'

That bit was true. She hadn't seen anyone from the pitch black cupboard. And Simon hadn't told her where he was going. 'Where can he be, Father? Doesn't Mama know?'

'Your mother has gone to lie down. She is unwell. Your brother, Eleanor, appears to have run away.'

They didn't reach Lincoln that evening. Mikey had had no idea that it would take so long, and he thought, to be fair to Bridget, that she hadn't held him up at all, even shortening their journey by flagging down a waggon and asking for a lift. She'd waved to the driver and shouted hello, giving her most winning smile and asking if he would give her and her brother a ride. 'Our ma will be having a duck fit,' she'd said. 'She expected us home hours ago.'

'Why did you say I was your brother?' Mikey asked after they had got down and waved the waggoner goodbye.

'Because otherwise he might have thought we'd run away.' She smirked. 'You know. To be together.'

'Rubbish!' Mikey said. 'Why'd he think that? He'd see we're not old enough.' Though as he looked sideways at Bridget, he thought that perhaps a man wouldn't be able to guess her age.

It was almost dark by the time they arrived in the medieval town of Lincoln the next evening, and the towering cathedral was etched against the night sky. They were very tired, having slept in a spinney the previous night and been awakened early by the cucketing cry of pheasants; they were also very hungry, having eaten only bread given to them by a villager whose door they had knocked on begging for water.

They wandered about, not knowing which direction to take, but needing food and shelter for the night. 'We'll go up to 'cathedral,' Mikey said. 'We should be able to find somewhere to sleep there.' He was thinking of his former bed beneath St Mary's arch. 'And then we'll move on in 'morning.'

'I want summat to eat first,' Bridget moaned. 'I'm starving.' She looked about her. 'Over there, look. See that old bridge with shops on it? You stop here, and I'll go and get us some food.'

Mikey waited, looking about him at the timber-framed buildings and the people scurrying about their business. It's just 'same as at home, he thought. I suppose life is 'same wherever you are. You've got to work and you've got to eat.

Bridget returned in triumph ten minutes later. 'I've got a penny loaf, half a meat pie and two slices of sweet cake.'

Mikey's jaw dropped. 'You said you'd onny got a tanner.'

She gave a little shrug. She hadn't told him about the blackmail money the stranger had given her. 'Baker was shutting up shop,' she said. 'He wanted rid of 'em. Come on, let's find somewhere to sit and eat.'

They traipsed up an extremely steep hill towards the cathedral. Both puffed and panted, their lungs bursting and their legs aching, being used only to the flatness of the Hull streets.

'I shall have to stop,' Bridget gasped, halfway up. 'I've no breath left.'

'Nearly there,' Mikey wheezed. 'Come on. We can lean against 'wall. Think of all that feasting in front of us.'

Neither of them could speak when they reached the top and collapsed on the ground to lean against a wall outside the cathedral.

'I need a drink,' Mikey said at last. 'There'll be a pump somewhere.' He went off to look and came back shortly with his face wet. 'Just over there.' He pointed. 'Go on, tek a drink and then we'll eat.'

Bridget did, but first relieved herself in some bushes. 'Oh!' she sighed, blowing out her lips. 'That's better.'

They ate their fill, leaving one slice of sweet cake for the morning, and Mikey said it was the best meal he had ever tasted. Bridget looked smug, but didn't comment that he might have gone hungry but for her.

The night was damp, but they found shelter in a walled area within the cathedral grounds and were so tired they fell asleep almost immediately. They awoke to birdsong, and after drinking from the pump they shared the slice of cake.

'I think we should move off now,' Mikey said. 'With a bit of luck we might get another lift, like yesterday.'

Bridget agreed. She'd done a mental calculation of the money she had left and knew there wasn't enough to pay for transport, so they'd have to beg a lift. On their wanderings round the town when they'd arrived last night they had seen people scurrying towards the grey brick station with its tall ornate chimneys, but they knew that such travel was for the well-off, not for urchins such as them.

They saw the town gate as they moved off; the Stonebow, it was called, and the guildhall was above it. Bridget crossed herself when she saw the stone figures of the Archangel Gabriel and the Virgin Mary in the niches in the wall. She generally pooh-poohed any form of religion, but thought that perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to show a little respect under the circumstances.

'We'll make for Nottingham,' Mikey decided. 'I don't know where next.' He wasn't confident about the rest of the journey. 'We'll have to ask 'way to London.'

Bridget had no idea at all of geography. Her life had been spent in Hull and she could find her way blindfolded down every street and alleyway of that town. She had known that Lincoln was across the estuary and London was a long way off. Of anywhere else, she knew nothing.

'We'll have to look at 'milestones, Mikey,' she said. 'They'll tell us how far it is.'

They passed through quiet villages and deserted hamlets, past ancient churches, old farmhouses and country inns; skirted streams and duck ponds, and travelled along country roads and lanes. They saw few people and didn't speak to any, though they saw farm workers out in the fields gathering in the harvest.

'Lincolnshire is isolated,' Mikey commented as they sat on the verge to rest their feet. 'It's like East Yorkshire. Folks don't travel through. They onny come if they want to be here.'

Bridget turned a weary expression to him. 'How do you mean?'

'Well.' He struggled to explain the conclusion he had come to. 'Folks coming into Lincolnshire from 'south get as far as 'Humber estuary, and have to stop or else cross over it. And if they cross it, say on 'ferry, they come into East Yorkshire and if they keep going they'll reach Spurn Point and 'sea. They can't get any further, you see, unless they tek a boat.'

'Oh,' Bridget said. 'So those who live here must really like it, mustn't they?'

Mikey nodded. 'Yeh, I suppose so. Unless they were born here and nivver moved.' He got to his feet. 'Come on. We're not going to mek our fortune here, not unless we become farmers.'

'Farm labourers, you mean.' Bridget pointed across meadow land to a great house in the distance. 'Look at that acreage! How could anybody be so rich as to own all of that?'

'Lucky, I suppose,' Mikey said. 'Or else have a rich da or grandda. It's lovely,' he murmured. 'So peaceful.'

'And boring,' Bridget scoffed. 'What do folk do all day?'

'They work!' Mikey was indignant. 'They don't just look at 'scenery all day. They work on 'land, no matter what 'weather's like, or dig ditches and drains and look after hosses. All sorts of jobs.'

'How do you know?'

'I just do,' he muttered. 'Somebody's got to grow corn and vegetables and keep pigs and cattle. How would we eat otherwise?'

Bridget shrugged. 'Don't know,' she said. 'Hadn't thought about it.'

The traffic became heavier as they approached Nottingham, many vehicles overtaking them as well as coming towards them; some of the vehicles coming from Nottingham were waggons pulling animal transporters or trailers piled high with machinery, or donkey drays loaded with canvas. There were also several horseback riders.

'They've been to 'Goose Fair! We'll miss Hull Fair,' Bridget complained. 'That's where they're heading. I allus go. Never missed afore!'

'Well, ask if they'll give you a lift back,' Mikey said grumpily. 'You don't have to come wi' me.'

A young dark-haired girl riding a Pinto waved to them and called hello. Mikey waved back, but Bridget only scowled. 'Is she a gyppo, do you think?'

'Romany, you mean. Yes, I think so.'

'Anyway, I didn't say I didn't want to come wi' you,' Bridget continued. 'I onny said we were missing Hull Fair.'

Mikey didn't answer. Seeing the fair folk reminded him how he too always went to the fair with his mother and brothers and sister. They had little money to spend but that didn't matter as they soaked up the atmosphere of music and drumbeat and rifle shot, the trumpeting of elephants and the roar of tigers. Dancing girls in bright costumes enticing visitors in to see their show, showmen cracking whips; such sights and sounds were all for free and the memory of them saddened him.

It was a warm dry night and they slept in the open again, but the following morning, as they began the next leg of their journey, the rain began; light drizzle at first but then increasing to a downpour. They became so wet that they hurried off the road into a plantation of oak trees to shelter beneath the canopy, where the rain didn't penetrate.

'We're miles and miles away from London, aren't we?' Bridget shivered. 'When do you think we'll get there?'

'Dunno.' Mikey was despondent. 'I've been wondering whether to try for a job o' work in Nottingham. Just to tide us ower, you know. Mebbe earn a copper or two to afford a bit o' dinner.' He only had a few coins left of the money that Milly had given him. He'd save it for a rainy day, he'd thought, but it was raining now. Bucketing down.

'I've got some money left,' Bridget admitted. 'When we get to Nottingham we'll spend it on a hot dinner.'

Mikey was about to ask where the money had come from when she suddenly called out, 'Look, there's a waggon coming over.'

He looked up to see a two-horse waggon trundling towards them. The driver sat in front, his shoulders covered in a waterproof cape, and in the back of the waggon someone was sitting hunched up under a sack.

'Hey up!' the driver called to them. 'Room for us?'

'Plenty,' Mikey called back. 'You going far?'

The driver wiped his streaming face with his soft hat. 'Aye. To Nottingham town.' He indicated the back of the cart with his thumb. 'But this young feller's getting soaked so I said I'd stop until the rain eased up a bit.'

The sack was thrown off and a fair head appeared. A youth of about Mikey's age looked out at them. 'I'm wet through,' he said. 'I should have brought my mackintosh.'

A swell, Mikey thought, noting the boy's accent and the fact that he could afford a proper raincoat. 'Where're you heading?' he asked.

The youth hesitated. 'I'm hitching to see my aunt in Nottingham.' He glanced towards the driver. 'My parents are dead and I'm hoping she'll let me stay for a while. What about you?'

'We're going to London,' Bridget interrupted.

The boy jumped down from the waggon and stretched himself. 'I'm going to London too as a matter of fact,' he murmured, his back to the driver. 'But I don't want to tell the driver in case anybody questions him about me.'

'Who would do that?' Mikey asked. 'Are you in trouble?'

'I will be if my father finds me,' the boy muttered, his voice full of cynicism. 'I've run away from home. Have you? Is that why you're on the road?'

'No,' Mikey said. 'I haven't. I haven't a home to run from, and Bridget . . .' He hesitated.

'I haven't run away.' Bridget tossed her head. 'I left a message for my ma that I was going away for a bit. But I'm old enough to leave home anyway,' she added truculently.

'Well, if this waggoner'll give us a lift, we could mebbe travel together?' Mikey suggested. 'Or do you prefer to be on your own?' he added, recalling how reluctant he had been to have Bridget tagging on.

The boy shook his head. 'No, I don't. It would be good to have company. What's your name?'

'Quinn.' Mikey told him. 'Mikey Quinn. What's yours?'

'Simon,' he said. 'Just Simon.'

They left the thick woodlands behind and entered the teeming, congested textile town of Nottingham. Mikey and Bridget put their remaining money together and had just enough for a night's lodgings. Bridget slept in a dingy rooming house and Mikey shared a hostel dormitory with working men. He reflected that the slum dwellings here were on a par with many in the back streets of Hull. Simon said he would find his own accommodation and meet them the next morning, which he did.

He told them about the hosiery and lace-making in Nottingham and how the merchants were moving further out of the town as it grew bigger. 'Much the same as in Hull,' he said airily. 'The merchants don't want to share the same air as their workers.'

'How come you know so much?' Bridget asked pertinently. 'Did you go to school?'

Simon gave a disdainful laugh. 'Of course I went to school! But I was expelled. That's why I've run away.'

'Expelled? What does that mean? Were you at Hull Grammar?' she asked.

'No. Boarding school, of course. I was sent away when I was eight. Hated it,' he said with venom. 'Hated it! I was always in trouble. The masters beat me and the other boys bullied me when I was young, and I was expelled— asked to leave because I beat up another boy. He deserved it, though.'

'But why have you run away from home?' Mikey asked. 'Were you lying about your parents being dead? Won't they worry about you?'

Simon held out his hands, palms uppermost. 'Look,' he said. 'My father did that.' His palms were cracked and swollen. 'He was going to send me away to another school. A much stricter one than the other.' He took a deep breath. 'And he promised me a beating every day until I agreed to mend my ways.'