The Hungry Tide (10 page)

He’d gone out early in the evening and spent his time going from inn to inn, making sure that he was seen by several of his acquaintances, but refusing any grog from them. The inns and taverns were teeming with sailors and fishermen. Two whalers had arrived in port that morning with full ships, fifteen whales between them and four hundred seals. The men were in celebratory mood and spent money freely in anticipation of the bonus they would receive. The whole town had a jubilant air, for the arrival of such a harvest of oil, blubber and whalebone meant industry for the whole community.

Will had stood apart from the talk and the laughter. He was finished with all of that now, it was part of his past. He would never again experience that strange thrill of pleasure as they sighted the ice, or watch the mysterious lights of the aurora borealis. Never again would he be tossed on the angry seas during the hunt. That was a different world, a world of bravery and danger, of bloodstained men and sobbing whales staining the seas with their life blood.

‘Put this round thee,’ Francis whispered as Will climbed up beside him now. ‘That leg’s too easily remembered.’ He fished around in the back of the cart where there was a heap of sacks and bits of rag and passed a piece of sacking to Will to use as a coachman’s apron.

‘We’ll go out on ’old road across country for a few miles. We can’t risk anybody recognizing us from town.’

Suddenly Will felt a familiar surge of excitement in the pit of his stomach. The recognition of danger and the thrill of a chase of a different kind was about to begin, only this time there was no exhilaration, only a bitter unease.

They spoke in whispers and carried no light on the cart, the horse picking her way sure-footedly on the uneven surface. They neither saw nor heard any other traffic until, deciding to cross over to the coach road as the old road was now becoming extremely rutted and filled with potholes and the cart was in danger of becoming fast, Francis suddenly hissed, ‘Listen!’

Unmistakably in the far-off distance they heard the rhythmic thud of hoofbeats and the rattle of wheels.

Francis jumped down from the cart and guided the mare to the side of the road beneath some overhanging trees. He spoke softly to her, stroking her neck and blowing gently into her nostrils.

The jingle of harness came nearer and a dim light could be seen swaying and bobbing.

‘’Midnight mail!’ Will breathed softly, as the coach rattled by and the raised voices of the coachmen could be heard.

‘Phew, that was near, I hadn’t reckoned on ’mail coach.’ Francis climbed back on to the cart once the coach was out of hearing. ‘We’ll have to move now or we’ll be late.’

They travelled on at a cracking pace, trusting in the horse’s judgement and their own keen sight to keep to the road, until they were about a mile from the crossroad and Francis, drawing to a halt, handed the reins over to Will. He jumped down again and went to the back of the cart where he took out some pieces of rag.

Swearing softly because he couldn’t see, he carefully bound the rags around the mare’s hooves so that they were well padded and made no sound. ‘Keep her at a walk now,’ he commanded, ‘so that she won’t feel fettered by ’bindings.’

As he watched him, Will conjectured wryly on the duplicity of thought and action which was required in order to rob or defraud one’s fellow man.

As they neared the crossroad Francis silently indicated that they should stop. Quietly they sat, hearing only the rustling of the trees and the snuffling and scratchings of nocturnal animals. Francis gave a long, low whistle, paused, and then another. They waited a few minutes until from the direction of the crossroad came an answering call.

He replied with two short, sharp whistles and they saw in front of them the light of a lamp swinging from side to side.

‘Come on.’ Francis walked at the horse’s flank. ‘That’s Jack Crawford, let’s get on with it.’

Will felt his throat tighten. He wasn’t afraid of danger, he’d proved that many times out on the ice, but he was full of misgiving that he had allowed himself to be drawn into such a business. It was too late now to think of backing out: not only would he be branded as a coward, he knew also that Francis would take revenge, and had many dubious acquaintances who would be quite willing to see his own swift departure to the bottom of the river to make sure that he held his tongue.

‘Keep ’hoss quiet and turn ’cart round in ’clearing yonder.’ Jack’s dialect showed that he was a local inhabitant. ‘Don’t show a light and we’ll give ’signal when ’job is finished.’

He seemed to be taking charge, giving orders to Will and talking in whispers to Francis and pointing towards the house.

They disappeared over the bank, taking two sacks each with them, and Will saw to his alarm that they were each carrying a heavy stick.

He climbed down from his seat and leaning awkwardly against the mare’s side moved her up the lane into the clearing to turn the cart about. The ground was soft under the trees and for a moment a tremendous effort was needed to push on the cart when the wheels stuck fast. His crutch he’d left on the seat for he knew it would be of no use to him here. The mare munched contentedly on the overhanging branches as he struggled, and ignored his whispered commands. Finally in exasperation he hauled himself on to her back and, digging in hard with his good leg, he gave her a sharp thwack with a green stick, and managed to pull her and the cart round ready for a swift departure.

He had sat for perhaps an hour, his head sunk deep into the collar of his coat, his ears attuned to the night sounds and the scurryings of small creatures in the undergrowth, when suddenly he was startled by a long wild screeching which broke into his reverie. He caught his breath, but as he looked up he saw the ghostly form of a barn owl against the sky as it flew in silent winged flight above him.

The mare was becoming impatient and starting to stamp and shuffle her hooves restlessly. Will clicked his tongue at her soothingly, when out of the darkness came the noise of dogs barking and voices shouting. The horse whinnied and moved nervously and Will took tight hold of the reins to steady her.

Then he heard them, the sound of feet crashing through the copse and the sharp snapping of dry twigs as heavy boots trod carelessly on them. Then came a sharp piercing whistle to which Will answered and within a minute the two men came stumbling and slipping down the bank, their speed hampered by the laden sacks which they carried.

‘Move – quick!’ They threw the sacks into the back of the cart and jumped in as the sound of the dogs came nearer.

‘What happened?’ said Will hoarsely as he shook the reins and they rumbled down the narrow lane towards the crossroad.

‘They’ve got a new dog.’ Jack cursed. ‘It didn’t know me and as soon as it got wind of us it set all ’others off. Just our rotten luck that ’old fella was still awake.’

‘Tha shouldn’t have hit him so hard.’ Francis was sharp. ‘He hadn’t seen thee. If he snuffs it, it’s murder, and we’ll swing.’

Will was blazing with anger. With them for the violence committed on some unknown old man, and with himself for being so stupid and weak as to get involved. He knew the law would find him just as guilty as the other two, and he urged the horse on faster until they reached the crossroad.

‘Let me off here,’ said Jack, ‘and keep going straight on, don’t tek ’main road in case tha’s seen.’ He jumped down, not waiting for them to stop, and ran off, disappearing into the darkness.

Will urged the horse on and the animal, sensing the urgency, put back her ears and moved swiftly down the smaller roads across country, the cart swaying precariously on the uneven surface.

They heard the chimes of three o’clock striking as they reached the town boundary. ‘We’ll leave ’cart here.’ Francis guided Will towards a disused building with a yard behind it, one of many in the town that were being demolished to make room for new buildings. ‘It’ll be picked up when ’tumult’s died down.’ He removed the rags from the mare’s hooves, surprisingly still intact in spite of the hard going.

‘What about ’hoss?’ Will uncoupled the harness.

In reply Francis slapped the mare on the rump and she cantered off down the quiet street. ‘She’ll find her own way home, she always does,’ he replied with a grin. ‘She’s a good ’un.’

There were four sacks to carry and they were heavy and awkward. Will found a piece of twine in his pocket and tied the necks of two of the sacks together and slung them around his neck, distributing the weight across his back.

‘I want thee to take all ’four sacks and hide them,’ Francis said as they neared the entry. ‘If ’law comes looking they won’t suspect thee.’

‘No,’ said Will bluntly. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ve come along with thee so far, but I’m finished with it now, I want no part of it. Tha can trust me to say nowt about it, but I don’t want a share. Divide it up two ways.’

‘It’s too late for that.’ Francis turned menacingly towards Will, his voice low and threatening. ‘Tha’s in it now, and if I’m caught so’s thee, so don’t try and back out. Don’t forget Maria and thy bairns. If owt happens to thee, who’ll look after them?’

Will slid the sacks down to the ground and leant heavily on his crutch. ‘I’m not a fighting man, Frank Morton, but it wouldn’t take much for me to give thee a thumping.’

Francis laughed softly. ‘Tha’s forgetting summat. I’m younger than thee, and I’ve got two legs to stand on – tha wouldn’t stand a chance.’

Inwardly Will raged as he fought to keep his temper. He recognized the threat to his family was real, and so dismissively he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Give us a hand then – let’s get them inside.’

He opened the door quietly. The room was in darkness and he could hear only the mutterings of Tom who sometimes talked in his sleep.

Together they slid the sacks across the floor and then Will signalled to Francis to go. He waited until his footsteps reached the top of the stairs and he heard the creaking of the door above, then lying down on the floor he shuffled and pushed the sacks towards the bed where Maria and the children were sleeping.

He’d safely deposited three of them under the bed when Maria stirred.

‘Will, is that thee?’ Her voice was anxious and husky with sleep.

‘Aye, it is. Go back to sleep.’

‘What’s tha doing? Stir the fire so we have some light, I can’t see thee.’

‘No, hush, I’m coming to bed. I’m just stowing some stuff away.’

The bed creaked as she sat up and he prayed she wouldn’t get out and fall over him or the sack as they lay on the floor.

‘Will Foster, I do believe tha’s drunk or up to summat.’

He hauled himself up on to the bed and put his arms around her. ‘I’m certainly not drunk.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘But I might well get up to summat, given some encouragement.’

Beneath his fingers he felt her face crease into a smile.

‘Come to bed,’ she said, ‘it must be very late and I have to be up for work in ’morning.’

He felt the softness and warmth of her as he held her close and the stirring of the life moving within her, and silently vowed that regardless of any threat or humiliation by Frank Morton and his cronies, he would make amends for the mistake he had made. Never again would he be dragged down to the level of thieves and ruffians. He swore an oath on the head of his unborn child that whatever came in the way of poverty or hunger he would know again the freedom of spirit that accompanies a clear conscience and peace of mind.

‘I’m sorry to come so early.’ John Rayner stood at the door. ‘But it is imperative that I speak to you today.’

‘Maria said that tha’d called before. I’m just off for a walk down by ’river, to see what’s going on and to try for work.’

‘So you haven’t got fixed up yet? Can I walk with you and then we can talk?’

They walked slowly down to the mouth of the Humber, their strides not quite matching as Will swung along on his crutch, but their height equal. They passed the Ropery where the long strands of rope stretched the length of the street, and there were a few curious stares as they approached groups of men working at the warehouses. Some doffed their caps to John whilst others looked sullenly away.

They stood silently watching the river traffic, the breeze ruffling their hair.

‘I can’t tell you how I’m longing to sail away again,’ John said suddenly.

Will flinched and turned away and John, realizing his error, gasped, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. What a crass idiot I am. You must think me so unfeeling!’

Will laughed regretfully but without rancour. ‘I have at last accepted that I won’t be sailing again, and I must thank heaven that I am at least alive and not in a cold foreign grave. If I could only get work, I would count myself a very lucky man. I’m glad to hear that tha’s taken to whaling, though. It’s a fine life for a man – adventure, excitement, danger. Although not one that I’d recommend for my own son.’

‘Would you leave this town, Will, if you could find work elsewhere?’

Will considered. ‘Aye, I reckon so. It seems to me that Hull has no more use for me, and I must confess that I feel oppressed now that I can no longer sail away from its shores. I’m not used to being shut in by walls and boundaries.’

‘Then I have a proposition for you. I can’t make the final decision, but I think I can safely say that I can be instrumental in recommending your name and reputation.’

‘I’ll consider owt.’ Will was eager. ‘I’m as strong as most men, and more than some, and I’m not afraid of hard work.’

John outlined the Mastersons’ requirements for staff at Garston Hall. ‘They need a good man for general work, although I expect they will employ a farm bailiff, and servants for in the house.’

He hesitated. ‘I know that Mrs Foster is in delicate health at the moment, but perhaps later on she could take on some duties in the house or even help with Mrs Masterson’s child when it is born.’

Will put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Maria in delicate health! Having a babby, tha means? She’s as sound as a roach! Listen, my young friend, should tha care to take a walk by ’staith side tha’ll see plenty of women in “delicate health” as tha puts it, shifting barrels of fish that would make many a young dandy flinch.’