The Hungry Tide (26 page)

Isaac, in relief and thanksgiving that his wife felt well enough to even consider the matter, promised most profoundly.

It seemed a bit hasty, thought Will, as they stood, cold and damp, the next morning at the graveside, the parson mumbling into his prayer book. No period of mourning to smooth the bed of death. No weeping mother to bless the short life of a child. Just himself, the two shivering boys and the matron to say farewell.

‘Come on,’ he said as they finally turned away. ‘We’ll go across to Masterson’s and make ourselves useful. Then tomorrow, if my boots are ready, we’ll set off home.’

They spent another night with the Hardwicks, and the next morning Will left the boys at the Masterson yard whilst he went to the bootmaker.

‘Is Mr John here?’ he asked one of the clerks as he left. ‘I wondered if there was any message from Garston Hall?’

The man shook his head. ‘He’s down at ’dock side with Customs. He won’t be back till late.’ Masterson’s have flitted already, did tha know? There’s some boxes and stuff here for thee to take back with thee.’

The boots were ready. They felt soft and comfortable though the strap around his knee and thigh chafed.

He stood up and looked in the mirror that the bootmaker placed in front of him. ‘What a dandy,’ he said, to hide his emotion, as he saw two seemingly normal legs reflected in the glass.

‘Nobody would guess,’ the man said. ‘But tha should take this stick, just till tha gets used to ’feel of it.’

Will thanked him and left, walking cautiously at first until he became used to the sensation of once more placing one foot in front of the other.

‘When we’ve unpacked ’cart, put ’hoss into ’bottom field, Tom, and me and Jimmy will go across to ’Hall to see thy ma.’

He was disappointed that she wasn’t at home at Field House. He’d wanted to surprise her, to see the look on her face as he stood in front of her without his crutch. The house was empty, though it was warm and welcoming. Clean rushes had been strewn on the floor and a fire burned in the grate. He felt a satisfying warmth enveloping him. She was a good homemaker, was Maria.

Jimmy ran on his short little legs to keep up with him as he strode steadily across the fields. This was a testing time; he wanted to see if he could keep upright on the rutted surface. The boots fitted well and he walked firmly with barely a sway save for the natural roll of a seaman.

‘Wait here a minute, Jim. I’ll find Lizzie and send her out to thee. Surprise her, eh?’

Jimmy nodded and sat wearily on the kitchen doorstep like a tired old man. Will tousled his hair. He knew he was worn out with the devastating events of the last few days, with the shock of finding his brother’s bed empty, and of being locked up in the cold bare room, and he was quite unprepared for the long journey down the endless road to Monkston, for he’d questioned Will and Tom constantly as to how much longer they would be.

‘Is it as far as ’Shetlands, Will? Or as far as Greenland?’ he’d asked, for those two places were the limits of his geography.

No-one heard Will as he quietly entered the kitchen door, ducking his head at the lintel above the low entrance. Lizzie was standing at the table diligently cleaning knives and Mrs Scryven was sitrring something in a pot over the fire, whilst Maria, with her back to him, was bent low, lifting up something from a basket on the floor. Alice was sleeping soundly in a chair.

‘God bless us, tha frighted ’life out of me!’ Mrs Scryven was the first to see him, and Maria turned, startled, at the exclamation.

They stared in astonishment at each other. Maria’s eyes opened wide at the sight of Will standing straight and upright in the doorway. Looking back at her, he was equally astounded as she stood with two babies, one in each arm.

Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him and coursed steadily down her cheeks. He took four long steps towards her and gathered her up in his arms. ‘I didn’t mean to shock thee, Maria. It’s all right, it’s all right.’ He kissed her hair, her nose, her lips. ‘I just wanted to surprise thee.’

‘Tha did that, Will Foster,’ she said with a husky break in her voice. ‘What’s happened to thee? I thought I was dreaming.’

‘So did I, when I saw two babbies, but I see I’m not. What’s Ma Scryven been feeding thee on?’

She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Don’t get alarmed, they’re not both ours.’ She sat down in the chair and rocked gently back and forth. ‘So which one will tha claim, Will? Which one is thine?’

He bent over to inspect the sleeping babies, so similar in size and form, one with fair translucent skin and light silky lashes edging her closed lids, the other with skin the colour of pale cream and a smile flickering on her lips. He smiled and gently stroked the soft golden down on her head. ‘This one’s mine,’ he said. ‘She’s going to be a redhead, just like her da!’

Lizzie put down her polishing cloth and wiped her hands. ‘I’ll take Miss Lucy upstairs, Maria, if tha’s finished feeding her. Perhaps ’mistress would like to have her by her for a while.’

‘Tha can ask, Lizzie,’ Maria answered sadly, ‘but I doubt it. Perhaps when Mrs Masterson is feeling better she might take to ’poor little babby.’

‘Poor!’ said Will in amazement. ‘Poor! How can she be? She’ll want for nowt. Unless she’s sick?’ He peered anxiously at the tiny face.

‘No, ’bairn isn’t sick, but mistress is, she doesn’t want to see her, let alone hold her.’

Will suddenly gasped. ‘Lizzie, before I forget – I’ve left a parcel on ’doorstep. Go and fetch it inside, wilt tha?’

Lizzie looked curiously at Will and he nodded. ‘Go on, look sharp.’

He grinned sheepishly at Maria. ‘I hope I’m not going to get into bother, but I’ve brought summat home.’

‘I think tha’s got some explaining to do,’ said Maria. ‘Them boots for one thing, and what’s inside them.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Where did tha get ’money from, Will?’

He put his finger to his lips as from outside they could hear shrieks from Lizzie, and Mrs Scryven made a dash to open the door. ‘I’ll tell thee all about it after, just trust me.’

Maria cried again as Lizzie and Jimmy fell into the room in their excitement and hugged and skipped and squeezed, and even Mrs Scryven wiped her eyes, although, as she said, she didn’t rightly know what was going on.

‘So, I couldn’t leave him there, not on his own, could I?’ asked Will later. ‘It was different when there were two of them. They would have been company for each other. But ’bairn, he looked that miserable; and then I thought what if it had been our Tom in ’same position?’

‘Don’t go on, Will. Of course tha did right. We’ll manage somehow. And I expect Annie will come back soon, especially when she hears about ’other poor little lad.’ Maria glanced at Lizzie as she sat quietly gazing into the fire with her arms around her sleepy young brother, who for once in his young life was quite happy to submit to her endearments.

Will reported to Isaac Masterson and gave him an account of his visit to the hospital and the fitting of his limb and boots.

‘It’s very good of thee, sir, to go to ’trouble and expense.’

Isaac brushed his thanks aside. ‘As long as you’re comfortable, Foster. That’s what matters.’

They had established a good working relationship. Both men were aware of their inexperience in country matters, yet with their practicality and good judgement, and under Dick Reedbarrow’s guidance, the farm had once more become established. More men were employed to prepare the land for spring sowing, and though there was no snow that settled, the wind blew cold and icy and the ground became rock hard. Cattle were bought at market, and sheep used to the rigours of the bleak landscape were bought from a local man, some for breeding and some for fattening.

‘I wouldn’t mind having a cow for missen, Dick,’ said Will one day, ‘and maybe a few hens. Maybe next year when I get my wages I’ll buy some eggs for hatching. Though I’d have to save for years before I could afford a beast.’

‘Oh, I’ll bring thee a hen and a few eggs for hatching,’ said Dick, ‘soon as it’s spring. And why dossn’t tha get a goat for milking? It would cost thee less than a coo.’

As the weather deteriorated, they moved into the shelter of the woods to work, clearing the dead timber and making space for more planting. They spent days sawing and chopping and carting wood to the store in the yard, to be used on the fires which now were lit in almost every room.

Another girl was brought in to help in the house. Mr Masterson had seen Maria one morning when he had risen very early to leave for town. She had been clearing ashes from the grate in his study and had risen to leave, having been told by Mrs Scryven that she must not on any account continue with her work in front of her employers. Mr Masterson had frowned and she thought that he was displeased with her and resolved to get up half an hour earlier in order to avoid him, but he had instructed her that she must not under any circumstances undertake hard, rough work whilst she was nursing the babies.

‘You must take care of yourself,’ he said, flustered and embarrassed. ‘I know my wife would tell you so if she were well enough to think about it.’

She smiled at him and thanked him for his kindness and saw to it that he had every comfort, that his tobacco and papers were always in the same place. That his brandy and glass were in easy reach of his chair, and when he was at home, baby Lucy was brought down each evening for him to look at before she was put down to sleep. He was very taken with his daughter and got into the habit of dropping into the nursery to gaze fondly at her, making kindly comparisons between the two babies and asking Lizzie’s opinion on their well being. Lizzie, who slept in the same room so that she could hear their every whimper, would swell with pride and become completely tongue-tied.

But sometimes, on the nights when Isaac was away from home, Maria would wrap up both the babies and take them home to Field House and spend the night quietly with Will, leaving Lizzie and Alice with Mrs Scryven. She loved these evenings when they could talk quietly together, and share the big bed only with the babies, for Will had made another bed for Tom and Jimmy in a corner by the fire, where they whispered and joked and finally fell asleep as the shadows of the firelight dwindled.

Maria and Mrs Scryven looked up out of the kitchen window one morning as they heard the rattle of a cart. They watched as a man and a young girl climbed out and he lifted down a wooden box and deposited it on the doorstep.

‘I’ve brought our Susan,’ he said. ‘’Mistress said as she was to start now.’

They looked at him doubtfully, then at one another.

‘She was taken on by Mrs Masterson herself,’ he said loftily in reply to Mrs Scryven’s questioning. ‘She’s going to be her own maid.’

‘Well, we know nowt about it,’ she grumbled, and muttered to Maria, ‘Now there’ll be trouble, mark my words. I know that lot. There’ll be trouble.’ She banged a pan on to the fire, spilling the water and making the hot embers spit and sizzle.

Maria ran up the stairs and knocked on Mrs Masterson’s door. She was still confined to her room and had not yet been down since Lucy was born.

‘’New girl has come, ma-am – Susan. She says you’ve taken her on as another maid.’

A frown creased Isobel’s colourless face and she gazed blankly at Maria from the depths of her bed. ‘I don’t remember. Did I?’ She gazed into space. ‘Perhaps I did. Yes, the innkeeper’s daughter. Such an obnoxious man, but she was very pretty and polite.’

She sighed and leaned back against the pillows. ‘I’ll see her later. I am too fatigued to bother just now. I’m too weak to make decisions about maids. Do with her whatever you think.’

‘If only tha – you would eat more, ma-am, you would feel much better.’ Mrs Scryven’s tempting trays of jellies and junkets, poached fish and coddled eggs had all been sent back barely touched.

Isobel nodded and looked at Maria through dull blue eyes. If only I looked and felt as well as she does, she thought. Though she was nursing two babies, Maria breathed vitality, her skin was smooth and clear and her black hair was thick and glossy.

‘Perhaps I will see the girl after all,’ she said with an effort. ‘She can brush my hair, Lizzie doesn’t really know how.’ Young Lizzie, so afraid of hurting, was too gentle to unravel the tangled knots. ‘And I will have some jelly, I think, and a little bread.’

Maria came downstairs smiling. ‘I think ’mistress is feeling a bit better. We’ll prepare a tray, Mrs Scryven, and Susan can take it up. Come over here, Susan, and watch what we do, then tha’ll know for next time.’

So saying Maria pleasantly and firmly asserted her authority so that Susan was in no doubt as to who was in charge of the household.

Isobel slowly started to improve; the effect of having a young and vital girl about her, one with golden curls and fair skin such as she had had, goaded her into life, and Susan, so charming and obliging, painstakingly cut and combed the matted locks, smoothed the aching brow, and with Mrs Scryven’s creams and lotions massaged her stiff and weary limbs which had taken no exercise since the birth of Lucy.

She was awakened one morning by the cry of a baby. She turned on her pillow to escape the sound. It persisted for perhaps five minutes without being hushed, which was unusual, for normally she wasn’t disturbed as Maria or Lizzie were quick to pacify and soothe. She rose from her bed, put on her robe, and went into the next room where the crying was coming from. It was a sharp, crisp morning and the sun streamed through the window throwing a beam of light on to the crib where the babies were laid, head to toe. One of the babies cried as the sunlight caught her eyes and she moved her head from side to side to escape the brightness. Isobel hesitated, then bent over the crib and her body blocked the sunlight. The child opened her eyes and hiccupped, giving a windy smile at Isobel.

Isobel smiled back and touched her cheek, and the baby chorded and squealed and kicked her feet, disturbing the other child who lay wrapped tightly beneath her blankets. Isobel moved the covers to one side, for she thought how restricted she was, and noticed the angry scar on her forehead. She frowned and bit her lip and turned back to the wide-awake baby who watched her with alert eyes, and impulsively bent to pick her up. She felt the softness of her skin against her cheek, and the fragrant smell of milk and something like roses, as she carried her across to the window, lifted her spirits, while a protective tenderness stole over her.