The Hungry Tide (44 page)

‘Does it belong to ’lord of manor then, Ma?’ asked Will eventually, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to say anything more without some persuasion.

‘No,’ she said with some satisfaction.

‘To one of ’big landowners then; or – I know,’ Tom butted in. ‘It must belong to ’church.’

‘If it belongs to ’church, then tha’ll never get tha hands on it,’ Will said sardonically. ‘Come on then, Ma, whose is it? And will they sell it, always supposing that master will put money up for it?’

She shook her head positively. ‘I said, didn’t I, that it wasn’t for sale?’ She gazed round at them and a beaming smile of complacency lit up her face. ‘That land belongs to me.’

‘Of course! I remember tha told me that a long time back.’ Maria declared. ‘It belonged to thy fayther.’

‘Aye, it did,’ she answered. ‘We lived there when we were bairns, me brother Ben and me. ’Cottage is still there, though it’s not much more than a hovel now. ’Thatch has fallen in and it was full of blackbirds and sparrows last time I was up there.’

‘But tha won’t sell it to ’master?’ Tom’s expression had changed from animation to disillusionment.

‘What would I do with ’money?’ she said, looking at him keenly. ‘What else do I want at my time of life, save a good meal once a day and a warm bed?’ She shook her head and went on steadily rocking. ‘No, I’ve got them already, so I’ve no need for owt more.’

Just the hiss of the fire and the shifting of coals in the grate broke the silence as she finished speaking. Maria got up to light a lamp as the daylight diminished and she patted Tom’s arm as she moved past him and smiled gently. She could see the disappointment as his dream faded.

‘Never mind, Tom, perhaps Mr Masterson knows of another bit of land somewhere,’ said Lizzie consolingly. ‘It’s worth asking him, if tha dares.’

‘Just wait on a bit,’ interrupted Mrs Scryven sharply. ‘I only said I wouldn’t sell it. I said nowt about me giving it away.’ Her face creased into a smile and she started to chuckle, holding her arms around her plump body as she rocked to and fro and laughed at her own ingenuity.

‘Give it away?’ Tom gasped. ‘Tha can’t go giving land away!’

‘It’s mine to do as I like with,’ she answered. ‘Ben left it to me when he died, and I’ve no family of me own to pass it on to.’ Her glance took them all in as they quietly watched her. ‘Tha’s all been like family to me and I’d intended to leave it to thee, all properly drawn up, before I passed on.’

She smiled up at Sarah who was leaning over the back of her father’s chair. ‘Sarah knows she’s to have ’cottage here at Monkston, and seeing as tha’s going to wed Lizzie, Tom, then there’s no sense in waiting till I’m in my grave. If tha’s intent on being a man o’ business, then tha’d better speak to ’master straight away about a loan to build a mill on thy land.’

To the family’s amazement, Mr Masterson was in favour of the idea, and agreed to a loan on condition that he should retain shares in the mill once the loan and interest were paid off.

Tom had approached him in some trepidation. He knew what he wanted to say and do, but was very much afraid that he would become tongue-tied in front of Mr Masterson and put his case badly, and that the master would think him an idiot.

‘Collect all your facts, Tom, and speak plainly,’ Sarah advised. ‘He won’t bark at or bite you, but he doesn’t like folks who wander from the point. Ask Fayther to make you a proper appointment to see him, then he’ll know that it’s important.’

Will went with him and stood quietly by whilst Tom explained what he had in mind. He was nervous at first, but when he realized that his employer was listening in all seriousness, his confidence grew, and Will was proud of his son’s perceptiveness in recognizing a need in the area that could be turned to his own advantage.

‘You know nothing about milling, Tom, how will you go about learning?’ commented Isaac Masterson as he viewed the determined young man standing before him. ‘You need to know about the quality of grain as well as the grinding and dressing of it.’

‘I’ve already had words with ’miller at Aldbro’, sir.’ Tom replied. ‘He’s giving up soon, he can’t climb steps so well, and he said he’ll take me on for six months if tha’ll release me. And there’s a man in Tillington who used to work at a mill until he fell off ’sails and broke both his legs. He said he’d be glad to help; he can load sacks and do general work, though he can’t climb to ’top any more.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t mean to boast, sir, but I reckon I can do it anyway.’ He held his hands in front of him and rubbed his fingers together. ‘I’ve got a feeling for ’grain and owt that grows. I’ve no doubts on that score.’

Isaac Masterson released him at the end of the month, and until that time Tom went about his work in a daze, unable to comprehend that soon he would be his own master.

Lizzie brought him down to earth with her sound common sense. ‘We’ll put off getting wed for twelve months, Tom. I’ll keep on working here at Garston and that way we shan’t need to spend any money, for tha’ll not be earning owt over at Aldbro’. Tha can’t expect ’miller to give thee a wage as well as learn thee ’trade.’

She sighed and put her arms around his broad shoulders. ‘I’ll miss thee, Tom. It’ll be ’first time we’ve been apart since we were bairns.’

He kissed her soft warm lips. ‘I’ll be home for a day at Christmas, and I’ll have to keep coming over to Tillington to see how ’millwrights are getting on, then we’ll plan ’wedding as soon as ’mill is built.’

Lizzie asked Sarah if she would teach her to read and write. ‘Somebody will have to write out ’bills and keep accounts,’ she said, ‘and Tom won’t have ’time or ’liking for it, so I’d better learn.’ So Sarah set her simple exercises and she spent dark winter evenings laboriously bent over her writing, or reading aloud to anyone who would listen.

Mrs Love told Mrs Masterson of her intention to leave her employment in the coming summer. ‘There is nothing more than I can teach Miss Lucy, ma-am. Her French is adequate for what she requires, as is her art and literature. But I am willing to stay on until you depart for London if you wish.’

‘I would be pleased if you would,’ said Isobel. ‘Perhaps if you could spend part of each day in conversation, so that Lucy is able to converse on diverse subjects, should the need arise during her stay in the capital.’

Mrs Love tried various topics. They discussed Bonaparte, who had crowned himself Emperor of France, a subject which caused Lucy to put her head on the table and fall asleep. The Third Coalition between Britain and its allies against France brought on such a severe headache that she had to be excused and go to lie down in her room; and she declared quite firmly that the new invention of the mobile steam locomotive would be undoubtedly dirty and noisy and merely a whim, and couldn’t possibly operate as efficiently as men or horses.

The journals which her mother had ordered, however, were filled with the latest fashion ideas, with hats and hairstyles, and with the doings of illustrious players who graced the stages of London’s famous theatres. On these topics Lucy became animated and very well informed, and Mrs Love was able to look Mrs Masterson in the eye and tell her in all honesty that she was quite sure that Lucy would be perfectly at ease in drawing room conversation.

‘What will you do, Sarah?’ Mrs Love asked, as winter blew out in a fury and heralded a cold, wild spring. ‘Will you go with Miss Lucy to London as she wants you to?’

‘I suppose I must, if that’s what she wants. She is my employer as well as my friend, so I must do what she says – though I don’t want to go.’

Mrs Love took her arm as they walked. The wind buffeted them and they put their heads down against it. Both had felt the need for air and exercise after being confined to the house for days because of constant rain and howling gales.

‘You don’t have to go. You can become independent if you wish.’ She gave Sarah’s arm a shake. ‘You are a highly intelligent young woman, you’re wasted playing nursemaid to a spoilt child.’

Sarah gasped at the outspokenness of the woman by her side. She had never thought of Lucy as being spoilt. It was perfectly natural that Lucy would expect her own way over most things, although she, Sarah, had her own methods of ensuring that she didn’t always get it.

‘You could be a teacher or a governess. Come and stay with me at my home when I leave here. I will teach you all I know. We will read and discuss books to further your knowledge.’ Mrs Love, who was normally so calm and serious, was eager and enthusiastic with her proposal, and Sarah was flattered that she should think so highly of her.

‘You’re very kind, Mrs Love, and I do thank you for the offer. I don’t know what to say.’ She looked across the fields towards the village; they were on higher ground here with a shelter belt of trees at their backs. The wind blowing off the sea shrieked through the trees, bending the young saplings until their branches almost touched the ground, and scattering the last few remaining leaves of oak and beech which had clung so tenaciously all the winter.

‘I don’t know how I can ever leave here, that’s the problem.’ Her eyes gazed past the straggle of houses towards the heaving, swelling sea, beyond the foamy crests which surged and broke outside the irregular sandbanks, and towards Flamborough Head, whose white cliffs she could just see if she narrowed her eyes. The lighthouse beam blinked its cold white light in the blank greyness which was the merging of boundless sea and sky.

Mrs Love shivered. ‘How I have managed to stay so long in such a desolate place, I can’t understand.’ She smiled at Sarah. ‘It can only be the company which has kept me so long, but I shall not be sorry to go inland again, away from this constant wind and wicked grey sea.’

‘It isn’t wicked,’ Sarah cried impetuously, her emotions aroused. ‘You have to understand it.’ She opened her arms wide as if to embrace the breadth of the ocean. ‘You have to know its moods and contradictions, and when to leave it alone or when to welcome it. And you can’t do that unless you have known it all of your life as I have.’

‘Your life is only just beginning, Sarah.’ Mrs Love turned to her earnestly. ‘Don’t waste it, or let it erode away like those cliffs down there.’

Sarah closed her eyes to shut in the quick hot tears which were gathering. How could she explain to this enlightened, rational woman, when she didn’t have the words but only an unaccountable feeling deep within her, that she was bound here; that she was rooted as firmly as the young trees in the wood behind them which bent compliantly with the wind? That her whole being, her body and spirit, was embodied here, in the same way that the horizon united the sea and sky.

The summer passed in a bustle of activity to prepare Lucy for her sojourn in London, and hours were spent poring over patterns and fabrics, and being measured and fitted for new gowns to be worn at the parties and social gatherings to which, Miss Pardoe had written, she would most certainly be invited.

Mrs Masterson too took the opportunity to order new outfits, for she also had been invited to stay in the city for a month, and her normally severe features took on more animation as Lucy’s enthusiasm affected her.

Mrs Love took her leave of them, and Sarah sadly said goodbye. She would miss her kind and understanding friend and teacher, and she promised that she would write to her as soon as she had made a decision about her future. She travelled with her into Hull, where Mrs Love was to catch the afternoon diligence to York, and then directed the coachman, Harris, who had taken the place of Walters, to drive on into the Market Place where she had to call at the milliners to collect a selection of bonnets on order for Mrs Masterson.

Sarah had a natural grace and bearing and wore her simple clothes well, and the elegantly dressed woman who greeted her with affected deference as she entered the wallpapered and draped salon, looked at her inquisitively when she learned of her errand to collect millinery for her mistress.

‘I know Mrs Masterson well, of course,’ she said, dropping her pretentious accent, ‘and I do believe I met your mother once, before you were born.’

Sarah raised her eyebrows in curiosity. Her mother had never mentioned that she knew anyone from such resplendent surroundings as these.

The woman threw back her coiffured head and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose she would remember me. I was just a maid in the Masterson household then. Ellie’s my name and I’ve often wondered about those two unborn babbys. I recognized your red hair,’ she added. ‘You’re a Foster all right.’

Sarah smiled and looked around the shop. Hats swathed with satin and roses decked the stands, and displays of fur pom-poms and feathers were artistically arranged on draped silk in alcoves. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘You must prefer it to being a maid.’

‘It’s mine,’ Ellie answered proudly. ‘All mine. Miss Brown made me a partner five years ago, and when she died last year she left it to me. She never married, you see, and she knew I wouldn’t. We’re both business women, and you can’t be doing with families when you’ve a living to make.’

She looked contentedly around her and re-arranged a satin hanging. ‘Here,’ she said, and picked up a rose, cream with a flush of pink on its delicate petals. ‘Have this with my compliments.’

Sarah stroked the soft silkiness and put it to her nose.

Ellie laughed. ‘There’s no scent, my dear. That’s real silk. That would cost a lot of money if you were to buy it in London.’

‘Oh,’ said Sarah in surprise. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to spend money on imitation flowers when it was so easy to grow real ones.

‘But you can have it as a gift,’ Ellie continued. ‘Just for old times’ sake.’

She showed her out of the door, insisting that Sarah passed on her regards to Mrs Masterson. ‘Tell her that Miss Ellie was asking about her,’ she said, and pointed to the sign above the window where in shiny gold lettering was the name, ‘Miss Ellie. Milliner.’

Sarah was confused by the noise of the crowd and the clatter of carriers’ carts on the cobblestones as she left the shop, and held tight to the boxes containing the precious hats and bonnets. Instead of turning right to make her way to the Masterson yard where Harris had said he would wait for her, she turned left and found herself in the thick of a crowd of women all hustling down the Market Place towards the butchery.