The Hungry Tide (45 page)

She was fearful that her parcels and their contents would be crushed, so she dodged out of the crowd and turned down an alleyway, hoping to be able to take a short cut back to the High Street. She knew that the old town streets crisscrossed each other but, being unfamiliar with them as she very rarely came to Hull, she soon found that she was quite lost in the maze of lanes and squares.

Her eyes opened wide in dismay as she passed some of the slum dwellings and saw groups of ragged children playing barefoot amongst the seeping open sewers, or sitting in the dirt sharing their crusts of grey bread with the swarms of flies which were hovering about them.

She started to walk quickly as she saw that they had noticed her and were starting to follow her. She was beginning to feel sick. There was a strange, fetid smell hanging over the town – she had noticed it earlier but now it seemed to be stronger – a heavy, oily stench combined with a strong acrid burning which hung in the oppressive warmth, like the singeing remains of burnt feathers left on a fowl which Mrs Scryven might have plucked.

‘Hey, miss. Spare us a penny.’ The shouts of the children came nearer and she started to run. She had no money with her or she would have given them some, but they probably wouldn’t believe that. She thought that she must look very rich in their eyes, and she was afraid, not for herself but for the safety of the contents of her boxes.

She turned a corner and heaved a sigh of relief. She had reached the river, and she knew that she couldn’t be far from the Masterson warehouse which ran down from the High Street to the riverside.

The narrow waterway was crowded with ships and barges, and ropes and crates littered the staith side making it difficult for her to walk, hampered as she was by her burden.

‘Excuse me, miss, but tha shouldn’t be here. It’s private property, and besides it’s not safe. Tha might tummel in ’water.’

She glanced over her shoulder to see if the children were still following her, but they had given up the chase and gone back, and she turned to explain to the porter who had shouted to her that she was lost and to ask for directions. Taking her eyes from the wooden planking for a moment, she stumbled over a rope and dropped one of her boxes. By the time she had retrieved it the man had disappeared, and with a gesture of impatience she sat down on a crate to wait for someone else to appear.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. The stench increased with the heat and she held her handkerchief to her nose as she sat and watched the silver ripples of water trapped between the mass of craft which lay packed tight in the river, and wondered how the seamen managed to manoeuvre the ships into the dock, or out into the broader reaches of the Humber, without crashing into each other.

Gradually she became aware, first of all of a pair of shiny leather boots, and then two long legs clad in tight grey breeches. A white frilled shirt with arms folded in front completed the picture as she raised her eyes, and there stood John Rayner watching her.

‘Sarah? What
are
you doing here?’ His voice was severe but a smile hovered around his eyes.

She got down from the crate and brushed her skirt. ‘I got lost, sir. I tried to take a short cut to avoid the crowd and lost my way. I was looking for the yard, I’m to meet Harris there, but I had to sit down for a moment, I felt so sick with the dreadful smell.’

He relieved her of some of her hat boxes. ‘The smell is part and parcel of my livelihood, Sarah – and of your father’s at one time. We get used to the odour of blubber boiling, but I have to admit that I never can get used to the stench of burning from the charnel houses.’ He stopped. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said so much. He certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it to Lucy, who would probably have swooned here on to the wooden stage, but Sarah just nodded and accepted the statement as a fact of life.

‘Harris is already here and getting anxious about you. Would you take my arm, Sarah? It’s difficult walking along here, the staith is narrow and not meant for leisurely walks by ladies in long dresses.’

He knew that with care she was perfectly able to skirt the barrels and crates without any assistance from him, but he had an overwhelming desire to have her hand on his arm and feel the touch of her fingers through his shirt sleeve.

‘Please excuse me for being without my coat.’ He glanced down at her and saw the warm flush on her cheeks. ‘The weather is so hot that it’s more comfortable working without it. When my clerk told me that he could see a lady wandering alone by the river, I ran out without stopping to put it on.’ His voice became serious. ‘It isn’t safe for you to be alone around here, Sarah. Sometimes violence breaks out without any warning at all and you could be caught up in it. You could be robbed, or fall into the river.’

It was true that he had hurried out of his office as his clerk had called to him, but he had already seen her from his window and had responded to an unwarranted yearning to waylay her before she found her way round to the stable yard.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr John. I didn’t mean to cause a nuisance.’ She took her hand from his arm as they approached the building. ‘If you’d be kind enough to direct me to where I can find Harris, I won’t keep you any longer.’

Harris wasn’t in the yard, and they found him sitting on a bale of straw in an empty stall drinking thirstily from a jug of beer. He got up, a guilty expression on his face as they entered looking for him, and apologized profusely. ‘I don’t usually drink when I’m working, sir, but it’s that ’ot.’ He stammered nervously as he explained, the memory of Walters’s dismissal after a final bout of drunkenness fresh in his mind. ‘I’m waiting on ’farrier to fix a shoe on one of ’greys. I daren’t risk driving home with it loose.’

‘That’s all right, Harris. But go inside and ask for some bread and cheese. That’ll soak up the beer.’ John nodded to Harris affably and the young coachman looked visibly relieved at being let off so lightly.

Sarah hesitated as they came back into the yard, not knowing where to go.

‘Come inside, Sarah, out of the heat and I’ll get my housekeeper to bring you some refreshment.’ John led her inside and up the stairs into a small sitting-room next to his office and invited her to sit down and make herself comfortable whilst he rang for tea.

Whilst he was out of the room she looked curiously around. It was undoubtedly a man’s room with no feminine touches, save the vase of flowers set on a small polished table by the window. Leather armchairs and plain rugs were set upon the dark wooden floors, and paintings of whalers and sailing ships adorned the walls, but the room was redeemed from complete masculine severity by the cream blinds and billowing white muslin curtains at the long windows. It felt cool after the sweltering heat outside but she wished that the windows could be closed to keep out the awful, pervading smell. She walked across to look out and, as she bent to smell the flowers in the vase, her eye was caught by an object on the table which she picked up, cradling it in her hand.

She started as he silently came and stood beside her. ‘It’s the whale tooth I gave you,’ she said softly. ‘You kept it!’

The pale ivory gleamed as if it had been polished and had been placed in a glass dish on a small cloth of rich brown velvet.

He shook his head when she asked him how it had acquired its sheen. ‘No polish or oils, but every morning and every night after supper, I hold it in my hands and smooth it with my fingers.’

He took it from her to demonstrate. He wanted to tell her how he imagined that it was her own smooth skin that he was stroking, and that the velvet was chosen to remind him of the colour of her eyes. Not that he needed such a reminder, for he was constantly aware of Sarah and her dark eyes as he looked out from his window at the deep brown of the river when the evening sun splashed it with gold, when he saw the burnished gleam of his chestnut mare, and most of all when he had ridden the long country road to Monkston this past winter and observed the richness of the brown earth.

As he looked at her now, she was gazing back at him, a tremulous, hesitant smile hovering on her lips. He put down the ivory and, without thinking what he was doing, he took her hand and gently raised it to his lips. Tenderly he brushed her forehand and then turned it over to kiss her warm palm.

Instantly she snatched her hand away. Her face became confused and fearful and her eyes filled with tears.

He was aghast at his unintended effrontery, and stammered out his apologies. What must she think of him, a man in his position apparently taking advantage of her alone in his room?

‘Please forgive me, Sarah. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

She hung her head, her cheeks burning. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean any offence, Mr John.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I know that there are gentlemen who take advantage of servant girls – Janey has told me about them – but I know that you are not like them.’

Horrorstruck that the notion should have even crossed her mind, he put his hand under her chin and lifted her head. ‘Sarah! I would never hurt you. Never in a million years. Please believe me!’

She nodded her head silently, and desperately he wanted to kiss away the tears that were lying moist on her cheeks.

‘It’s just – it’s just that you look so beautiful, I didn’t think what I was doing.’

She became embarrassed and moved away, toying with the strings on her bonnet which she had loosened.

He wanted to say, I love you, Sarah! To open wider the window and shout it to the crowds outside. But as he looked at her he saw the innocence of her face and knew that she wasn’t ready, that such a proclamation would dismay her, that she would take fright and run away, and he would lose her trust for ever.

The housekeeper knocked and brought in tea, pouring it for them before leaving the room, and silently they sat drinking it, Sarah staring down at the thin china cup and John trying to think of something to say to ease the situation.

‘Have you forgiven me?’ he said eventually, trying to make light of the subject. ‘It won’t be the last time that someone will steal a kiss from you. I guarantee that a few London gentlemen will be swayed by your charms.’ He hadn’t meant to be flippant but, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, realized now that that was how it sounded.

She drew herself up and met his gaze. ‘Excuse me, Mr John, but I think you forget that I am Miss Lucy’s companion. It’s hardly likely that I will be meeting any gentlemen. Menservants perhaps, but I will not tolerate any familiarity.’

He had been rebuked, as severely and politely as it was possible for her to do so in the circumstances, and it brought home to him the fact that she was about to endure an intolerable situation. As Lucy’s childhood friend and companion she was neither servant nor gentlewoman, and though while living in a country district like Monkston there was no difficulty, as servants and gentry worked together in harmony for their mutual good, she would find things very different in the London society she was shortly to enter.

He sat on at his desk after her departure, ignoring the mass of paper work waiting for his attention, his hands clasped under his chin and a wave of depression washing over him as he thought of his own predicament. He had come to love someone who in the eyes of society was beneath him. No matter that she was sweet and gentle and more of a lady than many that he knew, to declare his love for her he would be ostracized by his own class and laughed at as a fool by hers.

Maria and Mrs Scryven rose at four o’clock and Sarah at five, in order to be sure that the trunks and boxes were properly packed and ready to be loaded on to the carriage when it arrived at nine for their departure to London.

Mrs Scryven had prepared a hamper of food and drink for their journey, and Maria had brought warm blankets and pillows down into the main hall in case the weather was cold, or the inns where they would break their journey were not warm or comfortable enough.

There had been some discussion between Lucy and her mother as to whether either Janey or Lizzie should accompany them also, and indeed Isobel had voiced the opinion that either of them would in fact be of more use than Sarah. Then John had announced his intention of escorting them, and there wasn’t room for anyone else in the carriage, and Lucy had stated quite firmly that Sarah should come with them.

‘You’ll love it, Sarah, once you’re there, I know you will, and you can still come to the parties and watch the fun even if you can’t join in.’

Lucy was a little unsure of what Sarah’s position would be in someone else’s household, but declared that they needn’t worry about it and that it would be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. She didn’t want Sarah to miss the experience, no matter how she insisted that she would be quite happy to stay behind.

The decision was made final when they received a letter from Miss Pardoe to say that she would supply a maid for Mrs Masterson, and one for Lucy and her own two cousins, who would also be staying with her.

‘Then you don’t need me, Lucy, if you are to have the company of other young ladies.’ Sarah had clutched at straws as the day of departure drew nearer and her despair grew at leaving the remote sea coast, the green undulating meadows and slow meandering streams where she so firmly belonged.

‘But I might not like them,’ said Lucy petulantly. ‘They might be very dull.’ She tossed her fair curls and, glancing in the mirror for reassurance, touched the pale scar that lay hidden beneath the wisps of hair on her forehead. ‘They might look down on me for being provincial and countrified, and I must have someone to confide in. Now I won’t hear another word. I insist that you come, and that is all that I shall say on the matter.’

The whole household gathered outside to see them off. Maria’s eyes glistened proudly as she saw her daughter, dressed in a new moss green gown and cloak, travelling away to places that she only knew by name, and, with a gathering sense of her own esteem, turned to look at the house of which she would be complete mistress for a short while, answerable only to Mr Masterson. Mrs Scryven, now that she had grown into old age and was less able, was content to potter in the kitchen, leaving arduous tasks to the young maids and decisions and responsibilities to Maria.