The Hungry Tide (46 page)

Will watched them drive away, a sad smile hovering about his mouth. He alone had seen the despairing look, hidden beneath a bright smile, as Sarah waved goodbye. ‘It’s not for long, lass,’ he’d whispered as he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘’Place’ll still be here when tha gets back.’

Lucy and Mrs Masterson sat side by side facing John and Sarah. Sarah tucked herself into the corner, lest her feet should brush his or the jolting of the carriage should cause her to fall against him, causing them both embarrassment, for he had spoken very little to her on his subsequent visits to Garston Hall since their encounter in Hull, and she felt awkward and confused.

But on the third day of their journey, Mrs Masterson complained that Lucy was fidgety and that she could get no rest because of her constant shuffling, and insisted that Lucy changed places with John.

Sarah then was unsure which was the worse predicament; to have him sitting so close that she felt he could hear even the imperceptible movement of her breath, and when he nodded off to sleep to feel his head touching her shoulder; or to have him sitting opposite her and to know that whenever she lifted her gaze, his eyes would be fixed upon her, only to look away when he saw that he was observed.

Rain started to fall heavily as they approached the town of Sleaford where they were to spend the next evening, and by the time they reached the inn there was such a deluge that it was impossible for them to step down from the carriage.

John reached for his cape. ‘I’ll go inside,’ he said, ‘and make sure that the rooms are ready. Stay there, Aunt, until the rain eases.’

‘Sarah, go with Mr John,’ Mrs Masterson commanded. ‘Make sure that the fires are lit and the beds are aired.’

Sarah rose obediently, but John protested. ‘She will catch her death.’

‘Nonsense,’ replied Mrs Masterson. ‘Of course she won’t, Sarah is not at all frail. A drop of rain won’t hurt her.’

‘No, ma-am, I’m quite use to getting wet, and this rain isn’t any wetter than Monkston rain.’ Sarah smiled as she spoke. She was so relieved to be getting out of the close confines of the fusty carriage that she would have braved any storm, and the rain on her face was cool and refreshing as she stepped down. Never the less, the turbulent movement of the carriage had unsettled her and, momentarily, she put out her hand to clutch John’s arm.

He gathered his cape around her. ‘Take hold of me and we’ll run for the door.’

She put her arm around his waist, and he slipped one around her shoulder to support her as they hurried across the wet slippery cobbles of the coachyard towards the porch where the landlord was waiting.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m fully booked up. I’m waiting on a party now. If you an’ your wife could drive but ’alf a mile down the road to the next ’ostelry, you’ll get fixed up there right enough.’

Sarah thought she would die with shame at the landlord’s error, yet realized how the misapprehension had occurred, when their two figures had been so close beneath the cape and they laughed so familiarly at each other’s drenched appearance. She wondered how John could be so calm and dignified as he explained that they were in fact the expected party, that their rooms had been booked in advance, that they would require hot water for washing and that the ladies would require tea immediately and hot food as soon as possible.

She followed the landlord’s wife up the narrow staircase and was shown into the rooms they were to occupy. They were small and crowded with dark and heavy furnishings, but there was a bright fire blazing in each small hearth and a copper hod filled with coal at the side of them.

She tested the beds. They were comfortable and well aired, with the warming bricks still in them, and she longed to lie down herself and rest her aching body, to lie alone in the darkness and gather to herself her confused and bewildered thoughts, and turn them into some kind of order and reasoning.

‘I shall take a walk before I sleep.’ John finished his supper and stretched. They had taken their meal in the privacy of the small sitting-room downstairs which the landlord had allocated for their use. ‘Will anyone come with me now that the rain has stopped?’

Mrs Masterson declined most firmly and Lucy peered out of the window. ‘There’s not much to see, merely a street. I don’t think I will, thank you, John. You must go though, Sarah, to keep John company.’

Sarah couldn’t protest: Lucy’s bid was couched in such terms that she felt she would be considered churlish to refuse.

John smiled sympathetically. ‘Just a short walk, Sarah. I’m sure you must be tired?’

‘Just a little,’ she answered, feeling at that moment very tired indeed and, for some inexplicable reason, extremely tearful. ‘Though a breath of air would be very pleasant.’ She turned to Mrs Masterson. ‘If you will excuse me, ma-am, and if you are not too tired to wait, I’ll attend you and Miss Lucy on my return.’

‘No, I will retire now, and you must do the same, Lucy. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.’ Mrs Masterson rose and went to the door. ‘Good night, John, don’t overture yourself.’

Sarah attended to their wants, helping first of all Mrs Masterson, then Lucy out of their dresses and stays and into their bedgowns. She unpinned Mrs Masterson’s hairpiece which she thought must have been very hot and itchy to wear all day, and took down Lucy’s long hair and brushed it, then helped them both into bed. Finally she lit a candle at their bedsides and turned down the lamps and went along the corridor to her own small room.

Mr John can’t surely be waiting, she thought, I’ve been such a long time, but she unhooked her cloak from behind the door and went downstairs. The inn was noisy; she could hear the raucous sound of men’s laughter and she hesitated about going through the main room to the front door, and instead slipped into the sitting-room where they had taken their meal.

John was lying sprawled in his chair sound asleep. He had taken off his boots, and his stocking-clad feet were turned towards the cooling embers in the grate. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and she could see the curly hair of his chest beneath his collar bone.

As she stood quietly looking at him, determining whether or not to wake him, he stirred in his sleep, a smile hovering about his mouth. Involuntarily she smiled back, a warmth stealing over her, and she thought how much younger he seemed when his defences were down, his air of self-assured confidence slipped away.

Gently she touched his arm to waken him, but he merely sighed deeply and turned his head away. She bent over him and stroked his neck, the way she knew people did with babies, to waken them gently without fright, and he put up his hand to hers to stop the tickling. He opened his eyes wide and looked at her and she looked wonderingly back at him, her pulse throbbing in her throat, for he groaned softly and closed his eyes again.

‘Mr John!’ She squeezed his hand which still held hers. ‘Mr John, wake up. You must go to bed.’

He opened his eyes again and gazed back at her. ‘Sarah?’ His voice was deep and throaty. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’ He looked down at the small hand held in his palm. ‘But I see that I wasn’t.’ He dropped her hand abruptly and turned away, putting his hands to his forehead. ‘Oh, God,’ he groaned softly. ‘What am I going to do?’

Alarmed, she stood back from him. She started to tremble, a hammering began in her ears and spread through her body, her pulses raced, and she felt faint. She could hear the strange, yet familiar sound of powerful, rushing water, and it seemed as if the ground was going to give way beneath her.

The room was becoming darker and she took hold of the back of his chair. Some force was dragging her down into unconsciousness but she fought back, gasping for breath and trying to keep possession of her senses.

John abruptly jumped up as he became aware of her paleness and distress and caught her by her arms. ‘My dear, you are ill. Come, sit down.’ He sat her in his chair and poured a glass of wine from the bottle still on the table. He held the glass to her mouth whilst with trembling lips she sipped the sweet red wine.

‘You should be in bed. It’s been a long tiring day.’

‘Your walk?’ she questioned weakly.

He knelt beside her. The colour was returning to her cheeks. ‘Could you manage a turn around the square? The air might be beneficial.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. I do usually take a short walk before bedtime.’

The air was fresher after the rain, and mist was rising from the road, hovering in drifts about their knees. They laughed together as they looked down and saw that their feet had disappeared.

‘That’s better.’ John smiled at her. ‘You have been very solemn these last few days. Not as happy as I am used to seeing you. I was afraid that you were unwell or displeased over something?’

She dared not admit that it was he who was making her ill at ease, that his presence made her nervous, but that his absence made her more so. She could not confess that she was irritable and unsettled when he was not there, and filled with a confused, incomplete happiness when he was.

Instead she answered softly, ‘I feel as if I am adventuring into the unknown. As if all my own familiar people and places have abandoned me and set me adrift.’

‘But, Sarah!’ He took her arm. ‘We are here, Lucy, and my aunt. And you know that I—’ He stopped short, not knowing how or what else to say, and finished lamely, ‘I won’t let anyone be unkind to you.’

‘I know.’ She sighed and they walked back towards the inn. ‘I’m just being silly.’ She laughed to cover her insecurity. ‘Don’t tek any notice, maister. Tha knaws I’m just a daft country lass.’

He threw back his head and laughed with her. The landlord was in the hall as they went upstairs, and John turned to him as he saw the knowing look on his face and put him firmly in his place. ‘Will you be sure to send early tea to my cousins and my aunt in the morning, and bring me hot water at six. We shall be away straight after breakfast.’

Sarah smiled at him gratefully as he left her at her door. He bent to kiss her hand and then impulsively he kissed her cheek. ‘Good night, cousin,’ he called, and noisily made his way to his own room.

Mrs Masterson was snoring gently and Lucy was idly playing with the ribbons on her dress as they approached London. Sarah leaned towards the carriage window, looking out at the tidy new streets and parades of shops and houses which were being built on the edge of the city. As they clattered on the volume of traffic increased, and Lucy then sat up and took notice as grand carriages, barouches and chaises sped by and she tried to see the occupants.

Presently they drove along wide thoroughfares with fine handsome houses, and John pointed out places of importance, and for Sarah’s sake singled out the green parks and gardens which he said were in the heart of the city.

‘We’re almost there,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should waken your mother, Lucy.’ As he spoke they drew alongside a wrought-iron fence which bordered a residential square and came to a halt at a high, guarded gate. At a word from Harris, the coachman, the man at the gate unfastened the lock and the carriage rolled slowly along the wide street.

There was a green area set in the middle of the square and on the left as they approached were small neat dwellings of two and three storeys, with painted panelled doors leading straight on to the street. On the opposite side were much grander houses of five floors; and although in essence they were all similar, with their classical façades and tall windows, and four or five stone steps leading to the wide front doors, some were superior to others. It was at one of these that the carriage drew to a halt, and from whose door, as if by signal, a uniformed footman appeared to open the carriage door and help them descend.

As they approached the steps to the elegant, columned portico, a smiling Miss Pardoe was there to greet them, a second footman and two housemaids in attendance. Mrs Masterson was enchanted with the house, which was fronted by fine, black, wrought-iron railings and was spacious and elegant within, with an outer hall and then an inner hall with central pillars, tall windows and sculptured busts and paintings adorning the white walls.

Sarah was given a small room adjoining Lucy’s and to this she retired, after helping the maid to unpack Lucy’s and Mrs Masterson’s gowns, unfolding them carefully from their wrappings and shaking them free of creases. A perfume of lavender and mint had risen from them as she did so, and the young girl, who said her name was Rose, had wrinkled her nose in pleasure.

‘’Course, you come from the country, don’t ya?’ She had a nasal whine to her voice and Sarah smiled. It would be no use to adopt her native Yorkshire dialect here for the benefit of the servants, for she knew that they would not understand a word she uttered.

‘Yes, we do. We grow our own lavender and mint, and we place it around our clothes and bedding to keep away the moth.’

‘So do we,’ said Rose. ‘Only we buy ours down at the market. We don’t ’ave the bother of growing it ourselves. Can’t anyhow, ’cos we don’t ’ave a garden of our own.’

Sarah’s room, which was behind Lucy’s, had a window overlooking the back of the house, and she peered out into the dusk. The house had adjoining walls with its neighbours and these abutted around a small courtyard. From the dim light coming from the basement, which she assumed housed the kitchens, she thought she could see the shadow of ferns and plants growing down there.

Perhaps that is a garden, she mused. There has to be a garden or some grass somewhere, or where do the ladies walk? Even Mrs Masterson, who was not over fond of fresh air, took a walk two or sometimes three times a week, if the weather was kind, around the lawns of Garston Hall.

She had seen the green area in the middle of the square as the carriage had rolled up to the house, but in the bustle of their arrival, she had not had the chance to take proper notice of her surroundings, but saw only that the grass had an iron railing around it with a closed gate.

‘Excuse me, ma-am.’ Sarah dropped a curtsey as she knocked and entered Mrs Masterson’s room. Mrs Masterson was dressed and waiting for the supper bell. She looked very grand in her dark blue draped silk gown and transparent muslin sleeves. The maid had dressed her hair as she had requested, with feathers and small pearls attached to fine net to adorn it.