The Hungry Tide (7 page)

Will didn’t answer though he could feel his temper rising, the more so as he realized that Francis’s voice had carried and that John Rayner must have heard him.

Their progress towards home was slow as many of Will’s acquaintances stopped them to enquire about his health and to ask curiously how the accident had happened, tutting sympathetically as they regarded the stump of his leg.

Will was reticent and sometimes abrupt. He hadn’t as yet come to terms with the disability or how to cope with it, and for those unfamiliar with the whaling life there was no possibility of them envisaging the dangers, privations and sufferings encountered in the arctic regions. And as for the men of the whaling fraternity who greeted him, his comrades in adversity, there was no need for words of explanation, for they shared an alliance with an unspoken bond of understanding between them.

Saturday morning was fine but cloudy as Isaac and Isobel Masterson stepped into their carriage to start the journey towards the village of Monkston to view Garston Hall. It was ten o’clock and the street was crowded with people. Some of the women had bunched together in small groups when they saw the carriage waiting outside the house. Mrs Masterson was well known for her fashionable dress, and spectators often gathered if word got out that the Mastersons were going out to dine or visit the theatre.

However, if they expected high fashion today they were somewhat disappointed, for Isobel had dressed in a simple dark green gown, which was comfortable for travelling as her figure enlarged. As her maid Ellie had helped her to dress she had told the girl to leave the lower buttons of her jacket undone for comfort. Over the top she wore a long wool cloak, and perched on top of her fair ringlets was a green felt hat with feathers.

Isaac put a blanket around her. ‘Keep well wrapped up, my dear,’ he said, ‘It will be perhaps a two-hour journey to reach the house, but I fancy the drive will be pleasant. It is a straight enough road, though perhaps a little rough in places.’

He called to the coachman that they were ready before closing the window and the pair of greys responded to the flick of the reins, the crowds moving back against the walls of the houses to make room in the narrow thoroughfare.

The coachman slowed the horses as they approached the east end of the dock, and Isaac looked out of the carriage window to view the shipping. They then turned to cross over the River Hull, rattling over the ancient, rickety North Bridge, passing over the crowded shipyards which stretched on either side, and headed out of town along the turnpike road towards the plain of Holderness and the sea.

Except for tradesmen and farmers coming into the town for the market, they saw little traffic as they moved swiftly along through the villages of Witham and Dry-pool and out into the open countryside. Isobel viewed with some misgivings the lack of houses and population as they left the busy streets behind them for the vastness of the empty countryside, interspersed only with a scattering of village houses and isolated farmhouses.

‘I don’t know if I shall like it so well, Isaac,’ she said petulantly. ‘What shall I do for company when you are at your business?’

Isaac sighed. The problems of females were quite beyond him. He led such an active, busy life that he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have nothing to do but yearn for other people’s company.

‘You will find with a child to take care of, a large house to run and servants to organize that your time will be very full,’ he said patiently, patting her hand, ‘and,’ he added, ‘there will be plenty of people anxious to make your acquaintance. I am not entirely unknown, you know.’

Isobel sulked, a frown wrinkling her smooth forehead. ‘But we have so many people coming and going all day in our town house that I shall feel very cut off out in the country.’

‘Then what we will do,’ replied her husband in a conciliatory tone, ‘is keep a small suite of rooms in the house in High Street, and then if you wish to visit the theatre or friends, you may do so without the inconvenience of a long drive home again. But mark my words, you will be glad to get back to the fresh air and open space.’

‘If only we could go to the other side of town,’ she said, determined not to give in without a struggle. ‘That’s where everyone else is going.’

And that, thought Isaac, is precisely why we are not. Wisely, however, he said nothing.

Garston Hall had been built in 1780 on the site of an old castle, and as the agent, Mr James, was at pains to point out was set in one of the few landscaped parks along the Holderness coast. It lay quite close to the sea, but not so close as to feel the full effects of the east wind, which blew only moderately that day.

Isobel was transfixed: she had had no idea that it would be so large or so grand, and her gaze followed the agent’s hand as he pointed out the round towers and battlements which embellished the house, and the fine mature trees which surrounded it, hiding it from view and protecting it from the elements.

‘I have arranged for Mrs Scryven, the present housekeeper, to show Mrs Masterson the house, if that is agreeable to you,’ said Mr James, turning with a smile and a bow towards Isobel at the main door. ‘And I will conduct you around the grounds, sir.’

Mrs Scryven curtsied, her weather-tanned face inscrutable as Isobel entered the hall. ‘If tha’ll come this road, ma’am, I’ll show thee round.’

Isobel hid a smile. The woman had a rough country accent and although she was neat in appearance, with a clean white apron and bonnet, she was very small and very stout with roughened, red hands and had no grace.

She imagined her friends’ astonishment if they should be greeted by such a person when visiting, and the delight they would find in tittle tattling to all and sundry the news that the Mastersons had a rustic bumpkin for a servant. No, that would never do, she decided. If they took the house, and with it new status, the woman would have to go, or else be relegated to the kitchen where she wouldn’t be seen.

Mentally Isobel began to plan which of her servants she would bring with her and the roles they would play. Fortunately her own maids knew how to behave. She insisted that they spoke clearly without mumbling and she brooked no slovenly behaviour or dress. She was certain that they were grateful to her for training them so well, and that they would relish the opportunity of being part of such a splendid household.

She was quite won over as Mrs Scryven showed her around the house, although no sign of pleasure appeared on her face. It didn’t do to let servants know one’s feelings, unless of course it was annoyance.

She was delighted with the spaciousness of the house, with the living rooms and dining room situated quite separately from the servants’ quarters, which were at the rear of the house. She came down the central staircase from the bedrooms and across the wide hall into the drawing room, and saw out of the long windows lush green lawns, newly mown, and a long rosewalk which was covered in a profusion of climbing, scented roses which sent their perfume drifting towards the house.

‘Well, what do you think of it, my dear?’ asked Isaac when he returned from his tour of the grounds and had viewed the extent of the farmland and the cottages with it. The estate stretched to the cliff edge and although he didn’t walk so far, he was assured by the agent that there was a good path down to the sea and a safe anchorage if he should want to keep a small boat for fishing.

‘I like it very well, or will do after a few necessary alterations,’ she conceded. ‘There is a good dining room for entertaining, and a splendid withdrawing room, and ample provision for servants’ quarters, and on the second floor there is a small room which will be suitable for a nursery, with an adjoining one for a nurse.’ Isobel chattered on about the decoration required and the furniture and curtains that they would need, and quite forgot her earlier concern of being cut off from her friends.

Isaac nodded. He knew he had won. His pocket would be dented, but he didn’t mind. His finances were healthy in spite of the losses on the
Polar Star
, and he had this morning heard the good news that the
Greenland Star
had been sighted off the coast of the Orkneys. He was well thought of in business circles and if the Dock Company opened up another dock, as he knew they were planning to do, with John to help him now he would buy another vessel and the future should be even brighter.

He glanced around the spacious hall. The sun was breaking through the clouds, emitting a clear radiant light through the open door. There was a sharp salty smell of the sea in the air. He felt a glow of satisfaction, it seemed almost an omen. He smiled fondly at Isobel. If all went to plan he hoped that one day he would be able to leave, as well as a prosperous shipping company, a successful country estate to his son and heir.

‘What shall we do, Will?’ Maria observed her husband keenly as she sat across from him in front of the small smoky fire. The children sat on the floor by their feet playing with a pile of sticks, building them up into a pyramid and shrieking and laughing as they knocked them down again.

She was concerned about Will. He was well physically, his arms and shoulders getting more muscular as they took the weight of his body, and he moved swiftly and expertly on his crutches. But he was morose and dejected and often when she came home, tired from work, she would find him sitting in front of a dead fire with his head in his hands, or gazing into space and so preoccupied that he didn’t even hear her come in.

‘Do? About what?’ Will looked at Maria vacantly. He had been daydreaming, miles away, out on the ice, re-living the dangers of his life at sea. He came back to reality slowly, and as he did so felt again the weight of depression which had been with him for so many weeks settle on him again like a black shadow. His delight at coming home had very soon been dissipated as he came to realize that there was no work for him and therefore no money, apart from his dues from the Seamen’s Sixpence, which wasn’t anything like enough to feed them all and pay the rent. His bonus still hadn’t been paid because of the dispute and he was beginning to feel desperate.

‘I know it’s difficult for thee, love,’ said Maria, ‘but tha’ll find work soon, I’m sure. But we have to talk about it.’ She leaned across and took hold of his hand. ‘We have to think of what else tha can do.’

Will groaned and took his hand away. ‘I’m a seaman, Maria, what else can I do? I’ve been down to ’dock and to ’blubber yards, but there’s nowt for me. There’s plenty of able men looking for work as well as folk coming in from ’country districts, so why should anybody tek me?’

He got up from his chair. ‘I’m off down to ’George for a bit, see if there’s owt happening. I thought I might see Rob Hardwick and have a dram or two.’ He put on his old coat and picked up his crutches. ‘I might be late back so don’t worry.’

‘Will!’ Maria hesitated, ‘Please – be careful.’

Will laughed harshly. ‘Tha needn’t think that ’press gang will come after me. Even
they
wouldn’t want me!’ He went out of the door banging it behind him, leaving Maria miserable and unhappy.

She hadn’t given a thought to the press gangs who roamed the streets of the town, coercing and threatening and carrying off any man or boy that they might find. Drunk or sober, the unwary might easily find themselves on board a naval ship. Even those seamen with a protection ticket were sometimes captured, and to avoid confrontation and sometimes pitched battles with the press gangs, the whalers’ crews devised ruses to avoid them.

Maria had one night some years ago opened the door to find a strange looking woman standing there, who had asked in a quavering voice to be given food. Maria had invited her in, and to her astonishment the woman started stripping off her clothes to reveal, not a woman at all, but Will, who roared with laughter at having tricked her! He’d picked her up and swung her round and round until she was breathless, saying, ‘Now let that be a lesson to thee, letting strangers into ’house.’

Now she smiled wistfully as she thought of those times. Her lively, vigorous husband, with a wit and temper to match his red hair, had disappeared and left behind a saddened, disillusioned man.

No, it wasn’t the notion of the press gangs which worried her, but the assembly of drunkards and ruffians who gathered around the public houses and dram shops, looking for trouble or potential criminal activity. She hated the thought of Will becoming involved with such people, and in his present state of misery she feared that he might well succumb to temptation.

‘Over here, Will!’ Rob Hardwick was beckoning from the other side of the crowded room. Will had deliberately chosen to come to the George Inn close by the river in the hope that he would find some of his old shipmates. He pushed his way across towards Rob, elbowing out of the way the foreign seamen and the flock of painted women who were hanging around them.

Rob pushed a small glass of rum towards Will and waved away his offer of payment. ‘Have this on me. I’ve had some good news today. Masterson has taken me on stand-by till ’next trip.’ He looked down at his left hand with two fingers missing. ‘I seem to manage all right without these.’

Will nodded, he was glad for Rob’s sake about the news. But for his own accident he too would have expected to have been put on stand-by. The ship owners paid a remittance to their regular, reliable men during the time the ship was in port in order to ensure that they didn’t take work with another company.

‘Have you tried for work down at ’Greenland Yards?’ asked Rob as he bought two more rums. Will tossed back the harsh liquid in one swallow and felt the satisfying warmth searing his throat. He was about to answer when he felt a sharp slap on his back and he turned to see Francis Morton standing behind him.

‘Three more rums,’ called out Francis above the hubbub of noise. ‘Only make them doubles.’

Will started to protest but Francis would have none of it. ‘I’ve just concluded a nice piece of business,’ he said, winking slyly. ‘So I’m not short of a bit o’ brass.’

Will sighed as he drank; everybody seemed to be in luck but him. But, as the rum took effect, he began to feel less depressed and hoped that perhaps the luck would rub off on him.