The River Folk (13 page)

The Ruddicks’ New Year celebrations had been quiet and just within their own household. Their sons had stayed at home to see the New Year in with their parents and Susan had been invited to spend the evening with them. Dan had set off to walk her home just after midnight. The rest had gone to their beds soon after one o’clock, although Bessie had slept fitfully, listening with half an ear for Dan to arrive home.

‘Daft, you are,’ she had muttered to herself. ‘He’s a grown man now.’

‘What, love?’ Bert had murmured sleepily. ‘What d’you say?’

Bessie had chuckled. ‘Nothing, sweetheart, just me worrying about our Dan.’

‘He’ll be all right, he’s . . .’ Bert had begun, but the sentence ended in a gentle snore.

Bessie had lain awake for a while, staring into the darkness imagining, quite irrationally, all the different sorts of trouble Dan could get involved in if he encountered revellers roaming the streets. But gradually her heavy eyelids had closed and she had fallen into a half sleep.

Then the commotion had begun and, at once, she was fully awake.

‘Oh no,’ she groaned as she levered herself out of bed and lumbered across the room to light the candle on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve been afraid of this. Come on, Bert.’

Although he sat up and lowered his legs to the floor, Bert said, ‘Do you really think we should interfere, my angel?’

‘I aren’t lying here listening to that racket and doing nothing about it.’

There was another cry of pain followed by a thump and, plainly through the wall, they could hear Sid shouting obscenities.

‘Just listen to the man. Have you ever heard owt like it?’

Bert gave a wry smile. ‘Well, yes, I have, love, amongst sailors and workmen.’ He shook his head. ‘But it’s not the sort of language you like to hear a man using to his wife.’

There was a thud against the wall and the sound of splintering wood. Then, suddenly, there was silence. An eerie, uncanny silence that sent a chill through Bessie.

‘Oh Bert, what’s he done?’

But Bert was swinging his legs back into bed and lying back against the pillow.

Shocked, Bessie said, ‘You’re not just going to lie there and do nothing, Bert Ruddick, are you?’

‘What can we do, Bess? If we go round and bang on his door, he’ll not answer it. So, short of breaking it down, how are we to get in?’ He paused and then asked quietly, ‘Do you want me to call out the police?’

Bessie shivered and got back into bed, though she did not, for the moment, blow out the candle. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know what to do, Bert. I just hate to think of that poor woman – and Mary Ann – having to put up with that lot.’ She nodded her head towards the wall.

Bert snuggled down further beneath the covers. ‘It seems to have settled down now. I expect he got blind drunk. She told you he was worse then, didn’t she?’

‘Mm,’ Bessie murmured, her hearing still tuned to any sound coming from next door. ‘What worries me now is, why has it gone quiet so suddenly?’

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Bert chuckled. ‘That’s the trouble with you, my angel. Never satisfied, are you?’

For once, worried as she was, Bessie did not pick up on his teasing innuendo. Bert turned on his side, his back to her, but Bessie still sat up in bed, a shawl around her shoulders, listening intently.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ she muttered. ‘It’s
too
quiet now.’

She waited a few moments more and then, exasperated, swung her legs out of the bed again, saying, ‘I’m wide awake now. I’m going down to make some cocoa. D’you want some?’

There was no answer from her husband, so, pushing her feet into her slippers and taking the candle, Bessie plodded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Minutes later she had just settled herself into Bert’s armchair near the dying embers in the range when she heard the back door open and close very quietly. The inner door opened and a shadowy figure stepped silently into the room. Bessie saw him start as he saw the lighted candle on the table and her sitting in the chair.

‘You waiting up for me, Mam? Am I going to get a clip round the ear for being late home?’

He stood over her, towering above her, this big, handsome son of hers, her firstborn.

Bessie chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother. You’re a bit big for that now.’ Then she added, wagging her finger at him playfully, ‘But don’t think I wouldn’t if I thought you deserved it.’

Dan, too, laughed softly and sat down opposite her. ‘Any cocoa going? It’s cold out and I’ve had a long walk home.’

As Bessie got up to get him a mug of cocoa, she asked, ‘Did you get your ear clipped yon end for Susan being late home?’

‘No, the Prices were still merrymaking. The house was ablaze with light and they’d got friends and neighbours round. I reckon it’ll go on till dawn.’ He grinned at her in the flickering candlelight. ‘But I thought seeing that her dad is me boss and I’m due to sail one of his ships downriver tomorrow on the afternoon tide, I’d better look willing and get to me bed.’

‘You mean today, lad,’ Bessie said. ‘It’s New Year’s Day now. The first of January 1920. Can you believe it?’

‘So, what are you doing still up?’

‘Oh, I’ve been to bed once, but then there was this unearthly racket from next door. He’s been at it again.’

Dan cocked his head on one side and listened. ‘Seems all right now, though. Drunk, was he?’

Bessie handed him his cocoa and sat down heavily with a sigh. ‘I ’spect so. He was shouting and swearing and carrying on. There was thuds and bangs and then she was screaming.’

Dan looked suddenly worried. ‘Who? Mary Ann?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I think it was his missis. Elsie.’

Dan relaxed slightly, but angry disapproval was still in his eyes. ‘He’s still got no right . . .’ He broke off and sighed. ‘Still, it seems to have stopped. Let’s hope he’s fallen into a drunken stupor.’

‘It went quiet all of a sudden, though. That’s what’s worrying me.’

‘But you’ve not heard the little lass? You’ve not heard Mary Ann?’

Bessie shook her head. ‘No.’

‘I reckon if it had been anything really bad, she’d have come round here. Don’t you? She knows by now, surely, that she can come to us for anything, doesn’t she?’

‘I think so,’ Bessie agreed. ‘I hope so.’

‘Come on then, Mam,’ Dan said, draining his mug and standing up. ‘Let’s both get to our beds, eh?’

‘Aye, you’re right, lad,’ Bessie said as she got up, and then she added, with feeling, ‘At least I hope to God you are.’

‘I ain’t seen hide nor hair of any of ’em this morning, Min, and I’m worried sick now.’

‘Mebbe he’s sleeping the booze off and she and the little lass are having a lie-in while he’s quiet.’

Bessie sighed. ‘Sounds reasonable, I suppose, after all the shenanigans last night, but . . .’ she bit her lip. ‘I’d feel better if I just saw one of ’em.’

They were standing outside Minnie’s door, arms folded and looking across the yard towards the Clarks’ house.

There was not a movement to be seen. No curtain moved, no window or door opened.

‘I can’t stand it any longer,’ Bessie said. ‘I’m going across there and I don’t care if I do wake ’em up.’

‘If you rouse the sleeping tiger,’ Minnie warned, ‘you’ll get more than you bargained for. And she’ll not thank you neither if she’s gettin’ a bit o’ peace.’

Bessie had taken a step forward but now she stopped again and groaned. ‘Oh Min, I don’t know what to do.’

‘Leave it till dinner time and then if we’ve seen nowt by then, well, I’ll come with you.’

Bessie considered. ‘All right. Good idea. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.’

Midday came and still there was no sign of life from her neighbours, so Bessie crossed the yard once more and rapped sharply on Minnie’s door. ‘Come on, Min, if you’re coming, ’cos I’m going to see what’s what.’

Minnie opened her door, untying her apron. ‘I’m right with you, Bess.’

Together, they approached the house and Bessie raised her hand to knock, but before she could do so, Minnie clutched her arm and said, ‘Listen, can you hear summat?’

Bessie was motionless with her arm still raised in the air. From behind the door came a whimpering like an animal in pain.

‘Oh my God,’ Bessie breathed. She grasped the doorknob, turned it and pushed, but the door did not yield.

‘It’s locked.’ Instead of raising her arm again, she put her face close to the door and called softly, ‘Is that you, Mary Ann?’

The whimpering beyond the door grew louder until it became a wail.

‘It is her,’ Bessie said. ‘I’m sure it is.’ Raising her voice again, she said, ‘Mary Ann, love, open the door.’

The two women standing outside saw and heard the doorknob move, but still the door did not open. The girl’s crying increased. ‘I can’t. There’s no key.’

‘What? But there must be,’ Bessie said, getting more and more agitated by the minute. Something was dreadfully wrong behind that door and now she was castigating herself inwardly for having waited so long before trying to find out just what had happened.

‘Look on the floor, love. Has it dropped out?’

There was a scrabbling sound and then, ‘I can’t find it.’

Then Bessie jumped as Mary Ann thumped on her side of the door. ‘Get me out, Auntie Bessie, get me out.’

‘I wish Bert or one of the lads was here.’ Bessie bit her lip and then said suddenly, ‘I know. Min, what time is it?’

‘Dunno. About twelve, I think.’

‘Right. You stay here. I’m going for Dan. With a bit of luck, he won’t have sailed yet.’

She was halfway across the yard before Minnie called after her, ‘He’ll not come, Bessie, if he’s ready to sail.’

‘He’ll come,’ Bessie muttered, pulling her shawl closely around her as she hurried through the alleyway between the houses. ‘When he knows it’s for that little lass, he’ll come.’

Only minutes later, she was hurrying back again to Waterman’s Yard, Dan loping along beside her.

‘You’re sure it’s Mary Ann behind the door, Mam?’

‘Certain,’ Bessie puffed. ‘Called me Auntie Bessie, didn’t she? “Get me out, Auntie Bessie,” she said. “Get me out.” Like a trapped animal. Poor little mite.’

‘But where’s her mam?’

‘I daren’t think, lad,’ Bessie said grimly.

‘Right then,’ Dan said, equally adamant. ‘Break down the door, it is.’

When they arrived back, other neighbours had gathered.

Gladys had joined Minnie outside the Clarks’ house and, from her doorway, Amy Hamilton was shouting unwanted advice. ‘Leave ’em to it. I don’t know what you’re bothering with them for. If I’d my way I’d . . . I’d lock the house up and set fire to the lot of ’em.’

Minnie, imbued with some of Bessie’s spirit, rounded on her. ‘Shut up, Amy. It’s the little lass and her mother we’re bothered about. Not him. I’m with you there. He can go hang, for all I care.’

‘Tarred with the same brush, the lot of ’em,’ Amy ranted.

‘You can’t blame the bairn. Be fair, Amy.’

‘Be fair, you say. Is it fair that my Ron threw his life away to save the likes of his miserable hide?’ She jabbed her finger towards the house. ‘Who thought about my Ron, eh?’

‘We all thought about your Ron and your George, Amy,’ Bessie said, coming across the yard and catching the gist of the conversation. ‘You know we did. We still do, but it doesn’t mean we have to turn our backs on Mary Ann just because of what her father is.’

‘And what would you know about it, Bessie Ruddick?’ was Amy’s parting shot as she slammed her door with such force, it seemed to rattle on its hinges.

Dan went straight to the door and called out, ‘Mary Ann? Are you there, love?’

At once they heard her cries. ‘Dan, oh Dan. Help me, please help me.’

‘Listen, love. Calm down. We’ll get you out. But first of all, try to stop crying and tell me, can you really not find the key?’

‘No, no, it’s gone. Dad’s locked the door and gone. And me mam. I can’t find me mam.’

Dan turned and his eyes met his mother’s terrified gaze as she murmured, ‘Oh my dear Lord, what has he done?’ Then with renewed vigour, she said, ‘Get that door down, son.’

Again Dan put his mouth close to the door and shouted, ‘Mary Ann, listen to me, love. Get right away from the door, ’cos I’m going to break it down and I don’t want to hurt you. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes, Dan.’

‘Do you understand, love? Stand right back out of the way.’

Her voice sounded fainter now, further away, as she said again, ‘Yes, Dan.’

Dan gave a small nod of satisfaction and stood back. First he kicked at the door near the lock, trying to break it and then he put his broad shoulders against it and heaved until the wood splintered and gave way. Pushing it aside, he stepped inside and held out his arms.

The girl rushed to him and he picked her up and held her close. She wound her arms about him and buried her face against his neck, sobbing wildly.

For a few moments he just held her, patting her back and soothing, ‘There, there. You’re safe now. It’s all right.’ Then gently he prised himself free of her clinging arms and set her on the ground. ‘Now you go with Mrs Eccleshall to our house.’

‘No, no . . .’ Mary Ann began, but when Dan said, firmly, but kindly, ‘Please do as I ask, Mary Ann, because I want me mam to come upstairs to see to your mother. Understand?’

Biting her lip, the tears still running down her face, the girl nodded, ‘But you’ll come in a minute.’

‘As soon as we can,’ was all he would promise.

As Minnie led her away, Mary Ann looked back at Dan, stumbling as she did so instead of looking where she was going. Only Minnie, holding her hand, prevented her from falling.

‘Right, Mam,’ Dan said soberly and with no relish for what they had to do. ‘We’d better have a look-see.’

‘Oh lad, what are we going to find?’

‘I daren’t think, Mam,’ Dan said, but nevertheless he led the way into the house and, following Bessie’s direction, went upstairs and into the main bedroom.

As he pushed open the door, Bessie knew, like her, Dan was holding his breath.

The bowl and jug on the washstand had been smashed on the floor and the stand overturned. Two spindly-legged chairs had been broken as if they were matchwood and the bed had been overturned and rested at an angle against the wall.