Chapter 30
Thou hast thrust sore at me that I might fall (Psalm 118)
Rosella ran and ran, with Grubb's harsh panting behind her. She didn't feel as good as she usually did when she ran. She liked running, the feeling of her long limbs working, carrying her swiftly away from what she feared, or towards what she wanted. But she had been days with little food or drink, and she had been dragged and manhandled and frightened, and she no longer felt that familiar live spring in her heels. She ran up the cobbled Canonry with the woman behind her. Surely she should have shaken her off by now? She was an old woman, big and heavy. She was strong, but how could she run like this? She could hear the laboured breathing, and the heavy clump of the feet. She would get to the top of the lane, and then dart off to one side or other, leap from tussock to tussock, and lose her bulky pursuer, and then she could double back to Pert.
Pert, she thought, why isn't Pert here? She wished Pert were running with her. He had tried to save her, she was sure, but something had gone wrong. She was on her own now, but she still had her good legs and her good thick boots. God, she had caught that woman such a crack! One, two, right on the shins where it hurt the most! She had enjoyed that. But it hadn't stopped the old hag.
A vision of the Vicar came to her mind, leaping and bounding down the drive with his flaming cassock trailing behind. Presumably he was dead now. She hoped so. She had always hated him, the thin beaky face that judged her, and the mean little eyes that watched her when he thought no one was looking, following her, measuring her up and down. She hoped he was dead, and that it had hurt dying.
Run, run, she thought. There were others behind her. Who were they? Who were they after? They must be after her. They were Grubb's confederates, either the bully gang or the pirates. She knew pirates had been in the basement of the Emporium, though they hadn't bothered her. She had heard their coarse laughter through the door, though, and knew they were talking about her.
Nearly at the top of the lane now, the cobbles left behind and sandy grass under her feet, less easy to run fast on. Her pursuers were still there, the odd shout, and the panting, and the sense of malice following her as she ran. There, now the lane had ended, and she was on springy turf. Now was the time to look for the chance to turn and take to the rough moorland. She looked to one side and then the other. Not yet, not yet, put on a sprint, make a little distance. Legs not responding, can't give that little extra. Keep going, this is a pace that can be maintained a long time, it's just that little extra that's missing.
Pert, she thought, why isn't Pert here? He'd know what to do. That day on the hill after the fight, paddling in the stream, holding his hand. She had relived that perfect day over and over in her dismal cellar. He'd been so nice. Why wasn't he here? He would be if he could, she thought. She knew he wouldn't let her down. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Damn! The woman still plodded behind, heavy and resolute, but the people behind had fanned out. Still behind her, but out on both sides, there were large figures running, one holding a pistol and one a curved sword, a cutlass. It was the pirates. The pirates were after her.
How could seamen run so well? Perhaps she was slowing. Perhaps it wasn't them speeding up, it was her not keeping the pace. Pirates spent the time drinking and scaring people, not running. But here they were, heavy shoes pumping, iron-hard muscle and sinew urging them on. After her, urging them on after her. Behind them in turn were more people, all running. Who were they? More pirates? Or other people from the town? Who were they chasing? Surely everyone in the world wasn't chasing her? She was just a girl, for goodness' sake, she wasn't anyone important. She hadn't even done anything wrong, except play truant from school for one afternoon. Run, keep running. That's what you do best, Rosella. Run!
She was running on rock some of the time, and the wind in her face was pushing her back. This wasn't going well. Should she turn, go like a rabbit from hummock to hummock, slip between them and back down? She might make it to the stream and follow it down through the trees, they might not know about that. She looked around again. No, they'd fanned out even more, and the outriders had even caught up a bit. The foremost pirates were almost level with her now, but well out to the sides. They would cover any sideways dart she made, or shoot at her with their pistols.
A particularly strong blast of wind caught her and knocked her sideways and she almost lost her footing. The gale was fierce here, and behind she could feel rather than see the angry red flames lighting the clouds. Careful, careful, the wind's hitting first from one side and then the other. If you fall over you'll be done for. Grubb's still there, groaning and swearing softly to herself, but she's there.
When she came up here with Pert they'd had to get down and crawl, and the wind was far stronger now than it had been then. But crawling wasn't an option. Pump, legs, keep pumping. At least the wind will be slowing them as well. It plastered her thin dress against her body, wrapping it round her legs and making running harder. She hitched the skirt up and held it with one hand up above her thighs. There was a sort of roaring, flapping sound behind her, and she knew that Grubb had the same problem. Her voluminous clothing, always black, in many different layers, must be holding her up. She looked over her shoulder. Grubb had done the same thing. She had hiked her skirts up and held them with both hands. Her great thick legs were pumping, and she swore in a steady stream of hatred and her horrible piggy eye blazed after Rosella.
Another blast hit her, and she stumbled, and put out both hands to save herself, and then found that she could run forward on all fours just as fast. Her running must have been slowed so much by the wind that she could now gallop just as well. She hadn't realised. She scuttled like a crab, she thought, but forward and not sideways. Thank God for her boots, she couldn't have made half this distance in the flimsy shoes her father made her wear.
It was all rock under her hands and feet now, no grass left. She must be nearing the top. An enormous gust of wind swooped down and got underneath her and for one sickening moment she thought it would pick her up and throw her back down the hill, right into the arms of her pursuers. She might go over the head of Grubb and the pirates, but the people behind them were still coming. She flattened herself, then scuttled on, her dress flogging wildly in the blast. It was torn near the hem, she hadn't noticed when, and the tear was lengthening up the seam at every step she took.
The rocks began to level off, and she realised with a sick feeling that she was nearly at the end. There was nowhere else to go. She crouched near to the rock, and scuttled on all fours, thinking of nothing but avoiding those grasping hands. There were whoops and shouts now, from the pirates. They knew their quarry was finished. There was a yell of surprise, and one of them was rolling over and over back down the hill, knocked over by the wind. Grubb seemed unaffected, too squat and heavy for the wind to get a grip. She was coming slowly now, her arms outstretched, a dreadful grin on her face.
Rosella stopped, crouching. Her dress thundered and flapped around her. Grubb came forward still. Rosella looked from side to side, but there were men creeping forward, men with knives and cutlasses, keeping low but making a semicircle round her and Grubb.
“Grubby, Grubby,” one of the men sang, his voice barely audible above the wind. “We've come fer you, Grubby! Come on, Grubby!”
The woman turned and looked at them. “You scum-sucking cowards!” she spat. “Yellow, spineless vermin! All of you, for one woman and a girl? Isn't there one of you with the courage to take on an old woman? Come on, not one?”
“No need, Grubby,” grinned another man, crawling forward. “We're not goin' ter make lovey dovey with you!”
“Though we might makes an exception fer the girly,” said another.
Rosella didn't move. Grubb backed towards her. The men crept forward. Then suddenly Grubb sprang. She whirled, and before Rosella could move the big hands had her, had her by the arm and the throat, and she found herself lifted into the air, clasped to that iron-hard bosom.
&nbs
p; “Is this what you fancy, then?” the woman called, her voice hoarse and foul. “Little bit of fresh meat? See,” she pulled at Rosella's clothing, lifting her skirt, “see, fresh and springy. Is this what you fancy? Come on, you can have her! I'll give her to you!”
“Naw, Grubby,” said the leading pirate, “that won't swim, 'cos when we've stuck you and chucked you over the edge, we're 'avin' the filly anyway!”
“This is easier. Come, take her! I'll give her to you! You can do what you like with her, I don't care! Take her back to the ship with you! I wanted her for myself, but you can have her!”
Behind the pirates another circle of men had appeared, also crawling up the hill against the wind, but the pirates didn't seem to notice, so intent were they on their prey. They were still moving closer, close enough to poke out with their cutlasses and feint stabs at Grubb and Rosella. Then the leader rose to his feet, intent on making the final rush, and the others rose with him, silhouetted against the flaming sky.
Grubb's grip shifted slightly in response, and Rosella took her chance. She bit down on the hand that held her, bit as hard as she could, bit with her good young teeth and tasted blood in her mouth. The woman yelled and convulsed, and Rosella fell at her feet.
“Why, you vicious little whore ...” the woman groaned and brought out her knife. Rosella pushed herself to her feet and rushed. One last kick, she thought, and hacked one, two, and the woman screamed and seized her by the collar and Rosella continued her rush and kicked and kicked again and pushed and suddenly there was no more ground and the wind rushed in her ears and she was falling.
The Black Joke Page 31