Diver's Daughter

by Patrice Lawrence

  I looked at Gina. She was staring at the table.

  Widow Primmer poked the poppet with a piece of kindling. It slid across the table towards me. “Is this your poppet, Eve?”

  “Mama bought it at Bartholomew Fair,” I said. “But it was not like this.”

  Griffin turned to me. Again, he held my gaze. “You travelled with this … thing … from London.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “It’s as I recounted, Widow Primmer. The plan was made in London.”

  I shook my head. “There’s no plan!”

  “So you deny it?” Widow Primmer said. “You didn’t make a plan with that sailor cousin of mine to come and seek me out?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He said that if we helped care for Claire, you would help us with lodgings.”

  Griffin nodded. “As I told you, Mistress.”

  Widow Primmer nodded back, then looked at me. “I’m sure your mother knows that witchcraft doesn’t work from afar. You had to come nearer. Did George Symons suggest that too? Use my own daughter against me to win my trust? Then render me so sickly that I’m a prisoner in my own home?”

  “Mama is not a witch! We were happy here!”

  “But it is not your own home.” It was hard to hear Griffin’s voice above the crack of the sparking wood. “You told my sister that you would do anything to have your own home.”

  “Yes, but…”

  Griffin turned his gaze on Widow Primmer. Like me, she was unable to look away from him.

  “Her mother was sick with melancholy, or so we believed. Now I understand that it was part of the bewitchment to bring them here and deliver them to your home. They were in such a hurry to set their plans in motion that this poppet was left in my cart. It was wrapped in a linen shroud with the pin through its heart.” He turned to Gina. Her face was set like she was trying not to cry. “My sister found it, but has only just revealed it to me. If I had known earlier, I could have saved you more distress. But it isn’t too late!”

  He swiped up the doll and threw it into the fire. Its hair flared first, a ball of flame. The gown and rag body smouldered then ignited. The round wooden head smoked but didn’t burn. Griffin picked up the poker and pushed the remains of my poppet deep into the fire.

  Griffin hooked the poker back on to its nail. “Now it can hurt no one.”

  “Go, Eve. Leave this house now,” said Widow Primmer.

  I wanted to hold Griffin’s gaze in the same way he had held mine, but I would not let him see how close I was to tears.

  “The charge is untrue. I gave Gina the doll. It was a present,” I said.

  I thought Gina was about to speak, but Griffin put his hand on her shoulder. The fabric of her dress crinkled from the tightness of his grip.

  “The accusation is witchcraft, Widow Primmer,” he said. “I expressed my concerns to the beadle last night. He said he would attend to it this morning. I had to remind him that torture by witchcraft is a hanging offence. He cannot be lenient.”

  Widow Primmer shook her head.

  “No. I don’t think… I am well. There’s no need.”

  Griffin stood up and leaned over the table.

  “Have you ever knowingly given lodgings to a witch, Widow Primmer? Have you knowingly allowed this to happen within your house?”

  Widow Primmer’s mouth worked. A finger stabbed into my thigh. It was Gina. Her eyes were pink and sore, her face paler than the morning light.

  She mouthed, “Go.”

  I gathered my skirts and ran. It was not far to the rector’s house at All Hallowes, but it felt like I was running the wrong way round town. When I got there, the door was open and a bucket of slops was being emptied on to the path outside. It was the rector’s wife.

  “Where’s Mama?” I gasped.

  The rector’s wife gave me a sour look. “How do I know? Do you think I want to do servants’ work? Perhaps that sailor man turned her head.”

  “Sailor man?”

  “The one who came here two nights ago.”

  Jacques Francis had returned?

  The rector’s wife stood upright, stretching out her back.

  “I didn’t mind the other one, coming to walk her home. This one, though… I don’t like loud voices on my doorstep.”

  I touched my skin. “Was he like me?”

  She shook her head. “No. He was a tall fellow with too much beard. Though I couldn’t help hearing a little of their conversation.” She scratched her head. “He was shouting so loud I couldn’t not hear it. He was weaving her a yarn about treasure in the water and she was saying there wasn’t any. I had to ask my husband to send him away. Perhaps your mother followed him later.”

  “She was home last night,” I said.

  “Well, she isn’t here this morning.”

  She tapped the bucket so the last drips splashed on to the street and closed the door. The next time she opened it, it would be to the beadle.

  Mama hadn’t mentioned meeting George Symons. But then, I hadn’t mentioned Griffin and the wooden beads to her. We’d both angered people looking to make their fortunes from us and we’d both kept secrets from each other. George Symons must have snatched her on her way to work. Perhaps he’d had a knife like Antonio, forcing her through the common land and orchards out towards the dock. He would make Mama dive. The Thames was treacherous but its currents were our everyday life. Mama knew nothing about the depths here. Would her nose bleed and her eyes burn? Would she become trapped between the bones of men who had drowned? Was she already struggling, her breath running out and the sea pressing around her? I stopped walking so abruptly that a man behind me slammed into my back. He swore and walked on, looking back at me, angry. I could not help Mama by myself. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even walk.

  “Eve!” Gina was puffing towards me, tears running down her face. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  I wanted to be furious, but this wasn’t her fault.

  “Mama’s not at the church,” I said.

  “I know,” she gasped. “A black man just came looking for her at Widow Primmer’s. He said it was urgent.”

  “A black man?”

  “Yes! He said there was a man coming from London, an angry man, who thought your mama had taken his fortune.”

  “George Symons?”

  “Yes, that was his name.”

  “And the … the black man? Did he say where he was going?”

  “To the quay. The west side.”

  I bobbed forward and kissed Gina’s forehead. “Thank you!”

  I reached deep inside myself for more breath and I ran. I turned in to St Michael’s Square. The maypole was still standing, its drooping ribbons brushing the dirty cobble stones. My feet slipped on the petals and flower heads as I raced towards the West Gate.

  The quay was usually busy, but there were only a few fishermen around now. Most of them must have been sleeping off the May Day celebrations. A few vessels bobbed in the water, small boats that looked worn from travel. I recognized Jacques Francis immediately, looking out across the water. He turned round and pointed.

  “They’re there,” he said.

  I squinted. I could just see a dark smudge out on the water.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  He nodded. “We have to go to her.”

  “On a boat?” Just watching the gulls glide across the water made my stomach hurt. “I can’t. I can’t go on a boat again.”

  “I think he told your Mama that you’d be hurt if she didn’t follow him.” He crouched down next to me. “If you come with me, she’ll see that’s not so.”

  I knew that I had already drawn more than my fair share of luck. I knew that I had avoided my destiny twice already. I would not avoid it for a third time. Yet, if I stayed here, it would be Mama who would fulfil my destiny instead of me.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

  I couldn’t tell him that if it was my destiny to drown, he wouldn’t be able t
o prevent it.

  “Stay here a moment.”

  I watched him walk to the end of the pier, look from side to side, then wave. A rowing boat came in to sight. It was a little bigger than the one the fisherman and Antonio had used, but still no bigger than a Thames wherry. Jacques beckoned me over. The pilot looked at me and said nothing. He was a broad-faced man with skin rubbed by harsh winds. Jacques Francis handed him a purse. The coins clinked as the pilot took it and laid it by his feet in the boat.

  “This is Samuel Hambleton. He’ll take us there.”

  Jacques took my hand and walked me to the edge of the pier. The boat rocked in front of me. My legs weren’t my legs, they were part of the river, flowing away from me.

  “You have strength inside you, Eve,” Jacques said. “Just take one small step. Then another. If you must, close your eyes and I will help you aboard.”

  I closed my eyes. He passed my hand to Samuel Hambleton. I felt the callouses and roughness of his skin as he gripped me.

  “Hold her steady,” Jacques Francis said. I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the boat. I didn’t open my eyes. The fear was building inside me and I wanted to pull away and run as fast as I could, through the Bargate and on the road back to London. If I opened my eyes, I would do just that. Jacques Francis took my other hand. I stood there, my foot raised, halfway between land and water.

  “Just one step,” he said, gently. “One step.”

  I took the step. The boat moved, but the hands held me steady. My heart was trying to beat itself out of my body. I made my other foot follow.

  “The bench is behind you,” Jacques Francis said. “Sit down.”

  My knees were wobbly, so I let myself sink.

  “Well done, Eve. I’m coming aboard now.”

  The boat moved again and sunk lower into the water.

  “Let’s go,” Jacques Francis said.

  I opened my eyes. He had taken up the second oar. I stared straight ahead as I was propelled out and away from the land.

  The smudge became sharper. It was definitely a boat. How many people were on it? One? Two? Was it really them? Closer and closer. I saw a bow, a mast, the back of a man. The man turned and saw us. It was George Symons. Where was Mama? I leaned over and tried to look down into the water. Instantly, my stomach churned and my eyes blurred. I sat upright so quickly the boat rocked. George Symons didn’t move. He seemed to be waiting for us. As we drew up next to him, I saw two heavy stones in the bottom of his boat. They were tied to either end of a length of rope.

  “Where’s Joan?” Jacques Francis shouted.

  George Symons shrugged. “I told her to bring me my fortune. If she didn’t, there would be no daughter to return to.”

  Jacques Francis looked down at me. “Her daughter’s here.”

  “Your infidel friend doesn’t know that.”

  I heard Jacques Francis take a deep breath. “How long has she been down there?”

  “I don’t have a timepiece to measure.” His voice was calm, like it didn’t matter if my mother was dead or not.

  “There is no gold,” Jacques Francis said. “Just the poor souls who couldn’t be buried on the land. I told you so in London.”

  George Symons shook his head. “Do you expect me to believe your godless lies?”

  Jacques Francis said nothing. He removed his cap and his cape. “I will find your mother, Eve.”

  The water stirred by the bow. Fingers, a whole hand, a face pushed through to the surface. My mother gasped and opened her eyes. She saw me.

  “Eve?”

  Jacques Francis held out an oar. “Take this, madam!”

  “Do you have anything?” George Symons shouted. “Have you found the gold?”

  Mama swam grasped the oar and, shuffling one hand over the other, pulled herself towards us.

  “Eve,” she said. “I’m so happy—”

  I heard the rasp of the rope and the thump as a stone hit the side of the boat.

  “No!” Jacques Francis yelled.

  He was too late. George Symons had dropped the rope across Mama’s left shoulder. Mama clung to the oar. I reached out my hand to her.

  “Mama! I’m here!”

  Jacques Francis heaved the oar closer. Mama’s fingers touched mine just as George Symons picked up the second stone.

  “Take this!” Jacques Francis handed me the oar. It was heavy and I grasped it with both hands, but Mama’s weight made the wet wood start to slip through my palms. Jacques Francis tried to reach across and grasp the other boat. Both boats swayed as he lunged towards George Symons. George Symons glanced back at him then leaned over to drop the second stone over Mama.

  “No!” Jacques Francis tried to pull George Symons away. “You’ll kill her!”

  “Then she’ll die.”

  The stone’s weight made him lurch forward. He was still, then I blinked and heard the splash as he fell in.

  “Mama!”

  The rope pressed against her throat and her mouth gaped open like she was gasping for breath. Then she was dragged backwards into the depths.

  The water was my destiny, I knew it. I’d nearly drowned twice but had been saved. Did I wait for it to claim me a third time or did I run towards my fate? Did I let Mama die or did I do everything I could to save her? She was down there. She was alive. I breathed in slowly and slipped over the edge of the boat into the water.

  The water isn’t claiming me, I’m letting myself sink.

  The water isn’t claiming me, I’m letting myself sink.

  As I sank, I kept my breath inside me, then I opened my eyes. The water was murky and streaked with weeds and pecks of mud. It was like the river understood that it could no longer take me. The deeper I sank, the harder it tried to push me out. I didn’t look down. I knew there was a great depth of water below me. My chest could hold in the air no longer and I let myself be pushed upwards. I broke the surface and fought to stop myself breathing out in one big gasp. If I did, it would feel like I’d never catch my breath again. Instead, I blew out slowly until I was empty and took another big breath.

  I looked across the water. The rowing boats were further away than I expected. What if I could never swim back to them? I pushed that thought away. I had to find my mother. I took another breath and a hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me down. As I screamed, my mouth filled with water. I saw hair floating in the tide, a mouth with a string of bubbles floating upwards, eyes wide with terror. George Symons. He was drowning and he was taking me with him.

  I kicked at his hand and felt my heel connect with his knuckles. He let go and I managed to rise until my head was out of the water. I coughed and spat, my arms flailing around me. The river was fighting back. It had come for me again. A hand held my shoulders. I tried to wriggle free.

  “Stay calm, Eve.” It was Jacques Francis. “I’ll take you back to the boat.”

  “They’re both in the water,” I said. “George Symons and Mama.”

  “I can’t save both. Let me take you back and then I’ll find your mother.”

  “No,” I said. “No one must drown.”

  “But you—”

  “I saw George Symons. If he’s there, bring him up and I’ll help him.”

  “I’ll try once. That’s all the time we have.”

  I nodded, rolled on to my back and waited. Mama was under the water, under the stones. I had to roll that thought up, push it away. I must only think thoughts that would let me keep floating. A moment later, one head surfaced and then another, eyes closed, wet hair stuck to his skin.

  “He’s alive,” Jacques Francis said. “Here! Over here!” He raised his hand and waved it towards the boats. “Take him quickly, but if he drags you under…”

  If he dragged me under, I was to let go.

  George Symons was floating on top of the water. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open. I grabbed the shirt beneath his shoulder and kicked my legs gently.

  “I have to go,” Jacques Francis said. “Promise me, Eve. If
he starts to drag you under, save yourself.”

  Jacques Francis disappeared. All I had to do was to keep George Symons afloat until the boat came. My arms were already hurting. Should I be here with this man who didn’t care if my mother died? Perhaps I should let him go. I had jumped in to save Mama, not him. My fingers loosened on the back of his shirt. I turned a little to look at his face. Nearly thirty years ago, he hadn’t been much older than me when he was cast into the sea and knew that his uncle was dying below him. It hadn’t been his destiny to drown then and it wouldn’t be today.

  I heard the swish of oars in the water and lifted my head. The rowing boat was close. Samuel manoeuvred towards me. The oars clunked as he dropped them on to the bottom of the boat. He leaned over and grabbed George Symons’ shoulders, grunting hard. The boat tipped but didn’t capsize.

  “Lift his legs,” Samuel said. “But take this first.”

  He handed me a pale ball, an inflated pig’s bladder. Some of the wherrymen carried them, especially those who worked close to the bridge and worried about capsizing at high tide. I held the bladder in my hands and hooked my arms around George Symons’ legs and heaved up. I only moved him a few inches, but it was enough for Samuel to pull him the rest of the way into the boat. George Symons landed with a thud.

  “I have to take him back to shore,” Samuel said. “Are you coming?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  Samuel nodded. “I hope God’s luck is with you all.”

  He rowed away. I let myself float on my stomach, face down peering into the gloomy water until I had to lift my head for a breath. How long could Mama hold her breath? No one could for this long. Down there, there were masts and anchors and bones and maybe even treasure. The river had secrets and intended to hold on to them. Please don’t hold on to my mother.