Emily

by Valerie Wood

  EMILY

  Valerie Wood

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also by Valerie Wood

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781407069142

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  a division of The Random House Group Ltd

  RANDOM HOUSE AUSTRALIA (PTY) LTD

  20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney

  New South Wales 2061, Australia

  RANDOM HOUSE NEW ZEALAND LTD

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  RANDOM HOUSE SOUTH AFRICA (PTY) LTD

  Endulini, 5A Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa

  Published 1999 by Bantam Press

  a division of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Valerie Wood 1999

  The right of Valerie Wood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781407069142

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Typeset in New Baskerville by Phoenix Typesetting, Ilkley, West Yorkshire

  Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc.

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  For my family with love

  ALSO BY Valerie Wood

  THE HUNGRY TIDE

  ANNIE

  CHILDREN OF THE TIDE

  THE ROMANY GIRL

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Professor D. M. Woodward, Hon. Archivist, Hull Trinity House, Trinity House Lane, Hull, for information on Trinity House School; Sheila Gardiner for a book list; and Peter Burgess for information on Hull gaols.

  My thanks again to Catherine for reading the manuscript.

  Books for general reading

  Marjorie Barnard, History of Australia (Angus & Robertson, Australia, 1962).

  Robert Hughes, The Fatal Shore (Collins Harvill, London, 1987).

  N. V. Jones (ed.), A Dynamic Estuary (Hull University Press, 1988).

  Chapter One

  ‘Leave me a dozen eggs and yon hen and tha can tek ’little lass.’

  The child stared, first at her mother, who had spoken, and then at the tall, thick-set youth who carried a square wicker basket with a speckled hen poking its beak over the top and she knew that her future was being decided.

  The youth’s eyebrows shot up and then down and then up again. ‘Nay, I can’t! She said I had to fetch ’little lad.’

  Her mother shook her head in the determined manner which the child knew so well. If this was to be a battle of wills, she knew who would be the victor. ‘’Lad can’t go. I need him here. Tha can tek Emily. She’ll be a good worker when she’s big enough.’

  And so it was decided. Emily was sent to put on her boots and shawl, whilst the hen and eggs were handed over in exchange. ‘I’m not sure,’ she heard the boy say as she entered the house. ‘She’ll have summat to say.’

  Her father was sitting in a chair by the fire, his head against the chair back, pale faced and his eyes half closed. Emily put on her boots and then stood by him. He gave a slight nod and she lifted each foot in turn so that he might fasten up the laces as he usually did, for she had not yet mastered the art of tying them with knot and bow without them coming undone.

  ‘Must I go, Da?’ she ventured, clasping her hands in front of her.

  He swallowed, the movement seeming to cause him pain for he closed his eyes for a moment before answering. ‘Aye.’ His voice was husky. ‘If thy Ma says so. There. I’ve put a double knot so’s they won’t come undone. Tha’ll be fine, don’t worry.’

  ‘Will I come back?’

  He stroked her blond head so like his own and then patted her cheek. ‘I don’t know, maybe not. Go on now, don’t keep him waiting, it’s a long journey.’

  Still she hesitated and glanced towards the open door, where her mother, outside it, was impatiently tapping her foot. She looked around the small sparse room. There was nothing else she needed to take, no possessions or essentials, nothing that was hers alone. ‘We’ve got an old hen,’ she whispered. ‘We don’t need another.’

  ‘Come and give thy Da a kiss and get off.’ Her father drew her towards him and she leaned and kissed his thin cheek.

  ‘Shall I see thee again, Da?’ Her lip trembled as she spoke and she kept her eyes on his, willing him to say yes.

  ‘Get off now, lass. Go on. Don’t be asking questions that I can’t answer.’

  Her father, who had always known the answer to every question she ever asked, was reluctant to answer this one. She picked up her woollen shawl and walked slowly to the door, then looked back. Her father had his eyes closed again and his cheeks were wet. ‘I could stay and look after thee, Da.’

  He opened his eyes and she saw that they were glistening. He put up his hand and made a gentle movement for her to go; she turned again and left the room.

  Her mother fussed in an unaccustomed manner, pinning her shawl and refastening the buttons on her dress. Then she gave her a little push. ‘Go wi’ Sam now and be a good lass. Do as his Gran tells thee.’ She offered no kiss as her husband had done, nor any explanation as to why or where she was going.

  Emily looked up at Sam, but he k
ept his eyes on the ground and didn’t look at her. He had a round, weather browned face and wore a thick grey cotton smock and cord breeches and a floppy brimmed hat on his brown hair. He picked up the empty wicker basket and prepared to move off. ‘Go on then, Emily,’ her mother said again. ‘Don’t keep him waiting.’

  The cottage stood at the end of a track with a small copse behind it. It was part of the estate where her father had been employed until he became ill six months before. Emily plodded behind Sam until she reached the end of the track and then looked back. Her mother was standing by the open door of the cottage, one hand shielding her eyes from the light, the other on her hip. Emily waved, but her mother made no answering sign. She took a few more steps and looked again. Her mother had gone, the door was closed and there was no-one standing by the uncurtained window. The only movement was a curl of smoke above the chimney pot from her father’s fire.

  They journeyed out of the hamlet, Emily following in Sam’s large footsteps and noting the women who stood in cottage doorways to watch them pass. They were almost at the limit of the estate when she saw a familiar figure coming towards them. It was her brother, Joe, who since he was eight was helping with the harvest to earn money now that their father was ill. Emily had overheard her parents talking and agreeing that Joe was to be depended upon. ‘There’s nowt else for it,’ her mother had said. ‘Else we’re for ’poorhouse.’

  ‘Hey, Em! Where’s tha going?’ Joe’s face was streaked as if he had been crying, but his voice was curious.

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t know. Ma said I had to go wi’ Sam.’ Sam had stopped a little way off and was waiting for her. ‘Why’s tha not at work?’

  He looked away from her and put a fist to his eyes. ‘I’ve lost ’job. Mayster said they didn’t want anybody my age now they’ve finished ’harvest, even though overseer said I was a good worker for a little ’un.’ Joe was small for his age no matter how he stretched himself, not much bigger than Emily, who was only five.

  Sam waved for Emily to come and she said hurriedly, ‘He wanted thee but Ma said no; she said I had to go. We’ve got a new hen,’ she added, unsure whether to be proud or sorry for the barter. ‘Tell Da tha saw me, Joe.’

  He nodded and set off in the direction of home, then turned back and called, ‘Shall tha be coming back, Em?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ she shouted back. ‘Don’t be asking me questions I can’t answer.’

  They walked all morning and into the afternoon, leaving behind her inland home, crossing the coach road which led towards the town of Hull, and skirting by a tree-lined track, a towered and turreted manor house set within a vast parkland, which was scattered with grazing sheep and cattle. They crossed over meadows and farmland and by the time they reached the bustling market town of Hedon, Emily was almost crying with tiredness.

  Sam stopped at an inn and bought a tankard of ale for himself and a cup of water for Emily. They sat in the inn yard and he put his face up to the warm sunshine. ‘Not far now.’ Those were the first and only words he had spoken to her and she looked up at him and blinked, then as he lifted his tankard to take a gulp of ale she put her head down on the wooden table and closed her eyes.

  He shook her awake. ‘Come on, I’ll give thee a piggy-back.’ He helped her up on to the table and turning his back to her bent forward for her to climb on. She hitched herself up and, putting her arms around his neck, smelt the familiar, comforting aroma of warm grain, new-mown hay and damp earth gathered within the roughness of his clothes and promptly fell asleep.

  When she awoke the sun was setting behind them, suffusing the sky and land with a scarlet glow; the garnered fields were lit as if by a thousand lamps and sheep grazed amongst the stubble. She gave a small gasp at the immenseness of the wide landscape. Her own hamlet of cottages and barns and farmhouses was surrounded by woods and small copses, and she had never ventured beyond its limits. Here, the only signs of habitation were the occasional farmstead in the far distance. She lifted her head and sniffed. The air smelt different. Fresher, sharper, with a hint of saltiness. ‘Sam,’ she whispered, ‘have we come to ’end of ’world?’

  ‘Tha great daft lump!’ The old woman lifted her scrawny arm and aimed a blow at Sam’s head. He ducked with a dexterity which suggested that it wasn’t the first time such a blow had been directed towards him. ‘I telled thee to fetch ’lad. What’s tha brought ’little lass for? She’ll be of no use nor ornament!’

  ‘Missus wouldn’t let me bring him,’ Sam blustered. ‘She said she needed him. She said little lass’d be a good worker when she’s growed,’ he offered in mitigation.

  ‘And who pays to keep her while she’s growing?’ the woman shouted at him. ‘Didn’t tha think o’ that, tha daft beggar?’

  Sam shuffled his feet and lowered his head. ‘Sorry, Gran,’ he muttered.

  The woman turned her attention to Emily. ‘Does tha know who I am? Did tha ma tell thee?’

  Emily shook her head, not daring to speak in case she should evoke a torrent of abuse like Sam had just received. Perhaps, as it was obvious the old woman didn’t want her, she would be sent home again, though she doubted if she could walk back so far again tonight. The darkness was closing in and for the last few miles when they had turned off the road to take small rough tracks before reaching their destination, she had clung to Sam’s hand in case he should lose her in this vast empty landscape, which was punctuated only by isolated farms and cottages and the soaring spire of a church in the distance.

  ‘Hannah Edwards, thy fayther’s auntie.’ The old woman’s eyes pierced her face. ‘’Onny relative he’s got left. That’s why he’s sent thee here. Is tha a good lass?’

  Emily nodded. Da always said that she was, though she was often in trouble from her mother. ‘What do I call thee?’ she dared to ask.

  ‘I’m glad to see tha’s got a tongue in thy head.’ Hannah Edwards pursed her mouth and considered. ‘Tha can call me Granny, same as our Sam.’ She turned towards the door. ‘Better come in then, seeing as tha’s here.’

  The one-roomed cottage, like her parents’ home, was built of mud and straw and rounded cobblestones of varying sizes, but with a roof, not of tiles but of barley thatch. It felt warm and welcoming to Emily, with a bright fire burning and the brass knobs on the door and cupboards gleaming. In a corner of the room was a curtained alcove, where she could see the legs of a bed, and on the fire a kettle was steaming and in the coals beneath potatoes were cooking in their skins.

  ‘Sit down at ’table but don’t start until we’ve said prayers.’ Granny Edwards sat at one end of the scrubbed wooden table, Sam at the other and Emily sat in the middle, where a place was already laid. In the centre of the table was a large pot of soup and a loaf of bread. She bent her head as she saw Sam and his granny did and peeped from one eye to watch the old woman muttering softly.

  ‘Amen,’ Granny Edwards said in a loud voice. ‘Amen,’ repeated Sam. They both looked at her and waited.

  She glanced from one to another, then tightly closing her eyes and clasping her hands together, repeated fervently, ‘Amen!’

  Granny Edwards nodded, apparently satisfied with her show of faith, and proceeded to ladle the soup into large brown bowls. Emily took a sip, it was hot and salty and unlike anything she had tasted before. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and following Sam’s example she dipped in a slice of bread and finished off the bowlful.

  ‘Tha’s got a good appetite,’ Granny Edwards muttered. ‘Tha’s going to tek some feeding.’ She pointed a spoon at Sam. ‘Tha’ll have to tek on some extra work. If tha’d brought ’lad he could’ve found work on ’farms. This bairn can do nowt.’

  ‘Our Joe’s just lost his job,’ Emily pronounced. ‘Mayster said he was too little to work. I’m nearly as big as him,’ she verified, ‘and I’m good wi’ hens and cleaning cupboards.’

  There was silence as this pronouncement was digested, then the old woman’s face softened. ‘Lost his job, has he? So there’s no m
oney coming in!’ She shook her head in commiseration. ‘That’s hard on thy ma, very hard.’

  ‘And on my da,’ said Emily. ‘He can’t work ’til he’s better.’

  Granny Edwards rose from the table to fetch the potatoes and patted Emily’s arm. ‘God will look after thy fayther, never fear,’ she said softly. ‘It’s thy ma and brother who need our prayers now.’

  Chapter Two

  Emily kept a discreet distance until she came to the conclusion that Granny Edwards’s irascible nature hid a lion heart. It was to the widow Hannah Edwards that neighbours trudged down rutted muddy lanes and marshy tracks for advice, whether on why the jam wouldn’t set or what to do with a wayward son or daughter, and the same son or daughter would come to her door to complain of overbearing parents. These last were given short, sharp shrift and sent home with the proclamation to thank God they had parents at all and were not homeless orphans as some poor bairns were.

  Emily, listening from a chair in the corner often wondered if this last statement applied to her, for she often caught sympathetic glances coming her way as this pronouncement was made. The days slipped into weeks and she adapted to the routine of the household, and, having stated that she was good with hens and cupboards, was given the task of feeding the hens every morning and gathering the new-laid eggs, and keeping the food and pan cupboard tidy, at least as far as she could reach.

  Sam worked every day, either in his garden, where he grew potatoes and other vegetables and tended the fruit bushes, or as a casual labourer on the local farms, where by his strength and willingness, he was assured of work.

  ‘He’s an ’andsome lad, our Sam, but not right sharp,’ Granny Edwards announced to Emily one day, ‘but he’s a good lad and a hard worker.’

  ‘Where’s his ma and da?’ Emily asked, having spent several nights beneath her sheets laboriously trying to work out Sam’s relationship to his granny and therefore to her. ‘Are they dead?’

  ‘Might just as well be,’ Granny Edwards muttered, more to herself than Emily, ‘for all we ever see of her. No,’ she confirmed, her fingers industriously clicking at her knitting, ‘his ma’s not dead, but she went off when Sam was twelve months old and I’ve ne’er seen her since. As for his da, well God knows where he is, or who he is, for I’m sure I don’t.’