by Val Wood
‘Ah. The barefoot lady,’ Roxton had sneered, holding on to the horse’s snaffle. ‘No use asking if you’ve seen anyone acting suspiciously? No? Of course not.’
‘Let me pass,’ she’d said curtly. ‘You’ve no cause to detain me.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ He released his hand and stared up at her from within the shadow of the trees; she could barely see his face for the rim of his hat and she hoped he couldn’t see hers. ‘But one day I will have. Both you and your lover.’
She’d laughed aloud at him and slapping Sorrel on the flank she’d cantered away, almost knocking him over.
The evenings were light and the days hot and long, and Annie and Robin packed their bags with Mr Moses’ new cloth that he was now happy to supply – for Robin had sold all the other samples – and went off to the sweet chalk pastureland of the Wolds, where the air was filled with birdsong; yellowhammers called and willow warblers and whitethroats sang their tiny hearts out, and beneath the huge summer moon the air was heavy with the perfume of honeysuckle and bluebells and the fragrance of meadow grass and wild thyme, and thousands of cowslips lay like a carpet of gold.
And while Annie breathed in a beauty that she had never before imagined, Matt sailed between Holland and England with his authorized merchandise on which duty was paid; and met with the fishermen off the coast of Scarborough and Whitby, who were happy to relieve him of a considerable amount of brandy and geneva on which it was not, and Bernard Roxton went back empty-handed to the port of Hull.
* * *
When autumn came and Matt sailed again up the Humber, the Breeze laden with a cargo of duty free brandy, tea and tobacco, he could scarcely contain the turmoil inside him. He had passed the foreshore of Hessle several times as he’d sailed towards the Trent and Ouse taking legitimate goods towards their onward destination of the Midlands, and had looked in the direction of his brother’s cottage, searching for woodsmoke or some other sign that she was there, but there was none and he guessed that she had gone off to the Wolds.
Blasted woman. Why she’s just a hawker, nothing more. That’s all she’s fit for, selling a few ribbons. Yet he knew that it was just a fit of pique that made him think so, for he had to admire the way she had organized the run. She had ridden or rowed to all the hidden, lonely creeks and watched the tides and shifting mudbanks, so that she could be sure of a safe dropping place. She had shown him the lists that she had drawn up and the plans she had made, bending her head close to his as they sat at the table in his small cabin, so that he’d felt suffocated and had to make an excuse to go on deck.
And he’d laughed at her; he could kick himself. He’d seen for a moment that she dropped her fierce, hostile manner and shown him a tender side when she’d thought he was hurt over her wearing Toby’s clothes. He laughed again, softly, as he thought of her slim body within the breeches and her rounded breasts within the shirt as she’d unbuttoned the neck, her face flushed from the heat of the cabin. As if she could ever look like a man. The crew and the men from on shore must have been mad or blind not to have seen who and what she was.
He’d still searched for the elusive seaman Hope in the taverns and inns of Hull, and Greg Sheppard had turned laughing, cynical eyes on him and remarked: ‘It’s no use old fellow. You’re going to have to bed her, it’s the only way to get her out of your system. Take her and have done with it. She probably won’t mind.’
But he’d turned away with a sharp word. If he’d wanted a woman then there were plenty available, more shapely and handsome than Mrs Hope, and he’d never yet taken a woman who wasn’t more than willing. Besides, she was Toby’s friend. He’d got there first and he certainly wasn’t going to have any cast-off.
No, Toby had always had first choice, even though he was the younger brother. First with his mother’s affections and spoiling by the servants. Even his father—.
Even my father. He stopped and thought of the night he’d told his father of Toby’s death. He thought he’d taken it well, asking the relevant questions and then remaining silent until bedtime. It wasn’t until during the night when he himself couldn’t sleep, and had come downstairs to walk around, that he found his father hunched weeping over a dying fire.
They’d never been demonstrative, and he’d put his hand diffidently on his father’s shoulder and said a few halting words. But his father had turned red eyes towards him and brushed him away.
No, he thought. Much as I loved him, I don’t want Toby’s leftovers. I don’t want any comparisons made. Though—, it’s strange, he mused. Toby always said that he was finished with women after that episode with the dose of clap and Clara. He sighed. Silly young fool, if only he’d come to me.
She’s put on weight, he thought, when he saw Annie again. And her hair has bleached with the sun. And she probably doesn’t even know that the sun has turned her skin golden. She looks like a country maid not a woman from the town.
‘We’ve had a good summer.’ She smiled and looked triumphant. ‘We’ve made money from the cloth and I’ve enough now to buy some brandy and stuff of my own.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He faced her once more in his cabin. ‘Do you mean that you haven’t been buying any of the goods I brought last winter?’
She shook her head and a strand of fair hair fell from out of the ribbon which held it. ‘I hadn’t much money of my own, and what I had I wanted to save, in case – in case I had to move on.’
A shiver ran through him. Where was she thinking of going?
‘So you did all of that, organizing the runs and distributing the goods, for nothing?’
She nodded and eyed him narrowly. ‘I’ve lived by my wits all of my life captain, but I’m fairly honest – except when I’m desperate – and I’d never be so shameless as to take from people who trusted me.’
He thought her mouth trembled but she turned away from him and when she turned again to face him she had a defiant glare in her eyes.
‘I knew that you weren’t sure about me, even though you’d asked me to be the runner. I’ve not taken a penny so far, but I’ve earned money of my own up on the Wolds. I’ve paid Mr Moses for what I’ve had from him, and now I can have equal shares in the running.’ She tossed her head in the direction of the upper deck. ‘Same as the men up there.’
He fell silent. He really didn’t know what to say. She was quite extraordinary.
He watched her from the deck as she pulled away towards the shore and disappeared into the darkness.
‘Captain? Shall I give the call?’ His bosun stood beside him, a frown on his face.
‘What?’
‘Man the capstan, sir?’
He gave himself a shake. Drat the woman, she’s going to scupper me if I’m not careful. ‘Aye. Man the capstan. Hoist the mainsail.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
There was a scurrying of feet. The men had been mustered and waiting for his command. He’d a good crew, the best he’d known. He mustn’t let them down, mustn’t let some ragamuffin female so disorganize his mind that he was in danger of sheering off course and scuttling his own ship.
As they headed up the estuary, Parson White stopped by the helm. He pointed over his shoulder towards Hessle. ‘That’s a grand young fellow back there, sir. Got the team well organized and some good dropping places so they say.’ He winked and lowered his voice. ‘But beggin’ your pardon sir, if you’d take my advice, you’ll tell him to wear some thicker tunics. It gets cold on the river this time of year. Slip of a lad like that’ll soon take a chill.’
Matt hid a grin. He might have known an old salt like Parson White wouldn’t miss a trick. Then he remembered that he had been the one who’d rowed her to shore in Hull. He would have had a good look at her. He had an eye for the women had Parson White, that’s why he was sailing the seas instead of preaching in a pulpit.
‘I’ll tell him,’ he said. ‘Next time I see him.’ As a matter of fact there’s something else, he thought, and made a sudden decision.
&
nbsp; ‘Bosun! Ahoy, Bosun,’ he called. ‘Bear a hand.’
* * *
Matt slipped the Breeze into Brough Haven and dropped anchor and had a boat lowered. The sky was still dark and there was no sound from shore, no early birdsong, only the gentle lap of water against the keels of the ships anchored there. ‘Put on a harbour watch, Bosun, and make sure the crew don’t imbibe too heavily at the Ferry Inn,’ he called as he shoved off. ‘And be polite if the Customs or Excise should happen to call,’ he grinned. ‘We’ve nothing on board that they’ll be interested in.’ He pulled hard on the oars and turned downstream towards Hessle. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
A lambent flame defined the horizon as he pulled into the haven at Hessle, a soft tongue of light licking the skirts of a new day. A mist hovered, shivering tremulously as it spread its ghostly dissolving strands above the surge of the river. This was the time he loved best of all. The break of a new day, the assurance of another beginning, when broken promises of yesterday could be absolved and a whole new life could begin.
This was the time, when as a youth, full of hope and enthusiasm, he had ridden out at dawn, galloping through the lush, dew-wet grass, breathing in the heavy perfume of bluebells and cow parsley and the musky dampness of wet sheep, and had sat in the saddle of his mount and looked down over the lands belonging to his father, lands which he had known would one day be his. Until came the day when he decided that the promise of that land – his heritage – was not worth the misery and wretchedness of the present, that he was living in a fool’s paradise, full of false hopes, and so had left it all behind.
The door to the cottage was closed as he clambered through the undergrowth and entered the meadow. He walked slowly, taking his time, his boots imprinting in the wet grass. Toby’s horse was standing by the far hedge and whinnied softly and for a moment he was startled, forgetting, only for an instant, and then sadly remembering that Toby wasn’t there to mount and ride his beloved Sorrel.
He stopped. The door was opening. Was she an early riser – for she couldn’t have had more than a few hours sleep – or had she heard the horse’s warning? She stepped out of the threshold and looked towards the river; she hadn’t seen him and he didn’t move. He didn’t want to startle her, but he did want to watch her.
She stretched, arching her back and raising her arms to the sky as if in greeting; she spread her fingers wide, her head and neck dropping back and her long hair swinging free.
Her neck was long and white and her waist and hips slim, but through her thin cotton shift he could see that her breasts were full and firm. He felt his heart pounding and his loins grew hot with an eager craving as he thrilled to the uninvited sight of her almost unclothed nakedness. The thin shift, he breathed, as aroused he licked his dry lips, was more erotic and sensual than if she had been standing stark naked in front of him.
She appeared fragile, like a piece of delicate porcelain, yet he knew that she had a strength running through her. Had she acquired this tensile thread or had she been born with it? Had she suffered or been hurt? She had known fear, he was sure of it, for when he had first met her he had seen in those enormous eyes set in a pale white face, a moment of fear, to be replaced a second later by defiance.
But what had caused that fear? He needed to know. Instinctively he started forward and she saw him. His sudden movement startled her and he saw again the fear in her eyes, a flutter of her body like a bird about to take flight.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ His words came out abruptly. He was overwhelmed by the nearness of her. She clasped her hands together and the pressure brought the blood rushing to her long fingers, and she curled her bare brown toes in the grass.
‘What does tha want?’ she whispered. ‘Why is tha here?’
He heard the words she spoke in her natural tongue and thought how right they seemed for her. No artifice or polish, but pure and unpretentious. Why then had she tried to change? He watched her lips as they moved.
‘Why, Captain Linton?’
Why indeed. Why had he come? His conversation with Greg Sheppard came to mind: ‘You’ll have to bed her, old fellow. It’s the only way to get her out of your system.’ Is that why he’d come? To take her whether or not she was willing? To rape and violate her slender body? And what then? Then, he knew she would flee and he’d be lost once more, and she would have one more hurt added to her score.
‘I don’t know.’ He was honest. ‘I don’t know why I’ve come. I only knew that I had to.’
She hesitated for a moment then said, ‘Excuse me. I’ll just get my shawl,’ and disappeared inside leaving him feeling like a fool.
She reappeared in the doorway with her shawl around her shoulders. ‘Will you have some bread and cheese? I’ll make tea when the fire is hot.’
He nodded and followed her inside and watched her as she pushed twigs into the hot ash in the hearth. He saw that her hands were trembling and he bent down beside her. ‘Let me do that.’ He took the kindling from her and felt the touch of her shoulder on his. She drew back and he saw again a look of apprehension in her face.
Damn it, he thought, with a sudden burst of anger. I’m not going to touch her. What does she think I am? Some good-for-nothing reprobate? He made a pyramid of twigs and watched them catch alight, then placed the trivet and kettle of water on top.
‘So why did you come, Captain?’ She sawed up a loaf of bread and reached for the cheese in a cupboard. The knife, he noticed, she left at her side of the table.
He pointed towards it. ‘Do you always protect yourself so?’ he asked, thinking of the time in the cabin when in a moment of anger she had raised a supper knife to him.
‘You’re not answering my question.’
He saw the nervous swallow in her throat as she spoke and he shook his head. ‘I told you. I don’t know why I’ve come. Only that I wanted to see you.’
‘Do you mean me harm?’ The question was direct and he saw the imperceptible movement of her fingers across the table.
‘Harm? Why should I mean you harm?’ The question hit a nerve and angered him and his voice was harsh.
‘Some men do.’ She stared at him as if trying to analyse what his intentions were. ‘Not all. I’ve met only a few kind men in my life and I could count them on one hand.’ She held up one finger. ‘Mr Trott, who asked me in when I was hungry, he made Mrs Trott feed me and let me take his bed.’ She raised another finger, ‘and Toby.’ She raised two more fingers, and added with a small smile, ‘oh yes, and Robin and Josh. They’ve been kind too.’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘And how was Toby kind? Did he let you take his bed too? Or did he share it with you?’
The words were out, the question which had been simmering for so long, asked, and too late he remembered the truckle bed hidden beneath Toby’s bed, which he had many times pulled out himself, and slept on when he’d taken time off from being a seaman and become a landsman again.
‘Get out.’ Her eyes were like fire, her lips wet as she spat out the command.
He gave a gasp. He hadn’t intended—! Why did he insult her so? He wouldn’t have done it to any other woman, so why her? The reason came sharp and clear. He was jealous. Jealous that Toby might have held her in his arms, might have kissed her lips and throat, when that was precisely what he wanted to do.
He took a step towards her. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No. You shouldn’t. And even if I did share his bed, then it’s nowt – nothing to do with you – or anybody else for that matter. Now go.’
So she did. They had. That was it then. His anger dissipated and he just felt drained and sick and disappointed. He shrugged and turned away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered as he reached the door. ‘Please believe me.’ He stepped out into the morning. The sky was streaked with gold and purple and in the middle of the river was a tide-rip, the surface of the water breaking and rippling as opposing currents met. He squared his shoulde
rs and strode out down the meadow towards it.
23
Annie leaned heavily on the table and bent her head. She wouldn’t cry. She screwed up her eyes to keep back the tears. She wouldn’t cry, for hadn’t she just won a victory? She had seen him, her adversary, crumple in front of her. His strong manly features falling apart at her words, so that he looked like a shamefaced boy.
I’m even with him, she thought. I’m even for all the hurtful things he’s said to me. But why, she wondered? Why do we fight? He’s the only man that I’ve ever dared to antagonize. God knows I never dared with anyone else, I was always too afeard of getting a beating, that’s why I always kept my lips firmly shut.
But he wouldn’t have hurt me, I should have known that. Why did he come? What was it he wanted? She went to the door and opened it wider. He was halfway down the meadow and had stopped close to Sorrel. She saw him stroke the horse’s nose, and then, she drew in a breath, he laid his head against the horse’s neck and put his arms around it.
I’ve hurt him I think. I didn’t mean to. He makes me feel so strange. I have feelings about him that I’m not familiar with, that I don’t quite understand. But I didn’t want to hurt him, and I have.
She saw him stand back from Sorrel and then he gave him a last pat on his flank and started to move away. If I let him go now, I’ll never see him again. We won’t want to face each other after this. If only he hadn’t said what he did about Toby. I didn’t want him to think that about us. Perhaps if I’d explained myself better. Should I call him back and tell him? I don’t want him to go; not like this. I don’t want him to go.
A deep agitation stirred within her, she put her finger to her mouth and gently nibbled, pressing her teeth to the flesh. She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to come back, yet reason told her that if he did, then she had a very clear idea of what might happen. He wants to bed me. That can be the only reason why he came.