Fallen Angels

by Val Wood

  He pulled open the large barn door and sniffed at the scent of threshed grain. The threshing floor was of beaten earth and covered with a fine yellow dust, and dry except in one corner where the roof had caved in and the rain was coming through. ‘This’ll do us,’ he said to his equine companion and the nag snuffled against his shoulder.

  There were some empty sacks in one of the two bays and he gathered them up along with a bundle of threshed straw and made himself a bed. He took off his wet coat and hung it up, then took the saddle and blanket off Dobbin’s back, shook the blanket and put it loosely over him again. Steam rose as the horse shuffled off, nosing about on the floor, and Ted lay down on the sacks. ‘I’m jiggered,’ he muttered. ‘What a night. What am I going to do? Where will I finish up? Will I find Ma and Daisy, and what will Ma say when I tell her that Fowler’s dead?’

  He rolled over from side to side, unable to settle as he thought of the consequences of his fight with his stepfather. Will I be blamed? But nobody knows I was there. He sat up and stared across the blackness of the barn. ‘If anybody says it’s my fault, then I’ll be branded a murderer! Will I be hanged?’ He put his hand to his thin neck, gingerly stroking it. ‘It’d mebbe be best not telling Ma what’s happened,’ he muttered. ‘But on ’other hand, perhaps she’d like to know. She’d be right glad to be shut of him, I’m sure of that.’

  He lay down again as exhaustion overtook him. I’ll think about it tomorrow, he mused, as sleep finally claimed him.

  Daylight creeping through the broken tiles and the ventilation holes in the walls woke him the next morning. Dobbin nudged him. He opened the door and let the horse out to graze on the grassy verge of the yard. I wish I could eat grass, he thought, I’m that hungry. His stomach rumbled but he knew there would be nothing to eat; he’d just have to drink water as soon as he came to a stream and fill up his empty belly in that way.

  He arrived in Patrington as workers, mainly women and children, were streaming towards Enholmes cotton mill to work. No one took any notice of him and he continued on towards the next village of Ottringham, where he saw a road sign showing him the way to Hedon and Hull.

  The road was narrow in places with deep ditches on either side, whilst the waterlogged land towards the Humber was dotted with pools of glistening water where seabirds had settled and grey herons stood motionless. As he approached Hedon the road became wider and better and he saw a toll house ahead, but when he spoke to the toll keeper he discovered to his relief that he could lead Dobbin through without charge.

  He stopped to rest the horse outside the town and to stretch his own legs. His hunger had become a dull ache in his belly and he took a long drink from a stream. There had been a good deal of traffic on the turnpike road: ponderous broad-wheeled waggons pulled by teams of heavy horses, single-horse carriers’ carts, a mail coach, and a pony and trap driven by a young woman who had lifted her whip in greeting to him.

  In the town he asked someone the way to Hull and was given two alternatives. ‘I want ’quickest,’ he said.

  ‘Then tek ’new road,’ the stranger said. ‘You’ll not have to pay if you walk through ’toll bar.’

  ‘I need food,’ Ted told him. ‘I’ve not eaten since yesterday.’

  The man shook his head. ‘You get nowt for nowt,’ he said sagely, but took his rucksack off his back and unfastened it. He brought out a loaf wrapped in a brown paper bag and tore off a hunk. ‘Here, lad. Have this and welcome. Where’re you going?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘I’m going to look for my ma and sister. They went to Hull and didn’t come home.’

  ‘Big place is Hull,’ the man replied. ‘But mebbe they didn’t want to go home. Mebbe they like it there. Plenty o’ work for women, that’s what I heard anyway.’ He winked. ‘If you’re not too particular.’

  Ted nodded and thanked him for the bread which he bit into ravenously, but it wasn’t enough and only reminded him of how hungry he was.

  It was after midday when he reached the town; he passed a military garrison, then crossed the bridge over the River Hull and saw how it opened up into the wide brown Humber estuary. The country boy saw too, for the first time in his life, tall factory chimneys belching out sooty black smoke, windmills, church towers, massive warehouses, impressive brick buildings, and shops of all kinds; and he smelt the overpowering stench of fish and seed oil, glue, blubber and slaughter yards.

  He put his hand over his nose and mouth. Ma would never want to stay here, not if she was given the choice. He felt nauseous from the smells and with hunger and he looked round wondering where to go and what to do next.

  Carriages rattled by, as did delivery waggons and donkey carts, and as he trotted on towards the town he came to an area packed with market stalls selling all manner of goods – livestock, vegetables, flowers, meat and fish – and some of the stalls had braziers where sausages were cooking on the hot coals.

  He swallowed and licked his dry lips as the smell reached him. Standing with his mouth open, he watched people queue up to buy. He dismounted and led Dobbin nearer, but someone told him to move the horse and make room and he backed away.

  I’ve no money. How can I buy food? He thrust his free hand into the pocket of the coat and felt about. Nothing. Only a piece of rag. He felt in the other. What’s this? His heart raced as he felt something metal caught in the seam. A penny. A penny! His spirits lifted as the prospect of food rose in front of him.

  The stallholder cooking the sausages was placing two of them on a slice of thick bread to hand to a waiting customer. ‘How much?’ Ted called out. ‘How much for ’bread and sausage?’

  ‘Threepence,’ the vendor called back. ‘Best sausages in ’town.’

  ‘How much for sausage on its own?’

  Desperation must have shown in his voice for the trader looked up. ‘Tuppence,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve onny got a penny,’ Ted’s voice cracked. ‘What can I have for a penny, mister?’

  ‘One sausage, no bread,’ he answered, flipping over the sausages. ‘I’m here to mek a living, mate.’

  ‘I’ll have a sausage then.’ Ted’s mouth was starting to drool.

  ‘You’ll have to get to back of ’queue. There’s other folks here before you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ Awkwardly, holding the horse’s reins by one hand, Ted joined the queue of people waiting to be served, some of whom looked at him in annoyance as Dobbin stood against them.

  ‘Why don’t you tie him up somewhere,’ a woman shouted at him, ‘’stead of fetching ’hoss shopping wi’ you!’

  He gazed at her. ‘I don’t want anybody pinching him,’ he explained. ‘He’s worth a lot o’ money.’

  A man guffawed. ‘Aye, to ’glue factory,’ he spluttered. ‘They’d give you a bob for him. Then you could afford a pound o’ sausages!’

  Ted stared in dismay and felt tears gather in his eyes. He bit on his lip. ‘He’s all I’ve got,’ he mumbled. ‘I can’t sell him.’

  Another woman looked at him. ‘Are you from ’country?’

  He nodded, unable to speak but wondering how she could tell.

  ‘Watch out for yoursen, then,’ she said. ‘There’s some villains about who’ll pinch your hoss and leave you holding ’reins in your hand wi’out you even knowing he’s gone! What ’you doing in Hull?’ she asked. Her accent was flat, not dissimilar to that of Holderness, but not the same either.

  ‘I’ve come to look for my ma and sister,’ he said. ‘They came in last week and nivver came home.’ Some warning flashed into his mind that he shouldn’t give away the fact that he had seen Fowler since then. ‘My stepda said he was going to sell my ma. I thought he was joking but they nivver came back.’

  ‘Hey, I remember that,’ another woman said as the queue shuffled up. ‘There was a woman. Her husband tied her up wi’ a rope. She was pregnant ’n’ all.’

  ‘She was!’ Ted agreed, relief spreading over him that they had come here after all. ‘Do you know where she went? Did somebody buy
her?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘They were over in King Street.’ She pointed past a church towering above them. ‘I went to see what was going on when I heard all ’commotion. Didn’t stop, though. I’ve plenty o’ troubles of my own wi’out watching ower other folk’s predicaments.’

  It was Ted’s turn at the head of the queue and he waited for the sausage to finish cooking. The trader forked it and put it on a slice of bread. ‘Go on,’ he said, taking the penny. ‘And don’t forget to pay me back when your ship comes in.’

  Ted thanked him gratefully and sank his teeth into the succulent, thick, fatty sausage. The bread was hard and crusty but he didn’t mind that as long as his hunger was satisfied. He moved away from the stalls and sat down with his back against a wall near a row of shops and put Dobbin’s reins over his foot. He heaved a sigh as he finished eating, and licked his greasy fingers. He could think now of what to do next, whereas previously all he could think of was food, and how to get some.

  He looked about him. At one end of the long street via which he had come into the town, a statue on a plinth was glinting in the sunshine. Opposite him was the large church – a cathedral, he thought – and when he looked the other way the street narrowed past fine shops – umbrella sellers, spectacle makers, gunsmiths and fish-mongers – and other premises such as banks and offices towards another church which jutted out into the road.

  He heard the sound of drums and saw a platoon of soldiers marching down the street, and guessed they were on their way to the garrison. He saw the flash of steel, and a handful of scruffy small boys marching alongside the platoon swinging their arms in ragged unison.

  I could be a soldier, he mused. Like my da. Like the father he couldn’t remember.

  Then he saw a group of dark-skinned, foreign-looking men wandering about the market stalls, and surmised they were off one of the ships which he had seen moored in the river. Or I could go to sea. But not fishing, he thought. I wouldn’t want to be a fisherman, but I wouldn’t mind sailing on a big ship to foreign parts. The men crossed over the street towards where he was sitting and he got to his feet. They said something to him that he couldn’t understand and he shook his head. They laughed and patted the horse’s neck and moved on.

  He watched their progression down the street. Yes, he thought. If I can’t find Ma or our Daisy, I’ll try for a ship and sail away.

  Daisy skipped across King Street intent on carrying out her errand in the shortest time possible, just to show that she could. She was delivering medication to one of the doctors who had his surgery in Lowgate, near St Mary’s church.

  Mr Walker had asked her if she could do the delivery for him as it was very urgent, Oliver was out on another errand and Mr Walker himself was busy. She felt proud that he had asked her to do it on her own and because she liked him, and he was so very kind to her, she wanted to please him.

  I wish that I could work for him, she thought as she hurried along. I’ll soon be old enough, but Ma might want to go back home to Holderness when she comes back. I don’t, though. I like it here in Hull – there’s so much to see and do.

  She had accompanied Oliver on various errands around the town on Saturday and again this morning. On Sunday he had taken her for a walk to the pier and shown her where the theatres and music halls were, although he had told her that he wasn’t allowed to go as his mother thought they were sinful. There were shop windows to look in, too, but she didn’t do that now as she wanted to get back as quickly as possible to please Mr Walker.

  Daisy had also helped Oliver, under careful scrutiny, to dispense medication; counting out tablets and putting them into small bottles, weighing out powders and pouring them through cones into paper bags.

  Mrs Walker didn’t help in the shop and although she didn’t speak to Daisy very much she didn’t seem to mind her presence; but perhaps that’s because she thinks I won’t be staying much longer, she mused. Ma will surely be back soon. Mr Walker had told her that she would come back when she was recovered. She had asked him what would they do then but he had shaken his head, looking very solemn, and told her that he didn’t know.

  I could go to work in a shop, she thought, glancing in at a draper’s, or in a flower shop. I know about flowers. But then she realized that she didn’t know the names of the exotic flowers which were in the next window. She had never seen anything like them before. They were not country flowers, anyway, she decided. They were too large and colourful.

  She delivered her parcel and turned round to go back, then stopped for a minute to watch some soldiers marching past. She waved to them but they didn’t wave back. Perhaps they’re not allowed to, she thought. She walked along a little way, keeping in step with them, and when they had passed on she looked both ways in order to cross the street.

  There was a grey horse standing by the side of the road with a boy waving beside it and she gave a little smile, thinking how like Ted he was. Then she stared and stared. It was Ted, and he was waving at her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘What ’you doing here? Have you come on Dobbin? Why didn’t you bring ’cart? Does Billy Fowler know you’re here?’ Daisy was amazed to see Ted and also very pleased; she wanted to hug him but didn’t as she knew how embarrassed he would be.

  Ted shook his head. He was immensely relieved to see her. ‘I don’t know where Fowler is.’ He felt a slow flush rise up from his neck to his face as he lied. ‘Dobbin came back on his own. Where’s Ma?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Somebody came and took her away to some place. But she’s coming back,’ she assured him. ‘She said that she would.’

  ‘So where are you stopping?’ Ted stared at his sister. She was too young to be on her own.

  ‘Oh!’ Daisy put her hand to her mouth as she remembered Mr Walker. ‘Wait here for me, Ted,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve just got to dash back and tell Mr Walker I’ve done his errand. No, I know. Come wi’ me.’ She beckoned eagerly. ‘You can wait outside ’shop.’

  ‘Have you got a job o’ work?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell you in a minute. Come on, I’ve got to be quick.’

  She led the way down by the side of the church to where a square opened up. ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘You can sit on ’church wall till I come back. You will, won’t you?’ she said anxiously. ‘You won’t go away?’

  ‘No, I won’t. Is there any chance o’ summat to eat, Daisy? I’m starving hungry. I’ve had nowt but a bit o’ sausage since yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll ask Molly,’ she said before dashing away, leaving him wondering who Molly was, and how it was that his young sister knew these people and could find her way round the town after such a short time.

  He had to wait ten minutes to find out. He watched the shop door where she had run in and presently it opened, a man looked out and across at him, and then Daisy came out holding a plate and a cup.

  The cup held milk which he drank straight down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he had finished. The plate held a slice of meat pie, still warm and running with gravy.

  ‘It’s what we had for our dinner,’ Daisy told him as he took a bite. ‘They eat ever so well at ’Walkers’ house. We had a treacle pudding but there’s none left. Oliver ate ’last bit.’

  ‘Who’s Oliver?’ Ted spoke with his mouth full.

  ‘Their son. He’s sixteen and going to be a chemist like his da.’ She sat next to Ted on the wall and clutched her chin in her hands. ‘I hope I can stay here,’ she said. ‘When Ma comes back, I mean. She lost her babby,’ she told him.

  ‘Lost it?’ he said. ‘How come?’

  ‘I mean it wasn’t born alive,’ she explained patiently. ‘It was too little. I didn’t see it cos ’midwife took it away. But Molly said that it was too young to be born.’

  ‘Oh!’ Ted said. ‘Do you mean like that ewe of John Ward’s that aborted a lamb, or when that kitten was born dead?’

  ‘I think it was aborted,’ she said seriously, nodding her
head. ‘That’s what Molly told Cook when she thought I wasn’t listening. She said there was no wonder when Ma had been tied up. She said if she’d had a husband like that she’d have swung for him.’

  Ted swallowed hard, and felt the pie lodge like a stone in his chest. ‘Tied up? What happened?’ he asked. ‘What did Fowler do to her?’

  Daisy told him in great detail and with some embellishments what had happened after their arrival in Hull. ‘And then this man came along and said he would buy her and then when he saw she was expecting he changed his mind, onny it was too late cos he’d already given Billy Fowler the money and he’d scarpered.’ She took a deep breath and continued, ‘I expect Billy was scared of what Ma might do to him if she caught him, but by then she was feeling right bad and we were trying to find somebody to help us.’

  She told him what had happened at the Walkers’, and then started to cry. ‘I was that frightened, cos I thought that Ma might die and what would I have done then, cos I couldn’t have found my way back to Seathorne. Not that I would have wanted to go back to him anyway!’

  Ted put his arm round her in an unexpected show of affection. ‘It’s a rum do, Daisy, and no mistake, but you’ll be all right once Ma gets back from where Mrs Walker sent her. I suppose she did it for ’best,’ he said, for Daisy had confided that she thought Mrs Walker didn’t want her mother in their house any longer than necessary. ‘And she didn’t know our ma, after all. It’s a bit tricky tekking in a stranger; especially if you’ve got some money ’n’ that and you don’t know if they’ll pinch it.’

  ‘I know.’ Daisy wiped away a tear. ‘And Mr Walker and Oliver have been really nice to me and let me help them in ’shop; I suppose that was so I didn’t get in Mrs Walker’s way, though I’ve done a bit o’ dusting as well.’

  ‘You’ve earned your keep then,’ Ted said. ‘You’ve not been a burden to ’em. Listen, Daisy. I’m going to tell you summat. I wasn’t going to but I think I’d better; onny you’ve to promise not to tell anybody but our ma when she comes back, otherwise it’s ’end of me.’