by Val Wood
The road on which Johnny had first travelled into Hull to report to the citadel all those long years ago was much improved. Then, he had walked from his home in Hollym towards the town of Hedon, down to the Haven waterway and along the muddy bank to Hull, following the course of the Humber. He could have taken the newly opened turnpike road from Hedon to Hull, but he was a sentimental youth and had felt in his heart that perhaps he wouldn’t see the estuary for many years. As it was, he had come home several times and on each occasion, knowing his visits would be short, he had hitched a lift from whoever happened to be passing, be it carrier or farmer’s cart.
Now he was in a sentimental mood again, and although he was anxious to be back in Hollym as soon as possible he walked first of all towards the pier, where he leaned on the railings to gaze at the barges and sloops tossing on the turbulent waters of the Humber and knew he was nearly home. He retraced his steps and crossed the bridge over the River Hull, looking down at the river traffic in the Old Harbour which led into the New Dock, where ships from every nation brought their goods.
‘Right,’ he murmured. ‘Home I go. No more nostalgia. I’ll keep to ’turnpike and should be there afore nightfall.’ A grin creased his face. Won’t Lily be surprised to see me! And ’bairns; why, they won’t know me. I’ll be a stranger to ’em. I hope they tek to me and don’t blame me for being away so long. I shall have to explain to my lad that if you join the queen’s army then you’re committed to serve queen and country.
He thought back to the Sikhs who had captured and then released him. They showed me mercy, he ruminated, which is more than some of our men did to them during an attack. If I’d known when I joined ’military that I’d have to fight to take over somebody else’s country and not just defend my own, I might have had second thoughts. Infidels, some of our fellows called them, but they had their faith, as I discovered when I was captured, and to my way of thinking they were defending their land against invaders. But if I’d dared to say as much I’d have been shot by my own side.
Further up the road he saw a horse and cart pulling to a stop. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Mebbe I can get a lift,’ he muttered and started to run. But then he saw a youth also running towards the cart, and jumping on board. The vehicle started up again and he slowed to a walk. Ah, well, he thought resignedly, looking back over his shoulder. There’ll be somebody else trotting by before long.
The cart was always in sight ahead of him but too far in front for him to catch up. Dark clouds scurried across the sky and he turned up his collar as a few drops of rain fell, but, he thought, there were many times in India when he would have been thankful for gentle rain to ease the fierce unremitting sun.
Three or four miles along the road, he saw the cart stopping again. The youth jumped down and gave a wave of thanks. The cart turned off the road and the boy set off at a fast pace as if in a great hurry. ‘He’ll not keep that gait up for long,’ Johnny muttered. ‘Steady walking is what’s needed for a long journey. I wonder where he’s going.’ But the boy’s progress was constant and purposeful and Johnny couldn’t gain on him.
He’d make a good foot soldier, he mused. He’s intent on getting somewhere and nobody will stop him. Those were the traits he had discovered in himself on his journey through the mountains towards Hyderabad, when he had decided to leave the army and return home.
Johnny followed the lad as far as Hedon and there he stopped at an inn and had his first tankard of ale in years. He chatted for a while with the landlord, who wanted to know where he was heading and where he had been, but he cut the conversation short as he was anxious to be off. He kept the youth in his sights as far as Winestead on the Patrington road and then he lost him.
‘He must have turned off for one of ’villages,’ he murmured as he continued on towards the town of Patrington and the last few miles of the journey to Hollym. ‘Pity I didn’t catch him up. We’d have been company for each other. We could have had a chat and I’d have found out what’s been happening since I’ve been away.’ But then, he mused, he was onny a lad. He probably doesn’t know much, any more than I did before I left home.
He arrived in his home village by the early evening; several laden farm waggons had passed him, reminding him that it was harvest time. There was an aroma of burning stubble and he sneezed several times as dust from the fields clogged his nostrils. He walked quickly to the cottage in the main street and rapped on the door, a grin of anticipation on his face. But the expression faded when a young woman with a child in her arms opened the door.
‘Oh! Where’s Lily? Is she in?’ He tried to peer behind her into the room but it was dark inside, with no lamp or fire lit to show the interior.
‘There’s nobody here by that name,’ she said, trying to close the door.
‘But—’ He put out his hand to detain her. ‘We – she allus lived here, with our two bairns.’
She shook her head. ‘We’ve been here for gone two years.’ She turned her head as a man’s voice called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘But she’s lived in Hollym all her life,’ Johnny said, a little desperately. ‘You must know her. Lily Leigh-Maddeson.’
Again she shook her head and then moved aside as a man appeared behind her. ‘Who’re you lookin’ fer?’ His manner was rough. ‘Somebody owe you summat?’
‘No. I’m looking for my wife and bairns. I’ve been away in ’army. Just got home.’
The man glared at him. ‘Mebbe she’s gone off wi’ somebody else then, but she don’t live here.’ He shook his thumb towards the neighbouring cottage. ‘Ask next door, but they’ve onny been here a twelvemonth.’
‘So where are you from?’ Johnny was curious to know why these strangers were here. ‘Not from these parts?’
‘Holmpton,’ the man groused, speaking of a village close by and nearer the sea. ‘We were rehoused when ’cliff fell.’
Johnny turned away, murmuring his thanks. They were obviously people who kept to themselves and didn’t get involved with anyone else. He didn’t know them, although he had known several people from Holmpton in his youth as the villages were closely linked.
I’ll go to ’Plough, he thought, feeling very deflated. There’ll be somebody there who’ll know where Lily is. She’s sure to be somewhere in ’village. As he walked to the hostelry he felt an ominous shadow over him. I should have written when I got back to England, he thought. I should have warned her and then she would have been here waiting for me; she might even have told that dowly couple back there that I’d be knocking on their door expecting to see her.
He stood for a moment in the doorway of the Plough and thought that it hadn’t changed. The old men of the village were sitting clutching tankards and still wearing the battered widebrimmed hats which Johnny recalled they used to wear whilst working in the fields to keep away the insects. They looked up as he entered and paused in the act of supping their ale.
‘How do!’ Johnny greeted the landlord, who wore a leather apron and was wiping a glass with a cloth. ‘I don’t suppose you remember me? Johnny Leigh-Maddeson?’
The landlord gazed at him for a moment, still wiping the glass, then his mouth dropped and his face took on an expression of incredulity. ‘Young Johnny! But – we heard you was dead! Lily said—’ He stopped and put his hand to his mouth.
‘Who’s this?’ One of the old men got up from his stool and came to stand near Johnny. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘How do,’ Johnny said weakly, not knowing the old man and guessing that he wouldn’t remember him either. It had been a long time since he was last home. ‘Johnny Leigh-Maddeson. Who’s been putting it about that I was dead?’
‘She wrote,’ the landlord interrupted. ‘Your missus; she wrote to ’army. I know it for a fact cos she was working here at ’time and she told me.’
Johnny was bewildered. ‘She worked here? When did she write? Didn’t she get my letters?’
Another man got up and came to listen. ‘You young sodgers! We all knew you were going to y
our death out there in that foreign land.’ Soon there was a small interested crowd round Johnny.
Jack, the landlord, drew him a glass of ale. ‘Have that, lad; you’re going to need it when we tell you ’news of your Lily.’
Johnny took it but didn’t drink. He licked his dry lips. ‘She’s not at ’cottage. Couple there didn’t even know her.’
‘Oh, them!’ one of the listeners jeered. ‘He’s a bad lot from ower Holmpton way. They’d reckon on they didn’t know even if they did.’
‘So where is she? Have Lily and ’bairns gone to live somewhere else?’ He stared at them in turn; why were they not telling him?
‘You’d best sit down,’ Jack said. ‘Fetch him a chair,’ he said to the room at large and someone obliged. ‘It’ll be a shock, but like I said, she heard you was dead.’
‘What ’you saying?’ Johnny stared at the landlord. ‘Are you telling me that my Lily’s got married again? That she didn’t wait for me?’
‘Wait for you!’ one of the men burst out. ‘How long was ’poor lass supposed to wait? Ne’er a word in years. She took ’best offer she could get, onny it turned out that it was ’worst—’ He suddenly dried up as if realizing he had said too much.
Johnny took a long gulp from the glass. ‘So she married somebody else? That meks her a bigamist, doesn’t it?’ He had never in his life felt so low, not even when facing death during his capture. ‘Doesn’t it?’ He looked up to face the men, but oddly they were all looking away from him.
‘What? For God’s sake, what?’
‘She’s dead.’ A woman’s voice came from the doorway. ‘That’s what we were told.’
He felt as if he was going to keel over, as if all the blood in his body was being drained away. He vaguely registered that it was the landlord’s wife who came across to stand beside him. ‘What happened?’ His voice was hoarse and cracked as he whispered the question. Not Lily, he thought. Not my beautiful girl. I could forgive her for marrying again if she thought there was no hope of my return, but not for dying and leaving me completely. ‘And my bairns?’ he went on, not waiting for her answer.
The woman drew up a chair and sat next to him. ‘I’ll tell you what we know,’ she said softly, ‘and what we heard; whether it’s gospel we couldn’t say, because there’s a mystery that we can’t fathom.’
She explained that Lily had written to his regiment several years ago when she’d had no word from him and had been told that he was missing and presumed dead. ‘She was bereft, poor lass, and wi’ two young bairns to bring up. She’d managed well, working all hours to feed and clothe ’childre’, but I reckon she was lonely being on her own. You’d been gone a lot o’ years,’ she added harshly. She then went on to tell him of Billy Fowler who had started coming to the hostelry.
‘He’d never been a regular here, just dropping in now and again whenever he was ower this way; till he spotted Lily, and then he started coming in on nights when she was here. He let on that he had this smallholding ower at Seathorne, onny we discovered later that it was just a hovel on ’edge of ’cliff.’
‘So she married him,’ Johnny said hoarsely. ‘Then what happened? Was there an accident? He didn’t kill her?’ His voice suddenly rose. ‘If he did, I’ll swing for him if he hasn’t swung already!’
‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
He listened, his mind whirling, as she detailed what she had heard. That Fowler’s cottage had gone over the edge taking Fowler, Lily and Daisy with it. ‘We’re not sure about your lad,’ she said. ‘John Ward who farms nearby at Seathorne swore that he’d seen ’lad ride off on Fowler’s owd hoss when ’cottage was still standing.’
‘So – Ted might still be alive, but ’others all drowned?’ His voice came out of his mouth but he felt that it wasn’t himself speaking. It was as if this was happening to somebody else. He was disembodied. His own mind had closed down and another taken over.
‘No,’ she said patiently. ‘Billy Fowler got out of ’sea and climbed up ’cliff. He told John Ward that they were all in ’cottage when it went ower. It was Fowler who said that Lily and Daisy must’ve drowned.’
Johnny gave himself a shake. ‘Did they find their bodies?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s just it. There’s been no sighting of ’em. None at all.’
Johnny got to his feet and put his nearly full tankard on the counter. ‘Where does he live now, this Fowler chap? I’ll go and see him.’
‘He’s been rehoused, so we heard,’ one of the men said. ‘In Withernsea. But nobody round here’s seen him.’
‘He doesn’t come in here any more,’ the landlord commented. ‘He became a bit of a nine-day wonder in Withernsea, getting out of ’sea in ’way he did; though he didn’t like to be questioned, so they say. But John Ward used to come in,’ he added. ‘He was allus spouting off that summat odd had gone on that day. He was right upset when ’authorities didn’t believe him.’
Johnny hesitated. ‘So – what do you think? Where will I find ’truth?’
They all glanced at each other but none would be drawn. Then the landlord’s wife spoke up. ‘It’s like this,’ she said. ‘Lily was one of our own and none of us liked Fowler. If it was me …’ She pressed her lips together as she considered. ‘If it was me looking for ’truth – then I’d go ower to Seathorne and find John Ward.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Ted sensed that somebody was walking behind him when he left the carrier’s cart and once or twice he glanced over his shoulder, but whoever it was was way back in the distance and wouldn’t be able to catch him up, not without running. Nevertheless he increased his stride; he didn’t want anybody talking to him and holding him up. He reckoned that having had a lift he would be back in Seathorne before it got dark.
He turned off at the village of Winestead, crossing the old bridge over the drain and continuing through wooded parkland, most of which belonged to the Hildyard and Maister families. Though he was not familiar with this territory he thought he could cut across country, common and pastureland to reach the hamlet of Frodingham and thence go on to Seathorne. The paths were not easily defined and at times he had to turn back until he found the proper track, but twice he saw carters driving waggons who advised him on the best way to go. He wanted to arrive before dark as he knew that if he didn’t he would surely get lost.
But he was a country lad, used to living by the sea, and within a few miles of the coast he sniffed the air and knew he was almost there. A grey mist started to come down and he quickened his steps. He felt the wetness on his face and neck and the dampness on his coat, and as he followed the rise of Little England Hill he saw at last the grey waters of the ocean and drew in a deep, satisfying breath of salty sea air.
Another half-hour and he was knocking on John Ward’s door and praying that someone would be in. His feet and legs ached and he was soaked to the skin as the mist enveloped him.
Mrs Ward opened the door and stood for a moment looking at him; then she gave a shout to her husband. ‘Look here,’ she cried. ‘Young lad’s back from ’dead! He’s as quick as you and me, just as you said he was! Come in. Come in!’ She flourished her hands to Ted, beckoning him inside. ‘Dear Lord,’ she flustered. ‘How glad I am to see you. See here, Mr Ward; flesh and blood he is, just like you said.’
John Ward was standing in his stockinged feet by the fire; his boots, which he must have just removed, lay sole uppermost in the hearth. He gazed open-mouthed at Ted. ‘Didn’t I say, Mrs Ward? Didn’t I say that he hadn’t gone ower ’edge like yon fellow said? Where’ve you been, lad?’
Mrs Ward bustled Ted towards the fire. ‘Move ower,’ she ordered her husband. ‘Can’t you see ’lad’s wet through? Come on,’ she told Ted as he stood shivering. ‘Tek those wet clouts off and get warm, and then you’ll have some hot soup and taties afore you tell us what happened to you.’ She shook her head. ‘We never really believed what yon fellow said.’
Ted took off his jacket and came nearer the fire, where his clothes started to steam. ‘What fellow, Mrs Ward? Who do you mean?’
‘Why, Fowler o’ course,’ John Ward answered for her. ‘He made out that you’d gone ower ’cliff in ’cottage along wi’ your ma and ’little lass.’
Ted gulped and stared at the old cow keeper. ‘Billy Fowler!’ he said in a low voice. ‘I thought – I thought …’ He glanced with scared eyes from one to the other. ‘I thought he’d fallen ower cliff – he did,’ he asserted. ‘I saw him go ower.’
‘Sit down, lad.’ Mrs Ward poured him a large bowl of soup and cut a hunk of bread. ‘Get that down afore you say owt else, though I must say I’m right glad to see you and that you at least are alive.’ She sighed and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. ‘Though what’s happened to your poor ma and sister will allus be a mystery.’
Ted dipped his bread into the soup; his nose started to run as he ate. He sniffed and rubbed it with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. ‘Well, I don’t think they’ll come back, Mrs Ward, not after what happened, and ’specially not if Fowler’s alive after all. I was sure he was dead,’ he muttered, taking another spoonful of soup. ‘I’m not sure whether to be glad or sorry, but at least it wasn’t my fault like I thought it was.’
John Ward sat down beside him and his wife served him a bowl of soup and cut another slice of bread. He broke up the bread and dropped it into the bowl. ‘He climbed up ’cliff,’ he said. ‘He told us that ’house had gone ower and he’d lost everything. He said that your ma and sister were in it and he might have said you as well, except I said no, I’d seen you wi’ ’goats. But when I told ’constable, nobody believed me and they said you must have been in ’house as well, cos you hadn’t been seen, and Fowler never denied it.’
Ted shook his head. ‘Ma’s in Hull,’ he said. ‘And Daisy as well. Fowler took her and sold her in ’Market Place. When he came back, he didn’t tell me at first, and when he did I fought wi’ him. I gave him a right drubbing,’ he said with some satisfaction.