by Val Wood
Henry shook his head and laughed. ‘Not medicinal! This is real good stuff. Or was. I’ve drunk it now and thrown away ’evidence.’
‘You’ve drunk a whole bottle of brandy?’ Matthew exclaimed, adding in a low voice to Rosa, ‘He’d better stay here tonight. He’ll never get back to Marsh Farm in ’state he’s in.’
‘Don’t worry about me, young Matthew.’ Henry started to stagger away. ‘I know my way across this island better than anybody, specially when I’m drunk.’ He giggled. ‘I’ve done it more times than I remember, and most times when I don’t remember!’
‘I’ll catch you up,’ Matthew called to him. ‘Wait for me. I’ll just say goodnight to Ma.’
They saw him put up a hand in a wave and then he turned back and came towards them. ‘Give us another kiss, Rosa. Just so’s that I know you care for me a bit.’
She put her hand on his face, it was cold to her touch. ‘I do care for you, Henry,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t want to marry you. I can’t, can I?’ She put her lips against his and gently kissed him. ‘You’re my brother.’
She saw tears glisten in his eyes, but he nodded and turned away and seemed to be walking quite soberly.
‘I’d better go after him.’ Matthew stared after Henry. ‘I’ll see you inside first.’
‘There’s no need,’ Rosa said. ‘Go with him.’
He looked at her. ‘I’ll go and say goodnight to Ma. She looked tired I thought, too much excitement.’ He seemed reluctant to leave and continued to gaze down at her.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I was wondering – well, if I was in my cups and maudlin, whether you’d kiss me like you kissed Henry?’
She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘No. Of course I wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’ His voice was sullen.
‘Because you’re not Henry!’
She lay that night in Matthew’s bed and thought about the three brothers. Dour Jim, never at ease with himself or anyone else, poor unhappy Henry who couldn’t pluck up courage to leave the farm, and Matthew, tall and strong and sure of himself, but not of her. She looked towards the window and saw the moon’s rays pouring in and thought of how the waters of the dyke had rippled and shone beneath its beams as she and Matthew had stood there. The water had been flowing quite fast, the undercurrent from the river making the waters eddy and gurgle.
She curled up against Matthew’s pillow. It smelt of him, of soap and horses, of hay and grain, and she smiled to herself. No, she wouldn’t have kissed Matthew in the way she had kissed Henry. She would kiss Matthew quite differently. But not yet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROSA FELL ASLEEP quite quickly even though the day’s events muddled through her head: the wedding and how lovely Maggie had looked in her blue sprigged gown and pleated bonnet, the party afterwards, the food they had prepared and consumed, the music and the dancing, the laughter and the shouting. The shouting echoed through her dreams.
‘Henry!’ The calls were loud and persistent. ‘Henry!’ and she remembered in her dreams how sad Henry had been as she had kissed him. But then she was kissing someone else and he hadn’t looked sad, but tender and romantic and he had held her close.
There was a rattle of stone upon glass. Someone was throwing pebbles up at the window! Or was she still dreaming? She sat up urgently, then climbed out of bed and looked out. The night sky was still bright and there was a hard frost riming everything with silver. Matthew was standing below in the yard, his shadow dark and long. He waved his arm for her to come and she hurriedly draped a shawl over her night shift and ran downstairs.
She had to stretch to reach the top bolt which was stiff and awkward, and she made a mental note to put some grease on it in the morning.
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’
‘We can’t find Henry! He wasn’t with Jim when I got back to Marsh Farm. He hadn’t seen him. Did he come back here?’ His words were fast and breathless.
‘No!’ she said, confused. ‘I don’t think so. But I locked up before I went to bed, so he would have had to knock. Perhaps he’s in the barn?’
‘Yes.’ Matthew swung round. ‘I’ll go and look.’
‘Matthew?’ she said fearfully. ‘You don’t think that something’s—?’ Her voice trailed away.
‘I don’t know.’ He ran towards the barn and pulled open the door. He quickly searched. There was little in there, they’d cleared it ready for the party. Only a few bales of straw which they’d sat upon, but Henry wasn’t lying there drunk and asleep as he’d hoped.
She followed him in and saw the anxiety on his face. ‘Jim’s still searching but I’ll have to fetch more help,’ he muttered. ‘Will you get Da up and I’ll go and wake John Gore and some of his lads.’
‘Matthew—!’ she began.
‘He’d been drinking,’ he said brusquely. ‘And it’s enough to freeze your ears off out here. If he’s fallen and is lying somewhere – he onny had his jacket on!’
She felt sick and weak as she thought of a worse alternative. ‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded faint in her head. ‘I’ll wake your da and then get dressed and help you look.’
He didn’t tell her that she needn’t, that the men would manage, and that increased her fears even more and she stifled a sob as she watched him run back down the track.
Flora got up and dressed. Delia said that she would stay with their mother, who shook with anxiety. Mrs Drew’s sister’s husband, Arthur Johnson, also got dressed and although he didn’t know the area and might well have become lost himself, he volunteered to search with Mr Drew.
They didn’t need lanterns as the night was so bright with moonlight, but they put on warm mufflers and mittens and Rosa took a blanket in case they should find Henry cold or wet and in need of warmth.
‘We’ll spread out,’ Matthew said, when he came back with John Gore and three of his farm lads. ‘I’ve been along this track to Marsh Farm twice already and haven’t seen him. We’d best fan out across ’fields to each side of ’dyke. Rosa, you come with me, Flo, you go with Jim and Arthur, you’d better stick with Da so’s you don’t get lost.’
Rosa was trembling, not with cold, but with fear as she stood by Matthew’s side. Matthew had a stout stick with him and a rope slung around his shoulders. She put her hand to her mouth and dared not ask him why he carried them.
The water in the wide dyke that she and Matthew had walked beside earlier was much higher, as the tide reached across from the estuary and ran into the marshland and mudflats, filling the ditches, dykes, sluices and drains of the island.
‘Another half-hour and ’tide’ll be on the turn,’ Matthew muttered. Then he raised his voice. ‘Go careful, everybody, and shout if you find him. This way, Rosa.’ He led her back to the farm gate and across the brick bridge which crossed the dyke, and climbed the fence to the other side. He held out his hand to help her over. She clung to his hand as she stepped down. ‘You think he’s fallen in, don’t you?’ she said in a low voice.
‘I’m thinking on ’worst possibilities so that I can give him a tongue-lashing when he turns up nursing a hangover,’ he said, not very convincingly, then added, ‘Don’t worry, Henry’ll turn up all right. He always does.’
Only he didn’t, and although they searched and shouted his name, it was as dawn was breaking, when the moon and stars slid away and white streaks appeared in the sky over the river and the land was white with frost, that Rosa pointed to a dark shape in a dyke, half hidden by a clump of tall reeds, and knew that they had found him.
She screamed his name. ‘Henry!’ The others turned at the frenzied sound which carried across the still and silent land, and as one they ran towards them. Rosa sank onto her knees at the side of the dyke and reached out unavailingly towards him.
‘No!’ Matthew pulled her away. ‘No! I’ll get him.’ He edged down the side of the dyke and someone took hold of the other end of the rope whilst Matthew eased it out, for the
water, though having gone down, was still deep enough to cover a man.
‘Too late!’ Matthew choked back a sob as he turned his brother over and pulled him towards the steep bank. ‘I’m too late!’
John Gore slid down the bank and took charge. ‘Ease him this way, lad. Come on now, bear up, we’ve got to get him out.’ He took the rope from Matthew and slid it under Henry’s inert form and knotted it, then signalled to the men who were standing at the top of the dyke. Mr Drew stood as if made of stone and Flo clutched his arm. Arthur Johnson knelt down and prepared to pull on the rope.
Gradually they eased Henry out of the water and up the bank and laid him on the grass. Rosa and Flo knelt weeping over him, patting his face to try to revive him, but Matthew and Jim just stood and stared in shocked disbelief.
‘What’ll we tell Ma?’ Jim whispered, and turned to his father.
‘We’ll tell her,’ his voice grated, ‘that this is what happens when drink gets ’better of a man! A life wasted!’ he censured, and turned towards home.
They all stared after him, then Matthew urged, ‘Don’t let him tell her! Flo! Rosa! Go after him. Get there first, before he does.’
‘Aye,’ Jim muttered. ‘Cos owd bugger’ll say it’s her fault that this has happened. He’ll blame anybody but himself.’
Flo and Rosa both rose to their feet and, gathering up their skirts, raced after James Drew and overtook him to break the news to Henry’s mother, leaving Matthew and Jim to bring their brother home.
Mrs Drew, though ashen-faced and trembling, was stoical in her grief, at first not comprehending the disaster which had befallen them. As awareness overtook her she countermanded her husband’s insistence that they pray for Henry’s lost and wandering soul by her supplication to God that He should give them strength to understand that His need for Henry’s life was stronger than theirs.
Messages were sent and Maggie came back to the home which she had left so full of happiness and was returning to in such grief and sorrow. Flo stayed and the twins came back, but Delia escaped to Hornsea as fast as she could, unable to cope with the trauma of death, with the weeping and recriminations.
Matthew blamed himself for not following Henry more swiftly, and his conscience troubled him for being angry with him over Rosa. ‘I should have known it was only the drink talking,’ he muttered, when Rosa, looking for him to come for his supper, found him sitting morosely in the barn where previously there had been such jollity.
‘It wasn’t only the drink,’ she said quietly. ‘I told you before that he had asked me to go away with him. He was very unhappy, Matthew, yet he wouldn’t leave on his own. If anyone should have a conscience it should be me.’
‘No.’ He rose to his feet and took hold of her hand. ‘He wouldn’t have made you happy, Rosa.’
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Besides, I can’t leave Sunk Island.’
‘Why not?’ he asked curiously.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I only know that I can’t.’
Christmas came and went without celebration. It was a long cold hard winter, the roads and tracks in and out of Sunk Island were impassable, the rainwater in the tanks froze and had to be smashed open each day, and the hens, ducks and geese were kept under cover in the shelter of the barns. March was wet and the dykes were full and overflowing and some of the banks broke under the pressure of water. The atmosphere in the house was strained and Mr Drew found fault with everyone and everything, and not until spring, when new lambs were born and birds began building their nests, and coltsfoot and cowslips started to appear on the banks, did their spirits rise once more.
‘We must give thanks for a new beginning,’ Ellen Drew said one morning at breakfast. ‘It is what Henry would have wanted.’
Rosa nodded in agreement. Henry did want a new beginning, but had been afraid to take it. Matthew, who had been out since early morning attending a difficult lambing, sat down at the table and said, ‘We’re a man short, Da. We could do with some help.’
‘We’ll manage,’ his father muttered. ‘We’ve finished ploughing and sowing, we’ll be all right until June.’
‘But we couldn’t have managed without John Gore’s men giving us a hand,’ Matthew argued. ‘We’ve a lot of acreage to cover now that ’land at Marsh Farm is ready.’
‘We’ll manage, I said,’ his father growled. ‘I make ’decisions about labour.’
Matthew’s face flushed. ‘We’d do better to employ somebody on a permanent basis,’ he persisted, ‘instead of casual labour. Jim doesn’t live at Marsh Farm, we should get a family man to live in, somebody with a wife who can help at harvest—’
‘I said no!’ his father bellowed. ‘I’ll have nobody who isn’t family working that land.’ He stopped abruptly, as if he had said too much. ‘I’ll have nothing more said about it.’ He got up from the table and walked to the door, then turned to address his wife, ignoring Matthew, whose face worked in anger, and Rosa and Jim, who sat silently looking down at their breakfast plates.
‘I’m going into Hull first thing tomorrow morning, Mrs Drew,’ he stated. ‘I’ll be away a day or two.’ He glanced towards Matthew and Jim. ‘I’m going to find another grain merchant. I’m not happy with ’one we’ve got.’
When he’d gone out of the room, Jim said in a low voice, ‘There’s nowt wrong with ’merchant we use! What’s up wi’ him?’
‘Hush, Jim,’ his mother said quietly. Her face was pale after the acrimonious exchange between Matthew and his father. She swallowed and looked down, then folded her hands together as if in prayer and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Your father has his reasons,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not for us to question him.’
Matthew got up from the table. ‘Not for us to question him? I’m sorry, Ma, but if we can’t question him, who can?’ He was angry and spoke quickly. ‘This farm is our livelihood, mine and Jim’s. We’re no longer children who must be told what to do and when!’
‘Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged,’ Jim recited glumly. ‘I once read that in ’bible after Da had given me a beating for summat. He made me go upstairs and read ’bible and it opened on that page. I never forgot it.’
His mother looked distressed. ‘Your father has a lot of worries,’ she began.
‘And we could take some of them from his shoulders,’ Matthew maintained.
Jim shook his head. ‘Onny some of ’em.’ His expression became impassive and defeated. ‘There’s some worries we all have to live with for ’rest of our lives. There’s nowt nor nobody can help us wi’ some o’ them.’
‘Whatever do you mean, Jim?’ Rosa stared across at him and Mrs Drew put her hands to her mouth as if she had witnessed a revelation, but Jim said nothing more and rose from the table, pushed past Matthew and stumbled through the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAMES DREW ROSE at four thirty the next morning, dressed in his grey breeches, black leather boots and black jacket, and taking his stovepipe hat off the chest in the corner of the bedroom, crept quietly downstairs.
Ellen Drew, wide awake for some hours with the pain in her back, watched him from half-closed eyes, ready to feign sleep in an instant should her husband turn towards her. But he didn’t, so intent was he on dressing and going downstairs. He hastily ate the bread and curd cheese which had been left for him on the kitchen table, and throwing his heavy cape over his shoulders stole out of the house towards the stable, saddled his sturdy mare and started his journey.
Rosa heard him, as did Matthew, but both lay in their bedrooms, one on either side of the narrow corridor at the top of the stairs, and waited until they heard the bolt on the door being drawn back. Rosa then turned over, no need yet to get up, but Matthew rose from his bed and pulling on a shirt and breeches padded downstairs. From the kitchen window he watched his father mount his horse and ride away.
James Drew crossed his land and turned on to the rough track which led to the new turn-piked road to O
ttringham. This new road cut the journey into the town of Hull by at least an hour, but it would still be mid-morning before he arrived.
He was churned up with self-reproach and condemnation, guilt and contrition, yet he urged his horse on into a canter as his mind dwelt lustily and wantonly on matters which had to be resolved before he descended into madness. He prayed aloud for help to overcome his weakness, yet his urges grew stronger as he rode, and he finally absolved and discharged the demons which he fought and let them capture him in fulsome and carnal chains.
Sweat was pouring from him as he crossed the old bridge into Hull and he turned into the High Street and trotted down to the George Inn, where he gave his lathered horse to a stable lad, went inside the inn and ordered a glass of ale and a slice of beef.
‘Ridden far?’ the landlord asked as he drew his ale.
‘Holderness.’ He replied briefly, for to give the name of Sunk Island always drew curiosity, and sometimes misplaced humour when men in their cups would stare down at his boots and ask if his feet were webbed.
‘Ah!’ The landlord’s interest waned. Holderness wasn’t a place he knew, although he had heard of the isolated countryside which grew good corn. ‘You’ll want a room then?’ he asked. ‘You won’t be going back tonight?’
‘That’s right.’ James Drew was relieved that he didn’t have to make the request himself. He felt his guilt always showed when asking for accommodation. ‘Two nights,’ he said briskly. ‘Your best room. I’ve a deal of business to attend to.’
The landlord nodded. He had a good memory for faces and he remembered this man from a previous time. The countrymen stood out amongst the seamen and foreigners who frequented his inn. They were ill at ease, unused to being away from their quiet lands and plunged into the industrial hustle and bustle of town life. He remembered that his man had barely used his room, he’d staggered in late at night, not drunk with ale, but definitely inebriated and satiated with something heady.