by Val Wood
Rosa shook her head and said she didn’t know. ‘Your da went off some time ago. Maybe he’s talking to Harry or somebody.’
‘That’s not like Da,’ he murmured. ‘He likes to be in his bed afore ten.’ He looked perturbed. ‘I’d better go and look for him.’
‘He’s just coming,’ Maggie called out from the back kitchen. ‘I can see him pottering about in ’yard and Jim’s with him.’
Matthew leaned towards Rosa and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think it’ll be long.’ He indicated upstairs. ‘I’ll fetch ’doctor first thing in ’morning.’
She nodded and grasped his hand. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘But don’t tell Maggie. Let her have a good night’s sleep.’
He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, then dropped her hand as they heard the outer door open and his father’s voice. She smiled gently, then looked away as Maggie, Mr Drew and Jim came into the room. Mr Drew was short-tempered and irritable and Jim seemed even more morose than usual.
‘Your ma wants to speak to you, Jim,’ Rosa said.
‘It’s late,’ he replied half-heartedly. ‘I’d better not disturb her now.’
‘Go on up,’ Matthew broke in. ‘She’s still awake. She wants to see you.’
Maggie looked anxiously at Rosa and then at Jim, who was hovering as if uncertain what to do. ‘You’d better go up then, Jim.’ She had a catch in her voice and her eyes were moist. ‘Rather than disturb her in ’morning.’
Jim slowly climbed the narrow stairs and knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. The lamp burned dimly though the fire was bright and sent a glow around the room.
‘How you feeling, Ma? Any better?’ He was never a man of words and as he stood by his mother’s bedside he was lost for anything to say. ‘It’s still raining. Young corn’s getting flattened.’
‘It’ll spring up again.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘It always does, and we’d have no corn at all without rain.’
‘Aye,’ he agreed, and lapsed into silence.
‘I wanted to talk to you, Jim.’ She eased herself up higher in the bed and asked him to adjust her pillows. ‘Come and sit here by me.’ She patted the patchwork coverlet on the bed. ‘We don’t often have ’chance to talk together.’ Her throat rasped and she coughed and beckoned for the glass of water on the table by the bed.
She took a sip and handed the glass back to him. ‘I know that you’ve not had a happy life,’ she began. ‘There’s been something bothering you since you were just a young lad.’ She lifted her hand and turned his face towards her, for he had looked away as she spoke.
‘I’m your mother, Jim,’ she pleaded. ‘Why couldn’t you confide in me?’
He shook his head and looked down. He could feel his throat tightening and tears welling at the back of his eyes. There was nothing he could tell her, and why should he share his misery and torment with her, especially now when she was so ill?
‘You won’t tell me because someone else told you not to?’
He looked at her, then put his hand over his eyes and sobbed. Sobbed as he had done all those years ago.
‘You were only a boy,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever happened, you were not to blame.’
‘I was.’ He felt a low drooping of spirits, a great heaviness of heart. ‘It was my fault.’ He lifted his head and looked at her through his tears. ‘You don’t know. Nobody knows.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t. I can’t tell anybody. I onny know that I’m damned.’
‘No.’ She took his hand and stroked it as if he was a child again. ‘God will forgive us if we repent.’ She paused, then said softly and wearily, ‘I don’t know what happened that night, I only know that something dreadful did. I believe you to be innocent and someone else guilty. Neither,’ she added, ‘do I think that you could possibly have guessed at the consequences.’
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, then blew his nose. ‘Is that why you took Rosa after her ma died?’ he croaked, and when she nodded, he added, ‘It was like salt in a wound when she came to live wi’ us. A constant reminder.’
She sighed. ‘I thought it might be. But it was for her I did it. To try to make up for her loss.’
‘But she was such a bright little lass and seemed to fit in, so after a bit I persuaded myself that she wasn’t likely to find out.’ He spoke almost to himself, forgetting that his mother didn’t know what had happened either. ‘And I got fond of her same as ’others, Maggie and all of ’em.’
Then his face tightened and a note of bitterness crept into his voice. ‘Until Da said I should marry her. That was wicked, Ma. Really wicked. How can I ever marry anybody with this sin hanging over me? Least of all Rosa?’
The rain woke James Drew as it hammered against the window and he sat up in bed and looked out at the grey morning. He hadn’t slept well and wished that he had gone into the spare room as Rosa had suggested, in order to give Mrs Drew some rest. But when he had said to his wife that he would sleep in another bed, she had put up her thin hand to him and said, ‘There’ll be many nights when you’ll sleep alone, James. Sleep with me tonight.’
She had put her hand on his as they lay side by side, but he didn’t clasp it or turn to her, and when she whispered would he pray with her he had grunted and feigned sleep. He looked down at her now. She was quite still with no breath in her. He touched her face and it was cool to his touch and he knew that she had left him.
He slid out of bed and knelt at the side of it, clasped his hands and closed his eyes. ‘Dear God,’ he murmured, but got no further in his prayers. She’s gone, he thought, and taken my conscience with her, for he was in no doubt that she had been his saviour watching over him, gently and silently chastising him for his sins and praying for his redemption. I shall go to Hell now, without her to save me, he pondered. The Devils of Darkness will capture me for their own, for I have an evil worm inside me which is devouring my soul.
A tear ran down his cheek, but he knew in his heart that he was crying for himself who was lost, and not for his wife who lay still and silent in the bed which they had shared for the last time, and who had asked for comfort and had been refused.
He tapped sharply on the door of the bedroom which Maggie and Rosa were sharing for company. ‘Go to your mother,’ he said, when one of them sleepily answered, and then went to wake Matthew, but he found his bed was empty already, and looking out of the window saw Matthew saddling up one of the horses. He rattled on the windowpane and Matthew looked up. He indicated that he should come inside and wearily plodded down the stairs to begin another life.
‘I’m glad that you were with her, Da,’ Maggie wept. ‘It would have been a comfort to her, knowing that she wasn’t alone at the last.’
Her father didn’t answer, but it seemed that a knife slid further into him and twisted in his entrails.
‘Will you go and tell Flo, Jim?’ Rosa asked. ‘Matthew’s worn out with all the travelling yesterday. And call on ’doctor and parson, and tell them, whilst you’re there.’
Mr Drew looked sharply at Rosa as she made the arrangements, but said nothing. Jim agreed. He seemed weary, as if he hadn’t slept. ‘Aye, I don’t mind. I’ll do owt, but I’ll see to ’pigs first and old Harry can look to hosses.’
‘We’ll send for Delia and ’twins when we know ’date of ’funeral,’ Mr Drew butted in, attempting to assert his authority. ‘No sense in cluttering up ’house with too many folk.’
‘And Mrs Drew’s sister too,’ Rosa said quietly, ‘and ’neighbours. They’ll all want to come.’
The tiny church was packed with mourners, for Ellen Drew had been a much loved friend and neighbour as the parson confirmed in his address. He asked the congregation to pray for her soul and for her family’s courage in continuing without her. ‘Pray particularly for her husband James,’ he intoned. ‘For he will feel the loss of her devotion, her bounteous goodness and compassion.’
James
Drew opened one eye and peered between clasped hands as the cleric spoke. It seemed to him that every expression of sympathy he had received had had a double edge to it. Following the interment in the churchyard where the birds sang in full-throated chorus and the perfume of summer flowers, the dog rose and narcissus, and the heady scent of syringa drifted over them, the parson drew him to one side.
‘A word, dear sir,’ he said. ‘It will be difficult for you, I know, adjusting to the loss of your dear wife.’ He patted James Drew on the shoulder. ‘So I have decided to withdraw your name as churchwarden – for the time being,’ he added. ‘You will need time to reflect and to pray privately, you do not need to be involved with the weight of church affairs.’
‘But—’ James Drew stared at the parson. It was what he did need. Whilst he was involved in church matters, he felt that the hand of God had a tentative hold on him, if not guiding, at least pulling in the opposite direction to that in which he was inclined to drift. With Ellen gone and the church too, then he was damned for sure.
The parson moved away, murmuring that he was available at any time should he feel the need of comfort and prayer or confession.
Mrs Drew’s sister and her husband left that afternoon and Maggie, staring after them, stated flatly that that was probably the last time they would ever see them. ‘They don’t like coming to Sunk Island,’ she said. ‘They do nothing but grumble every time they come.’
The twins went back to Ottringham and Flo asked Rosa if she would like her to stay until the next day, as Maggie and Fred were leaving that evening.
‘No, you get off,’ Rosa said. ‘Gran needs your help with Aunt Bella more than I do.’
‘Aye,’ Flo said softly. ‘There’ll be another funeral afore long.’
Delia was sitting by the kitchen table biting her nails. She looked across at Flo. ‘Why you asking her whether you should stop? You should be asking Da or Jim or Matthew.’
They all stared at her. Her face was flushed and she glared angrily back at them.
‘Rosa’s been running ’household for months,’ Maggie broke in. ‘You don’t seem to realize just how long Ma has been ill.’
‘Don’t let’s have any recriminations,’ Matthew warned. ‘Ma’s onny just gone.’
‘Aye, and she thinks she can step into her shoes,’ Delia snarled. ‘And she can’t.’
‘I don’t think that,’ Rosa said quietly. ‘No-one can replace Aunt Ellen, least of all me. She was good and kind and irreplaceable.’ She glanced at Mr Drew, who was sitting watching and listening to them. He seemed apart from them, as if what they were saying was nothing to do with him.
‘Anyway, you were keen enough to get back to Hornsea and leave Rosa to it,’ Flo said sharply. ‘I can’t hear you offering to come back to help!’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Miss clever monkey.’ Delia gave her a black look. ‘I might come back and if I decide to, I’ll work my notice and then come home.’
James Drew got up from his chair. ‘I’m going for a lie-down,’ he said abruptly. ‘When you’ve all decided what’s happening, be good enough to let me know.’
Rosa was dismayed. She didn’t know if she could live in the same house as Delia. Mr Drew was difficult enough to deal with and without Mrs Drew there to mediate in disputes it would be worse. Now if Delia with her bickering quarrelling ways should come back, there would be no pleasure here.
‘Just why have you decided to come home, Delia?’ Matthew asked curiously. ‘What’s happened to make you want to come back, when before, when I took you to Hornsea, you hadn’t made up your mind?’
She hesitated. ‘Nowt’s happened,’ she said. ‘I just thought that as I was ’onny daughter that could come home, then I’d better. Even if I don’t want to,’ she added in a martyred tone. ‘But I know that Ma would want me to look after Da.’
‘If you don’t want to come home, Delia, you don’t have to,’ Rosa said. ‘I can manage – and I was going to ask your father if we could have a girl in to help in the house. So that I’ve more time to help with ’animals – with ’milking and with ’pigs.’
‘Da would never agree to it,’ Flo said dismally.
‘That he wouldn’t,’ Matthew sighed. ‘I’m going to get on to him again to get extra help with haymaking. A regular lad I mean, not just casual labourers. But I don’t suppose he’ll agree.’
‘Aye,’ Jim muttered. ‘A young lad to do fetching and carrying and some of ’heavy work, that’s what we need. Owd Harry’s past it, he’s that slow.’
There could be no agreement on extra help until their father had been consulted and an uneasy silence hung over them. Then Fred stood up, having kept quiet whilst all the discussion and bickering had been going on. ‘Well, Maggie, it seems there’s nowt more we can do here, so we’ll be off.’
Maggie stood up by his side. ‘Yes,’ she said, rather nervously. ‘You’re sure there’s nothing else we can do, Rosa?’ She deferred to Rosa and ignored Delia, who flashed a spiteful sneer at her.
Rosa swallowed. She felt as if she hadn’t had time to grieve for the woman who had been like a mother to her, she had been so busy making arrangements, comforting Aunt Ellen’s sons and daughters in their loss. The house would be empty without her and too full if Delia came back. ‘No,’ she said, hardly trusting herself to speak. ‘There’s nothing more to be done.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A MONTH PASSED and nothing had been heard from Delia as to whether she was coming home, and Rosa began to feel that perhaps she wasn’t returning after all. Mr Drew had reluctantly agreed that they could employ a lad for the farm and they had found Bob Hargreaves, a willing youth from Patrington who had missed the chance of employment because he had fallen and broken his arm the week before the November Hirings, and no-one would take him on. ‘But it’s mended now,’ he’d said eagerly. ‘It’s as good as new.’
But Mr Drew had not agreed to Rosa having help in the house. ‘If Delia comes home,’ he said, ‘pair of you’ll be sitting at ’kitchen table gabbing all day ’cos you’ve nowt to do.’
Nothing to do, she’d thought grimly. I’ve now got five men to feed, for young Bob was to live in with a bed above the stable, and old Harry had his dinner with them every day and went home to one of the workers’ cottages each night.
‘I’m sorry, Rosa,’ Matthew said one day. ‘You’ve such a lot to do.’
‘But so have you,’ she said. ‘You work very hard. But that’s the life we lead. What else can we expect?’ And as she spoke, a remembrance came into her head of her mother’s words from so long ago. What was it she had said? Where the river is constantly beating at our door and we do nothing but work every day that God sends! What was it that her mother was looking for? A new life? Sunshine? Music? And she had been denied all of those things.
‘What is it?’ Matthew touched her arm, for she had become silent and meditative.
‘I was thinking about the river,’ she said softly. ‘My mother didn’t like it, but I do. And I never walk there now because there isn’t time, but I want to, Matthew. It renews me, gives me energy. I seem to draw strength from it.’
He looked down at her. There was no-one else in the house. They had finished their dinner, Jim and Bob were out and his father had ridden off as he was apt to do without telling anyone where he was going.
‘Then go and get a wrap and we’ll go.’
She laughed. ‘What, now? I haven’t collected this morning’s eggs yet.’
‘They’ll be there when we get back. Come on, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t.’
‘You’re coming too?’
‘Would you rather go alone?’ Once before she had said that she wanted to be alone.
‘No, of course not. I’d like your company.’
She fetched her shawl for although it was a fine day, the wind was always constant on the river. They walked along the Humber bank in the direction of Stone Creek, which marked the boundary of Sunk Island and linked the watery
marshes of the island to the mainland. There were a few small ships in the creek and a ship moored out in a deep channel on the river. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, pointing to it. ‘There’s the Dutch fluyt come back again.’
Matthew looked at her questioningly. ‘What about it?’
‘It’s a very old ship.’ She stared across the water towards the graceful vessel. It evoked such poignant sensations in her.
‘I can see that it’s an old ship. But how do you know about it?’ He laughed, and pulled gently on the single black braid which hung down her back. ‘I didn’t know you were an expert on ships!’
‘I’m not. Henry told me about it, years ago. Do you remember, it was that time when I played truant from school and Henry came to look for me?’
‘Yes, and Da gave you ’strap.’ A veil of sadness drifted across his face. ‘Poor old Henry. He always wanted to leave home, but never dared. I miss him.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I miss him too.’
He turned to her. ‘I was always jealous of him, you know. I always thought that he was special to you.’
‘He was,’ she replied and smiled. ‘He was special. He made me laugh. He took care of me.’
‘Is that all? I mean – not special in any other way?’ His mother had said to him the night before she died that he mustn’t rush Rosa. That everything would come right if only he was patient.
She tucked her arm into his. ‘Were you jealous of Jim too?’ she teased. ‘Your da wanted me to marry him.’
‘No,’ he acknowledged. ‘Not of Jim. He’s such a sobersides. He’ll never marry.’ He stopped abruptly as they approached the creek. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Is that Da?’
In the distance they could see a short stocky man, holding a horse by its reins and talking to someone, possibly a boatman by his apparel of thick jumper and breeches tucked into long waterproof boots.
‘I think it is!’ she said. ‘I wonder why he’s down here? Not arranging for corn to be carried, surely?’