Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  Delia shrank back onto her pillow. Her eyes were yellow and her face pale. ‘But if they don’t find him they’ll go away—’ she began.

  ‘They won’t go away and you’ll go to court.’ Mrs Jennings was blunt. ‘And then what will your father say?’

  ‘Da said I could stop.’ She looked wildly from Mrs Jennings to Rosa. ‘I promised I wouldn’t stray again and he said I could stop at home.’

  ‘And I’m sure you can.’ Mrs Jennings drew her arms across her bosom and waited. ‘Just tell us where you’ve put ’poor babby.’

  ‘Get Matthew to come up,’ Delia said petulantly. ‘I’ll tell him.’

  ‘I can’t fetch him now,’ Rosa said. ‘He’s behind with his work.’ She didn’t say because he had been travelling backwards and forwards to Patrington to fetch the doctor or to see the parson on Delia’s behalf, but that was the reason why Matthew was now trying to make up for lost time. ‘When he comes in for his dinner I’ll ask him to come up.’

  When Matthew had eaten his meal she detained him. ‘Delia says she’ll tell you where she’s hidden ’babby.’ She glanced towards Jim and Mr Drew. ‘She wants you to go and get him.’

  Jim hung back but his father went out, his eyebrows beetling together and a black look on his face. ‘Why Matthew?’ Jim asked. ‘Why not us? Matthew’s going to tell us anyway.’

  But he didn’t. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said after talking to Delia. ‘She’s made me swear that I wouldn’t say where he is.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and looked baffled. ‘I think she’s gone a bit soft in her head.’

  He went out into the yard and whistled for his dog. Jim followed him into the lean-to. ‘You don’t have to tell me where you’re going,’ he said. ‘I’ll just follow you and watch.’

  Matthew gave an ironic grin. ‘We must seem to outsiders to be an ordinary family—’

  ‘Aye,’ Jim’s voice was bitter. ‘But open up Pandora’s box and see what’s inside! She’s never buried him?’ he added sharply as Matthew lifted a spade from the wall.

  Matthew shrugged. ‘She said that she did. There’s no wonder she was so ill. Rosa said that ’back door was undone night after ’babby died, and it was a bitter cold night.’

  Jim fell silent but followed Matthew to the bottom of the yard and towards the kitchen garden. Matthew with an easy stride went over the hedge and Jim followed him. The dog jumped over too and Matthew called to him. ‘Come on, lad. Find!’

  The dog rushed to and fro, his tail wagging and his nose to the ground as they searched up and down looking for any disturbance by the hedge, then he whined and started to scrabble with his paws. ‘Come off,’ Matthew commanded, and bent down. He swallowed hard. ‘I think this might be it,’ he murmured and then looked up at Jim, who had made a strangled cry. He had his hand clutched over his mouth and there was horror in his eyes.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Matthew said softly. ‘She said she’d buried him in his casket. She must have planned it all along, that’s why she asked me to make it for him.’ He straightened up and put his foot on the blade. The soil yielded, soft after the rain, and he pushed down. ‘It’s there,’ he said. ‘I can feel it.’

  He looked around. Jim had moved away. He was kneeling on the ground, his body hunched low, weeping and retching into the hedge bottom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ROSA PUT ON her heavy cloak and fastened up her outdoor boots.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Delia’s voice came from behind her.

  ‘Out!’ She was brief. She had no wish to enter into an acrimonious conversation with Delia.

  ‘Be back in time to help with supper!’ was Delia’s parting shot as she went out of the door, but Rosa made no answer.

  She heaved a great sigh as she set off across the side of the meadows towards the river. Delia was being so tedious. Since she had recovered from childbirth and the fever, she had been petty and mean and slowly and insidiously had tried to take control of the household. She had not succeeded where Mrs Jennings was concerned, for after a bout of ill temper from her, Mrs Jennings had packed her bag, put on her bonnet and told Mr Drew that she was leaving.

  ‘You don’t need me now,’ she’d said. ‘I onny came temporary till yon daughter got over her trouble. Well, she’s over it, so I’ll be off!’

  Mr Drew had looked at her in dismay. ‘But—! Delia can’t cook! Rosa can, but not as well as you, Mrs Jennings. Besides, where will you go?’ He’d attempted to show concern for her future well-being. ‘You’ll not get a position at your age!’

  ‘That is perfectly true!’ she had admitted. ‘I shall have to go on ’parish when bit o’ money my cousin left me runs out.’

  ‘We can’t have that,’ he insisted, and she had known perfectly well that he had no interest at all in her prospects, but was only concerned that his meals should be on the table.

  She agreed nevertheless that she would stay and let Delia know in no uncertain terms that she would not put up with her ill humour. ‘You’re lucky to be here at all, young woman,’ she lectured. ‘Just remember that and be humble!’

  The doctor and the parson had implicitly agreed that as the body of the child had been found, no further action regarding the law need be taken. Delia had been temporarily unhinged after the long labour, they decided, and a quiet blessing had been given at the churchyard and the small casket laid to rest for a second time, next to the graves of Henry and his mother.

  ‘What name shall we give the child?’ the cleric had asked Delia, but she had stared vacantly at him and shaken her head.

  Rosa had been gazing down at Henry’s headstone. ‘Henry?’ she murmured.

  Delia had glared at her. ‘Martin,’ she muttered and there were sidelong glances from Jim and Matthew, who were also present, each wondering if that was the name of the child’s father.

  ‘I’ll make him a little wooden cross, if you like, Delia,’ Jim muttered. ‘He should have some kind of marker.’

  Jim had been ill, too, since the finding of the child’s body. He had stayed alone, in bed, at Marsh Farm for two days until Mrs Jennings had walked across carrying a jug of soup, and persuaded him that whatever was troubling him would go away much more quickly when aided by hard work.

  It’s so odd how Jim was affected, Rosa thought as she strode along. He had been all right until he and Matthew had found the casket. And then he had become so morose, barely speaking to anyone, and towards her in particular he had seemed troubled and ill at ease.

  She reached the embankment and climbed it, looking up and down the estuary. The light from Spurn Point gleamed through the fog but the banks of Lincolnshire were obscured on the other side of the estuary. Traffic still flowed along the Humber, coal barges and fishing cobbles, homeward bound to the port of Hull. It was getting too late for her to walk far as dusk was coming in fast and the fog was drifting in towards the land, but she was reluctant to go back yet.

  Delia’s presence had changed the mood of the house, which, although never one of calm or comfort due to Mr Drew’s cold demeanour, had at least been tolerable. Now Rosa wondered whether she should finally make up her mind to leave Sunk Island.

  The thought of it made her sad. She had spent her life here, her mother was buried here in the churchyard and her father – well, where was he? she wondered. And her grandmother, would she stay on at Mr Drew’s without her? And Matthew? He, too, was so much part of her life. The idea of leaving them all seemed like a betrayal.

  A three-masted ship appeared out of the fog and trimmed its square sails as it came upriver in the direction of Stone Creek. It was a long ship with a steep deck and a rounded stern, and as she watched its progress towards her she felt the same sensation she had felt twice before. It’s the Dutch fluyt here again! Why do I feel this stirring of my blood when I see it? Why does it bring about this excitement within me?

  The ship anchored out in the river and she saw the crew moving about on board near the aperture which housed the stern r
udder, and on a sudden impulse she picked up her skirts and ran along the embankment as far as she could until she reached the marshland which bordered Stone Creek.

  Two horsemen were on the stone bridge, one, a stockily built man, was leaning down talking to someone. She could see his booted legs but not his face as he was obscured by the horse, but she could see an arm pointing out towards the ship. The other horseman, who had his back to her, appeared to be staring out into the estuary.

  She was intrigued and yet didn’t know why. The harbour was well used by local fishermen and farmers, especially now that little trade was done at Patrington Haven, but she wondered why anyone should be down there now when it was late.

  She turned homeward. She would have to hurry if she was to get back to the house before dark. There was no light from the night sky because of the fog and it would be so easy to fall into a dyke. She shuddered and thought of Henry, too drunk to pull himself out of the water. If she should be so unfortunate as to fall in, she would be hampered by her boots, her heavy cloak and woollen skirt. But I’m not going to fall in, she told herself, I’m an island girl, used to the land of drains and ditches.

  Matthew was shrugging himself into his coat to come and look for her as she arrived back. He was angry with her. ‘Where’ve you been? Delia said you’d been gone ages. Your gran was worried about you!’

  ‘Sorry. I walked further than I meant to.’ She followed him into the house. ‘Are you finished outside? Shall I lock up?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Da and Jim are still out somewhere.’

  ‘Are they on foot?’ she asked, as a thought struck her.

  ‘No, they’ve taken a couple of hosses. Something to pick up at Stoney, Da said.’

  Mr Drew came in about half an hour later, saying that Jim had gone straight back to Marsh Farm.

  ‘Doesn’t he want his supper then?’ Mrs Jennings asked in surprise.

  ‘No.’ There was no explanation given. Just the one bald word.

  After supper, Rosa cleared away, Delia went upstairs to her room and Mrs Jennings sat darning a pair of socks until her eyes started to droop. ‘That’s me finished then,’ she said, putting the darning wool and the socks back into her workbox. ‘I’m off to bed. Goodnight, everybody.’

  ‘Goodnight, Gran.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Jennings,’ Matthew said, and she smiled at him.

  Mr Drew grunted. He didn’t look up, but continued to stare into the fire which Matthew had just banked with coal and slack to keep going all night.

  Rosa was about to sit down and start some stitching herself when Mr Drew said, ‘Get off to bed then, girl. It’s getting late.’

  She looked at him in surprise. She didn’t usually go to bed so early. Matthew, too, gazed at his father enquiringly.

  ‘I – I haven’t locked up yet,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he grunted. ‘I have to go out into ’yard.’

  She thought he meant to the privy, so she put away her sewing and said goodnight. He nodded, but didn’t answer, and she glanced at Matthew who shrugged and pursed his lips and said, ‘Goodnight, Rosa. Sleep well.’

  As she climbed the stairs she heard Mr Drew telling Matthew that they had to be up early and that he ought to go to bed too.

  ‘We’re up early every morning,’ Matthew replied. ‘What’s special about tomorrow? Anyway,’ she heard the assertion in his voice as she paused to listen, ‘I’m not ready for bed yet. I’d as soon sit here by ’fire as lie awake in bed.’

  She heard his father grunt something in reply and then the back door banged as he went outside. She lit the lamp in her room, keeping it low, and didn’t undress straight away, but sat by the window. The fog had drifted inland and the waggons in the yard and the fruit trees in the kitchen garden beyond were shrouded in shadowy misty outline. Then she saw James Drew cross the yard. He was wearing his thick dark coat, had a muffler around his neck and a woollen hat on his head. He looked up and she drew back behind the curtain.

  She went downstairs on the pretence of looking for a book and found Matthew still staring into the fire, his feet stretched out in front of him.

  She picked up the book from a shelf and stood hesitating. ‘Matthew! I’ve been thinking—’

  He looked up at her and wrinkled his brows. ‘You’re not going to leave us, are you, Rosa?’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ She gave a short laugh of denial, but it was just the subject she had been about to broach.

  ‘I’ve seen how things are with you and Delia. You don’t work well together, not like you and Maggie did.’

  She smiled. How perceptive he was. ‘We don’t,’ she admitted, ‘and I had thought of moving away.’ She saw a look of pain in his face, and quickly continued, ‘But if I left, then Gran probably wouldn’t stay either and Delia couldn’t manage on her own. It’s very hard,’ she said, ‘I know. There’s too much to do for one person.’

  He got to his feet. ‘I’m not bothered that there’s too much for her to do.’ His words were harsh. ‘Da would have to get extra help.’ He looked at her with appeal in his eyes. ‘I just don’t want you to go. I couldn’t bear it if you went away. Rosa.’ He reached for her hands and said softly, ‘You know how I feel. You’ve always known, even though no words have passed between us.’

  She nodded. You know that he loves you, his mother had said with her dying breath. He will make up for what has gone before if you will let him. But what had gone before? She didn’t know. She only knew that there was a void, an emptiness within her. She felt tears pricking her eyes, but she mustn’t cry. It wasn’t the time for crying, for she never did. She also knew that it wasn’t the time for Matthew to speak out or her to respond. There would be a right time, but it wasn’t now. There would be other issues, other circumstances to unfold first. She didn’t know what they were and didn’t understand the consciousness within her. It was some instinct, a presentiment perhaps, that they must wait, and she felt that Matthew understood that too.

  ‘Please. Don’t go.’

  There was a sound behind them and as they looked up, Delia was on the stairs staring down at them. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing that concerns you, Delia.’ Matthew’s words, though blunt, were not unfriendly.

  She stepped into the room. ‘Is she going behind my back about something?’ Then she saw Matthew’s hands still holding Rosa’s, and looked from one to the other. ‘You’re not planning owt?’ She addressed Rosa. ‘I know you’ve allus been after Matthew. But he’s too good for you. You’re not worthy of him!’

  There was hostility written on Delia’s face and Rosa tried to release her hands from Matthew’s grasp, but he held them fast.

  ‘Don’t say things like that, Delia,’ he admonished harshly. ‘Rosa is worthy of a better man than me.’

  Delia sneered. ‘She’s allus wanted you. She wants our farm and that’s how she thinks she’ll get it. Through you. She thinks she belongs here. Well, she doesn’t. She’s a foreigner, like her father was.’

  That hurt Rosa and she drew in a breath before saying, ‘I belong on Sunk Island, just as you do, Delia. My father was foreign, but I was born here, as my mother was and my gran and grandfather and generations before them.’

  As she spoke she felt an empathy with those past generations who had come to this once waterlogged land and who had sweated and died in their efforts to make it cultivated and habitable, and she wasn’t sure that Delia even thought about that or would understand it. But Matthew did, of that she was sure.

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ Delia glared at her, ‘whether you were born here or not! It doesn’t make you entitled to it. It’s good land, that’s why folks want it. If they can stand the isolation and solitude they can make a good living out here, and that’s what you’re after.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Delia,’ Matthew interrupted, his voice sharp. ‘You don’t have a feeling for Sunk Island and that’s why you went away. You wouldn’t have come back
if you hadn’t been in trouble and needed help.’

  ‘I went away because of her,’ Delia said bitterly. ‘I knew I couldn’t stop under ’same roof. I had to get away.’

  Rosa pulled her hands from Matthew’s grasp. ‘But why, Delia?’ she appealed. ‘What did I do? Your ma and da took me in when I was only a child. Why do you feel this way?’

  Delia stared at her with hatred in her eyes, then her face started to crumple. ‘I haven’t got anybody,’ she grieved. ‘I was youngest and expected to tag along after everybody else. But Matthew was my friend. At least he was until you came along, then he forgot about me and it was Rosa this and Rosa that, and it didn’t matter about me any more.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Matthew said. ‘You had all of us, me, Henry, Jim, four sisters – Rosa was the one who had nobody else.’

  ‘But you were ’onny one who took any notice of me.’ She sniffled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I was just a nuisance to everybody else. A runt,’ she declared hotly. ‘An unwanted bairn, even by Ma.’

  ‘That’s unfair, Delia,’ Rosa broke in. ‘Your ma loved all of her children. Even me.’

  ‘Aye, and that was ’worst of it! I saw that she was fond of you and I saw from ’start that she was making plans for you and Matthew.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘And I couldn’t bear that. Matthew was my brother, my friend, and you, who I hated, were taking him away from me.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ROSA LAY FULLY dressed on her bed until midnight. How could she resolve this impasse with Delia? One of them would have to leave, and Matthew had said to her, when Delia had turned her back on them and run upstairs, that if she, Rosa, should think of leaving, then he would follow her.

  She gave a great sigh. I’ll have to talk to Gran, she thought. She’s old and wise, she’ll know what I should do. Unable to sleep, she rose from the bed and stood by the window. The mist was lifting, swirling around the yard as the breeze caught it. It hung over the roof of the barn, hovered cobweb-like across the tiles and, drifting down to the orchard, floated over the tops of the old apple trees. From the river she could hear the haunting cry of ships’ hooters reaching out in warning and she suddenly thought of the Dutch fluyt, moored out in the Humber, and again wondered why it was there.