Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  ‘Leave one anker,’ Byrne said with a sly grin. ‘That’s your father’s payment for us keeping quiet about his night-time activities. He’ll know that we at least keep our bargains, and,’ he added, ‘if the Customs men do come there’ll be evidence enough to show that he was involved.’

  When they had finished loading the casks, Byrne said roughly, ‘That’ll do, now all we need are the horses. You can fetch them, Jim, and if you try any tricks, be sure that I shall tell the law of your confession to murder if I’m caught. If I go to jail then so do you, not forgetting your father. We shall be company for each other,’ he added maliciously. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Jim cast a look of misery at Rosa, then went out of the barn door. ‘And be quick about it,’ Byrne called after him. ‘I want to be away before dawn.’ He turned towards Matthew. ‘Now then. Get moving. Get up that ladder and bring down whatever is in those crates. Leave the crates,’ he said. ‘They’re too heavy and would weigh us down. Bring down the rolls of silk and the tobacco.’

  ‘Hellbound! Son of Satan!’ Matthew cursed as he climbed the ladder.

  ‘Names don’t hurt me,’ Byrne mocked contemptuously. ‘And look to your own when scoffing and see if you can hold your head up.’

  Matthew looked down at him. Byrne held Rosa with one hand and in the other he held the knife. She seemed calm, yet her mouth worked nervously. Byrne had the advantage. He had Rosa. Jim wouldn’t tell anyone that Byrne was here, not when his own life could finish in jail. Matthew’s regard for his brother and father reached the lowest possible ebb. What would Rosa think of them now? She had been cheated by the Drew family, and any hopes of her joining her life with his faded rapidly. She would surely put a great distance between them.

  He turned and continued up the steps. Despair and anger battled in a storm within him. But, he resolved, he would gain the day. He would outmanoeuvre Byrne. Somehow he would make retribution to Rosa for the wrongdoing of his father and brother. If it took the rest of his life he would make amends and be happy to do so. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, lose her.

  Jim’s heart was pounding by the time he reached Home Farm. He had run practically all the way, stumbling over the fields of stubble and jumping over narrow ditches to save time. He must move fast to outwit Byrne. I must make up for what I’ve done, he panted. Another wrong won’t put it right. God in heaven, help me to be strong this time. Help me to oppose my father for he will surely be against my plan. Ma! If you can hear me, give me ’courage which I lacked when I was alad.

  Sweat streamed down his face as he hammered on the door. ‘Delia,’ he called. ‘Delia! Let me in.’

  Delia opened the door cautiously. ‘Jim! It’s you! I thought it was Matthew and Rosa. They’ve gone across to Marsh Farm.’

  ‘I know. Listen, Delia. You’ve got to help me! Put on some warm clothes. I want you to ride to Hedon.’

  ‘What? At this time of night! You must be mad!’

  ‘I am mad,’ he agreed. ‘But listen to what I have to tell you. Byrne is at Marsh Farm and he’s got Rosa and Matthew.’ Quickly he filled in the details, or as much as he thought she should know, but leaving out his own involvement in Carlos’s death.

  ‘I want you to ride to Hedon, go to Fred and tell him what I’ve told you. Tell him to alert ’constable that Byrne is dangerous and not to put Rosa’s life in peril cos she will be with him. Matthew will be driving ’waggon and I’ll tell him to go through Keyingham marshes.’

  Delia had been silenced by what Jim had told her. Now she said, ‘They’ll get ’wheels bogged down!’

  ‘That’s ’general idea,’ Jim said. ‘It’ll give us more time to get men together. I’ll call on John Gore and get him to ride for ’Patrington constable in case Byrne teks it into his head to go that way.’ He helped her into her heavy cloak. ‘Come on, there’s a good lass. I’ll saddle up a steady hoss for you.’

  ‘It’s pitch black!’ She hung back, wavering at what lay in front of her as they went out into the yard. ‘I’ll tummel into a ditch. It’ll take me hours – you know I’m no good on horseback!’

  ‘You can do it, Delia,’ he persuaded. ‘It’s onny low cloud coming in from ’river. See, it’s lighter inland and ’moon’s up.’ He helped her mount and, looking up, took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘Our lives depend on you, Delia. Mine and Matthew’s as well as Rosa’s.’

  She nodded and her lips trembled. ‘I’ve not been good to Rosa, Jim. I’ve allus been jealous of her.’ She swallowed her tears. ‘But I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.’

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘We’ve done enough of hurting folks, you and me. So now’s ’time to make up for it. Go on, now. Ride as fast as you can. Thank God for that Ottringham road. Then stay with our Maggie and Mrs Jennings till all’s done here.’

  He heaved a deep breath as Delia rode away. It had only taken minutes to persuade her to go. Now he must bring out two waggon horses, not so fast that they’d make speed, but with feet used to wet ground and pulling a heavy load. He harnessed them and brought them into the yard, then with an acute sense of foreboding went back indoors to waken his father.

  He was still awake and came to the bedroom door when Jim knocked. He was in his bed shirt, with a nightcap on his head. ‘All’s up for us, Da,’ Jim began. ‘Past has overtekken us.’

  ‘What you rambling on about? Why are you here and not abed at Marsh Farm?’ his father said irritably. ‘You know I like you to stop there, specially now if Byrne’s about.’

  ‘Byrne’s already there,’ Jim said and hardened his resolve to be strong. ‘So are Matthew and Rosa. Byrne’s got a knife to Rosa’s throat and Matthew’s loading up a waggon with ’run goods.’

  His father’s mouth dropped open. ‘Never,’ he protested. ‘How did they get in? I put a strong lock on that barn door.’

  ‘You didn’t hear me, Da!’ Jim’s voice rose angrily. ‘I said – Byrne’s got a knife to Rosa’s—’

  ‘Yes. Yes. I heard you,’ he said testily. ‘What they doing there anyway? Poking their noses into what doesn’t concern them!’

  ‘It does concern them, Da. Matthew found the stuff in ’barn and Byrne told him what it was – and about us. And I told them about Carlos.’

  ‘You did what?’ His father stared incredulously. ‘You idiot. You blockhead! Why did you do that? Are you completely out of your senses?’

  Jim nodded. ‘I probably am. But I also know that I’m sick to death of lies and deceit. I can’t go on living this half life any longer. I’ve drunk from ’cup of regret and bitterness and I’m ready to tek my punishment if I have to.’

  ‘Well, so you might be,’ his father grunted. ‘But I’m not.’ He tore off his nightcap and turned to pick up his breeches from a chair in the bedroom. ‘I’ll do a deal with Byrne. Get him safely off Sunk Island if he keeps quiet.’

  Jim shook his head. He couldn’t believe his father’s behaviour. Had he no thought for anyone but himself? ‘It’s too late for that,’ he attested. ‘I’ve already sent for ’authorities.’

  ‘What!’ His father stopped in the action of putting a leg into his breeches.

  ‘I’ve sent a messenger,’ Jim said. ‘I’ve alerted Hedon.’

  ‘But not Patrington?’ His father hurriedly pulled up his breeches and buttoned them. ‘We can try to get him out over ’bridge into Patrington.’ He hesitated. ‘That is, unless they’ve put a watch on it. Mebbe we’ll tek him over in a waggon at first light. Then if he’s caught we can swear we didn’t know he was in there.’

  ‘Swear on ’bible, shall we, Da?’ Jim came into the room and wearily sat on the side of the bed. ‘Call heaven as our witness?’ He put his head in his hands. ‘You’re not listening to me. What would Ma say if she knew?’ he muttered. ‘Would she forgive us?’

  His father looked askance. ‘Don’t dare bring your mother into this! This has nowt to do with your mother!’ His voice thundered, but had a shaky edge to it and Jim knew that his barb had hit home.
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  ‘I won’t help you, Da. I’ve a scheme to catch him and I won’t be put off. You’ve manipulated me since I was a lad of thirteen. I’ve had ’threat of gallows hanging over me and not once have you tekken any of ’blame.’

  He knew that time was getting on and that Byrne would be waiting for the horses, yet he couldn’t stop the outpouring of wretchedness. It had lain festering for so long, and now, like a foul boil, it erupted, spewing forth his regrets, griefs and sheer misery.

  His father was rendered speechless and stood with one hand on the iron bedhead and the other clasped to his mouth as he gazed at him. Finally, Jim stood up. ‘So, I’m telling you. I’m going to catch Byrne and his brother, cos he’ll turn up too, sooner or later, and if they tell of what happened all those years ago and I go to jail, well, so be it.’

  There was a sudden crack of thunder and a flash of lightning lit the room as James Drew said in a low voice, ‘You won’t go to jail. It’ll be me.’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Da,’ Jim said dejectedly. ‘Don’t start playing ’martyr now. It’s too late for that.’

  ‘No. No, I’m not. It was me. It wasn’t you.’

  Jim looked at him. His father’s face seemed grey, even though the low fire in the hearth cast a glow to the room. ‘What was you?’ He glanced towards the window at the rosy reflection of the fire.

  ‘I killed Carlos. It wasn’t you. I was holding ’gun. You tried to knock it out of my grasp as I pointed it at him. I was the one with my finger on ’trigger.’

  ‘Da! Look! Summat’s on fire!’ Jim pointed to the window. In the blackness of the night sky came a red glow and sparks flying into the air. ‘God in heaven,’ he cried. ‘It’s Marsh Farm! It’s on fire!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  MATTHEW’S LEGS WERE beginning to ache. He could only carry one roll of fabric at a time down the ladder and he had been up and down a dozen times already. Byrne sat on a bale of straw with Rosa at the side of him. He loosened his hold on her each time Matthew went up the steps and took hold of her each time he came down.

  Matthew emptied one crate and started on another containing tobacco. He sniffed the pungent aroma which emanated from the sacks and put one over his shoulder. Holding the other in his hand, he shuffled carefully down the steps again.

  ‘Ah, baccy!’ Byrne said. ‘I can smell it from here.’

  ‘Customs will smell it too if they get near,’ Matthew muttered and loaded the two sacks into the waggon next to the rolls of silk.

  ‘But they won’t get near, will they? They’ll not be expecting me in a waggon. Come on,’ he said, as Matthew took a breather. ‘We haven’t got all night. I told you I want to be away before dawn.’

  Matthew climbed up again and picked up another two sacks. He carried them down under Byrne’s gaze, stored them in the waggon and went up again. He’s tiring, he thought. Sitting down has made him sleepy. Byrne had put his head back against the wooden structure whch made up the bays and was watching him through half-closed eyelids.

  Again he collected another two sacks of tobacco and took them to the top of the ladder. Byrne was having difficulty in keeping awake. His head kept jerking as he fought sleep and Matthew saw Rosa edging away from him. The knife was lying loosely in Byrne’s hand. Matthew put down the sack and as Rosa looked up at him, he put his finger to his lips. He picked up the sack again and stepped silently down.

  Halfway down he stopped. Byrne’s eyes were closed and Rosa had managed to edge herself along so that she was sitting right on the end of the bale. Matthew indicated that she should move further away, came down another few steps, then, putting down one of the sacks, he lifted the other high and hurled it towards Bryne where it crashed against his legs, waking him. Rosa sped away, out of his reach.

  Matthew grabbed the other sack, sprang down the remaining steps and, keeping hold of the neck of the sack, launched the bulk of it at Bryne, as with an oath he jumped to his feet. The weight of it caught him and he staggered and dropped the knife. Matthew launched the sack again at Byrne, hitting him on the side of his head.

  ‘Run, Rosa. Get out,’ Matthew shouted, and she ran towards the door, but hesitated, holding onto it. ‘Go on,’ he shouted again. ‘Run. Go to John Gore’s. Get help.’

  Still she hesitated, and Byrne, now seemingly recovered, hit out at Matthew with his fist. ‘She’ll not get there in time,’ Byrne snarled. ‘You’ll be dead before she’s halfway there.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Matthew retaliated. He was younger and stronger too, of that he was sure. Byrne might well have powerful muscles from digging ditches, but so had he. Working on a farm was no job for a weakling. His arms, shoulders and chest were hard and muscular from digging and ploughing, scything and threshing, as well as handling horses and oxen. He was also taller and more heavily built than Byrne.

  He dropped the sack and punched Byrne on the nose. Byrne drew back, a trickle of blood running down towards his mouth. Fury was in his eyes and he lashed out wildly at Matthew, catching him on his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could see Rosa still hesitating by the door. Why doesn’t she run, he thought distractedly, and took another blow from Byrne which sent him staggering.

  ‘Matthew! Watch out.’ Rosa gave a warning shout as his feet came too close to the lantern. Byrne, though, didn’t see it as he lunged again at Matthew and caught it with his foot, crashing it over onto its side. The glass broke, the oil seeped out and a small tongue of flame licked the loose straw which had spilt from the bales, and ignited it.

  Matthew stamped on the burning straw, but Byrne hit out at him and he ducked away, fielding Byrne’s wild blows and striking out at him. He saw the flame as it sped along the straw towards a bale, and called again to Rosa. ‘Go for help,’ he urged. ‘Place’ll go up in flames. Pax,’ he shouted at Byrne. ‘We’ve got to put ’fire out!’

  But Byrne didn’t seem to hear him or see the flames catching the bale of straw and licking up the sides of the wooden waggon. It was as if his blood was up and all he was intent on was wreaking revenge and right now, Matthew was the enemy.

  They fought hard and furiously and Rosa screamed from the doorway for them to get out. Smoke started to billow about them as the fire took hold of the other straw bales and then the waggon, then the rolls of silk were set alight and, with a great whoosh, the flames tore through the casks and lit up the brandy, sending up spirals of blue and yellow flame which curled above them, blackening the upper storey of the barn.

  Matthew took a step backwards. The smoke was thick and choking. He couldn’t get his breath, his chest was heaving, and he couldn’t see Byrne whom he had just sent crashing to the floor with a blow to his chin. ‘Byrne,’ he shouted, ‘where are you? We have to get out. Byrne! Answer me!’

  Rosa suddenly appeared at his side, carrying a bucket of water which slopped over her feet as she heaved it into the heart of the flame where the lantern had been.

  ‘I told you to run,’ Matthew shouted at her. ‘Go fetch help.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ she sobbed. ‘How could I go and leave you with that madman? He was going to kill you.’

  ‘Fetch another bucket of water,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m going to try and find him—’ As he spoke there was a tremendous crash and a weakened blackened joist holding the upper level of the barn pitched to the ground, bringing down the wooden ladder and part of the floor, blocking the doorway and their exit.

  ‘Matthew,’ Rosa clung to his arm. ‘We’re trapped!’

  Jim dashed into the stable block and brought out a young mare. She was a jaunty mover, used to pulling the trap, and didn’t object to having someone on her back, though she didn’t travel at great speed. He sprang onto her, unsaddled, and dug in his heels. His father was left in the yard staring after him as Jim shouted, ‘Go to John Gore’s. Tell him to fetch as many men as he can. And a pump. We’ll have to pump water out of ’ditch. There’ll not be enough in ’tanks.’

  As he rode, he knew that he must get there as
fast as possible to save Matthew and Rosa. They were there with Byrne and he could only think that they were in very grave danger, and because of what had happened in the past, it was his fault. His and his father’s.

  It wasn’t you. It was me. He could hear his father’s words echoing in his mind as the mare cantered steadily at one speed, and no amount of urging and kicking made her move any faster. What did he mean? That incident on the night of nearly twenty years ago had been so confused and blurred that he had never really comprehended what had happened, and in order to preserve his sanity he had deliberately blocked it out of his mind.

  He remembered Carlos full of smiles. He had told Jim and his father a few weeks before that he was to be a father. ‘I am so happy,’ he had said, when he announced the news. ‘My beautiful wife, she gives me this gift. I must be worthy of them both. My wife and child. I will give up the smuggling. It was an exciting life but now I will become respectable!’

  His father had been angry with Carlos, arguing that they would lose good business, but Carlos was adamant that he would give up the smuggling, he would become an honest seaman. James Drew had turned away and Jim saw that stubborn look on his face which appeared whenever he was crossed. He had been absent for several hours, missing his supper.

  The sun was slowly sinking on that fateful evening when Jim came across his father and Carlos in the middle of another heated argument, on the track leading off the island. Carlos was holding the reins of a black stallion which belonged to Mr Jennings. James Drew was bound for the marshes for he had his loaded fowling gun with him, a canvas bag over his shoulder and a dog by his side. According to Carlos, a messenger had brought the news that the ship with the Byrne s on board had arrived in Hull with a consignment of goods, which were waiting to be taken off. Carlos was now on his way to tell the Byrnes that he was going to declare the goods to the Customs officers.

  ‘You may find it’s too late,’ Drew had insinuated. ‘Customs may well be on your trail.’