Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  ‘Pah!’ Carlos had said. ‘How can they be? There is no-one who would tell.’ But then he had become suspicious of James Drew’s devious manner and asked him point-blank if he had told the law. Drew bluffed, but Carlos now knew that he had double-crossed them out of sheer perversity and spite.

  Jim remembered now, as he rode towards Marsh Farm, that he had stood back, terrified at the anger in his father’s voice and manner. It was as if he had a madness in him, a violent passion that was about to burst, and as Carlos shouted that he had betrayed them and lunged towards him, Drew lifted his gun and pointed it at him.

  Jim gave a great sob of anguish, as he had on that night. ‘No, Da! No!’ There was a rumbling of thunder and a fork of lightning lit the sky and, like a bright light suddenly illuminating his vision, he remembered. He had rushed at his father, his hand reaching up for the fowling gun. But his father had swung away out of his reach, then swiftly turned again towards Carlos, who stood as if carved in stone. Jim saw the whole scene as if he was in a trance and moving at half speed: Carlos’s horrified expression and the movement of his hand as he crossed himself, his father’s determined attitude and his finger on the trigger.

  ‘No, Da. No!’ He shouted again out loud as he neared the blazing building. All of this, the tragedies of Carlos and his drowned wife and orphaned child, the Byrne brothers making an unwelcome return for vengeance, the smuggling which his father had once again agreed to, came rushing into his head. And the reaching for the fowling piece once more, and the crack of the shot as it hit Carlos in the forehead, echoed in his mind as the timbers of the barn roof crashed to the ground.

  ‘Look what you’ve done,’ his father had blamed. ‘Look what you’ve done! I was onny going to frighten him. You’ve killed him. That’s what you’ve done, you’ve killed him!’

  Jim had stared down at Carlos, at the gaping blackened hole in his head, his dead eyes wide open, and had known only terror and confusion. ‘What shall we do, Da?’ he’d whispered, his throat rasping with fear.

  ‘Do? Why, we’ll have to get rid of him, that’s what! Come on, I’ll help you. Let’s get him away from here and buried before he’s missed, and we’ll have to hide hoss for a day or two. Otherwise it’s ’rope, my lad.’ He’d shaken his head reproachfully, but Jim was conscious that although he was frozen with fear and could hardly move his limbs, his father’s eyes flickered and darted as if in exhilaration. ‘Yes,’ he’d said. ‘It’s a hanging offence, even if you pleaded that it was an accident.’

  ‘It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me,’ he muttered under his breath as he slid off the mare’s back and surveyed the scene in front of him. But now it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he had lived with the threat of the rope hanging over him from boyhood. It didn’t matter that his own father had transferred the guilt to him, when it was really his own. What mattered was finding Matthew and Rosa, and finding them alive and not perished in the flames.

  ‘Matthew!’ He raised his voice to a shout. ‘Rosa!’ The timbers and trusses on the barn roof had gone, showers of sparks were rising and falling into the midst of the fire and sheets of flame were leaping up into the night sky and creeping insidiously over towards the granary. He went as close as he dared for the heat was intense, and called again, but all he could hear was the crackle and snapping of burning timber and falling masonry.

  The water-storage tank was situated in the yard near to the pig pen and straw shelter, and although he rushed towards it to fill a bucket, he knew that it was hopeless. A few buckets of water would be of no use at all. If Gore arrived with a pump in time they might be able to save the granary, otherwise what they needed was a miracle.

  Another flash of lightning which lit the sky and a rumble of thunder overhead gave him hope. ‘Please God, let it rain! Let it pour in torrents!’ He held up his arms in furious supplication. ‘I’ve suffered all these years, God, and for what? You’ve never listened to me before when I’ve asked for mercy and forgiveness. Listen to me now! Please!’

  As if in answer, another flash and a simultaneous crack of thunder made him jump and he fell to his knees and clasped his hands together. ‘I’m ready to take my punishment, God,’ he wept. ‘I’ve kept silent all these years when I should have confessed. But they’re onny young – and innocent. Let them live and me die in their place.’ He lifted his head as the rain started to patter down on him and raised his voice in a desperate roar. ‘Matthew! Rosa!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘WE’RE TRAPPED,’ ROSA croaked, her voice husky with fear and smoke. ‘We can’t get out.’

  Matthew lifted her shawl from her shoulders and covered her head. ‘We will,’ he said firmly. ‘But we mustn’t panic and we must move fast.’

  He stripped off his heavy cord jacket and moved towards the roof truss which had fallen over the exit to the doorway and was now burning ferociously. He thrashed at the flames with his jacket, pounding and beating on the long beam until he felt that the flames had subsided a little, but the door frame had now caught hold and it wouldn’t be long before the door, which was half open and letting in air which was fanning the fire, would be alight too.

  ‘We’re going to have to make a dash for it,’ he shouted. ‘When I say jump, jump.’ He put his jacket over his head. ‘Get ready.’

  Rosa drew a deep breath and took hold of his hand. ‘Now,’ he shouted. ‘Jump!’

  She lifted her skirts above her knees with her other hand and with a great leap and a lift from Matthew’s firm grasp about her waist, they were over and running through the door with the flames dancing around them. He pulled her down onto the ground and rolled her over and over with his arms around her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he panted. ‘Rosa! Speak to me.’

  ‘I’m all right. Yes. Are you?’

  He ran his fingers through his hair. His jacket had slipped off his head but had stayed on his shoulders. ‘Yes, my hair’s a bit singed.’ He gave her a grin and said, ‘I was in need of a haircut anyway,’ which made her want to cry.

  ‘Come on.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s get some water onto ’granary walls. Mebbe if we dampen it down then flames won’t spread.’

  She looked back at the flaming barn. ‘What about John Byrne?’

  He shook his head. ‘I reckon he’s gone.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘They say if ’smoke gets you first, then you don’t feel ’pain. Let’s hope that’s what happened. I wouldn’t like to think he suffered.’

  They took bucket after bucket of water to the granary walls. Rosa filled them from the tap on the tank and Matthew rushed across the yard to throw them at the brickwork, then Rosa too took buckets over, but the iron pails were heavy and when they were full she could hardly lift them. Finally she persuaded him to stop. She could see that his legs were giving way beneath him and her arms, too, were aching with moving the heavy buckets as she filled them.

  ‘Stop,’ she implored. ‘We can do no more,’ and she pulled him down to sit by the tank, where he crumpled up in sheer exhaustion. She put his head against her shoulder. ‘Rest, Matthew. Help will come. Everyone on Sunk Island will have seen ’flames. Jim, Mr Gore, they’ll all be here.’

  She gave a deep sob as she looked towards the raging fire. If only they can save the house. She felt a great despair well up inside her. Gran will be so upset if it’s destroyed. She thought of her grandmother at Maggie’s house in Hedon unaware of what was unfolding at her old home. She thought of her mother, who had lived her life in the house and given birth to her in sadness. A tear crept down her face, streaking a dark path through the soot and grime, as she remembered her home as it was when she had lived there as a child, warm and comforting, and not as it was when Jim had lived in it, without love or care.

  Jim! He killed my father. He’ll think that I won’t ever forgive him. And I won’t! Not if it was done in malice and with intent. But why did he? He said it was an accident. How? He was only a boy! She shivered. She could hear thunderous sounds and
lights flashed in front of her. Her mind was befuddled and terrified by the deeds of Byrne, the confession of Jim, the fight between Byrne and Matthew. Together with the sheer fright of being caught in the fire it was all suddenly too much. Her heart started to flutter and palpitate, she grew hot and cold, and she keeled over on top of Matthew, her limbs limp and her mind blank, into the realms of unconsciousness.

  She felt the rain pattering on her face and the sound of weeping. ‘Rosa. Matthew! Can you hear me?’

  Someone was patting her cheeks and she stirred and tried to sit up. Matthew too sat up and rubbed a dirty hand over his face. It was raining hard and Jim was kneeling over them.

  ‘Thank God,’ he was crying. ‘Thank God. I thought you were dead.’

  ‘Oh!’ Matthew groaned. ‘What happened? ’Fire? Is it out? No, it’s not,’ he answered himself as he turned towards the burning building. ‘We must try and save the house.’

  Rosa looked at him. His face was blackened with smoke and soot and the top of his hair was singed, he was exhausted yet he still wanted to try to put the fire out. She got onto her hands and knees, not trusting her legs enough to be able to stand.

  ‘Are you hurt, Rosa?’ Jim asked diffidently.

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ Her voice seemed to have gone and she spoke only in a croaky whisper. ‘I’m all right, but I seem to have lost ’use of my legs.’

  Matthew helped her to her feet, but Jim stood back. It was as if he was afraid to touch her in case he was rebuffed.

  ‘Better get you back home,’ he said gruffly. ‘Matthew, you too, you’ve done enough here. John Gore and his lads have just arrived, and some of ’other farmers. We’ll manage now. Rain’ll put ’fire out.’

  Streams of thick black smoke were gushing from the barn and issuing into the sodden night sky, and even the rain seemed to be black with soot.

  ‘Where’s Da?’ Matthew asked suddenly. ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No,’ Jim answered. ‘I don’t know where he is. I asked him to go and fetch help, but Gore said he hasn’t seen him. He’d already seen ’flames and set off here.’ He told them too of sending Delia to Hedon to tell that John Byrne was on Sunk Island, and they listened in amazement that she had had the courage to ride alone and in the dark to fetch help.

  Rosa looked at the crowd of men who were gathered around the blackened barn, waiting now for the heat to subside before they went in. Perhaps Mr Drew was amongst them, hoping to salvage what was left. A thought struck her that he wouldn’t want anyone to see what had been stored there, not that there would be much left. The casks were well alight when she and Matthew had escaped and the tobacco would have shrivelled to nothing. His secret would be safe.

  ‘John Byrne,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Will they find him?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jim said bluntly. ‘I expect so. What’s left of him.’

  He urged them again to go home. ‘You can do nowt else here tonight. We’ll start clearing up in ’morning when ’heat’s died down.’

  Slowly they walked back towards Home Farm. They were lashed by pelting stinging needles of rain which reddened their faces and soaked them through, and they almost fell through the door into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll build up ’fire,’ Matthew said. ‘Soon have a blaze going. Then we’ll put ’kettle on for a hot drink.’ He fetched a blanket from the cupboard and unfastened her wet shawl, then, unbuttoning the back of her dress, he slipped her arms out of the sleeves and wrapped the blanket around her. She let her dress fall to the floor and as she stepped out of it, he gently propelled her into a chair and knelt to take off her wet boots. ‘Then it’s off to bed with you and a hot brick between the sheets.’

  She shook her head and in a whisper, for her voice had no strength, said, ‘No. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I keep thinking about Byrne. Do you think he got out?’

  ‘It would be a miracle if he did! But we’ll know in ’morning. I reckon they’ll find him then.’

  Rosa’s head ached and her throat was sore and she made no answer. What was to be done now? She could no longer live here at Home Farm, not with Mr Drew and Jim. Not now that she knew the truth, or at least some of it. But she was still puzzled as to why Jim had killed her father; and what part did Mr Drew play? There was still a mystery that hadn’t been resolved. And where was James Drew now?

  They sat silently by the fire, feeling the heat warming their cold bones and dozing intermittently. Jim came in as a grey dawn stole through the window.

  ‘It’s still raining and more to come,’ he said, his voice husky with smoke. ‘But ’fire’s out and ’granary’s saved and ’house is secure, so thank God for that.’ He didn’t look at Rosa as he spoke but kept his eyes firmly down on the floor. Then he glanced at Matthew. ‘Da?’ he asked. ‘Is he here?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘Not unless he’s hiding under his bed,’ he said bitterly.

  Jim ran upstairs to his father’s room, then came slowly down a minute later. ‘His fire’s out and oil lamp’s burned dry. So where is he? Where’s he got to?’

  The farmers and labourers who had come to help put out the fire trudged back home to snatch an hour’s sleep before rising again to start their daily routine. As they moved away from Marsh Farm, two bedraggled figures dropped down from the rafters of the pig pen where they had lain flat and silent so that they didn’t disturb the occupants below.

  They didn’t speak for they had a common purpose which had been agreed upon some time before. The older man of the two looked out from the door and signalled to the other, whose face and hands were red and burnt and who crouched as if in pain, that it was safe to go.

  He kicked away some straw in the corner of the pen, and picked up two iron-tipped wooden sludge spades from beneath it. Together, keeping their bodies low, they hurried towards the dark and turbulent river, and found the spot on the embankment which they had marked.

  ‘I’ll do the digging,’ Seamus said. ‘You keep a watch.’

  His brother shook his head, his voice grating as he spoke. ‘I’ll do my share,’ he rasped with short gasping breaths. ‘It’ll give me the greatest of pleasure.’

  They started to dig, making a deep and narrow trench in the embankment and leading it towards a dyke which was already full with rainwater. Above them thunder still threatened, giving low ominous warning growls. The sky was lightening as they finished the trench, but this was not a bright sign of a new day. The colours were dark grey with a flash of silver to show the dawn.

  ‘We’ll have to hurry,’ Seamus said softly. ‘Folks will be moving about before long.’

  ‘But not out here,’ John Byrne replied huskily and it seemed a great effort for him to speak. ‘They’ll have no business in this remote spot. They’ll be home mending their waggons or fixing the leaks in their roofs.’

  They moved along each side of the dyke and started to dig again, though this time at random, loosening the sides of the dyke and letting the earth fall in so that the water came gurgling to the top.

  They both crouched down as they again approached Marsh Farm land and saw Jim Drew leave the farmyard and fasten the gate behind him, taking one last look at the burnt-out barn. ‘They’ll be mourning you, John,’ Seamus said wryly. ‘But Mr Drew will be sorely puzzled if he can’t find your body in the morning.’

  John Byrne nodded. His eyes were glazed with pain and he could hardly hold the spade in his burnt hands, but he was determined to finish off what he had started. ‘It will give him something more to worry about,’ he whispered. ‘He’ll never again have peace of mind. He’ll always wonder if he’ll be found out.’

  They moved along towards a drainage channel which carried the water back to the Humber. This they blocked, taking the earth from the land around it and piling it into the channel to prevent the water’s exit.

  ‘That’ll do it all right,’ Seamus said with satisfaction. ‘If the tide is high enough the land will flood. Let’s get on our way.’

  ‘No,’ John Byrne objected. ‘I want
to see it. I want to see Drew’s face when he realizes his land is flooded and he sees why. He’ll know then that we’re still here, that I’m still here to torment him.’

  ‘Come now,’ Seamus said quietly. ‘We’ve done enough. There’s a cutter in the creek. Let’s get away whilst we can. There’s a noose waiting for you if we’re caught.’

  ‘A noose for something I didn’t do,’ his brother croaked. ‘That foolish boy fell on his own knife. I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘And who will believe you? Not the law! Come away now or we’ll be too late.’

  But John Byrne would not be persuaded. He would wait, he said, even though he was sorely in pain. He would wait for the high tide to rise as it surely would, for there was broken water and white crests on the river, and storm clouds were brewing and a strong wind blowing. He would watch the river break through the embankment and fill the dykes and channels and flood James Drew’s land.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  JAMES DREW HAD watched Jim ride off from the farm gate towards the red glow in the sky. They’ll all know, he deliberated uneasily. Everybody will know about the run goods. Matthew and the girl know already. I didn’t want him to find out. He’s like his mother, straight and honest. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again. I’m not bothered about her, Rosa. I’ve kept her under my roof all these years. I’ve salved my conscience, paid back for what happened to her father.

  He leaned on the gate, making no effort to chase after his son and help to put out the fire or to fetch other men as Jim had requested he should. ‘Best let it burn,’ he muttered to himself. ‘If it all goes up in smoke, then onny family will know about ’smuggled goods. That’s it. Let it burn.’

  He pondered for a few moments that Matthew and Rosa might be in the burning building with Byrne, but then dismissed the thought, despite what Jim had said. They’ll have got out all right, he persuaded himself, and contemplated that it would be too late for him to do anything if they hadn’t. He was in any case more concerned with his own present situation, and much as he hated the thought of losing Marsh Farm, obtusely he felt a sense of gratification that the Byrne brothers would be deprived of their livelihood if the goods were destroyed. I’ll tell Matthew in private that they were threatening Jim, he meditated, and that’s why I agreed to go in with them, then he pursed his lips and regretted his admission that he, and not Jim, had been responsible for Carlos’s death.