Rosa's Island

by Val Wood

  The sky over Marsh Farm was a blazing red and spumes of thick black smoke rolled and curled for miles in every direction, and he knew that the fire had a good hold. He put out his hand and felt a few drops of rain. ‘Hold off a bit,’ he murmured. ‘Hold off.’

  He went back inside the house and sat deliberating by the fire for a while, then he went upstairs and lay fully clothed on his bed. The fire in the grate burned low but the coal scuttle was empty, and he felt a brief sense of annoyance that Rosa or Delia hadn’t filled it. The room became gradually darker as the lamp flickered for want of oil and he turned his eyes to the window and the glow in the sky.

  He dropped off into a spasmodic dream-filled sleep and then woke with a sudden start. The room was dim, the lamp and fire having gone out, and the sky outside was dark and heavy. He could hear the rain driving against the windows and he gave a sudden shudder. A ghost walking over his grave. He sat up. He didn’t like the darkness, never had, it seemed so like death, closing in on him.

  I’d better get up. The others will be back once ’fire is out. I’ll go outside, reckon to them that I was there all the time. That’s it. He rose from the bed. I’ll go across to Marsh Farm, see it for myself; or what’s left of it. He stumbled downstairs and out into the yard and the drenching rain, and heard the murmur of Matthew’s and Rosa’s voices as they came down the track. He rushed across the yard and into the stable and hid, watching them through a crack in the door as they entered the house. Then stealthily he came out, bent his head low against the deluge and turned towards Marsh Farm.

  Rosa was making a hot drink and Matthew and Jim were putting on their damp coats again when there came a hammering on the door. ‘More trouble!’ Jim muttered. ‘I’ll go.’

  It was Fred, ridden over from Hedon to find out what was happening. ‘I got your message from Delia and notified ’authorities. She did well, did lass, riding all that way on her own and in ’dark. But no sooner had I informed ’constable than we saw ’smoke in ’sky and guessed summat was up, so I came over. It’s tekken me some time! Roads are awash. You’d never get a cart or waggon through. ’Hoss has had to pick its way here.’

  He took a gulp of the tea that Rosa had handed to him. ‘There’s a right storm brewing up. Thunder’s crashing over Hedon and ’town’s lit up with lightning. And ’tide’s high. I heard tell afore I left that Spurn peninsula’ll likely be breached. Aye, I reckon there’ll be some flooding along Humber bank afore ’day’s out.’

  They told him what had happened. That the barn was burnt out and that Byrne had perished in the fire. Rosa gave him a plate of cold ham and bread and he said that he would get straight back and call off the law.

  ‘Where’s your da?’ he asked. ‘Gone back to bed?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Jim said. ‘We were just going out to look for him. We haven’t seen him since last night.’

  Fred pursed his lips and pondered. ‘I’d better stop then and help you search. You don’t want ’same bother as you had over Henry.’

  Rosa drew in a breath and she saw Matthew and Jim glance at each other. None of them had thought that anything had happened to James Drew. They just assumed that he had taken it into his head to disappear for a few hours as he frequently did, and would turn up again and not say where he had been.

  Rosa went upstairs after the men had gone out and looked out of her bedroom window towards the river. She could see the turbulent white crests dashing against each other and just one ship tossing and pitching, its white sails bellying as it dipped and plunged, fighting its way towards the nearest safe haven of Stone Creek. There were no ships going out towards Spurn and she guessed that there was a heavy sea running beyond the Point and that ships were sheltering within the port of Hull.

  It was almost as black as night, the thunder cracking in the distance but constantly getting nearer, judging by the decreasing gaps between the shafts of lightning and the thunderclaps.

  Though she felt shaky and exhausted and looked longingly at her bed, she went downstairs again and seared shin of beef in the iron pot over the fire, then chopped up some root vegetables. The men would need something hot to warm them when they came back in, for they would be soaked to the skin with the constant deluge of rain.

  Harry put his head round the door. ‘Any chance of a sup o’ summat, Miss Rosa? I’m gasping.’

  She poured him a small tankard of ale and asked him if he had seen Mr Drew.

  ‘Nay, I reckon he’ll be sheltering somewhere if he’s any sense. He’ll not be out in this downpour.’ Harry was quite dry and she asked him where he had been. He gave a crooked gap-toothed grin and said he’d been grooming the horses and polishing the brasses in the stable. ‘No sense in being outside in this weather,’ he said. ‘Maister’ll turn up when he’s ready.’

  The back door crashed open and Matthew burst in. ‘Harry! I’ve been looking for you. Come on! Embankment’s broken near to Marsh Farm. River’s flooding in. We’ve got to get livestock onto dry land!’

  ‘Embankment’s broken!’ Harry put down his tankard. ‘Never!’

  Matthew nodded. His face was flushed with exertion. ‘Can’t get near enough to see, but it looks as if a whole section has gone and ’dyke is filling up.’ He put his hand to his forehead and wiped the sweat away. ‘And ’tide hasn’t reached its maximum yet. We’re going to be in real trouble!’

  Rosa took off her apron and sat down to change into her outdoor boots again. ‘I’d better come too,’ she said. ‘I can help to drive ’sheep.’

  ‘Please, Rosa, if you will.’ Matthew was grateful. ‘We need all ’help we can get. If we can’t contain it, then whole of farmland will be flooded.’

  She looked round for something suitable to wear to keep out the rain. Her cloak would be useless, too heavy and cumbersome. Then she remembered something, and bending to a deep drawer in the kitchen brought out a rolled-up voluminous grey raincape that had belonged to Mrs Drew, which she used to wear when feeding the hens during wet weather.

  She put it on. It came below her ankles, and had a hood which she fastened over her head.

  ‘Good heavens, that was Ma’s!’ Matthew gave her a quick smile as she went outside. He was already mounted on a mare. ‘That should keep you dry. Come on,’ he held out his hand, ‘up behind me, we’ve no time to lose.’

  James Drew walked briskly towards Marsh Farm, taking the track and not cutting across the fields of stubble where he would have been easily seen. He bent below a low hedge as he saw Jim leave the farmyard and close the gate behind him.

  Once Jim was well away from the area, Drew went across the yard and stepped in through the doorway to the smouldering ruins of the barn. There was little left: the still smoking, blackened shafts of the waggon and box cart, a pile of iron bands which had encircled the brandy casks and the metal blades of scythes and sickles, their wooden handles burnt away, but nothing else.

  ‘So what’s happened to Byrne?’ he muttered. ‘Jim said that he was here with Matthew and Rosa.’ His eyes narrowed. Had they caught him? Or had he escaped the law? Was he now on his way off the island? ‘Good riddance anyway.’ He heaved a sigh of relief that he might now be cleared of any misconduct. There was no evidence here to show that he had ever been involved with the Byrne brothers.

  ‘Best get back, then,’ he muttered and bent down and crumbled some of the still hot blackened wood between his fingers and rubbed it around his face, across his forehead and his cheeks, then he did the same on his breeches, leaving sooty marks.

  A brilliant fork of lightning made him blink and thunder crashed above him as he stepped back into the yard, and another downpour began. He made a dash for the granary and decided to wait a little longer before returning home.

  He’d waited about half an hour and was wondering whether or not to leave, as the rain showed no sign of abating. His clothes were soaking wet and he was beginning to feel a chill. Then he became suddenly alert. He thought he heard a sound coming from outside, not in the yard, much t
oo faint for that, but a definite noise, like a clunk of metal.

  He tentatively put his head outside the granary door. There was no-one there, but, yes, there it was again. He looked towards the direction of the sound and in the gloom of the grey dawn saw two figures with their backs to him walking alongside the dyke. One was carrying something beneath his arm, something which clunked, something like wood and metal banging together. ‘Spades,’ he breathed. ‘Why would anybody want to be carrying spades in this weather?’ Guns perhaps? he thought, if they were poachers or duck hunters, but there surely wouldn’t be any wildfowlers out in this rain, they wouldn’t be able to see their target, nor would the wildfowl be flying.

  He crept after them, curious to know who they were and what they were doing. ‘On my land,’ he muttered as the rain ran down his face. ‘They’ve no right to be here.’

  Then the two men stopped and had a short conversation. One shook his head, and the other, who he saw now was indeed carrying spades, briefly touched his companion on the shoulder, then turned away and strode off in the direction of the river. The remaining man turned his head. Drew recognized him and took in a short sharp breath. It was Byrne. John Byrne.

  As if there was some kind of sixth-sense communication between them, Byrne turned around and a lightning flash lit up the sky. ‘Drew!’ he shouted and his voice was lost in a crash of thunder. ‘We meet again.’

  Drew stared. Byrne seemed demoniacal, his face was black and his red hair spiky and dishevelled. Drew’s heart started to thud. He looked like a fiendish evil spirit depicting the horrors of hell. ‘Byrne?’ he faltered. ‘Is it you?’

  ‘It’s me, all right,’ and by his accent Drew knew that it was indeed him. ‘You didn’t think you’d seen the last of me, did you?’ He gave a screeching sound somewhere between a raucous laugh and a cry of pain.

  He stepped forward towards Drew, who took a step back. ‘No, Mr Drew. You’ll never be rid of me. We’ll be in hell together, you and I.’

  ‘No! No!’ Drew’s voice grew wild. ‘Not me. I go to church. I’ve committed some sins, I grant you that, but I’ll be forgiven when I die. I’ll be given salvation!’

  ‘What?’ Byrne laughed again and came nearer and Drew moved backwards. ‘After your sins? Fornication! Deceit! And who really killed Carlos? Not Jim.’ He shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.’

  Drew looked over Byrne’s shoulder. On the embankment a figure was waving his arms as if to catch their attention. He was also shouting something, but with the roar of the howling wind, the cracking of the thunder and the rain pelting down, he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then he saw him start to run. He raced down the embankment into the fields and along the track towards Stone Creek.

  Drew pointed. ‘Your brother,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He’s calling you.’

  Byrne smiled. ‘Oh, yes! And do you know what he’s saying? I know what he’s saying.’ He continued to stare at Drew and added before he could answer, ‘He’s telling me to hurry up before the land is flooded. Before the river breaks through and we’re all drowned.’

  Drew gasped. ‘The spades! You’ve broken through ’embankment!’

  ‘That’s right. And the dyke, and the ditches and the drainage channels. The sluice gates are open and the dams are broken. It’s amazing just how much digging two strong Irish labourers can do when they set their minds to it.’

  Drew looked round. The dyke was full, as were the ditches along the sides of the fields, which he’d noticed as he’d walked here earlier. He lifted his eyes again towards the river and saw the fast tidal flow of water gushing through the embankment, down into the lower land and towards them.

  ‘You devil,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll lose my sheep and cattle. ’Land’ll be waterlogged. I’ll not be able to plough!’

  ‘That’s right.’ Byrne nodded. ‘That’s what I’d planned. Well, I’ll be off! I’m so glad we met again, Mr Drew. I said to Seamus that what I wanted more than anything in this world was to see your land flooded. Perhaps the river will take it back! That’s where it came from, wasn’t it? From the bottom of the Humber.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Perhaps that’s where it really belongs, and you with it.’

  He turned away and bent his head against the onslaught of wind and rain. There was a sudden flash and the sky was lit by sheet lightning, illuminating the whole of the land. Drew saw the widening flow of water as, spilling over the already overflowing dyke, it rushed in their direction. ‘Look out!’ he shouted and turned to run, but Byrne kept on walking, his head bent to the ground.

  Drew turned again as he lumbered away and saw the rush of water knock Byrne into the flooded dyke. He made no attempt to save himself but simply threw up his arms as the waters of the dyke covered him.

  ‘He’s gone then,’ Drew panted, as heavy-footed, he rushed away. ‘He’ll not get out of that dyke. It’s too deep and too wide for anybody to save himself. I couldn’t have helped him. No chance of me getting him out, no matter how I tried.’ Already he was making up answers that he could give if he should be questioned.

  He looked back again. The rush of water was heading fast towards him. The tide was exceptionally high and the embankment, once weakened, would break through in other places, flooding not only Marsh Farm land but Home Farm land too, which was divided from it only by ditches and sparse hedges.

  He tried to run faster towards Home Farm house and safety, but his heart was beating rapidly and his breathing was laboured. Another burst of forked lightning and he blinked. Did he see someone in the distance? Was someone coming to rescue him? He shouted, but his voice came out weak and pitiful. Another flare, simultaneous with a clap of thunder, lit up the sky and yes, there was someone on horseback. Two people.

  He stopped and held his chest. He had such an excruciating pain. He turned around and saw the sweep of water behind him and knew he must get out of its path. He looked up. The man was dismounting. Drew put his hand to his head. The rain was running down his face, he could hardly see. Was he hallucinating? The young man looked so familiar, and the woman he was helping down in the long raincape and hood – why! It was Ellen!

  ‘Ellen!’ he called. ‘Ellen!’ No, how could it be? But yes! Of course. The man he was looking at was himself. He remembered such a time when he had ridden with Ellen behind him. He had laughed at her old raincape and promised her another when he had grown rich. She had been so lovely then, he had told her she deserved something better. ‘I’ll get you another coat, Ellen,’ he shouted. ‘I promise, I will this time.’ She ran towards him and put out her arms as if pleading with him. ‘I’ve been wicked, Ellen. So very wicked. Forgive me!’

  The water rushed behind him, knocking him off his feet and sweeping him along towards the dyke. His head went under as the waters claimed him for their own, and as he came up for the final time he called with his last gasping breath for absolution of his sins, not to God in heaven but to his long-suffering, compassionate wife. ‘Ellen! Forgive me for I know not what I do.’

  As the waters washed over him in a final baptism, and his lungs filled, he saw the women of the night smiling and beckoning to him. He saw his son Henry, drunk on smuggled brandy and dead from drowning, and remembered, with his last spasm of breath, that someone else shared his watery grave. Carlos! And he reached out to push the Spaniard away as his skeletal bones bumped against him.

  A lone figure stood for a moment on the high embankment with the tidal waters raging below him, and saw his brother swept away into the dyke that they had damaged. He knew that his brother could have saved himself, but had chosen not to. His face was blackened and ravaged by the fire and his hands were so badly burned that he knew that he would never have been able to face anyone or work again. Only a life of pain and disfigurement lay in front of him. Seamus crossed himself and turning towards Stone Creek he put his head down and walked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  MATTHEW HELPED ROSA down from the mare and saw that Fred was struggling to move a floc
k of sheep from a field of stubble but couldn’t control them. In the distance there were groups of men running towards them, farmers who had been alerted by Jim and who were attempting to move all the livestock to safety.

  Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, but not so loud and the sky seemed to be lighter, showing that the storm would soon be over. ‘Get those strays, Rosa,’ he urged, ‘they’re sheltering under yonder hedge. I’ll give Fred a hand.’

  Rosa set off to where the sheep were huddled together, her raincape billowing as the wind caught it. It was then that she saw Mr Drew. He was running as if the devil was after him, but it wasn’t the devil, it was a swell of river water rushing across the land. ‘Mr Drew!’ she screamed. ‘Watch out! Come this way! Away from the dyke.’

  Instinctively she ran towards him, her arms stretched out. ‘Mr Drew! This way!’

  He seemed to hear her for he stopped and looked up, and it was as if he was smiling at her and calling something. ‘Hurry,’ she shouted. ‘Hurry!’

  But it was too late, and she screamed for Matthew to come as the rushing waters swept James Drew off his feet and carried him towards the swollen dyke. ‘No,’ she cried, and thought of Henry and how the waters of the dyke had claimed him. ‘Not another Drew!’

  She splashed towards him, the water almost up to her knees, but now there was no division between field and dyke or ditch as the river poured in, covering the fields and tracks and footpaths and making a lake over James Drew’s land. The ground disappeared beneath her feet and she fell forward into deep water. ‘Matthew!’ she screamed. ‘Matthew! Help me!’