Not for the first time in her life, Bessie thanked the good Lord who had brought Bert Ruddick to her. As a young girl Bessie had been obliged to leave the river to go into service, yet she had always hankered to return to life afloat. Her marriage to Bert had put an end to those dreams, but her happy years with him had been worth the sacrifice. Although, Bessie chuckled to herself softly in the darkness, it wouldn’t do to tell him that too often.
One afternoon, Edwina accompanied Mary Ann home from school, stepping into Bessie’s kitchen and sitting down, completely at ease in surroundings that were very different to her own home.
She drew off her gloves and said, ‘I’m lending Mary Ann an embroidery frame. May we fix it to the edge of your table, Bessie?’
‘Of course you can.’
From her bag, Edwina took out a small circular frame with two rings of wood, which fitted over each other, the outer one with a tightening screw. She fitted the frame to the table by means of a clamp and then she stretched a piece of canvas over the smaller of the two rings and placed the larger one over it so that the material was trapped between the two and stretched tightly.
‘That leaves you free to work with both hands,’ she explained. Taking a blunt-ended embroidery needle, she threaded it with coloured silk and took a couple of running stitches through the fabric to secure it.
‘Now, Mary Ann, watch carefully. We call this cross-stitch or gros-point. You make a diagonal stitch like this and then you bring your needle back up through there and then down again through that tiny square, crossing over the first stitch you’ve just made,’ Edwina explained. ‘But all the top stitches must lie the same way, usually from the bottom left to the top right corner. See? Now you try.’
The young girl’s black hair, which Bessie had washed again earlier that day, was shining, tied back now from falling in unruly curls around her face. Her expression was one of rapt concentration as she followed the gentle guidance of the young woman sitting beside her. Edwina’s fair head bent close to the young girl’s and Bessie was pleased to see that the sombre black which Edwina had worn for more than a year following the deaths of her brother and her fiancé had now been replaced by a smart, close-fitting costume of deep purple. It was still too dark a colour for Bessie’s liking, but it was a start, she told herself. She liked to see Miss Edwina in royal blue, a vibrant colour that complemented her hair colouring and accentuated the colour of her eyes. But those eyes had not sparkled with joyous laughter for a long time now. Edwina was still the gentle, kind young woman she had always been, but the light had gone out of her eyes and out of her life.
Bessie sighed. So many lives lost in that dreadful war with scarcely a family untouched by its tragedy.
She fervently hoped that what they said was true, that it was the war to end all wars.
‘That’s very good, Mary Ann,’ Edwina was saying. ‘Come and see, Bessie, how neat Mary Ann’s stitches are.’
Bessie stood behind them, peering over to see the girl’s work. ‘They are,’ she said, unable to keep the surprise from her tone. ‘Have you done sewing before? Has your mam taught you?’
Mary Ann shook her head.
‘I reckon you’ve got a natural talent then, lass. What do you say, Miss Edwina?’
‘It’s a little early to say that, I think, but she’s certainly a fast learner.’ Edwina smiled. ‘At least, at sewing and embroidery.’
The girl looked up and her own smile transformed her face. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief and the dimples in her cheeks deepened. ‘I like doing this much better than horrid sums and reading stuffy books. And who’d I want to be writing to anyway? Only Dan.’ She giggled. ‘And the postman doesn’t deliver to his ship.’
Edwina laughed and, as she rose from her chair, she touched the girl’s hair in an affectionate gesture. ‘Well, as long as you promise me you will still try hard with your sums and your reading and writing, I’ll promise to teach you all I can about embroidery. How’s that, eh?’
The girl pulled a wry face, but then smiled. ‘All right, as long as you promise that I’ll be able to sew as good as you. I’ll be able to make an altar cloth like the one Auntie Bessie showed me in the church that you’d done, won’t I? I’ll be able to dedicate to all sailors like Dan?’
For a moment Edwina’s eyes were bright with tears. Bessie held her breath. The child had unwittingly touched a raw nerve.
During the time Mary Ann had been staying with them, Bessie had taken her into the parish church to see the beautiful altar frontal that Edwina had worked.
‘She did it after she lost her brother and the young man, Christopher, she was going to marry,’ Bessie had told Mary Ann as they stood admiring the beautiful purple brocade material with intricate embroidery worked in gold thread. ‘They were killed in the war and she presented it to the church in their memory.’
The girl had been silent as they walked down the long path from the church. As they crossed the road, Bessie had pointed and said, ‘And that’s where Miss Edwina’s family lives.’
The Hall was a large, timber-framed medieval manor house, the centre of which was the great hall, with wings of smaller chambers to the east and west. At one corner stood a brick tower with turrets and ramparts and arched leaded glass windows.
‘They reckon Henry the eighth once slept there.’
‘Who’s Henry the eighth?’
‘Ah well, now, you’d better ask Miss Edwina that, lass. All I know about him is that he had six wives.’
‘Six? All at once?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Bessie had scrabbled back in her mind, trying to recall her scant lessons in history. Failing to remember more, she took refuge in Edwina’s name again. ‘You ask Miss Edwina. She’ll know.’
Mary Ann had glanced back before the church disappeared from their view as they turned a corner. ‘I’d sooner she learnt me how to ’broider,’ Bessie had heard her murmur.
‘I’m sure she will if you ask her nicely.’
That was how it had started. Since that day Mary Ann’s only interest in her education had been centred solely on learning how to embroider. Bessie and Edwina contrived together to encourage the girl as much as they could and yet at the same time coax her to try harder at her other lessons.
Now, they moved away from Mary Ann, whose head bent over the frame and whose nimble fingers threaded the needle in and out of the canvas with amazing sureness.
‘I think you’re right, Bessie,’ Edwina said in a low voice as the two women moved into Bessie’s back scullery so that the girl should not overhear their conversation. ‘I think she could well have a natural talent. I noticed it the very first time I gave her some sewing to do at school.’ Edwina smiled. ‘It’s just a shame that her interest in writing and sums isn’t as great.’
‘Oh well, we can’t be good at everything. I’m not much good with sums mesen.’ Bessie smiled broadly. ‘I leave all that to Bert. He’s the clever one.’
‘Now come, Bessie, don’t belittle yourself. You’re a wonderful wife and mother. A marvellous homemaker and . . .’
‘Go on with you, Miss Edwina,’ Bessie laughed.
‘It’s not flattery, I assure you. Mary Ann could do a lot worse than follow your example.’
Bessie sighed. ‘Well, I’ll try to help the little lass as much as I can as long as they’re here, ’cos I’ve really taken to her. And so have Bert and the lads.’
‘She certainly seems to have taken to your Dan.’
Bessie laughed. ‘She idolizes him. Trots after him everywhere he goes when he’s home, given half a chance. And when he’s away, she brings his name into every conversation nearly.’
‘She talks about him a lot at school, too, and when I give her an essay to do, it’s always about Dan or this family.’ Edwina paused and then asked, ‘What did you mean just now when you said, “as long as they’re here”?’
Bessie shrugged. ‘It seems the Clark family move about a lot. They’ve been here a month now and acc
ording to what Mary Ann says that’s about the longest they’ve stayed anywhere recently. I had a run in with her dad when they first came and one or two since then, too.’ Bessie’s mouth tightened. ‘You know she’s in hospital, don’t you? Her mam?’
Edwina nodded. ‘How is she?’
Wryly, Bessie said, ‘Doesn’t seem too anxious to come home. And who can blame her? But when she does, he’d better watch out ’cos I’m not putting up with ’im knocking her about any longer. These walls . . .’ she jerked her thumb towards the wall between her own home and the Clarks’ house, ‘are pretty thin. I can hear everything that goes on, so I’ll be keeping me ear out for any more bumps and thumps.’
‘Do you get a chance to talk to Mrs Clark?’
Bessie shook her head. ‘I’ve talked to her more in the hospital than I do when she’s here. Keeps hersen shut away in the house. Only comes out now and again to go to the shops and then she scuttles in and out of the yard as fast as she can. Bert has a pint now and again in The Waterman’s . . . with him.’ Bessie’s voice was scathing as if she could not bring herself to give her neighbour even the common courtesy of using his name. ‘Mind you, I don’t hold with him being pals with the feller.’ Her shoulders lifted again as she added reflectively, ‘But maybe my Bert’s right in what he says.’
Edwina hid her smile and asked, ‘And what does your Bert say?’
‘That if we’re friendly with them, then maybe we can help all the more.’
‘I think he has a point,’ Edwina said softly. ‘It certainly means we – and I do mean “we”, Bessie – can help Mary Ann more.’
‘I’d like to try and help her mam, but I can’t get close to her. I have tried. I’ve been to visit her a couple of times in the hospital without Mary Ann and tried to talk to her, but she just clams up.’
‘I’m sure you’ve done your best,’ Edwina soothed.
‘I can’t be doing with these folks who shut themselves away. There’s another one across there.’ Bessie nodded towards the house in the corner of the yard. ‘Amy Hamilton. I know she’s suffered a terrible loss. But she’s not the only one.’ Bessie’s eyes softened and briefly she reached out and touched Edwina’s hand. ‘I wish she had more of your spirit, lass.’
The sadness in Edwina’s eyes deepened and there was a catch in her voice as she said softly, ‘To lose a husband and a son must be even harder than the loss I’ve had to bear. I know my own mother and Christopher’s mother too are devastated. It – it just seems such a tragic waste of young lives.’
Bessie was frowning. ‘From the bit I did glean from Elsie Clark, it’s something to do with the war that’s made her husband act the way he does.’
‘The men suffered some horrific experiences. Perhaps Mr Clark is to be pitied rather than blamed, Bessie.’
Bessie was not prepared to be quite so understanding. ‘Mebbe you’re right, Miss Edwina. Even so, I don’t reckon it gives him the right to knock his wife and bairn about, do you?’
In that Edwina had to agree. ‘No, Bessie, I don’t.’
Mary Ann was still sitting at the table late in the afternoon when Dan flung open the back door with a flourish and called, ‘Mam, Mam, you there? I’m home and I’ve brought Susan to see you.’
Bessie straightened up from the range oven where she had just placed a steak and kidney pie to cook for her family’s tea, but she had no time to move to meet her son and his young lady or even to call out a greeting, before Mary Ann gave a delighted shriek, dropped her needle and jumped up from her chair, knocking it backwards on to the floor in her haste. As Dan appeared in the doorway, Mary Ann flung herself at him so that the big man lifted her up into his arms and swung her round.
‘Hello, little ’un. My, you’re looking bonnie. That’s a pretty dress. It suits you.’
He set the girl on the floor and stood back to admire her. Mary Ann preened and twirled around in front of him, holding out the skirt of her yellow cotton dress like a dancer pirouetting before an appreciative audience.
‘Your mam got it for me from the market and Miss Edwina shortened it for me because it was too long.’
‘It looks very nice.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Very grown up.’
Nothing he could have said could have pleased her more, but as he stepped aside and drew the girl standing behind him forward, the smile on Mary Ann’s face faded.
‘This is Susan. We’re . . .’ The tall, good-looking young man seemed suddenly embarrassed. ‘We’re walking out together.’ He glanced towards his mother. ‘I talked to Susan’s father yesterday and he’s agreed we can see each other.’ He put his arm around Susan. ‘So now we’ve come to tell you.’
Bessie lumbered towards them, throwing her arms wide, trying to embrace them both at once. She let out such a bellow of laughter, it seemed to shake the walls. ‘That’s wonderful. You’re very welcome, love. Make yourself at home. You’ll stay and have tea with us, won’t you, ’cos my Bert’ll want to see you?’
As Bessie chattered on excitedly, she was uncomfortably aware that Mary Ann was standing very still and silent now, staring resentfully at the newcomer.
Ten
‘When’s the wedding, then?’ Duggie teased, as the Ruddick family sat around the table. The stranger in their midst blushed. She was not really a stranger, for she was the daughter of the owner of the ship on which Dan served as mate, but it was the first time she had visited their home as the girl Dan was courting.
‘Take no notice of him, love,’ Bessie said and lightly pinched her youngest son’s ear lobe. ‘You just behave yourself, our Duggie.’
But Dan only grinned. ‘Not for a while yet. Not until I’ve got me own ship.’
Duggie let out a guffaw. ‘Reckon you’ll be waiting a long time then, Susan.’
Ignoring him, Dan turned to her. ‘We could live aboard then. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?’
Susan’s blush deepened and she glanced up shyly. In a soft voice, she said, ‘Of course not. I was born aboard the Nerissa. It was only when my elder brother reached school age that we got a house on shore.’
Bessie beamed, but before she could open her mouth there came a chorus from all her family, who knew her so well that they could predict her words. ‘Eh, that’d be grand, our Dan. It’d be just like the old days.’
Bessie let out such a loud laugh that soon the whole family was convulsed. Even Susan, her shyness forgotten amidst such warmth, leant against Dan’s shoulder, laughing until the tears ran down her face.
The only person at the table not joining in the merriment was Mary Ann.
‘I hear your Dan’s courting, then?’
‘Aye, I thought you’d be first to know, Phyllis, but keep it to yasen for a day or two, will you? I haven’t even had chance to tell Min and Gladys, let alone Amy.’
Phyllis smiled. ‘My lips are sealed.’
Bessie cast her a wry glance and gave a grunt of disbelief as she thrust a peg firmly over Bert’s long johns on the washing line. Phyllis Horberry couldn’t keep a secret no matter what dire threats were made. A grapevine was nowhere in it, Bessie thought. Phyllis was more like a town crier when there was a choice bit of gossip going the rounds. Bessie sometimes wondered whether Phyllis herself didn’t sometimes start the rumours.
‘I reckon she sits up at night making it all up,’ Bessie had said to Bert on more than one occasion when Phyllis’s latest bit of tittle-tattle seemed particularly incredible.
On this occasion, however, Bessie could not, nor indeed had she any wish to, refute Phyllis’s statement.
Phyllis Horberry seemed to consider herself a little above the other inhabitants of Waterman’s Yard. She always dressed smartly and, as much as her purse would allow, tried to follow the fashion of the day. Her husband, Tom, was the local lamplighter and Phyllis worked in a draper’s shop in Pottergate. Neither of them had any connection with the river whereas both Minnie’s husband, Stan, and Gladys Merryweather’s Walter worked, like Bert Ruddick, as casual purchase-men
.
‘So when’s the wedding?’
‘Give ’em half a chance, Phyllis. They’ve only been walking out officially for a couple of days. You’ll have me with grandbairns before I can turn round.’
‘You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you, Bessie?’
Bessie’s expression softened. ‘Aye, I would.’
Phyllis nodded beyond Bessie’s shoulder. ‘Looks like you’ve got a ready made one already, the time she spends at your house.’
Bessie smiled. She had no need to turn round to see Mary Ann coming towards them.
‘Hello, love,’ Phyllis smiled. ‘How are you? How’s your mam? I haven’t seen her about lately. Is she poorly?’
Bessie hid her smile. It was by no means the first time she had witnessed Phyllis swinging into action. This was how she found out all her news. A barrage of questions so that her ‘victim’ felt obliged to answer.
Not so Mary Ann. The girl merely stared up at the woman, her thumb in her mouth, and said nothing.
‘Cat got ya tongue?’ Phyllis said, though not unkindly. ‘Well, I’ll have to be off. Can’t stand here chatting all day. See ya, Bessie.’
‘Bye, Phyllis. Now, love . . .’ she turned to Mary Ann. ‘You off to school then?’
Mary Ann said nothing but continued to stare, now at Bessie.
‘Off you go, then. Your mam’s coming home today but you can still come and see me when you get home tonight. I’ll be doing me ironing if this lot manages to get dry today.’ She pulled a comical face. ‘And I’ll be very pleased to be interrupted.’ Still there was no response from the girl. ‘You can stay to your tea with us if your mam doesn’t mind, although I ’spect she’d like to see you herself, wouldn’t she?’
Her brown gaze still steadily upon Bessie, Mary Ann asked, ‘Will she be there again? With Dan?’
‘Amy.’ Bessie banged on her neighbour’s door. ‘Amy, love, are you there?’
The door flew open. ‘There’s no rest for the wicked when you’re around, is there, Bessie?’
The River Folk Page 7