The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  For a long moment, in which Lizzie’s hope plunged into despair, her father stared at her, his face expressionless. Then slowly, as if the action, so long unused, was rusty, he opened his arms wide to her.

  With a sob of thankfulness, Lizzie ran into them to be enveloped in the safe embrace of his strong and loving arms.

  Later, in the tiny cabin, they talked. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be back here,’ she murmured, her glance roaming lovingly around the confined space, the polished cupboards, the tiny stove where she had cooked so many meals for her father and Uncle Duggie, the bed where she knew she had been born. ‘I’ve missed it all so much.’

  Already, Dan was able to tease her gently as they sat together on the bench seat, holding hands, almost like reunited lovers. ‘All that grand living and you hankered for this?’

  She nodded and pressed her lips together hard to try to stop the tears that welled in her eyes. But they spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Dan reached over and, with a callused hand that was surprisingly gentle, he brushed them away. ‘Don’t Lizzie, love. Don’t cry. You’re safe home, now. No more need for tears.’

  ‘But I hurt you so. I hurt everyone. Gran and Grandpa. And . . . and Tolly.’ Now the sobs shook her and she buried her face against his chest. ‘I can’t ever tell him, Dad, how sorry I am. How wrong I was.’

  ‘Ah.’ She felt the breath sigh from her father’s chest as he said softly, ‘Ah, Tolly, is it?’

  It was all he said and all he needed to say, for they both knew what lay behind that simple statement without another word being spoken.

  He held her close whilst she cried out her sorrow and then, when she sat up slowly and dried her eyes, he asked gently, ‘What about Lawrence?’

  It was the first time he had spoken his name in gentleness.

  ‘He’s gone back to Scampton. He’s . . . he’s involved in some sort of special training. I don’t know what. He . . . he couldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Of course he couldn’t, love.’

  ‘He . . . he knows I’ve come home. He knows it’s over.’

  Her father nodded. ‘Poor lad.’

  Lizzie’s eyes widened as she stared at him. ‘You . . . you feel sorry for him? For Lawrence? But . . . but I thought you hated him.’

  Her father sighed heavily, releasing a lifetime of bitterness. ‘No, I don’t hate the lad. He can’t help being his father’s son.’

  ‘What is it about his father that you . . .?’ she began, but Dan patted her hand and said, ‘Not now, Lizzie love. Maybe one day, I’ll tell you it all. But not now. Now, I just want to enjoy you being back with me.’ He put his arm about her again. ‘For good, is it, Lizzie?’ he asked softly.

  She nodded and then, closing her eyes, she laid her head against his shoulder. The question could rest for now. There would always be another time to ask. She was home where she belonged.

  ‘Now listen, Mam,’ Dan began the moment he stepped over the threshold of Bessie’s home, with Lizzie hovering uncertainly on the doorstep, nervous even to enter the house that had once been as much of a home to her as had the ship. ‘Before you start, just let me have me say first, for once, will you? Me and Lizzie have sorted everything out between us.’ He put his arm out and drew her in. ‘She’s sorry for what’s happened. And she’s home to stay and . . .’ As Bessie opened her mouth, Dan held up his hand. ‘That’s all there is to be said.’

  Bert had come to stand behind Bessie. He slipped his arms halfway around her ample waist – it was as far as they could reach – and peered around her shoulder. He was grinning happily. ‘Bessie, my angel, isn’t that just the most wonderful news? Come away in, Dan. You, too, love. Come and give your old grandpa a kiss.’

  ‘Now just you wait a minute, Bert Ruddick . . .’ Bessie twisted herself round in his embrace. ‘I’m not having her—’

  ‘Bessie, my angel, light of my life . . .’ He reached up and kissed her full on the mouth. ‘You have the loveliest mouth, but it don’t half run away with itself – just now and again.’ He lowered his voice, trying to hide what he was saying, but Lizzie’s sharp ears caught the gist of his whispering. ‘The lass is sorry . . . we don’t know what’s happened . . . taken a lot of courage to come back . . . just be thankful . . .’

  There was a moment’s silence before Bessie gave a shriek of laughter and clasped Bert to her, burying his face in the softness of her bosom. ‘You’re a good man, Bert Ruddick. The best. The very best.’ Then she turned and held her arms wide to embrace Lizzie, the tears coursing down her plump cheeks.

  It was on Bert’s wireless that they all heard the news bulletin later that same week. The modulated tones of the announcer told them that a squadron of Lancaster bombers, flying at a very low level, had attacked the dams in the Rhur valley. Devastating flooding had been caused to the industrial region and the mission had been hailed as a great success, one that could possibly turn the tide of the war.

  ‘Nine of our Lancasters are missing,’ the announcer concluded in solemn tones.

  Lizzie gasped and turned white, but she could not speak, not even when all her family turned to look at her.

  Without waiting for the news that would surely follow in a few days’ time, Lizzie knew, instinctively, that Lawrence would not be coming back.

  It was Edwina who brought the official news to Waterman’s Yard. She stood hesitantly on the doorstep, unsure of her welcome. The last time she had visited her old friend had been to offer comfort on the news of Duggie’s death. Edwina had not come again to the Yard, but now, further tragic news had brought her unwillingly to Bessie’s door once more.

  But now Bessie drew her inside and hugged her. Any constraint between them fell away. ‘We can guess why you’ve come, Miss Edwina,’ Lizzie heard her say. ‘Lizzie’s in a right state, blaming herself.’

  Lizzie looked up as they came into the kitchen. Edwina came straight to her, holding out her hands to take Lizzie’s. ‘You know, don’t you, my dear?’

  Lizzie, unable to speak, nodded.

  ‘His plane went down over the target. It . . . it blew up. There was not the slightest chance of any survivors. I am so sorry.’

  Shaking, Lizzie clung to Edwina’s hands. ‘I feel . . . so guilty. I should have carried on the pretence. I tried. I tried so hard, but he knew. He guessed. I . . . I feel as if I sent him to his death.’

  ‘You mustn’t think like that,’ Edwina tried to reassure her. ‘You probably gave him more happiness in these last few months than you will ever know.’ Tenderly, she stroked a tendril of hair back from Lizzie’s face and said, very quietly with a world of regret in her voice, ‘It’s more than I did for my man before he went away to war.’

  ‘He wanted a child,’ Lizzie sobbed. ‘Lawrence so much wanted to . . . to leave a son to carry on, if the worst happened. I haven’t even been able to do that for him.’ She raised her face to look into Edwina’s. ‘I would have done, if I could.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Edwina put her arm around the girl and held her close. ‘But it’s over now,’ she said, unwittingly echoing Lawrence’s own poignant words. ‘And now you must go on with your life, but before you do, can I ask just one more thing of you, Lizzie?’

  ‘Of course. Anything.’

  ‘Randolph is arranging a memorial service in the parish church. Will you attend as Lawrence’s widow?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘His father won’t want me there.’

  ‘Oh, but he does,’ Edwina said, surprising both Lizzie and the listening Bessie. ‘It was Randolph who wanted me specifically to ask you to come.’

  Fifty-Eight

  There were fewer mourners at the memorial service than had been expected. Family members and local dignitaries, who attended out of duty only, made up the congregation. Once, the church might have been packed with the townsfolk paying their respects to a member of the unofficial squire’s family, but Randolph was not liked and Lawrence hardly known. A few ladies from the committees upon which Celia served attended and only on
e person represented the river folk: Lizzie.

  At the end of the service, Lizzie made her farewells to Edwina, who had sat with her throughout, but as she walked away down the long path to the gate, she heard a man’s voice calling her name. ‘Lizzie. Lizzie, a moment, if you please.’

  With surprise, she turned to see Randolph Marsh following her. She stopped and turned to wait for him.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, taking her arm and urging her further down the path away from the small gathering outside the church door. ‘You no doubt know that you will receive Lawrence’s airforce pension, but . . .’

  ‘I don’t want his money,’ her voice was shrill. ‘That’s not why I married him. I want nothing from you. Nothing.’

  She could tell that he was fighting to hold on to his patience. ‘Now, my dear, don’t be so hasty. You are entitled to it and I certainly have no objection to make. What I wanted to ask you, my dear, was . . .’

  Lizzie ground her teeth together, wishing he would stop calling her ‘my dear’, for there was not an ounce of affection in the endearment. But she said nothing as his next words shocked her. ‘I don’t suppose, by any miraculous chance, you could be pregnant?’

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide with amazement. The audacity of the man, she thought. What an unfeeling, hard bastard Randolph Marsh was. Everything she had ever heard about him was true. Here he was at his own son’s memorial service, and all he was concerned about was, was there any possibility of an heir for his family’s fortune?

  Lizzie’s mouth was tight as she said shortly, ‘No, I’m not.’

  She pulled her arm free of his grasp and marched away from him, glad to be leaving the Marsh family for good.

  ‘Oh Dad, Gran’s waiting on the wharf again.’ Lizzie turned towards her father standing at the wheel guiding the ship towards its mooring. ‘Something must have happened. She only ever comes now when there’s trouble.’

  Lizzie had slipped back into her former life as if she had never been away. Her brief marriage to Lawrence Marsh was now never spoken of and the affection between herself and her father was, if that were possible, even stronger than before. As for Lizzie herself, she was as happy as it was possible for her to be, but deep inside she carried a heavy burden of regret. She felt such guilt that she had not been able to love Lawrence, as she should have done. She could not forgive herself for having hurt him. And worse still, when she realized at last where her true feelings lay, it was too late. Tolly was gone. She would never be able to make up her quarrel with him, not properly. Even though, that last time, they had parted on better terms, there was still so much that had been left unsaid. There was so much she wanted to tell him. And now she would never be able to. She would never be able to tell him how much she really loved him.

  Lizzie and her father exchanged a troubled look as the vessel drew nearer to the wharf. Bert had been a little under the weather two days ago when they had left and the same thought was obviously in both their minds. Had something happened to him?

  But as the ship drew nearer and Lizzie leant over the side, she could see that although her grandmother’s face was anxious, she did not look devastated, as she no doubt would have done if something had happened to her beloved husband.

  Lizzie was the first off the ship and running towards her. ‘What is it, Gran? What’s happened?’

  Without the usual greeting, Bessie nodded her head beyond Lizzie towards Dan. ‘It’s yar dad I have to talk to, lass. Not you.’

  ‘Just tell me, Gran, it’s not Grandpa, is it?’

  A brief smile chased away some of the anxiety on Bessie’s face. ‘No, lass. Your grandpa’s fine. Better than he was.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Lizzie breathed. ‘Then, what is it?’

  Doggedly, Bessie said, ‘You’ll know soon enough, but your dad has a right to know first.’

  Several minutes passed before Dan was able to step ashore. Lizzie could hardly contain her impatience and then, to her disappointment, as her father came towards them, Bessie waved her away. ‘Just let me tell yar dad, there’s a good lass.’

  She opened her mouth to protest, but seeing the look on her grandmother’s face, she turned away and walked to the far end of the wharf. She watched them converse, although it was Bessie who was doing all the talking. Dan was just listening, staring down at his mother in disbelief.

  ‘Whatever can it be?’ Lizzie muttered to herself, standing first on one foot and then on the other.

  She saw her father nod, say a few brief words and then her grandmother turned and, leaning heavily on the walking stick she now used, made her painful way from the wharf and towards her home.

  Dan came towards Lizzie and stopped in front of her.

  ‘What is it, Dad? What’s happened?’ She could guess nothing from his face, for his expression was a strange mixture of shock and disbelief.

  His words came at last, halting and disjointed. ‘She’s come back. She’s at your gran’s house. She’s very ill. She . . . she . . .’

  Lizzie took hold of his hand. ‘Who, Dad? Who’s come back.’

  For a long moment, unable to believe it himself, Dan stared at her. Then, his voice breaking with emotion, he said, ‘Mary Ann. Your mother. She’s come back.’

  Lizzie felt as if her legs were going to give way beneath her, but whether from shock or relief that her mother was alive – and therefore the dark secret she had always dreaded had been entirely unfounded – she did not know.

  ‘Where has she been all these years?’

  Her father was looking down at her strangely now. ‘You mean, you don’t know, Lizzie?’

  Lizzie shook her head and now, for the first time, she could whisper, ‘I thought she might be dead. That night . . .’ The question she had so desperately wanted to ask for so long, and yet had not dared, could now be voiced. ‘I thought she’d drowned.’

  ‘What?’ His tone was scandalized. For a moment Dan closed his eyes and then groaned aloud. ‘Oh, my dear girl, I never realized. Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I should have explained it to you. But at the time, you were so young and then, well, I couldn’t bear to speak her name. I just wanted to blot it all out, to forget it. To forget her.’

  But he hadn’t been able to. Lizzie knew that. The haunted look in his eyes that had always been there told her so.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said now. It wasn’t, but it was all she could say. She couldn’t add to this poor man’s burden any more. He was already suffering. He had suffered for years because of that night, and now . . . What now? Lizzie thought. Aloud, she said, ‘So, where did she go?’

  ‘She’s been living in a little cottage just the other side of Raven’s Wood.’

  Lizzie gasped, understanding, at last, why there had been such anger when her father had learnt that that was where she had been meeting Lawrence. As if reading her thoughts, Dan smiled wryly. ‘Yes, when you started meeting Lawrence there, I was always afraid you’d find out where she was.’

  ‘But why – I mean, why was she living there?’

  ‘Can’t you guess?’

  Mystified, Lizzie said, ‘Not really. Unless she became tired of living on the ship and wanted a little house of her own.’

  Dan sighed so heavily that she felt the waft of his breath on her face. ‘If only that had been the case.’ The hurt of years was in his tone as he added, ‘No, your mother left me to go to her lover. She’s been a kept woman, his mistress, hidden away near the woods all these years. All I can presume is that he no longer wants her now. So, she’s come back.’

  ‘Her . . . her lover?’ Lizzie began, and then it all fell swiftly into place. It was suddenly so blindingly obvious, that Lizzie was astounded at her own naïvety.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she breathed and, not usually given to blasphemy, her father understood the depth of her shock. ‘It was Randolph Marsh, wasn’t it?’

  Her father nodded and then added, his voice deep with emotion now, ‘And that’s not all. Your gran says she’s expecting a child.
’

  Fifty-Nine

  ‘You’ve told her?’ was Bessie’s greeting as Lizzie and her father stepped into the house.

  Dan nodded. Then his voice was husky as he asked, ‘Where is she?’

  Bessie gestured with a slight movement of her head. ‘Front room. I’ve had to rig up a bed in there for her. She’s in a bad state.’ There were tears in Bessie’s eyes as she added, ‘I couldn’t send her away, Dan.’

  The big man reached out and touched his mother’s wrinkled hand. ‘Of course you couldn’t, Mam. I . . . I wouldn’t have wanted you to.’

  Woodenly, he moved towards the door leading into the front room. Big and strong as he was, Dan looked suddenly so vulnerable and afraid. Impulsively, Lizzie followed him, caught hold of his hand and smiled up at him. ‘Do you want to go in on your own or shall I come in with you?’

  He looked down at her and she felt his hold on her hand tighten. ‘Come with me, Lizzie. Please,’ he said hoarsely and, together, they went into the room.

  Lizzie would not have recognized the woman lying in the bed. Apart from the bulge beneath the bedcovers that pronounced her pregnancy, she was thin to the point of emaciation. Her cheeks were hollowed, her eyes bulging from their sockets, and her hair hung, lank and unkempt, about her shoulders. Her face was an unhealthy pallor, devoid of any colour.

  ‘Oh Dan!’ Her voice was weak, little more than a whisper. Then her gaze came to rest on Lizzie. ‘And Lizzie.’

  With what appeared to be a great effort, she lifted her arm from the bed and reached out with trembling, skeletal fingers.

  ‘There isn’t long. Dan, please, will you forgive me? Please say you forgive me. I couldn’t bear to go without making my peace with you.’

  Dan moved suddenly, dragging Lizzie with him as he went towards the bed, his other hand outstretched to take Mary Ann’s. ‘My dear, don’t say anything. You’re home now and we’re going to take care of you.’