Different Tides

by Janet Woods

  The ship had just berthed and passengers came ashore. There was a small crowd of them, the rest of them destined for London. A couple appeared pushing two children across the gangplank before them. Mindful of the danger a small gap of water between quay and ship presented, a seaman stepped forward and lifted them across to solid ground. The couple joined them.

  The children were thin and pale, apart from bright fever patches on the girl’s cheeks. They clung together, shivering, though the morning was not cold, and looked around them, bewildered, as though they’d just woken.

  ‘Edward.’

  The boy’s pale blue eyes settled on Zachariah and there was no recognition in them. The man he was with took a grip on the boy’s shoulder and gazed sourly at Zachariah. ‘I expected to deliver them to the house.’

  The girl’s nose was running and she sniffed loudly.

  ‘I think Iris has a fever,’ Clementine whispered.

  Zachariah handed her an immaculate handkerchief. ‘Take this; you might need it.’

  ‘I’ll get them settled into the carriage and start out for home while you talk to the couple who were with them. Would you ask them if they’ve been in contact with any infectious diseases?’

  As they crossed to the children Iris began to cry. ‘I don’t want to go to the workhouse. We’ll be good.’ The woman grabbed her arm and shook her, hissing, ‘Be quiet, you little rat.’

  When the girl shrank towards her brother, anger ripped Clementine apart. She would have liked to slap the woman’s smug face, but she could only go as far as to intervene by pulling her hand away and thrusting the woman aside. ‘Leave the child alone.’

  ‘Who d’you think you’re talking to?’ she said.

  Hands going unbidden to her hips, Clementine looked the woman up and down. The woman’s face was pale and her mouth mean and tight. A quick glance told Clementine she might be big enough to bully children but she wasn’t too big for her to throw into the harbour if the need arose. ‘Enlighten me.’

  There was a soft chuckle from Zachariah, then he drawled, ‘Don’t start a brawl on the quayside, Miss Clemmie. It’s not ladylike.’ He stepped between them and said to the woman, ‘I’m the children’s legal guardian, Zachariah Fleet. I have papers with me to prove it. This young woman is the children’s governess.’ He nodded in Clementine’s direction. ‘Take my brother’s children to the carriage if you would. They’re shivering.’

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ Iris whimpered, and Zachariah instructed the coach driver to purchase some ginger ale from a vendor.

  This time the man detained Edward, and with a tight grip anchored him to the spot. ‘You’re not taking these youngsters until you’ve settled what you owe us,’ the man said. ‘They’ve been sick for the past couple of days so that will cost you extra … and I’ve got an account to be settled for your family’s burial. And then there’s money in IOUs to settle.’

  ‘I imagined there might be. I take it that you are Thomas Sheridan and this woman is your wife, Emily Sheridan.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, Mr Sheridan, there has been no suggestion that your accounts won’t be settled. I’ve just been through them with the agent, who received them yesterday in the Royal Mail packet.’

  The man and woman exchanged a glance, which wasn’t lost on Zachariah for his eyes narrowed and he said, ‘Come now, I’m a businessman. You surely didn’t expect me to hand over cash without question and proof of expenditure?’

  ‘There have been extra expenses since then.’

  ‘Of course there have,’ he said pleasantly, ‘and we shall discuss them. What’s wrong with the children? Have they been ill for long?’

  ‘A couple of days, and it’s just a cold in the head.’

  ‘Have they seen a doctor?’

  ‘There was no medical officer on board, and besides, it’s only just started. They do nothing but whine, and the girl tells lies, so don’t you believe a word they say. Gabe and Alice spoiled them when they needed to be disciplined.’

  ‘Your opinion of my brother and sister-in-law’s parenting is of no interest to me whatsoever. I’ll examine your more recent claims and we’ll settle up in the shipping office.’ Zachariah beckoned to the carriage driver. ‘Sort out which luggage belongs to us, Stephen. Mrs Sheridan will oblige you by helping, no doubt.’ He strode off towards the agent’s office, expecting the man to follow.

  When he didn’t, Stephen cracked his knuckles and stared at the man. ‘Let the bairn go, Tiger, else there will be ructions. I can guarantee you’ll come off the worse for offering me the encouragement.’

  The man did as he was told, but he offered Stephen a challenging stare, saying, ‘Don’t you brats move an inch while I’m sorting this out, else it’s the workhouse for you.’ He hurried after Zachariah.

  Clementine took Edward’s grubby little hand in hers and offered him a cup of ginger ale. ‘Come along, young man, drink this down and let’s get you both into the carriage while your luggage is being dealt with.’

  Edward dug his heels in and fear leapt into his eyes.

  ‘If we move he’ll beat Edward when they come back, and they’ll take us to the workhouse instead of Mama and Papa,’ Iris whispered.

  Stephen cracked his knuckles again. ‘I’ll throw Mr Sheridan into the harbour before he gets to you, young sir.’

  ‘And I’ll throw his wife in after him and a fish will bite off her nose,’ Clementine threatened.

  The woman hastily moved off towards the luggage.

  The giggle Iris gave turned into a cough as she nudged Edward and took the ginger ale. The pair of them gulped down the contents of the cups, which were then handed back to the vendor.

  Soon they were on their way. The children were quiet, and they huddled together. Iris’s eyelids began to droop. Clementine laid her down and was about to tuck a rug around her when Edward snatched it from her hands and covered Iris with it himself. The poor child was hardly out of infancy, yet he was doing his best to look after his sister.

  For a while Edward stared a challenge at her, but he was unsettled, and obviously unwell, and trying to fight off sleep in a swaying carriage became impossible. Eventually he gave in and sank into a corner. His eyes drifted shut. He grunted in a sleepy protest when she gently lowered him on to the seat and pulled a knee rug over him.

  ‘Poor lad, it’s quite safe to sleep now. Nobody will hurt you,’ she said, and she gently kissed his cheek.

  ‘Mama,’ he whispered, and she wondered if anyone had told them that their parents were dead – indeed, did they even know what the word dead meant?

  The children smelled peculiar, as if they hadn’t been bathed for some time. They would be a host to parasites too, she imagined.

  Her skin began to crawl and she felt the need to scratch.

  The poor little creatures were wearing thin shifts and very little else apart from scuffed boots and a rag around their shoulders. Tears filled her eyes. She sniffed back a sob, glad that nobody was there to observe her weakness.

  When they reached Martingale House the second coachman came from the stables and helped Stephen with the luggage: three trunks that were taken upstairs.

  ‘Mr Fleet wants them placed in Sir Gabriel’s room.’

  Zachariah didn’t sleep in the master bedroom, but in a room on the other side of the staircase and one floor below hers.

  There was a smaller trunk, securely locked, of the type that looked as though it might contain personal items, or firearms.

  ‘Where shall I put this one, Miss?’

  ‘With the other two, please, Stephen. I imagine it will contain personal items and Mr Fleet will open it at his leisure.’

  Polly arrived, her smile beaming over the children like sunshine. ‘Hello, my dears. Come along with me. We’ll soon get you settled.’

  Polly had anticipated the children’s needs. The pair dipped oatmeal biscuits into cups of creamy milk, still warm from the cow, and then gulped down the milk, leaving foamy moustac
hes along their upper lips.

  Though they were bewildered by everything going on around them they didn’t protest when their dirty clothing was removed and tossed aside.

  Polly chatted as she busied herself, giving angry little spurts of information like steam spouting from a kettle. ‘Look at those poor little motherless youngsters. Thank goodness they have Mr Fleet to take them in.’

  ‘There was nobody else, I understand.’

  ‘Bless the goodness of his heart, especially after what they did to him.’ She fell quiet for a moment. ‘Sir Gabriel had a temper on him sometimes. He liked having his own way, and he wasn’t quiet like his brother is. Mr Fleet is a kind man in his own way, and always polite. He’s a deep one, though. You can never tell what he’s thinking, and from what I’ve heard his family cast him out.’

  Although she shouldn’t encourage Polly to gossip, Clementine couldn’t help but ask, ‘Why?’

  Polly lowered her voice. ‘I heard that he was born a caulbearer, and because he was quiet and different, and was as clever as a cart-full of monkeys, they were scared that he had some sort of power over them.

  ‘What’s a caulbearer?’

  ‘Someone born with a veil of skin over the face, so they look as though they have no features. The midwife cut it away so he could take his first breath, though his mother and father wanted it to stay in place so he would suffocate. They never took to him, and eventually they sent him away to live with a relative, a church cleric who promised to drive the devil from him.’

  Poor Zachariah, no wonder he had nothing but scorn for the church. ‘That’s merely superstition, Polly.’

  ‘Could be, but why else did his parents cast him out?’

  She found herself leaping to Zachariah’s defense. ‘Because they were bad parents, that’s why.’

  ‘Everyone in the house knew he’d been born with a caul. We just weren’t allowed to mention it.’

  ‘And I’d rather you didn’t now, especially in front of the children.’

  Edward kept gazing around him, and Clementine sought to refresh his memory so he would develop a sense of belonging here. ‘This used to be your nursery when you were a baby. Polly looked after you then.’

  Her words brought no response from Edward.

  They were placed in a bath of warm water already prepared for them, then soaped until they were covered in lather and smelled faintly of lavender oil. Once rinsed off, Clementine examined them for lice, and was pleasantly surprised. She cracked the few adult fleas that scurried through the children’s hair seeking refuge. ‘I think they picked these up on the way over from the island, because I can’t see any eggs.’

  ‘Look at them bruises, poor little loves,’ Polly said.

  ‘You must remember they’ve been a long time on a ship.’ She looked at Edward and smiled. ‘Did you fall over on the moving deck much?’

  Edward hadn’t talked so far, except in his sleep. Now was no exception. He just stared at her.

  Iris gazed at the door, whispering, ‘Mr Sheridan said he’ll cut Edward’s tongue off and eat it if he talks.’

  ‘Mr Sheridan isn’t here.’

  ‘He’ll know, and he’ll come when it’s dark. He said so.’

  Edward clapped a hand over his mouth and gazed through terrified eyes at her.

  ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you here.’ She took his hand from his mouth and wrapped a towel around the boy before giving him a hug, though she measured a certain amount of resistance in him. She released him, inviting instead, ‘If you whisper in my ear, nobody can hear you but me. Tell me if you remember anything.’

  The boy put his mouth against her ear, but although he grunted and made some hesitant noises, no words came out.

  Clementine decided not to push him. ‘Don’t worry, Edward, I know your voice will come back without you even trying, and when we all least expect it to. It will be a wonderful surprise. I’m going to snip some of your hair off so it’s just below your ears. It’s nice hair, curly like your uncle’s.’

  ‘Is mine curly?’ Iris asked.

  ‘Not as curly as Edward’s, and yours isn’t as dark. It’s pretty though. It looks as though it’s been painted with sparkles of sunshine.’

  Looking pleased by that description, Iris came over to where Clementine was going about her task. ‘You’ve got spots,’ she told Edward, matter-of-factly, ‘and I’ve got some on my belly. They itch.’

  Polly said, ‘Goodness, look at those bruises and sores. Shall I go and ask Mrs Ogden for some salve, Miss Morris? She’s good at doctoring.’

  ‘The bruises will go away by themselves, though a little witch hazel might help them along. I think the children may be suffering from chicken pox. If so we must use something to soothe the itch, aloe perhaps.’

  ‘What’s your name, Miss?’ Iris asked.

  ‘Clementine.’

  The girl giggled. ‘Lemontime is a funny name.’

  ‘It certainly is. After you’ve eaten you can go to bed until the doctor has examined you.’

  ‘Will our mama and papa be there when we wake up?’ Iris blurted out, looking up at her with eyes as watchful as those of Zachariah. ‘Mrs Sheridan said they’d be waiting for us.’

  Edward looked towards the door and began to quiver, like a little dog eager for a walk.

  Curses on the Sheridans, Clementine thought. ‘When your uncle arrives home I’ll ask him to come and talk to you about that. He shouldn’t be too long.’

  Zachariah arrived home an hour later and Clementine went downstairs to intercept him. He’d just placed his hat and gloves on the hall table.

  ‘My apologies for being late. My business with the Sheridans turned out to be more complicated than I expected. You look serious. Are there problems with the children already?’

  ‘Several. The biggest one is that they haven’t been told their parents are dead, and expected them to be here waiting for them.’

  ‘I see … Did you enlighten them?’

  ‘I thought that particular duty should be yours, since you are their guardian.’

  The sigh he heaved was heavy. ‘Yes … of course it should be. I hadn’t considered that they might be unaware of the circumstances.’

  ‘Also, I believe they’ve been badly treated. Edward, in particular, is too frightened to speak. Iris is the more confident of the two.’ She described Edward’s reaction, and recounted what Iris had said. ‘Edward believes Mr Sheridan will come in the night and cut off his tongue and eat it if he talks – so he no longer talks, though he tried.’

  Zachariah sucked in a breath and his hands curled into loose fists.

  ‘Now who feels like starting a brawl?’ she said softly.

  ‘You’re right. The children are young and impressionable and they need someone to protect them. What else, Clementine? I can see you’re not done.’

  ‘The third problem is that both children seem to be suffering from an infectious disease. From the nature of the blisters I think it could be chicken pox rather than smallpox, and a mild dose at that. The symptoms are not too severe, but it’s best to make sure so I’ve sent for the doctor to come and examine them. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all; you must do what you think is in their best interest. Mr Bolton will take care of the accounts on my behalf. We shall also consult with the doctor about Edward’s lack of response. It may be that he just needs to grow used to us. I will speak to the children about their parents afterwards. They’ll be upset, I imagine.’

  ‘Yes … but small children are resilient, and they adjust to their situation fairly quickly. Whether they live in poverty or luxury, and especially when they’re sad, they’re needful of any kindness and affection that’s offered to them, even if they don’t respond as well as you expect them to.’

  ‘That’s something we’ve lacked in our own childhoods, so we should be experts in knowing what to provide. We shall have to make sure they have plenty of both. I’ll be kind to them and you can supply the affection.’ F
or a moment Zachariah’s eyes gazed into the distance, his vulnerability all too apparent as if he was trying to recall what affection and kindness felt like. Then his gaze shortened and his eyes slid towards her. His voice was unsure, salted with his imagined inadequacy to carry out such a task. ‘I’m not used to children and I can’t promise to be perfect, but I’ll do my best.’

  Clementine felt like hugging him, but doubted he would appreciate such a gesture from her.

  Four

  The doctor endorsed what Clementine had suspected.

  ‘It’s chicken pox. Use a soothing lotion, and try to prevent them scratching the scabs off when they form, else they’ll be left with scars.

  ‘As for the other business … there’s nothing physically wrong with the boy’s tongue or mouth that I can see, and no reason why he shouldn’t talk in time. Give him plenty of activities to keep him occupied, both mental and physical. Encourage him by singing around him, and he may join in. Singing does wonders for children with speech impediments. I also advise you to keep to a routine. It will build him up and give him confidence.’

  But first the children had to learn that they were orphans. And judging from Zachariah’s face he wasn’t looking forward to telling them. ‘I’ll fetch the picture of my brother and his wife and we’ll go up together,’ he said.

  When they got to the nursery he propped the painting against the table with the back towards them and cleared his throat when the children gazed expectantly at him. ‘There’s something I must tell you, and I can’t express how sorry I am that it’s necessary. Your mother and father won’t be returning home again. They have lost their lives in an accident.’

  Edward stared at him.

  ‘I thought I lost a doll once, but Edward had hidden it and I found it again,’ Iris said.

  ‘It’s not that sort of lost, Iris dear. Your parents are dead … I’m afraid.’

  ‘What does dead mean?’

  Zachariah gazed an appeal at her.

  ‘They’ve gone to be angels in heaven,’ Clementine said.