A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  Fishing smacks and tugboats were heading towards Hull; some coal barges and larger ships were steaming in the direction of the estuary mouth and the open sea. Some, he thought, were cargo boats but there were also two-masted schooners with their sharply pointed bows, and one graceful tall ship with three masts and billowing sails like the ones he’d seen on the Thames. Others were smaller and sailing towards the far end of Paull, and he wondered if these were the shrimp boats that the Paull fishermen used. Then he saw another boat in the middle of the river heading towards the slipway and he ran swiftly down the village street to the shop so that he might see it close up on his way back.

  There was no one else in the shop and he asked for a bag of sugar for Mrs Peggy Robinson please, and the shopkeeper weighed it and bagged it, took the money and gave him change. He touched his cap and thanked her and wished her good day and she gave him a wide smile.

  He ran back again towards the slipway. The boat had lowered its sails and he noticed a foreign name on the side of it; a man on board was reaching out to hand a parcel to another man, who was standing on the slipway with his back to Robin and his boots almost in the water.

  As he paused to see how the sails would be hoisted, the man on shore turned round and saw him. ‘Hey,’ he shouted. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  Startled, Robin turned his gaze to him. ‘I’m – I’m watching to see how the sails are raised.’

  The man strode towards him. ‘Come here.’ He indicated brusquely with his hand and Robin moved closer. The next second he yelped as the man clipped him on the ear and then grabbed his earlobe between a rough and cold finger and thumb.

  ‘Ow,’ Robin yelled. ‘That hurts.’

  ‘Aye, it was meant to.’ The lobe was pinched again and he felt something sharp before he was let go. ‘Who are you and why you hanging around here?’ A fist was shaken in his face and he stepped back.

  ‘I – I’m not!’ His ear was stinging and his eyes smarting from the pain of it. ‘I was – just watching the boat.’

  A florid face beneath a peaked cap was pushed close to his. The eyes were mean and the lips narrow. ‘You’re up to no good. Who are you? You’re not from round here!’

  ‘I’m – Robin Jackson, sir, and I’m staying with Mr and Mrs Robinson.’

  ‘Aaron Robinson, do you mean? Them with a houseful of brats?’

  He nodded and saw no reason to tell him that the children were not living there as from today.

  ‘Go on, clear off then, and don’t let me see you down here again. Do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Robin started to back away, and when the man raised his stick to him he turned and fled.

  Peggy glanced up at the clock as Robin flew in the door and stood with his back leaning against it, breathing hard. ‘There was no need to break your neck,’ she said. ‘I onny wanted you to be back afore dark.’

  Robin breathed out and went to put the bag of sugar on the table, then sat down on the bench.

  ‘What’s up?’ she said, and took his cap off. ‘You’re bleeding; did you catch on a branch or something?’

  Robin flinched as she touched his ear and he shook his head. ‘No,’ he muttered, and wondered whether or not to say anything else, but a tell-tale tear slid down his cheek.

  ‘What happened?’ She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together.

  ‘A man,’ he croaked. ‘He was standing on the slipway and I only looked at a sailboat as I was passing to watch how the seaman would raise the sails, and I think he must have thought I was watching him but I wasn’t, I was watching the man in the boat.’

  ‘And what did he do?’

  ‘The man on shore told me to come to him and when I did he hit me across the head and grabbed my ear.’ Tenderly he touched his ear and realized it was sticky. ‘He must have nipped me with his nail. It hurt,’ he said tearfully. ‘And I wasn’t doing anything, honest, and I barely stopped because I’d promised. I was only looking as I went past. The seaman on the boat was handing him a parcel.’

  ‘Was he now? Well, first things first. I’m going to bathe your ear with some warm water and then put some antiseptic on it in case his nails weren’t clean.’

  She went to the cupboard and brought out a tin, then filled a bowl with warm water from the kettle. ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He put his face right into mine and said I wasn’t from round here and that I was up to no good. He had little piggy eyes and hardly any lips. He was wearing a cap with a peak, like the one that Aaron wears when he goes fishing. Oh, and he had a stick which he shook at me; and he knows Aaron because I told him I was staying with Mr and Mrs Robinson and he said did I mean Aaron Robinson.’

  He decided that he wouldn’t mention what the man had said about the houseful of brats because he didn’t think it was a very nice thing to tell her. ‘He wasn’t a very nice man and I wouldn’t like to meet him again,’ he said. ‘Can you think of who he might be, Granny Peg?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, carefully cleaning his earlobe with a damp flannel to wipe the blood away. ‘I certainly can, and rest assured he’ll be getting a visit from me in ’morning if he doesn’t get one from Aaron tonight. Now, this might sting a bit, but I know you’ll be brave.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Aaron pushed open the squeaking gate, which set the dog in the kennel barking, strode to the cottage door and hammered it with his fist.

  As expected, for Davis Deakin never answered the door himself, Mrs Deakin called through it in a quavering voice. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Aaron Robinson. I need a word with your husband.’

  ‘He – he’s not in.’

  ‘I think he is. Tell him to come to ’door or I’m going to ’Hedon cop shop to mek a charge against him.’

  There was a whispering and scuffling inside and then a bolt was drawn back and a key turned and the door opened a crack. ‘What!’

  ‘Open ’door, Deakin. I’m not going to stand here and talk through a plank o’ wood.’

  Davis Deakin opened the door wider and then shouted at the dog, who was still barking. ‘Stop that row or you’ll feel my stick!’

  The barks stopped instantly and Aaron wondered how often the dog had felt the stick.

  ‘Easy to bully anybody, animal or child, isn’t it?’ he said, his voice curt with sarcasm. ‘Especially when you’ve got a weapon in your hand.’

  ‘What ’you talking about?’

  ‘You know what I’m talking about, but I’ll remind you if your memory’s amiss. You assaulted a child in my care, hit him on his head, made him bleed and threatened him wi’ that stick you’re holding on to right now. Perhaps you’d like to step outside instead of hiding behind ’door and your wife and try it on wi’ me.’

  ‘I’ve got no grudge against you,’ Deakin muttered.

  ‘Not somebody your size, eh, onny young bairns and dogs? Well, come outside,’ Aaron persisted, ‘and let’s see just how brave you are. Oh, and mebbe leave your stick inside, eh? How about that?’

  Deakin grunted, pushed the heavy door curtain aside, leaned the stick against the door jamb and stepped out.

  ‘What’s this all about, then?’

  ‘It’s about my nephew that you met a couple of hours ago.’ Aaron decided that he would claim a further connection between himself and Robin, so that Deakin would realize the seriousness of the issue. ‘Not only did you threaten him, you assaulted him and drew blood.’

  ‘I never touched him,’ Deakin blustered. ‘I told him to clear off because he was up to no good hanging about near the estuary.’

  ‘He’d gone on an errand for my wife and happened to see a sailboat coming to shore. A shrimp boat was it, or …?’

  Aaron let the question hang and then grabbed Deakin by the scarf he wore round his neck. ‘If you so much as lay a finger on any bairn that belongs to me, or even any that doesn’t, you’ll find yourself in ’deep water of ’estuary. And then’ – he tightened his grip on the scarf – �
�and then I’ll go to ’cop shop in Hedon and I’ll drive very very slowly cos our hoss is very old, and by ’time they get back here to fish you out it might be too late.’ He shook him. ‘Do you hear me?’

  ‘Aye, aye, it were a mistake. I never meant to hurt the lad,’ Deakin snivelled, showing Aaron that he was the coward that he’d always thought he was. ‘I just accidentally—’

  ‘And another thing.’ Aaron hadn’t quite finished. ‘Do your dodgy business away from Paull. Don’t give our shrimpers a bad name with your nefarious activities. If they should find out that you’re up to summat, you might be even sorrier than you are now.’

  He gave him a shove away and Deakin turned for the door. ‘I don‘t know what you’re talking about,’ he muttered, and went inside. Aaron heard the bolt being drawn across and the key turn. He brushed his hands together as if to rid himself of any vestige of Davis Deakin.

  The dog cowered in the kennel as he went past, but didn’t bark. Aaron took a few strides towards the gate, then paused and turned back and bent down. He picked up the thick rope that bound the animal and spoke soothingly to him as he unfastened it. He set the dog free and threw the rope into the yard. The dog peered at him as he straightened up.

  ‘You can come if you want,’ Aaron offered. ‘It’s up to you.’ He turned and walked towards the gate, but instead of opening it he climbed over to avoid the creak giving notice of his departure. He watched the dog watching him and then walked away. Within a minute it had raced after him, jumping through the bars and following him down the track. He climbed the fence into Foggit’s field and crossed the new homestead of his son.

  ‘You came of your own accord, don’t forget,’ he told the dog as he headed for home. ‘And not a word about what happened tonight.’

  The dog trotted beside him and followed him over his own fence and into the yard.

  ‘We’re a dog missing, you see,’ Aaron went on. ‘Our Jack has tekken our other dog cos his bairns are used to him, but we’ll have to be sure that you don’t nip. Is that clear?’

  The dog looked up, and on reaching the door sat at the side of it.

  ‘You didn’t get into a fight wi’ Deakin, did you?’ Peggy asked when he went in and she helped him off with his coat.

  ‘Me! No, that’s not my way, you should know that, Peggy Robinson,’ he grinned. ‘Where’s young feller-me-lad?’

  ‘He’s taken some stuff upstairs; he’s desperate to have ’small front bedroom so that he can see ’estuary from ’window, but I think he’s rather scared that he’s caused trouble wi’ Deakin. He told me that Louisa said that all ’young bairns in ’village are frightened of him.’

  ‘They needn’t be,’ he said. ‘Not now he’s had a warning.’

  ‘Why, what did you tell him?’ Peggy stood anxiously with a thick cloth in her hand, ready to take something from the oven.

  ‘Oh, nowt much.’ Aaron parked himself in a chair by the fire. ‘Onny that I’d tip him into ’Humber if I should hear a whisper of his laying a finger on any other bairn. If anybody’s scared it’ll be him, especially if he thinks that ’other shrimpers might get to hear about what he’s been up to.’

  Robin slowly opened the door into the kitchen and looked cautiously at Aaron.

  ‘Ah!’ Aaron said. ‘I nearly forgot. Just open ’back door, will you, Robin? I left summat on doorstep. I hope it’s still there.’

  ‘It’s a dog,’ Robin called out as he opened the door. ‘Shall I let him in?’

  ‘We don’t have dogs in ’house,’ Peggy began, then as the dog came trotting towards the fire said, ‘That’s Deakin’s dog, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, I believe it is. He must have followed me.’ Aaron bent to fondle the dog’s ears. ‘We’ll let him out in ’morning and see if he wants to go home.’

  ‘What was that about?’ Mrs Deakin drew the door curtain tight. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Nothing much.’ Davis Deakin took his usual place by the fire. ‘The old gaffer was crewnting and complaining that I’d whopped one of his lads.’

  ‘They don’t have any lads, only little lassies.’

  ‘His nephew or some such.’ He cleared his throat and spat into the fire. ‘I don’t know, nor do I care. I ain’t afeared of him.’

  ‘Better watch out, though. I wouldn’t put it past him to get the police.’

  She was worried. He shouldn’t hit anybody else’s children. Bad enough to hit their own, and if the police came there could be trouble.

  ‘The dog’s quiet,’ she said.

  He didn’t answer, and reached for his pipe.

  Delia’s small amount of money was running out. The payment she had made for her lodgings would only last until the final week of January. She decided she would call on Mr Rogers at the theatre to ask if he definitely had a role for her once the pantomime was finished.

  ‘Oh, Miss Delamour,’ he said, when she dropped by after a matinee. ‘I was hoping that you might come in. Mr Dawson suggested that you might be interested in a proposal.’

  ‘Oh? What kind of proposal?’

  ‘Our leading lady, Cinderella, has been told that she must rest her voice as she has laryngitis. It’s a very long pantomime, as you know, and she has several numbers which are too taxing for her. She can manage the speaking parts but her voice isn’t strong enough to carry for the whole performance. It keeps breaking up. I really don’t know what to do, as it will be impossible to find another performer to take on the role at this late stage.’

  He looked exceedingly worried and she appreciated his dilemma, but she didn’t see how she could help. ‘I’ve never played in pantomime,’ she told him, ‘and I think that I’m too old for the part in any case.’

  She looked round as a swarm of children headed past her towards the auditorium.

  ‘Those are local children who are playing the village children,’ he explained.

  She laughed. ‘What, all of them?’

  ‘Yes, about fifty of them. That’s as many as we can accommodate on stage. Miss Delamour, would you be interested?’ He clasped his hands together. ‘Not to play the part, but to sing?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Cinderella – Miss Stannard, that is – would mouth the words and you would stand in the wings and sing. You have a good carrying voice. You would both have to rehearse, of course, so that it would appear that she was singing, but I’m sure it could be done. It was Mr Dawson’s idea and I thought it an excellent one.’

  Oh, bless him, she thought. He’s saved my life again.

  ‘We have many special effects,’ he went on. ‘Lighting, and mirrors, and we can darken the stage where appropriate so that the audience won’t guess that it isn’t Miss Stannard singing. What do you think?’

  ‘Well …’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose …’

  ‘And of course we would pay you the same rate as if you were top of the bill.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ She smiled. ‘It might be rather fun, and it would be something quite different for me. Would my name be in the programme?’

  He rubbed his fingers over his stubby beard. ‘I’m afraid the programme and posters are out already, of course, as the show is under way. Perhaps at the end of the final show we might introduce you … or perhaps offer you some kind of recompense?’

  She hesitated a second or two before saying, ‘Of course. I quite understand. It would be awkward for Miss Stannard, too. Yes, we’ll work something out between us, Mr Rogers. When would you like me to start?’

  He gazed at her, took a breath, and said, ‘Tonight?’

  When she agreed, he took her hand. ‘Miss Delamour. You’ve saved the show!’

  She went back to the lodging house immediately to change into something warm for rehearsal. Giles was just leaving for the theatre, and she thanked him profusely for his suggestion. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I was so worried about what to do next.’

  ‘I’ve seen it done before, when the main act had a terrible voice and they broug
ht someone else in to sing in her place. I don’t think the audience guessed, because they dimmed the lights and the leading lady did several little dances round the stage when she was supposed to be singing. He mentioned a fee, of course?’ he asked anxiously.

  She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Top of the bill rate, but no name in the programme; but Mr Rogers said he’d make some recompense for that and that’s fine. I don’t want to be known for pantomime.’

  ‘When your ship comes in, Miss Delamour,’ he teased, ‘you will take singing lessons and become known as a classical singer.’

  She took a breath. ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Get changed and I’ll wait and we’ll walk to the theatre together. And wear a warm scarf,’ he called after her. ‘We don’t want you ruining your voice and your fortune. It can be draughty standing in the wings.’

  All things considered, Delia thought, the first week had gone very well. Miss Stannard was young but experienced, having been on stage since she was a child, and she was more than happy to have someone sing for her if it meant she could continue in the role. As they rehearsed together she’d listened carefully to Delia, to the tone and pitch of her voice and the way in which she breathed or paused on some of the words of the songs, and she was then able to follow her, sometimes raising her clasped hands to her face over a poignant verse, or swaying and dancing around the stage when she was happy.

  There were distractions too, as Mr Rogers and Giles had said: lights were dimmed, or the comic lead somersaulted across the stage in an effort to cheer Cinderella during wistful verses.

  It was a very long pantomime and Delia was not needed the whole time, but inevitably, as she watched the children, she thought of Robin.