A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  She felt the boat move before she’d stowed the anchor so left it where it was beside Deakin and grabbed the oars ready to push away from the bank and the other vessels that were moored there. It wasn’t a very long or wide creek but it was still pitch dark, and there was nothing to identify where she was or what hazards if any were in front of her. She felt the bumps and knocks as they crashed into other boats.

  Then she felt the strength and power of the undertow beneath her and the boat began to pitch and roll; she knew she must keep her wits about her when she reached the estuary or she’d miss the jetty, which she must steer towards if she were to get out of the boat safely before the surge bore her away.

  The swell of the current caught them, swinging the boat in the direction of the Humber mouth, and she panicked as the oars were almost snatched from her grasp. She pulled hard towards the lee bank, peering into the darkness for signs of habitation and seeing none, and rode on, the wind at her back, until suddenly they were past the Pier House jetty and heading in the direction of the old pub and the landing stage.

  ‘Stop, stop, I must get off,’ she shouted in her terror as the swift tide took hold, too strong for her to fight, and she saw the white-painted building stand out in the darkness like a beacon as they were carried past it. ‘No. No! I must get off,’ but the oars were useless against the spate and she felt the vessel being pulled towards the middle of the estuary and the shipping lane.

  ‘This is all your fault, Deakin,’ she screamed. ‘This is your fault, not mine, and I should never have agreed to come with you,’ forgetting completely that for reasons of her own she too had had to get away from her home haven so many years ago – a time which for some reason seemed like only yesterday.

  ‘Mebbe when we get near Cherry Cobb Sands we’ll get stuck on the marsh land, or mebbe at Keyingham, or Sunk Island; lots of sandbanks there.’ She was babbling, she’d heard of these places but had never been, but fear was making her desperate as she abandoned the oars and lay down in the prow of the boat; she saw the tall white lighthouse as they passed and then sat up as she saw flames lighting up the night sky just beyond it.

  The surge was getting stronger and the boat rocked and dipped and waves washed over it and she had nothing to bail with but her bare hands; then suddenly there was light and she turned and saw lights behind her. What’s this? She was confused. Navigational lights? Were they on ship or shore? They were getting brighter, coming closer. A ship. Or a barge. She stood up and waved her arms.

  ‘Help!’ she shouted. ‘Can’t you see us? Help! Don’t run us down!’

  The barge, laden with timber or coal, came bearing down and the crew, oblivious of the unlit sailing boat in its path, didn’t even feel the bump as it hit the stern, tossing the standing woman into the water and carrying the vessel and its single silent passenger further downriver until they too were flung out of its path to continue a lone journey through the estuary’s yawning mouth to the open sea.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Jack woke during the early hours. Some noise had disturbed him, the wind mebbe; it had been getting up strong and gusty when he’d gone to bed. He turned over and nuzzled closer to Susan; she’d been nicer since they’d moved to Foggit’s farm, not as prickly or short-tempered, and seemed to be happier in her own place. No longer did she refuse his loving embraces as sometimes she used to do.

  It wasn’t time to get up, so what had wakened him? Then he heard a quiet tapping on the door; he lifted his head. ‘Who is it?’

  Louisa pushed the door open. ‘Da,’ she whispered. ‘I’m frightened. I can smell smoke.’

  He was out of bed in an instant. She was right. ‘Get into bed with your ma, I’ll go and look.’

  ‘I’ll go back to mine. Molly’s in with me, she might wake up and be upset. The sky’s red from my window,’ she told him. ‘I think it’s next door. Mr Deakin’s place.’

  Jack rushed into Louisa’s room, though trying not to waken Molly who had stayed the night; sometimes she did, wanting to be with her sisters, other nights she stayed with her grandparents. Louisa’s window overlooked the land behind them, not the estuary; he looked out and took in a sudden breath. There were flames shooting up into the sky, not from the Deakins’ cottage but from the building beyond it, the barn, was it? He couldn’t recall if the barn was attached to the house or if it stood separate. Callers were not encouraged, and rarely did anyone venture beyond the gate.

  He dashed back into their bedroom and began to put on his breeches and jumper. Susan was awake and sitting up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A fire next door, at ’Deakins’. I’ll go and tek a look, mek sure they’re both all right and nobody’s hurt, and then rouse Da. No need for you to get up. It’s not going to reach here. I’ll come back if there’s any fear o’ that.’

  He ran down the stairs and shrugged into his coat and pulled on rubber boots, then unlocked the door and scooted out into the night. The acrid smell of fire was stronger now, old timbers and straw, he thought, but something else as well, something sweeter. Baccy, he thought, like the one his father and other fishermen favoured; not something he had ever indulged in, though he’d tried it when he was a lad.

  He ran across his own land and jumped the fence, crossed the track between the two properties and climbed the other fence too; he could see and feel the heat of the fire now and it was the barn that was well alight, but there was no movement from the cottage which was odd, he thought, as the roar of the flames fanned by the wind was thunderous; perhaps they thought it was just the storm gathering above them, but they should have been able to smell the smoke.

  He hammered on the cottage door and shouted; the downstairs curtains were tightly closed. He looked up and saw that the bedroom curtains were not drawn. He hammered again and then went towards the barn.

  The building was not attached to the cottage so there was no immediate danger unless the sparks spread; the barn walls were a mixture of brick, stone and boulders, like the cottage, and whatever was inside was burning ferociously, flames licking around whatever was stored in there. Then came an almighty crash that made him flinch as the roof timbers gave way and deposited roof tiles and debris in a great heap on the ground.

  ‘Too late to save owt in there,’ he muttered, and wondered again about the sweet aroma, and ran back again to hammer on the cottage door.

  He heard someone shout his name and looked back. His father was coming through the gate. ‘Is anybody hurt?’ he called.

  ‘I can’t mek them hear,’ Jack called back, hammering on the door again.

  ‘Somebody must be in; Mrs Deakin, even if he’s not there. Is there any livestock? The mule, the goats – where are they kept?’ Aaron sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell? It reminds me of …’ He sniffed again. ‘Rotterdam Shag. He’s got a store of baccy – or he did have!’ He gave a grim huff. ‘Come on, we must try and waken them. If they’re out, which is unlikely at this time of a morning, there’ll be a key somewhere.’

  ‘Rather you than me,’ Jack said grimly.

  ‘If the roof catches …’ Aaron began to root around near the door and found a flat stone and lifted it to expose a large iron key beneath it. ‘Here we are, so where are they if not in ’house?’

  He turned the key and pushed open the door. ‘Mrs Deakin,’ he shouted. ‘Mrs Deakin. Get up. There’s a fire!’

  There was no answer and he stepped into the kitchen. A low fire burned beneath the range and a tray holding a used tea cup and plate was on the table. Only one of each, he noticed.

  He called again, and then opened the door to the stairs and shouted more urgently. ‘Mrs Deakin!’ But there was no answer.

  He went outside again and saw Jack by the still burning barn. ‘There’s a hen house over yonder,’ Jack called to him, ‘and what looks like a pig pen. I can hear ’goats bleating in yonder shed, but can’t see ’mule. Mebbe Deakin’s gone out on ’river; he uses ’mule to pull his cart. What do you think we should do? I don’t like to lea
ve in case ’cottage roof catches.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ his father said. ‘Will you ride down to ’village and wake our Harry and get him to stir up ’other fisher lads and see if they’re willing to help put ’fire out. If they each bring a bucket we can mek a chain down to ’river and we’ll soon have it out. There’s going to be nowt of value left anyway now, but we can at least mek sure ’cottage is secure. I’ll do what I can wi’ bucket and water pump till you get back.’

  ‘Aye.’ Jack shot off to harness up one of the horses and Aaron looked round for a pail or bucket to pump water and throw it on to the blazing contents of the barn. When he found one, he looked up and saw Peggy coming through the gate.

  ‘I said there was no need for you to come,’ he began.

  ‘I know you did,’ she said. ‘But I was going to ask Mrs Deakin if she wanted to come back home wi’ me.’ She started to cough as the smoke hit her throat. ‘She must be out of her wits. Where’s Deakin?’

  ‘No idea.’ Aaron worked the pump handle but no water appeared. It needed priming, so he kept on pumping hard until a rush of water came out. ‘We can’t mek either of them hear.’

  ‘Have you been inside?’

  ‘Aye, kitchen and from ’bottom of ’stairs. They must be stone deaf if they didn’t hear us shouting.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said decisively. ‘I don’t like ’sound or ’look of this,’ and she strode firmly towards the cottage.

  ‘Hey,’ he called after her. ‘Wait. I’ll come with you.’ Who knows what’s gone on here tonight, he thought. Deakin’s not set fire to his own barn, that’s for sure. Not with a fortune in baccy sitting in it, so where is he? And where was his wife? He didn’t want Peggy coming across anything she shouldn’t see.

  Peggy opened the cottage door and shouted, ‘Mrs Deakin? It’s Peggy Robinson. Are you all right?’ She took a few steps to the foot of the stairs and shouted up them. ‘Mrs Deakin!’

  She turned to Aaron, who was right behind her. ‘Do you think we should go up?’

  ‘Aye, but there’s no light.’ He looked round the bare kitchen and saw a candlestick with a stub of candle in it on the mantelpiece. ‘Hang on.’

  He strode to get it and lit the candle from the low-burning fire. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said, ‘but you call, I don’t want to scare her.’ He was convinced now that Deakin wasn’t there and had probably gone out on the river, but he couldn’t work out why Mrs Deakin would be locked in.

  He held up the candle when they reached the bedroom. It was barely furnished. A chest of drawers and a narrow bed with blankets neatly folded; on the floor beside it was a palliasse, a straw mattress only thinly filled.

  They glanced at each other. No comfort in this bedroom, and it hadn’t been slept in this night. They turned to go down again.

  ‘We’ll have to alert ’authorities first thing,’ Aaron murmured. ‘There’s summat fishy, I reckon.’

  Peggy nodded. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘But it’s not fish.’

  Before dawn broke, the Paull fishermen and other village men, awakened by the sound of boots, horses and the rumble of carts, managed to douse the fire with river water and drench the cottage roof so that there was no fear of stray sparks catching it. Peggy had gone home and made hot drinks for anyone who wanted them and Susan had come over to ask if there was anything she could do.

  ‘Molly woke up earlier when we went up to bed and said something about Mrs Deakin and ’mule,’ she said, sipping on a cup of tea. ‘I think she’d been dreaming. She wasn’t mekkin’ sense, anyway, and then she fell asleep again.’

  ‘Nothing’s mekkin’ sense,’ Peggy said. ‘If Deakin was out on ’river he’d have seen there was a fire from his boat, so why didn’t he come back to mek sure it wasn’t his place? And where’s Mrs Deakin? It’s five in the morning, so where is she?’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Delia, Robin, Jenny and Giles had all given their warmest thanks to Arthur Crawshaw and his mother for their hospitality, and in return were urged to come again. ‘Miss Robinson.’ Mrs Crawshaw eyed Jenny as if considering her possibilities. ‘I would appreciate your advice on renovating the dower house. You appear to have good taste and common sense for a young woman in your situation. I, of course, have no experience in such workaday matters, and I would wish to follow tradition as a family such as ours has always done.’

  The implication that Jenny wasn’t of quite the same status as the Crawshaw family was felt by all, and Delia saw the sudden blink of Arthur’s eyes, and realized he hadn’t even considered the dissimilarity. He had, after all, befriended Delia herself, despite their very obvious differences.

  Jenny, however, didn’t turn a hair. ‘Of course,’ she said agreeably. ‘I would be glad to; you have such lovely furnishings and will want to take some special pieces with you if you should decide to move there.’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I feel,’ Mrs Crawshaw said. ‘I don’t have to move if I don’t wish to; but on the other hand, if my son intends to change the way I’ve always done things, then I shan’t wish to stay and impede him.’

  Jenny had bent her head to speak confidentially. ‘What I would do in your place, Mrs Crawshaw,’ she murmured, ‘is to start planning and renovating the dower house, fitting a new bathroom, plumbing and so on, before he begins on the Manor, then he can devote all his time to your requirements; and then, when he begins the next stage in the main house, you can escape from it. Having workmen in the place will be very disrupting.’

  Mrs Crawshaw patted her hand. ‘What a wise young woman you are,’ she said softly. ‘A sensible head on your shoulders.’

  As they drove back over the Yorkshire border towards home, Delia noticed the occasional little smiles on her friend’s face and the soft flush on her cheeks and was happy for her. I believe that life is going to change for Jenny, she thought. I think that she will become Arthur’s wife and be the new mistress of Holme Manor. She will be able to cope with Arthur and he will be pleased to let her organize him and the house. I think they’ll be content together. She gave a small sigh. I’ve never been envious, but although I don’t want riches it must be wonderful to have someone in your life who cares.

  But then she reproached herself and looked across at Robin, who was falling asleep after an unusually late night, his head lolling on Giles’s arm, for he had been allowed to stay up for dinner. I’m so lucky. I have my son. Her gaze caught that of Giles, who was watching her and gave her a gentle smile. Her breath caught in her throat. Could I ever hope?

  By the time they arrived in Hull and Jenny was taken home, it was too late for Robin to travel to Paull. Delia was due to start work at the theatre the next morning in her new role as under-manager, so Giles offered to take him.

  ‘I could travel by myself,’ Robin insisted. ‘I’d be all right.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t, just yet,’ Delia said. ‘And as Mr Dawson has offered …’

  ‘I’d like to,’ Giles told the boy. ‘I’d like to have another look at the estuary, and if we catch the early train we could perhaps walk to Paull and along the river bank before you go to school in the afternoon?’

  ‘Oh, yes, we could do that.’ Robin was eager at once. ‘If we walk past the Hedon Arms we could follow where the old haven used to be. Mother and I went that way when she first brought me to Paull. It was very dark and I couldn’t see where we were going.’

  Delia had tucked him up in her bed and thought how lovely it would be to have him with her and cuddle up close. She went back downstairs and found that Giles had asked the landlady for a pot of tea for them both, and she had also brought a plate of biscuits and cheese.

  ‘I really appreciate that you have offered to take Robin tomorrow,’ she said, but Giles brushed aside her thanks.

  ‘You can hardly ask for time off on your first day as deputy manager,’ he smiled.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed. ‘I did think I might let Robin travel alone as he wanted to, but I would have felt nervous, and
what would the Robinsons have thought?’

  He shook his head in admonishment. ‘Delia,’ he reproached her, ‘you must stop worrying about what people think about you. I, for one, think that you have done splendidly to bring up a well-behaved, well-mannered child. I’m looking forward to getting to know him better, and tomorrow will be a good opportunity.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She lowered her head. ‘You’re a good friend.’ I wish, she thought, I wish … but no, it cannot be, so I mustn’t even think of it.

  ‘Come and sit down, Delia.’ He drew a chair out for her. ‘I’ll pour the tea.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re a very unusual man. Most men would wait for the woman to pour.’

  ‘I’ve had ten years of pouring tea or coffee for myself,’ he said enigmatically. ‘It’s nice to be able to share with someone.’

  ‘Of course – sorry.’

  ‘You’re doing it again, Delia.’ He handed her a cup of steaming tea. ‘You don’t need to apologize.’

  The next morning the three of them walked in the direction of the railway station and Delia showed Robin the theatre. When she said goodbye she hugged him and told him how wonderful it had been to have had the weekend with him.

  ‘It’s been lovely, Mother,’ Robin agreed. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it and I was so pleased to see Mr Arthur Crawshaw again, and I can’t wait to tell the girls and Granny Peg and Aaron all about the big house.’ His face creased into a big grin. ‘And sliding down the banister!’ Then he considered. ‘I wondered about asking Aaron if we might go out in his shrimp boat if there’s time later.’ He turned to Giles. ‘Maybe you could come too, Mr Dawson.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Giles said. ‘But I understood you were going to school this afternoon?’