by Val Wood
He put his foot back to regain his balance, and turning his head jumped off the bank into the water below, the water which he’d bet was only a foot deep, except that it wasn’t. It came up above his waist, his feet sinking deep into the mud of the salt marsh.
‘You fool, Da!’ Noah shouted. ‘What did I tell you?’ His father was floundering as he tried to keep from falling over. ‘Keep still,’ he ordered and bent to pull off his boots. ‘I’ll come in and get you.’
‘No,’ his father shouted. ‘Don’t! Look! Watch out!’
Noah gave up on his boots, as the laces were knotted, and he too stepped off the bank almost up to his waist. And as he did so he saw that in the middle of the river was a tide-rip, and as the opposing currents met, the deep and surging wave crests were coming swiftly towards them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Harriet began to run towards the stray sheep but realized she was chasing them further down the slope. As she looked towards the bottom field, she saw Mr Tuke step off the bank and disappear.
‘He’s jumped on to ’salt marsh,’ she gasped. ‘Why’s he done that? Noah told him ’river was running high!’
And then, to her further alarm, she saw Noah jump after him. What are they thinking of? Surely it’s dangerous. She sped on until she came to the bank, and let out a scream when she saw Noah and his father struggling in deep water that had completely covered the salt marsh. Noah seemed to be taking lumbering strides and trying to wade, using his arms as oars in an attempt to reach his father, who was up to his neck in the water.
Noah was shouting to him, telling him to stand still, but the old man seemed not to be listening, thrashing about and calling back, and though his voice was getting weaker Harriet could hear him howling, ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean what I said. It wasn’t owt to do wi’ you, onny her. It wasn’t your fault. It was hers. She should never have— Go back. You’ve a son to think on and a wife who—’ His head dipped beneath the water as a wave crest washed over him, and Harriet could hear no more.
Noah’s voice was desperate. ‘Da! Da! Hold on, I’m coming. It’s all right, I’m coming,’ but he was knocked over by the same wave, which washed over him, hit the bank and bounced back, covering him once more.
When his head came up again, Harriet shrieked at him. ‘Noah! Swim to ’bank! Your da’s gone. Save yourself!’
He seemed to hear her for he looked in her direction and called, ‘Fetch help.’ His mouth filled with river water and he spluttered it out, calling again, ‘I – I don’t think I can mek it. Current’s too strong; it’s tekkin’ me. I’m sorry, Harriet – ’bout your ma and that. You’re a good lass. Look after our lad.’
Harriet screamed, ‘Noah, Noah!’ But he was carried further out, towards the deep mid-channel, and all she could see was his dark bobbing head and she knew he would have no chance, not when he was wearing his heavy boots, as his father had been too.
She saw the two sailing barges and shouted and screamed to the crews, but they were struggling to keep from capsizing and although she was sure they had seen what was happening below them there was little they could do, for they were trying desperately to save themselves.
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No! No! No!’
From the top field a man raced towards her, skidding to a halt beside her, and for a brief crazy second she thought it was Fletcher come back in time to save them.
‘What’s happened?’ Christopher Hart shouted, his breathing laboured, holding his hand to his chest. ‘Oh, God! Who’s in the water? We must get help.’
He clambered up on to the muddy bank and for a terrifying second Harriet thought he was going to jump in to try to save them. But he slithered back down and turned to her, ashen-faced. ‘I fear it might be too late. He’s being carried by the tide, unless the barges can pick him up, but they seem to be having difficulties too, and one of them has keeled over. Who is it in the water?’
‘My husband,’ she wailed. ‘He was trying to save his father.’
‘There are two of them? God in heaven!’ he said in dismay, clasping his hands to his head. ‘I’ll ride to the next farm. I think they have a small boat that they can put off.’
‘Don’t put yourself in danger, sir.’ Harriet’s voice trembled.
‘I won’t,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll ask them to alert the port authorities in Goole; see if they’ll send out a steam barge. These are very tricky waters and the tide is running exceptionally high. Are you the younger Mrs Tuke?’ When she nodded, he took her arm. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you up to the house.’
‘No, sir.’ Harriet pulled away from him and looked towards the estuary. ‘I must wait – wait in case he manages to swim to shore.’
‘He won’t,’ he said softly. ‘The tide is against him. You go inside and I’ll ride off and do the best I can. Our only hope is that the other barge has picked him up.’
She knew that it hadn’t, she had seen the way the sails had dipped into the water, and yet she was still unwilling to leave the estuary bank, as if by being there she might keep some hope alive. But in a daze she allowed him to escort her back, and as they went through the gate the wayward sheep followed them into the top field and huddled in their shelter.
He knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer, ushering Harriet inside. Ellen looked up from the table, where she was rolling pastry. Her face lit up when she saw Christopher Hart, until she cast a glance at Harriet, who was soaked to the skin, her hair in rat-tails.
‘What’s happened?’ she said sharply. ‘Christopher – what …?’ She stopped.
‘There’s been a terrible accident, Ellen,’ he said slowly and carefully. ‘I fear your husband and son have fallen into the estuary and there’s a big tide running. Look after your daughter-in-law; she’s in need of warm clothes and a hot drink. I’m going to try to get help.’
‘But – h-how? What . . . Be careful,’ she stammered.
‘I’ll come back,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop now or it might be too late.’
‘But you’re wet through. You’ll catch your death. Take a mackintosh, if nothing else.’
It seemed to Harriet, who was listening and watching as if through a fog, that Ellen was more concerned about Christopher Hart than she was about Mr Tuke or Noah, but he ignored her suggestion, leaving the kitchen and closing the door behind him.
‘Take your wet things off,’ she said to Harriet. ‘I’ll get you a blanket.’
She took a blanket from a chest and handed it to Harriet as she stood by the range stripping off all her clothes right down to her skin. There’s no one to see me, she thought dully as she rubbed her hair with a towel, no Mr Tuke leering at me, no Noah, who might want to take me to bed if he saw me naked. What did Noah mean when he said he was sorry? Why did he say he was sorry about my ma? She wrapped the blanket round her and sat trembling in Mr Tuke’s chair near the fire; her heart was racing and she felt that at any second she might pass out. She watched as if in a trance as Ellen poured beer into a tankard and heard the sizzle as she placed a hot poker in it.
Then and only then did Ellen Tuke sit opposite her and ask passively, ‘What happened? How did they come to fall into ’river? Were they fighting and one pushed ’other in?’
Harriet stared at her wide-eyed. She was only just beginning to comprehend the tragedy herself. ‘Is that all you can say?’ she said hoarsely. ‘Your husband and mine are probably drowned in ’estuary and all you can ask is were they fighting. No.’ A sob escaped her throat. ‘They were not fighting. Noah was trying to save his father’s life.’
Ellen said nothing, though she swallowed hard, and looking away from Harriet’s penetrating gaze mechanically shovelled coal from the hod on to the fire. When she spoke again her voice was even and without emotion. ‘We’ll not think on ’worst until we know for sure. Mebbe a barge or fishing boat’ll pick ’em up. Noah’s a strong swimmer, though Mr Tuke isn’t.’
‘Are you not listening to me?’ Harr
iet shuddered. ‘They were wearing boots, ’salt marsh is flooded, and I didn’t see where Mr Tuke went but Noah was swept out to ’middle of ’river.’ She began to sob. ‘They don’t stand a chance.’
Ellen let her cry, not commiserating or showing any reaction, but after gazing into the flames for a few moments she lifted her head and stared at Harriet. ‘They look like real tears,’ she declared, her voice flat and detached. ‘But you never married for love, onny convenience. You’ve admitted as much.’
Harriet was shocked. How cold and hardhearted she was, just as Noah had described her. ‘I don’t understand you,’ she whispered, and in her anguish repeated, ‘Your husband and mine have been swept away in estuary waters and yet you show no horror, no grief. Have you not taken it in?’ Her voice rose to a howl. ‘That they’re lost?’
Ellen turned away. ‘I’ll believe it when Master Christopher comes back and tells me it’s so. In ’meantime, I’ve got ’pastry spoiling and a pie to cook.’
‘And who’ll eat it?’ Harriet asked thickly, her energy sapped. ‘Not me.’
‘You have to eat, you’ve a babby to feed,’ Ellen responded briefly. ‘He knows nowt of what’s happened.’
As if on cue, Daniel began to wail and Harriet, clutching the blanket round her, went to pick him up. She put her cold cheek against his warm one, which made him cry again. Then she sat down and stretched first one hand and then the other to the fire to warm them, and loosening the blanket put Daniel to her breast.
He’s all I’ve got now, she thought weakly, and in her muddled mind she comprehended that she was now dependent on Ellen Tuke. And I’m nothing to her. She might not want me to stay; she might not even stop here herself, since she can’t run ’farm alone. Jumbled thoughts ran unchecked in her head. Master Hart might offer her a cottage like Mrs Marshall’s, but he won’t offer one to me. Why would he? I’m just somebody who does ’washing and ironing up at his grand house.
She gazed at the child, contentedly feeding. Look after our lad, Noah had cried out. So was he proud of him after all? You’re a good lass, he had said, and tears spouted unchecked down her cheeks. Had he always hidden his innermost feelings because no one had ever shown him kindness or understanding, only indifference? As for Mr Tuke, I heard him shout out to Noah that he was sorry. For what? For not being a good father? And why did he say that it was nothing to do wi’ Noah, but onny her? Who did he mean? Ellen, or ’woman who gave birth to him?
She took a quivering breath, holding back a sob, and put Daniel to her other breast. We’ll never know, for no matter that Ellen Tuke says we must wait to be sure, I saw with my own eyes and know in my heart that they won’t be coming back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
As he had promised, Christopher Hart came back to Marsh Farm later that afternoon, but the news was predictable. Nothing had been seen of Noah or his father, and word had filtered through via Goole that the crews of two barges were missing.
He sat down by the fire and accepted the offered mulled ale. He was distraught, wet through, his hair soaking as Harriet’s had been, and his hands trembled as he took the tankard from Ellen. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ he said. ‘Such a tragedy. I’ve been promised word if by wondrous chance a miracle might happen.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘But I fear all hope is gone. It’s fearful weather and quite dark and thunderous now, so little can be done until morning. Men will go out at first light to search again.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Harriet’s voice shook. ‘You’ve been very kind and considerate. Your family must be anxious about you.’
‘I sent word to my wife that I’d been held up; she will be very upset when she hears, but it is much worse for both of you, especially with Christmas almost upon us.’
‘I’d forgotten,’ Harriet murmured, and felt tears welling. ‘It was going to be a special Christmas with our new son.’ Daniel was sleeping on her knee, and she moved his shawl that Mr Hart might see his face.
He nodded, and Harriet saw that he was very affected by the sight of him. ‘A fine boy.’ His voice was choked. ‘You must tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you in your hour of need. You too, of course, Ellen,’ he said, turning to her.
‘There is something, Master Hart,’ Harriet said, and Ellen looked at her sharply. ‘Daniel hasn’t been baptized, nor I churched, and as I’m not supposed to go out in public until I am …’
‘Ah, of course,’ he said. ‘We’ll be seeing the parson over Christmas and I could ask him to visit you. Shall I do that? It will be a few days, I suppose, before he comes, but you’ll need time to grieve over your loss, to cope with your sorrow over this terrible tragedy that has come upon you so swiftly, and – and then …’ He paused. ‘Depending on any outcome there will be other arrangements to be discussed.’
He means a funeral, Harriet thought. That’s if they ever find them. And ’magistrate to be informed.
He left them, telling them not to get up, that he’d see himself out, but Ellen insisted on taking him to the door. Harriet heard a few murmured words and then the bolt striking home as Ellen locked it after him. Harriet took a deep gasping breath. She would have left it unlocked – just in case. If that act wasn’t final proof of an ending she didn’t know of another.
‘My dear, wherever have you been?’ Melissa was astounded at Christopher’s appearance. ‘You’re soaked through! You must have a mustard bath at once.’ She reached for the bell to summon Alice, but Christopher put up his hand.
‘I’ve already asked for one to be prepared,’ he said. ‘I’m so very cold. I’ll tell you briefly what’s happened, have my bath and go straight up to bed.’
Melissa rose to her feet. This was so unlike him. ‘You’ve been out all day. I was told you’d been held up. What’s happened?’
He poured a glass of whisky from the decanter and drank it straight down. ‘A terrible tragedy.’ He came towards the fire and held his shaking hands towards it. ‘I don’t know where to begin.’
He told her in short bursts how he’d gone to Marsh Farm and heard a commotion, men shouting and a woman screaming.
‘I thought at first it was a family quarrel and hesitated to become involved, but then realized that it was something much worse.’ He went on to describe how he’d looked towards the estuary and seen a woman down by the bank in obvious distress.
‘Apparently Tuke had fallen into the water and her husband had jumped in to try to save him. But the salt marsh was covered by deep water and they were both washed away by the high tide. I’ve never seen it so fast and strong.’
Melissa, shocked, gazed at him. ‘Don’t tell me they’re …’
He nodded. ‘Gone. I did what I could, sent men out on the bank to look for them, alerted the authorities, but it’s bad, Melissa. I fear there’s no hope for them. And you were right, the young Mrs Tuke has a very young baby, no more than a few weeks old, I should say.’
‘Poor girl,’ Melissa murmured. ‘And the elder Mrs Tuke, what of her? She must be distraught at losing a husband and a son!’
Christopher frowned slightly. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s taken it in yet. She seemed quite calm, anyway, but then she was always a stoic from what I recall. But she said something rather odd as I was leaving; something I didn’t understand. It’s come at last.’
‘There’s another son,’ Melissa told him. ‘You met him when he came to the house earlier in the year, don’t you remember? Where was he?’
Christopher shook his head wearily. ‘I recall meeting him, but I don’t know where he is. He wasn’t mentioned.’
Their visitors were due the next day, Christmas Eve, but that morning Christopher rose early and sent a note to the parson asking him to call urgently at Marsh Farm, even though he would be busy preparing for the church services.
‘The parson will be the best person to talk to them,’ he told Melissa, ‘and young Mrs Tuke needs him to baptize the child and church her before she goes out in public.’
‘Of course,’ M
elissa murmured. ‘The blessing for safe delivery from childbirth. Did you see the child?’ She had already decided that she must keep her own news for a more appropriate time. ‘What was it?’
‘A son. A beautiful child. Some foreign blood, I’d say; perhaps the father was very dark. He’ll be a comfort to her, I hope.’
‘Will you visit them again today?’
‘Yes. Regardless of whether there’s any news. I feel that I should. I’ll let them know that if they need any assistance …’
Melissa smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re a saint,’ she said. ‘May I come with you? Amy can hold the fort here in case everyone arrives early.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate your being by my side, and I’m sure they will too.’
They heard the ring of the doorbell. ‘That might be news,’ Christopher said, heading for the hall. ‘If it is, we’ll go to the Tukes straight after breakfast.’
It was the bailiff bringing word that a bargeman’s body had been found near the port of Goole; his partner had managed to swim to shore and walk to safety, and the second barge had been rescued with both crewmen safe. There had been no sighting of Noah or his father.
Christopher was glad to have Melissa with him as they drove to Marsh Farm. He’d been disturbed by Ellen’s behaviour as he’d left the previous day. She had appeared to be unaffected by the loss of her husband and son. He had put her unemotional behaviour down to shock, but as he was leaving and she had accompanied him to the door, she had clasped his hand and whispered the words he’d repeated to Melissa and he didn’t understand her meaning in the slightest.
He knocked and they entered, as no one seemed to have heard them. Harriet was sitting gazing into the fire with her child on her knee and a warm shawl covering them both. She looked up, startled, and saw them in the doorway.
She attempted to stand, but Melissa hurried towards her. ‘Please don’t get up, Harriet,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve come to offer my condolences. I’m so dreadfully sorry. Words cannot express—’