Flood (The Fenland Series Book 1)

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘Jumped. I thought I could jump from one of these islets to another, and get across the bog that way.’

  ‘Well, jump back, then.’

  ‘I’ve twisted my ankle, or broken it.’

  ‘You’re a fool, George.’

  ‘I know.’

  Suddenly very weary, I sat down on the last bit of firm ground. Jasper yearned towards George, but I held him close.

  ‘What are we going to do,’ George asked humbly. ‘Will you fetch help?’

  ‘Just let me think.’

  I did not want to tell him that no one might want to help.

  ‘I’m going to try something,’ I said. ‘I’ll send the dog across to you, with the rope. It may not work. If the peat won’t support him, I’ll have to pull him back. If he can reach you, do you think you can hold on to the rope while I pull, and crawl or slide back across the peat? I don’t think you will sink as quickly lying flat on your stomach as you would standing up. But I can’t be sure. We’ll have to be quick, or you will sink.’

  ‘I’m willing to try. I’d better throw my pack over to you.’

  I saw then that there was a knapsack lying beside him on the hassock. He must have had it hidden somewhere, ready for his journey.

  ‘All right. Throw it.’

  He flung the knapsack and I caught it, then laid it behind me on the firmer ground.

  I stroked Jasper’s head. The peat might not hold him and I might not be able to save him. ‘Good boy,’ I said, and pointed to George. ‘Seek, seek.’

  Jasper trotted happily out on to the black, sucking peat. He hesitated a moment, then ran on, leaving a trail of footprints that filled immediately with water. Luckily the rope was long enough to reach. He jumped up on George, licking his face.

  ‘Good lad,’ George said, hugging him. I could hear a break in his voice and realised how terrified he must have been, alone here in the Fen, waiting for the end.

  ‘Untie the rope from his collar, and tie it round your waist,’ I said. ‘Then send him back to me. I don’t want him getting tangled up in the rope.’

  Jasper ran halfway back to me, stopped again, then ran on. There must be a quag there in the middle. I hoped I had the strength to pull George out if he sank into it. Throughout the Fen there were these particularly dangerous bits, bottomless, they were said to be. There was nothing here to help me, no tree stump, not even one of the ancient bog oaks which dot the Fen, so old they have turned to stone. If there had been a stump I could have run the rope around it to give me more purchase, but there was nothing.

  ‘Ready?’ I called.

  ‘Aye.’

  Even as he said it, the candle in my lantern flickered and wavered. I had not thought to bring a spare. If it burnt away, finding the way back would be even more difficult.

  ‘Stretch yourself out along the bog as far as you can in my direction, and hold on to the rope with your hands. I’ll start pulling at once. If you can, try to crawl, or squirm across.’

  ‘Right.’

  Cautiously he lowered himself on to the bog on his stomach. That took some courage, I thought. Immediately I pulled in the slack rope. He began to crawl towards me as I hauled, but he was beginning to sink. Jasper barked excitedly.

  The distance was about thirty feet. Although he sank a little in the first half, it was only a few inches. As he crawled and I pulled, it seemed to be going well.

  Then he reached the part where Jasper had hesitated and I felt the pull on the rope as the bog began to suck him down. I backed further away, hauling on the rope which was burning my hands, beginning to slip away from me. George was thrashing about, no longer able to crawl. I tightened my grip on the rope. Then inexorably I felt myself being dragged towards the bog.

  I drew in a great sobbing breath, leaning back and digging the heels of my boots into the soft ground. George’s legs had disappeared. Then he made a last desperate heave, throwing himself somehow forward. I took a step back, moved one hand further down the rope, then the other. With a horrible sucking sound, the bog released him and he crawled the last few feet to the firmer ground where I stood.

  I crouched down and held out one hand to him, keeping tight hold of the rope with the other. He could still slip back. He grabbed my hand and crawled up the slight slope, collapsing beside me. Jasper ran about barking, but George and I were too exhausted to move.

  ‘In my knapsack,’ he croaked at last. ‘Bottle of beer.’

  My hands were shaking so much I could barely unfasten the buckles. My palms were rubbed raw and bleeding. I found the squat green bottle and passed it to him. He rolled over and sat up.

  ‘God’s bones, that was a near thing. You saved my life.’

  ‘We aren’t out of this yet. We still have to get back out of the Fen.’

  He pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth, dropped it into his palm and took a long swig. Then he passed it to me. I drank thankfully, though the beer was inferior stuff, something issued to the soldiers. Then I remembered the flickering candle and scrambled to my feet.

  ‘We must go. My lantern won’t last much longer. Can you walk?’

  ‘Maybe you should leave me here. This seems firm enough.’

  ‘No, I think the water is rising. You’ll have to lean on me.’

  I suddenly realised that the fog must have been lifting for some time. I had been able to see George across quite a wide stretch of bog, much further than I had been able to see when I first entered the Fen. But now full dark was coming on. There was a wind rising too, and with it there arose the voice of the Fen, the whispering susurration of the rushes. This was the Fen I knew and I welcomed it.

  I passed the bottle back to him. ‘Cork that and put it away. We must go now or I won’t be able to find the way. And untie the rope from your waist. I need to tie Jasper again.’

  He fastened his knapsack while I secure the end of the rope to Jasper’s collar, then I helped George to his feet. He gave one yelp, quickly bitten back. I got my right shoulder under his armpit and picked up the lantern with my left hand. It was not going to last until we were out of the Fen.

  The journey back was almost worse than the journey out. Although I knew that the path would take us back to the pumping mill, I was not sure I could keep to it once the lantern went out. George limped along as best he could, but I had to support much of his weight and before long pain was shooting through my shoulder and back. Jasper, having decided that he had had enough of this adventure kept running ahead and nearly jerking me off my feet when the rope tightened around my waist.

  The candle finally went out as we reached the slurry of mud across the path. We had hardly spoken, but George said now, through gritted teeth, ‘I nearly fell in the bog here.’

  ‘I saw. Wait a minute. I’ll need to feel for the hurdles with my feet, to find the right place.’

  At last we were across the mud and it was easier to feel the path underfoot. There was no moon to be seen and the sky was so clouded over that – even with the fog lifted – there was not a glimmer of starlight to help us. After what seemed like hours groping our way through the darkness, I was able to make out the pale glimmer of the mill’s sails rising ahead and above us.

  ‘We’ve reached the pasture,’ I said. ‘Are you all right, or do you want to rest?’

  ‘Best not,’ he said, with a faint echo of a laugh. ‘If I sit down now I probably won’t get up again for a week.’

  I untied Jasper and let him run free, then we struggled on. Never had the distance across the pasture and along the lane seemed so far. Although the lane was not the shortest way, I thought it would be the least difficult for George. I could feel that he was at the end of his strength, as I was.

  We were halfway along the lane when the mizzle I had felt in the air began to come down, softly at first, then in great sheets, like a river in flood. We were both already plastered with mud, but now we were wet to the skin in minutes. My cloak, which was good woollen
broadcloth, soaked the rain up at first, then let it through, and grew heavier and heavier.

  At the turn in the lane leading up to the farm, Jasper ran ahead and out of sight. Not much further now, I told myself, but I was too exhausted to say it out loud, to encourage George. As we drew near the farm, I saw a light approaching us. With Jasper jumping around his feet, Nehemiah was coming down the lane, holding up a lantern.

  ‘Thank God, Mercy,’ he said. ‘Thank God.’

  I nodded.

  ‘George,’ I said, and my voice came out in a croak, ‘George has damaged his ankle. Can you help him?’

  Nehemiah took George’s weight from me, and it was like the weight of the world being lifted. I could stand up straight again, though I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

  Somehow we were all in the kitchen. Tom, his face white and his eyes red and staring, stumbled to his feet, grabbing his crutches.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said.

  ‘We’re all thanking God,’ I said.

  ‘You are mad.’

  ‘I know.’ I fell, rather than sat, on to a bench and closed my eyes.

  For the first time since we had reached the pasture, George spoke.

  ‘She saved my life.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  We all slept late the next day. The other soldiers had woken while we were talking in the kitchen and we had passed off what had happened as an accident in which George had damaged his ankle. I stayed out of sight in Tom’s room so that they should not see the sorry state of my clothes, but I could hear them examining the injury. General opinion pronounced it a sprain and not a broken bone, but George would not be able to attend the morning muster.

  With all the disturbance and broken sleep, the soldiers had to make haste to leave in the morning. I could hear Kitty cutting them bread and cheese, but decided I had no need to get up. I turned over in bed and fell asleep again.

  When I finally came downstairs I was still muzzy-headed. The day was dark as evening, and I saw that the rain was continuing to fall in torrents from great roiling clouds overhead. It looked as though we were doomed to a glut. Tom and George were sitting on either side of the hearth, George with his bandaged foot propped on a pile of cushions. Despite a good fire, the winter chill and damp had invaded the kitchen. Kitty was spinning. The half-assembled loom chided me with forgetting I had promised to teach her to weave. Of my mother and Nehemiah there was no sign.

  As I came through the door, George struggled to get to his feet but I motioned him to sit. I rubbed my eyes which were still blurred with sleep.

  ‘I’m sorry I have slept so late. I must go for the milking.’

  ‘Nehemiah has done it,’ said Tom, ‘an hour past. We left you to sleep.’

  ‘I will make you some breakfast, Mistress Mercy.’ Kitty left her spinning and ladled porridge from a pot keeping warm on the hearth, then laid out bread and honey.

  She kept stealing furtive glances at me as I ate. I wondered what they had told her of what had happened last night, for although she had woken when I went up to our shared room, I had told her not to get up. This morning I had noticed that my muddy and sodden garments had disappeared. It must have been Kitty who had taken them away. They were probably soaking in the scullery now, for it would be difficult to wash away the stains from the bog.

  ‘Where is Mother?’ I asked.

  ‘She wanted to stay abed,’ said Tom, ‘so we left her to lie. She seems unsure whether it is day or night.’

  I looked around the room, where they had three rushlights burning.

  ‘It is so dark it truly is difficult to tell. Do you think it has been raining this hard all night?’

  ‘The lane was already awash when the lads left,’ George said. ‘They’ll not be pleased, hunting for stock in this.’

  Tom and I exchanged a glance. If the lane was awash, it meant the winter floods were coming early. At this time of year high tides could also rush up river a long way inland in our flat country. We would need to be on the alert.

  When I had finished eating, Nehemiah came in, tipping water off the broad brim of his felt hat onto the floor. Kitty clicked her tongue in annoyance at the dirty puddle and got down on her knees to mop it up.

  ‘Sorry, Kitty,’ he said, ‘but it’s b’yer lady terrible out there.’

  He prised off his muddy boots by the door and walked to the fire in his stocking feet. Jasper followed him and shook himself hard, so that water spat and hissed in the flames.

  ‘Did you feed the hens?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, and kept them shut in the hen-hus. It’s no weather for them to be outside.’

  ‘A day to keep busy indoors,’ I said. ‘Kitty, you can help me put the rest of the loom together, then I will show you how we string it.’

  She beamed at me. Soon we were busy setting up the warp threads, each weighed down with a small pottery loom weight.

  The rest of our soldiers returned after midday, their captains having decided that it was a fruitless waste of effort, trying to search for the rescued stock in a rain storm so heavy it was near as bad as the fog had been. The lads were happy enough playing at cards and dice, while Tom got out Father’s chess set and began to teach George and Ben how to play. From time to time Ben glanced from George to me and back. It was clear he was curious to know just what had occurred out on the Fen last night, but feared to ask. Kitty and I worked away at the loom. By bedtime she had managed to weave about two inches of rather lumpy cloth which would be good enough for a blanket. I praised the speed at which she had learned and she blushed with pleasure and pride.

  For days it continued to rain with a relentless persistence that we usually saw only in the worst winters. Often it fell as sleet, or even snow, but the ground was so wet the snow did not lie. It melted at once, adding to the water spreading everywhere. After the second day the soldiers were ordered to stay indoors until the rain ceased, which meant more meals to be provided. They were becoming more like members of the household now, no longer resented – though still hungry. Nehemiah taught Col how to milk, the others carried in logs and peat for the fire. We all stayed together, crowded in the kitchen, for it was very cold, with an east wind blowing, and we benefitted from each other’s warmth.

  My mother kept to her chamber, Kitty or I taking her meals to her there. We lit a fire in the small hearth, for she felt the cold. Mostly she stayed in bed, although she was not ill in body. When we could persuade her to get up and dress, she would sit in a chair by the window, her hands in her lap, staring out at the relentless rain and sleet. She seldom spoke, but when she did she seemed puzzled and could not tell who we were. Once she threw her dish of pottage at me, scalding my hand and smashing the dish to fragments. Then she began to weep.

  I knelt beside her and put my arms around her. ‘Don’t worry, Mother. It was an old dish, it does not matter.’

  She shook her head and raised a tear-stained face to me. ‘Who are you? I thought you were my sister Elizabeth, but your voice is different, lower.’

  ‘I’m your daughter Mercy, Mother. Surely you know me? I believe I look a little like Elizabeth.’

  Again she shook her head. Her eyes were frightened. ‘I have no daughter. I am not married yet, though Isaac has come courting. He was to come today. Where is he?’

  ‘It is raining very hard,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Perhaps the lane is flooded.’

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  ‘Aye. That will be it. The lane is flooded.’

  I gathered up the broken pieces of the bowl and as I crept out of the room I could hear her saying, over and over, ‘The lane is flooded. The lane is flooded.’

  I told Tom quietly what had happened. ‘Her mind is going.’

  ‘She thinks she is a girl again, I suppose.’ He gave a great sigh.

  ‘Back to the time when she was happiest. I remember how it was with Jack’s grandmother. In the end she thought she was a child and went searching for her dolls.’
r />   ‘It is a terrible thing.’

  ‘Aye.’ Suddenly a sob escaped from my lips. ‘I just wish she could remember that I am her daughter and I love her.’

  He laid his hand on mine, but there was nothing he could say to comfort me.

  Ten days after George had set off to cross the Fen, it was still raining, though it was mostly sleet now. The hens had stopped laying and the cows were giving little milk. George could walk without limping now, though he still favoured his bad ankle. Nehemiah had walked twice to the village and I had ridden there once on Blaze, but apart from that we had seen no one outside our own small household. We were all becoming restless, especially the soldiers. As fenlanders we were accustomed to being cut off from the rest of the world in winter, but usually the weather allowed us to see more of our neighbours in the village. Kitty and I spent so long at our weaving that we finished an entire blanket and started another. When Kitty was at the loom I knitted woollen caps for all the men, even the soldiers.

  Then on the eleventh day Toby rode over to see us.

  Running his hands through his hair, draggling with wet despite his hat, he said, ‘Are we to have Noah’s Flood? It begins to look like it.’

  ‘How are matters in the village?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Wet. Those two cottages along the Crowthorne road, the ones furthest from the village, they’ve a foot of water indoors. We can’t get through to Crowthorne any more.’

  ‘It’s early in the winter for that.’

  ‘Aye. And I’ll tell you something else. That little plump hen of a clergyman, Reverend Apsley – he’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ I said. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘He told us in his last sermon that he wasn’t staying here to be swept away on the floods. He was going back to Peterborough.’

  ‘I teased him once that he might have to take refuge in the church tower,’ I said. ‘I hope it wasn’t my words that drove him away.’

  ‘I don’t think it needed that,’ Toby said. ‘The man is a coward. And he likes the comfort and safety of a large town. Not for him the life of the Fens!’

  ‘He’s no loss,’ Tom said. ‘I would it were safe for Gideon to return.’