by Valerie Wood
Sammi lay awake, staring at the empty bed. Betsy had gone again and there was only one reason why she would go out of the house at this early hour. Luke Reedbarrow. I can do nothing, she fretted. I cannot advise her of her foolishness, for it is probably too late for that, and if I tell Tom or Uncle Thomas, then I lose Betsy’s trust and friendship. And I couldn’t, anyway. I would be too embarrassed to speak of it, especially to Tom, for he doesn’t seem to have the same regard for me as he once had. She wept a few tears, for Betsy and the trouble she might bring, for Tom who seemed always to avoid her, for James who, apart from a brief note to say he was going to London, still hadn’t written to ask about Adam or send her money for him, and a few tears of self-pity.
I’ll speak to Mrs Bishop today and put forward my proposition, and then after Gilbert’s wedding I think I shall go home. It will appease Mama and Pa, and Betsy will probably prefer it now she has Luke to think about. She looked up at the window and saw a few drops of rain spattering down the glass. She’ll be back soon, she thought drowsily, now that it’s raining. She snuggled down between the sheets. Well, you can make your own excuses this time, Betsy Foster, if anyone should catch you. I’m going back to sleep.
Mark heard the sound of the rain on the window and thought of the barn where the carts and harnesses were kept and where, on a higher level, fodder and grain were stored. He looked across at George who shared the room, fast asleep and gently snoring. ‘Damn it,’ he breathed, ‘I’d better get up. If those tiles have slipped again the rain will pour in.’
He pulled on a shirt and pair of breeches and went downstairs. The outside door was unlocked and he frowned. Who was last to bed? It was Da, and he never forgot. He wondered if Tom had heard the rain, too, and had gone out to check the barn roof, but the door to Tom’s room had been firmly closed as usual, and he would surely have left it open had he come out, in case of waking anyone? Dismissing the query, he ran across the yard towards the barn. The rain wasn’t heavy, though the sky was grey with the promise of more, and going inside the building he looked up and saw daylight seeping through the roof. He got out a ladder and propped it up against the wall, put the roof ladder over his shoulder and, climbing up, he placed it on the roof and climbed up to the ridge.
Two tiles had slipped at the top of the roof, so he sat astride the ridge and leaned across and pushed them back into position, noting as he did so that the nails had perished. I’ll have to come back up when ’rain has stopped and put in some new nails, he decided. That should fix them.
He looked around before he prepared to climb down. He couldn’t see the sea today. Sea and sky merged together in a dank grey mist which obliterated the horizon and hovered over the farmland of Monkston, dispersing into drifting vaporous strands over Tillington. He turned to look the other way across the fields: the corn was ripening nicely, this drop of rain wouldn’t do any harm. ’Farmers’ll have a good crop, though I expect they’ll grumble as usual, and we’ll have our noses to ’grindstone.
He stopped his ruminating. Someone – two people – were coming down the path from the copse. He narrowed his eyes. Luke Reedbarrow, his huge frame was unmistakable, and a girl with him, tucked almost under his arm. Randy beggar, I can guess where he’s been! But what lass would meet him at this time of ’morning?
He drew in a sharp breath. Betsy! Not Betsy! Anger consumed him as they drew nearer, oblivious of him, so absorbed were they in each other. His breath hissed between his teeth as he saw them stop, and Luke bent his head to kiss her and ran wandering hands across her breasts and around her hips and buttocks.
He slid down the roof ladder and left it there and ran down the other ladder to the ground. ‘I’ll show her, little bitch,’ he seethed as he ran across the yard to the house. He went inside and locked the door and bolted it and stood waiting inside.
She lifted the sneck, rattling it gently when it wouldn’t open. He heard the soft thump as she put her shoulder to it and heard with malevolent satisfaction the hiss of rain as it came down faster. Gently he eased back the bolt and turned the key and as she once more put her weight behind the door, he opened it and she fell into the threshold.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘Did you lock the door?’
‘What do I think I’m doing? More like what have you been doing? As if anybody couldn’t guess. Just look at thee, tha dirty little whore.’
She caught her breath and as she jumped to her feet she lashed out at him, hitting him across the face. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that. What right have you to say such things to your own sister?’
‘Sister!’ He clenched his fist as if to return the blow. ‘It’s no sister of mine who goes out at this hour to meet some village lecher. I saw thee – like last time, on ’footpath.’
Betsy’s face blanched. ‘Luke’s no lecher. I love him.’
‘Love him!’ Mark sneered. ‘Half of lasses in ’village love him. Tha doesn’t think he’ll ask thee to marry him?’
She slumped down into a chair and put her head in her hands. ‘Yes.’ Tears were overflowing and running down her cheeks. ‘If I want him to, then he will.’
He came across to her and put his hand under her chin, forcing her head back so that she had to look at him. ‘He won’t marry thee if tha gets caught wi’ a babby.’ His voice suddenly changed from anger to appeal. ‘Stop seeing him afore it’s too late.’
She knocked his hand away. ‘What would you know about anything,’ she retorted. ‘You’re just a country yokel! You don’t even try to speak properly.’
‘That’s what I am. A yokel. And that’s what Luke Reedbarrow is! I’m surprised at thee, Betsy. I thought that tha wanted more from life than being wedded to a village peazan. Where are ’dreams that tha used to have, of a rich husband and fine house and carriage? Like Sammi will have one day!’ He turned away from her, his face filled with anger and disappointment. ‘We’re trapped here, thee and me, and if we don’t make an effort we’ll never do owt.’ He leaned on the table, his head bowed, biting his lip. ‘It might be too late for thee,’ he muttered, straightening up, ‘but there’s still time for me.’
She stared at him, her cheeks wet with tears and a sob in her throat, her hair was wet from the rain and hung in ringlets on her shoulders.
He looked her up and down, then inclined his head towards the stairs. ‘Get thissen upstairs and cleaned up before our da sees thee. He’ll know tha’s been rolling in ’meadow as soon as he sees thee. Go on, and then get ’breakfast on, they’ll all be up afore long.’
She tossed her head and hissed at him. ‘Get thine own breakfast, peazan. I’m not thy servant.’ She stumbled towards the stairs, her tears running unchecked. ‘You talk of houses and carriages and yet still expect me to run after you.’
‘I don’t want owt,’ he replied bitterly. ‘Not from thee. I’m leaving. I’ve had enough. If tha gets pregnant, life won’t be worth a candle wi’ two squalling bastards in ‘house.’
He rushed upstairs after her and barged into his room, waking George who looked at him through one eye and muttered, ‘Is ’wind up?’
‘Aye, and so should thou be. Rouse thaself.’ He opened the cupboard door and rooted around on the top shelf and pulled down a canvas rucksack. He jerked open a drawer in the chest and searched for a woollen jersey, a clean shirt and a pair of cord breeches which he pushed into the rucksack. Then he looked under the bed and pulled out a pair of grey woollen stockings which joined the other garments in the bag.
‘What’s tha doing, Mark?’ George grumbled. ‘And can tha do it a bit quieter?’
‘Leaving!’ he snapped. ‘So if tha wants to say good-bye, tha’d better get out of bed.’
‘But why, son? Why does tha want to go now?’ Thomas rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. His arms were brown and muscular, belying his fifty-two years. ‘We’re just spending money on ’place and tha’s wanting to leave!’
‘I’ve been thinking about it for some time, Da.’ Mark lo
oked down at his feet. ‘Now seemed as good a time as any.’
His father’s brow furrowed, then cleared as he said appeasingly, ‘I’ve been thinking about getting steam in ’mill, – getting an engine in!’ He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I know I keep talking about it, but this time we will, seeing as builders are coming in. I thought that we could talk about having an engine house tacked on, get modernized like some of ’other millers have.’
Mark shook his head. ‘It’s not that, Da. I just feel as if I want to see something of life, to see other bits of ’country. I don’t want to be stuck here till I dee and know I’ve never tried to do owt else.’
‘Why, son, tha’ll find that life goes on just ’same in other places as it does here. Folks get up in a morning and go to bed at night, and do what suits them in between. I can tell thee that, without thee having to stir a foot out of Tillington.’ He gave Mark a wistful glance from under his beetling brows and sighed. ‘But I know full well that tha’d rather find out for thissen.’
Sammi had been sitting quietly in a corner trying not to intrude, but she stood up at this juncture and spoke to her uncle.
‘It’s because of me being here, I think, Uncle. That’s why Mark wants to leave, because of me, and James’s baby. But I won’t be staying, Mark, I’ll be going home soon.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Betsy had come quietly down the stairs. Her dark hair was brushed and shiny, but her eyes were red-rimmed with crying. ‘It’s because of me. He said so.’
‘Now then! What’s this?’ Thomas looked from one to another. ‘Quarrelling? I’ll not have that. If Mark feels he has to leave, then I’d like to think there was no animosity. No anger.’
‘It’s nothing to do with thee, believe that, Sammi.’ Mark looked across at her with something like an apology in his voice. ‘And it’s only partly to do with Betsy. She onny set off ’spark to light ’tinder, in ’manner of speaking.’
‘Set off ’spark!’ His father grew impatient. ‘What’s been going on?’
‘Nowt, Da. Just a disagreement we had. It’s over with. Betsy shall do as she pleases, just as I want to do.’ Mark picked up his sack and avoided Betsy’s eye.
‘Wait!’ his father demanded. ‘I’ll get to ’bottom of this. Tom! Do you know owt of this?’
Tom was leaning on the door jamb, his arms folded in front of him. His mouth was set in a tight line. ‘No, Da. I only know that Mark has wanted to go for some time. He’s had enough of milling.’
‘Even with promise of a steam engine?’ his father asked. ‘There’ll allus be work here, Mark. Most men’d give their right arm for a mill like we’ve got.’
‘Aye, Da. But one day it’ll be Tom’s. Oh, I don’t mind that. I know that that is how it has to be. Same as you having this mill from thy da, and thy brother having to set up in Beverley. No. Tom is a good miller and there’s everything he wants here in Holderness.’ He glanced across at his brother and a flicker of a smile touched his lips. ‘And I don’t mean just ’mill. But 1 want to be my own master and that’s why I’m going.’
‘Tha’ll go to sea! That’s where tha’ll end up. A seaman like some of thy forebears.’ His father’s eyes grew bright and moist. ‘Well, so be it, if it’s in ’blood.’ He put out his hand to Mark who grasped it, and then putting down his bag put both arms around his father and hugged him.
‘What about money, son?’ His father’s voice broke. ‘I’ll just get thee some out of coffer.’
Mark swallowed. ‘I’ve enough, Da. I aim to go to Liverpool or London, and I’ve enough to get me there with what I’ve saved. Then I’ll earn whatever else I need.’
He came across to Sammi and bent to kiss her cheek; then first shaking hands with George, who, upset from the suddenness of events, wiped away the tears which were trickling from his eyes, then put his arms around him, and tapped him comfortingly on his shoulder.
He stood in front of Betsy. ‘Think on what I’ve said, Betsy, and be careful.’
She put her chin up and stared at him defiantly. ‘You’re wrong,’ she reviled him. ‘You’ll see.’ She turned her face away as he bent to kiss her cheek and he started back as if she had struck him again.
‘Aye,’ he said grimly. ‘We’ll see.’
Lastly he turned to Tom who stood by the door and who opened it to let him through. ‘I’ll walk with you to ’bottom of the lane,’ Tom said quietly. ‘You’ll be walking to Aldbrough to catch the carrier?’
Mark nodded, then turned to his father who came to stand in the doorway. He lifted his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Da. I’ll write as soon as I can. Wish me luck!’
His father nodded but didn’t speak and as Mark closed the mill gate behind him, he saw his father was still standing there watching him as if to etch him into his memory.
‘Will Da be all right? He won’t worry too much?’
‘Fat lot you care,’ Tom said viciously. ‘What’s got into you? Why now? This is coming up to our busiest time!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry, but tha’ll manage.’
Their long steps were evenly matched as they strode out side by side under the young chestnut trees that lined the lane, spreading their fan-shaped leaves in a canopy above them, the brilliant candles of white blossom glowing, brightening the grey morning.
‘It’s just – if I don’t go now, then I won’t go at all.’
‘And what of Betsy? What had you been arguing about?’ Tom stopped. They’d come to the bottom of the lane. It was time now for Mark to take the road alone.
‘I can’t tell thee, Tom. Just keep an eye on her, that’s all. She’s being led astray.’ He put out his hand to his brother, who took it, gripping it strongly.
‘Take care, Mark,’ Tom said gruffly. ‘And don’t feel you can’t come back if things don’t work out. You know that you can and you’ll be welcome.’
Mark nodded, and then gave a wavering smile. ‘I meant what I said about there being everything here that tha wanted. Tha’s a good miller, Tom – as good as Da, if not better. I’m not, I haven’t got ’thumb for it. And as for ’other—’ He grinned and slapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘Well, I doubt that she’d have thee, a peazan such as thee, but tha could try!’ He strode away whistling and headed off towards the dip in the road which would hide his view of the village until half a mile onwards, when, if he turned, he would see the grey stones and cobbles of the steepled church, the red roof of the vicarage and the mill with its white sails standing pictorially against the wide sky.
He stopped suddenly and turned. ‘Tom!’ he yelled. ‘Tom!’
Tom turned around expectantly and put his hand to his ear.
‘I forgot to tell thee.’ Mark cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘’Barn roof needs fixing!’
After Mark had left, Betsy’s father had beckoned to her. ‘Come here, young woman. I want to talk to thee.’
With a nervous glance at Sammi, she’d followed him into the parlour and Sammi went into the kitchen. Once more Nancy was late, but today, Sammi reflected, it was just as well. It wouldn’t have done for servants to hear family quarrels, and it was now that the difference between Sammi’s own home and the separating divisions between her family and their servants, and the Fosters’ home where the maid could hear all that was happening in the household, became apparent.
George went out to the mill and a few minutes later a subdued Tom returned from seeing Mark off on his journey.
‘He’s gone, has he?’ she said lamely, for something to say.
He nodded. ‘Aye. I set him to the bottom of the lane.’ He sat down and stared vacantly at the bubbling cauldron on the fire. ‘He’s had his heart set on going for some time.’
‘So it wasn’t anything to do with me – or Betsy?’ she asked anxiously.
He glanced up at her and frowned. ‘Nothing to do with you, no. He was rude to you, I know, but he was sorry about that. But Betsy – I’m not so sure. He’s worried about her. He says she’s being led astray.’
Sammi felt hers
elf blushing. Perhaps she should have mentioned something about Luke Reedbarrow earlier. Perhaps all this bad feeling could have been avoided. I’ve made a mistake, she thought. Several mistakes, in fact. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, I should have told you that Betsy was meeting Luke Reedbarrow. But she is so fond of him that it would have seemed like breaking a trust, I—’
He rose to his feet and towered over her, his dark eyes were intense, his voice taut. ‘What do you mean? Meeting Luke Reedbarrow! When has she been meeting him?’
Her eyes widened and she put her fingers to her lips as if to silence them. ‘I – I thought you knew, I thought that was what Mark—’
Tom shook his head. ‘Mark only said to keep an eye on her, that she’s being led astray.’ Sammi turned away and made to lift the cauldron off the fire. He closed his hand over hers. ‘Leave that, Sammi. When has she been meeting Luke Reedbarrow?’
She raised her eyes to his and saw the anger there and was immediately stung by annoyance herself. She shook off his staying hand. ‘Don’t question me, Tom. Betsy isn’t answerable to me, or to you! To her father, yes, but not to us. She’s nineteen, older than me. She’s a woman. She is perfectly able to make her own decisions.’
‘She’s a child!’ he retorted. ‘Where men are concerned, she knows nothing. She has to be protected.’
‘From Luke?’ she said angrily. ‘Is he not good enough for the Fosters?’
He put his hands to his head and clenched his black hair. His lips were set in a tight grimace, then he turned to her and grasped her by both shoulders. ‘Listen to me, Sammi!’
She looked up into his face and was surprised at the passion etched there. He was usually so patient, so forbearing. She felt the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, not hurting or forceful, but strong and supportive.
‘It’s not a question of whether or not he’s good enough. She has to be protected from men’s emotions. Sometimes – sometimes they can just get carried away. Sometimes – women give out meanings without realizing. And not all men are—’ He stopped. ‘And – they don’t – they’re not aware …’ He seemed to be consciously searching for an answer in her face, as if she held the key to what he had to say. He had lost his anger. This was the gentle Tom she knew, yet there was something different about him. He had become unsure and diffident. He dropped his hands and looked away; she wondered why he didn’t finish what he was going to say. He didn’t speak but stared at the floor. Again she reached for the cauldron, a thick cloth in her hand, and he turned towards her and taking the cloth from her he lifted the heavy iron utensil from the fire.