Children Of The Tide

by Valerie Wood

  He stared back; his eyes had a helpless look, then his face crumpled. ‘Because of Harriet,’ he said. ‘I wanted the marriage to go ahead and I knew her father wouldn’t allow it if word got out.’ He sat down heavily behind his desk. ‘We were a good match,’ he went on, ‘both families wanted it.’

  Sammi’s mouth turned down. An arranged marriage, she judged; but she softened as he continued, ‘But now I’m terrified of her finding out. I care for her so much, Sammi,’ he said. ‘I never thought I could care for anyone the way I care for Harriet. I don’t know what I should do if I lost her.’

  She remained silent; this, then, was why her mother felt sorry for him.

  He blinked and looked up at her. ‘I have promised your mother I will find a place for him. What else can I do or say, apart from I’m sorry?’ He rose to his feet, mindful of his manners. ‘I beg your pardon, Sammi. Won’t you sit down?’

  She shook her head and remained standing. ‘What I want you to do, Gilbert,’ her voice was husky, ‘what I want you to do is write to James, if you haven’t already done so, and tell him; whether you tell your mother is up to you. And the other thing I want you to do,’ she took a deep breath, ‘is to try to make amends in another way.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll do what I can. I really am sorry, Sammi,’ he pleaded. ‘I wanted to tell you that first night, but I didn’t dare, and then it was too late. James decided to go and you took Adam, and so I left things as they were,’ he added miserably.

  She hardened herself towards him, though she felt uneasily that perhaps she, too, had acted hastily. ‘What I want you to do, Gilbert, is to make amends by helping other children, children who might well have been born under similar circumstances.’

  She couldn’t help but add this rider and, embarrassed at her candour, he looked away.

  ‘I know, I did say that I would speak to Pearson,’ he agreed; then as she made no reply but waited for him to continue, he said, ‘There’s a Chamber of Commerce meeting tomorrow, he’s sure to be there. If I promise to speak to him then will that be …?’

  ‘Perfect. You’ll tell Billy the outcome?’

  ‘I will,’ he assured, relief showing as he smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Sammi. I won’t let you down this time. I will speak to Mr Pearson.’

  She nodded. ‘I shall be relying on you, Gilbert, and so will others. Children like Adam, who through no fault of their own are in intolerable situations.’

  His smile disappeared and she saw him swallow and take a breath. He bowed his head. ‘Trust me, Sammi. I beg you.’

  On their way home, Sammi decided to call at the mill house and introduce Jenny. The girl was learning fast, and Martha had said that she wouldn’t have minded keeping her at Garston Hall as she was such a willing soul; but Sammi’s mother had said no, she would go to the Fosters’, where she was needed.

  But first she called on Mrs Bishop to see Adam. She leant over his crib and fondled his toes. ‘He will be leaving us soon, Mrs Bishop. A foster home is being sought. He has done well under your care.’

  Mrs Bishop gazed at her frankly. ‘Breeding and feeding is what I’m good at, miss. And, I have to say, that I hope that this bairn will one day be grateful to thee for what tha’s done for him. But, Miss Sammi, I warned thee already and I say again that there’s some who will – are – judging thee; true they’re nobody much in ’scheme of things, common folk whose opinions maybe don’t count, but gossip spreads, and it’ll spread upwards.’

  ‘You’re saying there are those who consider that I am a fallen woman? That he is my child?’ she said bluntly. ‘Because I have cared for his well-being they paint my character worse than it is?’

  ‘Aye, miss.’ Mrs Bishop nodded. ‘That’s about ’strength of it.’

  Betsy wasn’t in, and Uncle Thomas was sleeping, so she searched out Tom in the mill. ‘Betsy’s gone off somewhere, Sammi, but I don’t know where.’ Tom rubbed his hands together to shake off the grain. ‘She doesn’t always tell us.’ He followed her outside, where Jenny was waiting by the carriage door. She looked a trifle apprehensive as he approached, but he tried to put her at ease as he said, ‘So, you’re coming to look after us, are you, Jenny?’

  She dipped her knee and looked at Sammi for confirmation, then shyly said, ‘When I’m ready, sir. Mrs Martha said I wouldn’t be long. I’ll do my best for thee, sir.’

  He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’m sure that you will.’

  Aside to Sammi as Jenny moved away, he murmured, ‘She’s very young. Will she do, do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure, Tom. Betsy will be able to train her into her own ways. She’s a good worker, Martha says so.’

  ‘Well, if Martha says so, who am I to question? I hope Betsy takes to her; it’s a pity she’s out.’

  ‘Never mind.’ She felt his gaze upon her. ‘They’ll meet another time.’

  ‘What’s that nice smell, miss?’ Jenny asked as she climbed into the carriage beside Sammi.

  ‘Smell?’ Sammi was watching Tom’s retreating back as he walked back towards the mill, his head slightly bent. Was his demeanour different? Had he heard the gossip, and if he had did it worry him?

  ‘Like at ’baker’s shop!’

  ‘It’s the grain,’ she murmured, ‘balmy and warm. I used to think it was a comforting, soothing kind of aroma when I was a child. It’s the scent of a good harvest gathered in.’

  33

  Betsy put on her best yellow gown and her prettiest bonnet, and looked in the bedroom mirror. The gown had been decidedly tight around the waist, but she had eased the seams and adjusted the lacing on the bodice and now it felt much more comfortable.

  ‘Is tha putting on weight, Betsy?’ George had asked as she sat unpicking the seams, and she replied no, not at all, it was more fashionable to wear a looser style. When he laughed and asked who would see her wearing it, she replied mysteriously to wait and see.

  Tom had looked at her questioningly, but hadn’t asked, so she casually dropped the remark that she and Sammi were thinking of having a day out.

  ‘I don’t remember Sammi mentioning it,’ Tom said, and she retorted that Sammi didn’t tell him everything, even if he thought she did, she’d added meaningfully.

  And that shut him up straight away, she mused as, with a final glance in the mirror, she picked up her shawl and went downstairs. I wouldn’t be too surprised if he’s sweet on her after all.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Da?’ She hesitated by the parlour door.

  ‘Aye, don’t worry about me, lass. Go off and enjoy thaself and give Sammi my love. Or is she calling in?’

  ‘No. I said I would meet her in the village. Save turning the trap around.’ She spoke nervously. She didn’t like to lie to her father; it was the first time she had ever done so, but she knew very well that she wouldn’t be allowed to go if she told the truth.

  ‘Ask Tom to give thee a shilling or two,’ her father said. ‘Go on, tell him to get it out of ’box. Treat thaself.’

  When she asked for the money, he asked, ‘How much did he say?’

  ‘A guinea or two.’ She kept a straight face. ‘But I shan’t want so much,’ she added, when she saw his look of astonishment and worried that he might check with their father. ‘Just a guinea will do.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she called gaily and hurried down the lane to catch a lift on the carrier’s cart into Hull.

  The idea had come to her when, on returning from an errand in the village, she had seen the carrier on his way back from Hull to Hornsea. A woman she knew had climbed down and called up to the driver that she would see him the following week.

  They stopped for a few words and as the cart drew out of the village, she had exclaimed, ‘Drat. I’d forgotten that our Nellie’s coming next week. I shan’t need ’lift after all.’

  ‘I have to go into Hull next week,’ Betsy had said impulsively. ‘I could take your place.’

  Mrs Glover had nodded. ‘It’ll be busy. They’re opening ’park on Mond
ay.’

  Later in the week Sammi, too, had mentioned the opening of the park. ‘Billy is going as an official guest,’ she said. ‘He’s going to meet Mr Pearson. I wish we could have gone, Betsy, but I have to stay home with Victoria as Mama and Pa are going up to the Wolds.’

  But I could go, Betsy thought. Only I won’t tell anyone, or else I shan’t be allowed. How annoying it is to be a woman; a man can go wherever he wants, but a woman is always so restricted.

  She knew that, up to a point, that was untrue, for married women like Mrs Glover regularly travelled alone, as did young girls like Nancy, who were not afraid for their reputation. But Betsy had been kept on a tight rein by her father and brothers, ever mindful for her safety and well-being.

  Well, I’m breaking free, she exulted as she signalled for the carrier to stop. ‘I’m taking Mrs Glover’s place,’ she said climbing up. ‘Her daughter is visiting her today, so she can’t come.’

  ‘Righto, miss. It makes no difference to me. I haven’t given thee a lift before, have I?’

  ‘No.’ She gave him a winsome smile. ‘My brother generally brings me in, but today he can’t, and I wanted to go to the opening of the park.’

  ‘Why, miss, ’park is nowt special for country folk like thee! It’ll be full o’ trees and flowers same as out here. It’s for townies and them as don’t have a bit o’ grass on ’doorstep. Mind,’ he flicked his reins and the pair of greys picked up their heels, ‘there’ll be brass bands playing and sodgers marching, so it’ll be a good day out.’

  Betsy was filled with excitement; she was going to have such fun, a whole day to herself. The sun was shining and she had money in her purse to spend on whatever she wanted.

  When they arrived at the outskirts of the town, however, the roads were jammed with jostling coaches, carriages and carts all trying to join the procession on its way up the Beverley Road towards the new park, given by and named after the benefactor and Mayor of the town, Zachariah Pearson. They crossed the North Bridge and turned into the High Street, then came to a full stop at the junction of Salthouse Lane.

  ‘Tha might as well walk in, miss,’ the carrier said after they had sat immobile for twenty minutes. ‘By the time I get into ’Market Place, ’show is going to be over.’

  Betsy agreed and stepped down, calling up to him to ask what time he would be going back.

  ‘Two o’clock as a rule, but I doubt I’ll make it that time today.’ He touched his forehead. ‘Be at ’Reindeer between two and three if tha wants a lift back.’

  Betsy followed the crowd into the Market Place. Already the streets were crowded and the townsfolk very lively. Flags were hanging from shop and office doorways and people were claiming their places in windows ready to watch the procession, and stray streamers were floating down onto the heads of the crowd below.

  I had no idea that it would be like this, she thought as she was jostled by the crowd. I thought there would be a fête at the park, but I never dreamt that the whole town would be celebrating.

  The town was filled with soldiers, bandsmen and police, all getting in place to form the military and civic pageant; crowds were spilling out in their thousands from the railway station where special trains were bringing them in from all over Yorkshire, and the steamers at the pier were discharging hundreds of passengers. The whole of the town, the thoroughfares and side streets, were thronging with residents and visitors all come to enjoy the day.

  ‘What time does the parade start?’ She stopped a young woman with two young children.

  ‘One o’clock,’ the woman said, ‘but we’re making a start for ’park now, otherwise we’ll never get there to see owt. Bairns don’t want to miss seeing sodgers marching, or ’side shows.’

  Betsy decided that she would make a start also, for if she was to see the planting of the first tree by the Mayor when he arrived at the park, and get back into Hull in time for the carrier’s cart, then she would have to hurry along.

  She was half-way along the Beverley Road when a cheer went up and someone shouted that the parade had started. As Betsy strained her ears, she could hear the striking up of the kettledrums and the blast of trumpets as the bandsmen began their performance, and the procession started on its route through the town.

  Over the Whitefriargate Bridge they marched, Junction Street, Prospect Street, where the nurses and not so sick patients waved from the windows and grounds of the Infirmary, and on up the Beverley Road towards its destination at the park. Carriages and horseback riders were preceding the procession, and as Betsy approached the park gates, which were decked with flags and evergreens, she moved aside to let a gig through. She looked up at the driver as he manoeuvred past and stared. Charles Craddock!

  He saw her and called out, ‘Miss Foster! How delightful to see you.’ An official was moving him on, and his black gelding was prancing and throwing its head as he held it in check. ‘Are you alone?’ he called. ‘Come on, jump in if you are.’

  She hesitated only for a second and with a quick hitch up of her skirts she scrambled up. ‘No,’ she said breathlessly and rearranged herself, ‘I’m not alone, but I’ve lost sight of my companion.’

  He flicked his reins and they moved on again. ‘You’ll never find her in this crowd, unless you’ve made an arrangement to meet somewhere.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Now why do I assume it is a female companion? I am wrong. It is bound to be a sweetheart when you are looking as lovely as you do.’

  She assumed a coy look. ‘It is, of course, a female companion, Mr Craddock. We came for a day’s shopping and got caught up in the festivities.’

  He handed her down as they entered the park, and a boy took his horse and gig to a compound. ‘Then if you have lost your companion and as I am alone with a spare ticket’ – he fished two tickets out of his jacket pocket – ‘perhaps you would join me up on the platform?’ He pointed into the centre of the grassy area where a huge platform had been erected with seats covered in red cloth and a canvas top covering the whole.

  She hesitated. ‘Come on,’ he persuaded. ‘They’re the best seats, right in the middle; it’s a shame to let one go to waste.’

  ‘All right,’ she decided. ‘Why not?’

  They took their seats and Betsy surmised that these seats had been reserved for the élite of the neighbourhood, for the occupants were expensively dressed, the ladies in pretty veiled hats and crinolines of silks and velvets, and some of the gentlemen in formal attire, whilst the people in the side seats, though well dressed, did not have the air of gentility the others had, and she was glad that she was dressed in her best yellow gown.

  ‘Fifteen hundred seats on this platform,’ Craddock whispered into her ear. ‘And I’m lucky enough to be sitting next to you!’ He put his hand along the back of Betsy’s seat and fingered her shoulder beneath her shawl.

  She looked at him and then lowered her lashes. ‘I trust you are not going to take advantage of me, Mr Craddock, just because I have accepted your offer to sit beside you.’

  He immediately removed his arm. Then he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Foster,’ he said softly. ‘It’s just that I have thought of you so often since we met at your cousin’s wedding, that I cannot believe my luck in finding you here. Please forgive my impertinence.’

  She arched her eyebrows. Had he really been thinking of her? But whether he had or not, it was quite nice to flirt a little. I can’t really flirt or dally with Luke, she thought, he is so basic.

  She allowed him to keep hold of her hand, and he ran his fingers up and down hers and stroked her wrist. Everyone stood up as the procession entered the park, and Craddock put his arm around her waist to support her.

  First came the Police followed by the Park Committee, then the brass bands of the East and West Riding, and the East Yorkshire Militia; the Artillery Volunteers and East Yorkshire Rifles, and members of various lodges. There was a great variety of uniform, the Lincolnshire volunteers in grey tunics and trousers tri
mmed with red, the corps from Lincoln wore dark green with black facings, and on their heads the peaked and plumed shakos.

  ‘Here come the dignitaries,’ Craddock said, as the civic procession rolled towards the dais below them. First came the beadles carrying the sword and mace, followed by the Mayor in his robe of office and gold chain, and riding with him in his private carriage was Lord Wenlock, the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of the Riding. Lord Hotham, Member of Parliament, was in private dress, and the Town Clerk wore ceremonial wig and robe of office.

  Everyone cheered and then sat down again once the Mayor had passed and watched the remaining procession from their seats. The Sheriff and Deputy Sheriff of Hull, both in Court dress, were followed through the grounds by Members of Parliament, Wardens and Brethren of Trinity House, Foreign Consuls and the members of the Dock Company.

  ‘There’s my cousin!’ Betsy exclaimed.

  ‘Ah, you found her?’ Craddock smiled. ‘It was Miss Rayner who came with you?’

  Betsy was about to deny it, then said, ‘I meant Gilbert. Look there he is, walking with the men from the Dock Company.’

  Gilbert’s tall figure stood out from the others in the procession.

  ‘Ah, yes. Gilbert,’ Craddock mused. ‘I had forgotten that he might be part of the official party.’

  As Betsy watched the next part of the proceedings, she suddenly thought of her lift home. ‘Mr Craddock! What is the time?’

  He consulted his pocket watch. ‘Two-thirty exactly.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘Not tired of me already, are you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Worriedly, she contemplated her situation. ‘But I – we – had arranged to meet between two-thirty and three o’clock in the Market Place if we got separated.’

  ‘Too late, I fear. You would never get there in time, the crowds are still swarming in.’

  ‘What shall I do?’ she said anxiously. ‘I’ve arranged for a ride home.’