Turn of the Tide

by Skea, Margaret

  He clumped away, clearly not mollified, and pulled the door behind him so hard that it bounced open again. The child shivered in the draught and Elizaeth put out a hand towards him, but he shrank back, a flash of desperation in his eyes.

  Her thoughts were not easy, for it was aye fine for a laird’s daughter when food was scarce and prices were high; though they might tighten their belts a little, they didn’t fear to starve. But for the cottars it was a different story. Through the child’s thin clothes she could see his shoulder blades and hips protruding sharp and angular, his legs stick-thin. She thought of her brother John as a bairn and how he had fought them all for crying him ‘Roly-poly’. This child was so skinny that he had scarce any flesh on him at all. Under his nose she saw the telltale trail indicating a constant discharge, and the whites of his eyes were stained the colour of pale urine. Her initial pity hardened into anger: against the steward for finding the lad; against society that made of eating a crime; and, most of all, against herself, that she upheld a system which she knew to be unjust.

  ‘Don’t fret, child, I have no mind to beat you.’

  He looked up, still wary, wiped his nose on his sleeve. She avoided looking at the green gob, ‘Come. There’ll be a scrap or two in the kitchen you may eat and then you must be off. And remember,’ she made her voice stern, ‘it isn’t well done to poach in other folk’s warrens and foolish besides.’

  In the kitchen, Janet, who had already heard from the steward of the child’s capture, turned from stirring the contents of a heavy black pot. ‘Save us,’ she exclaimed, as she looked him up and down. ‘It’s feeding him we should be at, not taking food away from him.’

  ‘We must be quick about it then, before Hamish is back to lecture us.’

  Janet humphed, ‘It’s a sin the way he went on, and not long since he was poaching himself. Aye, and not just rabbits neither. Rising in the world has surely improved his conscience.’

  She bustled in and out of the pantry, the child’s eyes growing bigger as she clapped a loaf down on the table, cutting thick slices and spreading them with butter. Elizabeth saw his tongue slip from between small pointed teeth and skite quickly over his lips and caught a glimpse of gums that were unhealthily pale.

  ‘Here.’ She steered him over to the table and tried to press him onto the bench as Janet topped the bread with a slab of ewe’s cheese. He remained standing, staring at the food, as if he thought that if he once blinked it would disappear.

  ‘Eat, child,’

  He shook his head, balling his fists at his side, as if he was afraid that they would grab the bread, whether he would or no.

  ‘What ails you? You’re surely hungry? Else why take the risk of raiding the warren?’ She dropped down to his eye level, ‘Would you rather we gave it you to take home?’

  He uncurled his fists.

  Elizabeth sliced and Janet buttered, and the child’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. The loaf done, Janet disappeared, returning with a pail, newly sluiced, and wiped it dry. Elizabeth reshaped the loaf, wrapping it in a clean piece of muslin and, placing it in the pail, topped it with the remainder of the cheese. She rolled the child’s fingers around the handle.

  ‘There. Home, and don’t dawdle, else someone may think you’ve stolen pail and food both.’

  She waited only until he shot out through the gateway before calling for the stable lad, himself not much older than the child, but healthy and strong and bright withal. ‘See to it that both child and pail are safely arrived. Note if you can, which of the cottages he comes from and don’t hurry back: a little dilly-dallying may teach us something of his family circumstance.’

  He nodded and grinned, betraying by the skip in his step that the errand was a welcome one and she determined that if news came back of a family in more than usual distress, she would conspire with Janet to ensure that some of their wastage went to fattening them, rather than the household stock. A mite less around a pig’s middle would scarce be noticed in the butchering, but the waif had been nearer to a skeleton than a child.

  It was unfortunate that he had strayed rather farther from home than she had anticipated, so was not the Shaws’ direct responsibility, but that of a neighbour, Elliot, whom they hadn’t seen since the previous Yuletide and only then because her father had looked to some trade advantage from his company. The rest of the family had groaned when told they were to entertain him overnight and she had found it hard to stifle her laughter when Christian, catching his tone perfectly, stood at the entrance to the solar and declaimed,

  ‘My dear James, I trust we have not incommoded you by our little visit.’

  Nevertheless, she intended to attempt to move him into improving the lot of his cottagers. It was a small step from that thought to consideration of wider responsibilities. With John in Glasgow on some business or other and unlikely to return before the week was out, she spent three days in wind and rain systematically covering the low-lying land along the Clyde shore. Each time she came upon an isolated cottage or a huddle of huts she stopped, on the pretext of a few moments’ respite from the elements, and saw for herself the conditions the folk lived in. It was not a few days that she wished to repeat and each day, as she came home and warmed herself by the solar fire and had placed in front of her a good hot meal, her sense of guilt grew.

  Her concern now firmly focussed on the whole area, she spent the next two days visiting each neighbour in turn. And although the weather had changed, so that she rode with the sun warming her back, the exercise in itself justifying the jaunts, at most of the tower-houses her visits were a surprise. Her parents still away from home, the majority of her neighbours, closer to their generation than her own, could hardly have anticipated her social call. In several cases she caught them so unawares that there was an obvious fluster to provide some refreshment.

  As to the purpose of her visit: that became an increasing frustration. In the face of polite disinterest, she paraded her ideas like penny pamphlets and with as little effect. There were no outright refusals, for there was no doubting that a general scheme of poor relief would likely result in less thieving and poaching, to the benefit of all. There was, however, a skilful side stepping of the issue, cloaked in pleasantries; and much talk of the need for the poor to merit the support they received from those of a better class. Mention everywhere was made of the wastrels who plagued the community, and the lack of control that produced families far in excess of what was reasonable. At house after house she was soothed and petted and in the politest of tones sent away empty. Some pledged to consult with her father on his return from the Low Countries, a ploy that she suspicioned was based on the premise that he would have less of the crusader about him. In which, of course, they were right.

  In only one house did she approach achievement of her end, though at the first she had thought him as hopeless as the rest. Patrick Maxwell, a Cunninghame cousin and therefore kin of a sort to her mother, received her in the great hall at Newark and she knew that the high ceiling, the fine French tapestries, the polished limestone chimney piece, all clear evidences of his standing, were not intended to be wasted on her. His hand when he greeted her was hot and moist and inwardly she recoiled from his touch. Mindful of her aim in coming however, she didn’t pull away, rather glanced downwards as if shy. God forgive me she thought, but he is a fool, and may perhaps be tempted into a promise that he can’t later avoid. She swept a low curtsey, lifting her eyes and opening them wide, accepting the chair that he set by a window looking across the Clyde. It was impossible not to admire the view: the broad expanse of dimpled water, the deeper green of the woods that strayed onto the opposite shore, the purple sweep of the mountains beyond. Equally impossible to refrain from comment. Yet a compliment would be but the truth and could pay dividends. ‘You are well-set. It would be hard to be miserable faced with such a view.’

  ‘And would happily share my good fortune.’ He leant across her to name the hills, the highest Ben Lomond.

  She too
k care not to shudder as his arm brushed her breast.

  Initially, he blustered at the notion of the establishment of a warren on common land, pouncing on the problem of management.

  ‘Why not the parish? It would be but a slight extension of their customary role.’

  ‘Indeed. Though I hardly think the additional effort would prove popular.’

  The soft mockery in his voice strengthened her determination. ‘My other purpose is to canvas subscriptions for a fund to be plundered in times of scarcity.’

  He edged closer to her. ‘Fine ambitions, Elizabeth, but who has either the time or inclination to be Joseph?’

  Inwardly, irritation flared. Outwardly, she kept her tone light. ‘I thought the task could perhaps be shared. . .’ A new expression in his eyes caused her to rise. ‘But I see I have troubled you long enough.’

  His tongue slid over his lips. ‘On the contrary, the topic is most interesting and I am half-way to a convert. And may be convinced altogether by dinner time.’

  She summoned a regretful smile. ‘With my parents and John from home, I can’t leave my sisters over long. The youngest is but a bairn.’

  ‘You have servants – let them look to the bairn.’

  This time her smile was genuine. ‘It isn’t the child’s well-being that concerns me, but rather the mischief she might make.’

  ‘Well, then, I am only sorry that I cannot oblige the now, but . . .’ his tongue flicked out again, ‘. . . if you will favour me with another visit, I will be better placed to swell your purse.’

  The capitulation took her by surprise and she had the uncomfortable thought that it had little to do with any feeling of prodigality towards the poor. Handing her up onto her horse, she felt the dampness of his palm and a small shiver took her. He pounced on it at once,

  ‘It looks gey like rain. Bide a while, till you see what the weather may do.’

  The courtesy lie stuck in her throat. ‘Would that I could, but they look for me at home.’ She passed through the arched pend of the gatehouse and raised her hand in farewell, her skin rising in goosebumps at the vigour of his answering wave. And in her head made an attempt at justification that the money was necessary and whatever he thought, she hadn’t given him any real grounds to suppose she looked on him with favour. Yet fully aware that neither her brother nor her father would react well that she made herself beholden to Newark, however finely set he might be, she resolved to conclude the job before John’s return from Glasgow. And as for Hugh, she had no wish to give him any grounds to become embroiled in another argument. That Patrick Maxwell was thick with William Cunninghame made caution the more necessary.

  Two days later, she presented herself at Newark for the second time. As she was shown into the solar, she saw the disappointment in Maxwell’s eyes and was glad that she had taken the precaution of bringing Christian. He rose to greet them, taking first Christian’s hand and then, holding it longer than courtesy demanded, her own.

  ‘No doubt you’ve come to call in my promise?’

  ‘Indeed. You have promised to be most generous. I shan’t forget that you were the first to see the need for some relief.’

  He bowed. ‘I hadn’t expected the pleasure of your return quite so soon. The weather . . .’

  She jumped in, eager to take charge of the conversation. ‘We took advantage of the break in the rain that last night’s sky promised. There are others,’ she allowed her smile to deepen, ‘not so willing as you, who have promised to consider the matter on my father’s return from Holland. I would wish to present him with the tangible proof of your generosity, that he may be the more able to exert pressure in other quarters.’

  ‘I applaud your forethought, Elizabeth.’ He was pawing her arm and she took a half step back. ‘Fortunately, I am in a position to make good my promise. But I must trouble you to wait a little.’ His breath blew hot across her cheek. ‘My steward returns this afternoon from Glasgow, and I will have monies then. In the meantime . . .’ Forced to look upwards, she noted the hairs that curled inside his nostrils and took another half step backwards, coming up against a freestanding candle sconce by the side of the fire. He passed his hand around her to steady the sconce.

  Christian, feigning a coughing fit, sank onto the bench by the hearth, so that he was forced to drop his arm and call for water. He turned back to Elizabeth and waved his hand at the lad, ‘Tell cook we are ready to eat. Our guests . . .’ his teeth were small and sharp, like a weasel, ‘are, I’m sure, hungry.’

  Though the hunger was all on one side and likely not for food, there was no room for protest. Elizabeth bore, with as much grace as she could muster, the intermittent warmth of his leg against hers each time he leaned to reach for a sweetmeat or a refill of ale. They had been seated for barely an hour when the door opened and the steward appeared.

  ‘Ah, Hector, your return is timely. Mistress Shaw is come to plunder our purse to help the poor. I trust you had no problems carrying out our business?’

  ‘None at all. I have the monies, though I hadn’t thought to disperse them quite so soon.’

  Maxwell frowned. ‘That isn’t your affair.’

  Elizabeth pushed back her chair, made to rise.

  He laid a hand on her arm, and she could fault neither his light touch, nor his voice, as he said, ‘We’ll do the business presently. You ladies haven’t finished. I wouldn’t wish to rush you away.’

  Later, as they turned their horses out through the castle gateway Christian let out a long breath. ‘It’s a hard-earned five merks.’

  ‘Well . . . it’s done now . . . and will not be so again. A name or two on the list and no-one will think to ask how they got there.’

  It was an uneasy ride. On any other day Elizabeth would have relished the freedom from noise and unwelcome attentions that skirting around Greenock would have ensured. But, less than comfortable with her own thoughts on the visit to Newark, she had no desire to hear Christian’s on the matter, and so preferred the inconvenience and extra caution that picking their way through the narrow streets crowding the river required. Sun and moon both hung pale and almost indistinguishable in the darkening sky as their horses slithered their way across the quayside cobbles. The fish market was long since closed and they sought to avoid the litter of rotting fish-heads, the stench of them spilling into the back alleys that twisted upwards towards the terraced slopes to the west of the town. Empty creels were stacked at intervals along the harbour wall and the few fishermen still working at their boats, swilling down the decks or tidying sails, raised their heads only briefly as they passed. Most were already drinking the proceeds of the day’s catch in one or other of the alehouses that lined the water’s edge. The sound of them, scarcely less raucous than the gulls, rolled out through half-open casements: tuneless singing, raised voices, the splintering wood of an over-turned stool.

  Elizabeth pulled sharply sideways as a door burst open and two men sprawled in front of her. They rolled over and over, until one raised his fist and knocked his opponent’s head against the cobbles with a crack. Christian hesitated but Elizabeth reached out and tugged at her bridle. ‘This isn’t the time to look to someone else’s trouble. There’s danger enough in our own journey, and I have a mind to be home before it’s full dark.’

  They didn’t look back.

  Intermittent rain came in short flurries, blowing horizontally into their faces so that they bent their heads against it, trusting to the horses to find steady footing. Their father, however else he economised, did not spare silver when it came to finding a good mount, so though the horses also ducked their heads against the spiking rain, they made good time.

  Settling down to a quiet meal in the solar, Elizabeth parried Gillis’ questions. ‘We have been making our collection for the poor relief.’

  ‘You should have taken me. Father said that we should have fresh air.’

  Elizabeth brushed a loose strand of Gillis’ hair behind her ear. ‘It wasn’t an exciting day, nor a pa
rticularly pleasant one but,’ as Gillis opened her mouth to protest further, ‘if you wish to spend an hour or two sitting quiet, listening to adults wiggle their way out of making a contribution and then be made cold and wet by the ride home, I promise you shall accompany us next time.’

  Gillis had listened only to the promise and jigged on her chair, her eyes dancing. And that was the sight that greeted John as he entered, holding his finger to his mouth, so that he was able to come up behind Elizabeth and place his hands over her eyes. She gave a start and felt the colour in her face, thinking for a moment it might be Hugh. Her prick of disappointment when she swivelled, immediately displaced by relief that she hadn’t dallied on the road home.

  ‘John, this is so good – we hadn’t thought to see you tonight, for business aye takes longer than is supposed. Have you supped? Gillis, run down to the kitchens and tell Janet . . .’

  John headed for the hearth. ‘Clear as it is here, it was dreich in Glasgow.

  ‘I know. We were near so . . .’ She broke off, thankful that, concentrating on poking a blaze into the fire, he failed to notice her slip.

  Christian, under the pretext of moving dishes aside to make room, whispered, ‘It’s as well you come clean, for I suspicion that Gillis won’t be distracted from re-telling your promise for long.’

  ‘I know. I will . . . only . . .’

  John, admiring the flames now flaring on the hearth, cast a quick look towards them. ‘What are you two whispering about? Have I missed something – a suitor for Christian perhaps?’

  Christian flushed and looked away.