by Valerie Wood
It was Martin Reedbarrow who found Sarah, alerted by Paul who’d gone wandering along the cliffs, thrown out of the house by his shrill, nagging wife, and come back to Monkston to see what was doing.
Paul was so frightened that he was incomprehensible, and Martin hadn’t at first understood his breathless gabbling. When at last what he said made sense, Martin shouted at him to fetch help from the village, then ran towards the sea as fast as his heavy frame would allow him, for he had become fat and short-winded as he’d grown older.
Paul had told his father that Joe and Sarah had gone over together, he had seen her red hair streaming behind her. He had been watching from behind an old gravestone as she sat on the cliff top, staring out to sea. He’d seen Joe come and go, and then come back again with Will, and his muddled mind couldn’t decide whether Joe had pushed her or whether he was trying to catch her.
The cliffs were high by the old church and the water was raging, dashing great plumes of white foam against the cliff face, but Martin placed his large feet surely and carefully as he scrambled down the broken surface, and reached the fresh fall of clay, which lay in peaks and ridges, breaking the full force of the sea’s raw energy which gathered momentum and flung Sarah’s light form towards him.
Waist-deep in water he reached out towards her. Her cloak and gown were heavy with water and the waves sucked at her, trying to tear her from his grasp, to gather her back. Desperately he held on, feeling the sand moving beneath his feet, dragging him down, and just as he felt that he too would succumb to the power of the sea, and his arms burnt as if on fire, he heard the sound of other voices and men from the village took her from him and pulled him back.
He carried her himself, back to her mother, cradling her like the daughter she now would never be. They had heard her moan, and turning her over pumped the sea water out of her until she retched and cried and they knew they had saved her.
Some of the men wanted to take a boat out and look for Joe, but Martin shook his head. It was useless, no sense in risking more lives. He knew his son wouldn’t stand a chance. His big landsman’s body would be dragged down. Joe hated the water, he always had. He was a countryman and had had no affinity with the sea despite living within sight of it all of his life.
Maria cried as they laid Sarah on a blanket on the floor in the warm kitchen at Garston Hall, and after hurrying to get brandy and hot water rocked her in her arms.
‘But where’s her da? Where’s Will? He was with Joe. They went running off together. Dear God. Don’t say he’s gone too.’
They found Paul and he nodded nervously. Aye, he did see Will go over, he fell with the cliff. He hadn’t stopped to look but had run to fetch his father.
A search party set out, but they found nothing, not that day or the next, but on the third day a message came from down the coast for them to come. It was Joe, an enormous blow on the back of his head and mud from the land still caked on the soles of the heavy boots which had dragged him down. The sea had returned him and deposited him gently back on the shore.
‘They’ll not find my Will.’ Maria’s eyes had dark shadows beneath them and her hair was more white than black. She smiled wistfully. ‘’Sea will keep him. I always knew it would. He’ll sleep soundly beneath those ’waters. I have no fear of that.’
She sighed. ‘I always thought that one day I would leave this place. I always meant to ask Will to take me back to Hull, to see that old brown river, and to wave to King Billy on his golden hoss, and finally to lie with my own folk. I realize now that it wasn’t meant to be. Here I’ll stay with my bairns and wait. ’Sea doesn’t frighten me any more, not now, in fact it’s quite a comfort – knowing that Will is out there.’
She put her sorrow to one side to care for her daughter, who lay wan and lifeless, not eating, not sleeping, and locked in silent distress.
Isaac Masterson had insisted that Sarah should stay at Garston Hall, that they make up a bed for her and give her everything she needed. He was beside himself with grief. So much sorrow, so much waste of life – John, Foster, Reedbarrow’s son, and Sarah so sick that they feared for her mind. He ordered the doctor to come and attend her, and he stood at her bedside and shook his head.
‘We could try bleeding her, get rid of the poisons which are obviously affecting her mind.’
But Maria wouldn’t let him near with his jar of leeches, and he didn’t come again.
Lucy came to see her and gently stroked her cheek and held her hand. ‘Please get better, Sarah. I can’t bear to see you like this.’
Sarah gave a small sad smile of recognition and then turned away.
‘You’re making so much of the girl, Isaac. I don’t understand you.’ Isobel was sharp and irritable at Isaac’s distress. ‘I’m sad too, for goodness sake, over poor John. And it isn’t as if Sarah was one of the household any more. She cut herself off from us, we didn’t make he go.’
‘Sarah might well have been one of us,’ he replied wearily. He was too old to deal with such troubles, and told her all he knew. ‘John loved her and she him, this is why she is so sick, she thinks there is nothing left to live for.’
She stared at him, angry and confused, her pride battling with her fondness for John.
‘Then it’s a pity we didn’t know sooner,’ she said bitterly. ‘If he had married her, at least he would still be here with us, and not gone to his death on some foolhardy voyage.’
25
Sarah opened her eyes reluctantly. The sun was shining through the curtains and falling on to the mirror on the chest across the room, sending bright reflections flitting across her face. The brightness reminded her of something, some white, bright light that she had seen she knew not where. But that had been a cold, hard light, without colour or warmth, unlike this pale gold glow which bathed the room.
Maria came in and sat by the bed. She stroked Sarah’s forehead and smoothed the hair away from her face.
‘Ma. Where is this room?’
Maria was startled for a moment, then a sudden joy returned to her, for this was the first response they had had from Sarah since she had been brought here so many weeks ago. She smiled delightedly. ‘Why, Sarah, tha’s been in here many times, surely? Tha’s at Garston Hall. Doesn’t tha know this place better than thine own?’
‘Yes, Ma. But this room, how else do I know it?’ she whispered. There was a pounding in her weakened body, an awareness coming fast and strong that she was alive after all, and not trapped, cold and alone, beneath the icy waters.
She had known without them telling her that her father was gone. She had felt his body beneath hers as they struggled deep in the watery blackness, felt him pushing her with all the strength of his muscular arms, forcing her up against the savage waves, and just as she was about to learn the truth and solve the wondrous secrets of the universe, he had heaved her out of the water to face life and its pain.
There was some other person also, someone kind and loving who in his eagerness to save her from herself had gone too, and she felt the guilt weigh heavily upon her. Someone who had gathered her into his arms to cushion her body as they plunged down the cliff and sank beneath the waves. She hadn’t remembered who he was until she saw the tear-stained, saddened face of Janey, who spoke in whispers of her lost brother.
‘Ma?’
She saw her mother wipe away a tear, but she turned a smiling face towards her. ‘I’ll tell thee a secret then, Sarah. This is ’same room as tha was born in. Only Mastersons never knew. We never told them that tha was born here.’
Maria saw the question on Sarah’s face. ‘Tha was in such a hurry to come into this world, that there wasn’t time to get me home to Field House. Mr John had been using this room, for he’d come unexpected and we weren’t ready for him. It didn’t have a fine bed like this, though, just a truckle bed and a chest, but he brought me in here, and here tha was born.’
She looked down at her daughter and patted her hand. ‘I’m going to fetch thee some soup. Tha looks so
much better, perhaps tha might eat?’
Sarah lay back on the pillow. There had to be a reason why she at last felt comforted, why she now felt warmth flowing through her bones where before there had been only a lifeless chill.
John had been here. Here he had slept, walked the floor and sat in the chair, touched the door knob and left part of himself indelibly stamped in the fabric of the walls and the air that she breathed.
She pushed the sheets and hangings to one side and cautiously rose from the bed. Her legs were weak and she clung to the chair and windowsill as she looked out of the window. Spring was almost there, tender green growth was pushing its way out of the frosty earth, the first signs of an abundant vitality fighting for existence. She could see the sea. Where the cliff had fallen away there was a wide band of silver and grey glistening in the morning sun. She heard the soft breathing of the surf, and it no longer menaced her as it had when they brought her here and she had hidden, cold and lost, cowering beneath the sheets.
She could go on now, she wanted to live. She sensed John near, felt his presence, and knew now that he would always be with her, would never leave her, that through endless time they were united.
It was Harris who heard the clatter of hooves in the stable yard and the crunch of gravel as the messenger dismounted, and looked down from his narrow window above the stables into the darkness of the yard below.
He listened intently to what the man had to say and bade him wait whilst he went to the house. Not wanting to wake the whole household, he threw gravel up at Janey’s window, hoping that he wouldn’t break the glass. He saw her face appear behind it, and beckoned her to come, his finger on his lips.
She came, a guttering candle in her hand, prepared to scold at being woken at such an hour, but wrapped her shawl tightly over her nightshift and went to waken the master as she was requested. She made Mr Masterson a warm drink and wrapped a hot brick in a piece of old blanket, whilst he hurriedly dressed and Harris harnessed the horses to the carriage. She nodded obediently when her master told her not to discuss with anyone why he had departed so rapidly in the middle of the night.
No-one else heard them go. Not Maria, dreaming of Will as she slept in Mrs Scryven’s old room, unable to face going back alone to Field House. Not the other servants, who would sleep soundly for the next few hours until dawn. Not Isobel Masterson, who slept high on her pillow to save disturbing her hair, and not Lucy, who smiled as she turned beneath her soft sheets. And not Sarah, who slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.
I’m too old for this, thought Isaac, and tried to ease his burning joints as the carriage rattled through still, sleeping villages, too old to deal with difficulties such as this. He shivered in spite of his warm greatcoat and warmed his bony hands on the hot brick, pulling the rug which Janey had given him around his narrow shoulders. Dare I hope for good news? No, I dare not, in case I am disappointed.
There was news of a ship, but not his: the Stellar which had been lost with the Northern Star. If I hear that all is lost, then I shall sell my ships and my company and retire to oblivion in Monkston and wait for death, he told himself. He trembled as he climbed down from the carriage and leant heavily on Harris’s supporting arm.
There was only a handful of men waiting in the yard, and the watchman told him that the Stellar had been sighted late last evening just off the Humber, and that even now she had dropped sail and was being escorted by the pilot boat through the mud and sand flats round the stump of Spurn towards the mouth of the River Hull and the harbour entrance.
‘I would like to be there,’ said Isaac, ‘as she comes in,’ and a sedan chair was sent for to carry him there.
A small group of women was already waiting as the ship drifted in on the tide, pulled by a small cobble. They waited silently and patiently, with a glimmer of hope where previously all hope had been abandoned. As dawn broke and the eastern sky lightened, showing streaks of rosy gold and the promise of a fine day, the Stellar moved slowly towards the dock, cleaving her way through the muddy water, passing through the huddle of boats which filled the narrow waterway and sweeping up the mist which drifted there, sending it floating high over the rooftops of the riverside warehouses into the dense mass of buildings in the town.
Isaac was bent low over his stick as the crew came ashore, narrowing his eyes in a vain effort to recognize any of the faces. The only men he would likely know were those who had served on his vessels since boyhood, men like Hardwick who had been with the company all of his working life. Isaac had little to do with the crews these days, he had left so much to John.
Beside the gangboard he saw Carstairs, the owner of the whaler, greeting the crew as they appeared. Isaac slowly walked towards him to ask if he had news of the Northern Star.
Carstairs shook his hand, holding it with both of his in sympathy. ‘I haven’t heard all the details, but I understand she is lost, my friend, broken up off Lancaster Sound. It’s only by the grace of God that the Stellar has returned.’
As shock and despair showed on Isaac’s grey face Carstairs added quietly, ‘But I understand that some of the men were saved, the Stellar took them on board. They have had a dreadful time, but they have opened up new territories if we wish to pursue them – if it is worth the risk.’
‘My nephew was on board.’ Isaac spoke in barely a whisper. ‘Have you news of him?’
‘I know little more than you.’ Carstairs shook his head. ‘We must wait and watch.’
There were tears of happiness as the men tumbled ashore to be greeted by their families, and also tears of sorrow as they gave news of those who wouldn’t be returning. Twenty lives had been lost from the Northern Star and eight from the Stellar.
Isaac had almost given up hope as the last straggle of men came down the gangboard and he carefully scrutinized each face as they passed him. ‘Your pardon.’ He raised his hand towards a tall thin man with a thick beard who walked slowly towards him and gazed at him with tired, haunted eyes. ‘I know you are anxious to be with your family, but do you have any news of John Rayner who sailed with the Northern Star?’
The man smiled and for a moment there was a bright flash of humour about his lips. ‘Have I changed so much, sir, that my own kith and kin cannot recognize me?’
‘Can it be you?’ Isaac peered into the thin face.
‘Indeed it is, Uncle,’ said John, putting down his box and enveloping the old man in his arms.
* * *
‘We must go home now.’ Isaac had waited whilst John took his papers into the office and was greeted warmly by his staff who had feared him dead, forgetting their places sufficiently to crowd round him and shake him vigorously by the hand. ‘You must rest and get your strength back. Isobel and Lucy will be so thankful to see you. They know nothing of your return, I crept from the house before dawn.’
He was bursting with delight at seeing his nephew safe and well and had to keep reminding himself that there were many others whose lot would be sorrow and grief. In a day or two he would visit the relatives of the lost seamen himself, to give them his support and what comfort he could.
They had spoken only briefly of the ill-fated voyage. The details would emerge piece by piece as John relaxed, but now, Isaac surmised, he was exhausted, and his words came out haltingly.
The ship had sailed up the Davis Strait where there was good open water, and, as the weather seemed to be holding, they continued on further north than they had been before, into Lancaster Sound.
‘We were then hit by the most awful weather I have known,’ said John. ‘Thick fog made navigation difficult and the ice started to close in. We were lifted above it, high and dry, unable to move until the thaw set in. There was no other ship within sight, but we had food and water in plenty at that time, enough to last several months, so we were not unduly worried. We set about our usual tasks and prepared to wait.’
He gave a shiver. ‘Then the ice started to break up in front of us but it still lay thick behind, so the capt
ain decided to move forward. We found whales in plenty, they surrounded the ship, almost as if they were looking for us, and we captured four on the first day of fishing. We were by now in waters unknown to us. We found dozens of small islands, without name or number, but again we were beset by bad weather, and for days and sometimes weeks we were unable to make any progress. The men went on to the ice to shoot duck, for by now we were running short of food and had even resorted to eating whale meat.’
‘You don’t have to say more, John.’ Isaac watched anxiously as John wearily rubbed his eyes. ‘It will keep.’
‘No. It’s better that I tell you,’ he replied. ‘I may want to forget it otherwise, erase it from my memory. If I don’t, I may never sail again.’
He leaned back against the soft leather of the upholstery and shut his eyes as the motion of the carriage rocked him gently.
‘When the ice floes started to break again we had the choice, either to continue forward and round Baffin Island bearing south, or to turn and retrace our direction back through the Sound towards Baffin Bay. We decided on the second choice, mainly because by then the men were weak and unable to stand a voyage of indeterminate length. These were strange waters, and besides, the ship had taken a terrible battering from the pressure of the ice, and we feared what might be in front of us.’
‘Quite right,’ said Isaac, his mind going back to his own whaling days. ‘Quite right.’
‘So we turned about, but once more we were beset by ice and had to wait, and now the men were becoming ill. There was scurvy on board, and men with severe frostbite, and one morning a party of six went out hunting and never returned, so as you can imagine we were in desperate spirits. Then just as we thought that we would never see home again, the ice field started to break and we were able to move forward once more, and it was then that we saw the Stellar. She was a long way off but she saw us and waited, three, maybe four days. We discovered later that she too had been beset by ice and had considered herself lost.’