The Tide of Life

by Catherine Cookson

  Taking his hand, she pressed it tightly between her own, saying, ‘I know you didn’t, Con. I know you didn’t. Who were they, the rest? D’you know them all?’

  He nodded and, still gasping, muttered, ‘The man with…with the horse, that was John Ralston. Don’t like him. Killed…killed my badger…pet badger, like that.’ He measured a distance of about a foot between his hands. ‘No bigger when…when I found it. An’…an’ his missis. T’other man was…Joe Brinkburn…drover…cattle drover.’

  She nodded at him saying, ‘Yes, I’ve seen him afore. An’ the woman an’ all. She’s the blacksmith’s wife, isn’t she?’

  His head drooped and he shook it from side to side and gulped before saying, ‘Bella’s ma. Bella used to…just laugh, laugh with me…at the haymaking…she just laughed. She was…funny. But…but that’s all, Emily; I…I never did nothing wrong.’

  She said quietly now, ‘Don’t worry…Come on, drive on.’

  He drove on, but there was silence between them now. To Emily the sky seemed even lower, and the gladness had gone out of the day. There came upon her a feeling of dread. She wouldn’t, however, as yet, put a voice to what she dreaded, but thought, Why are there so many nasty people in the world? They seemed to be ten to one; Alice Broughton, Tim Pearsley, Mrs McGillby—aye, there was no getting away from it, she had been nasty in a religious kind of way—and that one, back there up in that room, waited on hand and foot and never a kind word out of her. And look at that trouble she caused about Lucy. But she told her straight, didn’t she, when she went up this morning, and she never said a word in reply. But she bet when she returned home this afternoon her bed would be filthy; she’d do it on purpose. Oh yes, she would. She should be stuck with them lot back in that village…Eeh, they had looked like fiends!

  On the other hand, there were people like Sep, and her da, too. Her da wasn’t a bad fellow. And there was her Aunt Mary. And lastly there was him…the master. But in a way, she had her reservations about him; sometimes he was as nice as pie, while at other times, when he put his high-falutin voice on and played at the lord of the manor, she couldn’t stand him, because after all he wasn’t the lord of the manor type, not really.

  But that night when he kissed her, what had she thought about him then…?

  What she had better think about now, she told herself harshly, was how they were going to get back through that village without any more trouble. She said to Con, ‘Is there any road back without going through the village?’

  He shook his head before looking at her, then said, ‘No, no, Emily…not for the cart, only…over the stile and…and across the field paths…roundabout way.’

  Well, she thought, if it hadn’t been that one of the things on his list, and of which he was very much in need, was stuff from the mill, flour, maize and horse meal, she would leave the cart and horse at a farrier’s in Fellburn and they would shank it all the way back and take the field path…Then what would happen when they reached the house? He would likely go for them, and call them idiots for being frightened by a few black looks.

  Perhaps she was an idiot, for after all there had only been black looks; at least until Con had raised his arm. Yet she decided here and now that what she would do as soon as they returned to the village was to make Con gallop the horse through, and if things took a nasty turn she would use the whip on them.

  One thing she was determined on, she wasn’t going to dawdle in Fellburn; she would deliver the load on the back there, then pick up the other stock from the miller’s; as for doing her personal shopping for the bits and pieces she had intended to buy Lucy, that would have to wait for another time; she wasn’t going to risk driving through that village in the dusk.

  It was just turned two o’clock when they left Fellburn. They crossed the bridge over the river, took a short cut which bypassed Brampton Hill and the park—Con seemed to know his way—then they were once more driving along the old coach road.

  Again there was silence between them, a more nervous, more apprehensive silence now. But it lightened somewhat when, about two miles from the town, they approached a young fellow carrying a pack on his shoulders; it was weighing his head forward and when he glanced sideways at the dray he called out, ‘Oh, hello there, Con,’ and Con, pulling the horse to a stop, cried, ‘Hello…Jamsie…You…laden?’

  ‘Aye, Con. Any room up there?’

  It was Emily who answered him now and almost merrily as she said, ‘It’ll be a tight fit, but you’re welcome.’

  And he was.

  She didn’t know who he might be but he was friendly and they were more likely to make a clear passage through the village with a friendly soul like him sitting up top.

  ‘You’ll have to hold your pack on your knees ’cos you see the cart’s full,’ she added, jerking her head backwards. ‘Give it here.’ She leant down and pulled the pack up towards her, then edged along the seat close to Con, while the young fellow hauled himself up and squeezed sideways into the corner of the seat. Then taking the pack from Emily, he said, ‘You’ve got a full load on.’

  ‘Aye, yes.’ She nodded at him, and Con said, ‘Haven’t…haven’t seen you for a long…time, Jamsie.’

  ‘Been away to sea for a trip, Con.’

  ‘Oh! Been to sea.’

  ‘Aye, been to sea. But they can keep it for me; from now on, give me the land, even if I starve on it. Have you seen me dad, or any of them, Con?’

  ‘No, no…Jamsie. Never…never been over…your way, not…not for long time.’

  The young fellow now turned and looked closely at Emily, saying, ‘You from the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Chrissey still there?’

  ‘No. No, I took her place.’

  ‘Oh, I’d like to see Chrissey again.’ He laughed as he jerked his chin upwards.

  Emily smiled at the young fellow, who now smiled back at her. She thought he couldn’t be more than nineteen if that.

  ‘Me da goes to sea,’ she said. ‘How long have you been away?’

  ‘Oh, just on a year.’

  ‘Oh, me da goes away for two years at a time.’

  ‘Well, I was lucky then.’ He bent towards her now and whispered as he grinned at her, ‘I jumped ship. My God, the food! The rats even turn their noses up at it. And me donkey’s breakfast became so alive it used to follow me around; it only lay down when I wanted to sleep on it.’

  She spluttered into laughter. He sounded just like her Aunt Mary talking about the lousy second-hand clothes.

  They were about half a mile from the village when Emily noticed, to the right of her, a boy running across the low hills. At first she thought he was keeping in time with the dray; then she saw him bound ahead and after he disappeared from view she gave him no more thought; not until they turned the curve in the road and saw the long, straggling village street ahead, and there was the boy in the distance waving his arms above his head.

  The presence of the young sailor had apparently allayed Con’s fears; it was as if he had forgotten what had transpired when they passed through the village on their way to the town, for he was laughing at something the young fellow had said and had his mouth open and his lips moving as he struggled to make a remark. But of a sudden the smile slid from his face; his lips fell together; he pulled the horse almost to a stop and said quietly, ‘Emily!’

  Emily did not answer. She was looking ahead to where at the end of the street and in the middle of the road stood the blacksmith, and as she looked towards him his wife joined him. Then, her eyes darted from one side of the road to the other. She saw three men come out of the inn. One she recognised as the drover, the man she had seen this morning, and with him the man Ralston and another man. They were making their way towards the blacksmith and his wife.

  Then a door opened on the other side of the street and another man and a woman came out.

  ‘Emily!’

  ‘It’s all right, Con. It’s all right.’

  ‘What is it?’r />
  Emily turned to the young fellow at her side, saying haltingly, ‘Them…them up there, they’re going to set about him.’

  ‘About Con?’ There was a note of incredulity in the young fellow’s voice. ‘What in God’s name for? Why should they set about Con?’

  ‘They…they think he…’

  ‘I didn’t. I didn’t, Jamsie. I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t what?’

  Now Emily, not taking her eyes off the group that was slowly approaching them, said, ‘He didn’t give the blacksmith’s daughter a bairn. That’s what he’s trying to say.’

  ‘Him! Con give Bella Goodyear a bairn! Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I’m not daft; that’s what they’re sayin’. She’s named him.’

  ‘My God! Look at them. They’re comin’ at us!’ The note of apprehension in the young fellow’s voice now threw Emily into a panic and she cried at Con, ‘Get down! Get down! Go on, run through the fields…get home.’

  Needing no second bidding, Con dropped the reins and leaped from the cart and flew back down the road.

  There now arose in the street a sound as if a pack of hounds had been let loose after a fox, and in much the same way the blacksmith and the rest stormed past the cart, while Emily, standing upright, yelled at them, ‘Stop it! Stop it!’

  One of the women looked up at her and, pulling herself to a stop, bawled, ‘You’re as bad as him, protecting him after what he’s done to your little sister.’

  Emily gaped at the woman, before screaming back, ‘He did nothin’ to me sister. She’s not gona have a bairn; it’s a stomach trouble. The doctor says so.’

  ‘Ho! Listen to her. You’re as bad as the upstart bugger over there!’ The woman spat against the cart, then she, too, was running after the others.

  ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Emily was gripping the young sailor’s arm now, and she cried to him, ‘Go on! Run to the house, please. Please go an’ fetch the master. Tell him…tell him what’s happened. I’ll…I’ll take the cart, I’ll run them down. I will! I will! I’ll take the whip to them. Go on.’ She actually pushed him off the seat, and he, as if coming out of a bad dream, said, ‘Aye. Yes. Aye,’ then sprinted along the street and, turning up a passage in between the cottages, disappeared from her view.

  The reins in her hand, she was yelling at the horse as she attempted to turn him about in the roadway, but even as she did so she was aware of faces peeping from behind curtains in the cottages on each side of the street.

  ‘Gee up! Gee up!’ She had never driven a horse in her life before, having had no desire even to try; she had not even taken the reins from Con, but she remembered how he had handled them. And now she was almost thrown from the seat as the animal, given its head, galloped down through the village, but when it came to where the road forked, because of her inexpert use of the reins it took, not the path that had brought it from Fellburn, but the narrower road which led to the quarry.

  As Emily realised what was happening, she tugged and pulled at the reins, yelling now in an effort to make the animal stop or at least slow its speed. Then as abruptly as it had started it did stop, and the sudden impact almost brought her head first over its haunches.

  When, gasping, she sat back in the seat and looked ahead the scene before her caused her to drop the reins and clutch her face in both hands. Con was at the far side of the quarry. He was still running but along a narrow way that was no more than a ledge, and advancing on him, one from each side, were two men.

  She was again standing up in the dray but on the seat now and yelling, ‘Don’t! Don’t! Listen!’ Then in two leaps she was on the ground and running round the perimeter of the quarry, and as she ran a man, stepping from behind a boulder, shouted at her, ‘Keep out of it! Mind your own business.’

  Then, just as the horse had stopped abruptly, so she too pulled herself to a sudden stop; and again her hands were clutching her face. She stared in horror as she watched the two men move slowly towards Con, who was standing as stiff as the rock behind him. She saw his head wag wildly just before the blacksmith’s arm came out to grab him; then her heart leapt so painfully that her hands left her face and pressed themselves into her breasts.

  At first he seemed to rise into the air like a bird, his arms and legs spreadeagled, it was as if he had been caught on a warm current; then he was bouncing from one pile of rock to the next until he reached the bottom of the quarry, where he lay still.

  She was screaming. She heard the echo of her screams vibrating round the quarry. At her feet the ground sloped less deeply away towards the bottom; there was a churned-up track where bogies had at one time been drawn up by pulleys. She was on it now, and like a crazed animal leaping from boulder to boulder, she went down it. At the bottom her feet sank into water and slime; and now there was nothing but the sound of their suction as she pulled them out one after the other, for she had stopped yelling, the moans inside her were too deep for escape.

  When she sank up to her knees on the sludge she fell forward and dragged herself towards the wall of the quarry, then kept to it until she neared the place where he lay.

  He was lying on his side, his head resting on one arm, the other was touching his knee which was drawn upwards; it was as if he were about to scratch it. His eyes were closed and there was a trickle of blood coming from each nostril. She knelt down by his side and, lifting his head, tried to say, ‘Con, Con,’ but no sound would come. When she touched his face she left traces on it of the dirty wet grey clay from her fingers.

  His body was soft and warm. She gathered him to her and began to rock him while her whole being continued to cry soundlessly, ‘Con. Con.’ She had thought this morning she could love him and now she knew that she had loved him, in a strange way she had loved this retarded lad as she would never love again. In this moment the years mounted on her, and she passed through time that gave her the experience of love in all its phases, she was a mother, a wife, a mistress, and more. She knew that never in her life again would she feel for anyone as she did at this moment. Her legs right up to her thighs were soaked in wet sludge, her body was freezing; but she wasn’t aware of it, she was only aware that loving was a sorrow, that all love was pain, and that all talk of God and His goodness was just chatter created by fear of the unknown. There couldn’t be a God, at least no good God, for no good God would let this evil come upon an innocent lad like Con, because he had suffered an evil. It went far beyond the wrong of an injustice…he had suffered an evil.

  She raised her head slowly now and looked for the perpetrators of the evil, but as far as her eyes could range around the whole of the quarry there wasn’t a soul in sight …

  What time had elapsed since she had first taken Con into her arms until Larry took him from her she didn’t know; she hadn’t even heard his approach, nor that of the young sailor fellow, but when he unloosened her arms from around the still body she fell towards the side. She felt so stiff she imagined that she would have snapped in two, like a piece of ice that had been trodden on, had not the sailor caught her. Supported by his arms, she looked at Larry holding Con as she had done, his head buried in the boy’s neck.

  When Larry and the sailor eventually lifted the limp form between them, the sailor turned to her and said softly, ‘Stay there; I’ll come back and help you in a minute.’ But they hadn’t taken half a dozen uncertain steps over the boulders before she dragged herself to her feet and followed them, but for most of the way like a crab, using her hands to assist her along.

  She had just reached the path of the bogie trail when the sailor came back and, putting his arm about her, helped her up the slope, and so along to the dray. She was surprised to see the cart and horse still where she had left them. Half the sacks were lying to the side of the path and the others formed a bed on which Con was lying, partly stretched out.

  The sailor still supporting her, they followed Larry, who was slowly backing the horse to where the road forked, and there he turned the animal, and, taking its head,
he led it into the village street at a walking pace until they reached the inn. Here he stopped and for the first time since he had come upon the scene Emily heard his voice.

  It could have been the voice of the god she knew didn’t exist for it was loud and terrible, and what it said was terrible.

  ‘He’s dead! Do you hear? All of you in this hellhole of a village, do you hear? He’s dead! But he’ll not be the only one to go this day, I’ll see to that. Listen to me, Sandy Goodyear. Con didn’t give your whoring daughter a bairn because he was incapable of giving anybody a bairn, the colonel saw to that, he didn’t want idiot grandchildren. You ask your slut what she was doing with John Ralston on Easter Monday night last, in Harrison’s barn. And you Jim Atkins, ask your missis who she meets on a Monday on the quiet when she goes into Fellburn, in the back room of the Bunch of Grapes. As for you, Dave Cole, why do you drop the best cuts of meat into Gladys Paine’s? Her man’s at sea, she can’t eat all that herself, can she? He hammered her black and blue the last time he came home because if his reckoning was right he had been away twelve months and there was a bonny bairn to greet him…’

  Emily, leaning against the side of the cart but still supported by the young sailor, clutched her throat. What they had done to Con would be nothing to what they would do to him now. He mightn’t die in a quarry, but they would get him in some way. She wanted to go to him and put her arms about him and plead, ‘Come away. Come away,’ but now he was standing in the middle of the road in front of the horse, his arms spread wide and still yelling, ‘You’re scum! Do you hear? Every bloody one of you is scum, the chapelgoers no better than the rest. Are you listening chapel keeper? What drove you from Gateshead, eh? Will I tell them? No, let them find out, and the righteous ones will burn you alive: enough it is to whet their appetites…And you Helen Ramsgate…’