Rory's Fortune

by Catherine Cookson

  Hesitantly he walked to the centre aisle. Lor! He had seen stables cleaner than this. It looked as if the whole place had not been used for years. But a snuffed candle to the left of him told him that somebody had been there and quite recently.

  He began to walk around, spelling out names inscribed in stone which meant nothing to him. He was going up the one step to look at the choir stalls which appeared very old, when he turned swiftly around on the sound of the door opening.

  When the bearded man beckoned to him he went hastily down the aisle. He had never thought he’d be glad to see him so soon again, but he was. He even made a joke saying, ‘That hour or so’s flown.’

  The bearded man gave a thin smile as he said, ‘I didn’t have to go as far as Upottery for I met Ben just outside the village. This here is Ben Bachelor.’ He nodded towards the thickset man, then said, ‘This is the boy, Rory.’

  The man, Ben, was staring at him, looking him up and down. Then he nodded his head and said, ‘Aye, Rory. Well now, can you sail?’

  ‘Sail? You mean sail a boat?’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t sail a farm cart, would you, boy?’ and the man laughed, causing Rory to blush slightly and retort swiftly, ‘Nor would you gallop a train for that matter; but as I’ve never been in a boat I know nowt of sailin’.’

  The man, Ben, now gave a deep chuckle as he said, ‘Well, by the spirit of you, boy, you could manage a galley.’ He turned and looked at the bearded man and said briefly, ‘It could be worse.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ The bearded man nodded; then looking at Rory and making a motion with his hands and his expression looking quite friendly, he commented, ‘You were looking round. Fine old church.’

  ‘Come on, Alex.’ The other man had turned away and pulled the door open, adding, ‘Get you on your hobby horse of churches and we’ll be doing a tour. As for me, this place always gives me the collywobbles.’

  Outside, standing close to the wall away from the heavy rain, the bearded man who Rory now understood was called Alex, asked of Ben, ‘How are you going to get back? There’s not room in the trap unless you hang on and sprint.’

  ‘I’ll sprint without the aid of the trap,’ answered Ben. ‘I’ll cut over the fields, an’ I’d like to bet I’ll be there afore you.’ He was walking backwards as he spoke; then his step was checked by Alex Bluett saying quietly, ‘Don’t stop at Compton’s, mind, she wants you sober.’

  ‘Who’s going to stop at Compton’s?’ Ben laughed back. ‘’Twould be no use anyway, it being Sunday. Drunk as a lord on Saturday, sober as a judge on Sunday, canned as a canon on Monday, you’re forgetting the days of the week, Alex.’ The man turned away now and ran between the leaning headstones in the little graveyard that surrounded the church, and when he came to the hedge he leapt it with the agility of a deer and was gone from their sight. Alex Bluett, with a shake of his head, looked at Rory and said, ‘Come on, let’s get out of this. We’ll go and pick up Tilda; though she won’t like it, she’ll hardly have got going with her gossip yet.’

  He smiled slyly at Rory, but Rory did not give him an answering smile, for his mind was becoming more and more troubled. Why had that man Ben asked him if he could sail a boat? He had never hidden the fact that he had no love for the sea. Perhaps it was because he had never even been able to swim, never had time to try for that matter. Where was he expected to sail a boat to?

  By! He wished he was out of this, he did that.

  Ben Bachelor was as good as his word. When they drove into the farmyard in the fading light there he was, a pipe in his mouth and grinning at them. He greeted Alex Bluett, saying, ‘What did I tell you? Been here these past ten minutes.’

  This was another thing that Rory couldn’t understand: this Ben Bachelor was dressed like a working man, yet he spoke to the master of the place like an equal. He wished he could fathom it all out.

  His eyes were now drawn to the far corner of the yard where an elderly farm servant was making a hand step for Miss Bluett to dismount from a horse. In this moment two things registered with him: first, the servants on the farm were nearly all old men, and secondly, Miss Bluett was wearing breeches just like a man. She had a sort of skirt over the top of them which came to her knees; it had a split up the front but didn’t hide the fact that she was dressed in trousers.

  She came briskly across the yard now and, to his embarrassment, it was himself whom she addressed first, saying, ‘Apart from the weather, what do you think of our countryside?’

  ‘It could be bonny.’

  ‘Huh! It is bonny. And did you enjoy Mother Young’s tea?’

  ‘Wouldn’t come in with me, Mistress.’ It was Tilda speaking, her face and tone petulant now. ‘Not be good enough for foreign numskulls, we’re not!’

  Miss Bluett looked after the flouncing figure going towards the kitchen, then turning a sidelong glance on her brother as she moved towards the front of the house, she said on a laughing note half under her breath, ‘That’s one avenue closed. And the countryside had little attraction either I should say. Have you any better ideas?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  This admonition from her brother turned her about and, her face stiff with sudden anger, she glared at him, but restrained herself from making a retort. Instead she hurried on and, if she did not flounce like Tilda, her feelings were expressed in the straightness of her back and the set of her head.

  Alex Bluett now turned to Rory. ‘Go to the kitchen,’ he said. ‘Make a good meal—’ he paused. ‘Have you an extra coat?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then I’d advise you to put it on. Come into the hall within say—’ he turned towards Ben Bachelor now, and Ben said, ‘Half an hour or so.’

  ‘Make it half an hour,’ said Alex Bluett.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That door there, the second one, that’s the kitchen.’

  Again Rory said, ‘Yes, sir.’ Then without hurry he walked towards the kitchen, tapped on the door and entered the room.

  As if she had been expecting him the old servant said, ‘Come and sit down, boy. Give your coat here and I’ll dry it off. Not that it’ll be much use; wet again it’ll be before it’s been on two minutes. There now.’ She took the coat from him, smiled a thin toothless smile at him, then pointed to the table and the well-stocked plate, saying, ‘Get it down you, boy; you may need it before the night’s out.’

  As he sat down at the table he wondered grimly what she meant: he’d need it afore the night was out? There was one thing sure, they weren’t going to get him on doing something that he shouldn’t be doing. He was going to ask what it was all about afore he set off anywhere. Yet he must remember what the master had said, say nothing except in politeness. Aw, dear, he couldn’t even enjoy this food because of the state his mind was in, and it was good food. The ham was sweet and melted in the mouth, and the sausage was mostly pork, not three-quarters bread and barley.

  At one point he stopped chewing and muttered, ‘Where’ll I be bound for in a boat?’ and Jessie said, ‘What you say, boy?’ and to this he answered, ‘Nothing. Nothing…’

  While he was still eating, Jessie left the kitchen and when she returned she said, ‘Hurry up and finish, boy. Get into your coat, and go and wait in the hall. Stand near the foot of the stairs, don’t roam.’

  A few minutes later he was standing near the foot of the stairs, and when a door opened at the far side of the hall he heard Miss Bluett say sharply, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before, Ben?’

  ‘Didn’t want to trouble you.’

  ‘Trouble me!’ The voice was scornful now, then went on, ‘Two strangers walking the cliffs between Seaton and Sidmouth and you didn’t want to trouble me!’

  ‘Well, could have been anybody. Still could.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a thickhead, Ben.’ Her voice was scornful. ‘It’s God’s wonder we’ve got this far without trouble.’

  ‘Well we have, haven’t we?’ There was a sound of laughter in Ben’s voic
e. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘whether I be a thickhead, dolt, or clean lunatic, I’m the only one you can trust to do this trip, that’s a fact. Now, isn’t it?’

  Rory saw Ben in the doorway now, and he watched him turn his head towards the room again as Miss Bluett’s voice said softly, ‘Be careful, Ben, I don’t like the way things have gone. Hawkins going off like that, God knows where. Cornwallis laid up, and it may be for life.’

  ‘Why should you worry?’

  Rory raised his eyebrows at Ben Bachelor’s tone, which was heavy with scorn. And he was amazed when Ben continued, ‘Your tin trunk’s mighty heavy by now, May, and you’ve got enough of the other to deck out a dozen dowagers…’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  There was a silence in the hall. The clock chimed the quarter of the hour to five. Rory looked down at his feet while he waited; then there came the sound of a door banging and the next moment two pairs of feet came within his vision and he looked up and saw Mr Bluett and Ben Bachelor. He hadn’t realised that Mr Bluett had been present during the conversation he had overheard, for not once had he heard him speak. And neither of them spoke to him now but went towards the main door, and on a motion from Ben’s head he followed them.

  Silently he climbed into the trap that was waiting in the yard with lamps lit and a man holding the horse’s head.

  Chapter Five

  It was still raining heavily and there was a wind with it. It wasn’t like the icy blasts that swept the fells but was soft and clogging, a steamy wind as if it were coming from the spout of a hot kettle.

  He could not judge the time accurately but he guessed it was about half an hour later when the trap stopped and Ben, jumping down, said to him, ‘Come on, boy.’

  When he was on the ground he stood by Ben’s side looking up through the flickering light from the rain-washed lamps at Alex Bluett who, bending over, now peered at Ben and said, ‘Go careful, Ben.’ There followed a pause before he added, ‘I get worried, but then why should I, you know the ropes, nobody better. Tuesday morning first light then, I’ll be in the usual place. Touch wood—’ he touched the side of the trap before ending, ‘I’ve only once had to go up to the point, I wouldn’t want to do it again, and not for you, Ben.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Alex, old fish swim deep, you won’t have to go up to the point. Goodbye now, see you Tuesday, early light.’

  ‘Early light it is. Goodbye, Ben, and good luck.’

  They shook hands firmly as Ben answered, ‘I’ve always had that, if nothing else and I always will; a man must have something…Come, boy.’ There was a tug on Rory’s arm, and like someone in a daze he now felt himself being guided over what appeared to be hummocks of sand and saltwort.

  It was black dark, literally, for he couldn’t see his hand before his face.

  The terrain changed, and now he knew they were going over rocks, for his feet were slipping all over the place, and he was just saved from going flat on his face by Ben jerking him upwards and his voice coming through the darkness, hissing softly, ‘Steady! Steady!’ Then reassuringly he said, ‘Not much farther, keep close.’

  ‘Stand just where you are,’ whispered Ben now. ‘Don’t move, I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

  The following seconds seemed like minutes, and the minutes took on the length of hours. As Rory stood in the rain-washed blackness, fear that he hadn’t experienced before started to gallop through him. What if Ben didn’t come back and he was in some kind of cove and the tide came up?

  ‘Steady now! Steady now!’ Ben took his hand and his voice was a reassuring whisper. ‘There’s nothing to get worried about. Come on.’ The next minute when the cold water rushed into his boots he gulped and cried out, ‘Aw! Aw!…Aw, man!’

  ‘Ssh! Keep your voice down.’ Ben’s tone was a growl now. ‘It’s only salt water, do you no harm. Been wet half my life, never had a cold…Here we are; climb aboard.’

  Rory felt the flat of Ben’s hand on his buttocks shoving him upwards, and he tumbled over the side of the boat, then over some kind of seat, and landed in a huddle, with his hands and knees this time in water. And now another fear sprang at him; he was in a boat that had water in it.

  At this point he tried to speak, to make some protest, ask where he was going, ask what it was all about, but Ben’s hand was now on his collar pulling him upwards, whispering hoarsely, ‘Come on out of it, along here. Feel this seat; lift your feet, that’s it, around the cabin. Now sit yourself down here, close to me. Put your hand on mine…This is the tiller. Get the feel of it, because you’ll likely become acquainted with it long before the night’s out. Go on, grip it, it’s not going to bite you. That’s the way. Now hold it there, just like that until I tell you to move it to port or starboard.’

  ‘W-what!’ The word came as a croak from Rory’s throat.

  ‘All right, we’ll make it left or right for the time being; but for the moment just keep it like that, just like that.’

  Rory, realising he was in sole charge of the tiller now, began to sweat, and the sweat joined the rivulets of rain running down his face even while his whole body shivered. He heard oars grating in the rowlocks; then the boat began to move, bobbing up and down, like a dumpling in broth, as he put it to himself. After a while he thought, in panic, I’ll…I’ll be sick.

  Then the motion changed. One minute the boat seemed to be going straight down into the water and the next his stomach indicated that he was going to do a back somersault.

  ‘Mister…Mister Bach…Bachelor.’ His voice was high above the wind, and the next second so heavy was the grip on his shoulder that he thought Ben Bachelor was going to lift him bodily and throw him over the side.

  And now Ben was hissing hoarsely in his ear, ‘Keep your voice down, you thundering idiot! Don’t you know it could carry over the cliffs in this wind…Oh my God!’ Ben now grabbed the tiller as it swung madly from side to side; then, the boat on course again and his voice less harsh, he said, ‘Sorry, boy; but you’ve got to learn. Somebody could have taken that for a cry of help and would get the boat out, and then where would we be?…Aw, I’m sorry.’

  Rory felt a gentle punch against his chest, then a firm grip on his arm as his body fell towards the side of the boat, and after a moment, during which Ben held him tightly against his side, he said, ‘You don’t see things clear yet, boy, you don’t understand the half of it. Give me time and I’ll put you right. Now we’re through the channel and clear of the rocks the wind’s in our favour; I’ll set the sail and then it should be easier going. The rain’ll stop shortly; it always comes in with the new moon. Now if I could do this journey in a full moon, why that would be just dandy. Pity. Pity. But there it is. Well now, from here on do as I bid you. If I say a little to the left push it to the left like this; if I say to the right, like this, and for straight ahead level with your knee.’ He now groped at Rory’s leg and, moving it, said, ‘Keep it just there.’

  In the period immediately following, during which the boat was running its small sail, Rory’s mind was wiped clean of every thought but one; he was sick. And he kept telling himself this: ‘I feel sick. Oh dear God, I feel sick.’ And when the voice, out of the darkness, came to him saying, ‘A little to the left…right hand over…straighten her out,’ he obeyed it automatically, until in a moment of desperation, when his stomach heaved up into his mouth, he let go of the tiller and, turning, leant over the boat’s side and gave up to the sea the fine meal of sweet bacon and sausage.

  ‘You’ll feel better now. Here, straighten up and take a drink of this.’

  Rory thrust the bottle away from his mouth, for he never wanted to eat or drink again as long as he lived. But he felt helpless to protest against Ben pouring the liquid down his throat. It burned in its passage and set his stomach on fire. Coughing and spluttering, he bent over double. Oh dear me. He had never known such depths of misery in his life. If only he could die, finish it…When the bottle was again thrust into his mouth he fought off the hand holding it, but not
before he had once more taken a long drink.

  ‘There now, that’ll settle you. Come on, you can doss down in the cabin. I can manage for the next few hours or so; as long as Mistress Moon keeps to her pattern and doesn’t give us a squall just for good measure. Careful now, over the seat…Don’t try to stand up, there’s no head room in here. There’s the bunk and blankets, and they’re dry. Careful now, steady.’

  Under Ben’s guiding hand Rory tumbled into the bunk and never was he so thankful in his life to lie down flat. His whole body was warm now with a kind of glow, and his stomach had stopped trying to escape through his mouth; nevertheless, as he felt himself falling into sleep he hoped he’d never wake up again, for if he did he knew he would have to take that tiller; and go through all this again, and it was too much to ask of anybody. Even for Mr Cornwallis’s sake he couldn’t do it.

  He woke of his own accord, and for a moment couldn’t remember where he was until the motion of his bed told him. But the motion now was gentle, nothing like it had been when he had lain down. It was still black dark in the little cabin but to the right, by the foot of the bunk, the darkness seemed to lighten.

  After a time of lying in gently rocking comfort he slowly dragged himself out of the bunk and went towards the door, and as he was about to speak, Ben Bachelor’s voice came to him, saying, ‘Well, you’ve had a good stretch, boy.’

  ‘Aye.’ He could make out the dark bulk of Ben beyond the billowing sail, and he stumbled his way to the stern and, flopping down beside him, he said, ‘I feel I’ve been asleep all night.’

  ‘And you have.’

  ‘Really! You let me sleep all night?’

  ‘No need to wake you; it’s been a fine night and a fair wind. It’s only in the getting out from the beach and going in that I need help; except in a calm, and then it’s a matter of using the oars all the way, otherwise I could take her across these waters with my eyes closed. Feel better?’