Children of the Tide (54 page)

Mark saw when he’d walked amongst them that not all were drunken, work-shy or from the criminal classes, as he might once have believed. Most were honest labourers out of work, some were clerks and men with a tradesman’s mark. The women were laundrymaids or shopgirls with tattered finery drooping from their thin bones, or widows with a clutch of children hanging around their skirts.

He had decided that he would stay for another month before returning home, and because he was strong, he had found casual work as a porter in a market, shifting barrow-loads of meat, and earning half a crown a day. He found cheap lodgings run by a widow who gave him breakfast and a hot supper, and who was devastated when he gave her notice, when without any reason, he had lost his job.

So what do I do?
he considered as he sat.
Do I go home and eat humble pie? Or do I take my chance in another country?
Bleakly he pondered.
I could have sailed for America from Hull, I needn’t have travelled over half of England if I’d wanted to do that. And now that Lincoln has been made President they say there’ll be civil war, and knowing my luck I’d be embroiled in ’middle of it. Australia! I could afford a ticket – just
. He had enquired of cost, of assisted passages, of when the ships sailed and how long the voyage would take. He had half made up his mind to go, but some homing instinct held him back.

He wouldn’t have described himself as being a family man, yet he found increasingly that his thoughts turned to home, to his father, his brothers
and specifically to Betsy, whose memory tore at his conscience when he remembered his boorish treatment of her.
I’m lonely
, he admitted.
I miss them all. If there was just one of them here with me, someone that I could relate to, someone that I could care for or grumble at, I would buy the tickets and sail
.

He shifted his position as his legs stiffened, and stretched. He wasn’t tired, merely weary; it had been a long day and even longer night. A clock had struck three a short time before; three more hours and then he would have to move from his quarters.

Suddenly he was alert. He wasn’t alone; he could hear a whisper, someone else had chosen to spend their waking hours by the waters of the Thames. No. Not a whisper, a song. A soft refrain, like a lullaby with words he couldn’t understand. He tensed and strained his ears to listen, but as the soothing melody washed over him he relaxed, it was as if he was a child again at his mother’s knee.

It was a woman singing, or a girl, and the music was plaintive, as if she was weeping. He sat up. She
was
weeping. Well, he couldn’t help her, there was so much sorrow, and hadn’t he troubles enough of his own?

Another sound reached his ears, hoarse whispers and shuffling feet, and he turned his head at the movement to his right. Two figures, shadowy, yet by their outline, broad and thickset, were crossing his path toward the weeping woman. He shifted his position yet again, crouching on his heels and with fingertips touching the floor, hidden from view, he watched the scene.

‘Don’t scream, my lovely, and we’ll not hurt a hair on yer head,’ he heard one say. ‘Just give us what you’ve got and we’ll be off.’

‘Mother of God!’ A voice shrieked. ‘Give me back me bag! You’ll have to kill me first, for I’ve nothing else left in the world.’

There was a scuffle. ‘Come on, lady,’ the man
began, but his words choked in his throat as Mark sprang.

His movement was swift, his aim sure. Not for nothing had his miller’s biceps developed, and his short career in prize-fighting been successful. One man lay groaning on the ground whilst the other sped as fast as his feet would carry him.

He put his foot on the man’s chest. ‘Does tha want to run for ’constable?’ he asked the girl, for he saw, now that he was closer, that that was all she was.

She got up from her corner, clutching a tattered canvas bag and peered down at her assailant. ‘Sure they’d want to know why I was here and why wasn’t a daicent girl in her bed at night. Let him go and take his conscience with him; he’s a poor specimen of manhood, sure enough, if he’s robbing the poor.’

He pulled the man up by his coat collar and thrust his boot into his backside. ‘Clear off,’ he threatened, ‘before I chuck thee in ’river.’ He turned to the girl. ‘I heard thee singing,’ he said. ‘It was grand. Then tha started to cry. Afore them varmints struck,’ he added.

‘And can’t a woman cry in peace if she wants to,’ she said defiantly. ‘I thought I’d found a place to be alone and I find it’s as busy as Dublin itself.’

He grinned. She was a spirited creature, sharp-tongued and mutinous. She wouldn’t have given up her belongings without a fight, even if he hadn’t come along.

‘I’ll go back to my doorway, then. G’night.’

‘’Night, mister.’ She shrank back into her corner. ‘And thank ye kindly.’

‘Any time,’ he said, as he walked away. ‘Tha’s welcome.’

As morning broke, he peered out from his doorway; a shower of rain pattered onto the river, but it wasn’t so cold. He looked towards the girl’s doorway and saw that she was looking towards his.

‘’Morning,’ he called. ‘Time to move on. ’Watchman will be round to shift us afore long.’

She came towards him, dragging her bag with her. The rain dampened her hair, spinning a web of raindrops on it and teasing it into dark curls around her neck. ‘I was rude last night,’ she said. ‘I was so scared out of my wits that I didn’t thank ye properly.’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t expect owt. I wasn’t looking for a reward. Will tha sit down a minute?’ He shuffled up in his doorway. ‘Then I’ll have to be off.’

‘Where are ye off to?’ She gazed at him curiously as she sat next to him, and he thought how pretty she was. Round face, big blue eyes and full petulant mouth.

‘I haven’t decided. I might go home to Yorkshire or I might book a ticket for Australia.’

‘That’s where I’m thinking of going too,’ she exclaimed. ‘But I’m feared of crossing alone,’ she added and gazed across the water. ‘But to be sure, it can’t be worse than staying alone here. I’ve had more doors shut in my face than I ever did in Dublin. They think the Irish are all tinkers or thieves.’

She told him that her name was Moira and that her parents were dead, her two brothers in Australia. ‘I came to look for work in England, but it’s as desperate here as in old Ireland, so I thought I’d go look for my brothers. I’ve just enough money for a ticket.’

‘Australia’s a big place,’ he smiled. ‘How will tha find them?’

‘Sure won’t everybody know them already? The fighting O’Connors, they’ll have left a trail. I’ll find them right enough.’

He found himself, for the first time ever, opening up from his usual taciturn self, and as the sky lightened into day, confided in her of the family he had left behind. ‘My da,’ he said, ‘he’s as strong as an ox, straight as a die and full of humour. Tom, my brother, he’s strong too, but more refined, more like a thoroughbred. And young George – why, George
goes through life with a smile on his lips, he gambols through life like a, like a—’

‘A colt?’ she laughed.

‘Aye, that’s it,’ he nodded. ‘Like a young colt that’s not been broken in.’

‘And your sister? How would you describe her?’ She seemed eager to know, listening to his every word.

‘Betsy!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She’s headstrong and wilful and will only do what she wants. She can’t be tamed, can’t Betsy.’ He thought of their last confrontation.
I only meant it for ’best
, he brooded.
Because I cared
. ‘She’s pretty,’ he said. ‘Dark and pretty, rather like thee.’

‘It’s lucky ye are,’ she murmured, ‘to have a loving family. To have someone who cares about what happens to ye. I have no-one,’ she added. ‘If only I had.’

‘Your brothers?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘They left Ireland five years ago. Not a word from them since then. They might be dead for all I know; but that’s why I want to go – to find out for sure.’

‘I’m going for some breakfast,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Does tha want to come? It’s cheap and just ’round ’corner.’

He saw the hesitation on her face. ‘I can’t spend my ticket money,’ she said. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’

‘Come on,’ he persuaded. ‘I’ve enough to feed a sparrow like thee.’

Beneath his shirt in a cloth bag he had money for emergencies, but for some obscure reason he was willing to spend it on this unknown girl. A warmth crept through him in the act of giving, and as she smiled her thanks he felt a sudden sense of elation, of protectiveness and awakening gladness.

‘Shall I carry tha bag?’ She shook her head and clung to it and he smiled. ‘All right, then. Let’s go and sup, and then we’ll talk about finding tha brothers.’

They stood side by side as they waited in the queue of immigrants outside the shipping office. A young married couple stood near, about to spend their savings on a new life. Three brawny fellows with rough hands and eager eyes, bent on finding their fortunes in gold, were shuffling their feet impatiently as they waited their turn. An old widow going to join her son looked so frail as she clutched her bag of belongings that they doubted she would last the voyage.

Moira glanced up at Mark. ‘I’ve something to say before we book our passage, and I don’t want ye to take offence. But it has to be said. You’ve been more than generous to me and I swear to God that one day I’ll pay ye back.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘But, but I’m a good living girl and – and, well—’ She challenged him with a hint of nervousness. ‘Ye’ll not be tricking me and booking us as married people?’

‘We’ll be travelling steerage,’ he assured her. ‘We won’t have a choice. But come in front.’ He moved her in front of him. ‘Book thy ’ticket first and then tha’ll be sure.’

A smile lit up her face. ‘Ye have a funny way of talking, Mark Foster!’

‘It’s Holderness way,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s an ancient dialect as strong and forceful as ’folk who live there. No fancy words to hide ’meaning.’ His voice softened. ‘Not like ’Irish colleens who soften words wi’ charm.’

‘That sounded almost like a compliment,’ she gazed disarmingly at him. ‘But don’t be forgetting – we travel in friendship!’

The queue shuffled forward, four more people in front and then their turn.

‘I won’t forget,’ he said quietly, and put out his hand. She blinked and swallowed and he saw tears welling in her eyes as she put her hand into his and he closed his fingers over hers.

On Boxing Day, Tom rode over to Monkston with gifts for them all. The two families would normally have joined together at Garston Hall for Christmas luncheon, but this year his father said he wanted to stay at home, and so each family dined alone. And at both houses Betsy’s disappearance caused an air of gravity, though everyone did their best to be cheerful.

The snow was crisp on the ground and, although it wasn’t deep, the weather wasn’t conducive to being outdoors as the wind was biting, bringing tears to the eyes and reddening cheeks. Tom’s ears and nose tingled when he came inside, and he gratefully accepted a glass of hot toddy and a mince pie. He thanked them for the gifts of goose and ham and Christmas pudding, which the Rayners’ cook had prepared and sent over.

‘I’m really grateful,’ he said. ‘Jenny is very good, but she wouldn’t have known where to start with preparations. She said she had never seen so much food in her life, and then burst into tears as she remembered the friends she had left behind in the cellars.’

They were all silent for a moment and then Ellen said with a catch in her voice, ‘Yes, we must never forget how lucky we are.’ Then she added softly, ‘There’s still no news, Tom?’ When he bleakly shook his head, unable to speak, she whispered, ‘Then we must think the worst, my dear, for she would surely have been in touch at Christmas.’

Sammi rocked Adam on her knee; he had come to stay until Aunt Mildred came for him. Mrs Bishop had
weaned him and he was thriving on cow’s milk from a bottle. ‘We mustn’t give up hope, Mama.’ She, too, had a catch in her voice as she spoke. ‘We must renew our efforts to find her.’

Tom nodded. ‘I intend going into Hull again. I’ve asked at hotels and lodging houses, and in shops where she might be working.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Now I will go lower down the scale, for she must surely have little or no money.’

‘We must ask Billy again, although he says he keeps looking,’ William broke in. ‘But the town is full of seamen and navvies and immigrants coming in. It must be difficult for the authorities to know who belongs to the town and who doesn’t.’

‘Where is Billy?’ Tom asked, draining his glass. ‘Has he gone back already?’

‘He hasn’t been with us.’ Richard turned from the window where he had been observing the wintry landscape. ‘He stayed in Hull to set up soup kitchens for paupers.’ He pursed his lips. ‘The weather is going to get worse.’

‘Don’t be such a pessimist, Richard.’ Victoria was untying the parcel which Tom had brought.

‘Look at that sky,’ he insisted. ‘There’s more snow to come. It’s going to be a long winter.’

Tom had brought gloves for Aunt Ellen, cigars for Uncle William, warm scarves for Richard and Billy, ribbons for Victoria and a hair comb for Sammi.

They thanked him and then Sammi gave him their presents: a new pipe for Uncle Thomas, a striped flannel shirt for George, socks for Mark to be kept for him, and a sachet of handkerchiefs for Betsy.

‘I embroidered the initial,’ Victoria said quietly. ‘I know it should have been E, for Elizabeth, but we all know and love her as Betsy, so I put a B on instead.’

‘Thank you, Victoria.’ Tom gave her a sad smile. ‘She’ll like that, I know.’

He opened his present there and then, at Sammi’s insistence, rather than take it home. It was a silk
cravat, made from the same green silk that Sammi’s dress for Gilbert’s wedding was made from.

‘I made it myself, Tom,’ she said with a virtuous smile and a keen gleam in her eyes. ‘You know how we
ladies
love to sew.’

He glanced up and said softly, ‘It’s beautiful, Sammi. Thank you.’ He bent to kiss her cheek and as she turned her head his lips brushed accidentally against hers. For a fleeting moment he closed his eyes and breathed in her nearness, and as he opened them he saw his aunt and uncle both gazing earnestly at him.