Children of the Tide (56 page)

Her steps had taken her around the church and as she staggered onwards she heard a cry. ‘Betsy!’ It was loud and urgent. ‘Betsy! It’s Billy! Don’t be afraid!’

She stood petrified. She didn’t want to be found. She wanted to be lost for ever, where no-one that she loved or cared for would find her. Not her father or brothers, not Luke or her cousins. She wanted only oblivion. There was a sound of running feet and Billy’s voice still calling and she crouched against the church wall. Then as she looked up she saw the cellar steps of the abandoned and burnt-out warehouse which Billy had once shown her.

She cautiously looked out; his voice was fainter, he had missed her direction, and as swiftly as she could, she scurried across the road and into the entrance, moving aside the cardboard curtain.

It was blacker in the cellar than the night outside, and for a few minutes she felt as if she had walked into a wall of impenetrable darkness, but the denseness lessened as, here and there, the flickering glow from candle stubs lightened the dark.

There were sounds of coughing and whispering and now and again a soft moan, but no-one challenged her as she carefully threaded her way as far as she could from the entrance. Once or twice she trod on someone’s hand or foot, but apart from a low curse, no-one impeded her. She put out her hands and searched the walls. There seemed to be some kind of alcove. The wall was damp but it would give ease to her aching back. A candle flame flickered only a few feet away from her and she saw the blank face of a
woman. She didn’t greet the new arrival but simply stared into space.

Betsy eased herself down onto the floor and stretched her legs out. At last she was safe. Now she could rest and the pain would ease. Tonight she would sleep and tomorrow, tomorrow— Another pain smote her body.
Perhaps
, she silently prayed,
tomorrow won’t come
.

‘Why do you think it was her, Stephen?’ Billy rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘She didn’t answer to her name.’

‘It was the description you gave,’ the doctor answered. ‘And she wasn’t the usual type to be queueing for soup. She sounded different too, more country than town.’ He proceeded to stack the empty dishes. The crowd had moved away from the stalls and were gathered around the still burning fires. ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to be found, Billy. Have you thought of that? She might have reasons not to go home.’

‘But there would be no need!’ Billy spoke anxiously. ‘Whatever has happened, her family want her back. I wish I’d caught a glimpse of her, just so that I knew for certain. I don’t know whether to call on Gilbert to help me look further, or send a message for her brothers to come.’

Stephen glanced up at him. ‘You look as tired as I feel. I suggest we both go to our beds and have some sleep, otherwise we’ll neither of us be fit for anything tomorrow. What a Christmas! I’ve never had one like it!’

‘Thanks, Stephen. I really appreciate your help, and there are a lot of others here tonight – this morning,’ Billy added, ‘who do, too. Come on, Tim!’ he called to the boy. ‘Let’s get the rubbish moved away and then I’ll walk you to your lodgings.’

A youth who had been nearby, collecting up pieces of kindling for the fires, heard him and came over. He was raggedly dressed in a suit that was too short
in the arms and legs, and on his unkempt hair he wore a shiny top hat with a curling brim.

‘’Lads and me’ll clear up, Master Billy. We’ll take ’carts back to Rayner’s yard for thee.’

‘Thanks, Joe. I would appreciate that.’ Billy was relieved. ‘Tell the watchman that I sent you, and if you ask him, I’m sure he’ll find you some broken crates to keep the fires going.’ He knew that the crowd who were gathered around the embers would be reluctant to leave the warmth for the cold comfort of a draughty doorway.

He walked with Tim to the lodgings he had found for him, when the magistrates had accepted his assurance that he would be responsible for the boy until his case came to court. As they reached the door, the boy pulled out a key on a string from around his neck.

‘Mrs Crowle give me this.’ He flourished it proudly. ‘She said, if we was to live together then we should trust each other. I can come and go as I please,’ he added, ‘as long as I get me jobs done.’

‘And you respect her trust, Tim?’ Billy asked. ‘You won’t let her down?’

‘Oh, no,’ the boy said eagerly. ‘Why ’old lady needs me. I chop wood and bring ’coal in and run errands, and by, Master Billy, tha should taste her meat ’n ’tatie pie, it fair melts in tha mouth.’

‘I’m glad it’s working out so well, Tim,’ Billy said good-naturedly. ‘I’m pleased you’ve found someone who needs you.’

‘Oh, she said she doesn’t know how she ever managed without me, Master Billy.’ Tim’s voice was full of conviction, then he lowered it to a whisper. ‘She’s going to speak for me when my case comes up. She said as she would.’

Billy smiled. ‘Good. And I will too, Tim, so everything should work out all right, providing you don’t misbehave again.’

He couldn’t help but feel a small glow at the way
events were working out for Tim.
Here’s another success story
, he thought as he walked away,
first Jenny, now Tim; though no doubt there will be others who will not be as fortunate
.

He felt some satisfaction, too, that he had persuaded the corporation to give two hundred pounds to set up the soup kitchens. His name was already becoming known through his association with the Mayor, Zachariah Pearson, and a public subscription had been organized for the poor.

He walked back through the town, pausing briefly to look up at the towering monument to Wilberforce, the great philanthropist and liberator of slavery, etched high against the night sky, then on impulse he skirted the edges of the lapping waters of the Prince’s Dock, and ambled towards the wooden pier which jutted out into the Humber. There were several steam boats moored by the staithes, gently rocking in the swell, with a single lamp glowing on the decks; and out towards the middle of the estuary, sailing ships were silently dipping and plunging at anchor in the dark water as they waited for the morning tide.

He took a deep breath and smelt the salt of the sea and remembered the long walks on the sands at Monkston on Christmas Eve with his brother and sisters. Memories stirred of racing home to help decorate the house with evergreens, and of lighting the Yuletide candles before the wassailers gathered at the door to sing their ancient carols, and who then were invited in for a glass of punch and a slice of Cook’s rich and fruity spice cake.

He thought of last year’s Christmas Day, so different from the one he was spending now, when everyone ate their fill of roast goose, pork with crisp, salty crackling served with clove-scented apple sauce; of plum pudding black with fruit, and topped with brandy butter. He recalled the singing around the piano and the opening of their gifts on Boxing Day; and he thought now of his family as they slept safe in
their beds tonight while he roamed the streets of Hull alongside the destitute whose bellies, like his own, were rumbling from the warm soup of charity.

The sharp air frosted his nostrils and tingled his ears, and as he watched the surging estuary, he felt the consciousness of his sea-going ancestors draw around him, the men who had braved the hostile icy waters of the Arctic in search of the whale. Poor souls, he thought. The men on the two missing whaling ships, the
Polar Star Two
and the
Arctic Star
came to mind: they were causing such anxiety not only to their families and the shipping company, but to the whole town.

News had come in only a week before of a ship from another company which had gone down off Davis Straits, losing all lives on board, and gloom had spread throughout the shipping fraternity and furthered speculation that the missing ships of Masterson and Rayner wouldn’t be coming back.

These thoughts turned inevitably to Gilbert, who was so despondent over so many events, and then on to the girl Stephen Sheppard had seen, and decisively he turned from the river and headed towards the home of Gilbert and Harriet. The stars were losing their brilliance and the night sky was starting to lighten as he reached their door and rang the bell. A startled maid in a dressing robe appeared and inched open the door.

‘Who’s there?’ He heard Gilbert’s voice from the stairs and saw him through the crack of the door, also in a dressing robe, his hair unbrushed. It was only then that Billy realized that, though it was not still night, it was not yet morning either.

‘What on earth! What’s happened?’ Gilbert shooed the maid off to bed again and brought Billy inside to the sitting-room. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

Billy shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Gilbert.’ He sank into a chair. ‘I hardly know what day it is, let alone the time.’

Gilbert looked grimly at the French clock ticking on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s three thirty,
a.m
., and it’s Boxing Day! The one day in the year when we might possibly have a sleep in. Here.’ He reached across to a table and poured Billy a small brandy. ‘Drink this while I go and tell Harriet that there isn’t more trouble; her nerves are shattered as it is.’

‘Sorry,’ Billy muttered to Gilbert’s back as he went out to reassure Harriet. ‘But there might well be more trouble.’ He tossed the liquid to the back of his throat, and then coughed and spluttered at its fierceness.

‘I think there’s news of Betsy,’ he said when Gilbert came back. ‘That’s why I came.’ He told him of what Stephen Sheppard had said. ‘I just don’t know what to do. Whether to go on looking for her or whether to send for Tom. I just – I just wanted to ask your opinion, Gilbert. I gave no thought to the hour. I just came.’

Gilbert gazed at him. ‘You know what your trouble is?’ he said. ‘You’re just worn out. You’ve been working all hours that God sends these last few weeks. You’ve been working in those stinking cellars, you’ve been helping with the cholera victims, and now you’re serving up soup to the paupers!’

‘Somebody has to,’ Billy began heatedly but Gilbert silenced his outburst.

‘I’m not saying that you shouldn’t do it,’ he said patiently. ‘But you’ll help no-one if you fall ill. Have you looked at yourself lately? You look like one of the poor wretches that you’re trying to save. You have the aura of penury! I hope in God’s name that it isn’t catching,’ he added bitterly, ‘though I feel that it might be.’

‘I’m really sorry, Gilbert. I didn’t think, I should have realized that you have worries of your own.’ Billy was penitent.

‘You misunderstand me!’ Gilbert burst out. ‘I’m not complaining that you came. I’m trying to explain,
not very well it seems, that you can’t help these unfortunates if you don’t take care of yourself. You look like they do, and what they need is someone who appears better than they do, someone they can look up to and yet still trust, and who the people in authority can relate to.’

Billy closed his eyes, he only half understood what Gilbert was saying, and wasn’t even sure that he agreed with him, but as the comforting warmth of the room washed over him, all he wanted now was to sleep.

Gilbert hauled him to his feet. ‘Go upstairs and have a warm bath and leave those disgusting clothes outside the door. Then go and get into the spare bed. I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll both go and look for Betsy. Then we’ll decide whether or not to send a message to Tillington.’

The woman eased herself from the floor and, holding up the stub of a guttering candle, peered down at the young woman who had been crying and moaning all night long. She grunted and turned away and with the shuffling steps that her ragged slippers would allow, she made her way towards the entrance, leaving a dense pool of darkness behind her.

Two youths were sleeping by the doorway and she kicked one with her foot. He turned over and looked at her with one eye and then turned his back again. ‘Clear off, Peg,’ he groused. ‘Get back to tha corner and let a bloke sleep.’

She kicked him again, in the ribs, and angrily he sat up. ‘I just telled thee. Clear off! I’ll fetch thee a jug later.’

‘I don’t want a jug, leastways, onny if tha’s offering. A midwife’s needed; there’s a woman in labour down yonder.’ She wiped her sleeve across her nose. ‘She’s been makin’ a hell of a row all night. I’ve had no sleep for her moaning.’

‘And where in blazes do I find a midwife?’ He
leaned on one elbow and stared at the woman. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start looking. Can’t tha see to her?’

The woman bridled. ‘Me? No, I can’t. I can’t stand sight o’ blood. Anyway,’ she said contrarily, ‘it’s pitch black back there and me candle’s nearly snuffed it. Tha can get me another while tha’s out.’

Defeated, he got to his feet and reached for his top hat which he carefully placed on his head. ‘Give us some money then.’ He put out his hand and then ducked as she swiped at him.

‘I’ll give it thee when tha brings ’candle,’ she glowered at him. ‘Tha doesn’t catch me like that. Now hurry up afore she has ’bairn on her own. There’s no joy in that, I can tell thee.’

Joe came out blinking into the brightness of cold day and stood with his hands on his hips. Where would he find a midwife, today of all days? It was Christmas, wasn’t it? Or was that yesterday? He shrugged. It made no odds to him, one day was very much like another. He walked down into the Market Place. There were a few people about. Some, sitting cross-legged and their heads bowed onto their chests, were gathered around the still warm dusty ash which were the remains of the previous night’s bonfire. But they were all men and vagrants, and wouldn’t have known about midwives.

A stallholder had set up with some vegetable produce and was sitting behind a stall with an empty pipe in his mouth.

Joe approached him. ‘Does tha know of a midwife hereabouts?’

The man shook his head, then took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Has tha got some poor lass into trouble?’

‘No! Not me,’ Joe protested. ‘It’s a woman down in ’cellars. She’s having a babby.’

‘God help her then.’ The stallkeeper stuck the pipe back into his mouth. ‘They say it’s as black as Hell down there. They should fire it.’

‘Oh, yeh?’ Joe glared defiantly. ‘It’s all right for some folk, but there’s others who’d have nowhere to go if it was fired.’