Children Of The Tide Read online

  ‘Shakespeare isn’t boring!’ Billy protested, annoyed at the thought of having to spend the evening watching a magician, even though it was one who was billed as having appeared before the Queen.

  ‘He’s right, old boy.’ Henry took the jug of ale from a barmaid and slipped a coin down the front of her bodice. ‘There’s lots of dirty bits if you listen; you know, by the minor characters, the plebeians and such. Don’t you remember how we used to pick them out to read when we were at school?’

  Billy looked from one to the other and wondered why he had ever thought that they were sensible, well-bred fellows.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Henry Woolrich hiccupped at last. Their third jug of ale was down to the dregs, he and Beresford-Brown shaking out the last drops after Billy had refused once again to take more, having already drunk more than he had intended.

  ‘Let’s call for a chair, like the fine ladies do.’ Roger looked down at the debris on the road, blown over from the Market Place, and then at his shiny shoes and neat pin-striped trousers.

  ‘Good idea!’ Henry swayed unsteadily and had difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. ‘Call for a double, there’s a good fellow. I say – I say! A double, do you get my meaning? Mine’s a double!’ He bent over, his hands on his knees, creased into paroxysms of laughter at his own wit and crashed down, his chin hitting the ground and his top hat rolling into the gutter.

  Billy retrieved the hat and, seeing a sedan on the other side of the road, whistled across.

  ‘Where to, sir?’ The two carriers looked down at Henry still sprawled on the floor, his chin bleeding and convulsed with tittering inane giggles.

  ‘Take these two gentlemen to the Grand Saloon at the Mechanics Institute.’ Billy felt in his pocket and gave them money enough for the journey and helped push Henry and Roger inside. ‘I’ll see you there.’ He put his head inside the curtain of the two-seater sedan. ‘I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind.’ And with a bit of luck, he thought, I might lose you.

  The night air had grown damp and chill, a few drops of rain falling, causing him to hunch into his jacket and turn up his collar. A slight breeze was getting up, blowing in off the estuary and bringing with it a sharp smell of the sea. He took a short cut to the theatre, passing through narrow streets where lighted windows showed the presence of gin shops.

  A woman with bleached hair and reddened thin cheeks confronted him. ‘Hello, darling! How are you? Were you looking for me?’ Her voice was a crude imitation of sensuality and seduction.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he stammered, taken aback by her approach. ‘You’re mistaken. You don’t know me.’

  ‘I’d like to get to know you, dearie. I’ve got ’time, if you have.’ She sidled up to him and linked her arm in his. She was wearing a thin satin dress, the cleavage low, showing the shape of her breasts. She ran her fingers down her throat and towards her neckline, easing the buttons undone. ‘Want to see a bit more, darling?’ she crooned softly. ‘I don’t charge a lot. Leastways, not for a fine young fellow like you. Why, I’d get as much pleasure as you. What do you say?’

  Too polite to push her away, he eased himself from her grip. ‘Sorry. I can’t. I have an urgent appointment.’

  ‘Give us a tanner then, love.’ She dropped her extravagant air. ‘Go on. I’ve had nowt to eat all day. Just enough for a bit o’ bread or a drop o’ gin.’

  He fished again into his pocket and mused that this appeared to be a night of philanthropy, and reasoned that perhaps the woman was more deserving than his drunken companions, who were being transported to an evening of revelry.

  ‘Bless thee. Tha’s an angel.’ Her voice became husky and grateful. She shivered and buttoned up her dress and put her hands across her chest. ‘It’s that bleeding cold out here.’ She tapped him briefly on his arm. ‘I’ll just go and get summat to warm me up. Cheerio, darling. Tha knows where to find me if tha wants owt.’

  ‘Wait! Why do you do this?’ he asked in concern. ‘Can you not earn money some other way?’

  She gave a short sharp laugh. ‘Why, I like it, don’t I, darling?’ Her voice became affected again. ‘There’s nobody would do this job if they didn’t like it, now would they?’ She folded her arms in front of her and put her head on one side. ‘Why, Queen Vicky herself asked if I would go and live at ’Palace and be one of her ladies in waiting, but I said, no, I couldn’t possibly. Not when I’ve got a job like this one. She was ever so disappointed as you can imagine.’ She started to walk away. ‘Go on home, darling. Go back to thy ma. Tha wants no truck wi’ likes o’ me.’

  He turned and watched her disappear into a lighted doorway and guessed that the money would be pressed into the warm hand of a publican and in return she would savour a fleeting gulp of pleasure, warming her blood temporarily before returning to her vigil in the darkened streets.

  He could hear the sound of music as he walked along George Street and approached the Mechanics Institute. Street musicians were entertaining the waiting crowd. A fiddler was playing a jig and a young girl was dancing to it, her bare feet pattering on the flagstones, her dingy skirt and petticoats flying, and the crowd clapping their hands in time to the music. A few yards from them, a tumbler was somersaulting in front of the queue, throwing his rubber-like body over and over, going into splits and contortions so that some of the wags in the crowd called, ‘Ow’, and shouted that he would do a mischief to his person if he wasn’t careful.

  Billy heard a commotion outside the building and saw Beresford-Brown and Woolrich arguing with the doorman, who was refusing to let them in until they had quietened down.

  Inside the Music Hall, he saw them up in the gallery. They were in the company of two women, and they all leaned precariously over the balcony, waving and calling to the audience below. Billy couldn’t help but grin and, relieved that they hadn’t spotted him, for he was concealed from them by a pillar, he sat back to view the entertainment which was about to unfold. It was not quite the third-rate review he had expected, but there was some singing and low jokes which set the audience laughing and responding, and sentimental monologues which brought them to tears. Herr Dobler performed his magic with his Enchanted Flowers and Enchanted Butterflies which filled the stage. A sweet young singer, dressed in a ragged costume of white, stood in the middle of the stage and sang of her mother dying in poverty and the crowd openly wept in sympathy. Then the final act, which sent them home happy and jolly again, was a military band which marched back and forth on the small stage, playing popular songs to which the audience joined in with enthusiasm, and the curtain fell to tumultuous applause.

  Billy fought his way to the door and had just reached it when his name was called from the crowd.

  ‘There you are, Rayner, old fellow. We’d lost you. We’d lost him, hadn’t we, Woolywich – Woollich – Woolly – Woolly Whatsit?!’

  Beresford-Brown beamed at Billy, he had a bottle of spirits in one hand and the other around the waist of a woman. Henry Woolrich was leaning heavily in the arms of another woman, who appeared to be also leaning on him, and together they held each other up.

  ‘Come on, we’re going to the King’s Arms, we’re going to have another drink.’ Beresford-Brown leaned confidentially towards Billy. ‘This lady here. This one, I mean, that’s standing next to me. This lady here. She’s a beautiful shinger – singer. She’s going to give us a song, aren’t you?’

  The woman gazed at Billy through glazed eyes, she was older by far than Beresford-Brown. ‘If you like,’ she said, through loose red lips.

  ‘You go on.’ Billy made his excuses. ‘I’ll maybe catch up with you later.’

  Beresford-Brown waved an admonishing finger. ‘You’ve got somebody lined up! I knew you were a dark horse, Billy Rayner. Well, bring her along and we’ll have a party, all of us.’ He waved his arm to include the crowd flocking out of the building into the street. ‘Everybody can come.’

  Outside the theatre a small group of Methodists stood together in the middle of th
e road. One of them, a minister by his dress, held up a placard which read, ‘Damnation awaits you in the House of Sin’. ‘Give up your evil ways!’ he called to the theatre crowd. ‘Give up your sins and come to the Lord.’

  He received much barracking and jeering, but the crowd were merry, not antagonistic; they had had a jolly evening and there was no ill humour, and eventually the Methodists moved into the crowd, cajoling all who would listen, to come and join them.

  Billy looked down the street as he heard another sound. A drum was beating, loudly, insistently and enthusiastically. A small boy, almost hidden by the size of the drum he was banging, was leading a long stream of children, some tall, some small, some only toddlers who were being carried by others not much bigger than themselves. A young girl, waif-like, with a thin face and long wispy hair, walked at the front of the line next to the drummer and held out her hand to the crowd who were leaving the theatre. ‘Give to ’poor,’ she called. ‘Spare a copper, sir.’ She spotted Billy watching and came towards him. ‘Has tha a penny to spare, sir, with nowt wanted in return?’

  Billy stared. Whatever did she mean? Whatever could this child give him in return for his money? The image of the whore who had accosted him came to mind. Surely, surely, this young girl didn’t mean …? He put his hand in his pocket once more and brought out sixpence. The girl reached out eagerly. ‘Wait,’ he said, drawing his hand back. ‘Where are you children from? Why are you out so late?’

  The girl eyed him and then gave a cynical grin. ‘Does tha mean we should be tucked up in our warm cots at this hour, sir?’

  ‘Are you from the workhouse? Do your parents know you are here?’

  He had, he knew, a lot to learn about life, he had had a sheltered existence, cocooned by the comfort and security of his family. But something was surely wrong here? It was eleven o’clock at night, these children must be in danger, with no adult to watch over them.

  ‘If we were from ’workhouse, we wouldn’t be allowed out at night, and some of us haven’t got any parents.’ She started to turn away, as if sensing that she wasn’t going to get the money still clasped in his hand.

  ‘Here, take it.’ He held out his hand and she snatched the coin. ‘I was curious, that’s all. I wondered where you were from – where you lived.’

  Distrust veiled her face. ‘We’re from nowhere and belong to nobody,’ she said. ‘And where we live is nowt to do with anybody else. We mind our own business and look after ourselves. Big ’uns look after little ’uns.’ She gave a piercing whistle which brought the others back from the theatre crowd where they had been begging, caps in hand. She held out a cotton drawstring bag which was tied around her wrist and they emptied the contents of their caps into it.

  She rattled it confidently and spoke in a forced cheerful manner. ‘Come on then, let’s be off and get our supper. Cheerio, mister,’ she said to Billy. ‘Be seeing thee.’

  8

  Sammi sat carefully on the edge of Victoria’s bed. How pretty she is, she thought as she looked down at her sister, so delicate and fragile, as if a breath of wind would blow her away. Victoria’s pale face was framed by her fine red gold hair. Even her hair is pale compared to mine. Sammi fingered it gently so as not to wake her, but the slight movement made Victoria stir, and she slowly opened her eyes.

  ‘Hello, Sammi,’ she said drowsily. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘Hello, Tori. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you feeling better?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. I shall get up soon.’ Victoria winced as she eased herself up onto the pillows, and Sammi got up to plump them up for her.

  ‘I’ve had the most frightful headache for the last few days, but it’s almost gone now,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I need to get out for some air.’

  ‘You get too much air. You spend too much time wandering on the cliff top. It’s a wonder you don’t get blown away.’ Sammi moved across to the open window and closed it against the buffeting breeze. ‘Stay tucked up in bed where it’s warm, there’s a good girl. That sunshine is very deceptive, the wind cuts like a knife.’

  ‘No, I shall come down for supper,’ Victoria said with all the determination of a fourteen-year-old. ‘I feel as if I’m missing something when I’m up here. What’s been happening anyway? Mama has been preoccupied over something, and so has Papa, and I’ve hardly seen you since you came back from visiting James.’

  Sammi sighed. ‘It will take for ever to tell, but I’m in trouble again as usual.’ She gave such a witless grimace that Victoria broke into a laugh. ‘It’s true, Tori. I don’t know why I can’t be good like you.’

  ‘I’m not good,’ Victoria protested. ‘I only seem to be because I spend so much time ill in bed.’

  Sammi patted her hand. ‘I know. All right. Sit back and I’ll tell you what’s been happening. It all started while we were waiting for supper at James’s house, and the doorbell rang.’ As she related the events leading up to her bringing the child home, she felt a wave of depression flooding over her. Her mother had said she would discuss the issue of the child later when Sammi’s father was there.

  She rang the bell for one of the maids to come and help Victoria to dress, and went downstairs. She had already changed for supper into a grass-green silk dress with a broderie anglaise collar and wide pagoda sleeves. She caught sight of herself in the oval mirror at the foot of the stairs and patted her hair which had been plaited around her ears, then she went across the hall into the drawing-room, where her brother Richard was reading a newspaper.

  He partly rose to his feet as she entered the room, but sat down again as she plumped down beside him. ‘We’re having a family conference, I gather.’ He folded up the paper and put it beside him and slightly loosened his narrow tie which he wore beneath his brown wool jacket. ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘About me, I expect,’ she said gloomily. ‘And James’s baby.’

  ‘James’s baby! James who?’

  ‘Our James,’ she whispered. ‘Cousin James Rayner. Hush, Mama’s coming downstairs. You’ll hear about it soon enough.’

  Their mother looked solemn as she stood looking out of the long window into the rose garden. Dusk had gathered, and pockets of shadows from the timbered rose walk hid the pale shoots of clematis which intertwined with the tight buds of white and yellow roses, but in the misty half light, blue and white forget-me-nots glowed in massed profusion. The scent of wallflowers and woodbine drifted towards the house and mingled with the perfume of lavender which grew in shrubby bushes beneath the window.

  Victoria came into the room and stood next to her mother, putting her hand into hers. She had dressed in an ankle-length, pale blue muslin dress which showed the edges of her white petticoats and the frill of her drawers; on her white stockinged feet she wore dainty black velvet slippers. Unlike her mother or Sammi, she did not wear a hoop beneath her gown, but layers of petticoats beneath her skirt rustled as she walked.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful, Mama? I do so love spring. I think I prefer it to any other season, it’s such a special time.’

  Her mother squeezed her hand. ‘And I remember you saying the same thing last autumn, when the leaves started to change colour. Every season has its own beauty, Victoria, even the winter, when the snow is on the ground.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were out working in it, Ma,’ Richard cut in. ‘Try digging out a sheep from a snowdrift or bringing a beast up from the cliff when it’s fallen over. Or,’ he emphasized, ‘being up to your knees in mud when you’re ploughing. Any sort of weather is all right when you’re inside looking out at it.’

  They none of them believed a word he was saying. Richard of all people was always the first up to sample the morning air and usually the last to come home. He was a true countryman, indifferent to the weather unless it affected his livestock, his sowing, reaping or harvesting.

  Their father came in as they were talking. William Rayner had changed for supper into dark trousers and a formal black j
acket, and around the neck of his high shirt collar he wore a bow-tied cravat.

  ‘I must tell you, Pa, before it slips my mind,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll have to move the fence near the old barn, it’s teetering on the edge. It’s good fencing, we don’t want to lose it.’

  His father sat down in his chair and gazed into the fire. He suddenly looked older and tired. ‘Put someone on to it tomorrow. There seems to be no end to it,’ he said wearily. ‘Back and back.’

  ‘Yes, the sea will be at the front door before we’re finished,’ Richard commented. ‘There’s some land coming up for auction at Tillington, Pa. I think we should take a look at it.’

  ‘Yes, I heard. Well, the sea won’t reach Tillington. At least, not for generations. But this village is finished.’ His voice had a bitter edge. ‘Monkston will one day be no more, nor Garston Hall, it will be just a distant memory, like so many other villages along this coastline.’

  ‘Your mother always used to say that one day we would have to move back.’ Ellen gazed sadly at her husband.

  William nodded. ‘It’s inevitable that we lose. We can’t fight the sea. In my father’s day there was a constant battle, the sea versus the land. But we have worked so hard, and we haven’t had the workforce, not like in the old days when there were village men available to work the land; though my father must have worked hard too,’ he added, ‘running the estate and the shipping company.’

  ‘Don’t forget your mother,’ Ellen chipped in. ‘This place was her whole life, he couldn’t have done it without her.’ She went across to her husband and kissed his cheek. ‘But that is all in the past, we must look forward to the future, wherever it is.’

  Martha tapped on the door. ‘Supper in ten minutes, ma-am?’

  Ellen nodded her thanks and turned to her husband. ‘Shall we discuss the child after supper?’

  ‘What is there to discuss, Ellen?’ William frowned. ‘There can be only one decision. The child is not our responsibility. He has to go back to Anlaby.’ He looked across at Sammi knitting her fingers together as she watched their faces. ‘There will be a rift within the family because of this, Sammi. Isaac and Mildred will be too embarrassed to visit us. Things will not be the same.’