Gilbert pushed his chair back from the table and shook his head. ‘No thank you, Harriet, I have had sufficient.’ He glanced towards the window. ‘Could you face taking a walk? The weather isn’t quite so cold, and if you wrap up warm, I think it might do you good to get out.’
‘And take Adam, of course?’
They exchanged an implicit glance. As Uncle William had predicted, it hadn’t been easy bringing the child home. Harriet had been given many a pitying glance by young matrons, and Gilbert had put
up with sly winks and jibes about being a roistering blade from his acquaintances, and a brash cavalier by his elders. Harriet’s strength had sustained him. She had cancelled all their social engagements to save anyone from the embarrassment of having to do the same, and had appeared to be unmoved by the snubs of society; she was, as she said, thankful to know now who were her true friends. They were few, but faithful and understanding.
He had been grateful that she had taken to Adam. It would have been so natural if she had spurned the child of another woman, but she was so loving towards him that no-one would suspect, if they didn’t already know, that he wasn’t hers.
‘All right.’ She rose from the table. ‘I’ll tell Nurse to get him ready.’
They had hired a nursemaid to look after Adam, though they had to live more frugally in order to pay her wages. The failed bank’s affairs had not yet been settled, but Gilbert was heartened to learn that shares in the Dock Company, in his father’s name, which had been held by an independent broker, had soared to double their value of five years before.
Of the two ships belonging to the company, nothing was heard, and they were now presumed lost. The steam whaler
Chase
from the Hull Whale and Seal Fishing Company had been wrecked in Ponds Bay; the
Kingston
was lost and also the
Wesley
and
Bothnia
, and the town had been in mourning all the winter.
Gilbert had taken advice from other shipping merchants who were also being hard hit, not only by the loss of vessels, but by the declining whaling trade, and he had now made up his mind that they would diversify. Fish was plentiful, and the industry was expanding, and he heard from Hardwick, who was not only a very capable working partner, but also a great source of information, that many former seamen and those who had served their apprenticeship in the whaling industry were joining forces to
buy sailing smacks and setting up in business for themselves.
‘What I might suggest,’ Hardwick had said during one of their many discussions, ‘is, that once we know what finances are available, we adapt one of our ships to carry ice from Norway, and then trawl from the North Sea. The fish can be gutted and iced on board, transferred to a fast cutter and sent home in less than a week.’
Gilbert had approached his uncle, Arthur Rayner, to ask for comparative prices for transporting the boxed fish by rail to London, which was where the best prices could be obtained, against carrying it direct by cutter, which could reach the Thames from the Hull docks in three to four days.
‘Come along, Gilbert. Are you not ready yet?’ Harriet interrupted his reverie and he rose from the table where he had been quietly meditating.
He gathered up his coat and hat and helped Harriet on with her wool cloak. Taking the baby carriage by the handle, he eased it down the steps from the front door into the street. They took a roundabout route from Charlotte Street into the wider Albion Street, with its elegant Doric buildings, and glanced at the row of houses where Harriet had formerly lived with her parents. They noted the freshly painted front door and new lace curtains, and Gilbert thought grimly of Harriet’s father who had ruined so many lives, and of her mother who had left Hull to live with a relative and who, having heard the news of Adam, wrote to say that it came as no surprise to her, as all men were blackened with the same brush, and to expect no sympathy or support from her.
They walked on into Prospect Street where the Infirmary stood behind its low walls, and into Savile Street which led towards the Queen’s Dock, where Gilbert pointed out the ships to a wide-eyed Adam, then turning back, they walked across the Monument Bridge and into the old area of Hull.
A flower seller had set up her stall near the old workhouse in Whitefriargate. The fresh flowers which were brought in by boat from Holland, or sent by train from the London markets, spilled over onto the footpath in a riotous profusion of colour. Harriet gave a small gasp and bit her lip. Her father had bought a flower for his buttonhole from this same flower seller every morning before going in to the bank.
Gilbert took her arm and steered her towards the stall. Ghosts had to be laid, fears had to be faced up to; he knew that now, better than most. ‘What would you like, Harriet? Lilies for the drawing-room? The perfume is so lovely. Narcissi? How early they are!’
The flower seller picked up each of the flowers as Gilbert mentioned them by name and artistically displayed them into a bouquet for Harriet’s approval. She was a leathery old crone with gnarled hands, but she had a flair for presenting the blooms to perfection. ‘What about these yellow daffydillys, Mr Rayner, sir? Tha won’t find a lovelier colour anywhere. Colour of sunshine which’ll be just round ’corner for thee and thy good lady.’ She nodded sagely. ‘Mark my words, sir. Winter is over.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ Gilbert smiled as he put his hand into his pocket to pay her, and extended his smile to a woman who was also standing by the stall, apparently waiting for the sale to be concluded so that she and the stallholder could continue their conversation.
They moved off to continue their walk, and he saw the second woman bend her head in enquiry to the flower seller. She was a poor thing, he thought. Overweight with dropsy, her swollen feet almost bare in her torn shoes and her clothes little more than rags.
He put his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. Like his father, he had started to keep a few coins there to give to beggars. But the woman hadn’t asked for
anything, though she had kept her tired eyes on his face as the flower seller had spoken to him; she was not like some who regularly begged from the same spot, catching business people as they left their premises, or laid in wait for ladies to come out of shops with their purchases and small change in their hands.
He turned round, with the uneasy feeling that they were being discussed, and saw that the woman was staring. He hesitated and as he did, she moved towards him.
‘Mr Rayner, sir?’ Her voice was breathless as if she had no energy.
‘Yes!’ He answered brusquely, he knew not why, for he felt no animosity towards her.
‘Mr Rayner from ’shipping company? Thy father died last year?’ The eyes which stared at him from her pasty face were large, though heavily shadowed, and of the deepest blue.
‘What of it? What can I do for you?’
That was a mistake
, he thought.
I shouldn’t have asked. She probably wants a job for her husband or sons
.
‘Oh, nothing, sir. It’s just – it’s just …’ She looked down at Adam in his baby carriage and Harriet instinctively moved nearer.
‘Yes?’ Gilbert asked guardedly; he was getting a curious prickle down the back of his neck.
Her mouth trembled as if she was trying to smile but she failed as her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s just that Masterson and Rayner have been in this town for a long time, and I heard that things had been going wrong for thee, sir.’
She took a deep breath and continued, ‘I just wanted to say that I hope that thy fortunes turn, Mr Rayner.’
‘That’s kind of you.’ Gilbert fingered the coins in his pocket but the woman saw the gesture and waved it away.
‘I don’t want thy money, sir.’ She looked at Adam
again and the child gurgled at her. ‘I heard that there was a Rayner babby brought home and I onny wanted to take a look at him.’ She clenched her lips and swallowed. ‘He’ll bring thee love, I’m sure.’ She looked at the dark-haired Harriet, who was gazing at her with compassion. ‘He’s like his ma, I can see that. Same eyes and pretty nose. But he’s got his da’s hair!’
She gave a little laugh which was more like a sob. ‘Aye, anybody can see who he belongs to.’
She had a bunch of rosemary in her hand and she leaned towards the baby carriage. ‘Could I – I’ve just bought this from old Mary, could I give it to little fella, sir? It’ll bring him luck.’
‘Rosemary is for remembrance!’ Harriet said softly.
‘Aye, so it is, ma-am.’ She laid it on the satin-frilled coverlet and Adam reached out to grab it. ‘God bless thee, sir, and thee, ma-am, and ’little babby. May he allus know love and have good fortune.’
They watched her as she hurried away; she didn’t stop by the flower seller but scuttled past her, turning into a gloomy narrow passageway and out of their sight.
‘How very strange,’ Harriet murmured, rescuing the rosemary from Adam’s mouth. ‘Who do you think she was?’
‘I don’t know.’ Gilbert stared back at the empty passageway. He felt humbled by the woman’s dignity in refusing his money, though she was surely in a desperate plight, and bewildered to think that a stranger would care what happened to the company of Masterson and Rayner if their livelihood didn’t depend on it.
He felt again a tingle or sensation of touch on the back of his neck which spread meltingly down his spine. It wasn’t something he could define, but as he remembered the woman’s fine eyes looking into his, it was as if a hand had brushed against his skin in a warm remembrance of love.
The golden flowers of winter jasmine gave a splash of colour to the corner tower wall of Garston Hall and caught Sammi’s eye as she stepped into the trap. The sight of the flowering cascade was always such a bright reminder during the long dark days of winter that spring was only a promise away. But this winter had seemed longer and darker than most, not least because Betsy wasn’t here to share companionship with her as she had done since childhood. The days of gathering wild flowers for posies, of apple-bobbing at Christmas, of sharing secrets in their childhood innocence, had gone for ever.
She heard regularly from Harriet that Adam was making good progress, and so although there was yet another gap in her life, she was glad for all their sakes that he had settled.
But now there was a breath of spring in the air and she had started to ride once again to Tillington, calling on Uncle Thomas who was always glad to see her, and hoping to catch a glimpse of Tom who, however, whenever he saw her, had very little to say to her.
‘He’s very morose, that lad,’ her uncle had remarked one day when Tom had made his excuses to her and gone back into the mill. ‘He doesn’t have to do so much.’ He chewed his lip. ‘It’s as if he keeps on working so that he doesn’t have to do any thinking.’ He sighed. ‘I remember having ’same feeling when their ma died. But it’s different with Tom. I reckon he feels ’shame ower Betsy more’n anybody. And he misses Mark.’
As she rattled out of the drive, Sammi felt elation rising within her. She had made a decision; and though she felt apprehensive, she was determined to be bold. Her disposition wasn’t normally nervous, but her intention today would not be considered either normal or proper for a young woman of her station, and in spite of her determination, social convention still held her in its grasp, and she had therefore some slight doubts as to how her plans would be received.
Though there was a slight breeze blowing, the sails of the mill were at rest when she turned in at the gate. She heard a shout and saw George sitting astride the ridge of the barn roof. He waved a hand which was holding a tile, and she held her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t over-balance.
The door was open and she walked in. Jenny was sitting by the fire mending a pair of socks and Sammi warmed to the sight of the girl in such a domestic scene, giving silent thanks that Billy had rescued her from the cellars before the cholera had struck and taken so many young people.
‘G’morning, Miss Sammi.’ Jenny put down her mending and stood up. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Mr Foster is having a nap. He’s had a bad night; he had terrible pain in his back and legs. Master George and me had to get him up to try to ease it.’
‘Where was Tom? Couldn’t he have helped?’
‘We didn’t wake him, he was fast on. He doesn’t sleep so well either, he’s often up during ’night. I hear him moving around or sometimes he sits up with his da and reads to him to pass ’night away.’
Sammi refused the tea and sat opposite Jenny by the fire. ‘Is Tom in the mill now? I saw George up on the barn roof.’
Jenny nodded and picked up the socks again. ‘Aye, he is, though they’re not grinding till this afternoon. Luke Reedbarrow’s gone to deliver animal feed to a farmer somewhere and George is fixing ’roof while ’weather holds.’
Sammi stood up and took off her coat. ‘I need to talk to Tom,’ she said. ‘I’ll go now while Uncle Thomas is asleep.’
Jenny looked up at her. ‘He might be up at ’top, Miss Sammi. I doubt he’ll hear you.’
Sammi delayed for a second only. ‘Then I’ll have to go up to him.’ She lifted up her skirts and petticoats. ‘Jenny, will you unfasten my hoop?’
Jenny blinked and gazed open-mouthed, but without a word got up from her chair and unfastened the whalebone hoop, holding on to Sammi as she stepped out of it.
‘Thank you.’ Sammi stood it in a corner of the kitchen. ‘I won’t be long, and – and I’ll probably have a cup of tea when I come down.’
‘I’ll put ’kettle on then, miss, and it’ll be on ’boil when you’re ready.’
As Sammi went out of the door, Jenny moved a pan from the fire and replaced it with the kettle, and then stood looking at the hoop in the corner. She hesitated before skipping to the window where she could still see George up on the barn roof. She picked up the hoop, and, holding on to the table, put first one leg and then the other into the hoop. Her skirts were too short and the hoop showed below her hem, but she twirled around the kitchen floor, her skirts swaying, and singing softly to herself.
Her back was to the door and she didn’t hear it open but as she was just rising from a deep mock curtsey, she heard a chuckle, swung around and there was George in the doorway.