Fourpenny Flyer (43 page)

But the girl moaned and wasn't comforted. ‘Will there? Will there?'

‘There will,' Harriet said, holding her hands firmly. ‘I shall make it my business to find them. You have my word.'

‘Where is Mr Rawson?'

‘Gone with Joe. He'll be back directly.' Her brother had fallen and been trampled on and was likely to be kept in the infirmary for some time, but there was no need to tell the poor girl that.

It was growing dark. One of the orderlies had arrived with a basket full of candles, which he was lighting methodically one after the other, setting them neatly in their sconces about the bare walls. It must be getting late, Harriet thought, but it was of little consequence. In a vague, faraway part of her mind she knew she ought to be concerned about John and dear little Will, but that was of no consequence either. There was a job to do and she could not stop until it was done.

She and Caleb Rawson had worked all afternoon, binding wounds as well as they could to stop the worst of
the bleeding, fetching water from Mr Murgatroyd's house, struggling to support the walking wounded at least part of the way home, pushing the most badly injured here to the infirmary in an old cart they'd found beneath the oak trees, soothing and reassuring, lifting and carrying, spattered with blood and vomit, for so many of the injured were sick when they were moved, working on and on and on, beyond fatigue and beyond imagination, numb with horror and effort. She was aware that other people were helping too. Mr Taylor was there and the man from the Manchester
Gazette,
and the field was gradually being cleared, but she was aware without understanding.

There was nothing real in the world beyond their four hard-working hands, hers narrow and white and quick, with blood-caked nails, his broad and brown and competent, with black hairs growing from his knuckles and the joints of his fingers. She knew his face by heart, as if it had been printed on her memory by the emotion of the afternoon: the short, broad forehead under dark, ill-cut hair, the blunt broken nose, the two missing teeth she could see when he spoke, the blue scar on his right cheek; and she could read his every expression, too, instantly and with ease, as though she'd known him all her life, the wince of compassion so quickly suppressed, the square jaw set before physical effort, the long, dark, tender lashes sweeping down over his grey eyes to brush away fatigue. An ugly, lovely man. And standing beside her now, warning her with his eyes that Joe was very ill but that his sister was not to know.

‘You're to stay here overnight,' he said. ‘You and Joe both. T' surgeon thinks it for the best. I'll be back in t' mornin' to see how you do.'

‘You are in good hands,' Harriet said.

‘Aye,' the girl said, dull with pain and confusion. ‘Thank 'ee.'

The last candle was lit, the girl's wound bandaged.

‘We must leave,' Caleb said, signalling to Harriet with his eyes that she was to begin to walk away.

‘Aye.'

‘We will see you tomorrow,' Harriet promised, walking
obediently.

But when she had followed him along the corridor and out through the portico into the darkening light of Lever's Row, she was overcome with lethargy, her feet leaden and her mind empty, all emotion drained away. She had no desire to go back to the hotel or to see John or even to find out how her baby was. She simply wanted to stay where she was. And what was even more peculiar, her odd behaviour didn't surprise her or worry her.

Fortunately he was still full of energy. ‘I'll see thee to tha door,' he said, smiling and showing those missing teeth. ‘If that'lt tell me where 'tis.'

It was the first time she'd seen him smile. ‘We have been too busy for such things,' she said. ‘I am Harriet Easter. My mother-in-law is Easters the newsagents.'

He did not comment on the information. ‘Where shall I tek thee?' he said.

‘To St Peter's Field, I suppose,' she said. She couldn't think of anywhere else she wanted to go.

So he collected the cart and they set off through the eerily empty streets, keeping a careful watch for the Yeomanry. The dusk was gathering quite quickly now and the sky above the soot-smeared houses was a gentle lilac.

‘Is Joe very ill?' she asked, as they cut through the narrow alleys between Market Street and St Peter's.

‘He'll not work for a long while,' he said dourly, ‘if at all. His ribs are cracked, they say. He can barely breathe.'

‘What will become of the family if neither of them works? Mary told me there are six little ones and she and Joe are the only breadwinners.'

‘They will starve,' he said shortly. ‘That is t' way of it. That is how t' poor live and die.'

‘Something must be done about it,' she said. ‘A fund must be started. I will see Mrs Easter about it. She has powerful friends.'

‘Tha'rt a good woman, Harriet Easter,' he said.

‘We must all do what we can, must we not?' she answered. ‘After this.'

John Easter was prowling the streets around St Peter's
Field. He'd been walking for over an hour and he was frantic with worry. He'd been to Market Street and back three times in case she'd returned to the Royal Hotel and he'd seen Rosie and little Will, who'd been driven home by Mr Clarke. But there was no sign of Harriet.

Anything could have happened to her, he thought, and his mind pushed all sorts of horrible images at him: Harriet struck down with a sabre, trodden under flying hooves, lying in an inert bundle like the bodies in the field. Even though they'd all been taken away they still haunted him. What on earth had possessed her to go out into such danger? Harriet, Harriet, he mourned, come back to me, my darling, for I cannot live without you.

And yet, when he finally saw her walking towards Mr Murgatroyd's lodgings for a few seconds he didn't recognize her. He thought she was a whore, walking along with that scruffy-looking workman, with no hat on her head and no shawl and no stockings and all that dirty hair tangled about her face. A whore with a passing resemblance to his Harriet. It gave him a palpable shock when she turned towards him and he realized who she was.

He ran to her at once. ‘Harriet, my dear, where have you been?'

‘Come to no harm, Mr Easter sir,' the workman said.

‘Thank you, my man,' John said, stiff and awkward with suppressed emotion. ‘Much obliged to 'ee I'm sure.' Oh go away, do, he thought. I need to be alone with my wife and you are in the way. ‘If you care to call at the Royal Hotel tomorrow morning I will see to it that you are rewarded.'

Caleb Rawson straightened his spine with anger. ‘I dunna work for reward, sir,' he said furiously. ‘I shall be at the infirmary tomorrow morning, Mrs Easter.' And he turned on his heel and marched away before Harriet could stop him.

Not that John gave her any chance to do or say anything. He seized her by the elbow, dragged her into Mr Murgatroyd's house and lugged her up the stairs to where their host was dithering on the landing. ‘She is back, Mr Murgatroyd. Praise God!'

‘So glad!' Mr Murgatroyd said. ‘Such a relief. No harm done, I trust. Such a relief!'

‘Could I prevail upon you to find us a carriage of some kind?' John asked, struggling to be calm and polite. ‘A closed carriage, if at all possible. We must return to the hotel as soon as may be and my wife can hardly walk through the streets in this condition.'

‘Pleasure!' Mr Murgatroyd said, and went at once.

‘I walked here through the streets,' Harriet pointed out. After the terrible events of the afternoon she found his concern rather ridiculous. ‘I was safe with Mr Rawson, who is a fine, good man and should never have been insulted the way you insulted him.'

‘We will wait in this room,' John said, ignoring her remark. He was shaking with anger now and needed to be away from prying eyes.

She followed him into the room and sat down wearily in her chair by the window.

And to his horror he realized that the sight of her was rousing desire in him so strongly that it was almost painful. Slumped inelegantly in that grubby chair, with blood under her fingernails and her hair wild about her face and her dress clinging to her legs and revealing her breasts as clearly as if she were naked before him, she was attracting him more strongly than she had ever done. It was immodest, improper.

‘How could you, Harriet?' he said, his eyes strained with fear and anger and this terrible desire. ‘I've been worried half out of my mind. Where have you been?'

‘At the infirmary attending to the wounded,' she said, her eyes half closed.

‘Why didn't you leave a message?' he said, anger and desire still growing at a dizzying rate. ‘You might have known I would worry with all this going on.'

‘There was no time, John.'

‘No time?' he shouted. ‘No time? You should have made time. I am your husband. You should have thought what you were doing. Or did you want to upset me? Was that what it was? Am I nothing to you? How could you do this to me, when I love you so much? Harriet, Harriet!'

‘They were hurt,' she explained calmly. ‘I had to help them. You would have done the same had you been here.'

‘I would not!' he shouted at her. ‘I would not. I would have had more sense. I would have stayed where I was and not gone wandering about the streets with common workmen covered in filth and blood and heaven knows what else. How could you worry me so? I didn't know where you were. I thought you were dead. Do I mean nothing to you that you treat me so?' He was talking wildly, saying things that shouldn't be said, but his control was gone. ‘You behaved disgracefully! You made an exhibition of yourself. How could you?' He was shaking with emotion. ‘Oh, I can't bear it!'

She got up slowly and wearily and walked to him and put her arms about his neck. ‘John! John!' she said. ‘Don't speak so!'

And at that he began to tremble with fury, and he seized hold of her roughly and held her so tightly that he hurt her. ‘I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead! Oh Harriet, my dear dear darling. I thought you were dead.'

She hushed him like a baby, stroking his hair with her bloodstained hands, understanding his fear. She had so little energy left and it was draining her to respond to him. ‘Hush! Hush!'

They stood together for a long time, and she held him and kissed him and soothed him with her hands, using the same movements she'd been using all afternoon. And finally he regained control of himself. And not a minute too soon, for they could hear a carriage pulling up in front of the house.

‘We will go back to the hotel,' he said, making a supreme effort to speak normally. ‘Tomorrow we will return to London, I promise. This is no place for us now.'

‘Oh no,' she said. ‘We must stay here for a day or two, John. I have given my word to visit the infirmary tomorrow morning.'

It was such a surprise to hear her arguing against any
decision of his that for a moment he didn't know what to say to her. ‘But it is all over now, surely,' he tried.

‘Oh no,' she said. ‘It certainly isn't over. It has only just begun.'

The next morning Harriet was awake at cockcrow and, once she'd assured herself that Will had eaten sufficient breakfast to sustain him for the morning, she set off for the infirmary. It was another beautiful day.

There was already a crowd of visitors waiting for admission in the portico, and among them she found Mr Taylor looking very angry.

‘They've arrested Mr Tyas,' he said, ‘
The Times
correspondent. Did you ever hear the like? I've written up my own account to send 'em, for they'll never know what's what with their man in jail.'

But Harriet was more interested in Mr Rawson's whereabouts.

‘Gone inside already,' Mr Taylor told her. ‘Him and three others. That's all they would allow for the present. We're to wait here. A good man, our Caleb.'

She agreed with him.

‘His wife and child died of the smallpox three years back,' Mr Taylor told her, ‘and ever since he's been a tower of strength to the Manchester and Salford weavers. There ain't a thing he wouldn't do to help 'em, you know.'

She was sure of it.

‘Being a weaver himself, you see, he knows the score,' Mr Taylor went on. ‘And a powerful speaker. You'd not think it to look at him, but he could rival the great Mr Hunt if he had a mind.'

She could believe that, too.

‘Gates is open,' an orderly shouted. ‘One at a time, if you please, ladies and gentlemen.'

It was a great pleasure to stand beside Mr Rawson again,
even though he paid no attention to her at all, being far too busy reassuring his injured friends that he would look after their children. ‘I'll see to 'em this very day,' he promised. ‘Dunna tek on. I'll see to 'em.' And she listened and admired him and decided that she would visit these poor children too and take as much food to them as she could carry.

So that afternoon she packed three huge baskets full of loaves and pots of butter and mutton chops and potatoes and fish and potted meats, and she and Peg and Rosie set off in a carriage to visit the sick, taking Will with them wrapped in a shawl like a gypsy. It was a sobering experience, for she had never seen people living in such abject poverty before. But it made her more determined than ever that she must do everything she could to help them, even if it
did
alarm her dear John. The situation was simply too dreadful and too urgent to be ignored.

John was finding this new active Harriet very difficult to contend with, rushing off to the infirmary, or travelling who knew where with enough food to feed a regiment and no sense of danger at all. It was extremely worrying. It took him two whole days before he could persuade her to come home to London, and then she went haring out of the house again almost as soon as she'd set foot in it. And to visit his mother, of all people! It was as if she was bewitched.