Authors: Valerie Wood
She was interrupted in mid sentence by a sudden rattle at the outer door and the sound of rushing footsteps up the stairs. Mrs Morton sat stockstill, looking tensely towards the door, and then relaxed as Francis Morton came bounding in, in a great hurry, followed closely by a dishevelled-looking man with a rough beard.
Maria picked up her shawl from the hearth where it was drying and put it around her shoulders, for she had taken off her wet blouse and was sitting in just her shift.
But the sharp-eyed Francis had already seen the glimpse of her bare shoulders. He put down his bag and, dropping his wet coat to the floor, came across to her by the fire.
‘How do, Maria, tha looks well; ’fire has put ’roses in tha cheeks.’ He touched her still damp hair and delicately wound a lock of it round his fingers, an amiable smile on his handsome face. Nervously she moved away from him. He was well known as a womanizer. His smile grew broader as he saw her embarrassment and he drew closer, whispering in her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek.
‘I was going to ask thee for help, for tha to say we’d been together all afternoon!’
He laughed as he saw the shocked look on her face. ‘But as we’re both wet and our boots soaked through, perhaps we’d better not or we’ll both be shipped off to Botany Bay. Though if we’d been together all afternoon, Maria, we wouldn’t have been out in ’rain, we’d have found somewhere warm and cosy!’
He drew away and roared with laughter and his companion joined in until with a rough edge to her voice Mrs Morton ordered them to stop at once or she would throw them both out.
‘Don’t lead Maria into thy mad schemes,’ she said angrily, ‘she’s got enough trouble of her own without sharing thine.’
‘Trouble! Who’s got trouble?’ Francis answered jubilantly. ‘Not me,’ and he picked up the bag that he’d dropped and shook it. There was a soft clank as if metal was wrapped in cloth. ‘We shall celebrate. My troubles are over!’
‘Or only just beginning,’ said Mrs Morton looking anxiously at Maria.
Maria stood up and hurriedly gathered up their things. ‘We must go, Mrs Morton, we’ve taken up too much of tha time, tha’s been very kind, looking after Alice and everything.’
Her thanks tumbled out as she picked up Alice and took hold of Tom, who was gazing with admiration at Francis, who had stripped off his wet shirt and was standing bare chested, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. She pushed the boy towards the stairs. She had no wish to get involved with the Morton intrigues for she suspected that sooner or later the law would come bursting through the door, rounding up all who had been in contact with Francis Morton.
Downstairs, she put the children into bed and gave them a tot of the rum which she kept for emergencies, and then, climbing in beside them swallowed a large mouthful herself, grimacing as the rough spirit set her throat on fire. ‘It’s medicine,’ she explained to Alice in reply to the child’s questioning. ‘It’ll keep us warm and help us to sleep.’
But in spite of the rum they spent a restless night listening to the howl of the wind and the sound of the relentless rain. Maria tossed and turned, imagining that she could hear footsteps on the stairs above her head, for their bed was under the stairwell and every sound could be heard. In the past she had often been awakened by the creaking of the treads as someone crept upstairs to the room above, and this night, her senses disturbed by the day’s events and Francis Morton’s demeanour, she imagined constantly that she could hear whispering and grim laughter above her.
I must get another lock for ’door, she thought the next morning as she rose heavy-eyed from lack of sleep. She put her feet to the floor and with a shudder drew them back instantly. The rain which had beaten down constantly all night had risen above the doorstep, seeping into the entrance and down into their room leaving an inch of muddy water over the floor.
Maria wept as she swept the water out of the door, her skirts tied up about her knees, only to find that the entry was flooded and there was nowhere for the water to go. The old gutters were already choked by the silt from the river and completely blocked.
Dejectedly she went off to work at the staith side. She couldn’t afford to lose another day’s wages, and felt wretched and dispirited as she worked amongst the mass of cold, wet fish, which seemed to stare at her accusingly with their pale eyes as if she was responsible for their predicament as well as her own.
In the midst of her misery she was worrying too about Annie. She hadn’t come in to work and Maria asked some of the other women if they had seen her. They shook their heads and one of them laughed cynically. ‘’Reckon she’s spending ’bonus already. She’s well shut of Alan anyway.’
They sounded hard-hearted, these women, but some of them knew from their own experience what it was like to have a bully for a husband.
I must go round to see her, she thought. Poor lass, she must be in a state.
But as she made her way home after her shift had ended she heard a familiar voice calling to her.
‘Hey, Maria, Maria! Come here, I want thee.’
Annie was leaning against the doorway of the Swan Inn. Her face was flushed and she was slightly unsteady on her feet.
Maria went across to her. ‘Annie, tha shouldn’t be here.’ The inn was notorious, serving sailors and foreign seamen who came into the port, and wasn’t a place for decent women. ‘Where are thy bairns?’
Annie laughed wildly; plainly she had had too much to drink. ‘They’re all right, tucked up in bed where I left ’em. Come on in and have a drink. Drown thy sorrows, that’s what I’m doing.’
She leaned forward and Maria could smell the gin on her breath. ‘I’ve found a friend,’ she whispered confidentially. ‘He’s paying.’
‘Oh, Annie, tha’ll pay, tha knows that. Come on home,’ Maria begged her friend. Her pleas were without success, and reluctantly she left her there, Annie’s raucous laughter echoing after her.
‘Tha’s had a visitor, Maria.’ Mrs Morton called from the upstairs window. ‘Gentry by ’look of him.’ She added curiously, ‘He wouldn’t say what he wanted. Said he’d come back later.’
‘It can only be somebody from ’company. There’s nobody else.’
Maria went indoors and wearily started to clean up the room. She took a broom and swept the water out. The water in the entry had subsided, leaving a thick layer of slimy silt, treacherous to walk on. Then she washed her hands and face and tidied her hair and prepared to wait for her visitor.
Maria knew that some of the other fish wives laughed at her for keeping herself and her children clean and their clothes mended, and even called her derisive names and said she was too proud. If John Rayner, when he returned to Wyke Entry with its stinking layer of mud and other unmentionable deposits, expected anyone other than a female drudge to greet him, then he showed no surprise on his pleasant face save for a raised eyebrow and a quick smile.
‘Mrs Foster? I called earlier – your neighbour—!’ He pointed upstairs.
‘Yes, please come in, sir. Tha’ll be from ’company?’ asked Maria as she showed him inside.
She saw his expression change as he gazed around the dark, gloomy room, at the floor still covered in mud, and a flush came to her cheeks. ‘We – we’ve had a flood,’ she stammered. ‘Once the mud’s dried out, I shall be able to sweep it through.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Foster. For you to have to deal with this on top of all the worry about your husband. I had no idea—’ He started to say something more and then stopped in confusion.
‘Will asked me to collect his wages, which I have here.’ He brought out a small bag from his pocket which he gave to her. ‘But the bonus is not yet settled, there is some dispute as to whether or not it is due, as the ship returned early. There will have to be a customs enquiry before it is paid.’
He saw the anxious look on her face and was quick to reassure. ‘Please don’t worry, Mrs Foster. My uncle, Mr Masterson, is confident that it will be settled satisfactorily.’ He turned to make his departure. ‘My name is John Rayner and I am for ever in your husband’s debt, Mrs Foster. I will do whatever I can to help you, you only need to ask.’
Maria reflected that this was the second time today that she had been offered help and considered that, of the two, if she was in need she would unhesitatingly choose John Rayner’s assistance. She recognized in the young man someone who would resolutely give help without asking a favour in return.
‘He’ll need work when he’s well, Mr Rayner,’ she answered. ‘If tha should hear of owt?’ She hesitated, knowing that she was asking the impossible. Will knew no other life than that of the sea and yet as she smiled shyly at the young man standing in front of her she felt for the first time a ray of hope, an uplifting of her spirits as warmly he returned the smile.
‘I had no conception of the conditions these people are living in, Uncle. How could I have been so ignorant of the poverty and squalor that exists in places like that hell hole of an alley?’
John paced the floor in the elegant drawing room of his uncle’s High Street home. His face was flushed with anger and his fair hair was dishevelled as in his concern he ran his fingers through it.
Isaac Masterson smiled. He liked to see a sign of passion in a young man, and until John had asked to go on the first voyage of the
Polar Star
he had thought him a trifle too gentle and mild for someone so young. But from all the reports that had come through from his captain and mate – and Isaac Masterson always made sure that he knew all that happened on board his vessels – John had done exceptionally well.
‘It is a fact that conditions are not always very good,’ he answered calmly as he stood with his back to the fire which was burning in the marble fireplace. ‘But I think that perhaps you chose a bad time. Everything looks worse when it’s so cold and wet. This has been a terrible summer.’ He lifted the tails of his coat and moved nearer to the fire.
‘But, Uncle, think then how it will be in the winter, when it freezes and the snow comes. How do they manage?’ exclaimed John, adding bitterly, ‘There is no wonder that so many bodies are fished out of the river. Death must be the only comfort and certainty that the poor wretches have to look forward to.’
‘John, my dear boy, don’t get yourself into such a state, I’m sure they wouldn’t thank you for it.’ His aunt interrupted him from where she was lying on a small sofa. Her face was pale from lack of sunshine, for she was in the fifth month of pregnancy and refrained from any exercise, save for an occasional carriage drive to visit friends. She adjusted the shawl which covered her. ‘From what I understand of it, most of them prefer to live like that or else they would move, wouldn’t they?’
John controlled the outburst which came to his lips. Isobel wasn’t knowingly unkind or unfeeling, simply ignorant and unconcerned about anything which didn’t affect her or her family and their comforts. She had been most upset when he had announced his intention to go whaling, and couldn’t comprehend at all why he desired to risk the dangers of the voyage when he could have stayed comfortably at home and kept her company.
He was grateful to his aunt and uncle, who had taken him into their care when both his parents had died of smallpox ten years before. Isobel was just a young bride then with expectations of starting a family of her own, and yet she had welcomed the young orphan warmly and embraced him as her own. As the years went by and there was no sign of children of their own, John became her constant companion until he was sent to school. Isobel had declared that she wasn’t too distressed at her childlessness, for she had heard that it was quite a distasteful business, but now at the age of thirty she had become pregnant, to her dismay and her husband’s delight.
‘Aunt, they have nowhere to move to,’ John explained gently now. ‘They have to stay where the work is and for most of these people it’s here by the river.’ He waved his arm in the direction of the Old Harbour which ran along the bottom of the garden to the rear of the house.
‘Just like us then,’ she declared, dismissing the subject and picking up her needlework which was lying on the cushion beside her.
John didn’t intend to let the matter drop. ‘If you had seen this young woman,’ he said, ‘you would have seen that they don’t all like to live in these hovels. I could see by her manner that she was downcast by her circumstances, and yet she made no complaint.’
‘I hope, John, that you didn’t go inside the dwelling, there might well be all kinds of loathesome diseases lurking there,’ exclaimed his aunt.
He laughed at her expression of horror. ‘Don’t worry, Aunt, I haven’t brought anything mortal home. As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘Mrs Foster is very neat and presentable, unlike her frowzy neighbour who looked as if she would steal the coat from my back, and who expected a reward for delivering a simple message.’
He turned to his uncle. ‘Seriously, sir, I would like to help them if it is at all possible; to make some kind of amends for what happened on the voyage.’
Isaac agreed to think about it. Will Foster had been a good and honest worker for many years, though he didn’t hold out a lot of hope of finding him work in an industry that needed only fit and able-bodied men.
John remained sick at heart, and angry with himself for being unable to dismiss the picture of poverty which he had encountered that afternoon. He felt shame that he couldn’t wait to get out of the dirty, narrow alley, and yet as he entered the doorway of his own home the contrast had hit him like a blow.
His uncle’s house was large and elegant, with an imposing entrance and staircase, with light airy rooms and fine furnishings. True, they couldn’t escape the odour of blubber and seed oil, and the servants were instructed by Isobel that on no account should they open any windows lest the furniture and draperies be contaminated by the stench.
He glanced now at his handsome aunt as she sat serenely on her sofa, her golden curls piled elaborately on top of her head and her blue silk dress falling in elegant folds around her feet, and thought again of the raven-haired woman with the large grey eyes in the shabby, mud-spattered dress, who had smiled so sweetly at him and who had asked for nothing but the chance of earning an honest living.