The Hungry Tide (56 page)

He sipped the red wine appreciatively. ‘I think I deserve some comfort if my wife and daughter have deserted me.’

‘That’s the trouble with our ladies.’ John slurred over his words and poured more wine, slopping it on to the carpet. ‘They always desert us when we need them most. That’s my trouble, Uncle, I’ll confide in you. I’ve been deserted.’

Isaac drummed silently on the counterpane with his gnarled fingertips and waited with narrowed eyes for the outburst. When it came it was with a rush, a torrent of words, of broken sentences and verbal confusion.

‘And you say she won’t have you, this woman?’ asked Isaac. ‘Is this the same woman you had in mind once before? The one without a dowry?’

John nodded. He was spent, drained of all feeling.

‘And she’s a married woman, is she?’ Isaac hadn’t quite got the drift of his ramblings.

‘Not yet, but she soon will be. She’s promised.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Oh God! Sarah, how am I to live without you?’

‘Sarah? She’s called Sarah, is she?’ The old man sighed deeply. ‘It’s a good name for a woman.’

Something in John’s eyes as he looked up alerted him and Isaac frowned, biting his lips apprehensively. ‘You don’t mean it’s
our
Sarah – not Sarah Foster?’

‘The same, Uncle. There is only one as far as I am concerned.’

John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. The oblivion he had hoped for in drunkenness had not come, he was as sober as a judge now, and more despondent than ever. When he opened his eyes to look at his uncle tears were streaming down the old man’s face, running down his wrinkled cheeks and wetting his beard.

‘Uncle?’ He knelt beside him. ‘What is it, sir? Are you ill? I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’

‘You’re a fool, John! Why did you not say that it was Sarah you loved? Sarah, who we both love.’ The old man put his head in his hands and wept. ‘You know that one day all of this will be yours, if you want it. Isobel won’t stay here once I’m gone. And Sarah, she would have been happy here. Sarah, who would have cared for me now that I’m old and ill – cared as no-one else would. And now she’s gone, lost to us – both of us.’

He woke at the first pencil glow of daybreak, dressed and left the house as the servants were stirring, surprising them as, sleepy-eyed, they unlocked the door and let him out. He rode away from Monkston towards town, his back turned to the brushstrokes of colour which appeared in the eastern sky, as darkness fled and the virgin day stretched out its bright rays.

He packed his valise quickly at his High Street home, and changed horses, leaving his mare and taking a strong stallion, for he intended to ride fast for the two hundred miles to London.

He stopped over in Lincoln and Sleaford, paying well for the hire of other mounts at inns there, and arrived at the Pardoes’ door dirty, aching and weary, having punished himself and his sweating horses by his hard riding. He had barely given thought to the question of why Matilda Pardoe should have written asking him to call on her, except to reflect curiously that it was strange that she should wish to see him now at a time when Sarah told him that he ought to marry her.

He washed, changed his clothes and went downstairs. One of the footmen greeted him and showed him through to the withdrawing room where Miss Pardoe would join him.

‘Is Mr Stephen Pardoe at home?’

‘No, sir. Mr Stephen is out of town at present, as is Mr Pardoe.’

He waited seated for a few moments, and then got up restlessly and examined the paintings on the wall. It was odd, he thought, that Miss Pardoe had invited him to stay when there didn’t appear to be any other guests and when her father and brother were absent.

He bowed as she came into the room. She was poised and smiling as she greeted him with thanks for coming so swiftly after receiving her letter.

‘It was not a question of life or death, Mr Rayner, but a matter that I would like settled fairly soon. Please, take a seat. You look very tired, I fear that the journey has overtaxed you?’

‘Not at all, Miss Pardoe. I came immediately, as I am to sail to the Arctic very shortly, and it may be many months before I return.’

He watched her as she seated herself across from him. Sarah was right, she would make someone a good wife. She was handsome and charming, and he felt sure that she would take an intelligent interest in her husband’s affairs. And yet there was something missing, some spark or warmth, perhaps waiting to be kindled.

‘My aunt will be joining us for supper,’ she said, as if reassuring him that they would not be dining alone, ‘but I wished to speak with you privately, which is why I asked you to come whilst my father and brother are away.’

She took a deep breath and looked away. John detected a small movement in her throat as if she was nervously swallowing.

‘I have decided to marry,’ she said firmly and John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He had not heard a whisper of the news.

‘My father is anxious for grandchildren to continue our family line, and as my brother does not appear to be in any hurry to be married and produce a family, I have decided to take matters into my own hands.’

Her cheeks flushed slightly and John realized that for some reason this was not an easy subject for her. He therefore kept his eyes averted, gazing at the paintings and the windows, and just occasionally glancing in her direction.

‘You may have heard, as I well know how this type of gossip travels, that I have refused several offers of marriage. My reasons for this are personal, but I can tell you that I have not previously met anyone with whom I wish to share the rest of my days.’

She got up from the chair and walked across to the window, gazing out of the gauze curtains into the street below.

John too stood up and waited hesitatingly for her to continue.

‘This is quite difficult for me, Mr Rayner, so you must excuse me if I do not phrase my words well.’

She turned to face him and although the cold white light was behind her, throwing her face into shadow, he could see the flush on her cheeks. ‘The fact is, I have a proposition to offer you. If you do not think it presumptuous of me and if you have not already any commitments in this direction, I would ask if you would give serious consideration to taking me as your wife?’

He drew in his breath. What it must have cost her to ask such a question he couldn’t begin to consider. After a moment he took her hand and led her to a chair, thinking that perhaps she might be feeling the strain of embarrassment, but once seated she sat upright, her hands folded calmly across her lap.

‘You see, Mr Rayner, of all the gentlemen I have met, you are the only one that I would consider as a suitable companion, and if you will excuse my plainness of speech, as a prospective father of my children.’

John was lost for words, he wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered, for she was an extremely eligible heiress, or, and this he felt more likely, simply to regard himself as a participant in a joint transaction. That this was the way things were often regarded he was quite well aware, but surely not in such a calculated or direct manner?

‘I don’t of course expect you to make a decision now, but if you should decide that it would be possible, then I would ask you to approach my father in the usual way.’

She smiled then and her face looked softer, gentler. ‘He would be horrified to think that his daughter had approached a gentleman with such an offer, so I must ask you to be completely discreet, but I must also explain that I do not intend to let anyone else make decisions which affect my life. I never have and I never will.’

He took her hand and kissed it gently. ‘I think that you are very brave, Miss Pardoe, and I admire your spirit. I am honoured to have your regard.’

She interrupted him before he could say more. ‘Matilda, please. As I say, I do not expect you to decide now, in fact I would prefer it if you would give it careful thought, perhaps during your voyage. It is a once in a lifetime decision, after all, not to be taken lightly.’ She hesitated slightly. ‘I cannot speak of love as I have not experienced it, but I have to say that I would expect and give complete fidelity. I would not tolerate any other liaison after marriage, as some I know do.’

It was during supper, during a momentary break in the garrulous chatter of her aunt, that John realized the degree of astuteness in Matilda Pardoe. She enquired if he would be visiting his aunt and cousin whilst in London, and on hearing that he would not as he wished to return north immediately the next morning, she asked quite casually the whereabouts of Sarah.

‘I understand that she is no longer in your cousin’s employ?’

He thought it strange that she should even enquire, but answered lightly that she was not. ‘She wished to be independent. She has become a herb woman,’ he said dismissively.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Matilda answered. ‘She was wasted as a servant.’ She glanced at him from beneath her dark lashes. ‘She has not married some rich farmer?’

‘No.’ John’s tone was curt. ‘But I understand that she is to marry a poor one.’

‘Such a pity.’ Matilda’s eyes were wide and appraising, with a dark, perceptive gleam. ‘Such beauty and intelligence. She must be marrying for love?’

John stood with his arms folded, silently watching the crew as they came aboard. Some came quietly and soberly, glancing over their shoulders to wave and give a sombre smile to those waiting on the quayside, mothers, wives and children, who had braved the cold, dim morning to see their men depart.

Others of the crew came staggering on to the deck, given a helping hand by those only slightly less inebriated than themselves, as they disgorged from the warmth of the taverns where they had spent the last of their money and time on shore before leaving for less hospitable territory.

He greeted Rob Hardwick and his son as they came on board. He noticed that the older man was very stooped and his legs were bent. He couldn’t surely expect to do many more trips. He was a good, reliable seaman, but this wasn’t an old man’s occupation. Strength and swiftness were needed as well as experience, and John sighed regretfully. He didn’t like to do it, but he would have to tell him at the end of the voyage that this would be his last sailing.

He nodded, too, to Jimmy Swinburn, now out of his apprenticeship and an experienced linesman as his father had been, but he received only a grunt as the sullen young seaman averted his eyes to look down at the dockside where a pair of slatternly drabs were calling to him and blowing kisses.

No-one to wave a last goodbye to me, John brooded. No-one to wish God speed and a safe return. He dismissed the melancholy thought. There was only one person he would have wished to see waving her handkerchief as they passed out of the harbour mouth into the muddy waters of the Humber, and she was miles away, no doubt just rising from her bed, for it was barely five o’clock. He imagined her stretching her brown arms above her head, her skin still warm from sleep and her hair tousled about her face and shoulders.

One day, Sarah, he meditated some hours later, as they drew away from the pilot boat and rounded the sandbanks of Spurn Head into the wide reaches of the German Ocean, one day you’ll be mine. Though you may be promised to someone else in this life, I’ll return for you one day, and you won’t refuse me then. He saw her face before him, smiling sadly, and thought he felt a slight, soft touch on his cheek, like a loving, goodbye kiss.

Sarah rose in darkness and with the aid of a dim lantern manoeuvred the horse between the shafts of the small cart. She had persuaded Tom to loan her the mare with the promise that she would return her by midday and did nothing to correct his mistaken impression that she wanted to leave on an early excursion into Hull.

She walked at the mare’s head until she was clear of the village, murmuring softly to her in the darkness, and then turned back to take the narrow road leading down the coast. The mare was as surefooted as she was and there was light enough reflected from the sea to travel by. Although Sarah hadn’t before journeyed the total length of road which ended at the narrow spit of Spurn, she knew by word of mouth which areas had eroded, and which parts of the road had disintegrated under the constant battering of the sea, and how to avoid them.

Dawn was breaking as she travelled through the still sleeping village of Waxholme and skirted the deserted cottages of Owthorne which trembled on the cliff edge, and headed on towards the high cliffs of Dimlington Heights where she would have a long view of the coastline and the sails of the ships as they sailed out of the estuary and into the German Ocean on their route to the Shetlands and the Arctic.

It had been her mother who had mentioned that Mr John was sailing on the
Northern Star
and that her father’s old seamate Rob Hardwick would also be on board.

‘When does she sail, Ma?’ Sarah had casually asked.

‘I know for a fact that it’s ’day after tomorrow,’ Maria had replied. ‘Mr Masterson said it particularly. Said he wished he could have been there to see her go. He said it would be a hard voyage as they’re pushing further north than they’ve ever done before, and I said I was glad that Will wasn’t going, and he said particularly that it would be a day to remember.’

Sarah was determined to be there. She couldn’t go to the dockside as there might be someone who would recognize her as Will Foster’s daughter and wonder why she was there, and most certainly there would be people who knew John, and she didn’t want to embarrass him; yet no-one would think it odd if a lone woman on a cliff top stood gazing at a ship as it ploughed its way across the sea.

She stood by the beacon at Dimlington Heights and stared across the water, but apart from the vessels returning to harbour and a few scattered fishing boats and cobbles, there were no ships sailing out from the home shores. I’m too early, she thought, there hasn’t been time to clear the Humber. She looked up at the sun breaking through the clouds and decided to drive on down to Spurn where she would see the ships as they rounded the point.

She cracked the whip and urged on the mare, making good progress where the road was sound and getting down to lead her when it drew near the cliff edge. Several times she looked down and saw at the foot of the cliffs ridges and mounds of red and grey clay from previous falls, with here and there timber and thatch and old chairs sitting incongruously abandoned amongst the abundant grass and vegetation which was flourishing there.