Emily
Authors: Valerie Wood
| Emily |
| Valerie Wood |
| Transworld (2012) |
Valerie Wood
ContentsThis eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781407069142
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Published 1999 by Bantam Press
a division of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Valerie Wood 1999
The right of Valerie Wood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781407069142
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Typeset in New Baskerville by Phoenix Typesetting, Ilkley, West Yorkshire
Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc.
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
For my family with love
THE HUNGRY TIDE
ANNIE
CHILDREN OF THE TIDE
THE ROMANY GIRL
I would like to thank Professor D. M. Woodward, Hon. Archivist, Hull Trinity House, Trinity House Lane, Hull, for information on Trinity House School; Sheila Gardiner for a book list; and Peter Burgess for information on Hull gaols.
My thanks again to Catherine for reading the manuscript.
Books for general reading
Marjorie Barnard,
History of Australia
(Angus & Robertson, Australia, 1962).
Robert Hughes,
The Fatal Shore
(Collins Harvill, London, 1987).
N. V. Jones (ed.),
A Dynamic Estuary
(Hull University Press, 1988).
‘Leave me a dozen eggs and yon hen and tha can tek ’little lass.’
The child stared, first at her mother, who had spoken, and then at the tall, thick-set youth who carried a square wicker basket with a speckled hen poking its beak over the top and she knew that her future was being decided.
The youth’s eyebrows shot up and then down and then up again. ‘Nay, I can’t! She said I had to fetch ’little lad.’
Her mother shook her head in the determined manner which the child knew so well. If this was to be a battle of wills, she knew who would be the victor. ‘’Lad can’t go. I need him here. Tha can tek Emily. She’ll be a good worker when she’s big enough.’
And so it was decided. Emily was sent to put on her boots and shawl, whilst the hen and eggs were handed over in exchange. ‘I’m not sure,’ she heard the boy say as she entered the house. ‘She’ll have summat to say.’
Her father was sitting in a chair by the fire, his head against the chair back, pale faced and his eyes
half closed. Emily put on her boots and then stood by him. He gave a slight nod and she lifted each foot in turn so that he might fasten up the laces as he usually did, for she had not yet mastered the art of tying them with knot and bow without them coming undone.
‘Must I go, Da?’ she ventured, clasping her hands in front of her.
He swallowed, the movement seeming to cause him pain for he closed his eyes for a moment before answering. ‘Aye.’ His voice was husky. ‘If thy Ma says so. There. I’ve put a double knot so’s they won’t come undone. Tha’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
‘Will I come back?’
He stroked her blond head so like his own and then patted her cheek. ‘I don’t know, maybe not. Go on now, don’t keep him waiting, it’s a long journey.’
Still she hesitated and glanced towards the open door, where her mother, outside it, was impatiently tapping her foot. She looked around the small sparse room. There was nothing else she needed to take, no possessions or essentials, nothing that was hers alone. ‘We’ve got an old hen,’ she whispered. ‘We don’t need another.’
‘Come and give thy Da a kiss and get off.’ Her father drew her towards him and she leaned and kissed his thin cheek.
‘Shall I see thee again, Da?’ Her lip trembled as she spoke and she kept her eyes on his, willing him to say yes.
‘Get off now, lass. Go on. Don’t be asking questions that I can’t answer.’
Her father, who had always known the answer to every question she ever asked, was reluctant to answer this one. She picked up her woollen shawl and walked slowly to the door, then looked back. Her father had his eyes closed again and his cheeks were wet. ‘I could stay and look after thee, Da.’
He opened his eyes and she saw that they were glistening. He put up his hand and made a gentle movement for her to go; she turned again and left the room.
Her mother fussed in an unaccustomed manner, pinning her shawl and refastening the buttons on her dress. Then she gave her a little push. ‘Go wi’ Sam now and be a good lass. Do as his Gran tells thee.’ She offered no kiss as her husband had done, nor any explanation as to why or where she was going.
Emily looked up at Sam, but he kept his eyes on the ground and didn’t look at her. He had a round, weather browned face and wore a thick grey cotton smock and cord breeches and a floppy brimmed hat on his brown hair. He picked up the empty wicker basket and prepared to move off. ‘Go on then, Emily,’ her mother said again. ‘Don’t keep him waiting.’
The cottage stood at the end of a track with a small copse behind it. It was part of the estate where her father had been employed until he became ill six months before. Emily plodded behind Sam until she reached the end of the track and then looked back. Her mother was standing by the open door of the cottage, one hand shielding her eyes from the light, the other on her hip. Emily waved,
but her mother made no answering sign. She took a few more steps and looked again. Her mother had gone, the door was closed and there was no-one standing by the uncurtained window. The only movement was a curl of smoke above the chimney pot from her father’s fire.
They journeyed out of the hamlet, Emily following in Sam’s large footsteps and noting the women who stood in cottage doorways to watch them pass. They were almost at the limit of the estate when she saw a familiar figure coming towards them. It was her brother, Joe, who since he was eight was helping with the harvest to earn money now that their father was ill. Emily had overheard her parents talking and agreeing that Joe was to be depended upon. ‘There’s nowt else for it,’ her mother had said. ‘Else we’re for ’poorhouse.’
‘Hey, Em! Where’s tha going?’ Joe’s face was streaked as if he had been crying, but his voice was curious.
She shook her head. ‘Don’t know. Ma said I had to go wi’ Sam.’ Sam had stopped a little way off and was waiting for her. ‘Why’s tha not at work?’
He looked away from her and put a fist to his eyes. ‘I’ve lost ’job. Mayster said they didn’t want anybody my age now they’ve finished ’harvest, even though overseer said I was a good worker for a little ’un.’ Joe was small for his age no matter how he stretched himself, not much bigger than Emily, who was only five.
Sam waved for Emily to come and she said hurriedly, ‘He wanted thee but Ma said no; she said I had to go. We’ve got a new hen,’ she added,
unsure whether to be proud or sorry for the barter. ‘Tell Da tha saw me, Joe.’
He nodded and set off in the direction of home, then turned back and called, ‘Shall tha be coming back, Em?’
‘Don’t know,’ she shouted back. ‘Don’t be asking me questions I can’t answer.’
They walked all morning and into the afternoon, leaving behind her inland home, crossing the coach road which led towards the town of Hull, and skirting by a tree-lined track, a towered and turreted manor house set within a vast parkland, which was scattered with grazing sheep and cattle. They crossed over meadows and farmland and by the time they reached the bustling market town of Hedon, Emily was almost crying with tiredness.
Sam stopped at an inn and bought a tankard of ale for himself and a cup of water for Emily. They sat in the inn yard and he put his face up to the warm sunshine. ‘Not far now.’ Those were the first and only words he had spoken to her and she looked up at him and blinked, then as he lifted his tankard to take a gulp of ale she put her head down on the wooden table and closed her eyes.
He shook her awake. ‘Come on, I’ll give thee a piggy-back.’ He helped her up on to the table and turning his back to her bent forward for her to climb on. She hitched herself up and, putting her arms around his neck, smelt the familiar, comforting aroma of warm grain, new-mown hay and damp earth gathered within the roughness of his clothes and promptly fell asleep.
