The more I struggled the harder it got. It was like trying to swim through a wall. I grew quickly exhausted, and was in danger of sinking. Though Bea was still tied to me, she’d gone scarily quiet. I wouldn’t let myself think the worst. I didn’t even want to look at her – that way, to my mind, she was still alive. All my energy went into staying afloat and keeping both of our heads above the water.
I wasn’t on the beach any more. A gatepost rushed by, the mounting steps by the stables, and before I could grasp what was happening, I was over the wall and inside the gardens of Berrow Hall. My first thought was relief: I’d be rescued now by Mistress Bagwell or the other maids. Susannah was probably already in the kitchen, drying her hair by the fire. I tried to grab the top of the wall, the bare branches of the big oak tree. But the sea was too strong: I couldn’t hold on for the life of me.
The water snatched up everything in its path. A garden seat swirled past, baskets, the back door torn from its hinges. The ground-floor windows of the house were all smashed in, water streaming inside and then out again, dragging with it chairs, books, pictures, a cup, someone’s bonnet. All I could do was get swept along.
At the kitchen window, snagged on the frame, was a maid’s brown dress. It looked so real, so like a person, I called out. Yet as the flood carried me closer, I saw, in horror, that it was someone. It was Jennet, one of the kitchen girls, face down in the water.
There was no chance for the shock to sink in. Up ahead, another woman lay slumped over a gate. Even before I reached her, I knew it was Mistress Bagwell. Her cap had come off, so her hair – which she always kept neatly hidden – waved in the water like riverweed.
I couldn’t get within yards of her body. The sea kept tugging me, spinning me so I was dizzy. I sobbed, gulping in water. Bea was as heavy as stone on my chest, the sling cutting into my neck. I tried at least to float on my back, to keep her from going under, and I was oh so glad when she twitched awake. It helped to have someone to save.
As quickly as I’d come upon it, I left the house behind. Even in my bewildered state, I knew this wasn’t a storm surge, or a high tide. The sea had come too far inland – and was still travelling fast. Out over the fields, I passed trees bent double. A gate on its end. And in amongst it all, animals thrashing and bellowing. I got kicked and barged into, and when a sheep tried to clamber on me, I had to push it away. I was tiring now. Bea was still again, cold and weighty, pressing against what little air was in my chest.
So when I noticed a pig swimming alongside me, I wondered if I’d fallen asleep or worse. I’d never seen a pig in water before. Honest to God, it was a far better swimmer than I was. Jem would’ve loved it: he had a way with pigs. Said they were cleverer than most people.
Dead animals, carts, gates, trunks, upturned tables floated by. Anything the water picked up lay on top of it like a skin. The whole landscape was covered. I didn’t know where the road was, or in which direction the sea lay. I couldn’t feel my legs any more. Couldn’t stop my head spinning. I kept picturing my family, none of whom could swim. Then I’d remember the steep hill that lay between Fair Maidens Lane and the sea, and I’d tell myself they’d be safe. The doubts would come again and the fear. Round and round like a whirlpool.
It didn’t help that bodies were appearing thick and fast. I’d glimpse an arm, a bonnet, a person caught in a tree so they hung there like a scarecrow. I was terrified I’d see Susannah or Ellis. Yet for every body that wasn’t theirs, I felt a tiny beat of hope.
I wasn’t even thinking of Mr Spicer when I came upon him. He was caught by his jacket sleeve on a tree branch. The angle of him was all wrong, like a doll that had been flung in temper across a room. His grey eyes were wide open, empty. In a blur, a rush of floodwater, I left him far behind.
*
Another mile, another hour, I’d lost all track of time and distance. The water began to seem gentler, though. I could move my legs against it, float without it sloshing across my face. I’d a moment of feeling almost hopeful. Then the tears came. The shuddering, sickening shock of all I’d seen, all that had happened, and the cold that was wearing me down. And – I couldn’t deny it – there was relief mixed in too. With Mr Spicer dead, there’d be no more talk of witch-hunts, at least.
After the tears came exhaustion. With what little strength I had left, I managed to grab on to the bough of a nearby tree. The wood was so rough it tore into my hands. But it floated well and if I heaved enough of myself and Bea out of the water, and lay across it, I could at least rest. Bea didn’t stir. I began to drift in and out of sleep.
Half thinking, half dreaming, my head filled with Jem and our disastrous tree-trunk boat. Sometimes I thought myself still crouched inside it, with Jem squatting opposite me, laughing. Then I’d remember all that had happened since, and how I’d never got to say sorry.