Harriet began to run towards the stray sheep but realized she was chasing them further down the slope. As she looked towards the bottom field, she saw Mr Tuke step off the bank and disappear.
‘He’s jumped on to ’salt marsh,’ she gasped. ‘Why’s he done that? Noah told him ’river was running high!’
And then, to her further alarm, she saw Noah jump after him. What are they thinking of? Surely it’s dangerous. She sped on until she came to the bank, and let out a scream when she saw Noah and his father struggling in deep water that had completely covered the salt marsh. Noah seemed to be taking lumbering strides and trying to wade, using his arms as oars in an attempt to reach his father, who was up to his neck in the water.
Noah was shouting to him, telling him to stand still, but the old man seemed not to be listening, thrashing about and calling back, and though his voice was getting weaker Harriet could hear him howling, ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean what I said. It wasn’t owt to do wi’ you, onny her. It wasn’t your fault. It was hers. She should never have— Go back. You’ve a son to think on and a wife who—’ His head dipped beneath the water as a wave crest washed over him, and Harriet could hear no more.
Noah’s voice was desperate. ‘Da! Da! Hold on, I’m coming. It’s all right, I’m coming,’ but he was knocked over by the same wave, which washed over him, hit the bank and bounced back, covering him once more.
When his head came up again, Harriet shrieked at him. ‘Noah! Swim to ’bank! Your da’s gone. Save yourself!’
He seemed to hear her for he looked in her direction and called, ‘Fetch help.’ His mouth filled with river water and he spluttered it out, calling again, ‘I – I don’t think I can mek it. Current’s too strong; it’s tekkin’ me. I’m sorry, Harriet – ’bout your ma and that. You’re a good lass. Look after our lad.’
Harriet screamed, ‘Noah, Noah!’ But he was carried further out, towards the deep mid-channel, and all she could see was his dark bobbing head and she knew he would have no chance, not when he was wearing his heavy boots, as his father had been too.
She saw the two sailing barges and shouted and screamed to the crews, but they were struggling to keep from capsizing and although she was sure they had seen what was happening below them there was little they could do, for they were trying desperately to save themselves.
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No! No! No!’
From the top field a man raced towards her, skidding to a halt beside her, and for a brief crazy second she thought it was Fletcher come back in time to save them.
‘What’s happened?’ Christopher Hart shouted, his breathing laboured, holding his hand to his chest. ‘Oh, God! Who’s in the water? We must get help.’
He clambered up on to the muddy bank and for a terrifying second Harriet thought he was going to jump in to try to save them. But he slithered back down and turned to her, ashen-faced. ‘I fear it might be too late. He’s being carried by the tide, unless the barges can pick him up, but they seem to be having difficulties too, and one of them has keeled over. Who is it in the water?’
‘My husband,’ she wailed. ‘He was trying to save his father.’
‘There are two of them? God in heaven!’ he said in dismay, clasping his hands to his head. ‘I’ll ride to the next farm. I think they have a small boat that they can put off.’
‘Don’t put yourself in danger, sir.’ Harriet’s voice trembled.
‘I won’t,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll ask them to alert the port authorities in Goole; see if they’ll send out a steam barge. These are very tricky waters and the tide is running exceptionally high. Are you the younger Mrs Tuke?’ When she nodded, he took her arm. ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you up to the house.’
‘No, sir.’ Harriet pulled away from him and looked towards the estuary. ‘I must wait – wait in case he manages to swim to shore.’
‘He won’t,’ he said softly. ‘The tide is against him. You go inside and I’ll ride off and do the best I can. Our only hope is that the other barge has picked him up.’
She knew that it hadn’t, she had seen the way the sails had dipped into the water, and yet she was still unwilling to leave the estuary bank, as if by being there she might keep some hope alive. But in a daze she allowed him to escort her back, and as they went through the gate the wayward sheep followed them into the top field and huddled in their shelter.
He knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer, ushering Harriet inside. Ellen looked up from the table, where she was rolling pastry. Her face lit up when she saw Christopher Hart, until she cast a glance at Harriet, who was soaked to the skin, her hair in rat-tails.
‘What’s happened?’ she said sharply. ‘Christopher – what …?’ She stopped.
‘There’s been a terrible accident, Ellen,’ he said slowly and carefully. ‘I fear your husband and son have fallen into the estuary and there’s a big tide running. Look after your daughter-in-law; she’s in need of warm clothes and a hot drink. I’m going to try to get help.’
‘But – h-how? What . . . Be careful,’ she stammered.
‘I’ll come back,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop now or it might be too late.’
‘But you’re wet through. You’ll catch your death. Take a mackintosh, if nothing else.’
It seemed to Harriet, who was listening and watching as if through a fog, that Ellen was more concerned about Christopher Hart than she was about Mr Tuke or Noah, but he ignored her suggestion, leaving the kitchen and closing the door behind him.
‘Take your wet things off,’ she said to Harriet. ‘I’ll get you a blanket.’
She took a blanket from a chest and handed it to Harriet as she stood by the range stripping off all her clothes right down to her skin. There’s no one to see me, she thought dully as she rubbed her hair with a towel, no Mr Tuke leering at me, no Noah, who might want to take me to bed if he saw me naked. What did Noah mean when he said he was sorry? Why did he say he was sorry about my ma? She wrapped the blanket round her and sat trembling in Mr Tuke’s chair near the fire; her heart was racing and she felt that at any second she might pass out. She watched as if in a trance as Ellen poured beer into a tankard and heard the sizzle as she placed a hot poker in it.
Then and only then did Ellen Tuke sit opposite her and ask passively, ‘What happened? How did they come to fall into ’river? Were they fighting and one pushed ’other in?’
Harriet stared at her wide-eyed. She was only just beginning to comprehend the tragedy herself. ‘Is that all you can say?’ she said hoarsely. ‘Your husband and mine are probably drowned in ’estuary and all you can ask is were they fighting. No.’ A sob escaped her throat. ‘They were not fighting. Noah was trying to save his father’s life.’
Ellen said nothing, though she swallowed hard, and looking away from Harriet’s penetrating gaze mechanically shovelled coal from the hod on to the fire. When she spoke again her voice was even and without emotion. ‘We’ll not think on ’worst until we know for sure. Mebbe a barge or fishing boat’ll pick ’em up. Noah’s a strong swimmer, though Mr Tuke isn’t.’
‘Are you not listening to me?’ Harriet shuddered. ‘They were wearing boots, ’salt marsh is flooded, and I didn’t see where Mr Tuke went but Noah was swept out to ’middle of ’river.’ She began to sob. ‘They don’t stand a chance.’
Ellen let her cry, not commiserating or showing any reaction, but after gazing into the flames for a few moments she lifted her head and stared at Harriet. ‘They look like real tears,’ she declared, her voice flat and detached. ‘But you never married for love, onny convenience. You’ve admitted as much.’
Harriet was shocked. How cold and hardhearted she was, just as Noah had described her. ‘I don’t understand you,’ she whispered, and in her anguish repeated, ‘Your husband and mine have been swept away in estuary waters and yet you show no horror, no grief. Have you not taken it in?’ Her voice rose to a howl. ‘That they’re lost?’
Ellen turned away. ‘I’ll believe it when Master Christopher comes back and tells me it’s so. In ’meantime, I’ve got ’pastry spoiling and a pie to cook.’
‘And who’ll eat it?’ Harriet asked thickly, her energy sapped. ‘Not me.’
‘You have to eat, you’ve a babby to feed,’ Ellen responded briefly. ‘He knows nowt of what’s happened.’
As if on cue, Daniel began to wail and Harriet, clutching the blanket round her, went to pick him up. She put her cold cheek against his warm one, which made him cry again. Then she sat down and stretched first one hand and then the other to the fire to warm them, and loosening the blanket put Daniel to her breast.
He’s all I’ve got now, she thought weakly, and in her muddled mind she comprehended that she was now dependent on Ellen Tuke. And I’m nothing to her. She might not want me to stay; she might not even stop here herself, since she can’t run ’farm alone. Jumbled thoughts ran unchecked in her head. Master Hart might offer her a cottage like Mrs Marshall’s, but he won’t offer one to me. Why would he? I’m just somebody who does ’washing and ironing up at his grand house.
She gazed at the child, contentedly feeding. Look after our lad, Noah had cried out. So was he proud of him after all? You’re a good lass, he had said, and tears spouted unchecked down her cheeks. Had he always hidden his innermost feelings because no one had ever shown him kindness or understanding, only indifference? As for Mr Tuke, I heard him shout out to Noah that he was sorry. For what? For not being a good father? And why did he say that it was nothing to do wi’ Noah, but onny her? Who did he mean? Ellen, or ’woman who gave birth to him?
She took a quivering breath, holding back a sob, and put Daniel to her other breast. We’ll never know, for no matter that Ellen Tuke says we must wait to be sure, I saw with my own eyes and know in my heart that they won’t be coming back.