Johnny located Billy Fowler living in a run-down dilapidated cart shed which was teetering on the edge of the low cliff just outside Seathorne on the Waxholme road. He’d whistled as he approached to warn the man of his presence. Fowler came to the door. He had a sack draped round his shoulders and his breeches hung loosely on his legs.
‘Who are you?’ he bellowed. ‘Don’t come any nearer. You can’t turn me out. Place was empty when I came.’
‘I haven’t come to turn you out,’ Johnny said. ‘Isn’t it dangerous here? You’re right on ’edge.’
Fowler gave a crafty grin. ‘Aye, I know. But I’m not paying rent and besides, ’sea don’t want me. I was saved afore when I went ower. I’ll not drown,’ he crowed.
‘What ’you living on?’ Johnny was puzzled. There was no garden, nothing growing, no pigs or hens. ‘What do you do for food?’
Fowler’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s it to do wi’ you? Who are you anyway?’
‘Johnny Leigh-Maddeson. Lily’s husband. I wasn’t killed. I was captured.’
Fowler hugged his sack closer to him. ‘Ha! Well, I don’t want her. You can have her back.’ He sniggered. ‘If you can find her.’
Johnny came closer. Fowler was unshaven and his beard was matted and dirty; his hair was long and greasy, hanging down into his neck. ‘I’ve found her, no thanks to you. You left her to perish, her and my bairns. Shame on you! You’re a blackguard, Fowler, and deserve to rot in jail.’
‘It’ll be her that’ll go to jail,’ Fowler retaliated. ‘She shouldn’t have married me if you was still alive. She’s a bigamist, that’s what!’
‘And you’re a cur.’ Johnny felt his anger rising. ‘You took her to town and sold her. You’re not fit to breathe, you heathen.’
Fowler scoffed. ‘She weren’t worth much. I onny got ten bob for her.’
Johnny launched himself at him, pulling him out of the doorway. ‘She was carrying your child and you left her and Daisy to fend for themselves. What kind o’ man are you, for God’s sake?’
‘Gerroff me! Leave me alone.’ Fowler struggled out of Johnny’s grasp. ‘I don’t want anybody. Don’t need anybody. You can have her and your whining daughter and recklin’ son.’
Johnny punched him on the nose, making him stagger against the door. ‘That’s just for starters,’ he warned him. ‘I’ll be back wi’ ’constable and I’m mekking a charge against you for ill-treating a pregnant woman.’
He walked away back along the crumbling cliff top, dodging and striding over the cracks and fissures. He was seething but undecided about Lily’s position, not wanting to make things worse for her. Was she a bigamist or would she be excused? She had, after all, written to the army and been told that to the best of their knowledge he had been killed.
I can’t let Fowler get away with this, he fumed, and it seems to me that he’s not right in his head. What’s he living on out here? Is he stealing food? Begging? There were but few cottages in Waxholme and he thought it unlikely that any of the tenants would have food to spare for Fowler. He’s going to fall off the edge anyway, he thought. The cliffs are low, but on a high tide he could be swept away. He looked down. The sea was battering the base of the cliff and a wind was getting up. ‘Aye,’ he muttered. ‘Mebbe ’sea’ll get him and that’ll be ’answer to all our problems.’
But as the night drew on the wind blew stronger and the rain came down, and he pondered on Fowler’s situation. He and Ted were staying at the hostelry in Hollym. Johnny had a few plans in his head after talking to his son, but he couldn’t settle whilst he had Fowler on his mind.
‘I’m going out,’ he said, after they’d eaten supper. ‘I’m going to tek a walk.’
‘It’s chucking it down, Da. You’ll get soaked.’ Ted was content. He’d had a good supper and had been listening to some of the old men in the inn telling their stories, and watching them play dominoes. ‘Do you want me to come wi’ you?’ he asked reluctantly.
‘No. I want to think. I want to think on what’s best to do.’
Ted gazed at his father. ‘Ma’ll come round, you know,’ he said. ‘She was allus talking about you when me and Daisy were little. About what we’d do when you came home.’ He sighed. ‘That was afore Fowler, though.’
‘Aye, well, things are different now,’ Johnny said, putting on his top coat. ‘I won’t be long. I’m just going to get a breath o’ sea air.’
‘You’re not going down to ’sea, are you?’ Ted frowned. ‘It’s blowing a gale.’
‘I might,’ Johnny said. ‘Don’t worry.’ He grinned at his anxious son. ‘I know how to tek care of myself.’
‘Aye.’ Ted grinned back. ‘I heard tell you could.’ He was very proud of his soldier father, never tiring of hearing of his exploits.
Johnny strode across the fields of Hollym, treading the path that he and Lily used to take when they were young. There was a moon but the cloud was thick and black, hiding its brightness, and now and again he stumbled and slid on the muddy ground. Eventually he came to the cliff edge and walked along it, past the darkened windows of Withernsea village and towards Seathorne.
The sea raged below him, crashing against the cliff. He felt the sharp salt spray on his face as well as the drenching rain and kept well back from the edge, but still the ground was cracked and broken and he fell several times. What in heaven’s name made Lily come out here to live? he wondered. She must have been desperate, or else Billy Fowler spun a cock and bull tale about his life. He kept on walking, through the village and on towards the Waxholme road to where Fowler was living.
Why am I here? If he goes over the edge, good riddance! But there was something about the man that aroused, not exactly pity, but an unease as to his state of mind. Ted had confessed to his feeling of guilt when he’d seen Fowler go over, and Johnny too felt a clawing of his conscience at having wished the man dead just to solve his own problems. But even if he was dead, Lily might not want me back, he thought regretfully. I’ve failed her. I did what I wanted and not what was best for us both.
As he approached the cart shed he saw that part of the roof had blown off and there was only a thin strip of land in front of the door, barely wide enough to stand on. He must have moved out. He can’t surely still be living there.
‘Fowler!’ he shouted. ‘Fowler! Are you there?’
A figure shrouded in sacks emerged from round the back. ‘What do you want? Clear off! This is my property.’
‘Are you all right? You ought to leave. It’ll go ower any minute!’
‘Who’s that? Maddeson? Is that you again? I telled you to clear off.’
‘You should leave,’ Johnny insisted. The gale was so strong he could hardly stand and he was concerned for his own safety as well as Fowler’s.
‘Not me!’ Fowler drew back his shoulders and gave a harsh laugh. ‘I telled you last time, ’sea don’t want me. It can come but I won’t drown!’
To Johnny’s alarm, Fowler put his head down against the wind and battled his way to the front of the shed. ‘Look,’ he shouted, and stretched out his arms, dancing about in a circle. ‘Can’t hurt me!’
Then, to Johnny’s horror, Fowler pointed both arms in front of him as if preparing to dive. ‘No! Stop!’ Johnny darted towards him. ‘Don’t. You’ll drown. Tide’s running high.’
‘Ha! Scared you, didn’t I?’ Fowler took a step backwards. ‘Call yourself a sodger! I could eat you for breakfast and leave room for gruel!’
‘Come away. Parish’ll house you,’ Johnny called. ‘You can’t stop there.’
‘Mind your own bleeding business,’ Fowler shouted. ‘Get back to that wife o’ yourn. She’ll happen keep your bed warm. If she’s a mind to, that is. She was nivver very willing in that department.’
Johnny turned and began to walk away. He wasn’t going to listen to Fowler’s abusive language. Let him go hang, or drown, whichever was his preference.
‘Hey! Maddeson!’
Johnny kept on walking. He didn’t want to hear.
‘Maddeson! You’ll have to buy her back if you want her. Yon fellow paid out good money, even if it didn’t amount to much!’
Johnny turned, an oath on his lips and his fists clenched. The wind screeched and buffeted him, almost knocking him over, and as he began to walk back towards Fowler he felt the earth tremble beneath his feet. He jumped back, further away from the edge. ‘Fowler,’ he yelled. ‘Don’t be a fool. Cliff’s going.’
‘Ha!’ Fowler gave a guffaw and stretched out his arms, shaking his fists at the elements. ‘Can’t get me—’ His bragging outburst abruptly changed to a startled cry as the soft, wet and fissured clay beneath his feet gave way and he began to sway. ‘I’ll not drown,’ he began to shout. ‘Not me. You’ll see.’ But his cries were lost in the shrieking of the gale as he plummeted headlong over the edge into the sea.
Johnny fell to his knees and gingerly stretched out to look over the edge into the swirling foam which was battering the weakened cliff. Not only was the sea deep but the tide was high, a huge surge rushing towards the cliff. He’ll not get out of that. He peered into the darkness. Though he did last time, so it was said. Then he saw a dark head bobbing in the water and he half rose to his knees. If I had something to throw, a spur, or – he looked towards the battered cart shed. If there was only something – but he felt again a tremble beneath him and instinctively drew back from the edge.
The cliff slithered slowly downwards and Johnny felt himself falling. He turned tipple tail and grabbed a clump of grass, and leaning backwards dug in his heels, remembering how, on his release from the sepoys, he had tumbled down the mountainside with his hands tied behind him. The clay suddenly stopped on its downward path to the sea and, clawing on the slippery slope, he hastily climbed back up.
‘Beggar’s gone,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t see him.’
The moon slid momentarily from behind the clouds and Johnny keenly scoured the tossing, churning waters. ‘Is that him?’ He saw a dark shape in the water, an arm perhaps, well away from the shore; then it was gone. He saw it once more for barely a second before the moon disappeared again, leaving only blackness and a dark foaming sea.