The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret) Read online

  ‘But what did you hear, Nancy? Go on, tell us what you heard.’

  She turned her head towards Freddie now and said, ‘Well, it’s to do with a tower, an’ strangely, they were talkin’ about smells and about scent, and one said to the other, “They’re on the wrong scent, and we’re only here to put them off.” They were quite some distance away and I could only catch bits, but it was their smell that caught my fancy, an’ that’s why I listened. And then one told the other when he had got his order and who had given it to him. He said somethin’ about just two hours ago, and he had come pell-mell from the city. And then they said somethin’ about the business would be all happenin’ across the water in the tower…or at the tower. First of all I thought they must be meaning the priory at Tynemouth, but when they said across the water I wondered where the tower was. They moved away then and I just heard one say to the other, “I could never stand him ’cos he imagines he’s a clever…” He used that word, Ma, you know…b. “But he’s in for the shock of his life,” he said. Is there a tower across the water, Da?’

  ‘What is it?’

  Freddie had jumped to his feet. Looking down on his father, he said, ‘It must be The Towers she was hearin’, Da. That’s where he lives. That’s where I went, I told you, the big house. I go there with the little parcels. They’re special like. But he takes in the big stuff an’ all. I’ll have to go.’

  ‘Freddie! Now you can’t, not at this time of night.’

  ‘I will, Ma, I will. I’ll have to get across the river afore the tide turns ’cos remember over a year gone, when things were bad, we were glad of him. He helped me, he started me on the running when there was trouble on the Sunderland side and they couldn’t get things through. We would have had nothing. But he set me on, an’ now he’s in a pickle. If the excise is all at this end he won’t know nowt about it. And I told you last time, didn’t I, his young wife was expectin’ a bairn. It’s his second wife. I told you. She was bonny, very bonny.’

  The urgency in his voice seemed to have got all, except his father, on their feet, and John came with him to the door, saying, ‘You’ll still get across on the slack all right, but it’s gettin’ back; that little tub would be swamped by the incomin’ tide. You couldn’t battle against it.’

  ‘I won’t try; I’ll go to me granny’s.’ Freddie looked back to where his mother was standing with her hand on his father’s shoulder and addressed them both: ‘Don’t worry,’ he said; ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll be careful. I always am. Really, I always am.’ Then for a ten-year-old boy he added words that made them wonder from where he came by his wisdom: ‘’Cos it’s daft to be brave,’ he said, then ran out into the night. But immediately John followed him and, catching up with him halfway down the steps to the shore, he said, ‘Hold your hand a minute! Look; I’ll come along of you.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft. We would be swamped then.’

  ‘What if the river scullers are lined up for the night and won’t let you beach?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll drift down below them, or at worst camp on a sandbank. There’s plenty of them.’

  ‘Don’t be funny, our Freddie, you could be in trouble either way; those river blokes across there are a real rough lot. And your size won’t help you. Anyway, what’s this bloke in the big house really like?’

  They were running side by side now along by the row of cottages and on to the shore.

  ‘Oh, a gentleman like; but funny tempered I’d say. But, as I said, he’s not stingy.’

  ‘You can’t go on like this much longer, our Freddie, you know that; you’ll start sproutin’ soon. An’ you said you didn’t want to keep on at the butcher’s. I wouldn’t neither. I don’t like dead meat, not really. What would you like to do if you had your way?’

  ‘Make shoes.’

  ‘What!’ John eased up in his run, but Freddie kept on.

  ‘That’s what I said, make shoes; not just be a cobbler, make shoes. For that you’ve got to make money though. But if I had money, John, I’d first get you out of the pit. That’s what I think about an’ all, I’d get you out of that pit if I had the money.’

  ‘Aw, lad, you’re a funny ’un; but ta all the same for thinkin that way. It’s the air I miss, an’ the sky. If it wasn’t for the folks I wouldn’t mind starvin’ above ground, anything rather than go down into that bloody hole.’

  It was Freddie who now paused in his run. He had never heard John swear before. His mother didn’t allow swearing in the house, yet he once heard her swear like a fishwife when she was having a row with a woman at the water tap in the centre of the town. But then, John must hear a lot of swearing workin’ with the men down below. He himself could swear roundly, but only when he was outside. His mother’s hair would stand on end if she heard him at times. But it was still strange to hear John swear.

  They were both breathing heavily when they reached a comparatively empty stretch of the waterfront, and there, bobbing on the water next to a fishing smack was a small sculler.

  ‘How you going to manage without a light?’

  ‘Put me finger in me eye and make a starlight.’

  ‘Don’t be so damn funny!’

  ‘Well, look across there! There’s lights all along the shore.’

  ‘Aye, yes, you can see them but who’s gona see you?’

  ‘Aw, John man, you worry too much. And look; I’ve got to look slippy or I will be in trouble.’

  Freddie was quickly into the sculler and away; and John could soon hear only the dipping of the oar.

  Freddie was well aware of the danger of a fast-running incoming tide as he made for the south shore, and knew how easily he could be dashed against the moored river keels; and so was surprised when a few minutes later he did just this with a bump, and a voice yelled, ‘What the hell!’ Then a light shone down on him and the voice went on, ‘My God! Where’ve you come from at this time of night?’

  ‘I was lookin’ for Mr Stoddart.’

  ‘Billy Stoddart?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, you’re too late, he made the London trip with coal two days gone.’

  Freddie knew about this but showed great surprise and disappointment in his voice as he cried, ‘Aw. He lets me tie up me boat to his’n now an’ then.’

  ‘Your boat!’ The man laughed. ‘But what you over here for at this hour?’

  ‘Me granny’s bad; I’m gona stay the night.’

  ‘Aw, well, take your monkey-nut shell along to the end of the line and tie her up. I’ll see she’s all right till the morrow.’

  ‘Ta, mister. Ta. I’ll see you right.’

  At this the man let out a bellow of a laugh, saying, ‘Oh, you will, will you? Well, I don’t want coppers mind, a tanner or nowt.’

  Freddie laughed with the man; then hastily pulled himself along by the scuppers until he came to the end of the line. Here, steps led up to the quay, and just beyond them he tied up his sculler to an iron ring; then stretching, he drew himself back to the steps and scrambled up them.

  He now ran like a shadow along the dockside, threaded his way through hovels, crossed the market square, up the bank, past a farm, across two fields, and so to the better part of town.

  Even before he reached Westoe village the houses had the appearance of wealth: they were terraced, but they were large with their own iron gates and front gardens.

  He stopped and merged into the garden of one when he saw a swinging lantern approaching: a nightwatchman, carrying a cudgel as well as the lantern, passed by. Through the village the dimly lit houses all suggested quality.

  He was beginning to feel tired. It must be twenty minutes since he had crossed the river. Remembering the fields hereabouts must by now have been harvested, he decided to cross them and so skirt Harton hamlet. But oh, how the stubble hurt his feet!

  He came out by the coach road and recognised the two big houses, both approached by long drives, but the bulk of each discernible as a dark mass against the night sky. Another hundred yards o
r so further on he came to the gate of The Towers.

  He hung on to the bars of the iron gate for a while before thrusting it open; then he really had to grope his way along a verge to keep himself clear of the line of trees that bordered the drive. He had no idea of the layout of the grounds, he knew only that the house itself looked enormous and that there was a tower at each gable end. He had some idea of the size of the rooms because on his second visit he had stood gazing at the two long windows to the right of the front door, for they were lit up to a brilliance such as he had never seen before, and he had reached up and pulled himself onto the balcony that ran under the windows to give himself a better viewing point. He had then seen a lady and gentleman sitting at a table, and there was a lamp at each end and ones hanging from the ceiling full of gas mantles.

  The master himself had brought him on his first trip. He had pulled him up onto the front of his horse and, like that, had ridden right from Shields. He had brought him a little parcel. The faggot man had strapped it to his body underneath his singlet, and when the gentleman on horseback had asked for it and he had told him where it was, he had laughed and had then hauled him onto the front of his saddle, saying, ‘Well, little fellow, if you’re going to be undressed we’d better do it in private.’

  That was the first parcel he had carried to him.

  Previously he had only taken messages from the faggot man to the men in the cottages or down the road at Cullercoats.

  But tonight there were no lights on downstairs, not in the front of the house anyway, although a faint light was showing up part of a stairway and another brighter light appeared in a window which could have been a bedroom.

  He was sweating profusely when he entered the courtyard and made his way to the far end and the kitchen door. Before reaching it, he could hear voices coming from there as if in argument; but when he knocked sharply on the door the voices became still. And it was quite some seconds before it was opened and he looked up into the face of Connie the maid. She was holding a lantern shoulder high and she exclaimed under her breath, ‘Dear God! What are you here for this night?’

  ‘I…I’ve got a message.’

  ‘Who is it?’ The man he knew to be Connie’s father was now towering over him. ‘Boy,’ he said, ‘what you after?’

  ‘I have a message for the master.’

  ‘A message? Come in. Come in.’

  Their hands clutching his shoulders, together they almost lifted him into the kitchen.

  ‘What kind of message?’ The man was bending over him again.

  ‘I…I’ve got to give it to the master.’

  ‘God Almighty, this an’ all; an’ the night of all nights!’

  ‘Well, Da, you’d better go up and tell him.’

  ‘Not me. Not me. The state he’s in he’s likely to fell me, an’ I don’t want to see him choke the truth out of her afore the bairn’s born.’

  ‘You think as he does, Da?’

  ‘Aye, I do. But I don’t blame her, for she’s had no life: he’s past livin’ with. Anyway, it was a mistake from the beginning. I said so. But this youngster—’ He now turned his attention down on Freddie, saying, ‘Is it so important? Who’s the message from anyway, the same one?’

  ‘Aye, the faggot man.’ It was easier to say that than try to explain.

  The elderly black-coated man turned and looked at his daughter and said, ‘That’s Mr Freeman from Newcastle; he gives him a penny for faggots. ’Tis important if it’s from him. Look; go on up and tell your ma to tell him. He’ll listen to her if nobody else.’

  The young woman hesitated for a moment. She looked at her father, then down on Freddie, and he gazed up at her. He remembered the first time he had looked into her face, and he had wanted to laugh; but then he’d had a strange feeling, a kind of sad feeling for her because her face was pockmarked, and she was cockeyed an’ all. As his da would have said, she had one eye in the pot and t’other up the chimney. Yet her voice was nice and her manner kindly as now she said, ‘Come on along of me.’

  ‘No, God! Don’t take him up there with what’s goin’ on. Are you mad?’

  ‘Well, d’you think he’ll leave her and come down here, Da, when he’s been out since early mornin’ from he knew the Spaniard’s ship was in? He couldn’t have found him though, else he would have spilled it before now that he’d murdered him.’

  Freddie gaped from one to the other. She was actually yelling at her father. She didn’t seem a bit afraid of him, although he was a big man. And now she went on, ‘Two hours he’s been up there with her; an’ he’s like a fiend, he won’t leave her be. God help her! ’Tisn’t that he ever cared for her; ’twas her money he was after ’cos, if you ask me, any human feelings he ever had were for Mistress Ellen. What’s wrong with him is pride; it’s been split open. And again I say I don’t blame her…Come on, lad.’ She held out a hand and pulled Freddie forwards. And now, with not a little apprehension in his eyes, he looked back towards the elderly man; but the man flapped his hand towards him as if pushing him on.

  The kitchen was long and stone-flagged. The corridor they went into was also stone-flagged, with a number of doors opening off it. She pulled him through one; and now they were in a hall. Although only dimly lit by light from the stairs he could see the ceiling was beamed. The beams were big and black like those used for the keel of a ship. The banister to the broad stairs was black and highish; he found it easier to grip the rails as she tugged him upwards. At the top they seemed to be in another hall with the same sort of rails edging it. She was now almost dragging him along another corridor. In the dim light it looked almost as long as three cottages put together. She brought him to a sudden stop as a high scream came from behind one of the doors and for a moment he found himself clinging to the young woman’s side, and when he looked up at her her eyes were closed and her face screwed up as his had been. She had her hand round his shoulders now and she pressed him tightly to her, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’ Then bending down to him, she whispered, ‘Don’t be frightened. It’s the lady of the house; she’s havin’ a bairn. You understand?’

  He nodded but didn’t speak. He understood all right. He remembered when Lily was born his mother had yelled out something like that and he had buried his head under the pillow tick. And now he had the urge to bury his head in the big white apron that this maid was wearing. ‘Stay there,’ she said now as she pushed him against the wall. ‘Don’t move.’

  She opened the door which was only a foot away from him and a man’s voice roared out of it, crying, ‘Hold back on me, would you! Well, we’ll know, won’t we, when you decide to let it come; you can’t hold on forever, you loose little whore!’

  When the door was banged closed, a woman’s voice almost as loud as the man’s but the words thick sounding like those of the voices he was used to, cried, ‘Let up, Mr Roddy! You’ll be sorry for this when you come to yourself.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Betty! I am myself. At this moment I am myself, never more.’

  There followed a silence. It seemed to go on for a long time but it could only have been a minute before the man’s voice came again, yelling, ‘Bring him in then! Bring him in!’

  ‘No, no! Not in here, surely! It isn’t seemly. Go out and see the lad.’

  ‘What? And miss the coming of the black Spaniard! Bring him in, I said. He won’t faint at the sight of naked limbs; he’s the scum of the waterfront. Bring him in!’

  The door opened once again and the maid, without saying a word, gripped Freddie by the shoulder and pulled him into the room, where he stood within the doorway, his mouth agape at the sight before him.

  It was a large bedroom. There was lots of furniture in it, but the main thing was a big four-poster bed, with all its draperies hooked back towards the head of it, so exposing the two bottom poles, the rumpled bedclothes and the woman lying on the high mattress, which was all of four foot or more from the carpeted floor.

  The woman’s face on the pillo
w was turned towards him. It was red and running with sweat. Her hair was spread out all around her head; it looked as if the wind had tousled it. The sweat was running down her face, and the old woman whom he knew to be the maid’s mother was mopping it with a flannel. But of a sudden she put out her hand and pulled the nightdress over the heaving mound of flesh. It didn’t cover all the woman’s nakedness, her legs were spreadeagled, and if it hadn’t been for her face and the expression on it he would have thought she looked awful. He had never seen his mother like that.

  He watched the man turn from the bed; and then there he was towering above him, and he had to put his head right back to look up at him.

  ‘Well? What is it?’

  He found his throat was dry: the explanation why he was there was all in his head but he couldn’t get the words out. And when the man bawled, ‘Come on! Come on! Have you lost your tongue for once?’ he stuttered. ‘’Tis…’tis the excise. The…they’re c…comin’ the night.’

  ‘What d’ you mean, they’re coming the night? Have you spoken to Mr Freeman…the faggot man?’

  He nodded; then swallowed deeply before saying, ‘He…he gave me a message for t’others that meant it was off the night. He…he said you would likely know that.’

  ‘Yes, yes; of course, I would know that.’

  ‘’Twas my sis…sister.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s…she’s blind.’

  The man put his hand up to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, but he said nothing, only stared down at the small boy. And Freddie, his wits returning, went on quickly, ‘But she makes up for it with sharp ears an’ she can tell people by their smell.’