And so they made their way back to the house in silence. It was only when the door was closed behind them that any of them spoke and then it was simply for Edward Avery to declare that the hour was so late they must all retire at once to bed.
Letty climbed the ladder to fetch down a blanket for herself and Dorcas. They’d sleep below, she said. She added no more but Anne gave a blushing glance in her husband’s direction. A man and wife so long apart would wish to be alone together and Letty’s thoughtful act seemed mere courtesy but Caleb knew – or suspected – a different motive.
Dorcas settled at once, but Letty and Caleb stayed awake, whispering to each other about the evening’s events. Talking to her, hearing her agree with his own impressions, brought Caleb some relief.
It was a long time before the muffled noises from the attic ceased. At last Letty and he could hear nothing but the slap of water against the jetty outside, and the soft breathing of the child that lay between them. The threat that had been made to Dorcas lay heavy in both their minds. When the little girl turned, mumbling in her sleep, they both reached out a hand to soothe her. In the dark their fingers entwined. Letty seemed as startled as Caleb was, for she drew in a sharp breath. But she didn’t pull back. Instead she gave his palm a gentle squeeze, which he found enormously comforting. The rest of the night they lay, hands held together in a protective shield over Dorcas.
15.
The following day dawned bright and clear. With Edward home and a change in the weather there came a lightening of the household’s mood.
While Edward Avery had been at sea, his family on land had barely scraped a living. Anne, Letty and Caleb had worked long and hard but at best they had been able to afford to eat only the most meagre of foodstuffs: rye bread, broth made from vegetables and only rarely a scrap of bacon to throw in the pot. There were days when even those few things were beyond their means. Caleb spending the rent money on a useless quack had worsened an already desperate situation.
But the head of the house was back now and none of this troubled him in the slightest. Though his voyage had ended with the sinking of his ship it seemed it was not the catastrophic disaster for Sir Robert that it had been for Caleb’s grandfather. Edward slept late, but when he finally descended the ladder from the attic the first thing he did was press a fat purse into Anne’s hands.
She was too astonished to say anything. It was Letty who remarked, “The Linnet sank. She was lost … and her cargo besides. How could you be paid?”
“Sir Robert is an honest man, and a generous one,” Edward answered. Letty and Caleb exchanged an astonished glance but he continued, “He has promised that he will not see men who have suffered so much on his behalf go hungry. Nor their families neither. No … he looks after those who are loyal to him, and that’s the truth.”
And so their fortunes were suddenly turned on their heads. They – who had seemed so cursed – were blessed, declared Edward Avery. Had not Caleb’s tender care brought the women through the most dreadful of fevers? Had not he himself survived a shipwreck? Had not they all escaped the prospect of certain eviction by his timely return? Joseph was lost, it was true, and that was a sorrow they would all struggle to bear. But nonetheless, they also had cause for celebration, he said. Before noon he jumped into the boat with Letty and together father and daughter rowed to Tawpuddle. They came back laughing, fresh-faced, cheerful. Calling Anne and Caleb down to the jetty, they unloaded onto it a great ham, two loaves of fresh baked bread made from fine white flour, a huge wheel of cheese and a jar of chutney. They had besides a new shawl for Anne, blue ribbons for Letty’s red hair, a doll for Dorcas. That night they consumed a veritable feast.
And it was not for that evening alone that they ate well. The following day Letty and Edward went once more to Tawpuddle and came back with more food of marvellous quality, and there was plenty of it for them all.
Days of this strange plenty turned into weeks and Caleb had never been so well fed. They ate meat at every meal and not just the cheapest of cuts that must be stewed for a night and day to render them edible. Beef. Mutton. A chicken. White bread, eggs, milk, cheese. His clothes grew tight, and when his shirt split altogether it seemed there was plenty of money to purchase cloth to replace it. Indeed there was sufficient to make him a thick woollen coat besides. All the while, his Uncle Edward was cheerful, friendly. Caleb had feared he would be regarded as an intruder but the reverse seemed true. Edward often remarked that it was pleasant to have another man about the place. Frequently he thanked Caleb for all he had done for his family while he’d been at sea. He was generous. Affable. Apparently free of care.
And yet Caleb noticed that Edward’s mind would sometimes wander, his mask sometimes slip. Staring into the fire, his uncle’s face would twitch as if he experienced a sudden stab of pain. Looking out to sea, staring fixedly at the island in the bay, his mouth would purse as though he was tasting something bitter. Caleb would catch Letty’s eye and both would hold their breath and wait for Edward to say something that might betray his secret. But there was nothing. He gave every appearance of enjoying the company of his family, of enjoying the bread and ale put before him. Yet the more his uncle held his tongue, the more Caleb was convinced that he was a puppet going through the motions for his master.
Ships came and went in and out of Tawpuddle but Edward did not sign with another crew after a short time on shore as Letty said he had in past years. She was puzzled by her father’s behaviour. Weeks turned into months and he stayed at home.
“He’s become a man of leisure,” she said on a rare occasion she and Caleb found themselves alone. “He has the look of a soul in hell some days, but whatever happened on the Linnet he’s profited handsomely from it.”
“As have we all,” Caleb said dryly.
“I don’t like it. True enough, it’s a pleasant thing to have a full belly, but I don’t know… Makes me feel dirty, somehow.”
Caleb shared every ounce of Letty’s unease and yet he could not help but like his uncle. Having no son of his own, Edward sought his nephew’s company and it was impossible for Caleb to avoid giving it.
Pa had always stood between him and hostile strangers and now Letty’s father stepped into that role. Or he would have done, had he been required to. Caleb noticed with wry amusement that the change in their family fortunes had a substantial effect on the people of Fishpool. Where once there were insults and whispers behind Caleb’s back, now there were greetings and smiles to his face. It seemed that a little ale could go a long way when it came to acquiring men’s good opinion. Some evenings his uncle would take him to the tavern. Edward would buy drinks for the folk assembled there and then Caleb would sit with him listening to sailors’ tales: stories of gigantic squid that would rise from the ocean’s depths and wrap their tentacles around a hapless ship. “Twenty, thirty feet long each one of them, thick as the arms of half a dozen men, with suckers as big as your head. They’ll snap a mast like it’s kindling wood, break the ship’s back and drag her down to fill their gaping maws.”
There were tales too of flying fishes that leapt out of the waves and soared through the air with rainbow wings glinting in the sunlight; of mermaids that appeared by the side of boats, faces staring up from the water, arms languidly beckoning to those who watched them, their unworldly beauty tempting captains to steer their ships too close to rocks where they would founder and perish.
As they walked home late one evening, Edward, who had drunk a little more than usual, put his arm around Caleb’s shoulder to steady himself. It was high tide, and together they paused a while watching the moonlight play on the water.
“I heard singing once, Caleb,” Edward said. Without the tavern’s noise to contend with his voice was rich. Warm. “I was down in the belly of the ship when the sound echoed through the timbers. It filled my head; made every muscle shake, every sinew tremble. I clapped my hands over my ears but there was nothing I could do to silence that singing. I could feel it, Caleb; it
was in my blood, in my bones. I thought my end was come: that this was not a single mermaid but teeming hordes, a great army of them, bent on our destruction. But when I came on deck my eyes beheld something stranger even than that. Great fishes – whales – their tails wider than the whole of Fishpool, lifting from the sea, slapping down on its surface when they dived, coming back up and blowing great plumes of smoke and water from their heads. And they were singing to each other.” He sighed. Shook his head. “Singing of what, Caleb? There was a melody to it, but were there words? Can the beasts talk to each other? Could we learn their language? I wonder.”
His uncle had a mariner’s rough speech and manners and yet the scope of his imagination, the wonderful stories he told, had much in common with Pa. The two men would have been friends, Caleb realized. He missed Pa so very much – he could not help but enjoy his uncle’s company for it lessened the terrible ache of his father’s loss. And yet there was a shadow lying over everything.
When sober, Edward was guarded in his speech – he never mentioned the Linnet, or Joseph Chappell, or anything relating to his past. But ale loosens the tongue. Sometimes Edward went into a kind of reverie and would become talkative.
“Anne was the comeliest creature I’d ever set eyes on,” he told Caleb one evening. “So dainty. So ladylike. But so very sad! The very first time I saw her she was crossing the lawn at the manor. I’d taken Letty up there in her clean frock, ribbons in her hair. And then there was Anne, bringing a shawl, her Ladyship snapping at her for not coming fast enough, and Anne close to tears. I wanted to wrap her up, put her somewhere safe, somewhere warm and dry where folks couldn’t harm her, where no one would shout or make her cry. I’ve never wanted to do anything but keep her safe, see?”
Once he exclaimed, “She had a brother! I can hardly believe it. Why did she never tell me? She closed up tight as a clam when I asked. Did he do something that shamed her? I wonder.” His thoughts then seemed to turn in another direction and he cried, “Oh Lord, then what would she say of this?”
On another occasion he lost his temper, suddenly slapping the tavern table and declaring, “Her father was a fool! Putting all his money into one ship? That’s the surest way to lose a fortune!” Then he softened and sniffed. “But if he hadn’t, if he hadn’t, why then she’d never have looked twice at me. I’ve done my best to keep her, but a man like me … you try to rise above your station, you get doors slammed in your face every way you turn. She should be sitting in a parlour, stitching samplers, having servants running everywhere doing her bidding, not slaving for every man wants his shirt mending!”
Sometimes his tone became pleading, desperate – “Benson said we’d be turned out. That Anne would end her days in the workhouse and Letty and Dorcas with her! How could I tell him no? But what would Anne say? If she knew what would she say?”
Caleb asked him gently, “Knew of what, Uncle? What is it that troubles you?”
But speaking broke the spell. Edward’s eyes focused on Caleb’s face. Tears spilled out over his lower lids and down his cheeks and chin. He wept into his tankard, but said no more.
One night towards the end of March they returned from the tavern with Edward unusually drunk. Caleb had his arm about his uncle’s waist and was trying to support him but Edward slipped from his grasp, stumbled and fell to the ground. Kneeling there, as if in prayer, he cried out, “Fools! Do gentlemen in Torcester know nothing of the sea? They cannot! I saw their letters. There, on his desk. Poor, trusting fools! Simpletons! They have been deceived in him. And I…? Oh dear God, I have sold my soul to the very Devil!”
“What letters? What men?” asked Caleb. But Edward vomited and afterwards was so dizzied, his legs so weak, that Caleb could do nothing but drag him home. He was not able to climb the ladder so Caleb simply made him comfortable by the fire, where he fell into a deep slumber.
To his relief Anne was already in bed and sleeping, but Letty had waited up. When Caleb told her what her father had said she whispered, “What in God’s name is it all about? It’s no good. We’ve got to find out.”
“Do you really want to?” he asked. “We’ve been threatened, Letty. Think of Dorcas…”
“I know. But if we do nothing we’ll have to live with those threats for ever. I feel them stifling the life out of me. Out of all of us. I can’t stand it!”
“We might hurt your own father,” Caleb reminded her.
“I know that too.” He could see that loyalty and morality fought for control of Letty’s heart. At last she said, “Your pa’s dead, Caleb. Mine is tangled up in it somehow, but I feel in my bones it’s against his will. Father’s a good man – always has been. But now there’s a cloud over him. I’ve got to know what’s going on. Can’t see how else to help him. I want him back the way he was.”
Caleb took a long look at Letty. He felt dimly that there was more to this than she was telling him, that for reasons he didn’t entirely understand she was throwing her lot in with him. Their fates were tied. Whatever her motives, he felt hugely grateful.
The next day Edward’s eyes were reddened and he complained that his head ached. Anne persuaded him to climb the ladder and rest. He stayed in bed that morning to sleep it off, but his dreams were full of distressed murmurings and from time to time Caleb thought he could hear weeping.
Piecing together the fragments his uncle had let slip had kept Caleb awake. He had a burning desire to go to Norton Manor, to stride into that damned study, to seize Sir Robert by the coat, to demand the truth. But if he did that, the dogs would be set on him. People like him did not simply go strolling up to a grand house. People like him had to wait to be summoned to the homes of the wealthy and influential, and being summoned by Sir Robert seemed as likely as a pig growing wings. There was nothing he could do, he thought.
Yet later that morning, circumstance provided him with an astonishing opportunity.
Sir Robert was a pitiless landlord and yet, in a great display of patriarchal benevolence, he hosted a gala each May Day. The event was fast approaching and Letty was – as usual – invited to attend. While her husband lay ill in bed Anne brought the matter up, wondering aloud whether she and Caleb should make her stepdaughter a new gown for the occasion.
Letty immediately said she would not go in any case, no matter how well she was dressed. “I’ve had enough of those damned galas to last me a lifetime.”
Anne was visibly shocked. “But you must go, my dear,” she said gently.
Caleb could see Letty trying – and failing – to control her irritation. “What?” she said. “Go curtsey and smirk and say ‘thank you kindly’ to a man who’d throw us on the street without a second thought?”
“But it’s expected…”
“I’m not a child any more, to be bought with a plate of pudding. I’ll not bend and scrape to him.” Without another word she left the cottage, ran down the jetty, stepped into her rowing boat and hauled herself midstream. Whether it was to remove herself beyond the reach of Anne’s persuasion, or to stop herself saying something she might regret, Caleb couldn’t tell.
Anne sighed and fretted. How was she to explain her stepdaughter’s absence? If he noticed it Sir Robert would be offended! And her Ladyship! Nothing good could come of Letty’s refusal. She must talk to Edward. Maybe he could persuade his daughter to change her mind.
Caleb didn’t hear a word. An idea had taken hold, one that made his heart beat faster and his skin prickle into goosebumps.
When the Linnet’s crew had been gathered in the kitchen Sir Robert had pulled all their strings. Indeed, they had been compelled to dance to his tune ever since. Yet now maybe Caleb could indulge in a little theatrical trickery of his own…
Letty might choose not to attend the gala and he couldn’t blame her. But was it possible that a showman and his puppets might be invited to Norton Manor to bring a little laughter into the lives of the poor unfortunates of the parish…?
16.
Having lived so lavishly for so l
ong, it was inevitable that the money would eventually begin to run out. The day after Caleb had decided to revive Pa’s show there was a knock on the door and William Benson was summoning Edward Avery to Norton Manor.
Letty’s father came back later that afternoon looking troubled but declaring that although he’d enjoyed being on shore and had treasured the time he’d spent with his family the sea was calling him. His purse was growing thin and so, along with the captain and the crew of the Linnet, he’d signed to the Lady Jane, a ship newly built for Sir Robert. She was being fitted out for a voyage to the colonies and would sail as soon as she was made ready. He’d have a few weeks more at home and then the Lady Jane would be gone, and him along with her.
The question of Letty’s attendance at the gala was instantly forgotten. Anne was anxious and wearied by the very thought of having to make ends meet without her husband so Caleb told her that he’d been a burden long enough. Of course he’d continue to assist her as long as she wanted but he’d also see if he could do anything with Pa’s puppets. The summer was coming and there would be fêtes and festivals; he was sure he could earn a little money at these in addition to sewing for his supper.
He needed to practise, of course. If an audience was to give money the show must be honed and polished to perfection: he couldn’t simply waggle dolls and expect to amuse a crowd. He needed to rehearse and for that he needed space and privacy but where could he go? His uncle solved the problem. Edward knew a man – a fellow drinker at the tavern – who had a barn to the west of Fishpool that would stand empty until the harvest was brought in. Caleb could set up the show there and no one need be troubled by the noise.