An Incomplete Revenge

her husband and Webb held her to him, his fingernails white with the pressure of his grip. Then she pulled away, taking his hand, below which a scar crossed the inside of his wrist, and she held her own wrist, her own scar, to it, so that the place where their blood had run together on the day of their marriage was joined once more.

Billy shook his head. “I’d scream too, if I was ’im. Fine ’ow-do-you-do, this, ain’t it? Probably won’t ’ave a job come morning, me or ’im.”

As she rinsed blood from her handkerchief, ready to hand it to Paishey once again, Maisie realized she was shaking. “I can’t believe what I just saw. That a man would act in such a way is unconscionable—and in broad daylight!”

“I better not see that bloke again, that’s all I can say.”

“I’m so glad you were here, Billy. Are you alright?”

Billy nodded. “I knew ’e could punch me into the ground with one good one, drunk as ’e was, so I ’ad to get in quick with the old one-two. I ’aven’t got enough go in the old legs to get into a bout with someone like that.” He rubbed his knuckles where they had connected with Sandermere’s nose. “Lucky I came along when I did. Doreen ’ad seen the gypsy walking to the tap and picked up the kettle to go over there. I knew what she was thinking, that she’d ’ave a word, explain why she ’adn’t been passin’ the time of day or makin’ a fuss of the baby, and thought I’d better go myself. Not as if you can explain a thing like that, but I didn’t want any trouble.” Billy shook his head. “Found trouble alright, though, didn’t I?”

Webb and Paishey walked across to them and Webb held out his hand to Billy. “You saved my wife’s honor. I am in your debt.”

“No, you’re not, mate. You would’ve done the same, anybody would.”

Webb shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t.” He looked at his wife, then back at Billy. “Sometimes it’s like the morning hate when we come out to work.”

Billy frowned, pausing before saying more and with his head to one side, as if considering the man’s words. Then he changed his expression and reached out to grip Webb’s shoulder. “Just promise me you won’t go after ’im.” His smile was one of irony. “Not unless you take me with you, anyway.”

Webb nodded, and Maisie reached out to help Paishey clean more blood from her face and neck.

“Aunt Beulah will doctor me now. She’ll mend my ear.”

Maisie drew back, respectful of the gypsy ways, but she was curious to know what events had unfolded just before she came upon Sandermere attacking Paishey. She rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder so that she might not pull back, fearful, when asked about the attack. “What happened, Paishey? What did Sandermere say before he went for you?’

The woman looked at the ground as she spoke. “I’n came for water, and the rye- moosh—the boss man—came up to the tap while I was filling the kettle. He’n told me to move, to let him in, and I told him my kettle was nearly filled and I’d soon be done. I said sir out of respect.” Maisie saw a flash of the gypsy’s independence as she spoke. “Then he’n lifted his stick and went to thrash me, and he’n was saying I was nothing, that he would have us all sacked for our trouble, and the whole farm was his, all the hop-gardens and the tap and all the water what comes from it. Then he’n went for me, just as you come along. Said everything was his, me an’ all, and he’n be takin’ what he wanted.”

“And there was a stink on ’is breath, couldn’t miss it,” added Billy. “ ’e’d been at the bottle, no doubt about it. It’s a wonder ’e could get up on that ’orse.”

Maisie nodded and said they’d probably all better be getting on, and Beulah should look at Paishey’s ear. Together they walked back to the hop-garden, where Webb and Paishey joined their people, before gathering up their daughter and leaving the workers. Maisie knew they were returning to the clearing, which, although temporary, represented the lair that any animal would escape to when harmed or threatened.

BILLY PAUSED BEFORE walking along the rows to join his family. “What d’ye think that was all about, Miss, Sandermere actin’ like a lunatic?”

Maisie thought for some moments before speaking. “The man is losing the very underpinning of his life—the land that has been in his family for centuries—and it’s all his fault. The estate has given him a certain status to bolster him, and now it’s slipping through his fingers, so he’s clutching at whatever he can. And the drink is keeping his anger well oiled.” She paused. “There’s a sadness to him, as despicable as he is. A man who acts in such a destructive manner is himself harmed.”

Billy shrugged. “Well, ’e’ll be ’armed a lot more if I see ’im tryin’ on that sort of thing again, make no mistake. Like I said, I reckon we’ll be lucky to still be in work tomorrow. I don’t expect to be seein’ that ugly dial again as long as I live—and I’m glad of it.”

They continued in silence for a while. Then, as she walked alongside Billy, back to the bin where his family worked together, Maisie broke the news of Simon’s death. Simon had saved Billy’s life in the war, a memory forever fresh in Billy’s mind. He shook his head.

“After all this time. Gaw, blimey, Miss, I kept wishin’ it was the other way round, that ’e’d come back to what ’e was, before the shell got ’im.” He looked at her. “You alright, Miss?”

Maisie felt her eyes moisten. She nodded. “Yes. I don’t know whether I’m shocked or not. It was as if his very life had been playing wolf with us, so that when the time came for him to . . . to go, I couldn’t quite believe it. It’s as if we’ve been tricked by hope ever since he was wounded.”

Having stopped to talk, Billy walked on and Maisie kept pace, her head lowered. “You’ll feel better after the funeral, Miss. When that’s done there’s nothing more than to get used to it. Once our little Lizzie was laid to rest, we could only remember her and try to—you know—just go on, day by day, one foot in front of the other.” He paused again, unused to speaking of his feelings. “Sometimes I feel as if, when you throw that big clod of earth onto the coffin, you’re not just startin’ to fill the ’ole in the ground but the big gapin’ one that’s been blown in your life.”

As they reached the bin, with the tallyman close at hand, her thoughts were deflected by the rush to clean the hops of leaves. She had wanted to ask Billy why he had looked at Webb so intently when they were speaking after the encounter with Sandermere, as if something had taken him aback, just for a second. Instead, she steeped her hands into the hops and began to pull out leaves.

Once the tallying was finished, they spoke of the London boys just released from police custody. As soon as they had returned to the hop-garden, George and his family had packed up their belongings and gone home to Shoreditch. “Shame,” said Billy. “They needed the money, and the farmer’s not duty-bound to pay you your wages