The deed is done, my father is put to rest and I’m tying my life to Deakin, leaving behind my sweetheart Tom. I’m taking with me his most precious gift and the memory of his beautiful lilting Welsh voice which has so often sung love songs to me. What else can I do? He’s promised to another and needs her father’s wealth and my father has left me none.
If Deakin should ever discover this he’d kill me. That he can’t read is to my advantage. He has to leave soon or he’ll be caught and jailed and I’ll have no option but the workhouse, me and my unborn child. He’s offered me a chance of a new life away from all I’ve ever known, but from what motive? Not for love. He doesn’t care for me nor I for him. We sail tomorrow.
Delia felt breathless, confused. Did it mean what she thought it meant? She turned several blank pages, others with scribbling on them relating to a good catch, or a bad one, and then another at the back of the notebook, which read:
The child has got herself into trouble. There’ll be no hiding it and he’ll turn her out. It’s best that she goes; she’ll have the chance of a better life than one with us. We’ve never done right by her and I’d rather she left, for each day she reminds me of the man I loved and lost, and there’ll come a time when I might have had more than I can bear with Deakin.
She heard the rattle of the cottage door and jumped, suddenly fearful, as she had been when a young girl, that it was Deakin returning, but then she heard an anxious voice calling, ‘Delia! Delia! Where are you?’
She went to the top of the staircase. ‘Up here, Giles,’ she said. ‘Come up.’
He bent his head as he came in through the low door. ‘What are you doing up here all on your own?’ His voice was concerned. ‘I was worried about you. Mrs Robinson said you’d come here an hour ago and Jack said he’d seen you pass by.’
She gazed at him. ‘Is it so long?’ She looked down at the documents and the jumble of papers and photographs.
‘What was this room?’ Giles looked round. ‘A storage room? A glory hole? Everyone needs somewhere to put things they can’t decide whether to keep or not.’ He looked out of the small roof window and murmured, ‘A good view of the estuary, though.’
‘A good description of my bedroom,’ she commented.
He turned to look at her. ‘Your bedroom? No, surely not?’ His expression was troubled. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’
‘It’s a better room than the cupboard I had before it.’
He stared at her and then said, ‘Come on,’ and gathered up all the papers, documents and photographs. ‘We’ll take them and you can look at them at the Robinsons’. The kettle’s on the boil and the children are all waiting to show you their painted Easter eggs, and so am I.’
‘First, will you read this and tell me what you think it means?’ She handed him the notebook and one page in particular.
He read it and then said, ‘Is this your mother’s hand?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ she said on a breath, and then showed him the photograph of her mother and the fisherman.
He looked at them and then at her and lifted his eyebrows. ‘This is not Mr Deakin, I gather?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Your real father then? At least – you have a look of him.’ He gazed at her. ‘And with a beautiful voice?’
Delia nodded. She couldn’t speak and her eyes were awash with tears.
Carrying the papers, documents and photographs, Giles led her downstairs and out of the cottage; he locked the door after them and put the key in his jacket pocket, then with his hand firmly on her elbow he steered her towards the gate, closing it behind him, and down the track to Foggit’s where Jack was standing by the fence with an anxious expression on his face.
‘You all right, Delia?’ He ran his hand over his chin. ‘Can I – is there owt I can do?’
‘Yes,’ Giles answered for her. ‘You can carry these,’ and he handed the roll of paperwork to him. ‘Don’t drop them, they’re important.’
Jack held the bundle as if it were a precious baby and led the way across the yard towards the other farmhouse, whilst Giles kept his arm firmly around Delia. As they approached, the door opened and Robin came out.
‘I was just coming to find you,’ he said, rushing up to her and putting his arms round her waist. ‘I thought you were lost.’
A tear ran down her cheek. ‘I think I might have been, but now I’m not.’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I’m found again.’
All the other children and Susan were sitting at Peggy’s table with a basket of painted eggs in the middle. Aaron was standing with a mug of tea in his hand and Peggy was putting a batch of bread rolls in the oven. She closed the oven door and straightened up, a question on her lips which she didn’t utter.
‘Deakin wasn’t my father!’ Delia said, triumphant yet emotional. ‘Though I was given his name. Whether he knew or guessed, we’ll never know.’
‘What’s in a name?’ Robin struck a theatrical pose, though he didn’t know what his mother meant or understand why she had tears streaming down her face. ‘That which we call a rose – Ma, don’t cry. You never cry. Why are you crying now?’
She gave a choking laugh. ‘Ma?’ she said. ‘You’ve never called me Ma before!’
‘I like it,’ he said, coming towards her and hugging her. ‘Why are you crying?’
She bent and dropped another kiss
