Bound to Sarah Read online

  As time went by, and the more he sobered up, the worse Jack’s torment became for the pain he had caused. He started going to church on a regular basis, seeking redemption. Consumed with guilt, he fought back the desire to wash it all away with drink. Chaining himself to his sober conscience, in order to bear the weight of his guilt for the rest of his life, Jack Roche never touched another drop.

  A month had passed since the Leatherbarrows had last seen Pat, and Sarah and her mother were moving a chest of drawers to clean behind it, when from the back of one of the drawers dropped the missing brooch, having been wedged against the back of the chest. Sarah cried all evening and the Leatherbarrows were filled with remorse for the way they had treated Pat. Mr Leatherbarrow even went out to look for him, thinking he may have been huddled up in a dark corner somewhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Nobody had seen him, not even old Billy Wakely.

  CHAPTER 4

  FROM BOY TO MAN

  There came a knock at the Leatherbarrows’ door, and Mrs Leatherbarrow was greeted, to her surprise, by a coy young man, looking handsome in his soldier’s uniform. At first, Mrs Leatherbarrow did not recognise him, until she saw those piercing blue eyes. How could she forget them? It had been five long years since Pat had last knocked at their door and he was greeted with open arms. Mrs Leatherbarrow invited him in with such enthusiasm she almost dragged him over the threshold and sat him down before bombarding him with a barrage of questions. She could not contain her excitement and Pat lapped up all the attention. He had come home.

  After divulging all that had happened to him in the missing years, he managed to ask a few questions of his own all concerning Sarah. How was she? Where was she? What was she doing and was she courting anybody? Mrs Leatherbarrow revealed everything to him, and much to his relief there was no man in her life, although there had been no shortage of offers from the local boys, because Sarah had grown into a beautiful young woman, she told Pat proudly. Then came the words he longed to hear – she would be so pleased to see him and had missed him terribly and never forgotten him. In fact, it had always been her dream that one day he might knock on their door again.

  ‘A lot of folks round here thought you were dead, Pat,’ she said matter of fact, ‘but my Sarah wouldn’t believe a word of it.’

  Pat was taken aback by all the talk of his disappearance and apparent death, and found it quite funny. Did folk really care about a thieving little cellar dweller? He sat chatting to Mrs Leatherbarrow, anxiously waiting for Sarah to arrive home from her job at the washhouse. Mr Leatherbarrow arrived home first and seemed delighted to see him, much to Pat’s surprise, as they had always been a little unsure of each other. The nervousness of the wait was getting to him. His hands were clammy. He was fidgety. He even began to shake at one point. Not knowing what to expect, he tried to reassure himself that if everybody else has been pleased to see him, so might Sarah. To make the time pass, he decided to enquire about his father, but was met with silence, until Mrs Leatherbarrow gave a little cough.

  ‘I’m afraid they pulled him out of the dock the year after you left … I’m sorry.’

  Pat looked stunned. He had anticipated seeing him round and about, although he was certainly not going to make the effort to go and visit him. But now, his anxiety of a chance meeting began to leave him. His immediate reaction was to feel cheated; he had wanted his father to see him as a man and for what he had become. He wanted him to know that he could no longer be bullied by him, but it was not to be, his father had got away with all his wrong doings.

  ‘Prob’ly drunk was ‘e, stupid old fool?’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Oh no, my dear, your father never touched a drop since your mother died and you disappeared.’ Mrs Leatherbarrow went on to explain that his father had undergone a complete turnaround – not drinking anymore and going to church regularly – but his guilt had got the better of him in the end. He just could not live with himself after the torment he had bestowed on his family. And it was his guilt, like a dead weight, that dragged him under the dark waters of the dock, calling him to judgement.

  Pat almost felt an inkling of pity for him, after finding out that he had at least tried to make amends, but he dismissed it instantly. Those he had persecuted were no longer around and it was they who needed to see the acknowledgement of his wrong doing. Those few moments of sorrow were all Pat was prepared to spare his father, after all, he was still very much alive, and awaiting the one person that had sustained him over the years. He had not realised until now just how much he had missed her, and he felt dizzy as he heard her lift the latch and shout a greeting to her parents.

  She came in with her eyes down as she took off her shawl, not even noticing the bright red soldier’s tunic. Mrs Leatherbarrow stood behind Pat, to his right, with her hand on his shoulder bursting with excitement. Her husband sat by the fire with a grin on his face that was hidden from Sarah’s view. With Mrs Leatherbarrow’s hand firmly on his shoulder, almost pinning Pat to the chair, his cheeks burned the colour of his jacket in anticipation of that moment when their eyes would meet.

  Sarah’s decrepit old lunch bag fell to the floor as her hands shot to her mouth in astonishment. Their eyes locked on to one another and remained fixed without a word and their hearts beat twice as fast, at the realisation that they were once again in each other’s presence. She had wished so hard for this magical moment to come, yet now it was finally here she was bowled over and could find no words, not even a simple greeting.

  ‘Someone’s come to see you, Sarah,’ said her mother, breaking the silence.

  Pat stood up, proudly inflating his chest and brushing his hands down himself in an effort to look as smart as he possibly could.

  ‘’ello, Sarah,’ he said softly.

  Her eyes swam but she quickly wiped away the tears which threatened to spill down her cheeks, not wanting to give away her feelings in such an obvious way. She could barely believe how handsome and smart he looked in his uniform. He had grown tall and broad shouldered, but he still had those piercing blue eyes that she remembered so well.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to say hello, Sarah?’ asked her father impatiently. ‘The poor lad’s been fighting a war while he’s been away. He shouldn’t expect the silent treatment.’

  ‘Hello, Pat,’ she said tenderly, before distracting herself from him by drawing attention to her scruffy appearance.

  ‘Oh! Look at the state of me,’ she laughed, giving herself the once over. ‘Let me go and tidy myself up a bit.’ And with a self-conscious smile, she ran quickly upstairs.

  Pat had hardly had the chance to look at her properly, but he had not forgotten how beautiful she was. He sat back down again feeling just a little awkward and inadequate, and it sparked his memory of the days when he had had that same feeling whenever he came to the house. But he was satisfied that things were different now. He felt more relaxed and less fearful now that he was older. He was no longer that scruffy little cellar dweller.

  Sarah came down the stairs looking neater and cleaner and couldn’t help but notice how Pat was eyeing her with such admiration. She smiled coyly at him, eager to press him as to why he had stayed away so long. Pat’s passion took flame. He wanted to touch her, hold her and kiss her smooth cherry lips, but he fought back the flames of desire before they threatened to consume him. Sarah assisted in damping down his passion, with her enthusiasm for unravelling the mystery of the lost years and Pat proceeded to explain what had happened. After his mother had passed away, he didn’t want to stay another day in that cellar with his father. So that was when he had called to see the Leatherbarrows. He had been upset and confused by his hostile reception, and the fact that they had accused him of stealing from them, which proved to be the final straw. Feeling deserted by Sarah and the family he loved so much, he decided to run away and ended up joining the army – the South Lancashire Regiment – as a drummer boy. He had tried his best to forget about them, but he could not. They had been too kind to him to be able t
o shake them off so easily, but before he knew it he was sent off to fight in Spain and it was there that he had spent his ‘lost’ years. There had been many a time when he had wanted to come home, just to see Sarah again, but he was just too far away. Later, when he had worked his way up to the rank of corporal, he fought in Belgium, at Waterloo and then finally returned home. Before he knew it, five long years had passed and he yearned for the chance to come back to Liverpool to see Sarah again.

  ‘So what’s that on ye jacket?’ she asked, looking at the shiny silver coin pinned to his chest.

  ‘This,’ he said proudly, unclipping it – he had been waiting for the enquiry. ‘This is my medal for bravery during the battle at Waterloo.’

  Sarah grew excited at the thought of Pat as a war hero, and solemnly took hold of his medal for a closer look.

  ‘Fancy that! Pat Roche receiving a medal for bravery,’ she said proudly, as she gazed at the shiny medal. On one side it bore the head of Prince Regent looking left, wearing a laurel wreath and on the other a winged Angel of Victory in a sitting position facing the left with the word WELLINGTON garlanded above and the word WATERLOO at the base of the seat. Below that was the date of the battle ‘June 18 1815’. Attached to the Medal was a crimson and blue edged ribbon.

  ‘Yeah, and I’ve got a letter from the Duke of Wellington ‘imself!’ he announced.

  ‘How wonderful, Pat! You’ve got to tell us all about it,’ she said, smiling shyly at him.

  Mr and Mrs Leatherbarrow were also intrigued to hear about his exploits and drew close to listen. Pat’s recollection of that terrible day on a small battlefield in Belgium just three months ago, was still as sharp in his mind as if it were only yesterday:

  ‘The French were all over us an’ we were droppin’ like flies. The ground was explodin’ all around us an’ nobody knew what was goin’ on. It was chaos, moans an’ screams of dyin’ men, bleedin’ to death in front of us. The grass was fresh and green at the start of the day … by the end it was reddy brown … blood dryin’ up in pools and thick clots. It still turns me stomach to think about it. The noise was deafenin’ … then a sound like thunder as the French Cavalry arrived. They were terrifyin’, ye could see ‘em suddenly appear from nowhere, ragin’ through the smoke wi’ their lances an’ swords drawn.’

  Sarah and her parents were engrossed. They had never heard Pat string more than a couple of sentences together at any one time, and now here he was with his own first-hand account of the Battle of Waterloo.

  ‘They sliced through men like butter. A lot of our lads scarpered, an’ others lost all control and went barmy. The battle was slippin’ against us, an’ we ‘ad to watch friends an’ comrades fall beside us. Ye could see the shock on their faces when they realised their wounds were fatal. They screamed for ‘elp, not wantin’ to be left there to die alone. We ‘ad no choice. We ‘ad to leave ‘em be’ind, after all, we could be next.’

  The expression on his listeners’ faces was deeply mournful, and Pat could see he had them captivated, so he went on in even more detail:

  ‘I remember one lad who ‘ad a gapin’ ‘ole in ‘is stomach, ‘e tried to put pressure on it, but the blood gushed through ‘is fingers and ‘e knew ‘is time was up … ‘e begged me notto leave ‘im, “I’ m scared,” he says. I could still ‘ear ‘im cryin’, his voice fadin’ away as we fell back. I couldn’t ‘ave stayed with ‘im, or I’d be dead. It was like that all that day

  … it didn’t let up for a minute. We kept together as a unit, but our regiment was fallin’ fast.’

  Sarah began to get emotional as she listened to the horrors he had lived through, but she was in awe of this new and manly Pat and urged him to continue.

  ‘We ‘ad to fall back to a farm’ouse … but we were weakenin’ ‘cos of the sheer numbers of the French. We were runnin’ out of ammunition, an’ losin’ our will to fight, we needed reinforcements. There were men on every wall of the ‘ouse, tryin’ to stop the French gettin’ in … we were surrounded an’ couldn’t see a way out alive. Then it came … a pounding on the main gates … an’ a terrifyin’ noise over the battle sounds.

  ‘It was death knockin’ on the door, and once it gets in, that’s it. I remember wonderin’ ‘ow I was goin’ to die. Would I get shot, stabbed, or ‘atcheted to death by one of those butchers wi’ the blood splattered aprons? I ‘ated an’ feared ‘em … most of us did … and nobody wanted to die by their methods … there were stories of ‘em cuttin’ children in ‘alf in the Spanish campaign.

  ‘The thought of bein’ ‘acked to death was enough to make anyone shake in their boots. No more time to think – the French had set their cannons on the farm’ouse, blowing

  ‘oles in the walls big enough for ‘em to get in. Bits of bodies flew from the wall, along with bits of stone, then the main gate fell apart from the poundin’ of a cannon bein’ rolled against it. Those madmen burst through and all ‘ell let loose. A few soldiers panicked and bolted themselves into the farm’ouse. So the rest of us ‘ad nowhere to run. It was time to fix bayonets, ‘cos they were so close we didn’t ‘ave time to reload. Our ammunition was almost gone.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ panted Sarah.

  ‘Some of the men took muskets from the dead but it was

  ‘opeless, there were just too many of ‘em. With me bayonet fixed, I ran to the main gates an’ shouted for more ‘elp from the men on the wall. The major was at the gates, ready to die with ‘is men … ‘e was no coward. All I could do was thrust me musket into the throats of the French. It was ‘orrible,’ said Pat with a shudder. ‘It was ‘orrible, but it was war. I’d managed three or four before we were forced back and I nearly lost me balance pulling me from a Frenchie’s head. We fell back at the major’s orders an’ formed two ranks at a distance, but the French came in too fast.’

  ‘Oh Pat, d’you really have to go into so much detail?’ interrupted Mrs Leatherbarrow, who had turned very pale.

  ‘Course he does,’ said Mr Leatherbarrow in his defence.

  ‘It’s what happened. You carry on, lad.’

  ‘From then on it was madness, we tried to stick together but it was every man for ‘imself. I saw a young drummer boy crouched in the corner by the stables and a French butcher spotted ‘im, and ran for ‘im with ‘is ‘atchet over ‘is ‘ead. I ran to ‘elp. I mean, the boy only ‘ad a drum, for lord’s sake, but the frog got the terrified lad before I did, so I sunk me bayonet into the sapper’s back, to stop ‘im takin’ a second blow at the lad. Screamin’ an’ cryin’ ‘e was, shouting for ‘is mam. The frog turned around as I plunged another one into

  ‘is gut. The ‘atchet fell be’ind ‘im an’ ‘e ‘it the wall. I could see the fear in his face. But you know, I wasn’t scared anymore, ‘cos ‘e looked more scared than me. I pulled me bayonet from ‘is stomach an’ looked down at the little lad. I knew by ‘is wound ‘e was goin’ to die. I’d already fatally wounded the butcher, but I wanted more …’ Pat became even more animated as he pictured the scene in his mind’s eye and stood up and picked up his musket.

  ‘’e thought I’d finished wi’ ‘im, but I pulled me musket up to me shoulder for a good lunge. ‘e ‘eld ‘is ‘ands up, shoutin’, beggin’ for mercy, but ‘e wasn’t gonna get any from me. I shoved that bayonet right through ‘is chest about five times, till ‘e was slidin’ down the wall wi’ blood oozin’ from ‘is mouth. I went over to the lad; ‘is wound was deep, an’ ‘e was in agony. I looked around at everyone fightin’, and it was like everythin’ went quiet an’ slow an’ I was just watchin’. Nobody noticed me for those few minutes while I tended to ‘im. I figured it was only a matter of time before we were overun, so I sat in the corner with ‘im and put ‘is ‘ead on me lap. “I want me mam,” ‘e kept sayin’. “Don’t let me die, mister. I don’t want to die, I’m scared.” I stroked ‘is ‘air and started cryin’ meself but then ‘e stopped cryin’ and ‘is eyes went all empty. I’ll never forget it. It was odd, ‘cos when ‘e passed away, so
did the quiet spell, an’ then it was raging again’.

  ‘I could see the major was in trouble, so I got me musket and ran straight over. I thought, if I’m goin’ to die, I’m takin’ plenty of ‘em wi’ me. The major fell, wounded, still tryin’ to fend off a frog from bayoneting him, so I stuck mine into the side of ‘is ribs and ‘e dropped like a sack o’ grain. I pulled the major away but ‘e was too ‘eavy an’ I needed ‘elp. I shouted to Evans… a good soldier ‘e was … and ‘e ran over as everyone was forced back. As we dragged the major along, Evans was shot in the back and I was left to drag ‘im alone. I took ‘im by the collar; I don’t know where I got the strength from, and pulled ‘im into an archway an’ watched Evans bein’ ‘acked to bits, not fifteen yards away.’ Pat fell silent for a few moments as he reflected on the horrors he had witnessed, then composed himself again and continued:

  ‘I was poundin’ the door, shoutin’ for one of the cowards to open it. The major was bleedin’ somethin’ terrible from a deep wound to the top of ‘is left leg. The door suddenly flew open an’ we got in, barricadin’ it be’ind us. We managed to escape out of a back window an’ joined the retreat. Just when we thought it was the end, the Prussians came to the rescue, and the Frenchies’ luck ran out.’

  Pat relaxed a little and his mood became a little more reflective as he wound up his story. ‘That farm’ouse was full o’ blood and bodies and we ‘ad one ‘ell of a job cleanin’ it up. I took the little drummer boy and buried ‘im meself.