Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
A Safe Harbour (15 page)
Jane made her way down the wide, Turkey-carpeted, mahogany staircase. The measured tick from the long-case clock on the first-floor landing echoed from the high walls of the hall. Dust motes danced in the coloured shafts of light that fell through the stained-glass window in the wall behind her. The light cast jewelled patterns on the tiled floor of the hall below and the smell of lavender polish surrounded her.
When she reached the bottom she turned towards the rear of the house. At the end of the passage she pushed open a door that looked as though it was part of the oak panelling. The other side of the door was covered in green baize. She stepped through the doorway and hesitated. This door separated two worlds: the world of servants and the world of masters. Jane, as a lady’s maid, had achieved an uncomfortable place between the two. Uncomfortable because although she never wanted to go back to the world of servants, realistically she knew she would never be part of the grand world of masters either. Not if she married William.
The backstairs were uncarpeted, cold and unlit. She hurried down as quickly as she could and along the stone-flagged floor that led to the stable yard. She was slightly irritated that the carriage had not come to the front entrance of the house for her, but as soon as they were bowling along on the way to the city she could sit up straight and enjoy the admiring glances of the passers-by. She knew she looked every inch a lady.
That night Kate lifted the tin bath down from the nail in the wall of the back yard. She didn’t care how many kettles of water it would take to fill it; she longed to lie back and soak herself in some sweet-smelling water.
When she had finished her round, Kate had called at the village shop to collect her aunt’s order and on impulse had asked Mrs Willis if she had any bath salts. She had stood there, hot and weary, while Alice obligingly searched her dusty shelves.
‘You’re in luck,’ Alice had said eventually, and she handed Kate a fancy glass bottle full of pale pink crystals. ‘That’ll be one shilling.’
‘Oh,’ Kate said. She had already seen the price on the side of the bottle.
There had been no need to say more. Mrs Willis must have seen the disappointment in her eyes. ‘Although, mind,’ she said, ‘that bottle’s been sitting on the shelf over a year now. How’s about if I offer it half price?’
‘Thank you. I’ll take it.’
So after they had eaten their teatime meal together Kate had asked her aunt if she could have a bath instead of the usual bowl of water in the sink.
‘Why, of course, pet. We’ll both hev one. It’ll ease me old bones.’
As well as the kettle they boiled pans of water and when they judged there was sufficient hot water in the bath Kate added some cold from a jug and then took the jar of bath crystals from her pocket. She read the label. It was faded but she could just about make out the directions.
‘What does it say?’ Aunt Meg asked, perhaps alarmed by Kate’s frown.
‘Fragrant Bath Salts,’ Kate replied.
‘I know that, you daft ha’p’orth! I meant that smaller writing underneath.’
Kate began to read in an exaggeratedly refined manner. ‘These superior salts, added to an ordinary bath or wash-hand basin of water, will instantly soften the hardest water, rendering the skin beautifully clear and soft, and also produce a most exhilarating and invigorating perfume!’
‘My, my, all that for a shilling!’
‘Mrs Willis let me have it for sixpence.’
‘Better still. How much do you have to use?’
Kate read the directions. ‘A teaspoonful for a wash-hand basin and two tablespoonfuls for a large bath.’
‘So it’ll last a while,’ Aunt Meg said.
‘Do you think I’ve been extravagant?’
‘No, pet, divven’t fret. You need a little treat – the way you are, and considering everything that’s happened to you. Now hurry up. I’ll lock the doors and fetch the screen. Then I’ll sit beyond and be ready if you need me.’
‘Need you?’
‘Aye, pet. You never know, you might come over dizzy. In your condition, you know.’
When Kate had stripped to her shift she spooned the pink crystals into the water and both she and Aunt Meg savoured the delicate scent that arose in the swirls of steam.
‘Mmm . . .’ Meg sniffed appreciatively. ‘Carnation.’
‘No, I think it’s rose,’ Kate said.
‘You may be right. I’ve probably ruined me sense of smell after all these years of snuff-taking. But whatever it is, it smells lovely.’
Kate heard the longing in her aunt’s voice and looked at her kind old face. ‘Aunt Meg, I think you should go first.’ She hoped her aunt wouldn’t guess how much it cost her to say that.
‘No, pet, you first. I’ll hev the kettle ready with some more hot water, and if you like you can add another spoonful of them crystals before I get in.’
‘Of course I will.’ Kate didn’t argue although she felt guilty.
‘Gan on, I won’t look.’ Her aunt grinned as she gestured to Kate to take off her remaining clothes. Eyes averted, she offered her hand for Kate to grasp as she stepped into the fragrant water. ‘Lower yerself slowly. Are you down?’
‘Mm.’
‘Then I’ll sit with me knitting for a while. Give a shout if you need me.’
Kate had pinned her hair up for the moment although she intended to wash it later. She settled down, lying back against the slope of the bath, her arms stretched out along the sides. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the soothing warmth of the water and the scent of roses. She could hear the crackling of the coals in the fire and the click-clack of her aunt’s needles. She could never remember her aunt knitting before and wondered who the garment could be for. William or Thomas perhaps? No doubt her aunt would tell her.
Outside the cottage she sensed a stillness as a mist curled in from the sea. An old superstition held that it also brought the wraiths of dead mariners. She could hear the muffled thuds of the waves beating on the shore and the sound of foghorns from the ships waiting to enter the Tyne on the turn of the tide. She could also hear the mournful clanging of the bell on the Black Midden rocks near the mouth of the river. Over the centuries many a vessel had come to grief on these rocks.
Centuries . . .
Jos had liked to speak about centuries and the passing of time. Jos . . . Kate tried to remember her sweetheart as she had last seen him, smiling his carefree smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. But for some reason the picture wouldn’t form in her mind’s eye. She felt a twinge of panic when she realized that the features she had known so well seemed to be evading her. How could that be? She concentrated extra hard and then almost cried out in shock when instead of Jos’s face she saw another face; older, stronger, with a gaze that was both compelling and unsettling. It was the face of Richard Adamson.
Jos had liked to speak about centuries and the passing of time. Jos . . . Kate tried to remember her sweetheart as she had last seen him, smiling his carefree smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. But for some reason the picture wouldn’t form in her mind’s eye. She felt a twinge of panic when she realized that the features she had known so well seemed to be evading her. How could that be? She concentrated extra hard and then almost cried out in shock when instead of Jos’s face she saw another face; older, stronger, with a gaze that was both compelling and unsettling. It was the face of Richard Adamson.
Guilt surged through her. Breathing rapidly, she reached for the wedding ring she wore on a piece of ribbon round her neck and willed the disturbing likeness to go away. As she fingered the smooth circle of gold the image faded and she began to breathe more easily.
She never took the ring off and now, in the bath, the ribbon was wet and seemed to stick to her damp flesh. Kate felt a slight discomfort when her arm caught the side of her breast. She looked down and saw that the flesh around her nipples was darker than it had been and the breasts themselves were slightly more full. Only slightly, she thought. She smoothed her hands over the flat plane of her belly. Was there a slight roundness? No, she decided. No one could tell that I am with child.
Her mother had told her that, tall and slender as she was, her pregnancy might not be obvious until the fifth month – and perhaps not even then if she carried the baby ‘high’. Of course she would have to let out her clothes and maybe be clever with an extra fold or two of material. She’d be wearing warmer clothes, anyway, come December, but hopefully they would have heard from Winifred long before then and Kate would be on her way to America.
Sighing, she took up the flannel and soap and washed herself. When she took the pins out of her hair and leaned forward to wash it she called for her aunt to help. Kate held a flannel to her eyes while Meg knelt down by the bath and helped by scooping up jugs of water.
When she had dried herself she put on her nightdress and then it was her turn to help her aunt. The older woman had kept a shift on – for modesty’s sake, she said – but, even so, Kate could see the tracks the ropes of the creel had left in the skin of her shoulders and upper arms. Kneeling by the bath in the soft glow of the firelight, helping with something so personal, Kate had never felt closer to her aunt. She realized that, much as she loved her mother, they very rarely shared moments like this.
Her mother was always busy. If they had a bath it had to be when the men were out fishing and there was always something else to do, some task to finish, so they could never linger.
While Kate emptied the bath bucket by bucket and then dragged it to the yard to tip out the last fragrant suds before hanging it up on its nail, her aunt made a cup of tea, and then they sat by the fire to drink it. Both of them brushed their hair until it was dry. That night, soothed by her bath and comforted by her aunt’s presence, Kate slept more soundly that she had done for weeks.
They were down on the beach as the first cobles came in with their catches. Kate was now doing some of the buying although she felt nervous when the bidding started. Her aunt knew what price to pay down to a farthing.
‘Divven’t fret, Kate, I’ll give you the wink if the price is going too high. Keep an eye on old Martha over there. When she drops out it’s time to stop.’
‘Did I do all right?’ Kate asked when the auction was over.
‘Aye, lass, you did. You’ve nowt to worry about. You’re learning fast.’
They sat on the low wall near where the cobles were moored and packed the fish they’d bought into their creels.
‘Right, Kate, do you think you can manage the Wallsend round on your own today? I’ll go along to Whitley.’
With the two of them sharing the business it was essential to find new customers and Aunt Meg was the expert at that. Kate didn’t think she was ready yet to knock on the doors of strangers and persuade them to buy fish. So she agreed to go to Wallsend, hitching the usual lift with Albert Brunton.
The day went well, although many of her customers asked after Meg, concerned that she might be poorly. More than one of them said how pleased they were that the old fishwife now had a strong young helper. ‘By the end of the day, she’s right weary, isn’t she?’ one kindly woman said. ‘Aye, bone weary,’ the woman’s neighbour added, ‘and a bit unsteady.’
Kate wondered if they knew that it wasn’t weariness that made her aunt unsteady on her feet but the contents of her flask. She assured anyone who asked that her aunt was quite well and that no doubt they would be seeing her soon. She sold almost the entire contents of her creel but she remembered to keep a respectable parcel by to give to Albert’s wife, Tilda, when they returned to the timber yard.
Then she set off for Belle Vue Cottage, eager to tell Aunt Meg how well the day had gone. The walk home took Kate down Marden Lane towards the sea. At the bottom of the lane she turned left to walk along to the village and as she walked past the grand villas on Beverley Terrace she looked up at Richard Adamson’s house. The front door was closed and the large windows were obscured by lace curtains. She wondered if Mr Adamson was at home – but, of course, that was unlikely; he would still be at his business premises on the quayside at North Shields.
There was the usual activity on the top boat field. One of the cobles was being painted blue and white. At least, it was half painted – the pots of paint were there but there were no painters. And the nets were spread out ready for mending but no one was mending them. Instead a group of men was huddled over by the cliff top.
Kate was curious. No one in the village stopped work without good reason. She made her way across the boat field and frowned when she realized that the men were not staring out to sea – they were peering down over the cliff. She edged her way through the group. Someone, she didn’t register who it was, tried to stop her. He took hold of her arm but she shook herself free.
‘It’s Kate Lawson,’ she heard another man say.
‘For God’s sake stop her.’
‘Wait, lass! Divven’t look down.’
But it was too late. Kate had reached the cliff’s edge and she looked down and saw what it was that the men were staring at. The figure of a woman lay sprawled at the foot of the cliff. The woman’s neck was twisted at an unnatural angle and a dark stain was spreading out from under her head and seeping into a rock pool.
Kate felt her knees give way. ‘Look out!’ someone cried, and the men at each side of her caught her arms and held her steady.
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