Skylarking (14 page)

TWENTY-NINE

T
HE FISHERMAN WAS STILL A DISTANCE AWAY BY THE
time I reached the tideline. A feed of mussels would mean the day wasn't a complete disappointment at least.

I headed across the black rocks, slick with bright green weed, and found a spot to perch where I could unlace my boots and peel off my stockings. The water was cold as I moved gingerly amongst the jagged shells, the slippery rock surfaces, the scuttling red crabs. I had to hitch my skirt high and tuck the hem into my waistband so as not to get it wet.

The purple-black mussel shells at the water's edge were not large enough for good eating, so I ventured further. The water rose to my shins, and I peered into the shifting shadows on the surface, searching for a plump bunch of mussels nestled in the crack of a rock. I bunched my skirt up further and bent down to roll my long drawers above my knees with my spare hand. I figured I had about ten minutes before I would have to cover up and ask for help.

Coming down the steps, I hadn't been able to identify the fisherman. Out in their boats, hats pulled low against the sea breeze, surrounded by their buckets and rods and lines, they all looked the same to me. It could be McPhail. I gazed back to the steps, where I could make out Harriet sitting. And what if it was him?

I turned back to my hunt. A few feet further out, down at the base of one of the jetty pylons, I could see the dark shadow of a good bunch of mussels. I put my hand out to steady myself against the wood. From there I reckoned I could reach the crop, grab a great handful all in one go. My sleeves were going to get wet; there was no getting around that. I'd rolled them back past my elbow, but the water here was deeper, and I was going to have to give those shells a good tug to get them loose.

I bent towards the water and stretched down, my fingers long and white under the water, my arm going deeper and deeper. My hand was close now and, just as I reached lower still, a large crab ran across the mussel crop. I reared back, my foot shifting on the rock and starting to slip. I heaved my weight in towards the jetty, but it was too late. I tipped forwards, and my body submerged as I grasped to stop my fall. I squealed as I went under, the cold of it so sudden and soaking through my bodice and onto my skin. I scrabbled to get my footing and stood up, arms out away from my sodden dress, feeling water trickling down my back from the wet ends of my hair.

‘Oh, oh, oh,' I exclaimed, cold and wet and indignant.

A shadow shifted across the water.

‘Well, what have we 'ere?'

I raised a hand to shade my eyes, looking up at the shadow looming over the edge of the pier.

‘Goin' swimmin'?' The figure stepped forwards, and I saw his face. It was Blackwell. He was smiling. And it was not a kind smile.

I turned away, conscious of my exposed legs, the sodden state of my dress.

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘Thank you.'

‘You don't look fine,' he said. ‘Let me come down there and give you a hand.'

His footsteps thudded along the pier, away from me, and I clutched at my skirts, staring at the water I'd crossed, wondering if I could beat him to the shore and up the path before he got to me. I could see that Harriet, up on the cliff steps, was watching the little scene unfolding below her. Blackwell was hurrying down the jetty to intercept me on the beach.

I ducked my head into the shadow of the pier, trying to see if I could take a path through the rocks and weed and out onto the other side of the jetty, but there was no easy route. The sun glanced off the water, making it difficult to see. As I shielded my eyes, I noticed the dark shape of another boat coming in to anchor in the distance.

I looked back to the beach where Blackwell was approaching the end of the pier, and zigzagged my way through the slippery rocks towards the beach, aiming to the left of where Blackwell now stood. As I came closer to the shore, he wandered down, holding out his meaty hand.

‘Really, you are too kind. I am fine,' I said, my arms crossed over my chest, letting my skirts fall completely into the water now, not minding the heavy drag of them as long as my legs were covered from his view.

‘I insist,' he said. He left his hand outstretched.

I could smell the fishy stink of him. His thick-lipped smile was ruptured by rotten teeth. Again, I declined his hand, leaning away and attempting to sidestep him. I cleared the edge of the water and made towards the spot where I had left my boots. He moved faster, grabbing up my boots by the laces and clutching them to his chest.

‘Let me,' he said, and crouched as if to kneel before me, holding my boots out as he did so.

I looked up at Harriet. She was still watching, one knee cocked as she kept the weight off her sore ankle. That damned ankle. I would never be in this position if it were the both of us down here together.

I moved back from him. ‘Thank you, there's no need.'

‘A man's only tryin' to help,' he said, as he shifted forwards on the rocky beach. ‘Yer boots, m'lady.' He grinned and leaned in towards my legs so I could see the greasy shine of his skull through his hair.

Then I heard heavy footfalls, a voice calling, ‘Blackwell!'

I turned and saw, striding down the pier, the figure of McPhail. There was an urgency to his steps that quickened my blood.

‘Blackwell,' he called out again, insistent this time. ‘Get away from her.'

Blackwell scowled as he stood, still clutching my boots. ‘I was helpin' the lady out, McPhail. Nothing wrong with that.'

‘No,' said McPhail coming up to stand to the side of me now, facing off against Blackwell. ‘Nothing wrong.' And then he muttered darkly, ‘But I doubt that's all you had in mind.' McPhail did not look at me. ‘Give her back the boots.'

‘I was just doin' that when you went and stuck yer nose in, wasn't I?'

The two men spoke only to each other, but every word they said was about me.

‘Then hand them over,' McPhail growled.

Blackwell held out the boots, just short of me, so that I had to fully uncross my arms to grab them off him.

‘You be more careful next time,' he said. ‘Not very ladylike to fall in the drink.' He turned and walked towards the steps.

‘Thank you,' I let out in a breath.

McPhail's jaw clenched. ‘You shouldn't be down here alone. It's no place for girls, this.'

My skin prickled with shame. ‘I'm not alone. I'm with Harriet. We came together, for the mussels, but she fell and hurt her ankle. She's on the path, just there.' I pointed up to where Harriet sat; she was watching the progress of Blackwell as he mounted the steps towards her.

McPhail spotted her. He took off across the beach, so that I was left hurrying to tie my boots and drag my sodden skirts and run after him, like a child. I caught up with him at the bottom of the steps.

‘Harriet can't walk,' I called. ‘Her ankle's too bad.'

McPhail didn't reply but tilted his face up to where Blackwell was approaching Harriet. We hurried up the steps towards them.

Blackwell's voice carried down. ‘Yer waiting for your friend then, I s'pose? Feisty little thing, ain't she?'

‘On your way, Blackwell.'

Blackwell turned to face McPhail as we came upon them. ‘I suppose yer going to see these lovely ladies home, are yer? I'm not good enough t'smile at them. But you' – at this he stabbed a fat finger at McPhail's chest – ‘you can see 'em all the way home and no one will bat an eyelid.'

McPhail stepped forwards; he seemed larger than usual. ‘Be off, Blackwell – I'll not ask again.'

I kept in McPhail's shadow but inched around the step until I could reach out to grab Harriet's hand. I felt the charge coming off her.

‘Yer not worth me while, McPhail. I wouldn't bother with blooding me knuckles on yer face,' Blackwell said, and he began to climb the cliff.

I offered a timid thank you to McPhail, at which he spun around to face us both.

‘Don't be thanking me.' He almost spat the words at me. ‘You've made a right fool of yourself getting drenched like that. If you were my daughters you'd be at home, helping your mothers, where you belong.'

Beside me, Harriet stiffened and clenched my hand.

‘I'll get you to your horses and I'll see Harriet can ride. But you'll need to make your own way back. I'll not be responsible for either of you.' He set off away from us, leaving me to support Harriet and all her weight.

We shuffled up towards the top, both of us mute with shame.

‘I slipped,' I said quietly to Harriet after we'd been struggling up the hill for a good while. ‘I lost my footing and just went in.'

‘I know. I saw. Don't take any notice of him.' She squeezed my shoulder with her right hand, and I felt bad that she was comforting me, while she gritted her teeth through the pain of her swollen ankle and hobbled up the path towards the horses. ‘He'll be sorry he's spoken so by the time we get up there and his temper's worn off.'

Harriet was not right on this occasion. The climb had not lightened McPhail's dark mood, and he waited by the horses, glowering.

I refused to be made to feel as if I were ten again.

‘There was no need to wait for us,' I said. ‘I'm perfectly capable of assisting Harriet onto Sadie. We've no need of your help.'

He glanced from me to Harriet. ‘She won't be able to get herself up. I watched her come along the path – she can't put any weight on it. And you're not strong enough to help her into the saddle.'

‘We've made it this far. Really,' I added with disdain, ‘we do not need your help.'

I had no idea if I could get Harriet up on Sadie by myself but I would rather die than let McPhail know that. My clothes were drying tight and lined with salt across the contours of my body. I felt as though I had shamed us, and I did not like that he had made me feel this way.

He cocked his head to one side, keeping his eyes on Harriet, encouraging her, I suppose, to disagree with me, to implore him to assist us, but she did not. McPhail snorted and moved away from Sadie. ‘As you wish,' he said.

Harriet leaned into me as we stood beside Sadie. When there was nothing to climb upon, we usually loosed the stirrups so that they hung low enough for us to get one foot in, pull ourselves up and then throw the other leg over. It wasn't the most graceful way, that was certain, but there was no need for us to be ladylike or ride side-saddle out on the cape. Sometimes, if we'd taken the horses without a saddle, I'd give Harriet a leg up, holding her foot or her knee in my laced fingers and hoisting her up so that she could swivel into sitting position.

McPhail had moved away but was refusing to leave our presence until he'd seen Harriet was safely on Sadie's back. I had to try.

‘Kate,' Harriet whispered. ‘I don't think we can do it.'

‘We've done it before,' I said in my most soothing voice. ‘You'll have to put your knee in my hands and I'll lift you. All you'll have to do is swing your good leg over.'

‘Ouch!' she cried when we attempted it, and I shushed her. I didn't have the strength to raise her high enough.

McPhail called out, ‘It is no trouble at –'

I cut him off. ‘We are fine!'

We tried once more. Harriet bent her bad leg up and into my cupped hands and grasped the saddle, and I pushed the weight through my legs, propelling her up and off the ground. But she couldn't get into the saddle.

‘Kate, it's no use. I'm too heavy. You can't.'

My face was aflame, my arms ached, and I could not look at her.

I heard her clear her throat and say evenly, ‘Mr McPhail, if you'd be so kind …'

When I turned back I saw that McPhail had moved to Harriet's side. He excused himself quietly and then placed one arm around her waist and the other beneath the backs of her knees to lift her. The pale cotton of Harriet's skirt pushed between his fingers. I wondered if Harriet could feel the heat of his hand, the rough hardness of it, through the layers of cotton, branding her skin.

‘Righto then,' he said, and without any effort at all hoisted her high onto the saddle, holding her there so that she could put a leg either side of Sadie's back.

She nodded to McPhail, and he nodded back. Did some understanding pass between them, or did I imagine that?

Ignoring me altogether he turned back towards the path that led to the jetty, where his boat, and the catch he must have left behind in his hurry, would be waiting.

I was too cross to talk as we rode home. I did not know who I was more angry at: Blackwell for his vulgarity; McPhail for shaming me so; or Harriet for being so precious and twisting that damn ankle in the first place.

THIRTY

H
ARRIET
'
S ANKLE MENDED SLOWLY
,
AND SHE WAS
fretful as she waited for the supply boat to bring the post and word from Melbourne and her beau.

When Captain Patterson did arrive, Harriet almost ripped the mailbag from the poor man's hand as he unloaded the crates.

‘Waiting on a letter?' He smiled as he passed Harriet the canvas sack.

She rummaged through it and finally pulled out an envelope with her name on it, but realised at once it was not the letter she had hoped for. She held it up to me, and I recognised the handwriting.

‘It's from Aunt Cecilia,' she said, deflated.

‘Open it. She might have news of your Patrick?'

But, perhaps sensing the bad news contained within, she refused to read it in my presence and, insulted, I stomped off, taking the rest of the letters up to the station.

I located my father in the lighthouse from the rhythmic bangs ringing out across the station.

‘Mail!' I called, as I ran up the steps.

He was attempting to shift a brass vent that was stuck. ‘I'm making a racket, I'm afraid,' he said. ‘But I'm glad to have some company.' He reached for the packet of letters I offered. ‘What have we here?'

‘I don't know, but Harriet was mightily disappointed with her lot.'

‘Was she now?' he said, smiling gently. ‘And why was that?'

‘She was expecting a letter from her beau in Melbourne.'

‘And it didn't arrive?'

‘No.'

‘Ah,' said Father, setting down the small pile he had rifled through, ‘and nothing is as disappointing as a letter of love gone astray.'

We smiled together, and I asked if I might help him. It was pleasant to spend an hour or two working with him up in the light. There was less expectation on me than when I was working with Mother in the kitchen. There I was always adding too much flour, or had made the oven too cool or too hot. Each reproach from her suggested that she had failed in some way to pass down those kitchen skills and that I might forever be a disappointment if I could not master them. But with Father it was different. I was not required to know the arts of a lighthouse keeper and so it was easy for him to show me and for me to have a play at each task.

We worked together in companionable silence. Him, knocking the brass handle of each vent into place; and me, polishing the next one around with a rag.

‘Did Harriet enjoy Melbourne, then?' he asked.

‘Ever so much. The tales she tells, Father, of the grand buildings and the shops and the ladies in their finery.'

‘Sounds as if you might also like to go to Melbourne?' he said, half laughing, so that I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

‘Of course. But there is no one to have me, and Mother needs me here, does she not?'

Father banged twice, loudly in succession, and I paused in my polishing as I waited for his reply.

‘She does. But these things are not impossible. There's some family in the country, down towards Melbourne. Some day, I suppose, we must arrange that you leave us for a time, even if it is to return as a wife and do as your mother did.'

I thought on his comment as I polished. But try as I might I could not imagine myself as my mother. I wondered what Father would say if he knew of Albert's proposal.

When I came down from the lighthouse and sought out Harriet, I found her inconsolable.

‘Harriet! What is it?' I said as I kneeled down where she sat against the fence of the goat yard.

She turned her head away. I entreated her again and put my hand on her arm, and she thrust a paper at me and said bitterly, ‘He has given me up! That is the news my aunt sends; he is to be married.'

‘Oh, Harriet,' I said as I took the letter from her and scanned its contents.

It was true. Harriet's beau was to be married to a Miss Whitelaw in a winter wedding. Aunt Cecilia had told the news gently but practically, as it seemed there was no way around it. She expressed her surprise – and that of Melbourne society in general – at the announcement, but noted it was considered a good match by all.

‘What a thoughtless man!' I said, sitting next to her and wrapping my arm about her shoulder. ‘You are far better off without such a two-faced brute!'

Harriet lifted her face, which was all puffy with her crying, and wiped her hand across her nose.

‘But he's not, Kate. He's perfectly lovely,' she said, and this started her off crying again.

All I could do was hold her shoulders and wonder how she might break the news to her mother who, I was sure, was already planning a wedding gown, and certainly not that of Miss Whitelaw.

To be spurned in love was a horrid thing, I saw this now. I felt a little tinge of remorse for the way I had treated Albert. We had hardly spoken since the bonfire. I could not imagine that he had shed any tears at my rejection, but I wondered if I had not been too harsh with him. I had not realised that, once I could not turn over the bright little coal of his admiration for me in my mind, I would not feel so good about myself. I wondered whether it might have served us both better if I had encouraged his affection a little longer. I supposed that was as mean a thing as outright rejection, but certainly it would have given us both more pleasure than this cold ignoring of each other had.

I helped Harriet back to the cottage and quietly told Mrs Walker that there was unwelcome news in the letter. Mrs Walker's face fell, and she took a moment before she comforted Harriet. I wondered how many of her own dreams she had invested in her daughter.

My own mother seemed unsurprised when I relayed everything to her as we prepared the vegetables for dinner.

‘She might have expected that of a city boy.' She handled the potatoes roughly and the peel shot off in all directions. ‘Mark my words, they are not to be trusted.'

As I collected the peel in my hands and tidied around her, I wondered if anyone could be trusted at all, when it came to affairs of the heart.