The Fisher Lass (18 page)

With her mouth set in a grim line, Jeannie had wrapped the pretty straw hat in tissue paper and placed it in a box on top of the wardrobe. She no longer wanted to set eyes on it, for it was a
reminder that, until Tom came home from the sea again, the only money coming into the household would be earned by the three women in it.

With Tom away and Nell still mourning, Jeannie felt she should find out just where it was that Grace was going night after night. Besides, it was what Tom wanted of her.

She had been a little hurt by his parting words. She had gone to the dockside to see him off. ‘You will take care of yourself, Tom, won’t you?’ she had said, sudden fear
gripping her.

‘Don’t you worry about me, Jeannie. I’ll be fine. Now I’ve got something – or rather someone – to come home to.’ The smile had begun on Jeannie’s
mouth but it froze as Tom spoilt the loving words by adding, ‘And knowing you’re there to take care of Mam and Grace, well, I shan’t worry so much when I’m at
sea.’

So now, Jeannie told herself, she had every right to question Grace.

‘It’s none of your business,’ the girl snapped back.

‘Well, I’m making it my business. You’re not being fair to your poor mother. Nor Tom either, now he’s head of the family.’ She knew it was cruel to make a
reference, even a veiled one, to George Lawrence’s death, but desperate situations required desperate measures. ‘He feels responsible for you. You’re still only
sixteen.’

‘I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just going to a friend’s, that’s all.’

‘Who? Who is this friend?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ Grace said again.

‘Is it Jane?’

There was a guarded look in the girl’s eyes and she avoided meeting Jeannie’s gaze. ‘It might be.’

‘Oh well, if that’s how you feel, you’d better get on with it.’ Exasperated, Jeannie turned away. Deliberately, feigning disinterest now, she made up her mind to follow
the girl the very next time she left the house. She was worried about Grace and now it was more than just Tom’s request that she should look after his sister. Just lately the girl had seemed
thin and pale.

‘Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ she’d asked her countless times, but each time Grace shrugged off her concern.

‘I’m just tired, Jeannie. I feel the cold so at work, you know.’

Jeannie did know. For anyone not as healthy as herself, she could well understand how the cold seeped through the fingers until there was no feeling left and the slicing and filleting became
merely a series of repetitive movements that they could do in their sleep.

That evening when Grace went out, Jeannie waited a few moments and then followed her. Pulling her shawl around her head and shoulders, Jeannie bent her head against the wind whipping down the
wet street and hurried after the figure ahead of her, yet minding to keep her distance.

At the end of their street, Grace turned to the right and then, passing by the next turning, turned right again. Jeannie hovered on the corner. This was the street where she had first
encountered Grace, where the attack had taken place.

This was Harbour Road where Aggie Turnbull lived. Surely . . .? In the darkness, Jeannie squinted to see where Grace went. She saw the girl hesitate about half-way down and glance around her as
if to make sure no one was watching. Jeannie drew further back into the shadows of the house on the corner. Then, as she watched, she saw Grace bend her head and scuttle into a passageway between
two houses. Leaving her hiding place, Jeannie walked swiftly down the street in time to hear, in the stillness of the damp night, voices and laughter coming from the back-yard of the house as the
door was opened to let Grace in.

Jeannie stood in the darkness, biting her lower lip, uncertain, now, as to what to do next. She was sure that this was Aggie Turnbull’s house. What could she do? What ought she to do?
Should she knock on the door right now and demand Grace to come home? Should she go back and tell Nell just where her foolish, wayward daughter was? But her mind shied away from that. Nell was
still mourning the loss of her beloved husband. Jeannie could not bear to bring further trouble to her unless it became absolutely necessary. And with Tom now away at sea again, the burden of
responsibility fell upon her.

As she stood debating, Jeannie heard the sounds of a motor car in the distance, but for a moment she took little notice. Then she realized that the sound was coming closer, that the vehicle was
turning into this street. Anxious not to be thought loitering, especially outside the house of Aggie Turnbull, Jeannie bent her head and hurried back to the corner where once again she paused in
the shadows and peered round the end house to watch.

The motor drew to a halt outside Aggie’s house and the noise died away. As the man stepped from it, Jeannie inched forward, but she could not see him clearly, only his shape. Tall, with a
slim build, the man was dressed in an evening cape and top hat. He went towards the front door of the house and rapped smartly on it with his cane, the sound echoing along the street.

Has he no shame, she thought, to be seen knocking at the door of that house? Obviously not, she answered herself, as she crept closer. The door opened and light and laughter from the house
flooded into the street. Nearer now, and with his features illuminated in the seconds before he stepped into the house and the door closed behind him, Jeannie recognized him.

Francis Hayes-Gorton.

That did it! Now, without a moment’s hesitation, Jeannie marched up to the front door and banged on it with her fist. ‘Open this door. Open this door at once, d’you hear
me.’

The door was flung back and Jeannie, her arm raised to knock upon it again, almost fell forward. She clutched at the door frame to steady herself and blinked in the sudden light. Before her
stood Francis in the action of taking off his cloak and hat. He turned and a smile twisted his mouth. ‘Oho, Mrs Jeannie Lawrence, if I’m not mistaken. Come to join the fun whilst your
man is away at sea. Come in, my dear, come in . . .’ He made a motion towards her with his hand inviting her to step inside but Jeannie stood resolutely on the doorstep. Then her glance went
beyond him to where the staircase rose behind him. At the top, dressed in a shiny, red satin evening gown, with diamonds glittering at her throat, stood Grace. She was descending the stairs, her
gaze upon Francis Hayes-Gorton and seeing the look on the girl’s face, Jeannie gasped.

Grace had the rapturous look of a young girl hopelessly and helplessly besotted by the young man standing at the foot of the stairs.

Francis shrugged. ‘Oh well, if you won’t join in the fun, then . . .’ He turned towards Grace and took her outstretched hand in his. Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed
them and then glanced, with a sly, triumphant look, over his shoulder at Jeannie. ‘See what you’re missing.’

Then Jeannie lunged forward. ‘I see what I’m missing, all right,’ she muttered and grasped Grace’s arm, dragging her away from Francis. Because her move had been so swift
and unexpected, she managed to pull the girl towards the door and almost had her across the threshold and out into the night, before anyone realized what was happening. But then, Grace resisted,
pulling against Jeannie’s grasp and at the same moment Francis stepped forward and gripped Jeannie’s wrist so fiercely that the feeling went from her hand and her hold on Grace
slackened.

‘Trying to play the avenging angel again, are we, Mrs Lawrence?’ he said through thin, tight lips. ‘I think you should let Grace decide whether she wants to go or stay,
don’t you?’

In the red heat of anger, Jeannie faced him boldly. ‘No, I don’t. She’s only a girl. Scarcely more than a bairn.’ She became aware that others had appeared at the top of
the stairs, and behind them, emerging from the front room, was Aggie herself. Now, Jeannie turned on her. She opened her mouth to scream a tirade of abuse at the woman, but instead she found
herself forestalled as Aggie smiled and, stepping forward, put her arm about Grace’s shoulder. In a husky voice, she said, ‘I think you should go home with your sister-in-law, my
dear.’

But Grace interrupted. ‘No,’ she shouted, pulling herself free. She stepped close to Francis, putting her cheek against his chest and her arms about his waist. ‘No, I want to
stay here.’ She stared boldly at Jeannie and added defiantly, ‘All night.’

Jeannie knew her mouth dropped open. She was shocked and, suddenly, very afraid.

Now she tried the softer approach, making her tone a gentle appeal. ‘Grace, please. Just come home. Your mother will be worried.’

For a moment there was a haunted look of doubt in the girl’s eyes. And guilt. Yes, Jeannie could see it. Guilt. Suddenly, with a woman’s intuition, Jeannie knew there was something
very wrong. Her voice low, she held out her hand towards Grace and said, ‘Grace, we’ll help you. We’ll stand by you.’

The girl’s eyes widened and she whispered, ‘How – how did you know?’

Jeannie’s heart was heavy within her chest. She hadn’t known, not really. But she had guessed and sadly, it seemed, she was right.

She saw Francis stiffen as he looked down at the girl snuggling so close to him. ‘What? What do you mean?’

Grace looked up into his face and Jeannie saw again the look of adoration and she groaned inwardly. Grace idolized this man. Her face was shining with happiness now as she said, ‘I’m
to have your child, Francis. Isn’t it wonderful?’

All around them there was a silence, as if everyone listening were holding their breath. Although her gaze was upon Grace and Francis, Jeannie was aware that Aggie gave a little gasp and her
hand fluttered to cover her mouth. She, too, was staring at the couple and Jeannie was sure she heard the woman breathe, ‘No, oh no.’

Well, at least we’re in agreement on that, Jeannie thought grimly.

Francis’s eyes narrowed and his mouth was hard. Suddenly, his handsome face was ugly. He pushed Grace from him and then gripped her wrists savagely, shaking her and bending towards her,
hissing in her face, ‘Don’t you try to pull that one with me, you little whore.’

Grace’s eyes were wide, her mouth dropping open. ‘But – but Francis . . .’

With a vicious movement, he flung her away from him so that she fell backwards, losing her balance, and before anyone could move to help her, she had fallen heavily against the wall, cracking
her head. Slowly, she slithered down into an ungainly heap on the floor. Her head lolled forward and she tipped to one side.

At once, Jeannie and Aggie rushed forward and knelt either side of the girl. Aggie ran her fingers over the girl’s scalp. ‘There’s no cut,’ she said, ‘but
she’ll have a nasty bruise.’

Grace moaned and her eyelids fluttered.

‘Let me help you up—’ Jeannie began, but Aggie said at once, ‘No, don’t move her for a moment.’

Suddenly, they felt a draught of cold air and heard the front door slam behind them. The two women glanced at each other.

‘Good riddance,’ Aggie muttered and bent over Grace, stroking the girl’s face with such a gesture of tenderness that Jeannie was mystified.

‘Here,’ a voice spoke behind them and Jeannie turned to see that one of the other girls was holding out a glass of water.

‘Thank you.’ Gently Aggie raised the girl’s head and shoulders. Cradling her against her breast, Aggie took the glass and held it to Grace’s lips. The girl’s face
was deathly pale, the bright red lipstick a smudged gash across her mouth.

As consciousness returned, she drank the water and then she pressed her face into Aggie’s bosom and wept.

‘Tom . . .’ She put her hand out towards him.

‘Jeannie!’ The smile spread across his face to see her standing there, waiting for him, and he dropped his bag to the ground and held out both his arms. Jeannie went into them, but,
whilst submitting to his kiss of greeting, she held herself back a little from him. Feeling her reserve he looked down at her and said at once, ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

‘Tom, I’m sorry to greet you with bad news . . .’

His eyes darkened with anguish. ‘What is it? Not Mam? Oh she isn’t . . . She hasn’t done something silly?’

Jeannie blinked and looked up at him in astonishment. ‘Do something silly? Your mother?’ she countered sharply. ‘Never! She’s a Scot, Tom Lawrence, and dinna you forget
it.’

For a moment a wry smile twitched his mouth and he made a fair impression of the Scottish brogue. ‘Och, Ah’m no’ likely to, the noo.’ But then his face sobered again as
he asked again, ‘Then what is it?’

‘Two pieces of news, really. One is, I’m sorry to say, bad news. The other – well – I hope you’ll think it good.’

Tom sighed. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, woman. Let’s have the bad first then.’

‘It’s – it’s Grace. She’s expecting.’

Tom’s mouth dropped open and he stared at his wife without saying a word. When he did speak his voice was a hoarse, strangulated whisper. ‘Pregnant? Our Grace has got ’ersen
pregnant? Oh, no . . .’ He shook his head violently now, as if the very idea was unthinkable. He pulled away from Jeannie. ‘No, no, I don’t believe it.’ He paused a moment
and then said viciously, ‘I bet it’s him again, isn’t it? She’s been attacked, raped. That’s what’ll have happened. By God, if only me dad was still here,
he’d . . .’ He turned and took a few steps forward and then stopped, swaying for a moment as did most fishermen when they stepped on to firm land after weeks at sea. Then Jeannie saw
his shoulders slump as if in defeat. The drive to do something, to take some action, lasted only seconds with Tom Lawrence.

He half-turned back towards her. ‘Who is it?’ He asked flatly. ‘Do you know who the father is? Will he marry her?’

‘I do know who he is, but no, he won’t marry her.’

His haunted eyes met her steady gaze. ‘Who is it? Is it him? Hayes-Gorton?’

Jeannie swallowed. ‘Not the one you’re thinking. It’s the other one, Francis.’

He stared at her and then repeated incredulously, ‘Francis? Francis Hayes-Gorton. You mean he – he attacked her?’

‘No – no.’ Swiftly, Jeannie shook her head and then looked down at the ground. This part was even more difficult than the first, awful news. ‘Grace fancies herself in
love with him. She’s been meeting him secretly.’