The Fisher Lass (6 page)

They couldn’t stay until the boat nosed its way from the jetty towards the dock gates but they watched him climb the ladder and jump aboard the
Sea Spray
.

As they turned away they saw Tom hurrying towards them.

‘I can’t stop,’ he said. ‘I should be aboard, but . . .’ He turned to Jeannie. ‘You’ll still be here when we get back?’

‘I dinna ken,’ Jeannie said quietly and her glance flickered beyond Tom’s shoulder across the grey water to the Havelock boats moving out into the mouth of the Humber and
towards the sea until they became distant specks on the horizon.

Tom, misreading her thoughts, said, ‘If you’re looking for the Scottish drifters, they were first out on the tide this morning. But they’ll be back. They’ll be using this
port for a week or two yet, I reckon.’

‘Uh?’ She dragged her wandering thoughts back to the young man standing in front of her. ‘Och no, it’s no’ that. I mean, I wasna looking for the herring boats. At
least,’ her voice dropped to a mere whisper, ‘not the ones that have just left.’

She said no more and avoided meeting Tom’s eyes until his deep voice, the disappointment evident in its tone, asked gently, ‘What are you watching for then? Or is it some
one
you’re watching out for? Is that it, Jeannie?’

Now she had to meet his gaze and, though she tried to smile, she knew the haunted look was deep in her eyes.

Tom put out his huge hand and suddenly gripped hers. ‘Tell me? What is it?’

There was a shout from a man standing midway up the gangway leading on to a ship. ‘The gates’ll be closing in half an hour, Tom.’

Jeannie heard his sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll have to go . . .’ Again he gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘I – I hope you’re still here when we get back. And
Jeannie, there’s just one more thing. Look out for my little sister here, while I’m gone?’ He smiled down at Grace and tweaked her nose playfully. ‘I wish we weren’t
sailing today but I can’t let me mates down. I’m just glad I’ve managed to get on a Hathersage boat this trip and not a Gorton.’ Suddenly there was a dark anger in his eyes.
‘That bastard is going to pay for what he did. Me dad – nor me – aren’t going to forget.’

And then he was gone, striding along the quay and running up the gangway and on to the
Hathersage Enterprise
.

She was still standing watching when Grace touched her arm and said, ‘We’d best get back to work, else you’ll lose your place.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘There’s
allus plenty of local lasses without steady work trying to get into a team while the herring girls are here.’

Jeannie gave one last glance towards the trawlers and then hurried after Grace. ‘Doesna your mother come down to see them away?’

Grace shook her head. ‘She’s too busy. She’s got to braid a net – part of a cod net, that is – in two days. She’ll still be at it when we get home tonight.
You’ll see.’

And Jeannie did see, for when she unwound the ties from her fingers and walked wearily through the gathering dusk to Baldock Street, it was to find Nell Lawrence standing before the kitchen wall
from which hung a fishing net, growing longer under her nimble fingers. Jeannie watched in fascination as the braiding needle flashed in and out of the mesh.

‘I’m sorry, hen,’ Nell said, her hands never slowing in their task. ‘I havena had time to get you a meal ready.’

Grace winked at Jeannie. ‘That’s all right, Mam. You carry on. Me an’ Jeannie’ll get the supper, but you must stop and have a bite.’ The girl, now fully recovered
from her ordeal of the previous night, wagged her finger playfully at her mother. ‘I bet you’ve never stopped all day to eat, have you?’

Nell chuckled and shook her head. ‘This net willna braid itsel’, hen.’

Jeannie moved closer, watching, and when Grace went from the kitchen into the back scullery, Nell asked in a low voice, ‘Has she been all right today, Jeannie?’

‘What? Och aye. She seems fine now. She seems to have got over it very quickly.’

Nell’s lips compressed into a tight line. ‘Only thanks to you coming along in time, hen. It might have been very different if . . .’ She stopped and then shrugged her shoulders
and said, ‘Well, let’s just be thankful you did. We’ll think no more of it now and I just hope it’ll all be forgotten by the time the men come home again.’

Jeannie turned away, anxious that Mrs Lawrence should not see the doubt in her eyes. She was sure that Tom would not forget Mr Robert Hayes-Gorton and his friends and what they had tried to do
to his sister.

News of the grand wedding was the talk of the fish dock for days. Gossip filtered back from the domestic staff who worked at the Hathersage mansion.

‘It was a lovely wedding,’ Mary told them dreamily. ‘And they’ve gone away on honeymoon now. For a whole month.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The daughter where I’m lodging is a maid at the Hathersages’ place and she was telling her mother all about it. Their servants have been run off their feet for weeks before,
but she said it was worth it. Miss Louise looked a picture, Annie said. She wore a cream ankle-length gown with gold embroidery and beading round the neckline and hems. And she had a long train
from the shoulders . . .’ Mary swept her hand down the length of her own body to demonstrate. ‘The edges were decorated to match the dress. And white silk stockings.’ She sighed.
‘Och, what I wouldna give to wear white silk stockings.’

‘Dinna forget, Mary, that Aggie Turnbull and her like wear white silk stockings,’ put in a voice at the next trough and Mary shot a venomous glance at the girl, who only laughed and
nudged her companion. ‘Our Mary gets carried away with herself and her dreams of living in high society.’

Mary sniffed contemptuously and turned her gaze away, determined not to let anyone spoil her romantic fantasies. Then she looked down wistfully at her rough clothes and at her hands bound with
the ragged tapes. ‘I dinna think anyone will ever say that about me. That I look “a picture”.’

Flora sniffed. ‘Shouldna think little Miss Louise has ever had to lift her dainty fingers to do a stroke of work in her life. ’Tis nothing to be proud of, leading such an idle
life.’

‘I could get used to it,’ Mary grinned, her natural resilience and good humour rising to the surface once more. ‘Married to Robert Hayes-Gorton, I could get used to
anything,’ she added, rolling her eyes comically so that all her workmates laughed.

Only Jeannie Buchanan did not join in their laughter, pressing her lips together to keep them from opening and spilling out exactly what she thought about the man who seemed to hold such a
fascination for Mary Fraser.

On the second morning of their honeymoon, Robert Hayes-Gorton stood at the bedroom window overlooking Lake Windermere. The pale, early sun was just rising over the hills
filtering gentle streaks of light across the water. The lake was peaceful, so opposite to the tumult going on inside the unhappy young man’s mind. His gaze was upon the tranquil scene, yet he
hardly took in the view.

He was reliving the night. The horror of it. Inside his head he could still hear Louise’s hysterical screaming that had not subsided until he had given his solemn pledge never to try to
touch his wife again.

It had begun with such promise. The previous night – their first as man and wife – had been idyllic. As they had driven away from the reception in Samuel Gorton’s motor car,
Louise had been laughing and flirtatious, waving happily to all their guests as the motor rounded the bend in the driveway of her home and turned into the road. Then she had tucked her arm through
Robert’s as his hands rested on the wheel and snuggled her head against his shoulder. ‘My husband,’ she had murmured. ‘My handsome husband.’

That evening, they had dined in the small hotel where they were to stay for the first night. There were few other guests in the dining room, but Louise had sparkled and chattered throughout the
meal.

‘Weren’t the bridesmaids pretty? Did you like my friend, Madeleine?’ Robert opened his mouth to reply with a dutiful compliment, but Louise carried on, almost without pausing
for breath. Her questions, it seemed to Robert, did not require an answer.

‘She’s my very best friend. She’s asked us to go up to London and stay with her any time we like. Won’t that be fun, darling? And Francis made a wonderful best man.
He’s very handsome, isn’t he, with that fair hair and pointed moustache? Has he got a girlfriend? I’m surprised he wasn’t the first to get married.’

‘He’s not the marrying kind,’ Robert put in, ‘so he says.’

Louise’s laugh tinkled merrily. ‘Oh, they all say that, but he’ll change his mind, once he meets the right girl.’ Coyly, she put her head on one side. ‘Just like
you.’

Robert smiled and reached across the table to touch her hand.

Later, as he slipped into bed beside her, she nestled against him. Knowing how tired they both were, he held her, kissed her gently but tried nothing more. Time enough, he told himself, even
though the feel of the girl aroused him.

But last night, here in the hotel overlooking the lake where they were to spend the first two weeks of their honeymoon, he had taken her in his arms, his kisses becoming more passionate. His
trembling fingers tugged at the front of her nightdress and at once she shrank from him.

‘What are you doing, Robert?’

‘You’re my wife, Louise. You know what happens, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean “what happens”?’

‘When a man and woman are married. You know about – well – that?’ There was a silence until he added, with a growing sense of disappointment, ‘Don’t
you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He released her then and rolled on to his back, letting out a great sigh. ‘Oh,’ was all he said, his voice flat.

There was silence as they lay side by side in the huge bed. Then she stirred beside him, raising herself on one elbow and leaning towards him, she said softly, ‘You can show me, if you
like.’

Hope surged within him and he reached out for her again, pulling her to him. ‘I’ll not hurt you,’ he murmured, kissing her gently. ‘I promise . . .’

His kiss became more urgent as his ardour heightened. He unfastened the front of her nightdress and buried his face in the soft fullness of her breasts and he moaned with pleasure, kissing and
caressing. Then he was tugging at her nightdress again, pulling it up, his hand seeking her private place, his fingers searching.

‘No, no, you mustn’t do that. It’s . . .’

But his urgency was too far gone now for him to pull back. He was astride her, lying on top of her, spreading her legs apart with his knees.

‘No, no, Robert. You’re hurting me. No, no!’ She was pushing against him and her voice was loud and frightened.

And then suddenly it was as if he were back in the alleyway and beneath him someone was screaming. He almost felt the hand on his shoulder once more pulling him away.

His passion died and he was still, lying heavily on top of Louise, who was crying hysterically, ‘You’re hurting me.’

He rolled off her to his own side of the bed and lay staring up into the darkness, listening to his child-bride sobbing beside him.

And out of the blackness of the night, yet again, came the voice. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘What were you doing at Aggie Turnbull’s place that night anyway?’ After a few days when Grace seemed to have recovered from the incident, Jeannie felt able
to ask the question.

The girl glanced at her quickly and then her gaze fell away. ‘I’d – er – just been round to see Aggie. Y’know.’

‘Are you friendly with her then?’

‘It’s – it’s . . .’ Grace hesitated and Jeannie had the feeling that she was trying to scrabble around her mind for some plausible excuse. A defensive note crept
into Grace’s tone. ‘Aggie’s all right. Really she is. She’s kind and friendly and – well – fun.’

‘But your mother doesna approve.’

Grace looked at her and then suddenly she moved closer, glancing about her to be sure they could not be overheard. ‘If I tell you summat, will you promise not – not to tell me
mam?’

Jeannie studied the girl’s young face, but she could not be less than honest. ‘I canna promise you that until I know what it is.’

Grace blinked and faltered, ‘Oh. Oh, then it’s best you don’t know.’ She half-turned away, but Jeannie caught hold of her arm. ‘Be careful what you’re getting
into, Grace. Aggie’s house may seem like good fun, but . . .’ Suddenly, Jeannie felt older than her eighteen years and much older than the naive sixteen-year-old standing beside her.
Surely, she thought, living in this area, knowing Aggie Turnbull all her life, Grace could not be so ignorant? If she were, then Nell had kept her unenlightened deliberately. But there were
consequences to be paid for for being overprotective. That ignorance could lead Grace into danger.

The young girl shook her head and at her next words, Jeannie knew a sense of partial relief. ‘Oh, I know what Aggie Turnbull is.’ A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.
‘Everybody round here knows that. It’s a wonder there isn’t a pathway worn in the road by the number of fellers who make a beeline to her door when the boats come in. Aye,
an’ not only the single fellers either. There’s married ones an’ all whose wives don’t . . .’ Mischief danced in Grace’s eyes. ‘Make ’em welcome
home, if you get my meaning.’

So, Jeannie thought with amusement, Grace was far from being as naive as she had imagined.

‘But,’ the girl went on, giving a mock shudder of disapproval, ‘don’t think I’m getting into anything like that. It’s just that – well – I can
meet me friends at Aggie’s.’

Jeannie frowned, her mind racing and, quick to understand the underlying meaning to Grace’s words, she said, her mouth tight, ‘You mean, friends your mother wouldna approve
of?’

Again the quick glance and then away again. ‘She doesn’t approve of me having boyfriends. Ses I’m too young.’ Now Grace flapped her hand at Jeannie, ‘Oh, now look
what you’ve made me do.’ Angry tears shone in her eyes. ‘You’ve wheedled it out of me and you’ll go and tell me mam and . . .’