The Fisher Lass (9 page)

‘My word, what have you got, Jeannie, that the rest of the girls round here haven’t?’ Grace teased her archly as they undressed and got into their shared bed that night.
‘He’s never stayed away from the pub and his mates on his first night ashore. And taking you out for a walk, just the two of you.’

In the flickering light from the candle, Jeannie smiled grimly to herself but said nothing. She could hardly tell Grace that they had spent most of the time talking about her and that the
conversation had almost turned into a quarrel.

‘Have you been looking out for our Grace, then?’ had been Tom’s first words. ‘Has she been behaving herself and keeping away from Aggie?’

The familiarity with which Tom spoke of Aggie Turn-bull was not lost on Jeannie, but she made no comment. ‘She’s been out once or twice – to see friends – but she didna
stay out late.’

Tom gave a grunt. ‘Where did she go?’

‘I’ve no idea, Tom. I promised you I’d look out for her, but I’m not her keeper.’ Her anxiety about the girl made her tone sharper than she had intended. She had
tried to keep a watch on Grace, but the girl was as slippery as one of the fish Jeannie gutted each day. Always, it seemed, Grace had a plausible excuse. ‘I was on an errand for me
mam,’ or ‘I had to work late . . .’

When Jeannie had probed about seeing her talking to Francis, even then Grace had had a ready retort. ‘I can hardly snub him if he chooses to speak to me, now can I? His company employs my
father.’

‘I’m sorry, Jeannie, but I worry about her,’ Tom was saying now. ‘She’s only sixteen and a naive sixteen at that. And me mother, well, I think she sees no wrong in
her.’

‘Och, I think your mother knows more than you think,’ Jeannie said, remembering the immediate reaction of Nell Lawrence on the night of the attack when hearing Aggie’s name
mentioned. ‘I think she knows exactly what Aggie Turnbull is. And so does Grace.’

Tom stopped and turned to face her, catching hold of her arm and turning her to face him. ‘What do you mean by that? “What Aggie Turnbull is”?’

She looked up into his face, seeing his fair eyebrows drawn together in a frown. The square of his jawline suddenly hard and his mouth down turned at the corners. For a moment Jeannie stared up
at him and then with deliberate pointedness looked down at the huge hand still grasping her arm. Quickly, he released her and gave a quick, rueful, smile. ‘I’m sorry, Jeannie . .
.’ He ran his hand through his thick, springy fair hair. ‘But I get so wound up when I think about our Grace getting ’ersen into trouble.’

Jeannie felt her head reeling. For a moment, his quick spurt of temper and the sudden disarming apology had reminded her yet again of her own father; the loving, generous man with a heart of
gold had nevertheless had a swift temper but it had always died just as quickly as it had flared.

Now she was just as quick to forgive Tom. ‘It’s all right. I do understand. It must be very difficult for you – and for your father – being away so much, to look after
your womenfolk.’

‘It’s a strange life,’ Tom murmured. ‘Me dad always ses that when you’re at sea you long to be home and when you’re ashore you can’t wait to get back to
sea.’

Jeannie smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness for his words still reminded her of her father. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, a little catch in her voice. ‘That’s what ma
father always said too.’

And suddenly she found herself confiding in Tom, telling him everything that she had told Nell.

‘I used to count the days off on the calendar to him coming home,’ she said softly and her throat constricted at the memories. ‘And then all too soon, he’d be gone and
the counting of the days would start all over again.’

‘And now?’ Tom prompted gently.

Jeannie shook her head and said flatly, ‘He – he hasna come back. Since May, on his first trip out with the herring fleet this year, the – the counting has never
stopped.’

‘Aw Jeannie . . .’ Now the touch on her arm was surprisingly gentle. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry about your dad. I – I thought it was – I mean – I thought you
were waiting, watching for someone special . . .’ He faltered. ‘Y’know – a boyfriend.’

My father was special, she wanted to say, very special, but she said nothing. They walked on together for a while before Tom asked, ‘What are you going to do?’

Jeannie lifted her shoulders in a shrug and there was reluctance in her tone. ‘Go home, I suppose. Eventually.’

‘Is that what you really want to do? I mean, is there someone back home. A feller?’ Again, disappointment clouded his eyes.

Now Jeannie laughed. ‘No, no feller. But there are a lot of friends. People who took care of me when my father was away. Although,’ she hesitated again, ‘my aunt died last
year. Very suddenly, from a stroke.’

‘Do you want to go back?’

There was a pause before Jeannie said slowly, ‘I dinna ken. It’s my home and yet – without my father . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished for she was muddled in her
own mind as to exactly what her feelings really were. Part of her was homesick for Scotland and yet another part of her dreaded having to go back to the house knowing he would never come home
again.

‘Then stay here, Jeannie, with us. Me mam’d love to have you and you’d be a friend for our Grace and . . .’

She looked up at him, a sharp retort on her lips that she had no intention of staying just to be nursemaid for his sister, but then she caught the look in his eyes and there was no mistaking the
sentiment in his next words. ‘. . . And I’d like you to stay too.’

The screams echoed through the house bringing Mr Hathersage and his wife, dressed only in their nightwear, running to the bedroom which Robert and Louise now shared at her
parents’ insistence. Yet it was only to stop the servants gossiping, Robert thought resentfully. No one seemed to be making any real effort to help Louise act like a real wife towards
him.

His blustering father-in-law flung the door open without even knocking. ‘What on earth is going on?’

It was like a scene from a farce, yet no one was laughing. Louise lay on one side of the huge four-poster bed, drumming her heels and wailing whilst Robert slipped from beneath the sheet and
reached for his dressing gown. As he pulled it on to cover his nakedness, Mrs Hathersage rushed forward to gather her child to her ample bosom. Rocking her, she crooned, ‘There, there, my
precious. I’ll not let him hurt you again.’

As the girl’s crying lessened to a hiccupping sob, the mother glared at the two men until they moved away and left the room.

‘Huh, such a carry-on. Come down to the study, boy. I could do with a drink . . .’ Henry Hathersage led the way downstairs, his bare feet and ankles poking out comically from beneath
his white nightshirt.

In the book-lined study that reeked of its owner’s stale tobacco smoke, Robert sat in one of the leather armchairs. His father-in-law poked the fire into life. ‘Doesn’t look as
if you’re going to give me a grandson at this rate, m’boy. What are we going to do about it, eh?’

When Robert made no reply, the older man turned towards the array of bottles on the sideboard. ‘Mind if I make a suggestion, young feller?’

‘No,’ was Robert’s toneless reply.

Mr Hathersage came and stood in front of him holding out a glass with a inch of amber liquid in the bottom.

‘Go and see Aggie.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ Robert burst out without pausing to think. ‘You’re as bad as my brother.’

‘Eh?’ The older man sat in the chair opposite. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Robert sat forward, placed his drink on the small side table and leant his elbows on his knees. With a groan he dropped his head into his hands. ‘Oh hell, what a mess!’

‘Come now, my boy. It’s not as bad as all that. Why, I remember . . .’ Mr Hathersage made a coughing noise and changed the direction of his sentence. ‘I’ve told you
before, this is a common thing with the ladies, especially a young, sheltered girl like our Louise.’

Slowly Robert raised his head and looked at his father-in-law with a haunted, haggard expression in his eyes. ‘Does she know nothing? About – about that side of married
life?’

Mr Hathersage cleared his throat again noisily. ‘Evidently not. My wife – er – finds such matters indelicate and could not bring herself to talk to the girl. Pity. It’s
hardly fair on you.’ He shot Robert a keen glance. ‘You – I take it – have little experience with women?’

Robert gave an involuntary shudder, remembering.

‘What did you mean? About your brother?’ Mr Hathersage persisted. When Robert did not reply, the older man’s tone became coaxing. ‘Come on, my boy, this is man to man
stuff. It’ll go no further than these four walls. I promise you.’

Still Robert hesitated. It seemed ironic to confide such a thing to the father of his bride. And yet, the young man thought, it would be a relief to speak of it. He let out a huge sigh and began
to relate the shameful details of the night before his wedding.

‘Ha!’ Mr Hathersage slapped his knee with the flat of his hand. ‘Francis took you to Aggie’s, did he? Didn’t I say that’s what you ought to do. She knows a
thing or two about how to please a man, does Aggie.’

Slowly Robert raised his head and was appalled to see his father-in-law give him a broad wink.

‘And as for the girl, well, if she wasn’t one of Aggie’s girls then she should have known better than to be in that street, specially at night.’ Mr Hathersage dismissed
the whole incident as being of no consequence.‘Your brother had the right idea, m’boy. You go back to Aggie’s.’ He tapped his forefinger against the side of his nose.
‘But not a word to our ladies, eh?’

Sickened, Robert got to his feet, sorry now that he had foolishly confided in his father-in-law. ‘Thank you for the drink, sir.’

‘All right, m’boy. All right. And think about what I said, eh?’

Robert nodded, turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He had no intention of going anywhere near Aggie Turnbull’s. Instead, he decided, he would try to talk to his
wife. Perhaps, if he was very gentle with her, they could learn together. It was worth a try.

And she was not the only girl he wanted to talk to. He had still not had a chance to explain everything to that red-haired beauty, Grace Lawrence’s avenging angel, Jeannie Buchanan.

‘The boats are in. The boats are in.’ The cry, and the excitement that the words always brought, rippled around the docks and the neighbouring streets. No one ever
quite knew how it happened, but the news spread like a tidal wave, bringing wives, sweethearts, children, sometimes whole families, to the dockside to watch the armada of boats coming home with the
tide.

It was not the herring fleet now that had appeared on the horizon this time, for they had moved southwards, but the home fleet of Havelock trawlers. Since Tom had last been ashore, Jeannie had
found work alongside Grace, as a filleter, and now the two girls, in their break, stood watching the ships draw near.

‘Me mam’s still busy with a net, so I’ve come to see me dad’s boat come in. And Tom’s too.’

Jeannie was looking forward to seeing them both, the big man with his loud laugh and bluff affection, but especially Tom with his lopsided grin.

‘Are they on different boats again?’ Jeannie asked.

‘Yes. Tom’s still on the
Hathersage Enterprise
. He ses he won’t go back on a Gorton ship.’ Her face expressionless and without a trace of emotion in her voice,
Grace nodded towards a building behind them. ‘But they’re all here today. I wonder why?’

Jeannie turned to see five men standing on the steps. They were all in formal suits with high-standing collars and black ties and the two older men had moustaches, twisted into points at either
side.

Involuntarily, Jeannie felt her jaw harden. ‘Two I know,’ she said, her voice tight as she recognized Francis and Robert Hayes-Gorton. ‘The third young man must be their
brother, Edwin.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Who are the two older men?’

‘The one standing next to Mr Robert is his father, Mr Samuel Hayes-Gorton. The other is Mr Hathersage.’

Jeannie turned her gaze away from the men for a moment and looked at Grace. Bluntly, she said, ‘I saw you talking to Mr Francis a while back?’ Sarcasm crept into her tone. ‘Was
he apologizing?’

Grace’s face was suddenly bright red as colour flooded it. ‘Oh Jeannie, please don’t make any more trouble. It was nothing. Honest. He’s always around the docks,
specially when the fisher lasses are here. He’s just a flirt. We all know what he is. And don’t say anything to me dad. Please? Or to Tom.’

‘We-ell,’ Jeannie said slowly, trying to stop the teasing smile twitching her mouth. ‘Just so long as you do as your mother says and keep away from Aggie’s.’ Then
she allowed her generous mouth to curve in a mischievous smile. ‘But d’you know, I keep hearing about this Aggie Turnbull. Her name seems to keep cropping up. I’ve seen her, but
only at a distance. One of these days I’ll have to meet her. I’m quite looking forward to it.’

‘Oh you!’ Grace said good-naturedly. She linked her arm through Jeannie’s. ‘Come on, let’s go and meet Tom. That’s his boat just coming in now.’

Tom was first off the boat, clambering down the ladder almost before the ship had settled its prow gently against the side of the jetty.

‘He seems in a hurry,’ Jeannie murmured, puzzled by the young man’s haste. There seemed an air of agitation about him and his face was set in a grim frown.

‘I don’t think he’s seen us,’ Grace said in surprise. Obviously she had thought that her brother’s haste was because he had seen them waiting for him, but as his
feet hit the solid mass of the quay, he began to run, a little unsteadily at first, towards the dock office.

‘Tom. Tom!’ Grace shouted and began to push her ways towards him, with Jeannie in her wake.

The young man halted and turned to face them. At once, Jeannie could see the anxiety in his eyes.

‘Jeannie, oh Jeannie. You’re still here.’ Tom came to her and put his arms about her, burying his face in her neck, not caring who saw.