The Girl From Seaforth Sands (7 page)

At six o’ clock, tired but happy, the Logans and Paddy trailed home. Paddy carried, slung over one shoulder, a string of three decent-sized codling and was in a boastful and triumphant mood. He had caught two of the three fish himself, despite his inferior fishing tackle, and could hardly wait to show off his catch. Amy guessed that he did not intend to tell anyone that Philip had caught the largest fish but would take credit for all three. Though she would have liked to sneer, she thoroughly understood how Paddy felt; in the circumstances she knew she would have done the same herself.

They had parted from Philip some time earlier. He had taken his own catch of two fine plaice back with him, though he had tried to persuade either the Logans or Paddy to take them as a gift. Albert had pointed out that the Logans had all the fish they needed and Paddy, who was a realist, had also refused the offer – three codling was praiseworthy, but add two large plaice to his bag and even the fondest relative might show some incredulity. So
Philip had taken his catch home, along with an empty picnic, for the goodies which cook had packed so carefully had been eaten long since.

Mary remembered the meal with awe and pleasure. It was the first time she and Amy had met Philip, and now, making their way home, she turned to her sister. ‘Well, Amy? Enjoy yourself?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I did.’ Amy sighed. ‘That Philip’s all right, wouldn’t you say, Mary? He handed out his grub like a right one and wasn’t it grand grub, too? I’m sure none of us have eaten like that, except at Christmas. Why, he thought no more of cold ham than if it’d been bread!’

‘Oh, Amy, you don’t judge a fella by his carry-out,’ Mary said reproachfully. ‘He liked you, though. He said you were a spunky kid.’

Amy giggled. ‘I’m a wet one,’ she observed. ‘But I’m drying out nicely.’

Mary gave a little smile and then, rather adroitly she thought, changed the subject but inside her head she went on thinking about Philip. She thought he liked her – for they had talked easily and pleasantly while they waited for the young ones to return for their dinner – though he had not called her a spunky kid. He had called her a young lady and Mary, just beginning to be conscious of her pretty looks, thought this a far more valuable compliment. Secretly she thought him easily the nicest boy she had ever met. He had talked gravely, too, in a way which was somehow so friendly and pleasant that she was sure he liked her more than he could possibly have liked Amy, who was still a child, after all.

Glancing ahead of her at Paddy’s lopsided figure, weighed down by his string of fish, Mary reflected
that to have Philip’s friendship would be a good deal more welcome than the obvious admiration which Paddy often showed. The younger boy was always hanging around their house, bringing Mary small, unwanted gifts. She knew he constantly praised her to Albert, while equally constantly running Amy down, for there was no doubt that Paddy Keagan truly disliked her small sister. Unfortunately this dislike seemed totally irrational and, though Mary had attempted to reason with him once or twice, Paddy persisted in being horrid to Amy whenever an opportunity occurred. Philip, Mary reminded herself now, had teased and laughed at Amy that very afternoon, but it had been the teasing of one friend to another with none of the malice Paddy showed towards the younger girl.

All the while Mary’s thoughts had been busy, Amy had been chattering blithely away, but now she turned to her older sister and asked curiously, ‘What did you really think of Philip? What did you talk about when we were catching fish?’

‘I thought he was nice,’ Mary said cautiously. She did not intend to tell her small sister that she thought Philip quite as handsome as any of the stars she saw at the Rotunda, acting their parts on the wide stage. ‘He’s a good friend for Albert and Paddy. I’ve seen him in church, of course, but we’ve never talked before. And it was ever so interesting, Amy. They live in an even bigger house in Manchester than the Seaforth one. The Grimshaws have heaps of money. Philip goes to boarding school – a really expensive one – and they have maids and servants and ponies of their own. They’ve got relatives in London who have them to stay whenever the Grimshaws want to visit the capital. Why, Philip told me that his
grandparents are taking them up to London to see the coronation decorations. They’re going tomorrow on the train and staying for two nights with his Uncle Richard and Aunt Mabel. His mam and dad go off to foreign parts most summers – aren’t they lucky, Amy? I’d give a lot to see all those arches and lights and stuff, wouldn’t you? And I’d love to go to foreign parts. He said something about Paris.’

‘Oh aye,’ Amy said indifferently. Happily skipping down the jigger beside Mary, it was clear that the younger girl had forgotten the state of her clothing and the row that would probably follow her appearance in the kitchen. She had had a lovely day, Mary thought indulgently, and hurried to catch up with her sister so that they both entered the kitchen together. Isobel would be brimming with talk of the celebrations and, with a bit of luck, the girls could get up to their room and change into clean clothes before their mother noticed Amy’s dishevelment. If they hurried across to the stairs . . .

The ruse worked, Isobel merely turning from the range to tell them to hurry for the meal was almost ready. Mary, getting out clean calico aprons and fresh gingham skirts for them both, reminded herself that dreaming about a friendship with Philip really wasn’t practical. Apart from the fact that he only came to Seaforth during the summer holidays, their different circumstances would, in any case, keep them apart. So she put him firmly out of her mind, changed into her clean clothes and went downstairs to help serve the meal.

Philip entered the big house by a side door. In the small cloakroom he kicked off his boots and took off his jacket before taking his fish through to the
kitchens. Cook was standing by the sink, supervising one of the kitchen maids who was scrubbing potatoes with zest and throwing the cleaned ones into a large enamel saucepan which stood on the draining board.

‘Well, you
have
had a good day, Master Philip,’ Mrs Darwin said, staring admiringly at the large plaice. ‘Pity you’re off t’ London tomorrow or I could have fried them for you and Miss Laura to have for your dinners. You can’t have ’em tonight ’cause I’m roastin’ a couple of nice capons, since your gran’s asked the Frobishers to dinner.’

The maid, standing at the sink, turned and looked from Philip to the fish and back again. ‘You could have ’em for a fish course, Mrs D,’ she suggested. ‘Cut ’em into strips and curled round the way you do, wi’ a bit o’ lemon on the top and a nice white sauce. That always goes down well.’

‘No, I’m doing raspberry sorbet,’ Mrs Darwin told her. ‘Never mind, Edie, gal, we’ll have ’em for staff supper with some fried potatoes. That’ll make a nice change.’ She eyed Philip closely, suddenly seeming to notice his dishevelled state. ‘You’d best get upstairs, Master Philip,’ she said, holding out her hand for the fish. ‘Dinner’s in an hour and your gran will want you to look neat and smart with the Frobishers here. I know their kids is grown, but I remember in the old days, when they were your age, and they were always smart as paint.’

Philip sighed but handed over the plaice and turned back towards the kitchen door. He was never allowed to forget the Frobisher twins. They were three years older than himself and were always held up by his grandma as a shining example of how young gentlemen should both look and behave.
Philip thought them a couple of boring milksops but it would never have done to say so – not to his grandparents at any rate. So he left the kitchen and thundered across the hall and up the long flight of stairs to his room where he washed and changed briskly, throwing his sandy clothing into the linen basket outside his door as he made his way to his sister’s room. He was about to knock on the door when it opened to reveal Laura in her new evening frock. ‘Philip, you’re back,’ she said in a relieved voice. ‘No one told us, but the Frobishers are coming to dine and you know what a state Grandma gets in if we’re late or untidy.’ She eyed him critically. ‘Oh, you’ve already changed – you look very smart – so that’s all right. We’d best go down to the drawing room, though, Grandma will want you to do the pretty, especially since those wretched boys will be coming with their parents.’

Together the two children began to descend the stairs. ‘We had iced pudding for luncheon,’ Laura told him, ‘and Aunt Betty gave me the prettiest hat for London. What did you do? Get any fish?’

‘A couple. Well, more than that, actually. I met up with two of the boys and their sisters that we’ve seen around and we went fishing together. We had a good time, but I gave the little one – his name’s Paddy – most of my fish, his need being greater than ours, as they say.’

Laura sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish I were just an ordinary kid, like the ones you’ve been off with today. They might never get to see the decorations in London, but they wouldn’t have to put up with the Frobisher boys being held up as an example the way we do. What were their names – the girls, I mean – were they nice?’

‘They were all right,’ Philip said indifferently. ‘Mary’s the older of the two – she’s a bit prim and goody-goody, but I dare say she can’t help that. Amy, the little one, was a real little devil. She went into the water with all her clothes on and got soaked. But did she mind? Not her. Plain as a boot, though,’ he ended regretfully.

‘Fancy going into the water in your clothes.’ Laura was wide-eyed. ‘I bet I’d like that Amy from what you say, better than I like the Frobishers, anyway.’

‘You can guess why they’ve asked the Frobishers,’ Philip said as they neared the end of the flight. ‘It’s because Mr Frobisher is something important in newspapers and will have all the latest news on the coronation.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Dear God, you don’t suppose they’re going up to London tomorrow as well? The Frobisher twins, I mean. That really would be too bad.’

‘I’m surprised they didn’t go up for the coronation itself, seeing how important they are, or think they are,’ Laura said with a giggle. ‘Desmond thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers and Darcy is even more pleased with himself. Oh, I do hope they’re not coming to London with us. It would ruin everything.’

Philip thought about Amy in her salt-stained, sandy clothes and about Mary, beautiful as a rose, both thinking themselves lucky indeed to be given cold meat and some fruit. He knew vaguely that the ‘ordinary kids’ of whom his sister had spoken were not really enviable. Their lives might seem free from the restrictions which bound him and his sister, but they were trammelled by their own parents’ conventions, just as he and Laura were. And for the Logans and Keagans, treats such as the trip to London on the morrow were out of the question. What was
more, when he and Laura grew up, their lives would continue to be cushioned by their parents’ wealth, whereas the Logans and Keagans would have to fight hard just to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs.

But it was no good saying any of this to Laura, who mixed very little with the local children. Indeed, though Philip knew of the hardships suffered by the poor in theory, in practice he was as ignorant as his sister. He had never been into one of the tiny houses in Seafield Grove, never visited the fish market in Great Charlotte Street nor been with his friends when they were earning a few coppers by running messages, chopping up boxes for firewood, or selling bags of shrimps from door to door. He could not really imagine these pastimes and though he knew most of the kids went barefoot in summer it had not previously occurred to him that this was not from choice.

The front-door bell pealing, as they were crossing the hall, made Laura give Philip a dig in the back. ‘That’ll be them, arriving,’ she hissed. ‘Get a move on, Philip, so we can greet them with Grandma and Grandpa in the drawing room.’

‘Damn,’ Philip muttered, but nevertheless obeyed his sister’s injunction. He wondered wistfully what Paddy and Albert would be doing now, but then he caught a whiff from the kitchens of roast capon and Cook’s home-made stuffing. Despite Mrs Darwin’s generous lunch he realised he was starving hungry and was already looking forward to the meal ahead. Perhaps having money and a position in life weren’t so bad after all, he concluded, as he and Laura entered the drawing room.

Paddy and his fish were welcomed home by Gran who told him briefly that his mam was off searching for another job. When Paddy asked why she had left the canny house, Gran mumbled something about other members of the staff being agin her but she looked away from him as she spoke and Paddy, well used to putting two and two together where his mother was concerned, thought ruefully that it probably had something to do with the leg of mutton which Gran was even now slicing on to three tin plates. ‘Makes a nice change from fish,’ she remarked, as she saw her grandson looking at the meat. ‘Though fish like them you caught, what was swimmin’ in the briny an hour ago, are a rare treat an’ all,’ she ended hastily.

Paddy carried his catch over to the sink and began to clean and gut them. ‘Shall you eat the fish now, Gran, and save the mutton for tomorrow?’ he asked tactfully. ‘Fish is best served fresh.’

‘No, its all right, I’ll wrap the fish in cabbage leaves and stick them on the cold slab; they’ll keep fine there until tomorrer,’ Gran said, continuing to slice mutton on to the plates. ‘The spuds is almost cooked and there’s a grand big cabbage steaming on the back of the fire, so the King ain’t the only one to be havin’ a coronation feast.’ She jerked her thumb at the door. ‘Go and tell your Aunt Dolly we’s about to eat. She’s rare fond of a bit of mutton, though she’ll have to cut it up terrible small to get it down, her not likin’ the new teeth they made for her up at the Brougham clinic. They cost her a pretty penny an’ all.’

‘What about me mam?’ Paddy asked, turning back as he reached the door. ‘Aren’t we waitin’ for her?’

Gran, now draining the potatoes over the low
stone sink, shook her head. ‘You know what your mam is,’ she said resignedly. ‘She’ll be goin’ up and down the Scotty, poppin’ into all the pubs, tryin’ to get a bit of work. If she don’t get an offer she’ll be that down, she’ll mebbe take a drink or two to cheer her up, and if she does get a job she’ll take another drink or two to celebrate. I doubt she’ll be home before closing time.’