Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  Jessie shuffled on down the main passage, feeling her knees get wetter and wetter as the ground beneath her became damp. It was pebbly earth below and cold stone all around. She continued on then stopped as she felt the ground slope down a little. That must have been where Jean tumbled towards the bushes. She could still see very little, even with the candle held out in front, so she got up off her knees onto her feet, squatting down low. She continued to drag herself along on her hunkers, stopping every few yards to try to get a grip with her toes on the cold damp earth.

  Jessie turned her head and looked back towards the door which was scarcely visible now in the candlelight. She listened. What could she hear? She hoped it wasn’t rats or mice. She was used to them, of course, both in her home and now in Wardie House, but she hated to feel them on her bare feet. Only last week when she was in the larder, a large rat had run across her boots while she was in there getting the oatmeal for Molly. She had screamed and run out to tell her but the cook was already beating its head with a broom. Molly might be fat and slow on her feet, but she had sharp eyes.

  Jessie continued to edge down the slope, one hand gripped onto the candle, the other running along the rough stone wall. She stopped once more. There was that noise again. She held her breath and listened. It was the sound of gentle, rolling water. Jessie took a deep breath and smiled. She could hear the soft sloshing of water onto the sand, the gentle lapping of the waves. That sweet familiar music was the sound of the sea; she was nearly down at the seashore.

  Jessie stretched out the candle and saw gorse bushes ahead. How on earth would she get through those? She staggered on, turning her body a little, preparing to protect her face from the thorns ahead. She felt like a crab, the ones that they used to watch scuttling across the pier at the harbour when her dad landed his catch.

  The bushes were huge. Jessie remembered seeing them from the other side, tall and round with spiky branches and bright yellow flowers. The ground was level now. She just had to get through the bushes. She pulled her shawl up high round her neck and, head down, pushed through the branches with her shoulder, thrusting her body against the prickly gorse. She pressed against the thorns, protecting her head with her raised elbows, then rushed through, emerging at the other side and yanking her shawl off a branch where it had become entangled. Jessie looked out ahead at the moon shining bright over the sea and smiled. She breathed in deeply, feeling the salty tang of the air filling her lungs. She looked down at her left arm, which had some scratches, but the shawl had taken most of the thorns. She looked at her right hand. The candle was out. She would find her way back up the tunnel all right, but what should she do now?

  Jessie planted the candle in the sand in front of the gorse bushes so she would recognise the tunnel entrance amidst the row of whin. She walked along the shore, revelling in the feel of cold wet sand on her bare feet. She headed for the harbour where a beam of moonlight cut through high clouds onto the fishing boats. The single-masted yawls, like her father’s vessel, were all tied up to the pier and she walked alongside, letting her fingers run along the mesh of the nets drying along the harbour rail.

  Jessie walked along the harbour wall. She was familiar with every stone, so hardly needed the moonlight to find her way. She gazed down at the water on the other side of the wall, remembering how she and the other girls would watch an occasional lone seal dive and roll, its glossy back emerging from the waves as it swam towards the harbour in the hope of being thrown a fish.

  She came to the place where the barrels were stored against the solid stone wall. This was where the fisherlassies sat, dangling their legs down over the wall, gutting the fish while singing the songs they had learned from their mothers and grandmothers. Jessie hummed ‘The Boatie Rows’ as she stepped over the coiled, heavy ropes towards the lighthouse at the mouth of the harbour. She turned and looked back towards the village with its rows of tiny cottages all along the shore. The gas lamp by the Lyle family house cast an eerie shadow along the main street. Three houses further along was her own cottage. After six months away, she thought it would look different, but it looked just the same. Why should it have changed? Life here had gone on the same. Only Jessie’s had altered forever.

  Jessie walked back from the lighthouse, scratching at her itchy arm. When she came to the barrels she stopped and looked again at the only house she had lived in and at her granny’s house beside it. Who lived in Granny B’s tiny cottage now?

  Jessie shifted her gaze to her own house. There was no point in her going home. Her mother would be livid and send her back to the poorhouse. And though her sister would make a fuss of her, Jessie knew she couldn’t go home – she couldn’t abandon Bertha. Now Jessie had found the tunnel, she had discovered a way out. She remembered now her dad speaking about smugglers’ tunnels; it must be one of those.

  Her decision made, she peered down between the barrels, feeling with her nimble fingers for something. Jessie patted her hand in between the wooden staves then eventually pulled out a cloth and unwrapped it. It was a gutting knife. Even though the girls were meant to take their knives home every night, some left them hidden between the barrels so that they didn’t have to queue along at Old Jimmy Noble’s house to have them sharpened on his sharpening stone. It meant you could get to bed earlier – and you didn’t have to put up with his stories or his horrible smell.

  Jessie squinted at the knife in the half light, stretching her hand towards the lighthouse to see better. She had no idea whose knife it was, but lassies had their knives taken all the time. She once lost hers when she was about ten, and her mother beat her so hard that Jessie was unable to work for two whole days, she was so sore and bruised.

  Jessie walked towards the gas lamp and on to her own house. She peered over the half-curtain across the window but could see nothing inside – it was too dark. She took a deep breath and turned round. The gutting knife clutched to her chest, she headed back to the beach and the dark tunnel awaiting.

  Chapter 21

  1982

  ‘Rona, is it okay if I nip out for a quick ten minutes? Just need to get some fresh air. Mr Wilson’s fine now. He’s watching television in the lounge.’ Ian grinned. ‘He and Miss Grant are holding hands watching Dangermouse together. Myra’s getting the tea trolley ready. I’ll be back to help her.’

  Rona smiled. ‘Of course, Ian. See you in a bit.’ She picked up the post from the doormat and headed across the hall towards the office. Charlotte was in there, her arm around Mrs Craigie’s shoulders.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yes, Rona, thanks. I was just telling Mrs Craigie that she doesn’t need to help you with the photocopying today.’

  Rona smiled. This wasn’t the first time the elderly lady had tiptoed into the office and started tapping the buttons on the photocopier. ‘Thanks anyway, Mrs Craigie. You’d better get back in your room – the tea trolley’s due.’ The elderly woman nodded and allowed herself to be guided out by the gentle hand of the carer.

  Rona placed the pile of letters on her desk and sat down. She lifted off the top one and was ripping it open with a paper knife when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something glinting, by the phone. It was an earring. She picked it up and held it up to the light. It was one of Martha’s. She couldn’t remember seeing anyone else wearing dangly hoops. Rona pushed the letters aside and stood up. She could do with some fresh air too; the care home felt stuffy. They needed to keep the radiators on full blast for the residents. She’d open a few windows later.

  Rona went across the hall, pressed the numbers into the keypad and opened the door wide. She breathed deeply; it was so good to be out in the fresh air. She walked round the corner to the entrance to Martha’s garden, remembering she’d only ever been once, that day when she’d been sick. Considering all the times Martha had been in their annexe and the care home, it was extraordinary she’d never invited them into her house.

  Rona pushed open the narrow gate and began to walk along the path,
when she noticed someone standing at a window at the side of the lodge house, palms flat against the panes, trying to peer in. It was Ian Devine.

  Rona opened her mouth to speak, then decided against it. Instead, she headed for the front door, pretending she had not seen him.

  She was about to ring the bell when Ian appeared behind her.

  ‘Hello again!’ He was flushed.

  ‘Hi. I’m just returning Martha’s earring.’ Rona looked at Ian, expectant. ‘You?’

  ‘Oh, I could have brought it over. I thought I’d call and see if Martha had finished the list of stuff we need for Maisie’s ninetieth birthday party.’

  He was obviously lying. But why? Ian was red-faced and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. Rona rang the doorbell and they waited. The door opened a fraction and Martha’s head appeared.

  ‘Hi, Rona.’ She noticed Ian and grinned. ‘And Ian! Well, isn’t this cosy?’ Martha swept her hair back and tilted her head as if trying to find her best angle. Good God, was she flirting with Ian?

  ‘Here’s your earring. You left it by the phone.’

  Martha lifted her hand to her left ear. ‘Oh, thanks, I can’t speak on the phone with earrings on. They clang into the receiver.’ She tipped her head. ‘See, I’ve still got the other one on.’ She smiled at them both.

  Rona turned to Ian. She wanted to witness him give his excuse before she left.

  ‘Martha,’ he mumbled. ‘I was wondering how you’re getting on with the list for Maisie’s party.’

  ‘You asked me that earlier, Ian. I said I’d go to the post office for those special balloons. I meant to go half an hour ago in fact but something came up.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ian nodded. ‘Bye then. See you later, Rona.’

  The two women watched Ian bolt up the garden path and out the gate.

  ‘Nice guy, so good with the patients.’

  ‘Residents, Martha, not patients.’

  ‘Gee, sorry, I keep saying that.’

  There was a low noise from behind Martha. It sounded like a faint voice.

  ‘Have you got visitors?’

  ‘What? No, it’s the television. I always like to have it on when I’m home alone. It’s company for me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Sorry, Rona, gotta go, I need to get to the post office before it closes. Thanks again!’ She slammed the door shut.

  Rona walked back along the path, taking in once more the messy state of the garden, the straggly lawn and the earth dug into little mounds. There must be a problem with moles, but if so, why didn’t her garden next door suffer? Rona shut the garden gate and thought about Ian looking in the window. What was that about? And the way he blushed … was there something going on between them? Surely not, she was twice his age. But at least Martha didn’t seem to be flirting quite as much with Craig.

  Martha was a mystery and certainly gave nothing away about her life now or in her past. Did she have a reason not to invite anyone into her house? Perhaps, like her garden, inside the house was a mess and she was ashamed. Yes, that was probably it. She was so smart and well dressed, perhaps an untidy house would be a shock. How strange some people were, as if that was important.

  There was a squeak of wheels as Mr Burnside passed Rona’s office with the pram. She smiled and went out to see him. He had a t-shirt on today and she could see his dark tattoo prominent on his forearm. She didn’t like to peer at it but one of the carers had said there was a name in small writing amidst the heart and the anchor.

  ‘Are you having a nice walk?’

  ‘Yes, the baby seems to be sleeping nicely. I got her off to sleep.’ Mr Burnside beamed and rocked the pram handle gently. Rona peered in and saw a doll covered in a blanket. The doll had been the idea of one of the night nurses. And they had put the solid pram mattress in, to cover the deep footwell, so the blanket fitted nicely along the flat base.

  ‘It’ll be grand to take your own baby for a walk, Rona, just like Morag here.’

  ‘I think I’ll get a different pram for our baby, Mr Burnside, let you use that one.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You know it’s only half an hour till supper. Why don’t you wheel the pram along to the end of the corridor and then back into the dining room?’

  Mr Burnside manoeuvred the pram around and headed back along the corridor. Rona felt the baby move and laid her hand on her belly. She hoped Mr Burnside wouldn’t cause problems once the baby was born. There was no way her baby was going into that creepy old pram.

  Rona was about to go back into the office when Ian emerged from the lift with the tea trolley. He saw her and came over. He parked the trolley. ‘Rona, you were probably wondering why I was round at Martha’s.’

  Rona shrugged.

  ‘I realised you maybe thought there was something going on and I wanted to tell you what it was about.’

  ‘Ok. Why were you there?’

  Ian sighed and looked down at the carpet. ‘The thing is, Mrs Bell asked me to check out Martha’s house when she was out. Well, when she was supposed to be out.’

  ‘What d’you mean, ‘check out her house’?’

  ‘See if Martha was living by herself. Mrs Bell wouldn’t take no for an answer. She is sure Martha has some fancy man – those are Mrs Bell’s words – living with her. In sin, as she says.’

  Rona burst out laughing. ‘And did you see any evidence of some fancy man?’

  Ian shook his head. ‘The curtains were all drawn, which is weird since it’s the middle of the afternoon. I’m really sorry I wasn’t honest about it, Rona. I was embarrassed you’d found me there.’

  ‘It’s fine. At least it’s not you having a fling with her!’

  Ian laughed, then clicked off the trolley brake. ‘Must get this back to the kitchen. It’ll be suppertime soon.’

  Chapter 22

  1899

  Jessie picked up the candle and tucked it under one arm. She hacked away at a low gorse branch with the gutting knife. She did not want to remove too much, for fear the tunnel would be discovered, but if she was going to get Bertha through here she would have to make some sort of passageway. The branch dropped onto the sand, some of its pretty yellow flowers scattering at her feet. After one final breath of sea air and a quick look up at the dark sky, Jessie bent down, slipped underneath and into the mouth of the tunnel, pulling the branch through. She propped it up against the bush so the hole was fully covered.

  Jessie got down onto her hunkers and began to crawl back up the tunnel. It was more difficult scrambling up the hill since the soil underneath was damp and slippy. She tucked the knife under the same arm as the candle and used her free arm to guide her along the passage. She lifted her head high but there was no light at all: she was in pitch darkness. Suddenly she felt something sweep across her face and she shook her head and tried to brush it away. It was light and floaty – a spider’s web. Unlike rats and mice, she had no fear of spiders. The fisherlassies were used to spiders becoming entangled in the nets; the spiders weaved their silky webs on the nets drying overnight.

  Jessie continued on up the slope then stopped as she realised she had come to the level ground again. She looked ahead into the blackness. Not long now, surely. She was hoping to have a glimpse of the door soon. She can’t have been gone too long. Hopefully Effie would still be there or at least have left the door unlocked for her. If not, she would have no choice but to go back down to the village.

  Jessie continued to pat the wall as she crawled along on the earth. She was beginning to feel panicky. What if the door was locked? She couldn’t see a thing, what would she do? Her hand soon touched something solid and she tapped her fingers all around, pressed her palm against it and pushed. Was it the door? It felt like wood, but why was it not open? Surely Effie would not have shut it? She lifted her hand to her nose and sniffed. It smelt like soot, but she didn’t remember any coal here earlier. She sat down and felt around her with her fingers. High up, there seemed to be a sort of ledge and she patted her fingers all along, hoping perhaps to fin
d a key.

  Her fingers alighted on something soft. Jessie withdrew her hand at once. Was it a baby rat? No, it was too high, impossible for a rat to get up here. She lifted it down. It was made of wool. As she stroked it against her cheek, Jessie remembered that not far from the entrance where Effie had let her in, just beyond where the coal usually piled up, she had seen another passageway, linking to the main tunnel. She had perhaps taken that one instead of the correct one in the dark.

  Jessie shuffled backwards along the passageway, clutching the woollen bundle, trying to feel her way back. She came to a section of wall which seemed to turn right instead of going straight down towards the slope. She continued along this and, at last, there was a sliver of light. Jessie stretched forward and tapped what she hoped was the door. She let out a sigh of relief as it creaked open a fraction. She could just make out the word ‘Winzie’ carved on the wooden panels. Thank goodness, she was back in the cellar. That link in the tunnel was a way to somewhere else, another house. Of course, she thought, it must be the coal cellar for the lodge house where Matron and the Governor lived. The two cellars were obviously joined. She pushed the wooden door fully open and listened. There was no sound. Effie must have moved on, but thankfully she’d not locked the door.

  Jessie stepped out into the main cellar, stood up tall and stretched her back. She pulled the little door fully shut. She hoped no one would notice that it was shut, not locked. She climbed the cold stone steps up to the cellar door and opened it. There was a little light from one of the high windows, moonlight piercing through the solid bars. She looked down at herself; she was covered in soot and earth. She’d have to get out of these filthy clothes and put on clean ones before anyone noticed. She would run along to the laundry room before heading back upstairs to bed.