by Linda Finlay
‘Well, if I’d known we were celebrating I wouldn’t have bothered with that tea,’ Mrs Bodney said, smiling at them from the doorway. They stared at their untouched cups on the table as if wondering how they’d got there. Then Aunt Elizabeth appeared behind her.
‘Look, Auntie,’ Lily cried in delight, holding out her hand, and the ruby winked up at them in the firelight.
‘Congratulations, both of you,’ Aunt Elizabeth said, giving Lily a hug and then shaking Tom’s hand.
‘And I too wish you every happiness,’ said Mrs Bodney. Then, practical as ever, she asked, ‘Do I take it this means you won’t be coming back to Bransbeer with me, Lily?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lily said looking askance at Tom, who was standing there beaming like a beacon.
‘Indeed, she won’t, Mrs Bodney, for you are now looking at the new blacksmith of Coombe,’ he announced proudly. ‘And when my betrothed and I are wed, we shall be living in the cottage right opposite the forge there.’
‘Why, Tom, that’s marvellous,’ Lily cried, clapping her hands excitedly. ‘But how can that be?’
‘Well, it’s like this—’
‘Yes, well done, Tom,’ cut in Mrs Bodney, flushing with excitement. ‘That will afford you a much better standing in the community, Lily. Now, shall we make ourselves comfortable while Tom tells us all about it?’ she asked, signalling to Aunt Elizabeth to take a seat before neatly perching on the chair nearest the fire.
Lily looked at Tom and grimaced. True to form, her employer had no intention of missing anything. Only Mrs Bodney would have the audacity to think she had the right to share their private moment.
‘Do hurry up, Tom. I’m waiting,’ she demanded impatiently.
‘Well, I had an inkling the sea weren’t the life for me a while back, and began looking around to see what else I could do. Remember you asking me why I was always at Coombe, Lily?’
‘Oh, yes. It crossed my mind you might have been seeing someone else,’ she said, her eyes clouding as she remembered the hours she’d spent fretting.
‘You are a dollop, Lily Rose. As if I’d ever look at anyone else,’ he said. ‘I’d heard old Benjamin was looking to retire, but wouldn’t till he found someone to take over. He could never let the horses suffer for want of shoes, he said. Anyhow, he saw I had the nice calm sort of nature that was needed …’
‘Tom Westlake, that’s a fib if ever I heard one. You, nice and calm?’ spluttered Lily.
‘Well, as it happens, I do seem to have a way with the horses. I was troubled about giving up the lugger, being as how it was Father’s. Then, when we got caught in that blow, it kind of decided things for me. Anyway, with the money I got for selling it, I was able to buy Benjamin’s tools and pay the rent till the next quarter-day. I’ve been dying to tell you, but—’
‘Oh, so that was the surprise you had to show me,’ Lily cut in, remembering their last meeting.
Tom nodded, sighing. ‘Yes, old Benjamin’s been teaching me the trade. I thought, I’d show you the forge, and see if you liked it.’
‘That’s all very well and fine,’ interrupted Mrs Bodney, ‘but I take it you won’t be moving in until you are wed, young lady?’ She looked sternly at Lily then exchanged glances with Aunt Elizabeth.
‘Goodness me, no,’ Tom exclaimed. ‘Perish the thought. I mean, I’ve got Lily’s reputation to think of, Mrs Bodney,’ he added, pretending to look affronted, then winking at Lily behind her back.
‘Quite right, Tom,’ Mrs Bodney agreed. ‘Thank heavens someone understands the importance of keeping up appearances.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Bodney,’ Tom said gravely. ‘I took the liberty of speaking with Mrs Goode whilst I was there. She agreed that Lily can stay with her until we’re man and wife. It wouldn’t do to set tongues wagging, now would it, Mrs Bodney?’ he asked, sounding so earnest that Lily had to bite down on her lip again.
‘Indeed, it would not,’ Mrs Bodney agreed, turning to Lily. ‘I always said Tom was a fine, upstanding young man, didn’t I?’
And Lily, not trusting herself to speak, could only nod in agreement.
‘Well, it seems this is an evening for good news, for I too have something to tell you,’ said Aunt Elizabeth, smiling. ‘Lady Clinsden is opening a charity school in Coombe and has engaged me to help with its running. It will be for the children of lace makers, so young Beth will be able to attend and learn her letters.’
Mrs Bodney gave Lily one of her meaningful looks, and she smiled back knowingly.
‘Aunt Elizabeth, that’s wonderful news,’ said Lily, going over and giving her a hug.
‘Yes, isn’t it? And as part of my working agreement, Lady Clinsden will provide me with a cottage next to the school,’ she said, her eyes shining.
‘And talking of Lady Clinsden, I expect you will be taking on her commission when you return, Lily?’ Mrs Bodney asked.
‘Yes, of course. Though I don’t know where I shall work,’ Lily said, frowning.
‘Well, my love, I have news for you. For hasn’t your wonderful betrothed just limewashed the cottage opposite the forge for you to use. You’ll be able to make your lace without fear of getting smuts on it,’ Tom announced, beaming with pride.
‘Oh, Tom, that’s perfect. Though I don’t suppose it will take long to make the collars and cuffs for Lady Clinsden so I shall have to see what other work I can find.’
‘Lily, if all goes to plan, a royal christening gown will be required and I’m hopeful of being granted the commission for that. I will certainly require your help then,’ said Mrs Bodney.
Lily and Tom looked at each other in delight. ‘Oh, this is so exciting,’ exclaimed Mrs Bodney, her dark eyes shining like ebony. ‘Now I have two weddings to prepare for.’
‘Yes, and I have lace to make for my own wedding gown,’ Lily said, smiling up at Tom. He pulled her closer and she let out a sigh of contentment.
So peasants can be picky people, Lily; and you picked well, my girl.
Her father’s voice sounded in her ear, and knowing he had bestowed his blessing made her happiness complete.
Acknowledgements
My warm thanks to Teresa Chris for her inimitable wisdom, guidance and encouragement. Jane Bidder for pointing me in the right direction. Diana and her lovely ladies in Springfields, Colyford for teaching me to make lace. Allhallows Museum, Honiton, for their kind help in providing details of the lace Queen Victoria wore. And last but not least, Maxine and Leon for their special gift that began the writing process.
Linda Finlay
THE SEA SHELL GIRL
Chapter 1
‘Merryn Dyer, pull your dress down this minute.’
As Grozen’s strident voice carried on the stiff breeze, Merry straightened up and climbed out of the pool. She eased her stiff back and then under her grandmother’s stern gaze, released her heavy skirts from her bloomers, grimacing as the damp material flapped around her bare legs. She’d been up since dawn prising limpets from the rocks where they clung when the tide receded, and she was cold and hungry.
‘Standards need to be maintained at all times, Merry. Showing what you’re made of to all and sundry, indeed,’ the woman continued, with a sniff. ‘How have you done, anyhow?’
‘Not too bad, Grozen,’ Merry replied, holding up her nearly full basket. ‘I’ll see what I can sell, then bring the rest back for our meal.’
Her grandmother nodded and gathered up her bundle of sticks. Merry watched as the old woman tottered back up the path towards their cottage, irritation turning to concern when she saw how frail and stooped she had become. The harsh winter followed by the long cold spring had taken its toll on everyone in the little fishing village of Porthsallos. Food was still scarce, with even the pilchards yet to appear.
Guessing her mother would eke out the limpet flesh by making a broth, she added a few strands of glistening sea-weed to her basket. Then, ignoring her stinging hands, she eased her frozen feet into her hobbies. Despite the
old cloths she’d lined them with she could feel every sharp stone that dug through the worn soles as she squelched her way across the beach. No good moaning, though; it would be some time before she could afford to have them mended.
She made her way round the harbour where the usually bustling shore was eerily quiet, the fishing boats lying idle. Stopping outside the fisherman’s shack, she shook her basket, for the contents had settled as the limpets clung to each other and she was desperate to receive the best price for her labours.
‘You’ve been busy this morning, Sea Shell Girl. Come in out of the cold,’ Pucky Pint said, giving her the benefit of his toothless grin. Although most people in the village had nicknames, the one they’d given her as a child seemed incongruous now she was a young woman of seventeen, but she was here to do business and didn’t dare offend him by mentioning it. As the other men shuffled aside to make room for her, she smiled her thanks. The ramshackle shed, with its familiar smell of old fish and drying nets, was cosy and her fingers tingled as they began to thaw. Without looking inside, Pucky held up her basket and assessed its weight. There was no fooling the old salt, Merry thought.
‘Can you use them?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Aye, they’ll make good bait for the long lining if this wind ever eases and we can get the boats out,’ he answered, and her heart lifted at the thought of taking a few precious pennies home. ‘Trouble is, I’ll not be able to pay thee until the pilchards turn up. Soon as I get a catch, though, I’ll settle up with thee, you have my word.’
She turned to the other fishermen, who shook their heads.
‘ ’Tis the same with us, maid. Ain’t been out in a long whilst owin’ to they sheep’s-head winds. No catch, no money,’ Doy Boy shrugged. There was a murmur of agreement from the others. ‘Can’t remember when I last provided a decent meal for the nippers.’
‘Tell thee what, take some of these limpets home to break your fast and I’ll still pay you for the full basket when my boat comes in,’ Pucky offered. ‘Deal?’
‘Deal,’ Merry agreed, forcing a smile as he emptied three-quarters of the limpets into his pot and handed back her basket. Knowing he couldn’t really afford to be so generous, she was about to refuse. Then a picture of her grandmother’s pitifully thin body and pinched face flashed into her mind and she hurried away before he could change his mind.
Her mother looked up from her mixing bowl as Merry entered their little cottage.
‘Any luck?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Pucky Pint said he’d buy the limpets but can’t pay me until he can get his boat out,’ she sighed, placing her basket on the table. ‘He said we could have these on account.’
‘Well, that’s something. I see you brought some weed as well so at least we can have broth.’
‘If I have to sup another bowl of salty liquid with them sea snails floating in it, I’ll go as loopy as me stitches, Karenza,’ Grozen declared, frowning over her knitting.
Karenza winked at Merry. ‘I know, Mother, but we have to eat,’ she soothed. ‘Poor Merry’s been hopping in and out of that icy water since daybreak so you make room for her by the fire whilst I prepare our food. There’s not enough flour to make bread so I’m mixing dumplings to go in the broth. You know how you like them.’
As her grandmother grunted, then reluctantly moved her chair, Merry smiled gratefully at her mother. Stifling a yawn, she eased off her wet boots and held her blistered feet out in front of the spluttering flames.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the hissing of damp wood. The fire barely gave out any warmth and not for the first time she wished her grandmother was like the other housewives, who’d had their chimneys walled up and their hearths made smaller so they could burn the newly imported coal. Her grandmother was adamant that things in her home should stay the same as when her husband was alive. Why pay for fuel when you could collect it from the nearby woods, was her philosophy.
‘Have you given any more thought to having your hearth changed, Grozen?’ she ventured. ‘Coal is so much easier to . . .’
‘Not if you have no money to pay for it, Merry,’ Grozen snapped. ‘That wood might be wet but at least we have a fire, which is more than can be said for some. Besides, you can’t bake bread on a coal fire so we’d have to pay to use the bakehouse.’
Knowing what her grandmother said was true, Merry closed her eyes again. The rhythmic clacking of the woman’s knitting pins reminded Merry she had a knit frock to finish herself before the agent made his next visit.
‘Cors, if Alfred had been lost at sea instead of just dropping dead on the beach, God rest his soul, we’d have been able to claim from the widows’ fund.’
Merry sat bolt upright: the widows’ fund, of course!
‘You could claim, though, couldn’t you, Mother?’ she asked.
Her mother shook her head and looked quickly away.
‘But why not?’ Merry persisted. ‘Father was a fisherman and you said he drowned.’
‘I said your father was a man of the sea and lost to me,’ her mother corrected.
‘Surely that’s the same thing?’
‘That’s enough, Merry. All your goin’ on’s giving me one of my heads,’ Grozen snapped. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and skein them blinkin’ snails instead of talking about things you don’t understand’
‘We Dyers have our pride and wouldn’t accept charity anyhow,’ her mother added, staring at Merry with her clear blue eyes.
Merry shrugged. She knew their situation was dire and had only been trying to help. How she hated this way of life, always waiting and hoping for work and wages. Trying to ignore her rumbling stomach, she closed her eyes again.
‘You really should tell the girl,’ she heard Grozen mutter.
‘I know, Mother,’ Karenza whispered. ‘I wish you wouldn’t go on at Merry, though. If it wasn’t for her forays on the seashore, we wouldn’t have anything to eat at all. She’s a good girl and knows the best places to go.’
‘ ’Tis no different from other families, and at least we have warmth . . .’
As the bickering continued, Merry feigned sleep. Three women cooped up in a tiny two-roomed cottage was a recipe for disaster. One day she would have a large house with a roaring coal fire, she vowed. She had no idea how she would achieve this but knew there must be more to life than fishing and knitting.
After their frugal meal, Merry picked up her pins and wool and, glad to escape the tense atmosphere, made her way down to the quay. Knowing their frocks turned out better when knitted outdoors in natural light, and a pleasing finish meant receiving top price, the women would gather in little groups around the harbour. Her mother, being more reserved, preferred to keep herself to herself and could usually be found perched on a stool working by the light from their open front door.
Merry heard the incessant sound of pins clicking before she reached the others. As usual they were sitting in the shelter of the pig house, knitting and nattering. Normally the mood was convivial but today she was greeted by long faces.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, squeezing in beside her friend.
‘Word is Agent Sharp’s retired and his son’s taken over,’ Jenna explained without looking up from her knitting.
‘What difference does that make?’
‘He’s only gone and increased our target.’
‘What! Why? We can barely make the old one as it is.’
‘That’s not all,’ Jenna wailed. ‘It seems we’ll have to accept half our wage in goods from the shop he’s opening up by Killie Mill.’
‘But that’s against the law now,’ Merry declared.
‘I know, but who’s got the money or clout to make a stand?’ Ailla pointed out.
‘Sharp junior’s booked a room at Mrs Grace’s lodging house so he can put everything in place,’ Jenna added.
‘What’s the new target?’ Merry asked.
‘Another two knit frocks each, every month.’
‘But that’s six e
ach! When was this decided?’
‘Old Ned brought word back from Logh this morning. Apparently Sharp junior warned if we don’t produce the extra, payment will be adjusted or even withheld,’ Jenna groaned.
‘But we’re starving as it is,’ Merry pointed out.
Reflecting on their fate, they fell silent. Knowing every stitch counted, they continued working furiously. They’d all been knitting since they were big enough to hold the pins and manage the ribbed trails.
‘Will anyone be able to meet this new target?’ Ailla asked.
As one they shook their heads.
‘It’s impossible with everything else there is to do. I’ve tried but when my pins go faster, I either drop stitches or do a purl when I should be doing a plain,’ Jenna sighed. The others nodded. They might know their patterns inside out but numb fingers and worry could make them fumble.
‘Don’t know how we’ll pay the rent if we don’t get our full pay.’ There was a collective groan.
‘We could always resort to damping down,’ Kelys pointed out. ‘Me old mother used to do it when times was hard. Many’s the day she put her work through the mangle to stretch it. Used to make us children socks with the extra wool she amassed an’ all.’
‘It’d serve him right, the greedy geezer. Ned says he wears expensive suits and smokes fat cigars. And there’s us wearing ourselves out trying to earn a living.’
‘I’m fed up with being hungry and me shawl’s falling to bits,’ Maggie moaned.
‘Mine too,’ Tressa nodded.
‘Even the fish are late this year,’ Ailla wailed. ‘Not that the men could get the boats out in these easterlies.’
‘Jem said he doesn’t know how we’ll manage when the baby comes.’ Jenna rubbed her swollen belly and Merry patted her shoulder, wishing she had an answer.
The whole village was dependent on the little income they got from fishing and knitting. Whilst the men were at sea, the women made knit frocks and sold them to the visiting agent. When the pilchards were in the women supplemented this income by salting and packing the fish. These periods of frenzied activity when every available hand was needed were welcomed for nobody minded hard work. Empty bellies were another thing.
