by Carola Dunn
“Thanks, I’ll manage it myself. And thanks for the advice.”
Returning to the beach with her book in her hand and a deck-chair under the other arm, Daisy told herself that any relationship—past or present—between Enderby and Mrs. Anstruther was none of her business. But curiosity was her besetting sin, and she couldn’t help wondering whether Mrs. Anstruther was in fact a widow, as she had assumed. Or was there a Mr. Anstruther waiting in the wings whom she simply hadn’t met?
At four o’clock, the holiday-makers on the beach started unpacking picnics or heading back to their lodgings for tea. Daisy called the girls.
“Just five minutes, Mummy. The big tower’s starting to sag! We’ve got to shore it up.”
“No, right now. I didn’t think to ask for a picnic, so you have to wash off the sand and put on frocks. Come on.” She flattened the green and red-striped deck-chair, as usual getting its wooden frame the wrong way round. “Bother, these look so simple but I always manage to get them tied in knots.”
“We’ll carry it for you.”
“Let’s pretend it’s a palanquin,” Deva suggested, as they each picked up one end.
“What’s a palanquin?”
“My ayah says it’s a sort of chair with poles for carrying a maharanee.”
“What’s a maharanee?”
“A sort of queen. Mrs. Fletcher, you can be the maharanee and we’ll carry you.”
“Gosh, no, I’m much too heavy. Besides, it would be bound to fold up with me inside, and pinch your fingers, too.”
“We’ll carry the towels and buckets and spades on it. And your book, Mummy.”
“Not likely, it’d get all damp and sandy.”
Somehow they made it through the rocks and up the steps without spilling off the buckets and spades more than a couple of times. When they reached the shed, Daisy said, “Thank you. Now I’ll put it away while you run up and change. Go in the back way, we don’t want to leave sand all over the front hall.”
The girls scampered off. The deck-chair disposed of, Daisy followed them through the back door, standing open to the warm air. The passage led to the foot of the stairs, where it widened into the front hall. There Daisy saw Mrs. Anstruther standing by the hall table, a letter in her hand, a look of shock on her white face.
“What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”
The landlady averted her face. “The post only just came,” she said in a flat voice, picking up another letter from the table. “The van broke down on the way from Abbotsford. Here’s one for you.”
“Oh, good. Thank you. But are you all right? I’m afraid you’ve had bad news.”
She shook her head, closing her eyes and swallowing. “No, not at all. My husband is coming home.”
“You weren’t expecting him to?”
“Oh, yes, but Peter’s in the Navy, a warrant officer, a gunner. He’s often gone for months and one can never be sure just when … His ship’s in the Nore. He’ll be here on Saturday. I’m just afraid …”
Daisy waited in silent sympathy.
“I’m afraid of what he’ll do when he finds out about George Enderby!”
2
Next morning, the beach hidden by high tide, the girls were very keen to take the ferry across the inlet. As Belinda pointed out, “We can go for a walk on the other side, Mummy, and tomorrow the water may be rough, and then it wouldn’t be much fun.”
“My ayah says I was seasick all the way from India, when we came to England,” Deva said anxiously.
Daisy had crossed the Atlantic midst October storms with nary a qualm, but remembering Alec’s misery she didn’t want to subject Deva to even a few minutes on rough seas. They walked along the track to the village’s quay and out onto the stone jetty where the ferry docked. It was just coming in, rowed by two stout fellows in blue jackets. The disembarking passengers had to climb a couple of narrow, slimy steps up the side of the jetty, with a rusty chain to hold onto on one side and nothing on the other.
“Careful,” Daisy warned as their turn came to embark and the girls dashed forward. “Hang onto that chain. We don’t want any ricked ankles.”
“It’s dirty,” Deva objected.
“It’s only rust,” said Belinda. “It’ll wash off. You didn’t mind getting all covered with sand yesterday.”
They all reached the boat safely. The girls went to kneel in the bows and leant over to dangle their hands in the water. Daisy paid the fares and sat down where she could grab an ankle if they leant too far, but a few minutes later they disembarked without incident on the floating dock at the far side.
When they returned to the landing-stage after a long ramble through woods and farmland, the tide had fallen considerably, leaving an expanse of sandy mud on either side of the inlet. They had just missed the ferry. The noontide sun shone down fiercely. The girls were hot and tired and hungry, and inclined to be squabblesome. Daisy sent them to opposite ends of the small beach to hunt for shells and pretty stones, resolving to fill her pockets with chocolate bars before they next went on a long walk.
Hot, tired and hungry herself, she sat down on a rough wooden bench to wait for the ferry’s return.
A man came down the hill, a hiker on a walking tour to judge by his knapsack, Norfolk jacket, ex-Army khaki trousers, sturdy boots and stout staff. He sat on a rock and filled a pipe. The smoke drifted over to Daisy’s nostrils, reminding her of Alec and making her wish he could join them before next Saturday.
Next to arrive was a farm cart pulled by a pair of draught-horses with shaggy fetlocks. The elderly driver and the boy with him started to unload heavy, knobbly sacks and pile them near the landing-stage. Daisy watched with dismay, hoping the sacks were not to cross on the ferry alongside—or under—the passengers.
A middle-aged woman carrying a large basket had descended the hill behind the cart. Her brown linen frock, polka-dotted with yellow, had long sleeves and white cuffs and collar. It reached nearly to her ankles to reveal a scant four inches of thick lisle stockings and brown laced shoes. Daisy thought she must be dying of heat, but the face beneath the outdated flat-crowned, broad-brimmed hat looked more indignant than exhausted.
She stopped by the old man and snapped, “I hope you’re not intending to send those potatoes over in the ferry along wi’ fare-paying passengers, John Ashton!”
“Nay, Mrs. Hammett,” he said in a placatory tone, taking off his floppy felt hat and wiping his forehead. “The lad’s going over to hire a boat to fetch the taters.”
“I should hope so!”
Mrs. Hammett set her basket carefully on the ground and plunked herself on the far end of the bench just as Belinda ran up to Daisy. “Mummy, may I go and talk to the horses? Aren’t they beautiful? Will you look after my shells? Be careful, one has a hermit crab in it.”
Daisy eyed the shells nervously. She didn’t like to display her ignorance. She had never been to the seaside before, having spent the summers of her childhood on her father’s estate in Worcestershire. What was a hermit crab and did it bite? At least it must be quite small if it could hide among the shells.
She did know horses, however, and had been bitten once by a skittish gelding. “Ask the man if it’s all right to talk to them. They look quite placid but you never can tell. And if he says yes, keep well away from their hooves. You’d be sorry if one of those accidentally stamped on your foot.”
Mrs. Hammett looked on with a disapproving frown as Bel went over to speak to the farm labourer and then reached up to stroke the horses’ noses. Daisy guessed she objected to girls wearing shorts, as did both her own mother and Alec’s. Even Deva’s mother, Sakari Prasad, had been doubtful when Daisy had suggested buying a couple of pairs for Deva for the holiday. But they were so practical and comfortable for the country, Daisy wished she were brave enough to wear them herself.
Or maybe the woman didn’t like sharing the bench with a hermit crab, in which case Daisy could sympathize.
Deva came over with her hankie
full of shells and stood in front of Daisy showing her little yellow snails and bits of mother-of-pearl. From the corner of her eye, Daisy saw that Mrs. Hammett had turned her frown on the Indian girl. Shorts again? Her dark skin? Disapproval of the latter was all too common, but fortunately Deva didn’t seem to notice.
“Are those Belinda’s shells, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes. She said she found a hermit crab.”
Deva had been about to sit down but she changed her mind in a hurry. “Ugh! Is it alive?”
“I think so. Go and ask her.”
“Those horses are awfully big.”
“You needn’t go near them. Fetch her, will you, please. Here comes the ferry.”
Belinda scurried back to collect up her shells, and they boarded the ferry. Mrs. Hammett followed. Her basket appeared to be filled with hay but was obviously heavy. She handed it to the boatman before stepping down, and he set it down on the bilge planks with a thump, turning to give her a hand.
“Dolt!” she cried. “Don’t you know a basket of eggs when you see one, Bill Watson? Haven’t I been bringing a basket o’ my brother’s eggs across this ferry once a week for more years ’an I care to count? If any’s cracked I’ll want payment!”
“Nay, then, Mrs. Hammett, been’t they well packed as allus?” Bill Watson’s appeasing tone was just like John Ashton’s.
She picked up the basket, placed it carefully on the seat, and sat beside it with a steadying hand on the rim. The hiker and the farm lad took places as far from her as possible. Several more people arrived just in time to catch the ferry, and then the rowers pushed off.
“Look, Mummy.” On her outstretched palm Bel displayed a curlicued shell. “Watch. It’ll come out in a minute.”
“It’s not likely to bite you, is it, darling?”
“Oh no, it’ll just tickle when it walks. Granny would never let me have one but I’ve seen boys holding them. Watch!”
Deva peered around Daisy, on whose other side she had prudently placed herself. The hiker leant forward. Even Mrs. Hammett was looking, though she tried to pretend she wasn’t.
Two minute claws poked out. Belinda twitched involuntarily and they pulled back, but a moment later they reappeared, followed by a pair of antennae that tested the air. Eyestalks came next, with black dots on the end for eyes. Daisy thought the poor thing looked rather alarmed, but it put out two legs on each side and started to scuttle across Bel’s hand, dragging the shell behind it.
Again Bel twitched, and the tiny creature disappeared into its refuge.
“One of the Paguridae,” said the hiker knowledgeably. “It won’t live long away from the water, you know.”
“Oh, I don’t want it to die. Should I throw it in?”
“Well, it would prefer a rock pool, or even the beach.”
“We’ll take it to the rocks by the beach, won’t we, Deva?”
“As long as I don’t have to touch it,” said Deva.
The young man grinned at Daisy, who smiled back. “Thanks for the warning,” she said.
“I remember all too well my sister weeping for an hour over a dead hermit crab.”
Mrs. Hammett stared at Daisy and muttered all too audibly, “Talking to strange men—I don’t know what the world’s coming to!”
The rest of the short trip was accomplished in uncomfortable silence.
The ebbing tide had exposed a whole flight of the slimy, seaweedy steps. Mrs. Hammett was the first to disembark. Standing on the lowest step, she half turned and reached back to take the basket of eggs from the boatman. One foot slipped slightly. In her effort to keep her balance, she missed the basket handle just as the boatman let go. Only Daisy’s quick reaction saved the eggs.
With a wink, the boatman took the basket from Daisy and handed it back to Mrs. Hammett. Red-faced, her lips tight, she continued up the steps.
Belinda and Deva were equally red-faced, from suppressed giggles. The hiker’s grin was broader than ever. “Go ahead,” he said to Daisy. “I’ll come behind and see that your girls don’t fall.”
At the top, Daisy found Mrs. Hammett waiting for her. “Thank you for saving my eggs,” she said ungraciously. “They ought to keep those steps scrubbed. It’s a disgrace. I shall complain.”
“They are rather slippery. I’m glad you didn’t fall.” If only because you would have fallen on me, Daisy added to herself.
“A death-trap. Are you staying in the town?”
“Yes, we’re on holiday.”
Belinda came up the steps, followed by Deva. Seeing Daisy occupied, they moved aside to wait, whispering.
“I thought they didn’t allow girls that age to be servants these days,” said Mrs. Hammett, “but I suppose her being a native—”
“Deva is my daughter’s school friend,” Daisy said sharply. “Her father is an important official at India House.”
“Oh, well, in that case—” She paused as the hiker reached the top, frowning when he flashed a smile at Daisy as he passed. “My dear, a word of warning.”
Daisy suppressed a sigh, but short of being downright rude she couldn’t think of a way to escape. “Excuse me for just a moment. Girls, run along and find a new home for the crab, then go and get ready for lunch. I’ll see you at the house shortly.”
The girls ran off. Mrs. Hammett started moving along the jetty after them and the other disembarking passengers. “A word of warning,” she repeated. “A young woman on her own, without her husband to support her, simply can’t be too careful. I dare say that young man you were talking to may be respectable enough.” Her sniff conveyed a world of doubt. “But there’s others as can’t be trusted not to take an ell if you give ’em an inch.”
“Oh?” Daisy’s chilly tone was intended to make plain that she didn’t feel her having saved the blasted woman’s eggs gave said blasted woman a right to lecture. But she must be out of practice with the Dowager Viscountess’s arctic pretension-depressing voice, for she might as well have saved the chill to cool her porridge.
“Just to give you a hint, for your own good. You stay away from that George Enderby, that’s landlord o’ the Schooner Inn. Married Nancy Pinner, as ought to have knowed better, to get his hands on the hotel, and he can’t keep his hands off any woman under forty. A real charmer he is, they say, though I can’t see it meself, but he’s going to get his comeuppance one o’ these days, you mark my words. They ought to bring back the stocks.”
And the ducking-stool for scolds, Daisy thought. Mrs. Hammett was the sort of person who made one think things one couldn’t utter aloud.
“There, I’ve had my say. You’d best be off after your daughter, or they’ll be late for lunch. Children don’t obey their elders the way they did when I was young.” She turned a look of suspicion on Daisy. “You look very young to have a daughter that age!”
“How kind of you to say so.” Daisy beamed at her unwanted new acquaintance as if the woman had intended a compliment. “You’re quite right, I must go and find the girls. Good day.” With a slight bow, she escaped.
When she reached the guest-house, after stopping at the newsagent for chocolate, Bel and Deva were already coming up from the beach.
“Our castle’s all washed away,” said Deva mournfully.
“There’s not a single sign of it. I wish we’d saved the feather Sid gave us. We can build an even better one this afternoon, though, Deva,” Belinda assured her, “can’t we, Mummy?”
“If you’ve recovered from our walk. Come on, now, we’ll be late for lunch.”
In the hall, they found the hiker. He was telling Mrs. Anstruther, “You were recommended to me as a particularly comfortable place to stay.”
“Oh dear, I do have a room free, but I’m afraid I don’t usually take young single gentlemen.” She saw Daisy and the girls and her face cleared. “But as I have a family staying, I expect it will be all right. You don’t mind children?”
“Not at all.” He looked round and smiled. “We’ve already met, on the f
erry. I’m a schoolmaster. I’ll be out walking most of the time, anyway. I hope you can give me a packed lunch and tea, Mrs. Anstruther?”
“Of course, sir, and there’s plenty if you want to stop in for lunch now. Here, will you sign the guest-book, please?”
Daisy and the girls went up to their rooms to tidy themselves. A few minutes after they came down to the dining room, with its cheerful chintzes and its bay-window view of the inlet, the young man joined them. He was clad now in somewhat creased flannels, jacket and tie. He stood for a moment with his hands on the back of his chair, surveying the gate-legged table set for four, with a slice of melon at each place, a pitcher of lemonade and a basket of rolls in the middle.
“Jolly good show at a moment’s notice. It looks as if I shan’t starve.”
“You’re more likely to find your knapsack weighed down by your packed lunch and tea,” said Daisy. “Do sit down. I’m Mrs. Fletcher and this is my daughter Belinda and her friend Deva Prasad.”
“I’m Donald Baskin. How do you do, ladies. Are you staying here for long?”
“Two weeks,” Belinda informed him. “My father’s coming on Saturday. We put the hermit crab in a rocky pool. It had seaweed in it and snails, and sea amenomes and little fishes.”
“Pomatoschistus microps, I expect; the common goby. Good, I’m sure your hermit crab will live a long and satisfactory life.”
“Mr. Baskin,” said Deva, her dark eyes round, “are you really going to walk all day, every day?”
“I am indeed, Miss Prasad. You see, I work in London and it’s a great treat to me to walk in the beautiful countryside.”
“Oh,” she said doubtfully. “We went for a long walk this morning and my legs got very tired.”
“Ah, but if you walk every day, you soon stop getting tired.”
“Oh. Mrs. Fletcher, are we going to walk every single day, when it’s not raining?”
“I expect so, Deva. I thought we’d go up the cliff tomorrow. Now let Mr. Baskin eat his lunch in peace.”
