The Girl at Danes' Dyke - Margaret Rome

by Margaret Rome

  They followed Vulcan's footprints across firm sand slashing a golden pathway between lazy, foam-curled waves and a carpet of boulders and rock clustered at the foot of towering cliffs. They could see his figure in the distance, bent double in his search for treasure, his small hands shovelling finds deep into trouser pockets.

  'Oh, no!' Thor groaned. 'Hurry, let's catch that young man up, otherwise I'll be spending best part of the day sorting out his indiscriminate finds.' He grabbed her hand and began to run, his long legs twice outreaching her stride. She laughed a protest, but then had to save her breath for the effort of keeping up as, leaving her barely time to touch toes to sand, he propelled her along the beach with powerful impetus.

  When he released her she collapsed laughing at Vulcan's feet, but the boy was too engrossed to be sidetracked by the frivolous behaviour of adults who, in his opinion, ought to. be showing more dedication to the task in hand. Quickly he plunged a hand into his pocket. 'I've found lots, Uncle Thor! Look at this enormous piece—and what do you think of this… ?'

  Raine loved Thor anew when he squatted on his heels to give serious consideration to the pile of glass, shale, slate and coal Vulcan deposited hopefully on the sand. He picked up one of the larger pieces, studied it, then scraped its surface with a pocket knife before gravely offering his opinion.

  'I'm afraid none of this is much use, old son. It is jet,' he lied hastily when Vulcan's face fell, 'but of a quality not quite up to standard.' The sun burned a halo of gold around each of the two heads bent together in serious discussion and in that moment Raine felt a surge of pure happiness. She wanted to hug each of them, the red-haired giant and the young Viking who could have been his son, but the impulse had to be curbed—and not merely because she had no right to intrude upon the business of men!

  'You must understand,' Thor continued, 'that for some people—the "jetties", for instance, who spend their time combing the beach—these stones might suffice. But for the really dedicated collectors such as Tommy Tose and myself only the best will do. This is a sample of what I want you to look for.' He took a dingy brown stone from his pocket. 'See how easily the outer skin scrapes off showing a black sparkle underneath? Here, try it with this penknife, but mind you go carefully, no slashed fingers or cut knees!'

  'Do you think he's responsible enough to be allowed a knife?' Raine whispered, casting a worried look at Vulcan's enraptured face. . 'Surely,' he frowned, 'I'm not such a fool as to pass on responsibility without ensuring the presence of the discretion that goes with it. You must learn to trust him,' he directed impatiently. 'If you treat the boy like a man he'll act like a man!'

  Raine would have argued the folly of expecting wisdom from an infant, but the day was too glorious, so she contented herself with keeping a close watch on Vulcan, who surprised her by making mature use of the disputed penknife.

  Coastal erosion had left exposed strata of rock on the cliff face and the seeking of the 'jet rock' described by Thor became more and more fascinating and less of a game as the day wore on. Rough seas had gouged the cliff, leaving holes like eyeless sockets out of which a head would pop at intervals to call Thor's attention to a promising find. By the time they were ready for lunch a pile of stones satisfying enough to win Thor's approval was heaped upon the sand and quizzing their flushed, expectant faces he congratulated them with a smile, 'Well done, shipmates, you've done me proud! Wait here while I fetch your reward.'

  He strode off to fetch the picnic basket from the car and Raine relaxed upon the sand, warmed" by exertion, by a benevolent sun, and by Thor's unthinking charm. When he forgot to be cautious he was devastating, far more so than Britt, whose practised style was apt to jar. Today, it seemed, he had managed to forget that she was a woman and -was treating her as a friend. Shipmate! She did not wonder that crews were reputedly willing to follow him to the ends of the earth!

  Her blushing confusion when she opened her eyes and saw him; towering above her almost gave her away, and his thoughtful look as he watched her hands trembling as she set out the food stiffened her resolve never to allow her thoughts to drift again into such dangerous currents.

  Tasty?' she offered, a striving to appear calm.

  'Thank you.' He took a man-sized bite, his eyes questioning her heightened colour. 'If you feel it's warm enough, perhaps later we can have a swim?'

  She hesitated. 'I don't think I will, thank you all the same…'

  'Why ever not?'

  'I don't know how.'

  'Good lord!' the sea, Viking expressed his disgust. 'That situation must be remedied.'

  Raine felt desperate reluctance as she scanned the sea's surface, suspecting menace beneath the concealing waves. 'But I don't want the situation to be remedied,' she gulped.

  While he digested her refusal, Vulcan, with the unthinking cruelty of the young, jumped to his feet with the scoffing chant, 'Cowardy, cowardy custard, Raine's afraid of the sea!'

  'Be quiet, you spalpeen!' she rounded on him, with a flash of Irish, 'not everyone is as conversant as yourself with miles of water, or wants to be!'

  For once she rendered them both speechless. Up until then spirit and temper had been notably absent from her character; fear of the unknown was behind her heated reaction.

  Thor was quick to understand. Although his eyes twinkled, his voice was grave when he reminded Vulcan,

  'Who was it who ran in, terror from the offer of a ride in a "chopper" when the Fleet Air Arm dropped in on us unexpectedly?'

  Vulcan was immediately deflated. 'I was much younger then,' he sulked, scuffing his toes in the sand.

  'It was all of three months ago,' Thor agreed, poker-faced.

  Suddenly the heavy silence was broken by his laughter, such hearty, unrestrained laughter coming from a man whose aloof demeanour had previously allowed no more than a faint smile or a swift grin. But he was rolling on his back in a paroxysm of mirth, his flaying arms a constant annoyance to the colony of gulls whose greedy eyes were fixed upon the remains of his discarded pasty. Then minutes later Vulcan succumbed and as they both seemed in danger of expiring each time they glanced her way, Raine's outraged expression gradually softened until finally she, too, was forced to join in.

  They stretched out on the beach, spent but happy, subduing a still-active humour that now and then threatened to overspill. 'Would either, of you .like more to eat?' Raine questioned, daring them to laugh.

  'No, thank you,' Thor's mouth gave a treacherous twitch, 'as we've taken so long over lunch we'll have to move sharply, if we want to visit Tommy Tose. We're dining out tonight, remember?'

  How could she forget I Hastily she began repacking the basket, her fingers moving as swiftly as her chaotic thoughts. She did not want to dine'tête-à-tête with this unleashed stranger, she fretted, their lessons were progressing so quickly and so well that teacher was in danger of being overtaken by the pupil. How could she possibly remain aloof enough to instruct him in the art of making himself pleasing to women when her eyes insisted upon clinging to his, her body ached for his touch and his deep-timbred voice sounded heavenly music in her ears? If only he would stick to his rigidly unbending rules she could cope, but he was as restless as the sea she feared—as deep, as deceptive and just as overwhelmingly unpredictable!

  Tommy Tose's cottage was as enchanting as others they passed on their climb from the beach. Every few steps along the way they were halted by sights unusual or eye-catching; miniature gardens patch-worked with poppies, roses, geraniums, irises and fuchsias; old ships' lanterns hung outside sturdy oak doors; house names painted on small buoys—Spray Cottage, Lobster Pot. The Crow's Nest. Now and then an opening between houses beckoned, inviting the curious to pry, and after squeezing through a space so narrow Thor had to negotiate it sideways, a vista opened up of sea, sky and cliff, blissfully calm, but reminding by way of sea-soaked rock, and seaweed strewn high above high water mark, of havoc caused on other less benevolent days.

  The cottage had a thatched roof, whitewashed
walls hung with wire baskets full of geraniums, and tiny windowpanes made of thick, uneven glass through which everything looked rainbow tinged and slightly distorted. Vulcan, obviously sure of his welcome, ran^ through the half open door straight into the main living quarters, a treasure chest of a place crammed with bric-a-brac preserved from youth by a man who could have been a hundred years old.

  As Raine hesitated on the threshold Thor pushed her forward. I’ve brought a friend with me, Tommy, I've told her so much about your craft she's dying to see for herself the work that's made you famous.'

  'Famous?' The word amused him. With teeth clenched around the stem of a very mature pipe, he reproved, 'Those days are gone, Master Thor, there ain't nobody much interested in jet these days. Once, it had its royal and noble patrons, old Queen Victoria did much to help the trade when she introduced jet into court circles. After the death of her beloved Albert she deemed the black jewellery suitable for mourning, so then the industry flourished. But later on demand. lessened—fashions change regardless of the livelihoods of men…' The opinion was expressed without rancour, but his withered, deeply-lined face was momentarily sad. His eyes brightened, however, when they alighted upon Raine, recognizing sympathy, understanding and a love of all things ancient in her expressive face.

  'Come along in, my dear, don't just stand there, any friend of Master Thor's is especially welcome!'

  'Thank you.' She stepped inside. 'What an interesting home you have—such a feast of unusual objects.'

  He beamed his approval. 'Go ahead, look to your heart's content while I make us all a cup of tea.'

  'I'll do that,' Thor insisted. 'You sit there and prepare yourself for innumerable questions.' Nothing loath, the old man settled back in his chair while Thor went in search of a teapot. A little shyly at first Raine sauntered around, peering at stuffed fish imprisoned behind glass, tapping a nervous fingernail against the side of a jar inside which a strange sea serpent was preserved in alcohol, becoming absorbed in glass paperweights that rained showers of snow upon churches or villages immediately they were upturned. Then Pasch eggs caught her eye—gilt-painted, the names of their recipients written boldly in black, and bearing the dates that showed aeons had passed since the offerings had first been clutched in small excited hands.

  Vulcan was settled at the old man's feet listening avidly to some tale when Thor came back carrying a laden tray. Raine watched as he put it down, then carried a teapot across to the fireplace where a black, soot-encrusted kettle was singing on a hook suspended over the open fire. Gingerly he tipped it sideways and water spluttered along the hot spout and into the teapot with a hiss that promised a nectar far divorced from the product of modern tea-bags. Minutes later they were sitting around the fire supping the brew, strong, sweet, laced with cream and tasting not one whit less enjoyable because in its aroma was contained the very minutest trace of soot.

  'I love it here!' Vulcan startled her by putting her thoughts into words. 'I feel history is all around us.' He struggled to convey an impression. 'Live history, I mean, not the dreary stuff we learn from books.'

  Tommy sipped slowly from his mug. 'Aye, you could well be right. I've lived too long, that's my trouble! I can remember the day each of the things in this cottage was bought, yet you young 'uns must look upon them as a load of rubbish.'

  'Of course we don't!' Raine spoke as indignantly as she felt. 'Your possessions are old and beautifully cared for as well as being mostly unique.' She faltered, made shy by Thor's warm smile.

  'Sooner or later age makes everything unique," the old man replied, but she saw he was pleased.

  'Which reminds me,' Thor cut in. 'We found quite a bit of rough jet on the beach, so" we've brought you some—enough to last you throughout the winter, I dare say.'

  Tommy jerked upright. 'That's good news! The ladies from the Institute are always after jet ornaments round about Christmas time and I don't like having to disappoint 'em.' His fingers flexed around the stones, eager to explore the possibilities of shape and structure, and Raine glimpsed the enormity of pleasure he received from his work, now relegated to a hobby.

  'May I play with the ships?' Vulcan piped hopefully. 'I promise to handle them carefully.'

  'Bless you, lad, don't you always? I told you last time you've no need to ask—jump to it, you know where they're kept!'

  Vulcan scrambled to his feet and ran to open a cupboard out of which he carefully manoeuvred a large box which he set down on the carpet. Thor was discussing the merits of the jet with Tommy, who was handling the stones with expert fingers, so only Raine shared his pleasure as he lifted each model out of the box.

  Perfectly appointed, every detail painstakingly carved out of shining black stone, the flotilla of vessels was laid out reverently on the mat.

  'This is a yawl, this one here is a lugger, and that's a coble,' he pointed out, proud of his knowledge. 'Real cobles are built out of naturally bent wood—not steamed into shape like other boats—in the same way the Vikings built their long boats— isn't that so, Mr Tose?' He raised his voice to attract the old man's attention.

  'Aye, lad, it is. The coble has a high, narrow bow and a low draught aft when the rudder is unshipped; they were designed for beach landing, and can negotiate waters impassable to all but a lifeboat.'.

  Dreamily, Raine stared at the distinctive craft, imagining it cleaving its way through alien seas packed stem to stern with fearless Vikings flaunting their traditional flag bearing the image of a plundering, sharp-eyed raven.

  She was brought back to earth with a bump by Vulcan's impatient prod, and was immediately captured in the sights of the present-day Viking opposite who was paying less attention than he ought to his companion. Feeling the scorch of a blush, she averted her eyes, seizing upon Vulcan's words as a lifeline.

  'This one's a model of the whaler Mr Tose's grandfather used to sail in, isn't it super?'

  It… it looks very functional.' -She cast around in her mind for something more to say, not wanting to show it less favour than she had shown the others.

  'Whalers had to be, my dear,' the old man defended, 'both the ships and the men who sailed in them! Frills and fancy paintwork would have been of little use in a fierce nor'-easterly, or in Arctic waters where mountainous seas left decks awash with ice and the wind was cutting enough to remove the skin from a man's face without his even being aware of it. Yes, a lot of work went into the designing of that ship," he mused, 'most of it done by Master Thor's great-grandfather, old Captain Halden himself! He was a superb seaman, often when I was a boy I listened to my grandfather telling tales of his exploits—he sailed with him on many voyages.' His old eyes watered as he peered back into the past. 'And many's the hour I've stood with my grandmother on the cliff top keeping look out for the first sighting of the whaling fleet returning home. Many were wasted hours,' he reflected, 'but what a heartening sight it was when, eventually the first ship was spotted with the jawbone of its best whale hoisted on its lower spars and a huge garland hanging from the mast! Oh, but you've heard enough of me blethering for one day!' He startled them back into the present. 'Let's all have another cup of tea.'

  Half an hour later they bade the old man a reluctant goodbye and set off down the cliff path with his pleas for an early return visit ringing in their ears. Vulcan skipped on ahead, and with Thor's hand supporting her elbow Raine felt a surge of happiness that recompensed fully for having had to abandon the tranquility of a more peaceful age.

  'No need to ask if you enjoyed your visit.' Thor sounded slightly amused, but she did not mind his awareness of her vulnerability to the romance of earlier years—especially to stories concerning his family's exciting, danger-ridden past. With a history such as his, and with the blood of adventurers and explorers mingling in his veins, it seemed inconceivable that he should be content with his present lot.

  'Don't you ever feel frustrated, Thor?' She turned to face him, her dark eyes melting with concern.

  Eyebrows shot up over eyes g
linting at the dangerous question, but his satirical smile faded before her guileless, innocent expression.

  'How you do fret about the feelings of others,' he chided, softly savage. 'Yes, there are times when I feel frustrated, times when I feel trapped in a sinking ship, with no lifeboat to hand, just a rail to hang on to while the water slowly rises and the ship threatens to overturn trapping me inside!'

  'Oh!' Her lips formed a gasp of alarm, Appalled by the turmoil, her question had uncovered, she began to stammer an apology, but firm fingers stilled her lips and whimsy played around his mouth while softly he assured her, 'But not today, infant! Today's voyage has been calm and peaceful, no rough water nor high seas—today I even glimpsed fulfilment in my future self.'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hours later, bathed, dressed and impatiently waiting, Raine was still sifting through his words, pondering on their meaning. They had seemed to imply some measure of contentment, even happiness—if such a word could be applied to a person as complex as Thor—and the idea lent added dimension to the proposed dinner engagement. Although perfectly contented during the past weeks of voluntary drudgery, she was young and vital enough to .feel excitement at the prospect of dining in a fashionable restaurant escorted by a presentable male, however unflattering his motives, so, .even though her presence was to be primarily functional, she had taken pains to ensure he would not find fault with her appearance.

  She ran across to the mirror to make a last-minute inspection and projected a smile of satisfaction at the image presented by the fly-blown glass. Against a background of dark walls and heavy furniture her slender figure seemed captured inside a floating golden cloud. Softly clinging nylon swathed smooth white shoulders and against a youthful curve of neck soot-black hair curled into tender fronds. Her deep blue eyes clouded momentarily with doubt, then, encouraged by a mouth that refused to despair, regained their natural sparkle. At the same time a dimple appeared low in her cheek, happy, elusive and immensely fetching.