The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  Now she had to meet his gaze and, though she tried to smile, she knew the haunted look was deep in her eyes.

  Tom put out his huge hand and suddenly gripped hers. ‘Tell me? What is it?’

  There was a shout from a man standing midway up the gangway leading on to a ship. ‘The gates’ll be closing in half an hour, Tom.’

  Jeannie heard his sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll have to go . . .’ Again he gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘I – I hope you’re still here when we get back. And Jeannie, there’s just one more thing. Look out for my little sister here, while I’m gone?’ He smiled down at Grace and tweaked her nose playfully. ‘I wish we weren’t sailing today but I can’t let me mates down. I’m just glad I’ve managed to get on a Hathersage boat this trip and not a Gorton.’ Suddenly there was a dark anger in his eyes. ‘That bastard is going to pay for what he did. Me dad – nor me – aren’t going to forget.’

  And then he was gone, striding along the quay and running up the gangway and on to the Hathersage Enterprise.

  She was still standing watching when Grace touched her arm and said, ‘We’d best get back to work, else you’ll lose your place.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘There’s allus plenty of local lasses without steady work trying to get into a team while the herring girls are here.’

  Jeannie gave one last glance towards the trawlers and then hurried after Grace. ‘Doesna your mother come down to see them away?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘She’s too busy. She’s got to braid a net – part of a cod net, that is – in two days. She’ll still be at it when we get home tonight. You’ll see.’

  And Jeannie did see, for when she unwound the ties from her fingers and walked wearily through the gathering dusk to Baldock Street, it was to find Nell Lawrence standing before the kitchen wall from which hung a fishing net, growing longer under her nimble fingers. Jeannie watched in fascination as the braiding needle flashed in and out of the mesh.

  ‘I’m sorry, hen,’ Nell said, her hands never slowing in their task. ‘I havena had time to get you a meal ready.’

  Grace winked at Jeannie. ‘That’s all right, Mam. You carry on. Me an’ Jeannie’ll get the supper, but you must stop and have a bite.’ The girl, now fully recovered from her ordeal of the previous night, wagged her finger playfully at her mother. ‘I bet you’ve never stopped all day to eat, have you?’

  Nell chuckled and shook her head. ‘This net willna braid itsel’, hen.’

  Jeannie moved closer, watching, and when Grace went from the kitchen into the back scullery, Nell asked in a low voice, ‘Has she been all right today, Jeannie?’

  ‘What? Och aye. She seems fine now. She seems to have got over it very quickly.’

  Nell’s lips compressed into a tight line. ‘Only thanks to you coming along in time, hen. It might have been very different if . . .’ She stopped and then shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Well, let’s just be thankful you did. We’ll think no more of it now and I just hope it’ll all be forgotten by the time the men come home again.’

  Jeannie turned away, anxious that Mrs Lawrence should not see the doubt in her eyes. She was sure that Tom would not forget Mr Robert Hayes-Gorton and his friends and what they had tried to do to his sister.

  Six

  News of the grand wedding was the talk of the fish dock for days. Gossip filtered back from the domestic staff who worked at the Hathersage mansion.

  ‘It was a lovely wedding,’ Mary told them dreamily. ‘And they’ve gone away on honeymoon now. For a whole month.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The daughter where I’m lodging is a maid at the Hathersages’ place and she was telling her mother all about it. Their servants have been run off their feet for weeks before, but she said it was worth it. Miss Louise looked a picture, Annie said. She wore a cream ankle-length gown with gold embroidery and beading round the neckline and hems. And she had a long train from the shoulders . . .’ Mary swept her hand down the length of her own body to demonstrate. ‘The edges were decorated to match the dress. And white silk stockings.’ She sighed. ‘Och, what I wouldna give to wear white silk stockings.’

  ‘Dinna forget, Mary, that Aggie Turnbull and her like wear white silk stockings,’ put in a voice at the next trough and Mary shot a venomous glance at the girl, who only laughed and nudged her companion. ‘Our Mary gets carried away with herself and her dreams of living in high society.’

  Mary sniffed contemptuously and turned her gaze away, determined not to let anyone spoil her romantic fantasies. Then she looked down wistfully at her rough clothes and at her hands bound with the ragged tapes. ‘I dinna think anyone will ever say that about me. That I look “a picture”.’

  Flora sniffed. ‘Shouldna think little Miss Louise has ever had to lift her dainty fingers to do a stroke of work in her life. ’Tis nothing to be proud of, leading such an idle life.’

  ‘I could get used to it,’ Mary grinned, her natural resilience and good humour rising to the surface once more. ‘Married to Robert Hayes-Gorton, I could get used to anything,’ she added, rolling her eyes comically so that all her workmates laughed.

  Only Jeannie Buchanan did not join in their laughter, pressing her lips together to keep them from opening and spilling out exactly what she thought about the man who seemed to hold such a fascination for Mary Fraser.

  On the second morning of their honeymoon, Robert Hayes-Gorton stood at the bedroom window overlooking Lake Windermere. The pale, early sun was just rising over the hills filtering gentle streaks of light across the water. The lake was peaceful, so opposite to the tumult going on inside the unhappy young man’s mind. His gaze was upon the tranquil scene, yet he hardly took in the view.

  He was reliving the night. The horror of it. Inside his head he could still hear Louise’s hysterical screaming that had not subsided until he had given his solemn pledge never to try to touch his wife again.

  It had begun with such promise. The previous night – their first as man and wife – had been idyllic. As they had driven away from the reception in Samuel Gorton’s motor car, Louise had been laughing and flirtatious, waving happily to all their guests as the motor rounded the bend in the driveway of her home and turned into the road. Then she had tucked her arm through Robert’s as his hands rested on the wheel and snuggled her head against his shoulder. ‘My husband,’ she had murmured. ‘My handsome husband.’

  That evening, they had dined in the small hotel where they were to stay for the first night. There were few other guests in the dining room, but Louise had sparkled and chattered throughout the meal.

  ‘Weren’t the bridesmaids pretty? Did you like my friend, Madeleine?’ Robert opened his mouth to reply with a dutiful compliment, but Louise carried on, almost without pausing for breath. Her questions, it seemed to Robert, did not require an answer.

  ‘She’s my very best friend. She’s asked us to go up to London and stay with her any time we like. Won’t that be fun, darling? And Francis made a wonderful best man. He’s very handsome, isn’t he, with that fair hair and pointed moustache? Has he got a girlfriend? I’m surprised he wasn’t the first to get married.’

  ‘He’s not the marrying kind,’ Robert put in, ‘so he says.’

  Louise’s laugh tinkled merrily. ‘Oh, they all say that, but he’ll change his mind, once he meets the right girl.’ Coyly, she put her head on one side. ‘Just like you.’

  Robert smiled and reached across the table to touch her hand.

  Later, as he slipped into bed beside her, she nestled against him. Knowing how tired they both were, he held her, kissed her gently but tried nothing more. Time enough, he told himself, even though the feel of the girl aroused him.

  But last night, here in the hotel overlooking the lake where they were to spend the first two weeks of their honeymoon, he had taken her in his arms, his kisses becoming more passionate. His trembling fingers tugged at the front of her nightdress and at once she shrank from him.

  ‘What are you doing, Rober
t?’

  ‘You’re my wife, Louise. You know what happens, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean “what happens”?’

  ‘When a man and woman are married. You know about – well – that?’ There was a silence until he added, with a growing sense of disappointment, ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  He released her then and rolled on to his back, letting out a great sigh. ‘Oh,’ was all he said, his voice flat.

  There was silence as they lay side by side in the huge bed. Then she stirred beside him, raising herself on one elbow and leaning towards him, she said softly, ‘You can show me, if you like.’

  Hope surged within him and he reached out for her again, pulling her to him. ‘I’ll not hurt you,’ he murmured, kissing her gently. ‘I promise . . .’

  His kiss became more urgent as his ardour heightened. He unfastened the front of her nightdress and buried his face in the soft fullness of her breasts and he moaned with pleasure, kissing and caressing. Then he was tugging at her nightdress again, pulling it up, his hand seeking her private place, his fingers searching.

  ‘No, no, you mustn’t do that. It’s . . .’

  But his urgency was too far gone now for him to pull back. He was astride her, lying on top of her, spreading her legs apart with his knees.

  ‘No, no, Robert. You’re hurting me. No, no!’ She was pushing against him and her voice was loud and frightened.

  And then suddenly it was as if he were back in the alleyway and beneath him someone was screaming. He almost felt the hand on his shoulder once more pulling him away.

  His passion died and he was still, lying heavily on top of Louise, who was crying hysterically, ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He rolled off her to his own side of the bed and lay staring up into the darkness, listening to his child-bride sobbing beside him.

  And out of the blackness of the night, yet again, came the voice. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

  Seven

  ‘What were you doing at Aggie Turnbull’s place that night anyway?’ After a few days when Grace seemed to have recovered from the incident, Jeannie felt able to ask the question.

  The girl glanced at her quickly and then her gaze fell away. ‘I’d – er – just been round to see Aggie. Y’know.’

  ‘Are you friendly with her then?’

  ‘It’s – it’s . . .’ Grace hesitated and Jeannie had the feeling that she was trying to scrabble around her mind for some plausible excuse. A defensive note crept into Grace’s tone. ‘Aggie’s all right. Really she is. She’s kind and friendly and – well – fun.’

  ‘But your mother doesna approve.’

  Grace looked at her and then suddenly she moved closer, glancing about her to be sure they could not be overheard. ‘If I tell you summat, will you promise not – not to tell me mam?’

  Jeannie studied the girl’s young face, but she could not be less than honest. ‘I canna promise you that until I know what it is.’

  Grace blinked and faltered, ‘Oh. Oh, then it’s best you don’t know.’ She half-turned away, but Jeannie caught hold of her arm. ‘Be careful what you’re getting into, Grace. Aggie’s house may seem like good fun, but . . .’ Suddenly, Jeannie felt older than her eighteen years and much older than the naive sixteen-year-old standing beside her. Surely, she thought, living in this area, knowing Aggie Turnbull all her life, Grace could not be so ignorant? If she were, then Nell had kept her unenlightened deliberately. But there were consequences to be paid for for being overprotective. That ignorance could lead Grace into danger.

  The young girl shook her head and at her next words, Jeannie knew a sense of partial relief. ‘Oh, I know what Aggie Turnbull is.’ A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. ‘Everybody round here knows that. It’s a wonder there isn’t a pathway worn in the road by the number of fellers who make a beeline to her door when the boats come in. Aye, an’ not only the single fellers either. There’s married ones an’ all whose wives don’t . . .’ Mischief danced in Grace’s eyes. ‘Make ’em welcome home, if you get my meaning.’

  So, Jeannie thought with amusement, Grace was far from being as naive as she had imagined.

  ‘But,’ the girl went on, giving a mock shudder of disapproval, ‘don’t think I’m getting into anything like that. It’s just that – well – I can meet me friends at Aggie’s.’

  Jeannie frowned, her mind racing and, quick to understand the underlying meaning to Grace’s words, she said, her mouth tight, ‘You mean, friends your mother wouldna approve of?’

  Again the quick glance and then away again. ‘She doesn’t approve of me having boyfriends. Ses I’m too young.’ Now Grace flapped her hand at Jeannie, ‘Oh, now look what you’ve made me do.’ Angry tears shone in her eyes. ‘You’ve wheedled it out of me and you’ll go and tell me mam and . . .’

  ‘Only if I think you’re – well – in danger of getting yoursel’ into trouble.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not like that. It’s – it’s only a boy. He’s not from round here. I – I only see him now and again. When . . .’ Again she seemed to be searching for a credible story. ‘When his boat’s in.’ Now Grace seemed to be warming to her theme. ‘Mam’d like him, if only she’d let me bring him home.’

  ‘Mm.’ Jeannie was thoughtful. It was an old problem and one that was hardly likely to change. When girls and boys got to a certain age and thought of themselves as grown up yet their parents still treated them as children, it could lead to this kind of deceit.

  ‘You won’t tell me mam?’ Grace begged.

  Jeannie sighed heavily. She had the uncomfortable feeling that whilst Grace may not be actually lying to her, she was sure the girl was not telling her the whole truth. ‘I’m not making any promises, Grace,’ she said. ‘But just you mind what you’re doing.’

  Impulsively the girl hugged her new friend. ‘I will, Jeannie. Honest I will.’

  ‘They’re back. Have you heard?’

  The fisher lasses were once again standing at the troughs. Today they were all well wrapped up, for the wind lashed through the docks, rippling the surface of the water and whistling along the quays. Then it began to rain, soaking the girls, stinging their faces but still they stood there, working with no easing of their speed, stoically trying to ignore the cold.

  ‘Back?’ Flora said, never lifting her eyes from her flashing blade. ‘Who’s back?’

  ‘The bride and groom.’

  ‘Already? I thought you said the other day that they’d gone on honeymoon for a whole month?’

  ‘So they had, but they’re back. And that’s not all. They’ve gone to bide at the Hathersages’ place and . . .’ Mary paused to achieve the most dramatic effect. ‘And they’ve got separate bedrooms,’ she finished triumphantly.

  There was a moment’s silence until Jeannie said, ‘Well, don’t a lot of the upper classes sleep in separate bedrooms?’

  The other girl seemed nonplussed for a moment but then said stoutly, ‘Well, you wouldna think newly-weds would want that, would you? Not even in the upper classes. And what about coming home early from honeymoon then? Besides, I got it from Annie. She works as an upstairs maid there and she ses . . .’

  The girl prattled on whilst Jeannie was busy with her own thoughts. She felt sorry for the child-bride. No doubt Robert Hayes-Gorton had forced himself upon her on their wedding night in the same way that he’d attacked Grace.

  Oh yes, she felt very sorry for the poor girl and she hadn’t a moment’s sympathy for him. Not one moment.

  ‘Come in and close the door.’ It was a command rather than an invitation.

  Robert did as he was bade and stood before his father-in-law’s huge desk in his study.

  ‘Now, young feller, you’d better tell me what’s going on between you and my daughter.’

  Robert felt himself blushing uncomfortably, making him feel even more gauche and foolish than he already felt.

  ‘Well?’
came Hathersage’s bark. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘It’s personal and – and delicate.’

  ‘Oh, so Francis was right, was he?’

  Robert’s head jerked up to see his father-in-law nodding knowingly. ‘Francis? What has he been saying?’

  ‘When you arrived back from your so-called honeymoon far earlier than expected, your brother guessed that you haven’t – er – consummated the marriage yet, eh? Only Francis didn’t put it as politely as that.’

  I bet he didn’t, Robert thought morosely. He was rapidly beginning to see his elder brother in a very different light recently. If it hadn’t been for Francis, he wouldn’t have been involved in that disgraceful incident the night before his wedding and now, it seemed, his own brother was not above tittle-tattling to Robert’s new in-laws about what was a private matter between the newly-weds.

  Robert lifted his head, squared his shoulders and faced the man across the desk. ‘Your daughter, Mr Hathersage, is only eighteen and doesn’t seem to have been told what to expect of married life.’

  ‘What?’ Now the red-veined face opposite him was growing purple. ‘What are you insinuating?’

  Calm now, Robert said, ‘I’m not insinuating anything. She didn’t know anything about the – well – you know what I mean.’

  Hathersage let out a grunt of anger. ‘I left all that sort of thing to her mother.’ For a moment he was silent and thoughtful, as if he were thinking back and remembering. Slowly, he said, ‘Mm, well, it’s not as unusual as you might think, m’boy. You’ll just have to be very patient with her.’ Standing up he added, ‘But I wish you hadn’t come back so soon. It’s set the servants gossiping. And the separate bedrooms hasn’t helped either, but I’ll have a word with her mother.’ He moved round the desk and patted Robert on the shoulder with what was intended to be a fatherly gesture but to the young man it had the feel of condescension about it. ‘Yes, yes, that’s the best. I’ll speak to her mother. It’ll be all right.’