The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  Now, however, he was going to be faced with the prospect of seeing her, of knowing what went on in her life and her family. Yet part of him longed for that very thing; to know that he could see her, that he could, in a way, look after her from a distance – and without her knowing it.

  Pushing thoughts of the beautiful firebrand to the back of his mind, he smiled at his wife and said, ‘When shall we go then?’

  To his surprise, Louise jumped up, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Tomorrow. I can be ready tomorrow.’

  Jeannie had never in her life known such idleness, at least not for so long a stretch at any one time. From quite an early age, she had to do household chores to help her invalid mother. After her mother’s death Jeannie had, with the help of her aunt, kept the house always in readiness, waiting for her father coming home from the sea. The only holidays she could remember were the occasional trips with her father; each an idyllic time that she held in her memory amidst a lifetime of waiting.

  And now she had let herself in for another life of waiting for her man to come home. But it was a life she was quite happy to accept. She would be proud of Tom, she knew, whatever he did. So she tucked her hand through his arm, and smiled, determined to store the memories of her honeymoon that she could live and relive in her mind. The beach in winter and, further up the coast, quaint villages and coves. Inland, the moors seeming to stretch for ever, broken by streams and vales with waterfalls tumbling over craggy rock faces.

  ‘It reminds me of home,’ she murmured once, without thinking.

  ‘Lincolnshire’s your home now, Jeannie,’ Tom reminded her and then laughed. ‘All flat land and sea and sky. That’s your home now.’

  Maybe it was, Jeannie thought, for now. But one day I’ll go back, she promised herself. One day I’ll see my homeland again.

  ‘Not more parcels, Louise.’ Robert smiled as he teased his wife. Louise glanced at him and seeing that his expression belied the words, gave her tinkling, joyous laugh.

  ‘Oh darling, I’ve bought the perfect dress for tonight’s party at Madeleine’s. It’s the very latest fashion. It’s blue silk with a low waist and a tiered skirt. Just wait till you see it.’

  ‘You’re pretty to me whatever you wear,’ he said and moved closer to her.

  ‘Oh sweetie, you say the nicest things.’ She patted his cheek and made a kiss in the air at the side of his face, but moved away before he could reach out for her and draw her to him. Stifling a sigh, he said, ‘Shall we have a look round St Paul’s or the Abbey after lunch?’

  Louise made a little moue with her perfectly painted mouth. ‘I want to rest this afternoon, Robert, if I’m to look my best. And then I want to have a long lovely bath in that gorgeous bathroom.’ She waved her elegant hand towards the adjoining bathroom with its deep bath and gold taps in the shape of dolphins. ‘But don’t let me stop you, darling. You go, if you want to, but you will be back in time to be ready for eight o’clock, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Robert said, hiding his disappointment. Dutifully, he held out his arm to her. ‘Shall we go down for lunch.’

  ‘In a minute, I must just renew my lipstick.’

  ‘Jeannie, it’s such a pretty hat. Let me buy it for you?’

  ‘Oh no, Tom, it’s far too expensive and frivolous. When would I wear a hat like that?’

  The item under discussion was displayed in the centre of a shop window; a broad brimmed straw hat decorated with pink silk roses.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Tom said, wrinkling his forehead. ‘Does it matter? Can’t you wear a hat like that any time? On a Sunday?’

  Jeannie laughed. ‘To the kirk? Oh Tom, really. It’s more the sort of hat . . .’ She bit back the words swiftly, for she had been about to say, it’s the sort of hat that Aggie Turnbull would wear, but she turned the moment into a joke and hugged his arm to her side, and said, ‘To wear at a wedding. Now, if you’d bought me it last week, then I could have worn it on my wedding day.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry I didn’t see it in time. But won’t you let me buy it for you now?’

  ‘It’s sweet of you, Tom, but really it isn’t practical. It would be a waste of your hard-earned money.’

  ‘You let me dad buy you that coat.’

  ‘Yes, and the three of you bought me this hat for Christmas to go with it, didn’t you?’

  Tom’s mouth turned down at the corners petulantly. ‘I bet it’s the sort that Mr Robert would buy his wife.’

  Then his face brightened as he thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Of course! I was forgetting. Mr Robert’s cheque.’

  He waved the envelope in the air. ‘We’ll need most of this to pay the guest house at the end of the week, but there should be enough left over. I’ll get it cashed and then we’ll buy that hat. You’ll look a treat in it, Jeannie.’

  She sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to upset him by throwing his generosity back in his face and this was, after all, their honeymoon. ‘Well, if you’re really sure you can afford it . . .’ she began and before she had finished speaking, she saw that his face had brightened and all sign of little-boy surliness had gone.

  Tom grasped her hand and pulled her towards the shop. ‘Come on, Jeannie. By, you’ll be grand in it.’

  Alone in the echoing vastness of a city church, Robert stood looking at the sweet face of the Madonna. In his imagination, the carved figure became not his own wife, but Jeannie.

  The trip to London had not been entirely unsuccessful, he told himself. At least he and Louise were now friendly and she did not entirely rebuff his gentle advances in their bed at night. But she would only allow him to hold her in his arms and cuddle her and talk about the theatre play they had just seen or the party they’d just been to and what everyone had been wearing. If he tried a bolder move, she would move away, out of his arms and say, ‘I’m tired now. Good night, darling.’

  As he looked now at the mother figure, saw the love and devotion etched even into those carved features, he knew that it was very unlikely he and Louise would ever have children. But now, Jeannie, he could see her as a mother, an earth mother devoted to her husband and his children.

  Swiftly, Robert turned on his heel and walked the length of the aisle, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence. He hurried from the holy place, feeling guilty that he could have had such irreverent thoughts in this place. That he had dared, in the Lord’s House, to covet another man’s wife.

  Nineteen

  ‘Just where is it you’re going, Grace, nearly every night?’

  They had been married a month and Tom was away at sea on his first trip since their honeymoon. He’d had to go. There had no longer been any choice. He had no money left to give Jeannie during her first weeks as a housewife.

  With her mouth set in a grim line, Jeannie had wrapped the pretty straw hat in tissue paper and placed it in a box on top of the wardrobe. She no longer wanted to set eyes on it, for it was a reminder that, until Tom came home from the sea again, the only money coming into the household would be earned by the three women in it.

  With Tom away and Nell still mourning, Jeannie felt she should find out just where it was that Grace was going night after night. Besides, it was what Tom wanted of her.

  She had been a little hurt by his parting words. She had gone to the dockside to see him off. ‘You will take care of yourself, Tom, won’t you?’ she had said, sudden fear gripping her.

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Jeannie. I’ll be fine. Now I’ve got something – or rather someone – to come home to.’ The smile had begun on Jeannie’s mouth but it froze as Tom spoilt the loving words by adding, ‘And knowing you’re there to take care of Mam and Grace, well, I shan’t worry so much when I’m at sea.’

  So now, Jeannie told herself, she had every right to question Grace.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ the girl snapped back.

  ‘Well, I’m making it my business. You’re not being fair to you
r poor mother. Nor Tom either, now he’s head of the family.’ She knew it was cruel to make a reference, even a veiled one, to George Lawrence’s death, but desperate situations required desperate measures. ‘He feels responsible for you. You’re still only sixteen.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just going to a friend’s, that’s all.’

  ‘Who? Who is this friend?’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Grace said again.

  ‘Is it Jane?’

  There was a guarded look in the girl’s eyes and she avoided meeting Jeannie’s gaze. ‘It might be.’

  ‘Oh well, if that’s how you feel, you’d better get on with it.’ Exasperated, Jeannie turned away. Deliberately, feigning disinterest now, she made up her mind to follow the girl the very next time she left the house. She was worried about Grace and now it was more than just Tom’s request that she should look after his sister. Just lately the girl had seemed thin and pale.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ she’d asked her countless times, but each time Grace shrugged off her concern.

  ‘I’m just tired, Jeannie. I feel the cold so at work, you know.’

  Jeannie did know. For anyone not as healthy as herself, she could well understand how the cold seeped through the fingers until there was no feeling left and the slicing and filleting became merely a series of repetitive movements that they could do in their sleep.

  That evening when Grace went out, Jeannie waited a few moments and then followed her. Pulling her shawl around her head and shoulders, Jeannie bent her head against the wind whipping down the wet street and hurried after the figure ahead of her, yet minding to keep her distance.

  At the end of their street, Grace turned to the right and then, passing by the next turning, turned right again. Jeannie hovered on the corner. This was the street where she had first encountered Grace, where the attack had taken place.

  This was Harbour Road where Aggie Turnbull lived. Surely . . .? In the darkness, Jeannie squinted to see where Grace went. She saw the girl hesitate about half-way down and glance around her as if to make sure no one was watching. Jeannie drew further back into the shadows of the house on the corner. Then, as she watched, she saw Grace bend her head and scuttle into a passageway between two houses. Leaving her hiding place, Jeannie walked swiftly down the street in time to hear, in the stillness of the damp night, voices and laughter coming from the back-yard of the house as the door was opened to let Grace in.

  Jeannie stood in the darkness, biting her lower lip, uncertain, now, as to what to do next. She was sure that this was Aggie Turnbull’s house. What could she do? What ought she to do? Should she knock on the door right now and demand Grace to come home? Should she go back and tell Nell just where her foolish, wayward daughter was? But her mind shied away from that. Nell was still mourning the loss of her beloved husband. Jeannie could not bear to bring further trouble to her unless it became absolutely necessary. And with Tom now away at sea again, the burden of responsibility fell upon her.

  As she stood debating, Jeannie heard the sounds of a motor car in the distance, but for a moment she took little notice. Then she realized that the sound was coming closer, that the vehicle was turning into this street. Anxious not to be thought loitering, especially outside the house of Aggie Turnbull, Jeannie bent her head and hurried back to the corner where once again she paused in the shadows and peered round the end house to watch.

  The motor drew to a halt outside Aggie’s house and the noise died away. As the man stepped from it, Jeannie inched forward, but she could not see him clearly, only his shape. Tall, with a slim build, the man was dressed in an evening cape and top hat. He went towards the front door of the house and rapped smartly on it with his cane, the sound echoing along the street.

  Has he no shame, she thought, to be seen knocking at the door of that house? Obviously not, she answered herself, as she crept closer. The door opened and light and laughter from the house flooded into the street. Nearer now, and with his features illuminated in the seconds before he stepped into the house and the door closed behind him, Jeannie recognized him.

  Francis Hayes-Gorton.

  That did it! Now, without a moment’s hesitation, Jeannie marched up to the front door and banged on it with her fist. ‘Open this door. Open this door at once, d’you hear me.’

  The door was flung back and Jeannie, her arm raised to knock upon it again, almost fell forward. She clutched at the door frame to steady herself and blinked in the sudden light. Before her stood Francis in the action of taking off his cloak and hat. He turned and a smile twisted his mouth. ‘Oho, Mrs Jeannie Lawrence, if I’m not mistaken. Come to join the fun whilst your man is away at sea. Come in, my dear, come in . . .’ He made a motion towards her with his hand inviting her to step inside but Jeannie stood resolutely on the doorstep. Then her glance went beyond him to where the staircase rose behind him. At the top, dressed in a shiny, red satin evening gown, with diamonds glittering at her throat, stood Grace. She was descending the stairs, her gaze upon Francis Hayes-Gorton and seeing the look on the girl’s face, Jeannie gasped.

  Grace had the rapturous look of a young girl hopelessly and helplessly besotted by the young man standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Francis shrugged. ‘Oh well, if you won’t join in the fun, then . . .’ He turned towards Grace and took her outstretched hand in his. Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed them and then glanced, with a sly, triumphant look, over his shoulder at Jeannie. ‘See what you’re missing.’

  Then Jeannie lunged forward. ‘I see what I’m missing, all right,’ she muttered and grasped Grace’s arm, dragging her away from Francis. Because her move had been so swift and unexpected, she managed to pull the girl towards the door and almost had her across the threshold and out into the night, before anyone realized what was happening. But then, Grace resisted, pulling against Jeannie’s grasp and at the same moment Francis stepped forward and gripped Jeannie’s wrist so fiercely that the feeling went from her hand and her hold on Grace slackened.

  ‘Trying to play the avenging angel again, are we, Mrs Lawrence?’ he said through thin, tight lips. ‘I think you should let Grace decide whether she wants to go or stay, don’t you?’

  In the red heat of anger, Jeannie faced him boldly. ‘No, I don’t. She’s only a girl. Scarcely more than a bairn.’ She became aware that others had appeared at the top of the stairs, and behind them, emerging from the front room, was Aggie herself. Now, Jeannie turned on her. She opened her mouth to scream a tirade of abuse at the woman, but instead she found herself forestalled as Aggie smiled and, stepping forward, put her arm about Grace’s shoulder. In a husky voice, she said, ‘I think you should go home with your sister-in-law, my dear.’

  But Grace interrupted. ‘No,’ she shouted, pulling herself free. She stepped close to Francis, putting her cheek against his chest and her arms about his waist. ‘No, I want to stay here.’ She stared boldly at Jeannie and added defiantly, ‘All night.’

  Jeannie knew her mouth dropped open. She was shocked and, suddenly, very afraid.

  Now she tried the softer approach, making her tone a gentle appeal. ‘Grace, please. Just come home. Your mother will be worried.’

  For a moment there was a haunted look of doubt in the girl’s eyes. And guilt. Yes, Jeannie could see it. Guilt. Suddenly, with a woman’s intuition, Jeannie knew there was something very wrong. Her voice low, she held out her hand towards Grace and said, ‘Grace, we’ll help you. We’ll stand by you.’

  The girl’s eyes widened and she whispered, ‘How – how did you know?’

  Jeannie’s heart was heavy within her chest. She hadn’t known, not really. But she had guessed and sadly, it seemed, she was right.

  She saw Francis stiffen as he looked down at the girl snuggling so close to him. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  Grace looked up into his face and Jeannie saw again the look of adoration and she groaned inwardly. Grace idolized this man.
Her face was shining with happiness now as she said, ‘I’m to have your child, Francis. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  All around them there was a silence, as if everyone listening were holding their breath. Although her gaze was upon Grace and Francis, Jeannie was aware that Aggie gave a little gasp and her hand fluttered to cover her mouth. She, too, was staring at the couple and Jeannie was sure she heard the woman breathe, ‘No, oh no.’

  Well, at least we’re in agreement on that, Jeannie thought grimly.

  Francis’s eyes narrowed and his mouth was hard. Suddenly, his handsome face was ugly. He pushed Grace from him and then gripped her wrists savagely, shaking her and bending towards her, hissing in her face, ‘Don’t you try to pull that one with me, you little whore.’

  Grace’s eyes were wide, her mouth dropping open. ‘But – but Francis . . .’

  With a vicious movement, he flung her away from him so that she fell backwards, losing her balance, and before anyone could move to help her, she had fallen heavily against the wall, cracking her head. Slowly, she slithered down into an ungainly heap on the floor. Her head lolled forward and she tipped to one side.

  At once, Jeannie and Aggie rushed forward and knelt either side of the girl. Aggie ran her fingers over the girl’s scalp. ‘There’s no cut,’ she said, ‘but she’ll have a nasty bruise.’

  Grace moaned and her eyelids fluttered.

  ‘Let me help you up—’ Jeannie began, but Aggie said at once, ‘No, don’t move her for a moment.’

  Suddenly, they felt a draught of cold air and heard the front door slam behind them. The two women glanced at each other.

  ‘Good riddance,’ Aggie muttered and bent over Grace, stroking the girl’s face with such a gesture of tenderness that Jeannie was mystified.

  ‘Here,’ a voice spoke behind them and Jeannie turned to see that one of the other girls was holding out a glass of water.

  ‘Thank you.’ Gently Aggie raised the girl’s head and shoulders. Cradling her against her breast, Aggie took the glass and held it to Grace’s lips. The girl’s face was deathly pale, the bright red lipstick a smudged gash across her mouth.