‘Thank you,’ he heard Jeannie whisper, and knew that the gratitude in her eyes was more than for the money itself. He knew it was a Scottish custom and guessed that it was one Jeannie would hold dear.
He turned to face both women and said, ‘I hope you will allow me to – to see my nephew from time to time and I hope also that if there is anything – anything at all you need – you will let me know. I can only once more express my sorrow that my family has treated yours so – so shabbily.’
There was nothing more to be said, nothing more he could say, but he would have been gratified if he had heard the conversation in the kitchen after his departure.
‘He’s a kind young man,’ Nell said, speaking to Jeannie directly for the first time since her stony-faced rage at Aggie Turnbull being asked into her home.
‘Yes,’ Jeannie said slowly. ‘I think, perhaps, in the past, I have misjudged him.’
‘Sit you down, hen. I’ll get us a bite of dinner. You must rest, y’ken, if you’re to feed both bairns.’
Jeannie, with a small smile on her mouth, did as Nell said. It had taken Robert Hayes-Gorton’s visit to melt the ice around Nell’s heart and Jeannie was more than ever grateful to him for his visit.
‘And what, pray, is the attraction in Baldock Street?’ Louise asked and Robert looked up to see his wife’s lip curl with distaste on the last two words of her question.
They were seated at the Hathersage family breakfast table and it seemed to Robert that if Louise wanted to pick a quarrel – as indeed she so often did these days – she always chose a time when she had the support of her doting papa. And meal times were an ideal opportunity.
Robert felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten with tension as he decided prevarication was not the answer. Boldly, and without even glancing towards his father-in-law yet knowing both Louise’s parents were listening intently, Robert said, ‘It’s where the Lawrence family live and – as you may recall . . .’ he bit back the sarcasm that threatened to line his words, ‘they’ve had more than their fair share of trouble just lately.’
Louise cut her bacon and slanted her glance across the table as she did so. ‘Most of it brought on by themselves, I don’t doubt. But, if what I hear is true, I understand you are not entirely blameless.’
Robert swallowed. Surely Mr Hathersage had not betrayed his confidence and told his daughter? he thought, but at her next words it was obvious that was exactly the case, particularly as Hathersage himself began to bluster. ‘Now, now, my dear, this is hardly the sort of talk for the breakfast table and in front of your mother too.’
Louise’s blue eyes flashed towards her father and her lips pouted petulantly. ‘If what you said to me last night is true, then it’s all my mother’s fault that my husband seeks his comfort elsewhere.’
To Robert’s consternation, tears brimmed her eyes. He leant across the table towards her and started to say quietly, ‘Louise, we should talk about this in private—’ but he was interrupted by Mrs Hathersage’s voice from the other end of the table rising shrilly. ‘What? Henry, what on earth have you been saying?’
Now, even her father cast a half-despairing, half-exasperated glance at Louise. He rose from the table, leaving his half-eaten breakfast, flinging his morning paper to the floor. ‘I’m going to the office. I won’t be in for lunch and probably not dinner either. I, too . . .’ Now he wagged his forefinger down the length of the table towards his wife. ‘I, too, will find my comforts elsewhere, though I make no secret of the fact.’
‘Well, really,’ Mrs Hathersage said as the door slammed behind her husband. ‘What is the world coming to when a man speaks like that to his wife.’ With delicate fastidiousness, she pressed her napkin to her lips.
Robert stood up. ‘I must go. I have a funeral to attend this morning.’
‘In Baldock Street, I take it?’ was Louise’s parting shot.
There were two people who stood apart from the family members at Grace’s funeral, though they did not stand together. A little way off, but in no way trying to hide his presence there, stood Robert. Beneath the trees and deliberately trying to keep herself from being seen was Aggie Turnbull.
But Jeannie spotted her. Jeannie saw them both, though she hoped that Nell had not seen Aggie. It was a pathetically small gathering around the grave side, Jeannie thought. Just Nell and herself and one or two neighbours. It seemed so few for a young girl whose loss should have been mourned by many.
As the committal ended and the mourners moved away, leaving only Nell and Jeannie looking down into the grave to take their last sight of the coffin, Robert moved forward.
‘Mrs Lawrence,’ he said softly. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Nell, her arm tightly through Jeannie’s and leaning against her, looked up at him. Her face was drawn, pinched with sorrow, but her eyes behind her steel-rimmed spectacles were dry. It seemed, however, that she could not speak, for she just nodded in answer to his condolence and Jeannie felt her arm squeezed even more fiercely.
‘Would you allow me to take you home in the car—’ he began but Jeannie cut in sharply.
‘No . . .’ Then realizing her brusqueness she added, ‘No, thank you. It’s kind of you, but it’s not far and . . .’ She glanced around at the neighbours who were still lingering in the churchyard, still watching.
‘I understand,’ Robert said at once. ‘I’ll be going then, but I just thought you might like to know,’ his brown eyes were full of sympathy as they turned back to Nell, ‘we’ve had word that your son’s ship is at sea again and all is well, but – I am sorry – it’s as I thought. They’re going back to the fishing grounds again before they come home.’
Wordlessly, Nell nodded again but it was Jeannie who said, ‘Thank you for letting us know.’
Robert gave a slight bow, put on his black hat and said, ‘I’ll call to see you in a day or two, if I may.’
Now it was Jeannie who merely nodded and did not speak.
As the funeral party dispersed, Robert to his motor car, Nell and Jeannie to walk back home to offer tea and sandwiches to those neighbours who cared to call in, only Aggie Turnbull still stood beneath the shadows of the trees, watching everything that went on.
Twenty-Four
When Tom first saw his son, the child was almost a month old. It was a difficult moment, Jeannie realized, for although he had already been told of his sister’s death and knew her funeral had taken place, the joy in the birth of his son was marred by his sorrow. As he stood looking down at the sleeping boy, he said, ‘He’s like me dad.’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘I’m glad about that.’
‘Grace’s bairn is fair too,’ Jeannie said softly. ‘They’re very alike. At least, at the moment.’ She gestured towards the other cradle where the baby made snuffling, whimpering noises.
‘Aren’t you going to move it away? It’ll wake him.’ There was a harshness, a strange belligerence in Tom’s tone.
‘They don’t wake each other. Not often, anyway.’ She watched Tom’s face as his gaze remained firmly fixed upon his own child.
‘Aren’t you going to look at your nephew?’
She saw him stiffen and glance up at her. ‘I aren’t interested in it.’
Jeannie stared at him. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
He shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘What I say,’ he said curtly. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ me. Anyway, what’s going to happen to it? Mr Francis Hayes-Gorton going to look after his bastard, is he?’
‘No,’ Jeannie said sharply. ‘We’re going to look after it – him.’ She altered her words quickly.
‘Oh no, we’re not.’
Jeannie stood facing him, anger welling up inside her. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ She leant closer to him, her glance raking his face, trying to read the meaning behind his words. ‘If you think the Hayes-Gortons are going to do anything, then you’re mistaken. Mr Robert’s been very kind, but even he . . .’
‘Oh aye. Mr Robert. Mr bloody Robert Hay
es-Gorton’s nearly worn a path in the road leading to this door whilst I’ve been away, by what I’ve heard.’
Jeannie stepped back suddenly, as if he had physically hit her. She found, to her surprise, that she was defending Robert. ‘He was genuinely sorry. He’s been trying to do something to help Grace’s bairn.’
‘Trying to help himself, more like.’
She shook her head, bewildered. She did not think herself naive or stupid, but she could not guess what Tom meant. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s been coming here, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I’ve told you—’
‘To see you.’ Whilst she knew herself innocent of his accusation, Jeannie could not help a quiver of embarrassment. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, perhaps Robert was visiting a little too often. In the dark recess of her mind she remembered her wedding day and almost felt again the touch of his lips on her cheek. Because she had secretly acknowledged the change in her own feelings towards Robert, now she could feel the colour creeping into her face.
Tom jabbed his finger into her chest. ‘Aggie ses—’
‘Aggie? You’ve been to see Aggie before you even came home to see your wife and your bairn for the first time?’
‘No, no, of course, I didn’t.’ Now Tom was on the defensive and Jeannie knew intuitively that in his temper he had said more than he had intended. ‘She – she was on the dockside when the boats came in.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘Jeannie – you know she always is.’
In this Jeannie knew he was speaking the truth. Mollified a little, she said, ‘Aye well, maybe so. But you shouldna have listened to her gossip. For all that she helped us at the births, she’s still a blether.’
‘Eh?’ Now it was Tom’s turn to look mystified. ‘Here? She was here? I don’t believe it. Me mam would never let her across that threshold.’ He flung out his hand towards the door to emphasize his words.
‘She had no choice,’ Jeannie said and told him all that had happened, ending by adding, ‘and she came to Grace’s funeral, though she kept well out of sight. But I saw her there, standing beneath the trees.’
Tom said, his voice quieter now, ‘I think she was very fond of our Grace.’
‘Aye well,’ Jeannie sighed. ‘Maybe so, but it was at her place that Grace’s troubles started. Aggie condoned what was going on. Encouraged it even. Never forget that.’
Now Tom looked a little sheepish. As if wanting to change the subject he glanced again towards the other cradle. ‘So, you want to keep him, eh?’
Jeannie’s anger flared. ‘You sound as if you’re talking about a kitten or a puppy, Tom. The wee man is your nephew and your mother’s grandchild. Her first grandchild, as a matter of fact, for he was born a few hours before our own son.’
For a long moment, there was a heavy silence between them, then the man turned away with an angry, defeated movement. ‘Have it your own way then, but don’t expect me to treat him like I’ll treat me own.’
He slammed out of the house, leaving Jeannie staring after him wondering how a man could be so callous towards the tiny mite.
She had thought Tom like his own father, and so consequently, like her own.
But the man she was seeing now was nothing like the kind-hearted Angus Buchanan.
‘We’re going to have to decide on names,’ Jeannie said, forcing a brightness into her tone. ‘We really can’t go on calling them Grace’s bairn and young Tom, can we?’
‘What does Tom say?’ Nell asked.
Jeannie sighed. ‘He’s leaving it to us.’
Nell glanced at her over the top of her spectacles. ‘Don’t let him worry you, Jeannie. We’ll take him at his word. Now then . . .’ Nell came and sat down at the table. ‘Make us a cup of tea, hen, and let’s think.’
Jeannie set the kettle to boil and laid the cups out. ‘Well, of course, our way . . .’ she began, referring to the Scottish custom, ‘would be to call Grace’s bairn Samuel and ours, George.’
Nell nodded. ‘After their paternal grandfathers.’ She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I wonder what Grace would have wanted,’ she murmured sadly.
‘Probably “Francis” but I don’t think we should do that. It would look a bit pointed, wouldn’t it?’
Nell sighed. ‘Aye, I dinna want any more trouble or bad feeling. Tom’s got to keep his livelihood.’
Jeannie felt the older woman’s sharp eyes on her. ‘Not happy about Grace’s bairn, is he?’
‘No,’ Jeannie said shortly, ‘but I told him, the wee man bides here.’
‘Thank you, hen,’ Nell said simply. Jeannie said nothing but marvelled at the change in the woman since Grace’s death and the birth of her two grandsons. Nell bore none of the resentment towards Grace’s child that she had shown to his mother in the final months of her life. Jeannie thought the saying that ‘they bring their love with them’ was very true in this case. How she wished Tom could feel the same. And now, the poor woman must be feeling overwhelmed with remorse for the way she had treated her daughter.
Jeannie reached out and touched the wrinkled hands, lying, idly for once, on the table. ‘So,’ she asked softly, ‘what are we going to call them?’
‘We-ell,’ Nell said slowly. ‘I rather like Samuel and . . .’ She pushed her spectacles up her nose. ‘And my George’s second name was Joseph, and it was my father’s name too, but do you like it?’
Jeannie’s smile widened. ‘We’ll christen him George Joseph then, just like his grandfather, but call him Joe. And yes, we’ll call Grace’s boy, Samuel, after old man Hayes-Gorton.’ She laughed, her green eyes glinting with mischief. ‘You never know, he might inherit a fortune.’
Now Nell laughed too. ‘I shouldna hold your breath, hen. That’ll no’ happen as long as there’s fish in the sea.’
So, on Tom’s next time ashore the two little boys were christened in the church where Jeannie and Tom had been married and this time, Jeannie was relieved to see, Robert Hayes-Gorton did not put in an appearance.
Robert was restless and he knew why. He was aware that at this very moment his nephew and Jeannie’s son were being christened and he was finding it difficult to resist the urge to go to the church.
Instead, he went in search of his wife. ‘Louise, are you busy?’
Considering she was lying on a sofa, a box of chocolates at her elbow and a book lying open on her knee, it was a silly question, but he had learnt not to presume. Amused, he watched her glance up at him with a mixed expression of coyness and suspicion. ‘That depends,’ she said archly. She, too, had learnt not to be too hasty with her replies. Whatever it was he wanted, it might of course be something distasteful to Louise, but on the other hand, her husband was capable of nice surprises now and again. Robert hid his smile, realizing that his wife had learnt caution.
‘My dear, I’d like to take you for a drive. I have something I’d like to show you. Something I’d like your opinion about.’
‘Really?’ At once, Louise’s interest was aroused. She flung aside her book and swung her shapely legs to the floor. ‘Is it something nice?’
‘I’m hoping you’ll think so,’ he replied mysteriously.
‘Oh, you tease.’ Louise pecked him on the cheek before running from the room. ‘I’ll just get my coat.’
Half an hour later when Louise had not only ‘got her coat’ but had renewed her lipstick, powdered her face and changed her dress three times before she found one that suited an outing in the motor car, they were driving from the Hathersage mansion towards the town.
‘Are we going shopping?’ Louise leant against his shoulder and twisted her head to look up at him.
‘Sort of,’ he laughed, ‘but not quite the sort of shopping you mean.’
Louise pouted prettily, but for once it was deliberate pretence. She was still intrigued.
Just before they reached the outskirts of the town, Robert turned to the left down a country road for a distance of about half a mile and drew to a halt
outside a square Georgian house set in an acre of gardens bordered by trees. It was nowhere near the proportions of the Hathersage home but it was an elegant country house.
‘Now,’ Robert said, leaning forward, his arms resting on the driving wheel. ‘What do you think to that?’
‘It’s nice, but . . .’ Louise looked at him and her eyes widened. ‘Oh! For us, you mean?’
‘Well, only if you like it?’
‘But we’re all right at home, aren’t we?’
He thought he detected a little note of fear in her voice, as if she were afraid to leave the protection of her parents’ home. As if, once in their own home, she was afraid of what her husband might demand of her.
Carefully, Robert took her hand in his. ‘Louise, my dear, I know certain aspects of being married are – well – difficult for you.’
‘Robert, please, I . . .’ She made to pull her hand away but he held it firmly.
‘No, my dear, listen to me, please, because we need to talk about this.’
Reluctantly, she left her hand in his, but her pout was no longer a teasing pretence.
Quietly, as if talking to a child, he said, ‘And I do understand, really I do. It’s – not altogether your fault. But we are married and even if – if, well, we can’t be man and wife in that way, there’s no reason why we can’t have a home of our own. Louise, we can be friends with each other, can’t we?’
Her blue eyes were large in her perfect doll’s face. ‘You mean, you mean you’re not going to ask me to . . .? You know?’
He looked down at her, their faces, for a moment, close together. ‘My dear, I’d like nothing better than for us to be man and wife in every sense, but I am not going to force myself on you. I – I’m not that kind of man.’ As he spoke the words he blotted out the shameful memory and yet he knew he spoke the truth, for that dreadful night had not been of his making.
He was startled to see tears well in Louise’s eyes. ‘Oh Robert, you are perfectly sweet and you make me feel so awful.’
The Fisher Lass Page 18
