The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  Now he felt pity for her overriding his own disappointment. He patted her hand tenderly. ‘I don’t want you to feel awful. I just want us both to make the best out of this marriage that we find ourselves in.’

  She nodded and with a sudden flash of wisdom that he had never before credited her with, Louise said, ‘Yes, we were rather pushed into it, weren’t we? I – I am sorry if you feel, well, let down. I – I am very fond of you, Robert.’

  His only answer was to lay his lips gently against her forehead, trying to blot out thoughts of a red-haired girl with sparkling green eyes. Then, forcing gaiety, he said, ‘I’ve got the key to the house. Shall we go inside and take a look?’

  Like an excited child, Louise clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes.’

  Half an hour later, when they had gone from room to room, Louise running ahead, exclaiming each time, ‘Oh yes, yes. Oh Robert, it could be such a beautiful house. It needs redecorating throughout, but it’s got such promise. Just look at these lovely French windows leading out on to the terrace. What summer parties we could have out there. Oh darling, it’s perfect. Do let’s buy it. Daddy will help us, I know he will.’

  Robert smiled. ‘There’s no need, my dear. On my twenty-first birthday, I inherited a legacy from my maternal grandfather. It was divided equally between the three of us and my share should be enough to buy this house and for you to be able to have it decorated and refurbished just as you wish.’

  Louise stood perfectly still for a moment. ‘Oh Robert,’ she whispered, ‘you do spoil me. I – I don’t deserve it.’ She came towards him and put the flat of her palms on his chest. Looking up into his eyes, she stood on tiptoe and gently kissed his mouth. ‘I’ll try to be a – a good wife to you, Robert. Truly I will.’

  Automatically, he returned her kiss gently, but he felt no stirrings of passion. All he could think of was the little christening party that would be coming out of the church about now.

  ‘Weren’t they good? No’ a peep out of either of them all the time.’ Back in the terraced house, Nell was bustling about her kitchen more like her old self than at any time since the death of her husband.

  Jeannie smiled as she sat down before the fire and opened her blouse to feed the two babies. ‘I thought they were supposed to bawl lustily to drive out the devil,’ she laughed and Nell joined in.

  As Jeannie put Sammy to her breast she glanced up to see Tom watching her with bitter resentment. Harshly he said, ‘Shouldn’t you feed Joe first?’

  Anger flashed in Jeannie’s eyes but she managed to keep her voice calm as she said, ‘I haven’t enough milk for both now, so they take it in turns and the other one has the bottle.’

  Tom gave a grunt. She saw his gaze on her breasts and saw the desire leap into his eyes. And there was something else there too. Jealousy, she supposed. Abruptly, he turned away and blundered towards the door. Sighing, she watched him go and, as the door slammed behind him, she wondered briefly whether it was the pub he was heading for – or Aggie Turnbull’s.

  Twenty-Five

  Robert came rarely to Baldock Street now and, whilst part of her was pleased that Aggie no longer had reason to spread vicious rumours, Jeannie found she missed him.

  It was from Nell that she learnt the possible reason. ‘Have you heard, hen, about the big house that Mr Robert has bought?’ Nell was sitting in the wooden rocking chair, nursing Sammy, gently moving backwards and forwards. ‘They say he’s letting his wife have a free hand in all the renovations.’

  Jeannie lowered her head over Joe, whose sturdy legs were kicking so strongly that she found changing his nappy difficult. ‘My, who’s a strong boy then.’ Keeping her voice level and making it deliberately disinterested, she said, ‘No, I hadna heard.’

  ‘That’ll be why he’s not been down to see the bairn.’ Nell glanced down at the sleeping infant in her arms. ‘But he’s still sending the money every month, just like he promised. He’s as good as his word, I’ll say that for him. And it was kind of him to send that big pram so that you can wheel them both out together. Do you think he chose it himself?’

  Now Jeannie laughed. ‘No. He’d send one of their employees. Someone from the office, I expect.’

  Nell was quiet for a moment, then she said slowly. ‘At least he’s taking more of an interest than the bairn’s father. You – you dinna think that . . .?’ She stopped and Jeannie prompted, ‘What?’

  ‘Well, that Grace might have been protecting him. That it was Mr Robert after all and not the other one?’

  ‘No,’ Jeannie said sharply and when Nell glanced at her in surprise she realized that her denial had been too swift. ‘No. Dinna forget, I saw them together. I was there when she told Mr Francis. If you could have seen the way she looked at him, there was no mistake that it was him she was in love with.’ Jeannie sighed and muttered, ‘Poor Grace.’

  Now there was silence between the two women, each busy with her own thoughts, and the only sounds in the kitchen came from the two babies.

  ‘We must have a party to celebrate your twenty-first birthday, Robert and the completion of all the renovations to the house. Mr Portus,’ Louise referred to the builder, ‘says we can move in as soon as we like. Everything’s finished.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘You must come and see it. I’m dying to show you everything. I just hope you like it.’ She pulled a face like a little girl pretending to be fearful of his displeasure.

  He patted her hand. ‘Of course I shall like it, my dear, if you’re happy with everything.’

  When he saw the house, Robert was hard pressed not to blurt out his disappointment. He could see at once that his wife had been heavily influenced by her London friend and everywhere he could see Madeleine’s hand in the choice of decor.

  Louise led the way across the new parquet flooring in the hall. ‘I wanted to achieve a feeling of spaciousness and elegance,’ she said.

  Robert glanced wryly at the only furniture in the large hall; a small table set against the wall with a mirror above it. For ‘madam’ to check her appearance just before going out, he presumed. Two chairs on either side were the only other items.

  ‘Where’s the hat-stand?’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh darling! There’s a teeny cloakroom through that door. I don’t want hats and coats cluttering the place.’

  She threw open a door to the left. ‘This is the morning room, and this . . .’ the door to the right of the hall, ‘. . . the dining room. And this, next to the dining room, is the sitting room.’

  As Robert stepped into it, he imagined for a moment that the store had not yet delivered the furniture. But then he realized. This was all there was. A large sofa and two armchairs, a small table and a cocktail cabinet.

  ‘I thought we might have a baby grand piano in that corner, darling.’

  ‘But neither of us play.’

  ‘I know, but they look so elegant with silver framed photos on the top, don’t you think? Besides,’ she waved her hand, ‘when we have parties, someone will play.’ Louise fluttered her eyelashes and added, ‘Your brother, Francis, plays, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Mm.’ Robert was only half listening, his glance still roaming around the room.

  He said nothing more until he had toured the whole house, even the kitchen.

  ‘You don’t like it, do you? I can see you don’t.’ Louise’s voice was high-pitched.

  Setting a smile on his mouth, Robert turned to face her. ‘Of course, I do. It’s wonderful. Very – tasteful.’ But try as he might, he could not feign the enthusiastic praise she wanted to hear. Her voice rose hysterically, ‘You don’t like it. Oh, you’ve spoiled everything. Everything.’

  Louise burst into tears and rushed from the room whilst Robert stood helplessly listening to the sound of her wild crying as she ran up the stairs. Then he heard the slam of the door of the master bedroom and heard the key turn in the lock leaving him standing alone amidst the cold, stark emptiness of the newly decorated house.

  Unbidden, came the picture of
the tiny terraced house in Baldock Street; overcrowded and never free of the reek of fish from the nearby docks and the ever-present net on the wall to remind them of the constant need for work. But that house, Robert thought, was more of a home than this palace would ever be.

  ‘I’m just taking the boys for a walk. They’ll soon be too big to go out in the pram together.’ Winter had given way to spring and summer once more and the two boys, at nearly eight months old, were growing rapidly.

  ‘Aye. They’ll be walking before ye ken.’ Nell nodded fondly towards her two grandsons. ‘Then we’ll be needin’ eyes in the back o’ our heeds! But I have to say, Jeannie, you’ve been a grand lass rearing them both. It’s been like having twins for you.’

  ‘It’s perhaps a little unfair to say so,’ she said, thinking of Grace. ‘But to be honest, I do think of them both as my own now. Perhaps I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Aye well,’ Nell said. ‘Grace wouldna have minded. And the bairn needs a mother’s love.’

  ‘And a grandmother’s. I couldna cope without you, you know,’ Jeannie said softly.

  Nell flapped her hand as if to dismiss the compliment but Jeannie saw the pink flush of pleasure on the woman’s face. ‘Och, awa’ with you and have your walk.’

  It was a bright blustery June day and Jeannie walked through the streets scarcely noticing the distance she was covering until she came to the outskirts of the town and found herself in a country road.

  The two boys, their heads at either end of the pram, were fast asleep. Jeannie smiled down at the round little faces, soft in repose. She was wandering aimlessly, enjoying the fresh air of the countryside away from the ever-present stink of fish, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. It seemed so quiet, so peaceful out here and reminded her sharply of the fields behind the village back home.

  As she heard the sound of a motor car approaching from behind she pushed the pram on to the grass verge and waited until the vehicle should pass her. But it did not. The motor stopped and the engine died. When she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw Robert emerging from behind the wheel. She felt the colour pink in her cheeks and glanced away from him, suddenly shy as if she had been caught in a place she should not be.

  He came close and said simply, ‘Jeannie.’

  Then she looked at him, screwing up her eyes against the sunlight behind him.

  ‘Mr Robert. I . . .’ There was so much she could say, so much she wanted to say and yet, now, the words would not come.

  It seemed as if he felt the same; for a long moment they just stood staring at each other. Then he removed his hat and swept his hand through his hair.

  ‘How are you?’ His voice was deep and gentle. ‘And how is Samuel?’

  It seemed strange to hear the child called by his proper Christian name.

  ‘He – he’s fine.’

  ‘And your boy? Joseph, isn’t it?’

  Now she smiled but there was a tinge of sadness in her tone as she said, ‘They are both my boys, Mr Robert. I never think of them as being anything else. Not now.’ Silently, she thought, I just wish Tom would feel the same.

  ‘Of course not,’ Robert said swiftly. ‘I’m sorry.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘It’s a word I often seem to be saying to you, isn’t it, Jeannie? Sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need, not now,’ she said gently. ‘That’s long forgotten.’

  ‘And,’ he said, his voice suddenly so deep and quiet that she scarcely heard, ‘and forgiven?’

  Her throat was suddenly strangely constricted and all she could do was nod.

  ‘You don’t know how very happy that makes me, Jeannie.’

  There was an awkward pause and then he cleared his throat and said, more briskly, ‘Would you like to come up to the house? The gates are just here . . .’

  She turned to look over her shoulder at two huge black wrought-iron gates and the sweeping drive that led up to a house nestling against a background of trees.

  Startled, she said, ‘Is this your house? Och no, I couldna. I mean . . .’ In the shaded lane, with the sun beating down, she was suddenly hot. ‘It wouldna be right.’

  ‘My wife’s away in London and there are no servants here today.’

  ‘Then it certainly wouldna be right,’ Jeannie said crisply. Though her heart was traitor to her words and beat faster at the very thought of being alone with him.

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry . . .’ he began and then laughed at himself. ‘There I go again.’ And the tension between them lightened.

  From the pram there came a whimper as Sammy stirred and began to wake.

  ‘I must be getting back. It’s quite a walk.’

  ‘Let me drive you.’

  ‘No, no.’ Now her voice was sharp again at the thought of the Hayes-Gorton motor car pulling up outside the house in Baldock Street and all the gossip that would cause. ‘It’s kind of you, but I’d rather not.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said and she knew that he did.

  They talked for a few moments longer and then, when she turned the pram around and said again, ‘I really must go,’ he turned back to his motor, swung the starting handle, climbed up and in a moment was driving through the gates and up the driveway towards the house.

  Jeannie stood at the gates watching him go. Then she turned and began to push the heavy pram back towards the town feeling suddenly lonelier than she could ever remember feeling in her life before this moment.

  Part Two

  Twenty-Six

  ‘Those two lads are always fighting. Can’t you handle them, Jeannie?’ Tom complained irritably.

  ‘Well, you’re their father. You do something.’

  He glared at her. ‘I’m Joe’s father,’ he said pointedly.

  ‘Canna you spare a mite of affection for the wee man? Sammy is your nephew, whether you like it or no’,’ Jeannie snapped, weary of his attitude that had never softened in the thirteen years since the birth of the two boys.

  Tom leant back in his chair, put his feet on the brass fender and wriggled his toes. ‘Ah,’ he said with satisfaction. He opened his newspaper. ‘Maybe so,’ he said, grudging to acknowledge even that much. ‘But I don’t see enough of my own son when I’m hardly ever here, never mind me sister’s bastard.’

  ‘You’re ashore more than most.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  The paper was crumpled to his lap in a fierce, angry movement. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  Jeannie sighed, wishing sometimes that she could hold her runaway mouth in check. Now they were heading for yet another row.

  ‘You should try it on a bloody boat out in the Arctic ocean in a force nine gale and still expected to gut fish on deck. You don’t know you’re born, woman. Nice, cosy little house you’ve got here with only two lads to look after . . .’

  And your mother, she wanted to retort, whose mind’s beginning to wander now. But she held her tongue. She had not yet told him that she was worried about Nell’s health. The woman was not old and yet some days she acted like an old lady, just sitting staring into the fire, her hands lying idly in her lap.

  Nell was no longer the bustling little woman Jeannie had known when she had first arrived. Now it was Jeannie who stood hour after long hour braiding the nets against the kitchen wall.

  Tom leant towards her, his mouth twisting. ‘I s’pect you dream about living in a fancy house just outside town, eh? Still coming here, is he?’

  Jeannie’s heart lurched, but she managed to return his glare calmly and steadily. ‘Who?’

  But as Tom opened his mouth again, she realized that it would look more suspicious than ever if she made out that she did not understand that he was referring to Robert. Jeannie gave a wry laugh and said, ‘Oh Mr Robert, you mean. We never see hide nor hair of him these days.’ Now she deliberately laced her own voice with sarcasm for she still felt bitter towards the Hayes-Gorton family, if not so much at Robert himself now. ‘I expect he feels he’s d
ischarged his duty towards his nephew.’

  For a moment Tom looked nonplussed. It was not the calm reply he had expected – nor probably wanted – from her. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I told you that he’d set up a monthly payment into a post office account for me . . .’ She altered her words swiftly. ‘For us. Just as a gesture. He didn’t have to. Mr Francis has never even acknowledged the boy as his.’

  Tom gave a grunt and his scowl deepened. ‘I’ve always had me doubts as to that anyway. I reckon it’s him – Robert. I’ve always thought it was him. It was him that attacked her that time, weren’t it?’

  No, no, no, she wanted to shout at him. I know the truth now, but you’d never listen, would you, Tom Lawrence? You’re so tied up with bitterness and hatred that you can’t bring yourself to hear the truth. So twisted that you take it out on a young innocent lad for the circumstances of his birth. But the words, reeling around her mind, remained unspoken. She said nothing but was glad that his train of thought had at least moved away from accusing her. But she was mistaken. ‘So you haven’t seen him lately?’

  Her heart was thumping as she said casually, ‘I canna remember when I did last see him.’ She hated telling Tom a deliberate lie for she could remember very well exactly when she had last seen Robert. The day she had told him not to visit Baldock Street again.

  The back door crashed open and both Tom and Jeannie looked up, startled. Tom opened his mouth to bawl at Sammy who stood in the doorway but when he saw the boy’s face, even he, for once, held his anger in check.

  Jeannie rushed forward. ‘Oh whatever’s happened, son?’ Sammy’s face was covered in blood from a cut on his left eyebrow. His right eye was so swollen that it was completely closed and blood and mucus oozed from his nose.

  ‘Is it true?’ He was breathing heavily through his mouth, pulling in great gasps of air. His injuries seemed not to concern him; there was something far more important on the boy’s mind.