‘Yes.’ She laughed.
‘Is he like his father?’ Brice asked.
‘Yes, he’s the image of him,’ she said. ‘When he laughs … When he frowns … When he’s thinking hard … Even the way he holds his head … It really is quite absurd that two people should be so alike.’
There was a sudden catch in her throat but in a moment she was calling to Jim, telling him to take more care and not push the wheelchair into the wall. Together she and Brice watched as the child swung the chair round and pushed it in the other direction.
‘He’s like you, too,’ Brice said. ‘He’s got your eyes.’ He dusted his cap and put it on. ‘I must be getting home,’ he said.
He waved to Maggie and Jim from the gate.
Little Jim, out in all weathers, grew into a strong healthy boy, and by the time he was three years old he was full of boundless curiosity. He wanted to know about everything that went on in the sail-loft and barking-house and was always climbing onto the yard wall to look at the ships standing out to sea.
‘What ship is that?’
‘A schooner,’ Gus said.
‘And that one?’ Jim asked.
‘A barquentine.’
Where was the schooner bound for and what was she carrying, Jim would ask, and Gus, looking through his spyglass, would do his best to answer the boy.
‘That’s the Aurelia, out of Polzeale. She’s probably carrying pilchards ‒ hundreds of hogsheads, all salted down ‒ and taking them to Italy. They’re great ones for eating pilchards there. They can’t seem to get enough of them and they’re always crying out for more.’
‘Why are they?’ Jim asked.
‘Because they’re all Roman Catholics there and they’ve got a chap they call the Pope who tells them they’ve got to eat plenty of fish.’
‘Why does he?’
‘Because he’s the Pope.’
‘Does he eat plenty of fish himself?’
‘Well, if he doesn’t, he should do,’ Gus said, ‘cos otherwise where would he get his brains?’
Jim asked questions all day long and Gus answered them patiently, but one day he turned the tables on Jim and the boy had to answer him instead.
‘See that ship out there in the bay? The one with two masts and her sails half-reefed? I want you to tell me what she is.’ Jim looked at the ship in the bay and a deep frown wrinkled his brow.
‘Is she a brigantine?’
‘You just tell me.’
‘Yes! She is! I know she is!’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know by her rig.’
‘Bless my soul, but you’re some smart! You can go to the top of the class for that!’
And as Maggie came out to the yard, to hang her washing on the line, Gus shouted across to her, saying how clever her son had been to answer his question about the ship. Maggie was inclined to smile. She thought it was just a lucky guess. But Gus would not hear of this and was highly indignant on Jim’s account.
‘He knows all right! You mark my words! He’s smart as paint, this boy of yours, and getting smarter every day. A brigantine, that’s what he said, and a brigantine she is, by God!’
But whether it was pure luck or not, the time came soon enough when Jim really did know which ship was which, and could tell you a great deal more besides.
‘There’s a full-rigger out in the bay. Handsomest ship I’ve ever seen. Such great masts she’ve got on her ‒’
‘What flag is she flying?’
‘I can’t see.’
‘Then you’d better look through my spyglass.’
Gus held the old, battered spyglass so that it rested on the wall and Jim, standing on a box, swivelled it round to look at the ship.
‘She’s putting another anchor down. There’s sailors running about everywhere. One of them’s stripped bare to the waist.’
‘Can you see her flag?’ Gus asked.
‘Yes, it’s the tricolour,’ Jim said.
‘Ah, French, I thought she was. Can you see what name she’s called?’
‘Yes, I can see it plain as plain.’ Jim had not yet learnt to read but he knew his letters well enough and he spelt out the name on the great ship’s bows. ‘H.E.L.O.I.S.E..’
‘The Heloise? Why, she’s an old friend. I went aboard her once, years ago, when she was berthed in Plymouth Sound.’ Gus now took the spyglass and had a look at the ship for himself. ‘She’s out there waiting for the tide so that she can get into Polzeale and unload her cargo at the pier. I wonder who’s her skipper now … It used to be a chap called Pradell but that was thirty years ago …’
‘Did you ever sail in her?’
‘Only up the Sound, that’s all.’
‘I would like to sail in a ship when I’m a grown man,’ Jim said. ‘Will you come with me, Uncle Gus?’
‘No, I shan’t come with you,’ Gus said. ‘I’ll have gone on a voyage all by myself, long before you’re a grown man.’
‘Why will you?’
‘Oh, just because.’
‘Do you have to go all alone? Can’t I come too?’
‘No, you’ll be needed here at home, keeping your mother company.’ Gus closed the old spyglass and lowered it into his lap. ‘And that’ll be a comfort to me, knowing she’ve got you to look after her, when I set out on this voyage of mine.’
‘Do you have to go, Uncle Gus?’
‘Yes, when the time comes, I shan’t have no choice.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Not yet, I hope.’
‘Where will you go to?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll be under sealed orders, as they say.’
‘Will you be going in the boat?’
‘What boat?’
‘The Emmet, of course.’
‘Well, now!’ Gus said, and gave a laugh, reaching out with one big hand to ruffle the little boy’s dark hair. ‘That’s how I would choose to go if I had any say in it. ‒ Sailing out in the old Emmet, with a two mizzen breeze and not too much tide, making for Sally Quaile’s, perhaps, when the pilchards are running nicely there … Yes, that would suit me handsome, that would, cos I should like to get my hand on her tiller again and feel her riding over the swell …’
‘You’ll have to ask Uncle Brice,’ Jim said. ‘He’d let you go. I’m sure he would. After all, it is your boat.’
‘Yes, that’s right, the Emmet is mine.’
Gus sat looking out to sea, his eyes screwed up against its pale glare, and was lost for a while in his own thoughts. Then he turned towards Jim again and, thrusting out his bearded chin, spoke to him in a great hearty voice.
‘And a good boat she’ve always been, too, right from the day I had her built. Old Tommy Laycock built her for me and he never did a better job in his life. Pure gold she is from stem to stern.’
‘She’s the best-kept boat in Polsinney,’ Jim said. ‘Uncle Brice sees to that.’
‘H’mm!’ Gus said. ‘And so he ought!’
Later that same September evening, when Jim was in bed, Gus sat out in the yard watching the sun going down behind Mump Head. The evening was warm, with only the gentlest south-west wind beginning to breathe in from the sea, barely enough to disturb the gnats that hovered in the air above his head. Behind him the cottage had grown quite dark and Maggie had already lit the lamp. He could hear her moving about, closing the casements and drawing the curtains and speaking quietly to the cat, disturbed from its place on the window-sill. Then she came out with the cat in her arms and stood looking at the western sky, now a saffron-coloured glow streaked with bars of purple cloud.
‘Isn’t it time you came in?’
‘Yes, it’s high time,’ he agreed, and slapped at a gnat that had settled on the back of his neck. ‘I’ll be eaten alive, else,’ he said.
Maggie put the cat on the wall and wheeled Gus into the house. She went back to close the porch door and when she entered the kitchen again, Gus was at the table pouring himself a glass of rum.
‘
Well, that’s another day gone!’ he said. ‘They seem to get shorter all the time.’
‘Don’t they always at this time of year?’
‘I wasn’t thinking of the time of year.’
‘No,’ she said gently, ‘I know you weren’t.’
He had been drinking heavily lately and it was a thing that worried her. She watched him empty his glass at one draught and reach out to fill it again.
‘Do you think it’s wise to drink so much?’
‘I don’t see what harm it can do me now. I’m already a dying man, or so I’ve been led to believe, anyway … Two or three years Dr Sam gave me and that was over four years ago. So I’m living on borrowed time now and I may as well make the most of it.’
Once again he drained his glass. Maggie drew out a chair and sat down. She looked at him with troubled eyes.
‘I don’t believe you’re a dying man.’
‘Come to that, neither do I!’
‘Then why not see Dr Sam?’
‘Where’s the point in seeing him? He said there was nothing he could do, except pronounce sentence on me, and he’ve already done that, damn his soul!’
‘But you’ve been getting better, not worse.’
‘No thanks to him, is it?’ Gus said. ‘It’s all your doing, not Dr Sam’s, so where’s the point in seeing him?’
‘He knows you’re better. I told him so. But he wouldn’t say what that might mean without seeing you for himself.’
‘An examination!’ Gus said with a snarl. ‘I’ve had enough of them in the past!’
‘Yes. I know. But I thought perhaps, for my sake, you might be willing to face it again.’
‘No doubt you’re in a hurry to know when you’ll be made a widow!’ he said. ‘Tes only natural, I suppose.’
Contrition followed immediately and he turned from her in self-disgust.
‘Don’t mind me ‒ or what I say. I hit out at you ‒ I’m a swine for that ‒ but I don’t mean the things I say.’
‘I know that,’ Maggie said. ‘I know why it is and I understand.’
‘Yes,’ Gus said, looking at her, ‘you are more understanding than I deserve.’ And then, because he was still ashamed, he quietly gave in to her. ‘All right, I’ll see Dr Sam. No good putting it off, is it? The devil will get me in the end.’
Dr Sam examined Gus in his bedroom on the ground floor and the door of the room was kept bolted to stop little Jim from bursting in. Dr Sam was very thorough; the examination took half an hour; and at the end of that time he frankly admitted that he was astonished.
‘The general improvement in your condition, since I last examined you, is nothing short of miraculous. If I hadn’t seen it for myself I would never have believed it possible. Heart … lungs … digestive organs … I’d say they’re working as well as my own … So, considering your disability and the strain it must put on your system as a whole, you are in pretty good health and I’d say you’re a very lucky man.’
‘Am I going to die or not?’
‘Well, of course, we’re all going to die ‒’
‘The last time you examined me, you gave me two or three years, so you’ve already made one mistake.’
‘Such things do happen,’ the doctor said. ‘You pressed me for a verdict then and I gave it to you in all honesty. It was based on your condition at that time and I’m sure that any other doctor’s prognosis would have been exactly the same. You were neglecting yourself badly. You hardly ate. You slept in damp sheets. You’d lost heart in every way and were letting yourself go downhill. Now all that is changed ‒’
‘What about the damned disease? You said the palsy would spread to my lungs.’
‘That is the course it most commonly takes and it’s usually only a matter of a few years from the onset of the disease. But your general health has improved so much that the palsy, rather mysteriously, seems to have been completely checked. I can’t explain it. I don’t know enough. But if you would like a second opinion ‒’
‘One doctor’s enough,’ Gus said. ‘How long do you give me now?’
‘I really wouldn’t like to say. Having already been wrong once ‒’
‘I’m willing to overlook that. You’ve gone over me pretty thoroughly. You’ve asked enough questions to fill a book. So what’s your latest prognosis, based on how I am today?’
‘Well, I can only do my best, but I’d say, judging from your condition now, that there’s no very serious reason why you shouldn’t live your allotted span.’
Gus stared. He drew a deep breath.
‘Three score years and ten?’ he said. ‘That’s another fourteen years!’
‘You don’t look exactly pleased at the news.’
‘It takes some getting used to, that’s why. Having faced up to death these past few years, then to be told you’ve got fourteen to go!’
‘That was just a figure of speech. You mustn’t hold me too firmly to it.’
‘Damme! I’ll hold you to something!’ Gus said.
‘Can I unlock the door now?’
‘God, yes, let’s get out of here!’
The door was unlocked and thrown open and Gus wheeled himself out into the kitchen. Maggie came forward expectantly but his face was difficult to read and Jim, clambering into his lap, was loudly demanding his attention. Dr Sam spoke to her, first remarking on Jim’s healthy colour, then complimenting her on the appetizing smell of cooking that came from the Cornish slab. On reaching the door he paused, looking back at Gus in his chair.
‘There is no doubt, about it,’ he said. ‘Your wife is the one you have to thank for your amazing recovery.’
‘Yes,’ Gus said, quick as a flash, ‘but you’re the one that’ll send in the bill!’
The doctor departed chuckling.
Gus now sent Jim out to play in the yard so that he and Maggie could be alone.
‘It’s good news, then?’ she said to him.
‘That all depends how you look at it.’
‘But from what Dr Sam just said ‒’
‘Damn fool doctors! They’re no use at all! First they say you’re as good as dead and then they say quite the opposite!’ Gus scowled ferociously and in a voice not quite steady he said: ‘He tells me I’m in such good shape that I could live as long as any other man of my age. Of course he dunt give no guarantee and he might just be talking widdle again but that’s what he said, sure nuff, and he’ve gone over me with a fine tooth-comb.’
‘Oh, Gus! You do sound so angry?’ Maggie said, torn between laughter and tears. ‘But surely, however you look at it, that can’t be anything but good news?’
‘Good news for me but not for you. I promised, when I asked you to marry me, that I should be dead within two or three years. That was the bargain we made, you and me, and I haven’t kept my side of it. I’ve cheated you. Gone back on my word. I’ve got no right to be still alive ‒’
‘Yes, you have every right!’ Maggie cried. ‘And I hate to hear you talking like this when you’ve just been told such wonderful news! Do you think I want you to die?’
‘No, I could never think that,’ Gus said. ‘The way you’ve looked after me these past four years ‒’
‘Then why talk about cheating me?’
‘Because tes only the honest truth. You’re a young woman. No more than a girl. And it’s all wrong that you should be tied to an old wreck of a man like me.’
‘Have you ever heard me complain?’
‘No, never, but that’s not the point.’
‘I’m happy. That’s the point.’
‘Are you?’ he said, with a keen look.
‘Yes,’ Maggie said quietly. ‘I have everything in the world I want, for myself and boy Jim, and I consider myself very lucky.’
‘I’m the one that’s lucky,’ Gus said. ‘You’ve kept me alive. You’ve made me well. You heard what Dr Sam said about that. But it’s all wrong just the same and if I had known I was going to live I would never have married you.’
‘And what would’ve become of me then?’
‘You could’ve been my housekeeper. I’d still have left you my property. But that way you would still have been free to marry some chap of your own age who’d have been a proper husband to you.’
‘But I never wanted such a thing.’
‘Not at first. I know that. Jim’s father was not long dead and the way you felt at that time no one else could have taken his place. But that was more than four years ago. You’ve had time to get over his death ‒’
‘Have I?’ Maggie said tonelessly.
‘Well, if you haven’t, you will do in time. And then if you weren’t married to me ‒’
‘But I am married to you!’ Maggie said. ‘And I only wish I could make you believe that I am content in every way.’
‘You may not always be content. You’ve got your life in front of you and it could happen, one of these days, that you find yourself looking at some young chap … and thinking of all the things you’ve missed … You might well turn against me then for standing in the way of your happiness.’
‘I shall never turn against you.’
‘How can you be so sure of that? You don’t know what the future holds.’
‘Come to that, neither do you,’ Maggie said, with a smile. She came and stood close to his chair and put a hand on his arm. ‘It seems to me we must just have faith.’
‘I reckon I came off best all round, in that bargain of ours,’ Gus said. ‘The past four years have been good ones for me, even stuck in this chair, expecting death, and now I’ve been told I shall live after all! But what’ve you got out of it? I’ve led you up the garden path!’
‘You don’t understand what it means to me that Jim and I have a home of our own and are wrapped around in security. Jim is only a little boy and he doesn’t know what we owe you. But I know it and I don’t forget.’
Gus took her hand and gripped it hard. He looked up at her, searching her face.
‘Some good’ve come out of it, then, eh?’
‘Yes, and a great deal of happiness.’
‘You don’t feel I’ve played a trick on you, making a promise I couldn’t keep?’
‘It’s a promise nobody wanted you to keep.’
‘I never thought to see boy Jim grow up … but now it seems I may after all …’
Polsinney Harbour: A heartwarming family saga set in Victorian era Cornwall Page 12
