Candles in the Storm (8 page)
Read Candles in the Storm Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction
‘Don’t do it, lass. Think of yer granny. What’d she do if anythin’ happened to you?’
Enid realised she was talking to the wind a moment later when everyone was in place and holding fast to the rope, and Daisy was wading waist-deep in the water. And now the older woman’s heart was beating fit to burst as she thought, Our Alf will blame me if anything happens to that lass, they all will. Why couldn’t Daisy be like any other girl anyway? None of the others would have dreamt of doing this, not for a minute, and she’d no hope of reaching the poor so-an’-so on that bit of wood.
Daisy was thinking much the same thing. She couldn’t believe how cold the water was, she had never felt anything like it before. As a wave knocked her off her feet for the second time in as many seconds and she struggled desperately to right herself, keeping her head above the surge, the futility of trying to pit herself against an enemy who was a hundred times stronger than her overcame her for a moment. And then she glanced back to where Jenny, Maggie, Molly and Lorna had followed her as far as they dare, and to the other women behind the quartet, and took heart.
The tide was coming in. Already the man - because she could see now the figure lying across the spar was a man - was nearer, and she couldn’t have just stood by and done nothing. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night. What if her da or Tom or Alf had been in similar trouble, and a bunch of women had just watched them drown when there was a chance they were near enough to reach them? She blinked the blinding salt water out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and raised her arms high as she tried to jump another pounding wave. She was so deep now she could only just touch bottom with her toes and keep her head out of the water - and then she watched in horror as the slumped figure seemed to slide off the plank when the last wave covered it.
As the swell with its crest of white lather hit Daisy she lost her footing again, and by the time she had struggled, gasping and panting, to right herself all that could be seen a few yards away was the wooden spar floating unencumbered now. The man hadn’t come up. Oh, God, God, help me. He hasn’t come up! Let me find him, let me reach him.
Daisy wasn’t conscious of launching herself towards the spot she had seen him last, but as her feet searched for solid ground and found only water the sea closed over her head and she took a great mouthful of salty iciness, flailing wildly as she realised Alf’s mam’s prediction was in danger of coming true and she would lose her life in this vain rescue attempt. She opened her eyes as she rose upwards and there, just in front of her, eyes closed and looking as though he was dead, was the body of a man, her man.
Instinct made her reach out and grab, and as her frozen fingers found a hold in the man’s thick hair Daisy hung on for dear life, feeling as though she was being torn in half as the rope jerked madly round her waist. It was drowning her, she thought desperately, taking another mouthful of the disgustingly briny water as she fought to rise up for precious air against the pull of the rope which was curving her in two and keeping her head below the surface.
Daisy was aware of being towed through the water and that she, in turn, was towing the body of the man. As she kicked desperately with her legs she knew she couldn’t hang on to consciousness much longer.
And then she was being hauled up by strong arms and when her mouth opened again it pulled in air instead of choking salt liquid. She still retained her hold on the man, even when Molly and Lorna lifted him up and Daisy found herself being carried back to the shore by Jenny and Maggie. They all fell in a heap on the wet sand once they were clear of the waves, Daisy immediately rolling over and emptying the contents of her stomach while one of the women, a sturdy female with forearms like a circus strongman, worked on the inert figure a few feet away.
‘By, lass, if the salt water hasn’t done for him you certainly will,’ Molly commented as they watched the pummelling. The older woman lifted her head to give what was obviously going to be a tart retort, but just then the man’s body went into a quivering spasm and he vomited water again and again.
Enid had been busy rubbing life into Daisy’s frozen limbs before wrapping her in a blanket one of the other women had had the presence of mind to fetch. Now Daisy crawled over to the man as the retching ceased and his limbs gradually went limp again.
He was young, much younger than she had expected, probably Tom’s age or thereabouts, and his clothes weren’t those of a working man. Daisy gazed down at the waxen face as two of the women carefully turned the young man on to his back. There was an egg-sized lump on his forehead, and the right sleeve of his fine cloth coat was ripped, revealing a jagged gash on his forearm which, however, was not bleeding and did not appear to be deep.
All this Daisy gave only a passing glance to, her gaze caught and held by the almost beautiful face in front of her. The straight nose, the high chiselled cheekbones and firm but not over-large mouth reminded her of someone or something. And then she remembered. Miss Wright, the old school-marm in the village school at Whitburn, had been quite an artistic soul, and had brought in a book of paintings one day for them to look at as a reward for being well behaved. There had been one picture which had captivated Daisy, and Miss Wright had told her it was a photograph of a famous sculpture by an Italian gentleman named Michelangelo. The sculpture was called David.
‘He . . . he’s not movin’, Mrs McCabe.’
Daisy appealed to the buxom fisherwoman who had ministered so roughly to the young man, and Ethel McCabe pursed her lips before saying, ‘He’s taken a fair crack on the head, lass. Look at the size of that bump. What with that an’ the salt water he’s lucky to be breathin’, but it remains to be seen how he’ll do.’
Daisy pulled the enveloping blanket more closely round her, then forgot all about how cold she felt when the man’s long eyelashes flickered and his heavy lids rose. Piercingly blue eyes, the bluest she had ever seen, looked into hers, and she made a little inarticulate sound at the back of her throat as something leapt within her. She inhaled jerkily, knowing she ought to say something to reassure the young man he was safe, but the words wouldn’t come.
Daisy was never very sure afterwards how long they stared at each other - it could have been just for a second or two or much longer - then his eyes closed again and the stillness which had descended on her mind and body was broken.
She shivered, swaying slightly as her body reminded her of its recent ordeal, and when Enid said briskly, ‘Come on, lass, come on. It’s a hot mustard bath you’re needin’ an’ somethin’ inside you a mite stronger than my blackcurrant wine,’ Daisy did not argue. In fact she suddenly felt too exhausted to say a word.
She allowed Alf’s mother to help her to her feet and support her as the whole group trudged up the beach towards the cottages. Molly and Lorna along with Jenny and Maggie were carrying the young man between them, he appeared to be unconscious once more, and it was only when Mrs McCabe suggested the patient be taken to her house that Daisy found her voice again. ‘Thank you, Mrs McCabe, but me an’ Mrs Hardy’ll see to him in my house. You’ve got the bairns to see to, an’ likely he’ll do better if he’s kept quiet,’ she added tactfully when it looked as though the older woman was going to object.
‘Is that all right?’ she belatedly asked Enid in an undertone. ‘Could you stay for a while?’
‘ ’Course, lass. There’s nowt at home that won’t wait an hour or two with Alf bein’ away.’
Daisy nodded, her thoughts immediately flying to her da and the others as she prayed silently, Let them be all right. Please, please let them be all right. But as she opened the door to the cottage and braced herself to meet the barrage of questions she knew would come her way from her granny, her mind had returned to the young man again, and she was thinking how odd it was, disturbing even, the effect one look from a stranger had had on her.
Chapter Three
It was around ten o’clock that same night that Daisy felt a sense of deep aloneness come over her. It was a strange feeling, not like loneliness or being companionless - more a recognition that if her da and Tom had been lost at sea she didn’t know what she would do or how she would bear it, and that this night there was only her to care for the sick man and her granny so she had to be strong. She couldn’t cry or give in to the consuming fear that was turning her bowels to water. Not yet.
Her concern for her father and Tom, and for her second youngest brother, Peter, who worked a boat with his best friend, had mounted steadily throughout the afternoon and evening.
It had been just after midday when the first of several boats had been sighted. These, it appeared, had all managed to shelter in Marsdon Bay, albeit only after they had taken a severe battering on the seas. Two more boats had sailed in at twilight by which time the storm had all but blown itself out. These boats, of which Alf’s was one, had found refuge a little further up the coast at South Shields. There were now only three boats missing: Daisy’s father’s, Peter’s, and Molly’s husband’s.
Alf had come to visit Daisy as soon as he had seen his mother. He told the white-faced girl that the three boats in question had been some distance from the others when the storm had hit. Likely they would be weathering out the worst of it together somewhere, and she mustn’t worry. Her da was the finest fisherman Alf knew by a long chalk.
He had brought a pot of hot crab soup and a plate of freshly cooked fishcakes with him - Enid had sent a message saying Daisy had enough to do looking after her granny and ‘the other one’ to worry about cooking an evening meal. Once Alf had taken a look at ‘the other one’ he had been reluctant to leave, but Daisy had finally managed to shoo him away after half-an-hour or so by which time he had brought in a sack of driftwood and a bucket of coal and coke from the store under the dilapidated lean-to situated between George’s curing house and the privy, and also filled up the water barrel in the scullery.
Daisy was grateful for his help, and overwhelmingly relieved he was safe, so she didn’t understand why it was she hadn’t wanted Alf to stay when he had offered. But she hadn’t.
The stranger was still in the state of semi-consciousness he had slipped into down at the shoreline. Although Daisy had perodically fed him tiny spoonfuls of Mrs Hardy’s renowned ginger beer - made with enough root ginger to make it hotter than the devil’s pitchfork, according to those who tried it - along with small sips of rabbit broth, she knew he wasn’t really awake. And this became increasingly unnerving as the hours ticked by.
When the women had carried him into the cottage earlier Daisy had hurried upstairs and dragged down her flock mattress, placing it close to the range. She had piled it high with the blankets from her father’s and brother’s beds as well as her own. While she had boiled hot water for the two stone water bottles, Enid had stripped every stitch of clothing from the young man until he was as naked as the day he was born, and then proceeded to rub his frozen limbs as hard as she could in an attempt to get the blood flowing through his veins. Once the older woman had dressed the inert form in Tom’s spare trousers and a thick jumper she had called to Daisy, who was averting her eyes in the scullery, and the two of them had tucked him under the heaped blankets in front of the roaring fire with the hot water bottles at his feet.
Nellie, who had patently relished every moment of the unexpected drama, had sent forth a spate of endless advice from her platform bed which Daisy and Enid had borne with fortitude at first until Enid had finally snapped, barking at her old friend to
be quiet
. Daisy had actually felt sorry for her grandmother who had only been trying to help in her own way, but she had to admit the silence which had followed had been golden.
be quiet
. Daisy had actually felt sorry for her grandmother who had only been trying to help in her own way, but she had to admit the silence which had followed had been golden.
Now it was pitch dark outside and she was tired, so tired, but with a weariness that was in her mind as well as her body. Her da and the others . . . the thought of them was there like a constant drumming in her head and the worry had caused a physical ache in the middle of her chest which she actually rubbed a few times to try to alleviate it. She knew her granny was fearing the worst too now, since the other boats had returned. Not that she had said anything, but with her granny it was more what she didn’t say. Peter’s wife, Tilly, had come along to see them once she’d put her bairns to bed, and she was worried out of her mind. Five bairns, Peter and Tilly had, and the youngest only six months . . .
A mumbling from the figure on the mattress brought Daisy jumping to her feet again, causing her grandmother to say from the shadows, ‘Easy, lass, easy. Looks to me as if it’s goin’ to be a long night so pace yerself.’
Daisy had thought her granny was asleep. Now she said, ‘Do you want anythin’, Gran? A drop of Mrs Hardy’s ginger beer? There’s plenty.’
‘No fear, lass. Thanks all the same. The last time I had a glass or two of Enid’s ginger I turned inside out if you remember, had the skitters for days. Me backside wasn’t me own for sure. No, the odd sip or two’ll do the lad down there the world of good, but no one in their right mind would drink it for pleasure.’
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