A Safe Harbour (11 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
Soon the cart with its heavy load of bagged logs and its two passengers swung out into the lane. ‘We’ll be a good half-hour, so you lean back and hev a bit shuteye,’ Aunt Meg told Kate who did so willingly, although it was difficult to find a comfortable position amongst the bags of logs.
‘Here you are.’ Her aunt had found an empty sack. ‘Fold this up and put it behind your back. I’ll wake you when we get there.’
Kate closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her mind was churning. So much had happened; so much had changed. Just a few days ago she had been looking forward to marrying a man who had his own coble. And although they knew that at first they would have to live with his family, they had plans to buy their own cottage.
And now here she was about to begin life as a fish lass selling fish from door to door. From under half-closed lids she looked at Aunt Meg, who seemed to be resigned to a life of toil and was totally uncomplaining. Her aunt’s cheerful expression made her smile. But as she watched, the older woman slipped a hand into a pocket in her voluminous skirt and brought out the familiar flask. As the cart trundled along Aunt Meg raised the flask to her mouth, took a swig and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She slipped the flask back into her pocket and settled back with a satisfied sigh. Kate’s smile faded. She had not realized that her aunt had started to drink so early in the day.
Chapter Five
Kate stared at the lump of weathered stone, almost obscured by a tangle of grass, while Mr Brunton helped Aunt Meg lift the baskets of fish, crabs and lobsters down from the cart. It must be very old, she thought. The inscription was barely legible and those letters she could see did not look like parts of English words. Local people said the Romans had put the stone there centuries ago, to tell the Roman soldiers how far they were from somewhere or other. Rome was in Italy. Kate had learned about the Roman Empire at school.
The Romans had come here and built a wall between England and Scotland, and much of it was still there. It started over on the west coast and ended here, in Wallsend. The schoolbook said that was how the town had got its name. The teacher had once asked Kate’s class to write a letter as if from a soldier to his mother in Rome; telling her about the beautiful countryside and asking her to send him some little treats. Kate had wondered whether the wild northern hills could be compared with somewhere as exotic as Rome but she had entered into the exercise with enthusiasm and had ended the letter by asking for some warm socks.
While she’d been daydreaming, Albert Brunton had deposited the baskets on the ground at Aunt Meg’s feet. He grabbed the reins of the impatient horse, who seemed to know that it was time for them to be getting on their way. ‘Whoa there, lass!’ he said, and climbed nimbly back on to his seat. ‘Now mind, Meg, don’t keep me waiting. I’ll be back at the usual time to water Bess at the trough in the Plough’s yard yonder. And if I’m not in sight you might find me taking a gill in the bar.’
This was the longest speech Kate had ever heard Albert make. When he’d finished talking he grinned and flicked the reins. Bess set off at a steady trot, harness jangling as they headed for the town.
Kate could see the houses on the horizon, smoke rising from the chimneys and hanging like a pall over the crowded rooftops. The giant cranes in the shipyards formed monstrous shapes against the sky. And up and away from the river bank the pit wheels rose above the crowded streets. Here men toiled underground hewing the coal to keep the fires of faraway London burning. Coal was also needed for the railways and for steamships such as Richard Adamson’s new trawlers.
Kate was puzzled. ‘Why doesn’t Mr Brunton take you all the way into town?’ she asked.
‘Because I hev a few calls to make before I get there. First that inn at the crossroads over there, the Plough, then Jackson’s farm and a smallholding or two. The country wives pay well and they like first pick.’
Kate offered to carry the creel with its six stones of haddock and codling instead of the wicker basket, but Aunt Meg shook her head. ‘No, pet, there’s a knack to it. I’ll get you a creel of your own and instruct yer proper, but not today. And besides, I would feel lost without it after all these years. I sometimes think I was born with a creel on me back.’ Meg settled her burden properly and headed for the inn.
Even though she was carrying the lighter load, and taking into account the amount of gin Aunt Meg must have put away, Kate had a job keeping up with her. The cook at the Plough was expecting her and Kate was relieved to see how much fish she bought. She took half a dozen crabs and a lobster from Kate’s basket, too. Mrs Butterfield was a cheerful, talkative woman and obviously would have liked them to stay and gossip for a while.
‘I’ll try to get back early,’ Aunt Meg told her. ‘Me niece and me will sit with you in the yard, if we hev time, and perhaps hev a sup of ale. But now I must get on.’
Kate didn’t speak either at the inn or at the farm and the smallholdings. At one dwelling she stood and watched a bunch of white chickens scratching around in the dusty soil until her aunt nudged her with her elbow. It was the nearest the kindly woman got to admonishing her. Kate mouthed the word ‘sorry’ and began to pay attention as her aunt smiled and cajoled her customer into buying more than she might have planned to. Kate realized she had a lot to learn. Aunt Meg knew everyone’s name and all about their families, but Kate sensed that her interest was strictly businesslike. It was all to do with selling fish.
After the last smallholding it was a short walk into town. Her aunt headed for a pleasant area, well away from the river, and looking almost like a park with its stretches of grass and graceful trees. ‘The toffs live here,’ Meg told Kate. ‘Just look at these grand houses.’
‘Who can afford houses like this?’ Kate asked.
‘The bosses from the shipyards and the mines, a shipowner or two, lawyers, doctors, them kinds of folk.’
When she called at these houses Meg did not go to the front door but found a back door or, in some cases, went down the area steps to a small yard and a semi-basement. As she negotiated one such set of steps Meg lost her footing. Kate saw her begin to fall, but before she could do anything to help, her aunt had saved herself by grabbing the railings.
‘Are you all right?’ Kate asked. Her own heart was pounding.
‘Why, of course. That step’s worn; I should hev remembered.’
As Kate followed her aunt down into the yard she looked at all the steps closely. She didn’t think any of them looked worn. Meg’s demeanour was different now. She was just as pleasant but not quite so jolly. More respectful, in fact, although none of the women who answered the door were the ladies of the house. They were all servants, but they seemed to think they were a better sort of person than a mere fishwife. Kate wondered if she would ever be able to deal with people like this and voiced her doubts to her aunt as they walked on.
‘Remember, Kate, hinny,’ her aunt told her, ‘you can’t let your pride stand in the way of business. You hev to act respectful.’
‘That must be hard sometimes.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Aunt Meg laughed when she saw Kate’s doubtful expression. ‘Oh, some of them put on airs and graces and look down their noses at you because they think they’re superior. But that’s not the reason you’re being polite to them.’
‘Then what is?’
‘The reason is that in spite of being a fish lass
you
are a lady, you and me both, and we would never demean ourselves by behaving like some of those who think they’re ladies – whether mistress or servant – but don’t act like such.’
you
are a lady, you and me both, and we would never demean ourselves by behaving like some of those who think they’re ladies – whether mistress or servant – but don’t act like such.’
Soon they had done with that part of town and were going door to door in the terraced rows that led down to the river. The wives of the working men greeted Meg with smiles and gossip just like the country women, although the humour was sharper and the attitude not quite so easy-going.
Soon Meg’s money pouch hung heavily and clinked as she walked. Both baskets were nearly empty and this made the going easier, but even so Kate’s arms were protesting so much that she felt they might drop off. Her aunt seemed to have the lifting power of a packhorse. She didn’t appear to be tired but her face was bright red. Unfortunately this wasn’t caused only by hard work.
Every now and then Meg had stopped to take a sip from her flask. The first time she did it she had glanced at Kate awkwardly and muttered something about needing fortifying. Kate had kept quiet. She had no idea what she could have said, and after that her aunt had been quite open about it.
The drinking didn’t seem to affect her behaviour. It was true her gait was a little unsteady as they walked back to meet Mr Brunton, but, unless you knew she had been drinking, this could have been put down to weariness. Kate was pleased to see the timber merchant waiting by the milestone. She was glad that her aunt would not have the opportunity to return to the Plough and ‘hev a gill’.
Mr Brunton was happy. He told them he’d had a good day. The colliery had taken all the pit props and he’d had no trouble selling the bags of logs. Prudent folk, it seemed, never thought it too soon to stock up for the winter. He hoisted Aunt Meg up on to the cart, grinning at Kate as he did so. Kate flushed and looked away. It was obvious that he knew that her aunt was the worse for drink and he thought nothing of it. Kate tried to fight down a surge of embarrassment. She loved her aunt and didn’t want anyone to think the less of her.
They hadn’t gone more than half a mile on the journey home when the older woman collapsed on to a pile of empty sacks and fell asleep. She began to snore, but Kate didn’t think Mr Brunton could hear her because of the noise of the horse’s hoofs and the clatter of the wheels. She hoped not. Without its load of wood the cart jolted wildly on the uneven and rutted surface of the tracks, but even when the wheels left the road altogether Aunt Meg did not wake up.
Kate found herself clinging on to the sides of the cart for dear life. She began to feel sick and the bile rose hot and sour into the back of her throat. The sound of her heartbeat seemed to pound in her head to the same rhythm the horse’s hoofs made as they struck the road. She knew she was tired and she knew that these days of sickness would not last. If she felt wretched now it was only to be expected. But she would not complain to Aunt Meg. She had assured her aunt that she would not be a burden to her and she was determined to keep her promise.
When the cart finally pulled in to the timber yard Meg smiled and opened her eyes. Amazingly she looked none the worse for wear. ‘Well, Albert, how much do I owe you?’ she asked once Mr Brunton had helped her down.
‘Nowt,’ he said. ‘You know I don’t want payment.’
‘Well, will you take a bit of fish?’
‘If you insist. Tilda would like that.’
While they had been talking Mrs Brunton had appeared in the doorway of the shed that served as an office, holding a plate. She walked towards them and held out the plate, and Meg reached into her creel and took out most of the fish that was left. She slapped it on the plate. Kate realized even before her aunt glanced at her and winked that this was a ritual.
‘Hev you enjoyed yerself today?’ her aunt asked as they walked home to Belle Vue Cottage.
‘Very much,’ Kate said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
‘It’s been grand having you along,’ Aunt Meg continued. ‘Someone of me own to keep me company. And never fear, Kate. You’re a clever lass – you’ll soon pick them up, the tricks of the trade.’
Kate was sure she would. And she was genuinely glad that her presence was making her aunt happy. Even though her heart was aching she was determined to make the best of things. Not just for her own sake, but also for the baby she was carrying, who was all she had left of Jos.
Her mother was waiting at the door of the cottage. ‘How’d you get on?’ she asked.
Kate couldn’t have expressed how pleased she was to see her there. ‘You’d better ask Aunt Meg.’
‘The lass did very well,’ her aunt said. ‘But hawway in; we’ll hev a cup of tea.’
The fire had been banked up and it didn’t take long to stoke it up a little and get the kettle boiling. The day had been warm but it was cool inside the cottage and although her mother and her aunt sat companionably at the table Kate drew her chair to the fireside and savoured the cheery glow.
‘Lissen, Kate,’ her mother said, and she looked troubled. ‘There’s no one else knows yet that you’re expecting. Just you, me and Meg here.’
‘And my father.’
‘Oh, aye, not forgetting your father.’ Her mother sighed. ‘And he’s the reason I want to keep this quiet. If word got round and if he thought there was gossip about you he would . . . he would be angry.’
Kate knew that was an understatement. ‘And he would take it out on you,’ she said.
Her mother didn’t reply, but there was no need. All three of them knew that it was true.
‘So yer ma and I agreed that we’ll let folk think you’ve come here to help me,’ Aunt Meg said.
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