A Safe Harbour (20 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
‘Of course he isn’t.’ Jane sounded scornful.
‘But neither is he like the rich folk, the gentlemen. He said that people don’t expect him to behave like them.’
‘What nonsense has he been spinning you, Kate?’ her brother demanded. ‘In my opinion Matthew is right to be worried about you. Mr Munro obviously wants . . . something.’ Suddenly William couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘And what is that, exactly?’
‘You know,’ William said in the direction of his plate.
And, of course, Kate knew very well what her brother meant and she felt a hot flush of shame. She disguised her embarrassment by trying to sound cold and haughty.
‘Kate . . .’ Kate was surprised at how sympathetic Jane sounded. ‘William is right to be worried about you. You should be grateful that he cares.’
‘I am. But he’s mistaken. And the people who have spread this gossip must have evil minds. It’s always been the same in this village – everyone prying into other people’s lives and taking a delight in spreading rumours. As if . . . as if I didn’t have enough to worry about.’
Kate couldn’t disguise the break in her voice. Here she was defending her reputation as far as the American was concerned and neither her brother nor her best friend knew that there was much more in her life that the village troublemakers could gossip about.
‘Enough to worry about?’ Jane asked.
‘Of course I have. Living here alone, trying to make enough money to pay the rent. Do you think it’s easy?’
When William spoke his voice had softened. ‘Of course it isn’t easy. That’s why I’m warning you.’
‘Warning?’
‘Not to make things worse for yourself.’
‘Does Mrs Linton know about this?’
‘Matthew said no one wanted to tell her. She would be upset if she thought Jos’s sweetheart had forgotten him so soon.’
‘No!’ Kate cried out in anger and pain. ‘Of course I haven’t forgotten Jos! How could I? But you’re wrong about Mr Munro. He means no harm. He doesn’t want to seduce me—’
‘Kate!’ Jane breathed in shocked tones.
‘He simply wants to paint me.’
William and Kate stared at her. William’s face remained stern but Jane had forgotten her manners so far as to be open-mouthed with surprise.
‘Paint you?’ her brother said at last.
‘Yes, my portrait.’
‘But why would he want to do that?’ Jane asked.
Kate didn’t know whether she should feel insulted by the incredulity evident in her friend’s tone. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not for my beauty,’ she said wryly. ‘Mr Munro intends to paint other folk who live here; both men and women, in their working clothes. I think he intends to exhibit them in some gallery.’
Jane was still looking astonished but William was looking doubtful.
‘It’s true,’ Kate said. ‘In fact he’s already made a start.’
‘He’s painting your portrait?’ William asked.
‘Not mine. Not yet. He’s started with Martha Smith.’
‘Old Martha!’ Jane shook her head as if what she was hearing was getting more and more strange. ‘But she’s—’
‘I know.’ Kate smiled. ‘She’s incredibly brown and wrinkled. So you see, I meant it when I said Mr Munro hardly wants me for my beauty. It’s just because I’m a fisherlass. And furthermore, don’t you go thinking that he’s going to lure me into his studio for any other purpose than to paint me.’
Jane gave a shocked gasp.
‘Don’t talk like that in front of Jane,’ William admonished.
‘For heaven’s sake, just listen to me. It’s all quite respectable. He said that Martha Smith takes her granddaughter with her and I could have my mother as my chaperone.’
Kate stared at them defiantly. It seemed that neither William nor Jane knew what to say. Eventually William spoke; he still looked troubled.
‘Have you talked to Ma about this?’
‘No, because I haven’t decided whether I want to do it. Although I could do with the money.’
‘Money?’ Jane’s eyes grew even wider.
‘Yes. He pays the people who pose for him. He says it’s only fair because one day he might sell the painting.’
‘And this is all that’s between you?’ William asked. ‘This talk about painting?’
‘Do you think I would lie to you?’
‘No, of course not.’
William’s words made Kate feel guilty. Not because she had lied about Mr Munro, she hadn’t, but because at this very moment she was deceiving William and Jane and everyone who knew her, apart from her parents, about her true reason for leaving home. She hadn’t lied, but, because her mother had begged her not to, she hadn’t told the whole truth.
‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s any harm in you posing for a picture so long as you take our mam along,’ William said.
‘So why do you still look uneasy?’ Kate asked.
‘Because none of this explains why you were seen coming home with him very late one night. He walked you to the door.’
‘So that’s it.’ Kate remembered the night she had posted the letter to Jane and the curtains of one of the cottages twitching as she walked by. Her anger surged again but suddenly she was too weary to express it. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I went to post a letter – to Jane. Mr Munro was out walking – well, just looking at the sea. That’s when he asked me to pose for him. And he walked me home. I don’t suppose I should be surprised if the busybodies want to make more of it.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ If William had noticed the faint trace of sarcasm he decided to ignore it. ‘I don’t want to quarrel with you, Kate. I believe you’re more intelligent than most folk round here, but sometimes you’re not very wise. For my sake, for our mother’s sake, please be more careful.’
In that moment Kate saw what a good man William was and how seriously he took his duties as the older brother. ‘I will, I promise.’
‘And will you have your portrait painted?’ Jane asked. Kate could see that this was bothering her friend.
‘I haven’t decided yet. But, if I do, I’ll talk it over with my mother. Now I’m going to have to make another pot of tea. This one is cold.’
The atmosphere lightened a little as they ate their meal. Jane chattered happily about her plans for the future and William tried to humour her, but his responses seemed to be half-hearted. At first Kate believed this was because he didn’t really want Jane to open a dressmaking shop. And whether he wanted to work for a fishmonger she couldn’t tell. She sensed William was uneasy about the upheaval that lay ahead.
But then Kate remembered what William had said when he’d returned to the cottage just now. Something about their brother Thomas and his ‘hot-headed friends’. And, suddenly, she remembered how sure she had been that Thomas had called William to the boat field not to repeat gossip about herself and Mr Munro, but to discuss something much more serious.
And she knew that if she were to ask William what that was, he wouldn’t tell her. She was not the only member of the Lawson family to have a secret.
Chapter Nine
Kate set off for the beach carrying her creel, her basket, and her scrubbing brush. Halfway down to the shoreline, she stopped and turned to look back at the village spread out along the cliff top. The whitewashed fishermen’s cottages were clustered on her right, their red-tiled roofs reflecting the late afternoon sun. The tall brick-built houses of Beverly Terrace straggled along the headland to the left, as if trying to distance themselves from the more humble homes.
Seeing them like this, Kate was suddenly more aware than she had ever been of the gulf between those who lived in comfort bordering on luxury and those who worked almost every hour God gave them to win some sort of living from the sea. And, of late, men like her father and her brothers were losing the battle.
She turned back to her task, and found a pool deep enough to immerse the creel and basket and give them a good soaking. After swilling them round she dragged the creel from the pool, water pouring through the basketwork, and scrubbed it as hard as she could to remove the dried fish scales, the scraps of fish and the sand and grit that was trapped inside.
When she was satisfied that the creel was as clean as she could make it, she set it aside on a flat rock and worked on the basket. When she had done, she set the basket next to the creel and had started to stand up when the world seemed to spin. The clouds raced, the sound of the waves grew distant and the cries of the gulls echoed from some faraway place. Nothing seemed real. She felt as though someone had tied a ribbon round her forehead and was pulling it tightly. Her heart was beating fast and the breath caught in her throat. She knew she had straightened up too quickly and she closed her eyes and placed a hand on her chest, gulping in shallow breaths until her heartbeats were less erratic and the pain in her head eased.
Kate had always been healthy so she guessed this was something to do with being pregnant – and working too hard, and not getting enough sleep, and probably not eating enough either. I must take care, she thought. I don’t care what happens to me but I would never forgive myself if I harmed my child.
As soon as the world had righted itself Kate got to her feet slowly and stood for a moment looking out to sea. The tide had turned and the waves were already lapping the rocks. The sun sparkled on the water and a slight breeze lifted the foam from the crests of the waves and blew it into the air. Spindrift, Kate thought. That’s what it’s called. She had always thought the name romantic. How can I leave all this? If I go to America I will leave my whole life behind.
Kate tossed the scrubbing brush into the basket and, taking care not to move too quickly, she picked up both the basket and the creel. She cast one last glance across the waves and breathed in slowly, savouring the tang of the salt air, then turned reluctantly to go.
Something unusual caught her eye. Some movement on the cliff top. Something was happening in front of one of the grand villas. With the basket hooked over one arm Kate raised her hand to shield her eyes against the westering light and tried to make out what was going on.
As far as she could tell a large group of people had gathered and more were joining them. They came from the direction of the cottages and joined the others outside the house with the pillared porch: Richard Adamson’s house.
Then she became aware of the sound. An angry sound. Men’s voices, haranguing and shouting. At first she thought it was a drunken brawl but dismissed that thought quickly when she realized that the shouting seemed to be orchestrated. The noise assaulting the early evening stillness had not been prompted by drink. The men who had gathered outside Richard Adamson’s house were bellowing with rage.
Kate made her way up the slope to the watchtower. She left her basket and creel on the wooden bench that circled the seaward side of the building. Then she turned left to walk along past the boat field towards Mr Adamson’s house. The noise grew louder as she approached and she saw that most of the younger men of the village seemed to be there. They were crowded together on the pavement. Some of them had ventured a little way up the path. A few of the village women were watching from a short distance.
When she was near enough Kate looked at the faces in the crowd; they were filled with hate. When she saw who was at the front she felt a tremor of fear. She was unsure whether to stay or slip away. Her brother Thomas and Matthew Linton were standing on the steps that led up to the front door of the house and they had turned to face the other men. Thomas was waving his arms about, exhorting the crowd, conducting their voices in some kind of rhythmic chant. Matthew was holding a roughly made placard. It read: ADAMSON STARVES BAIRNS!
She could see two other placards being held high and, as they waved and turned, she read: ADAMSON CLEAR OFF! The other had no words, just a crude picture of a gallows and a body swinging on a rope. The rest of the men were waving their fists and shouting.
‘Come out, Adamson!’
‘Come out and face us!’
‘Let’s drown Adamson!’
Kate stood near to, but apart from, the other women. Had she seen her mother, or Jos’s mother, she would have joined them. But, after scanning the group anxiously, she was pleased to see that neither of them was there. Both of them would have more sense – and more dignity – than to be part of this. For even the women, silent as they were, had malice on their minds. They stood with arms folded across their bodies, hugging their excitement close, their eyes wide with speculation.
She glanced across at the house. Lace curtains covered each of the panes of the large bay window on the ground floor. Was anyone standing behind those curtains, watching and listening to what was going on?
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