A Safe Harbour (23 page)

Grief combined with poverty had been the spur and Nathaniel Adamson had prospered. By sheer hard work he had founded the modest fortune that had enabled his son, John, to succeed even further. And, now, Richard, who was John’s only child, owned a fleet of trawlers and was prosperous enough to be courting the daughter of Jacob Travers.
 

Richard and Caroline had met because their mothers were members of the same ladies’ reading circle. As well as recommending books to each other, some of them began to socialize. Richard suspected that his mother, who liked Caroline enormously, had from the moment she first met her seen her as a suitable wife for her son. Richard had been amused to see the engineering that went on to get the two of them together, but he had not objected.
 

He watched Caroline now doing battle with herself. She had a sharp brain but she did not have the skill to hide what she was thinking. The struggle to drop the subject played itself out on her lovely face. No matter how much she would have preferred to carry on the argument, good manners and breeding won.
 

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what’s done is done. But now, do you still want to go to the theatre? Would it be better to stay at home and rest?’
 

‘No, I’m perfectly all right, and if you can bear to be seen with me looking like a ruffian, I think we should go. My mother would be most upset to miss this performance of
East Lynne
. She read the book and cried copiously, and now she wants to see the dramatization and cry even more. She has a dozen handkerchiefs at least in her evening bag, isn’t that right, Mother?’
 

‘Don’t tease,’ his mother admonished. ‘But, yes, I do want to go to the theatre. Have you read the book, Caroline?’
 

‘No, but my mother and I saw a version of the play when we were in London.’ Caroline put one hand on her breast and raised the other to place the back of the wrist on her forehead. She raised her eyes heavenwards and declaimed, ‘Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! And never called me Mother!’
 

Grace Adamson tutted and shook her head, ‘That line does not appear in the book. Poor Mrs Wood, to have her novel traduced so.’
 

‘Do you disapprove?’ Caroline asked.
 

‘I suppose I do . . . well, I know I
ought
to disapprove, especially as Mrs Wood did not want her novel to be adapted for the stage.’ Then Grace Adamson smiled. ‘But nothing will stop me seeing the play.’
 

The two women looked at each other fondly and Richard acknowledged that Caroline brought a breath of fresh air into this rather sombre mansion that his father had aspired to. Caroline was young and vital and she seemed to be genuinely fond of his mother. Today she had arrived early so that she would be able to help Mrs Adamson dress for the theatre. She had brought her own evening clothes with her and they had got ready together with as much laughter and gossip as schoolgirls. Richard acknowledged that Caroline contributed to his mother’s well-being.
 

And would she be good for
me
? he wondered. She was beautiful, accomplished, well read; she played the piano competently and she sang tolerably well. And, unusually for a woman, her knowledge of politics matched his own. And she was brave. When the commotion had begun outside the house she had wanted to come out with him to face the crowd. He had convinced her that it was her duty to stay with his mother. But, going by her calm manner, she had proved she would be good in a crisis.
 

So why was it that he was still hesitating over taking the courtship further? Caroline would make a marvellous wife. He watched now as she helped his mother into her cloak and donned her own.
 

‘Are you ready to go, Richard?’ she asked. ‘My father has ordered a carriage for us and I think I can hear it arriving now.’
 

Richard moved the lace curtain aside and looked out. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
 

The carriage was just drawing up. The carriage lamps were lit and shone through the smoky dusk of the September evening. He looked beyond and saw a damp mist curling in from the sea. It hovered a few feet above ground level, making the boat field a mysterious place. The outlines of the cobles seemed to waver and the figures of one or two of the fishermen appeared and disappeared like ghosts.
 

The wound on his cheek had begun to sting and pull against the stitches. He felt weary. Richard closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool window pane. Immediately another figure appeared to his inner eye and seemed to burn its image on to his eyelids. Kate Lawson, tall and slender, standing with the crowd and yet apart from it as she watched what had gone on today. It was natural that she should be there, for her brother seemed to be the ringleader. But had she been cheering him on or had she been merely anxious about what would happen?
 

Richard remembered the moment their eyes had met. Relived the shock he had experienced when he realized that this woman’s estimation of him was important. Was that the reason he had been lenient to her brother? No. He really believed that it would have been the height of folly to exacerbate the matter by throwing the lad into prison.
 

And yet . . . The image of the girl refused to fade. She had taken up a place in his consciousness and she was not going to go. He didn’t want her to go.
 

‘Richard?’ It was his mother’s voice.
 

‘I’m coming.’
 

 

 

Kate sat by the fire in the cottage cradling a mug of tea. The warmth helped ease the joints of her fingers, which were stiff and sore from the constant scrubbing and immersing in water. She preferred her tea black but, with her mother’s admonitions in mind, she had forced herself to add milk. Anything for the good of the bairn, she thought.
 

She stared into the flames broodingly. She had hoped that William might call by and tell her whether he had managed to talk any sense into Thomas – or at least if this was going to be the end of it. She understood very well what had driven the men to act as they had, but she didn’t see how they could have achieved anything. Richard Adamson was hardly going to give up his fleet of trawlers. As he’d tried to tell them, you can’t stop progress. 

But, in that case, what were the men like her father and her brother going to do? Thanks to Jane, William might have a future away from the village. An interesting and comfortable future if her friend was to be believed, but who would employ her father? Or hot-headed Thomas? William was thoughtful and intelligent; Kate knew he would be able to adapt to a new way of life, but Thomas . . . She couldn’t see him taking orders from anyone except their father. He would find it hard to learn to work for any other employer.
 

What had Mr Adamson said?
‘Our interests are the same . . . to make a living from the sea . . .’
They hadn’t let him continue. Was it possible that he had thought of a way of helping them? They had not allowed him to speak.
 

And what of her own plans? Aunt Winifred had not yet replied to Aunt Meg’s letter and Kate was beginning to fear that either it had gone astray, or something had happened to Aunt Winifred. What if she couldn’t go to America as her mother and her aunt had planned? Part of her hoped that the invitation would never come, and yet, if it didn’t, what would she do?
 

She was barely keeping body and soul together now. She couldn’t bear the thought of remaining at Belle Vue. Not only would she bring shame on her family by having a child out of wedlock, but there was no way she would be able to afford to keep herself and a bairn. And if no one could help her she would have to go to the workhouse – indeed she could be ordered to go there. And that was unthinkable.
 

She knew she ought to be getting ready for bed. She had another long day ahead of her. Aunt Meg had taught her well and she had worked hard, but life was getting more and more difficult. She could still buy white fish at the beach auction if she wished, but the crabs and lobsters were dwindling at the end of the summer, and as for the herring . . . No, she had made the decision. Tomorrow she would go to Shields and that meant she would have to get up even earlier than usual.
 

She rose from her chair and stood for a moment with one hand pressed into the small of her aching back, then crossed to the sink to rinse out the mug. She glanced out of the window and was shocked to see that the earlier mist had thickened into fog. She couldn’t even see the wall of her own back yard. She wondered if it would lift in time for the men to go fishing.
 

While she was seeing to the fire she heard a knock at the door and her spirits rose. She was careful not to rise too quickly, and then, wiping her hands on her pinafore, she hurried to the door and opened it. Mist swirled around the dark figure who stood there.
 

‘William!’ she said. ‘I hoped you would come.’
 

But it was not William who stepped into the warmth and light of the cottage. It was her father.
 

After a moment’s appalled silence Kate said, ‘What are you doing here?’
 

Henry Lawson’s face was flushed and his eyes were narrowed to pinpoints of rage. ‘What am
I
doing here?’ He swayed slightly as he spoke.
 

He’s been drinking, Kate thought. But he’s still sober enough to cause trouble. Fearful for the child she carried, she kept very still. She had no wish to provoke him.
 

‘What am
I
doing here?’ he repeated, and he took a step towards her.
 

Kate clenched her fists and moved back. She glanced beyond her father towards the open door. He saw her look and he turned and caught the edge of the door with one hand and slammed it shut. ‘Oh, no, miss,’ he said. ‘You’ll not escape me. You’re going to hear what I have to say.’
 

The door hadn’t closed properly and she could hear it rattling the sneck, but now that he’d seen her there would be no getting round him. Kate faced her father and waited for the onslaught.
 

He raised an arm and jabbed an angry hand towards her, his forefinger pointing. ‘The question ish . . .’ His words slurred and he stopped as if to gain control of his tongue. ‘The question is, what are
you
doing here in Meg’s cottage?’
 

‘I’m living here.’
 

‘I thought I telt you to get out.’
 

‘I did. I left home.’
 

‘Don’t try to be clever. You know fine well what I meant. I won’t hev you living here in the village and bringing shame on the family. Meg must hev been crazy to take you in. Now pack your bags and get yourself off to the workhouse before your condition’s plain for all to see.’
 

Kate decided to try to placate him. She didn’t want him taking his temper out on her mother when he got home. ‘I will go, Father, soon.’
 

‘Not soon. Right now. Go on, pack your bags. I’ll stay here and see you off.’
 

‘No, Da, not tonight. That’s unreasonable.’
 

Henry stepped towards her and Kate saw to her horror that her words had tipped him over the edge. She backed away but he caught her by the shoulders and dragged her towards him. ‘Don’t you defy me,’ he said, pushing his face towards hers. She could smell the beer and tobacco on his breath and she began to gag.
 

His fingers were digging into the flesh of her upper arms. She tried to twist free but he grasped her all the more tightly. ‘Please, Da. Let go,’ she gasped.
 

‘Let go? You want me to let go?’ His voice was so loud that Kate’s ears hurt. She cringed away from him, which made him bellow all the louder. ‘I’ll let go of you when you promise to do as you’re told.’
 

‘No. You’ll let go of her right now!’
 

The voice came from the doorway and Kate glanced over her father’s shoulder to see Howard Munro standing there.
 

‘Wha . . .’ Henry spun round. ‘Who the hell are you?’
 

‘Never mind who I am. Let Miss Lawson go immediately.’
 

A look of amazement crossed her father’s face. Still hanging on to Kate with one hand he stared at the newcomer. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re one of Adamson’s kin. You’re the American. Now clear out of here. What I say to my daughter is no concern of yours.’
 

‘She may be your daughter but it is my concern if you hurt her. Let her go.’
 

Henry Lawson sneered. ‘Or what?’
 

‘Or I shall make you.’
 

Without warning Henry turned back towards Kate and with one swift movement he twisted her round, holding her arm up behind her back in one of his powerful hands. ‘Come on, then,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see if you can make me.’
 

Kate was terrified. The American artist would be no match for her father even in this semi-drunken state. Her arm was hurting so much that her eyes blurred with tears and, in that instant, she saw her would-be rescuer start moving towards them. In desperation she acted instinctively and brought one leg up to kick her father in the shin as hard as she could. She still had her boots on and Henry gasped with pain and shock. His grasp loosened and she twisted free.
 

Immediately, Henry launched himself against the intruder. Kate could hardly credit what happened next. At the very last moment Mr Munro stepped aside and her father stumbled forward, propelled by his own momentum. Simultaneously his opponent seemed to twist round and push him with one hand. Henry Lawson fell to the stone-flagged floor. It was a hard fall and he lay there winded. Kate and her rescuer looked down at him. Groggily he sat up and clasped his stomach. Oh, no, Kate thought, he’s going to be sick.