A Safe Harbour (43 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, apart from the fact that her reputation might be compromised, people will think that there must be something wrong with the poor girl. Can’t you see that?’
Now it was Richard’s turn to avoid his cousin’s eyes. ‘Yes, I can.’
‘Then make up your mind. Personally I think you’d be crazy not to marry her.’
Either Prince sensed his master’s unease, or he’d decided that he’d waited long enough. He got up and came over to Richard, nuzzling his nose into his master’s hand. Richard was glad of the interruption. ‘All right, old boy. We’ll go now.’
Howard laughed. ‘I missed the signal but I guess you’ve trained the dog to rescue you.’
‘Stop talking nonsense.’
Richard took his leave, aware that Howard had turned the tables on him and had managed to gain the superior ground. He knew very well that he had been unfair to Caroline. He had been attracted to her in the beginning, but as he got to know her he had realized that the attraction had been merely physical. And now even that had faded in comparison with the passion that Kate Lawson had aroused in him. Much as he admired Caroline it would not be fair to marry her when he had given his heart to someone else.
‘My, you’ve got the cottage looking grand, Susan,’ Joan Donkin said, turning from the sink where she was washing the dishes and speaking quietly so as not to wake her friend’s three small children.
The two boys were sleeping together in a truckle bed by the wall and the youngest child, a girl, was still small enough to fit into a low cot with rockers. Susan was rocking it gently with her foot. Susan’s husband Seth sat by the fire with his pipe and a newspaper. Every now and then he looked up and smiled contentedly at his wife.
It was late and they had already had their supper. Joan had joined them and had insisted on clearing the table and washing the pots.
‘Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?’ Susan replied just as softly. ‘My mother gave me some bits and pieces from the house – the rugs and the pictures. Oh, and that vase on the dresser and the dinner service, too.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Joan said. ‘I swear it’s as good as anything in the Adamson house – and I should know. I can’t think of anyone else round here who will have plates as grand as this. Not even that stuck-up Jane Harrison’s mother.’
Susan smiled with satisfaction but then she sighed. ‘My mother has no need for some of her things any more. Not now that my father is so poorly.’
‘Your poor mother. I feel for her, I really do.’
‘Well, I’m here to help her now,’ Susan said. ‘As soon as Seth gets back to mind the bairns I go to see what I can do.’
‘She must be grateful for that. Managing all on her own, the way she is.’ Joan began to dry the plates, treating them with exaggerated care.
‘Hmm.’
‘What is it?’
‘She’s not on her own, is she? She’s got Kate Lawson working for her.’
‘Aye, I know. In the shop. But I suppose she had to have someone.’ Joan put the last of the plates on the dresser and brought a chair up next to her friend.
‘Pity it had to be that stuck-up Lawson lass,’ Susan said. ‘And furthermore my mother’s taken her in. She’s living there.’
‘Be fair to your ma, Susan. She put her out of this cottage so that you could have it. I suppose she felt obliged.’
Susan looked down into the cradle and, satisfied that the little one was deeply asleep, she motioned Seth to come over and lift the cradle away and place it beside the bed. Susan went with him to make sure the blankets were tucked securely round her daughter and then came back to sit beside Joan. She took up the conversation where they had left off.
‘Why couldn’t Kate have gone back to her parents’ cottage? Why was she living here in the first place?’
‘Her Aunt Meg took her in when her father threw her out.’
‘Threw her out?’
‘Told her never to show her face at home again, so the gossip goes.’
‘But why?’
‘You know what the Lawsons are like. A quick-tempered lot, and that father of theirs doesn’t get any better when he’s had a drink. Kate was always standing up to him. She must have gone too far.’
Susan shook her head. ‘It seems funny to me. A father throwing his daughter out and not even relenting when she was found half drowned in the cave. What could have made him so angry?’
‘I think mebbes it was Jos Linton,’ Joan said.
‘Jos Linton? But he’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is. But the wedding had already been planned.’
‘Jos and Kate?’
Joan nodded. ‘And I’ve heard tell her father wasn’t even going to go to the wedding. He’s supposed to have told Kate that once she was married to a Linton, he never wanted to see her again.’
‘What are you two bonny lasses looking so serious about?’ Seth folded his newspaper and tucked it behind the cushion. ‘Are you putting the world to rights?’
Susan smiled at him. ‘Oh, you know, just catching up with village gossip.’
Seth leaned over and tapped the bowl of his pipe against the grate to rid it of the tobacco ash. Then, standing up, he slipped the briar in to his pocket. ‘In that case you’ll enjoy yourselves better without a mere man around. I think I’ll go and wet me whistle at the Queen’s Head. Just a pint, mind, and I’ll come back in time to walk Joan back to the Adamsons’ house.’
Joan watched a little enviously as her friend’s husband unashamedly gave Susan a kiss before wrapping a muffler round his neck and going out. There was no justice in a world where the likes of Susan, who, although not ugly, was certainly bordering on plain, could land a big bonny good-natured fellow like Seth Armstrong in her net. Although when you thought back to their wedding day, and then counted forward to when the first little lad had been born . . .
‘What are you thinking?’ Susan asked and Joan felt herself flushing.
‘Nothing in particular.’
‘You had a strange look for a minute.’
‘Did I? I was just thinking about what you told me earlier,’ she lied. ‘About finding Kate Lawson carrying on with the American when she should have been working. And Mr Adamson in the shop.’ Joan shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘Disgraceful.’
‘Shameless!’ Susan agreed. ‘And the way Mr Munro went on about her being his friend.
Friend
! That’s one word for it. And telling me how beautiful she is!’
Friend
! That’s one word for it. And telling me how beautiful she is!’
‘Beautiful? Kate Lawson? With that hair! That’s not my idea of beauty,’ Joan said.
‘Mine neither. And I’ve heard that she went alone to his house every day to pose for him. Pose, indeed.’
‘Ah, well,’ Joan said as if she were pretending to be fair. ‘She didn’t go alone. Betsy Smith went with her.’
‘What? Betsy? That idiot child? She hardly counts as someone respectable.’
‘Well, no, I suppose not.’ Joan was enjoying this.
‘And how come Kate Lawson got so pally with Mr Richard Adamson? Why on earth would he be bothered with her after what her brother did? We read about the riot in the newspaper, you know. And yet there was Mr Adamson, as large as life, standing up for her, and making excuses. He made Mr Munro apologize.’
Joan shook her head in wonderment. She lowered her voice even further. ‘Do you think she’s carrying on with both of them?’
They looked at each other knowingly. ‘Who can tell?’ Susan said. ‘But the sooner I can get her out of my mother’s house the better.’
‘You’d have to find someone to serve in the shop,’ Joan said.
‘I know, that’s the problem. But once my father’s . . . I mean, once my mother isn’t so busy . . .’
‘I know what you mean. Your poor mother – and poor you,’ Joan said solicitously.
‘Well, when that’s all over with, there would be no need for her to stay, would there?’
‘You’re right. And in any case . . .’
‘What? What were you going to say?’
‘Well, just that I could look about for a suitable girl to work in the shop, couldn’t I?’
‘That would be good of you. Now, shall we have a cup of tea? I think there’s time before Seth comes back.’
Joan watched Susan as she rose to make the tea. She didn’t offer to help. She sat and thought about what she had nearly let slip. She had almost said that Kate Lawson might very soon be forced to move. She turned her suspicions over in her mind. Kate had been at the Adamsons’ house for nearly four weeks and in all that time she hadn’t had her monthlies.
Well, she might have had them just before she came – or perhaps the fright she’d had might have driven them away. But there were other signs . . . signs that Joan had noticed when, in the first few days, she’d helped Kate wash. Her full breasts and her rounded belly. They had been obvious through the clinging fabric of Mrs Adamson’s fine lawn nightdresses.
Joan would have loved to have told Susan what she suspected but if she was wrong she’d have made a fool of herself. No, better to keep quiet for the moment. But if she was right she knew how much she would enjoy seeing that stuck-up Kate Lawson knocked off her high and mighty perch.
Chapter Nineteen
The night was cold and the public bar at the Queen’s Head was warm and welcoming. A wind had got up and, now and then, blew down the chimney sending gusts of sooty smoke out across the room to mingle with the fug of beer and tobacco fumes.
There was a blast of cold air when the door opened and William saw Seth Armstrong walk in, to be greeted by smiles of welcome. Armstrong seemed a good sort and William had nothing against him. He only wished that his coming back here hadn’t meant Kate’s losing the cottage, although she seemed happy enough living above the shop where she was now working.
‘Drink up, William,’ Thomas said. ‘My treat this time.’ The brothers were sitting next to each other on the wooden bench that ran along one wall. At Thomas’s other side sat two of his pals, Matthew Linton and Jack Chisholm. A rough wooden table with a scarred top was before them. It carried its fair share of empty glasses.
‘No, this is enough for me,’ William said. ‘And perhaps you should stop now, too.’
For answer his younger brother just laughed. William watched him lift the pint glass to his mouth and tip it back until every last drop of the Newcastle Ale had gone down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to his two pals. ‘Same again, lads?’
Before either of them could answer he got up and edged past William until he was free of the table. He shoved his way through the crowd to the bar and hailed the barmaid. ‘Five more pints of the same, Florrie,’ he shouted over the hubbub.
William stared glumly down at the sawdust that covered the wooden floorboards and returned to the problem that had been worrying him all evening. He knew that Jane wouldn’t approve of his being here. They’d agreed to save every penny they could towards setting up home after they were married. Whenever that would be . . . His conscience stirred. He wasn’t being fair to the lass in not naming a date – but how could he? How could he leave his mother to cope with his father the way he was these days – worse than he’d ever been.
He loved Jane and for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why such a beautiful and clever lass would want to marry a simple fisherman. But that was the problem. Jane wanted to change all that. And, when they were together, he was carried along by her enthusiasm. Just one look into those blue eyes set his senses spinning and he forgot everything he should have said. When she told him how clever and how wise he was, she inspired him with the confidence he would need to leave the fishing and work for the likes of Mr Rennison.
But as soon as he left her, the doubts came back. He had never told Jane, hard as he’d tried, that he found it difficult to imagine any other life but that of a fisherman. He’d been born into it as his father and generations of Lawsons had been before him. He looked down at his hands, red and callused and scarred from being cut by the fish hooks. How could he have dealings with respectable tradesmen with hands like that? Would putting a smart suit of clothes on make him a different man?
Thomas was still at the bar. William glanced along at the other lads; their hands were the same as his. And they wore their fishermen’s ganseys of oiled wool. He was wearing one, too, as was Thomas; they’d been knitted for them by their mother in the intricate local pattern. Each fishing community on the Northumbrian coast had its own pattern so as better to identify the bodies of the drowned. They were all born to be fishermen. And most of them expected nothing more than to die as fishermen.
These lads, like him, were born to the sea – and they didn’t want things to change. It was no wonder Thomas was so bitter and ready to fight for the way of life he believed in. William hadn’t wanted to come here tonight, but Thomas had been in such an ugly mood after the fishing that morning. Their father had been even more of a liability than usual and they’d landed the poorest catch ever.
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