Fortunes of the Heart (13 page)

“Aha, so now we know why Argyle Street was so quiet. It
seems that everyone else in the whole of Glasgow got here before us.”

Kate gazed about her, a look of disbelief on her face, her
eyes still on the seething mass of noisy, excited, and voluble would-be
passengers.

“But Pearce, surely one boat is never going to take all
these people? We’ll be killed in the rush. That we will.”

Pearce did not deign to answer what his superior look
obviously classed as an ignorant, ridiculous question. Instead, with a jerk of
his thumb, he indicated the many boats tied up to the quayside, boats with
names like
Benmore
, Columba, Sultana, Viceroy,
Undine, Guinevere, and half a dozen more and each one with its own wooden
destination board with such names as Rothesay, Kim,
Innellan
,
amoon
,
Lamlash
,
Brodick
, Whiting Bay, and many others.

Kate made a long whistling sound of relief and turned back
to her husband with a smile on her face.

“Well, thank goodness for that. I was worried for a minute
there. But listen, I’ve never heard of half these places.”

It was her husband’s turn to grin, pleased as ever to air
his superior knowledge.

“Well, just concentrate on Rothesay. You’ve heard of that
and that’s where we’re bound. Some of the others, likes of
Brodick
,
Lamlash
, and Whiting Bay, they’re on the Island of
Arran. At one point, I did think we might have gone there. I believe you get a
better class of person there. But then the fare decided it for me. As far as I
recall, it costs roughly two shillings per head more to travel to the Island of
Arran than it does to that of Bute. Anyway, Royal Rothesay is known as the
Madeira of Scotland, so at least the sun should be shining there.”

Kate nodded, all the while with her eyes on the ant-hill of
men, women and children, all at a rare pitch of excitement and all desperate to
get on to their respective boats and on their way far from the city streets for
fourteen glorious days.

She reflected that ever since young Andrew’s tragic death
from diphtheria, Pearce, at first lost in the depths of depression, had finally
emerged from the black cloud to choose yet another favourite from his, by now,
somewhat depleted family. Kate smiled grimly to herself as the thought rose
unbidden to her mind.

His latest favourite. Humph. An easy choice that, I must
say. He detests Hannah, can’t even bear to look at the road Daniel is on, and
wee Jenny, young as she is, is far too much like himself in temperament – aye,
and I must say it though God forgive me – she’s too much like his old father in
appearance for his lairdship’s liking. She reminds him too much of people,
places and past events in Ireland which he’d much rather forget.

She nodded sagely.

Aye. Not much of a choice. That left only the fair Isabella,
didn’t it? No wonder that she’s now his bright shining star.

Kate was interrupted in her musings. Some sort of bitter
altercation was going on between a man standing nearby and some tongue-waggling
children. His face puce, the man was bawling at the world in general, and at
any child in particular who would stop their wild games and studied insolence
long enough to listen. Up till then, apart from the gangway-bashers who were
annoying nobody but those unfortunate, more timid children still meekly
awaiting their shot, the gangs of screaming children chasing each other had
been proving a real menace to everyone. Given the press of humanity, it meant
that every time a child raced past, then at least one bystander received a
hefty blow from an enamel mug, which swung from the neck of every child.

The irate passenger, whose cheap cardboard suitcase had
already been sent flying, and at one point had been in danger of himself
falling into the water as he had rescued it from where it teetered on the edge
of the quay, had had more than enough. That last blow on the jaw from a flying
enamel mug had been the last straw.

“See you kids. You wee brats. Just one more belt from those
bloody mugs. Just one more, that’s all. And you lot of nitwits are all for the
high jump. Dae you hear me? Get the message, eh? Or do I have to shove the
message right into your lugholes? Aye, and with a belt on the ear to go with
it.”

At this outburst, most of the children took the warning and
sped as far away and as quickly as they could from their tormented victim. It
was left to one particularly brave, tousle-haired youngster to make a rude
gesture at the kilted holidaymaker, at the same time chanting:

“Kiltie, Kiltie,
cauld
bum, big
banana feet Cuddles a’ the lassies and farts in his seat Kiltie, Kiltie
cauld
bum, big –”

On hearing this, the enraged man roared like a bull and
would have pursued the fleeing youngster had it not been for the concerted
cheer which just then went up from the crowd, thus announcing without the
benefit of any official notification that the gangway had now been placed in
position, in readiness for the passengers to get on board the Glen Rosa. At
once, a tremor of excitement went round the ranks as those passengers who
intended to board this boat, started to gather up bits of luggage, shuffle
forward and finally, search frantically for those missing members of their
family who, up until then, had been amusing themselves in doing exactly as they
wanted, be it playing on the gangways, chasing each other, or annoying other
passengers. The air was rent with a cacophony of such panic cries as,

“
Jamesina
, come here.”

“Henrietta, come over here tae your Granny at once. At once,
I say. Dae ye hear me, you wee
midden
.”

And the threat to end all:

“Willie
McKitterick
, if you don’t
come over here this minute ... Aye you. You wee toe rag, this very minute, the
only bloody boat for you will be the Training Ship. And you can soon see how
weel ye like that, my fine laddie.”

Pearce, oblivious to the chaos around him, was lost in his
memories. He and Calum had sailed thus as children down the Clyde, so long ago,
buffered from the crowd by two stout footmen, supervised by
Calum’s
sour faced tutor determined to turn the excursion into an educational event.

He smiled, remembering their escape from the tutor into the
seething mass of passengers and playing hide and seek, unwilling on his part,
with the tutor for the better part of the morning till hunger drove them to
meet him in the restaurant. There had been other holidays with Calum in Ireland
when Calum was as adventurous and mischievous as he had been. Happy days,
indeed.

Kate’s voice broke into his pleasant reverie.

“Well, Pearce, not be long now, eh? Strange being back again
at the
Broomielaw
, isn’t it? Remember last time?” He
turned on her a look of loathing.

“No need to remind me, Kate. If anyone knows where this
charade of family life began in this God forsaken City of Glasgow, then that
person is me. I do assure you.”

Kate stopped rounding up children, pram, Hannah, and
luggage. The colour faded instantly from her already pale face, as she rounded
on him, and oblivious to the inquiring stares of bystanders, and the perked-up,
intently listening ears of her own children, she said in the loudest of stage
whispers: “Charade of family life, did you say, Pearce? Well, by God. And if
anyone has made it a charade, then it’s you. You yourself, the Laird of
Candleriggs
. Lording it over all and sundry: Lording it
here, there, and yonder. But your own family. Humph. Never, never there for
your family. May the Good Lord above forgive me, but for all you either know or
care, we might as well not even exist. Do you hear me, Pearce?” At this point,
her voice rose almost to a screech. “These precious wee bairns and I might as
well not exist. You treat us like scum. Like the very dirt under your feet.”

All around them, interested bystanders were beginning to
nudge each other in the ribs and then either point or nod surreptitiously
towards the Kinnon clan and then titter behind cupped hands. Seeing this
further development of such unwanted attention being bestowed on them, Kate
blushed scarlet with shame and humiliation, especially when she found the other
passengers were beginning to shuffle forward, ever nearer to herself and
Pearce, the better to hear the rowing couple’s angry words. Pearce, suddenly
aware of this public interest in his most private life, drew himself to his
full six foot two inches height, stared down coldly at his wife and said in his
most haughty manner and cultured voice: “Kate, I rather think we will pursue
this ... discussion on arrival at our destination. Meanwhile, let us now board
the waiting vessel. See. The gangway is now in position.”

Amid a welter of leave-takings of those less fortunate
mortals being left behind in Glasgow, cries of delight, shouts of anxiety, the
passengers all finally boarded the gaily bedecked vessel. Then, as it pulled
away from the dockside at the
Broomielaw
, the ship’s
horn sounded a farewell blast, which caused those of a more nervous disposition
to cry out in alarm. This was followed by shouts of relief when they realised
there was nothing to worry about, it merely signalled the fact that at long
last, they were finally underway.

Despite the earlier gloom of the day, and as if also to
cheer the Marquis of Bute, the sun was now breaking through, with the promise
of a fine summer’s day to follow. Between that and the prospect of two weeks’
holiday spent doon the
wafter
and far removed from
the grime of the Glasgow city streets, there was an air of festivity aboard.
And well to the fore was the usual Glasgow camaraderie and brilliantly warm
sense of humour. On all sides, total strangers were laughing and joking and
calling each other Jimmy, Jock, or
Shuggie
, no matter
what their proper name might be, and no-one seemed to mind in the slightest.

In the Kinnon clan, relations were obviously still greatly
strained between Pearce and Kate. However, the latter, for the sake of the
children at the start of this unique event in their lives – a holiday, no less
– was making a colossal effort to appear as carefree and as happy as any of the
other travellers. In such a mood, once having settled Hannah, for whom the
ship’s siren had sounded a harsh note of total panic, she then pointed out to
the other children the many ships spread out along the Clyde. Daniel, Isabella,
and Jenny were over at the ship’s rail, jumping up and down in their
excitement. It did Kate’s heart a power of good to see how obviously delighted
and carefree they all were. Seeing the joy on each little face, she had to
fight back tears of happiness.

The first part of the journey passed all too quickly, so
that almost before they knew it, the Marquis of Bute was slowing down for its
first scheduled stop at Govan Wharf. As she looked round the already
overcrowded boat, its decks seething with a boisterous humanity, Kate wondered
where on board the next lot of passengers could possibly get so much as even a
spare inch of space. Soon, however, the newcomers and their bairns, baskets,
and hampers were safely aboard, and in high good humour, everyone squashed up
to make room. and the boat again got under way, once more to three hearty
cheers for the Captain and his gallant, if by now somewhat deafened, crew.
Every inch of boat-rail was manned by the eager passengers and everyone was
waving frantically, regardless as to whether or not they knew the watchers on
the shore. They were steaming along at a steady pace, when suddenly the woman
standing next to her clutched at Kate’s arm and at the same time let out an
ear-splitting yell.

“Oh, my God. Would ye look at that.”

Kate’s eyes followed the pointing finger, but apart from a
number of people waving from the shore, she saw nothing untoward. However, as
the other woman’s fingers tightened their grip, closer examination revealed
that one of the waving figures on the shore seemed to be head and shoulders
above everyone else.

“And no wonder,” agreed her new-found friend, “for that’s my
bloody holiday hamper she’s standing on.”

There was a moment’s stunned silence, followed by
sympathetic mutterings from those within earshot, and one philosopher made so
bold as to say: “Ach weel, hen. That’s life. You’ll just have to do without
your precious hamper. Never mind, hen, you never died o’ summer yet.”

But the young woman was made of sterner stuff and at once it
was clear that she, for one, was not prepared to accept the inevitability of
the situation. With a determined look in her eye, she asked of the world in
general:

“Right then. Now where do I find the driver of this boat?
Tell me that.”

An older man, more respectably dressed than the other
holidaymakers, and with his gaffer’s or boss’s hat prominently in place, at
once took charge.

“If it’s the Captain you mean, Missus, then that’s him, with
all that gold braid. Look. Up there on the bridge.”

At once the woman plonked her baby into Kate’s arms, hiked
up her skirts and, keeping a firm grip on her flying shawl, raced with all
possible speed for the bridge and its ACCESS FORBIDDEN TO PASSENGERS notice.
She bounded up the companionway, two steps at a time, unhooked and threw aside
the chain meant to keep the common herd at bay, and then marched up to the
driver, a handsome, bearded figure resplendent in gold braid and gold-rimmed
peak cap. There was much flailing around of arms, gesticulating, shouting and
even at one point, the distraught woman’s forefinger scolding and then finally
prodding the shoulder of the august person. At length, the driver nodded his
assent, courteously escorted his tormentor and critic of his hard won
navigational skills from the sacred precinct of his bridge and next thing they
knew, and to the utter amazement of all, the boat started going backwards.