The Fisher Lass (38 page)

‘Does he know about it?’

‘Oh, yes, statements are sent to him regularly.’

Remembering the previous times, Jeannie said, ‘Perhaps he doesna even open the letters.’

Robert had laughed, unable to believe such a suggestion. ‘Oh, he’ll come around one day.’ And then referring more to her than to the company or to money, he had added,
‘They both will.’

‘I don’t want it,’ she heard a voice saying now and realized it was she who had spoken.

‘Oh come, my dear,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s a shock, I’ve no doubt but . . .’

‘I’m too old. It – it could be born, well, no’ right.’

The doctor spread his hands. ‘The risk is higher when you’re older, but really there is no reason to talk like that. You must talk to your husband. Robert, I’m sure, will be
delighted.’ Suddenly the kindly doctor was disapproving. ‘I do hope you’re not contemplating doing something very silly.’

Mutely, Jeannie shook her head and stood up suddenly. She needed to get out of this stuffy consulting room. She needed to think.

She walked the length of Main Street and found herself at the docks. She did not stop but kept on walking right out past the dock master’s office, right out to the end of the pier. The
very place where she had stood that first night in Havelock watching for her father’s boat. The night she had met Robert and Grace and all the people who were to change her life for ever.

All at once she was very homesick. Homesick for Scotland. For years she had promised she would go back. Visit the cottage where she had lived as a child, see if there was anyone still left in
the village who remembered her or her father.

The wind whipped at her hat and tore it from her head. She watched it whirling high, born on the wind, tossed and blown then dropped lower and skimming the surface of the river below her until
it flopped into the water and lay there for a few minutes bobbing like a tiny craft. Then, as the water soaked the fabric it slowly sank beneath the surface and disappeared from her view. It was
like watching a boat sink. Her father’s boat had been just as helpless against the might of the ocean as her smart hat. She missed him still. She wished Joe had been more like him, but Joe
was like Tom, given to bitterness and resentment, though he was, Jeannie admitted, more courageous than his father.

How would he feel when he heard that he was to have a half-brother or sister? And what would Sammy say if she were to produce a legitimate heir to the Gorton inheritance? Would he change his
mind about becoming part of the company?

Jeannie gazed down at the water lapping against the pier and then she turned away.

As she walked back, she was aware of the glances. She was out of place here now, dressed in her fine clothes. She knew most of the men must recognize her; some as the ‘Mester’s
Missis’, others as Tom Lawrence’s widow. A few touched their caps to her, some turned away, deliberately ignoring her. That didn’t worry her. Inwardly she smiled to think of the
days when they would call after her, trying their chance with a pretty girl. Now, their deference was to an older woman of position. Yet her mature body was still trying to act like that of a young
woman, allowing itself to become pregnant.

When she told him, Robert was ecstatic.

‘Jeannie, oh Jeannie, that’s the most wonderful news I’ve ever had in the whole of my life – except,’ he smiled broadly, ‘the day you walked through that
gate.’ His gaze searched her face. ‘Aren’t you happy about it?’

‘I can’t help worrying that, at my age, something might go wrong.’ She avoided looking directly at him. She was afraid to look into his happy face, afraid that he would read
the truth in her eyes.

She did not want this child.

‘I’ll take you to London,’ Robert was saying. ‘You shall have the best doctors . . .’

Jeannie was shaking her head. ‘No, no, I don’t want that. Dr Walker is quite capable.’ And besides, she was thinking in the secret recesses of her own mind, if something were
to go wrong then . . .

‘Are you thinking of the boys and how they might react to the news?’ Robert was probing gently.

Jeannie shrugged. ‘I don’t see them anyway.’ She sighed heavily and she knew she could not hide the hurt from showing in her eyes. ‘I don’t think they’ll care
one way or the other, to be honest.’

‘They will. They’ll come around. They’ll both be related to him.’ Hastily, Robert added, ‘Or her,’ but Jeannie knew how much he was hoping for a son.
‘They won’t be able to resist seeing him,’ he went on. ‘He’ll be Joe’s half-brother and cousin to Sammy, just in the same way that Joe is.’

Jeannie wrinkled her brow, working it all out. ‘Yes, you’re right about that, but I don’t think you’re right about them coming around. I don’t think . . .’
she said and there was no mistaking the catch in her voice, ‘that they ever will.’

‘One day, they will,’ Robert said, ‘and besides, Joe’s wife is expecting a baby too, isn’t she?’

Jeannie’s heart felt as if it skipped a beat. So, that news was out too. She hoped not every secret surrounding Thelma’s child was common knowledge. She nodded, wordlessly.

‘That’ll bring you closer together. They’ll come around, I promise.’

But it was a promise – the only one – that Robert was not able to fulfil for his beloved Jeannie.

‘Have you told Joe the truth?’

Jeannie was once again sitting in the kitchen in Wessex Street, but this time the atmosphere was much different. The room was clean and warm, the net curtains freshly washed and the windows
sparkling. A fire burned in the grate and the kettle sang on the hob. On the table lay Thelma’s knitting: a white matinée jacket. So, Jeannie thought, at least she’s making
preparations for the coming baby. That’s more than I am doing.

‘Oh Mam,’ Thelma began and Jeannie realized with a shock that it was the first time her daughter-in-law had ever addressed her that way. ‘I couldn’t. I just
couldn’t. He was that pleased, I couldn’t spoil it for him. And besides . . .’ she bit her lip and glanced at Jeannie, ‘it could be his. So what’s the point in telling
him something that might not be true.’

Jeannie was silent, wrestling with her own conscience. She was remembering how differently Tom had always treated Sammy, who was not his own son, even though Jeannie had always been able to
treat the boy as if he had been her own. She thought, too, about how Joe had seemed to carry on that resentment, one moment fighting with Sammy, the next defending him against outsiders. She shook
her head slightly. Joe was a funny mixture, just as Tom had been. But there was one thing she did know.

Joe would never accept another man’s child as his own.

As the weeks passed, Robert became desperately anxious about Jeannie. She seemed tired all the time and uninterested in the coming child. She refused to buy baby clothes or a
new pram or even to redecorate one of the bedrooms as a nursery.

‘It might not live,’ she blurted out one day to a horrified Robert.

‘Oh, my darling.’ At once he put his arms about her and drew her to him. ‘Is that what’s troubling you?’

She clung to him, afraid that now he would guess the truth. That it was not what she believed would happen. It was what she hoped.

‘What does Dr Walker say? You’re in good health, aren’t you?’ He held her from him, searching her face. She shrugged listlessly and avoided looking at him.

‘I’m fine, Robert.’ But as Jeannie turned away from him, he stared after her, hurt and puzzled.

‘Come in, Mr Gorton. What can I do for you?’

Sitting down, Robert said, ‘It’s about my wife.’

‘Ah.’

He looked straight at the doctor. ‘I do realize there are questions you may not be able to answer, but I’m worried about Jeannie. It’s – it’s . . .’
Helplessly, he cast around in his mind for the right phrase. ‘It’s almost as if she doesn’t want the baby.’

When the doctor did not answer, but picked up his pen and played with it, turning it end over end and tapping his desk with it at each turn, Robert felt a cold fear run through him. ‘Is
that it?’ he asked hoarsely, unable to believe that Jeannie, his Jeannie, would be even capable of such feelings. Why, she was a devoted mother to Joe and to Sammy too.

‘Ah,’ he said slowly, thinking aloud. ‘Could it be because of the two older boys? Joe and Sammy? They’ve cut her off, you know, because she married me.’

The doctor wrinkled his forehead and pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘Could be, I suppose. Physically, she’s very well. Remarkably so, considering her age.’

‘That’s another thing. She keeps on about her age. That the baby might not – survive. She won’t even discuss names.’

‘Women of her age are often – well – embarrassed about being a mother again in their forties. And of course that feeling may be compounded because she’s going to become a
grandmother around the same time.’

The doctor paused and glanced at Robert, who nodded.

‘Of course,’ Dr Walker went on, ‘you understand that I must insist that she goes into the hospital for the birth but I’m afraid that will only add to her feelings of
being, well, something of an oddity. All the other mothers there will probably be young enough themselves to be her daughters.’

Robert winced. ‘Oh dear.’

The doctor spread his hands. ‘The only advice I can give you is that you should just bear with her moods. It’s not long now, only another two months and once the child is born . .
.’

‘But what if she rejects it then? I’ve heard of that happening.’

‘It can, yes, but all you can do now is be supportive towards her. And don’t keep questioning her. The last thing she wants is for you to know what she’s feeling about the
baby.’ Dr Walker smiled sympathetically. ‘For the next few weeks, Mr Gorton, you are going to have to be a very good actor.’

Jeannie knew nothing of Robert’s visit to the doctor’s, she was just so thankful that he had stopped fussing over her and asking her questions. He was still as
loving as ever, kind and concerned for her welfare. And that he was joyfully anticipating being a father was never in any doubt.

But it only added to her feelings of guilt.

‘Jeannie! Jeannie, where are you?’

She heard him calling from the hallway and then his feet pounding up the wide, sweeping staircase.

‘In the bedroom,’ she called and as he came in, she stood up and turned to face him. He was breathing heavily and she could see at once by his expression that something was
wrong.

Her hand flew to her throat. ‘What is it? Is it the boys?’

Joe and Sammy now sailed in the same Gorton ship.

‘No, no, it’s Thelma. One of her neighbours came to the office today. It’s the baby . . .’

‘Oh no. It can’t be. It’s too early . . .’ Already she was rushing to the wardrobe for her coat.

‘I’ll take you there, Jeannie.’

This time he took her right to the door and even stepped into the house with her, though he waited below whilst she rushed up the stairs.

As Jeannie stepped in through the bedroom door, she stopped in horror to see the blood-soaked sheets and the white face of the girl against the pillows. Her eyes were closed and she seemed
scarcely to be breathing. The midwife, a stranger to her as Mrs Jackson had long since retired, was bending over her patient. ‘The doctor will be here presently. You may have to go into the
hospital, dear.’ She looked up as Jeannie tiptoed to the bedside. ‘You are Mrs Lawrence’s mother?’

Jeannie shook her head. ‘Mother-in-law. What’s happened?’

‘She’s lost the baby, I’m afraid,’ the midwife said in low tones. ‘Stillborn.’

‘Will – will she be all right?’

‘I think so. She’s young, but . . .’ She paused, glanced at Thelma and added, ‘It’s not for me to say more than that. The doctor, or the hospital if he sends her
there, will tell you more.’

Jeannie sat by Thelma’s bedside until the doctor arrived half an hour later. Whilst he examined Thelma, she went downstairs to sit with Robert who was still pacing the kitchen.

‘How is she? Do you want me to radio Joe’s ship?’

‘Not at the moment. Let’s wait until the doctor comes down.’

They spent an uncomfortable, worrying twenty minutes until they heard him descending the narrow, dark staircase.

‘She should go into hospital. There’s still some bleeding. A surgeon should take a look at her. I’ll call the ambulance. It shouldn’t be long. Perhaps,’ he glanced
at Jeannie, ‘you could get a few things ready for her to take. The midwife was unable to stay. She had another urgent confinement.’

Robert repeated his question to the doctor. ‘Should I let her husband know?’

‘Fisherman, is he?’ When Robert nodded, the doctor asked, ‘When’s he due back?’

‘Two days’ time.’

‘Leave it until then. She’s not going to die, if that’s what you’re worried about. Better to tell him when he’s safely back on dry land than have him worried to
death out at sea where he can’t do anything about it.’

There was reasoning and good common sense in his words and both Robert and Jeannie knew he was used to dealing with this community and its particular problems.

As he left the house, Jeannie went back upstairs to sit by Thelma’s bedside once more and hold her hand. A tumult of emotions was going on inside her and she was glad that the girl was
sleeping and she didn’t have to speak. Not at this moment. Not now when she was trying to quell the overwhelming guilt she was feeling.

She had wished to lose the child she was carrying and instead, in a cruel twist of fate, poor Thelma had lost hers. Yet perhaps, in the circumstances, it was a blessing. Joe might, some day,
have heard ugly rumours. She looked at Thelma’s white face, at the blue smudges beneath her eyes and the colourless lips, her hair spread over the pillow and wondered briefly if the girl had
done something to herself to bring this about. As, she reminded herself sternly, she had contemplated.

Much later, Jeannie asked Robert to drive her to the church where in the quiet, deserted sanctuary, she knelt and begged forgiveness for her own wickedness and for the soul of
her still-born granddaughter.

‘I’ll come with you, if you like, to meet his ship,’ Robert offered, but Jeannie shook her head.