The Visitor (27 page)

‘It's a hard decision to make,' she says. ‘Let's hear it then.'

‘
Oyster Girl
,' he says, and her blushes are terrible.

She knows oysters, of course, though no one near Morlanow dredges for them. Near Falmouth, on the estuary there, many are scooped out, and some weeks of the year oysters come in to Morlanow's harbour on foreign boats to be unloaded onto the train and whisked away. Like mussels you steam open the shell and eat the quivering toughness living there. But there's something else about them that she remembers. She can't meet his eye.

‘Why that?' she murmurs.

‘Because… Because of what's inside. You know.' He twists his hands together. ‘If you don't like it, just say. It's foolish, I'll think of something else.'

He's looking at her, waiting for her to say if she likes the boat's name, but she wants to push him now he has opened this crack into his thoughts.

‘When did you decide this?' she says.

‘When I was in the library at Pentreath, I read—'

‘Pentreath?' The town is miles inland, where the Tillotson mines grew and took over the country. Further than Govenek, which is the furthest from Morlanow that Pearl has ever been. ‘I didn't know you'd been there,' she says. ‘When did you go?'

He shrugs. ‘Few times lately, on the train. You were in the palace. The Master lets me finish early sometimes, if the accounts are in order. I do some errands for him while I'm there, to pay for the ticket. But that doesn't matter. What do you think of the name?'

‘I like it, I suppose. It's more grown up than “limpet-legs”. But why did you go to the library?'

‘There are things I wanted to know, and they have maps, huge great maps that show places other than Cornwall.'

He throws more stones at the hissing trough of the sea. Pearl is torn two ways, with joy that Nicholas wants to name his boat after her, in a secret sort of way, and fear that he has been keeping things from her. And maps – why must he be so caught up with other places?

Pebbles clatter down the shelf as Nicholas gets to his feet. ‘So you'll come out with me then, now she's got a name?'

The question is harder to answer than he thinks. It's not just ‘yes' or ‘no' and a matter of going or not going. It's a decision beyond that. It's what it would mean to go, to leave the safety of land and to be with him on the shifting slipperiness of the sea. To be unsteady. Now that there is this understanding between them, now that he has spoken of leaving, can she keep her balance on the water with Nicholas? She's not certain of her own anchor any more. She is not the person everyone thinks she is. Her thoughts are those of a sinner. But here he is in front of her and she knows what she's going to say. The sea is a block of green behind him, a perfect canvas on which to lay his dark curls and the outline of his clean, pressed shirt, his unworked hands and angular wrists.
Oyster
Girl
waits on the beach and the waves wait to carry Pearl out beyond Morlanow's troubles.

‘Yes,' she says. ‘I'll come out with you.'

The setting sun fires a last blast of brilliance. Nicholas smiles at her. Pearl is already far at sea.

They meet the next evening at the bottom of the cliff path where the boat has been left. The beach and the seafront are empty but for a few strangers, late visitors, taking the air, unconcerned with what she and Nicholas might be doing on this beautiful evening. The unseen huers will be at their posts for a little longer, blinking away illusions of pilchards caused by the fading light, the children are in bed, and most of Morlanow's own people are packed into chapel where another meeting is taking place. No one will expect Nicholas to attend and Pearl told her mother only a half lie, that on such a warm evening chapel would be too stuffy for her chest.

Pearl has tried her best to look decent. It's easier to stay clean when there are no pilchards arriving. Her skirt is spotless, the hems repaired that morning before anyone was up. She has brushed her hair and pinned it back, using stolen drops of her mother's precious rose water to smooth the wayward strands. Pinching her cheeks has given her a bit of colour and she chewed parsley to rid her breath of the bussa pilchards eaten for supper. She barely heard her mother say that it was the last full bussa jar in the house.

Nicholas calls from behind. ‘Ready?'

The red boat still sits in the shadow of the cliff. Nicholas has painted
Oyster Girl
on her side in his neat, straight hand. Pearl can only smile at him, her voice lost. They lift a side of the boat each and carry her down to the water. The boat is more awkward than heavy. Pearl can feel the greater strength in her arms from working in the palace. Nicholas appears to be struggling. As he strains against the boat's side she sees the cords of his neck and the leanness of his frame.

They reach the water and drop the boat into the shallows. A strand of hair has escaped from her pin and Pearl tucks it back behind her ear. Nicholas is looking at her.

Pearl pulls off her boots and tosses them into the boat. ‘Come on. We'll lose the light at this rate.'

Together they push the boat off the sand, splashing into water almost up to their knees until she is afloat, then scramble over the sides and collapse in a heap of laughter. As the boat begins to drift they both reach for an oar as there's no wind for a sail.

‘Give that here,' Nicholas says. ‘I'm rowing.'

‘But you're out of breath. Let me help.'

He smiles and shakes his head. ‘No. It's my boat and you're a passenger, as well as a girl. I'm in charge, though you can have the tiller.'

Pearl pretends to hesitate then hands him the other oar. Nicholas settles himself in the centre of the boat and begins to row. She isn't certain how to use a tiller but Nicholas doesn't row at any great speed. She has time to work out its action before he asks her to steer them more to the right, heading along the coast towards Witch Cove, out of sight of the village. They round the cliff head where the huers' hut stands far above them. The only sound is that of the oars dipping into the sea. The waves have all but vanished. Pearl can feel Nicholas's gaze on her. He clears his throat and her pulse thrums at the thought of what he might say.

‘Do you agree with the rest of them – your father, Jack, all the others – that Sunday fishing is wrong?'

This is what he wants to talk about now that they are alone? She tries not to let her disappointment show, taking her hand off the tiller and letting her fingers feel the cool slip of the sea. ‘Of course it is,' she says. ‘To fish on the Lord's Day, to make money. How can you think otherwise?'

He leans forward. ‘They're bigger, the east coast boats, and they have more men in the crew. If they didn't go out seven days a week they couldn't afford to go at all.'

‘Well if they want to use our harbour they should have smaller boats, like we do.' This is tedious. It's like talking to Jack. She didn't put rose water on for this.

‘And they catch anything, everything,' he says. ‘They've got more room on board for the gear.'

‘So? If they come here they should do as we do,' she says. ‘It's only right.'

He laughs. ‘What about when our boats leave here for herring? Do you think Irish ports are pleased to see Cornish boats in their waters?'

‘It's not… it's not the same. The east coast men are wicked, Nicholas. Why do we have to talk about this?'

The trip in the boat, the beautiful evening together – everything is spoilt.

‘I've spoken to the east coast men, Pearl, when no one else will. They have wives, children.'

‘Don't try and talk me round.'

‘There's no legal ban on fishing on a Sunday here,' he says. ‘What the Council have ruled in the past – it's just a by-law. The east coast men need to fish then. We should do as they do. You know pilchard catches are down again.'

He has changed tack to wrong-foot her. For a moment she is thrown, then says, ‘What have pilchards got to do with this? East coast men fish for mackerel here, not pilchards. Numbers could pick up yet. The season's not finished, and you know how tricksy the fish can be, suddenly coming in when you thought they were gone.'

Nicholas shakes his head. ‘They're leaving.'

Something cold drops inside her. She can't find a response in her rising breath.

Nicholas carries on. ‘It's not just in Morlanow. All along this coast there are fewer pilchards and that's not the fault of the east coast men. It's because we've taken so many.'

‘No, no you're wrong. There've always been pilchards here.'

‘But there won't be for much longer. It's not just a bad season, Pearl. It's the end. Morlanow should be moving forward, forgetting pilchards.' He rows faster and faster. ‘And the east coast men are the answer, not the problem. There's no sense stopping fishing for Sundays when there's so little coming in the rest of the week. East coast men and their boat owners, and Govenek's men too for that matter, they've all realised that and they're taking the advantage while we sit twiddling our thumbs. If we go out on Sundays we could pay for better gear and catch more fish, other fish, like they do. We've relied on pilchards too long.'

‘You think you know it all,' she snaps. His arms go slack as he stops rowing. ‘Is this why you asked me to come out with you tonight?' she says. ‘To convince me so I'll talk to my father, to Jack?'

And then all at once Nicholas has his lips against hers.

Pearl freezes. Nicholas is kissing her. How did this happen? Is she kissing him back? But she doesn't know how to. Perhaps she is doing it now, just by staying still. His hand slides up the inside of her leg. She feels his fingers catch on her drawers. She jerks away.

They stare at one another, only inches apart; Nicholas still half in Pearl's arms. She sees flecks of amber in his eyes and beads of water on his long lashes.

‘Pearl…'

He is a stranger, and Pearl is a stranger to herself. It isn't quite dark and the huers might still be outside their hut. What if someone has seen them? Pearl would give anything not to be like Alice, good for gutting dogfish but never forgiven her sins. Nicholas has to want Pearl properly, in chapel, in front of everyone. But even as she thinks this she sees her father's downcast face, feels her mother's scornful words. Pearl has risked too much in the boat. She has given in to sin.

Pearl tries to move away, to get closer to her end of the boat, never taking her eyes from Nicholas's.

‘I'm sorry,' he says. ‘I didn't mean to.… Please—'

Her foot skids against an oar and with a cry she falls down in the belly of the boat. Nicholas is immediately above her. ‘Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?' He leans over her, his hands on the planks either side of her shoulders. He's going to kiss her again and she wants him to and she is going to go to Hell and it's her own fault.

Somehow the right words come to her wicked lips. ‘No,' she says. ‘It's wrong. Take me back.'

Her breath is coming in whimpers and he still isn't moving, his tall shape filling the mauve sky above. She scrambles to the tiller and huddles against it. Nicholas takes up the oars and begins to row again. It's all Pearl can do to concentrate on steering them back to Morlanow's shore and they come close to the cliff more than once, Nicholas seeming as distracted as she is.

Finally she feels the thud of land against the bottom of the boat. In silence they climb out and pull her back up the beach. Everything has changed since they left the shore. Pearl is closer to Alice than to herself. Nicholas's hand between her legs has made that happen, but she let him touch her there. She wanted him to.

As soon as the boat is well above the tide line Pearl turns and hurries up to the seafront, to get home before anyone sees her, certain there must be some mark on her to show what's happened.

‘Pearl!' he calls. ‘Wait!'

She turns to see him standing on the beach. His arms are wide open, imploring her to come back, but she doesn't trust herself to take a step closer to that embrace. What she has felt for so long is out now and she's frightened by its power, and that Nicholas feels it too. She runs home, avoiding any light that falls close to her path.

She doesn't sleep that night and stays in bed when her mother calls her in the morning. It feels so cold without Polly's body next to hers. Inevitably, feet are soon heard coming up the stairs. Her mother doesn't knock before coming in; knocking is only to alert those who keep secrets, and there are no secrets in a good and honest household. It's bad enough that Pearl closes the door to her room at all.

Her mother comes straight over to the bed and sits down. ‘What's keeping you in bed?' When Pearl says nothing her mother puts a hand to her forehead and to Pearl it's full of chill. ‘You're that pale,' her mother says. ‘Your chest?'

Pearl doesn't lie but she doesn't tell the truth either, only coughing and rolling onto her side. ‘I need to rest,' she whispers.