Lovers Meeting (25 page)

The woman set her broom aside. ‘Come away in and have a cup o’ tea.’ She led the way down a path along the side of the pub and flanking a field of potatoes. They passed a man who came out of the back door of the pub, carrying a garden fork. He was short, broad, bearded and nodded to Josie, ‘Guid morning.’ And then to the woman, ‘I’m away for some tatties, Lizzie.’ He plodded on. As Josie followed Lizzie in at the back door she glanced over her shoulder and saw him starting to dig in the potato field.

The back room of the Fishermen’s Rest was kitchen, sitting and dining room in one. A bright coal fire set the brass fire-irons in the hearth to glinting. A big table sat in the middle of the room with straight-backed chairs around it. There were two armchairs before the fire and a crockery-laden dresser against one wall. A basin full of eggs stood on the dresser and a side of bacon hung from a beam. When Lizzie poured the tea, she added milk from a brimming jug.

Josie exclaimed, ‘Fresh milk!’ On the
Macbeth
she had to use condensed milk from a tin.

Lizzie smiled. ‘Aye. Milk, butter, bacon, eggs, cabbages, leeks, neeps – all that sort o’ thing we get from the farmers around about. And cheap! The puir divils have a long road to get to market and a puir price at the end of it.’

There was a pause, and Josie was conscious of the quiet; there was only the soft ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece and the distant voices of the men on the quay. She said, ‘This must be a peaceful place to live.’

‘It is that.’ But Lizzie’s face was gloomy. ‘Too quiet by far.’ And she explained, ‘We’re not wanting to make a fortune. We ran a pub in Glesca for twenty year and there was money enough – aye, and work enough. We took this place to ease off a bit but the only trade is what you see here’ – she waved her hand at the cottages around them – ‘and now and again a farmer coming in. We’re barely making a living and Davy’s got too much time on his hands. Y’understand,’ she said proudly, ‘we’re no’ short of a quid or two, but he’d be better off making a bit o’ money than spending it drinking his own stock.’ Then she smiled conspiratorially at Josie. ‘But that’s my Davy for you. What about your man? Do you keep him busy?’

Josie evaded the question: ‘There’s always something to do aboard a ship.’ And made her excuses: ‘That reminds me that I have to get back.’ And she went on her way.

Lizzie’s good wishes followed her. ‘Come again, lassie.’

More carts appeared that day but slowly and at irregular intervals, coming in from the farms in the hinterland. They were pulled by shaggy, plodding horses, their drivers sitting balanced on the shafts. Late in the afternoon, Josie stood in the stern of the ship, watching the derrick at work.

The wind coming from behind her blew the coal dust away from her. The steam winch hammered, reeling in the wire cable on the derrick. It lifted the net, loaded with sacks of coal, out of the ship’s hold. The jib of the derrick travelled through ninety degrees as one of the hands hauled on a line, swinging the net with its load of coal over the side to hang above the cart on the quay. Then the wire ran out slowly and the load settled in the bottom of the cart.

But darkness came early that time of the year and the wind had a bite to it. Josie shivered and went back to her galley and preparing the evening meal. Later that evening, the meal and the dishes cleared away, she retired to her cabin. There she undressed, climbed into her bunk and settled down to read by the light of an oil lamp. But she worried about the loss being made on this voyage. It could wreck the Langley Shipping Company at the outset. She could hear Tom moving in the cabin next door. And there was something gnawing at the back of her mind, demanding her attention …

She sat up in her bunk with a jerk, hands to her head, pushing at her hair which hung loose and shining. She was very still for some seconds as the thoughts raced – the coal rumbling down the chute when the
Macbeth
had loaded it, Lizzie saying the farmers had a long way to market and a poor price when they got there – then they tumbled into place. She swung out of the bunk and shed her nightdress, shivering in the cold until she had pulled on her clothes. When she tapped at Tom’s door he bellowed, ‘Come in!’

Josie opened the door and Tom lifted his head out of the basin, but not too far, still stooping under the deckhead. Water dripped from his face and neck and he reached for a towel. He was stripped to the waist. Josie met his startled stare for a second then looked away. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You said to come in—’

Tom said, ‘I thought you were one of the hands.’

‘I just wanted to see you.’ Then Josie realised what she had said. ‘I mean, I wanted to talk to you. About an idea. About this place.’ She stumbled to a halt, embarrassed.

Tom scrubbed at his face with the towel. ‘Well, not in here.’

‘No, of course not.’ Josie backed out.

‘In the saloon.’ That was where they ate their meals. The crew took theirs in the forecastle. ‘I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.’

Josie waited for him in the little saloon with its scarred old table which she had got to shine again with polish and elbow grease, the leather settees down each side. At first she upbraided herself for blundering into such an embarrassing situation. Then she shifted the blame. Why should Tom Collingwood assume it was a member of the crew knocking at his door? He knew she was aboard. But then she admitted her guilt again: why would he expect a lady to knock at his cabin door after nightfall? No lady would. Josie buried her face in her hands.

She had to lower them again when Tom, fully dressed now, entered the little saloon, seeming to fill it. The light from the lamp did not show her colouring and they avoided each other’s eyes. The dead-lights of the saloon were open so anyone could see them talking innocently. Tom sat down opposite Josie, only the width of the narrow table between them. His long legs brushed hers as he slid in and along the seat. They both sat back and Tom questioned, ‘You’ve had an idea about this place? What do you mean?’

Josie told him and in her eagerness the words spilled out of her. Tom was sceptical and looking for faults at first but then he became infected by her enthusiasm. At the end he said, ‘It depends on whether they’ll
want
to do it, but it sounds as though they will. It’s worth a try.’ They smiled at each other and it was then they realised they were both leaning forward on the table. Josie sat back, then Tom.

Josie urged, ‘Shall we?’

Tom pulled out his pocket-watch, snapped open the case with his thumb and glanced at the face. ‘There’s time.’

Josie fetched her coat and hat from her cabin, then they spent some minutes on the quayside where Tom paced distances and made rapid mental calculations. Satisfied, he nodded, ‘The derrick will reach. It’ll work.’ They went on to the Fishermen’s Rest and Tom entered while Josie waited outside as a woman must.

The bar was low-ceilinged so Tom had to stoop. There were a dozen fishermen standing at the bar, jerseyed and sea-booted, some sucking on pipes, all with glasses of whisky before them. Davy, the bearded publican, stood watchful behind the bar, and Tom asked him, ‘Can we have a talk?’ He was aware that conversation had stopped and all the drinkers had become listeners. He went on, ‘Somewhere private? I have a lady with me, waiting outside.’

‘Aye. Tak’ the leddy round the side. We can talk in there.’ Davy indicated the room behind him with a jerk of his thumb. Tom saw through the open door that it was the kitchen. Davy called, ‘Lizzie!’ And when his wife came bustling out of the kitchen into the bar: ‘See to the men here while I chat wi’ the captain.’

‘Aye, Davy.’ Lizzie took his place.

Tom rejoined Josie and led the way down the whitewashed side of the pub, at first treading cautiously in the pitch dark; there was not a streetlight in the village. Josie followed his tall figure, equally careful. But then the kitchen door opened ahead of them, framing the publican, and light spilled out to show them the way. The three of them were soon seated around the scrubbed table in the warmth of the kitchen, the men with tots of whisky, Josie a glass of sherry.

Tom lifted his glass, toasting, then drank and nodded at the fire, pulsing red with heat. ‘Where would we be without coal?’

‘Aye,’ Davy agreed, curious as to the reason for this visit but prepared to wait to find out. His gaze drifted to Josie again and again while Tom talked, because he was also curious as to the reason for her presence, this smiling girl with hair that glinted coppery in the light. Tom started, ‘It’s coal I’ve come to see you about.’ He was aware that Lizzie, in the bar but strategically sited close to the door of the kitchen, was listening to every word. At the end Tom produced paper and pencil, wrote down figures then tapped them with the pencil. ‘At those prices we’ll all make money and everybody will gain.’

Davy savoured a sip of whisky a moment, then swallowed. ‘Aye.’ Then thoughtfully, ‘Ye say we’d be needing a chute?’

Lizzie poked her head in from the bar: ‘Ecky Gow will build that.’ And to Tom, explaining, ‘He’s a carpenter and does all that kind o’ work around here. Ye can see him the morn.’ Then her gaze switched to her husband. ‘It sounds like a grand bit o’ business to me.’

Davy eyed her. ‘You look after the trade, woman. And let’s be having another one in here.’

So there was more whisky – and the bargain was struck.

Davy bade them ‘Goodnight’, echoed by his wife. Then he shut the kitchen door and the sudden darkness left Tom and Josie blind. Josie stood still, then Tom’s hand, rough and callused, wrapped itself around hers. His voice came above her head: ‘This way.’ She followed where he led her, but when almost to the road she stumbled. He caught her before she could fall headlong, his free hand clamping itself around her waist. He held her a moment and she could feel the coarse wool cloth of his reefer jacket against her face, smell the salt and coal smoke on it. Then he set her on her feet again and they were out on the road; their eyes were growing used to the gloom and there was the amber glow of the oil lamp lighting the
Macbeth
’s gangway.

They did not speak until they were aboard and had stopped at the door of Josie’s cabin. She said, ‘I think that was a successful evening, Captain.’

‘Yes.’ Tom still stood, a bare foot away.

Josie said quickly, ‘Goodnight, Captain Collingwood,’ and backed into her cabin.

As she closed the door: ‘Goodnight, Mrs Miller.’

Josie stood with her back to the door, head turned, breathing shallowly. Finally she heard him walk away, sea boots heavy on the deck. As she undressed by the light of the oil lamp and then lay in her bunk she heard him moving in the next cabin. He had called her Mrs Miller. If she had truly been just Mrs Miller she could have … But she was not.

Josie was still awake long after all was silent.

With the help of Tom and the crew it took Ecky Gow, sandy-haired and with a stub of pencil behind his ear, just two days to construct a rough chute. He built it of timber and it led from the quay to the corner of Davy’s potato field beside the Fishermen’s Rest. During the third day they discharged all of the
Macbeth
’s coal using a huge iron bucket. The derrick swung it, filled with coal, out of the hold and across the quay. Then the bucket was tipped so the coal it held dropped into the chute and rumbled down into the corner of the field.

When the hold was empty it was hosed out. Then on that third day, Davy having passed the word around, a few farmers arrived on the quay with loaded carts. They held cabbages and swedes, bacon, butter, eggs and cheese. The farmers were cautious but Tom met them on the quay and, primed by Josie, offered them prices for their goods and deals were struck. Tom told them what he had promised Davy: ‘We’ll be here every week, and after we’ve unloaded the coal we’ll make you a decent offer for whatever you bring in.’

One said drily, ‘There’ll be a sight more of us next time. A lot o’ fellers waited to see if what we’d heard was true.’

Later Tom asked Josie, ‘How do you know we’ll make a profit at these prices?’

Josie waved at the stacks of greens and groceries, the sacks of potatoes bought from Davy. ‘I know what all these things will fetch in Monkwearmouth.’

‘How do you remember?’

Josie replied, a touch grimly, ‘If you have to pay for them, you soon learn how much they cost.’

They sailed in the evening, Tom with Davy’s money in his pocket in gold sovereigns. The publican had bought the
Macbeth
’s cargo of coal to sell on, as he surely would, at a profit, and he was now the accredited agent of the Langley Shipping Company. Henceforth the
Macbeth
would land her coal as soon as she berthed, load the farmers’ produce and sail again without delay. As the little ship ran south, Tom poked his head in at the door of the galley to say jubilantly, ‘There’ll be no time wasted there any more; a quick turnround every trip!’

It could not have come too quickly for Josie. She was eager to be ashore for good. The
Macbeth
was too small for the two of them. Yet when Kitty Duggan came aboard and said, ‘I’ve found a cook for your next passage,’ Josie felt disappointed. And Kitty watched her with sharp little eyes.

Then Josie, remembering, asked, ‘Has that shop on the corner of Dame Dorothy Street and Barrington Street been taken?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘Nor likely to be, either.’

‘Yes, it will.’ And when Kitty stared, Josie said, ‘I’ve got enough to stock it aboard the
Macbeth
.’

Dougie Bickerstaffe asked hopefully, ‘Has there been a letter for me, Mrs Duggan, please?’

Kitty replied, ‘No, lad. I’m sorry.’ Then, after he had trudged away, shoulders slumped, she said, ‘He’s still mooning over that lass in London, hoping she’ll write to him, but she’s told him it’s no good.’

Josie remembered very well. The girl worked in a shop …

They had berthed this time in the Wear, not far from the Langley house. Kitty had come out in a boat, the boatman tugging at the oars, as the
Macbeth
was still being made fast to her buoy. Felicity Blakemore, however, waited on the quay for Tom to go ashore and then complained, ‘It’s such a shabby,
little
ship; absolutely awful!’ And pouted when he laughed. Josie evaded her and went home with Kitty.