Authors: Margaret Dickinson
In the darkness, Jeannie sighed thinking over the day’s events.
Returning to work after leaving Tom and Grace standing on the quayside, Jeannie had regretted her sharpness. Her angry retort to them, saying that she intended to return home, had been said in
the heat of the moment. The truth was, Jeannie acknowledged, that she didn’t really want to go home. Who was there, back in Scotland, who really needed her now? Oh yes, kind friends and
neighbours, but no kin. No one who would care for her and whom she could care for.
The brother and sister had looked so young and forlorn standing there on the bustling dockside as she had walked away from them. And lost. They needed someone, she told herself. Someone like
her.
And you should know how that feels, Jeannie Buchanan, she reminded herself, if anyone does. She felt a shudder run through her, imagining the long hours the young brother and sister may stand,
looking out to sea, watching the horizon in vain for the sight of their father’s ship.
As long as she had watched until, at last, all hope was gone.
She had been unable to concentrate properly on her work and had incurred a reprimand from the foreman and now had a tiny cut on her little finger as a result of her own carelessness when
allowing her mind to wander.
Arriving home had been the worst, seeing Nell bustling about her tiny scullery, red faced from a day’s baking and cooking to welcome her man home from the sea.
‘Hello, son,’ had been her greeting to Tom as he had bent to kiss her cheek. Jeannie had watched as Nell had reached up and patted his muscled shoulder. ‘How was your
trip?’
‘Good, Mam,’ Tom replied and Jeannie marvelled that he was able to keep the anxiety from his tone. ‘We had a good catch and there should be a fair pay out.’
‘Aye well, you’ll be needin’ it if you’re away to the Fisherman’s tonight.’ Nell’s eyes twinkled mischievously behind her steel-rimmed spectacles as she
had placed his meal before him. ‘Or are you staying home?’
‘Eh?’ The young man looked up, startled. It was obvious to Jeannie that for one moment he thought his mother must have heard something and expected him to stay with the family until
they heard news instead of joining his mates drinking and making merry. His tone was suddenly high-pitched as he asked, ‘Why? Why, should I stay home?’
‘No reason, son.’ Nell shrugged her shoulders and winked at Jeannie. ‘I just thought you might find something to keep you at home.’
‘Such as?’ he asked brusquely, picking up his knife and fork. He did not begin to eat but kept his questioning gaze upon his mother.
Careful, Jeannie wanted to say, you’re going to give the game away yourself if you’re not careful, and she found she was holding her breath.
‘Well, I just thought . . .’ Nell was saying and then suddenly Jeannie realized what the older woman was thinking. The last time Tom had come home from the sea, instead of going to
the pub that first evening, he had taken her, Jeannie, for a walk. She remembered how Grace had teased her about it and she had understood that it was not Tom’s usual behaviour.
Now she laughed aloud, trying to save Tom from falling into the trap that his mother was unwittingly setting. ‘Och, I’ll no keep a man from his drink, Mrs Lawrence.’ She nodded
towards Tom. ‘You go, Tom.’
Tom looked at her and blinked and then, seeming suddenly to remember too, he gave her a quick, grateful smile.
‘Och well now,’ Nell was saying, ‘I’m no’ so sure I agree with you there, hen. It’s all very well, these traditions, but when they’ve wives and
families. Now, you take their dad, he’s never gone out to the pub the minute he sets foot on land. The next day, well, maybe so, but he always liked to stay with his family . . .’ Nell
prattled on, busying herself between the back scullery and the range but Jeannie felt a cold spasm of fear clutch her heart. It was an unfortunate choice of words on Nell’s part, in the past
tense, and Jeannie prayed that they were not prophetic.
But she was very much afraid that perhaps already the sea had indeed taken George Lawrence.
Even with Tom gone from the house, the tension did not lessen. Not for Jeannie. She was aware all the time of Grace casting surreptitious, nervous glances at the clock above the fireplace. For a
while Nell returned to her endless braiding against the wall, but by nine o’clock even she looked towards the clock and said, ‘Well, it doesna look as if your dad will be home tonight.
Away to your bed now, hen.’ This to Grace, but her glance seemed to include Jeannie too.
‘Are – are you going to bed, Mam?’ To Jeannie’s ear, Grace’s voice seemed high-pitched with the anxiety she knew the girl was feeling.
‘No, no, I’ll sit by the fire a while longer, just in case.’
Oh no, Jeannie thought. The waiting’s begun. Counting the hours, then the days and the weeks.
Oh no, not again.
She took a deep breath, rose from her chair and said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Shall I make us all some cocoa?’ And forcing a smile, she added, ‘Even I can manage
that.’
Minutes later as the three women sat sipping the hot liquid, the silence deepened between them until Grace sprang up from her chair, slopping the last of her cocoa over the side of the mug.
‘I’m going up,’ she said and Jeannie knew instinctively that the girl could not bear the suspense any longer, could not bear sitting there knowing that she was deceiving her
mother and unable to shed the huge burden that was growing like a heavy weight in her chest.
‘All right, hen,’ Nell was saying calmly and lifting her face for her daughter’s dutiful goodnight kiss.
As Grace left the room and they heard her footsteps mount the stairs, Jeannie too rose, but before she could move away, Nell’s hand touched her arm. Softly she said, ‘A moment,
hen.’ She waited, holding her head on one side, listening until her daughter’s footsteps sounded in the room overhead.
With her right index finger, Nell pushed her spectacles higher up her nose and looked straight at Jeannie. ‘I’m a wee bit concerned about George, but I don’t want Grace to
worry. And Tom, maybe tonight the pub was the best place for him. He’ll think nothing of it, just that his father’s boat is late. And even if he does, well, the drink’ll dull his
wits. But I know George. He always tries to beat the Hathersage boats back to Havelock. He should have been here on this morning’s tide along with Tom’s. Or at worst,
tonight’s.’
Jeannie said nothing but swallowed painfully, debating quickly within her mind whether or not she ought to tell Nell Lawrence what she knew. She felt caught in the middle now, between the family
members each trying to keep their fears from the other.
She leant across and patted Nell’s hand. ‘If you’ve heard nothing by the morning I’ll go to the offices mysel’ and find out.’
‘Thank you, Jeannie. I’d be grateful if you’d do that for me, hen. Very grateful.’
Jeannie stood and then she too bent and kissed the woman’s cheek. A look of surprise crossed Nell’s face and for a moment her keen glance searched Jeannie’s face. She gave a
slight nod of the head as if to indicate that she knew Jeannie understood what she was feeling only too well.
‘Away to your bed, hen.’
As Jeannie opened the door leading to the stairs, she turned back once to look at the lonely figure sitting before the fire, gazing into its glowing depths, but every so often her glance would
go to the clock on the mantelpiece. Without looking round, Nell said softly, ‘You know, I canna believe the sea has taken him. Not my George. When he was a young deckie, he was washed
overboard, but the next wave washed him back on board again. Twice that happened to him. They always say . . .’ there was a catch in her voice now, ‘that if that happens, the sea doesna
want them.’
Jeannie could think of no reply and, quietly, she closed the door unable even to bring herself to say, ‘Goodnight.’
Hours later, snuggled against her, Grace slept, but Jeannie found rest impossible. Through the long hours of the night, she waited, listening for the sound of Nell coming to bed or Tom returning
home from the pub.
But the house was silent. Just waiting . . .
Breakfast at the Hathersage mansion five miles beyond the outskirts of Havelock was a tense affair, at least between the two men, Robert and his father-in-law.
Louise, however, was in a frivolous mood, prattling endlessly about her plans for her nineteenth birthday the following week.
‘I had such a marvellous time in London last year staying with Madeleine. She took me to all the smart balls and social events. Can I go back again this year, Mummy?’
Mrs Hathersage cast a coy glance at Robert. ‘It’s not up to us now, darling. You’re a married woman. You must ask your husband.’ But there was a sly insinuation in her
tone that left Robert realizing that he really had no say in the matter.
Louise gave her tinkling laugh and leant towards Robert seated next to her. ‘Can we go to London, Robert? For my birthday. We’d have such fun.’
Robert opened his mouth to say that he could not leave at present because of the uncertainty about the
Sea Spray
, but before he could speak, Mr Hathersage’s voice came down the
length of the table. ‘Of course you can go, my princess. It would do you good . . .’ He glanced at Robert as if suddenly remembering to include him and added quickly, ‘Both of
you.’
Louise clapped her hands in delight and cried, ‘Oh thank you, Daddy.’ She pushed back her chair and rushed to the end of the table to fling her arms about her father’s
neck.
How could they be thinking about such matters, Robert thought bitterly, when one of their trawlers may be lying at the bottom of the ocean with all hands? With a jerky, angry movement he stood
up, turned and left the room, without dutifully kissing his wife’s cheek, nodding to his father-in-law or giving a polite bow of his head and murmuring ‘Mrs Hathersage’.
‘Well, really!’ he heard his mother-in-law say loudly as he marched across the hall towards the front door. ‘That young man really has a lot to learn as a husband.’
And your daughter, Robert would liked to have said bitterly, has a lot to learn as a wife. As he drove down the wide sweeping driveway towards the wrought iron gates, Robert’s anger cooled
a little. He drove his own motor car into Havelock each morning. He had no intention of keeping the same office hours as Mr Hathersage who was chauffeured into his company offices at ten in the
morning, took two hours for lunch and returned home to his mansion at three thirty each afternoon.
He sighed as he pulled the motor to a halt outside the Gorton offices and sat a moment. Perhaps, for once, the Hathersages were right. Perhaps a little time away together in London would be good
for both Louise and him. Away from the influence of her parents, maybe he could talk gently to her and they could take time to get to know each other. Maybe . . .
As he walked towards the entrance to the building, other thoughts now pushed these plans aside. There were more urgent and important matters to be dealt with and as he ran lightly up the steps,
Robert’s mind was full of foreboding about the news this day might bring.
Jeannie awoke to the sound of frantic knocking on the back door. Slipping a shawl around her shoulders over her flannelette nightgown, she padded on bare feet down the stairs,
through the kitchen and into the scullery in time to hear Nell’s voice raised indignantly.
‘And what right has the likes of you to come knocking on my door at this time of the morning? Or any morning, if it comes to that, Aggie Turnbull?’
Jeannie gasped aloud. Aggie Turnbull? Here? It couldn’t be! But as she came to stand behind Nell and peer over her shoulder she could see at once that it was indeed the woman she had only
before seen at a distance. Yet now she saw her close to, Aggie’s appearance was not what she had expected. For one thing she was older than Jeannie had believed her to be. She was hatless and
her coat looked as if she had pulled it on in a great hurry. Her blonde hair was dishevelled and though she wore bright lipstick, it seemed to have been applied with a shaky hand. The outline
around her perfectly shaped mouth was smudged. Her skin, though smooth, was blotchy and when Jeannie looked into the woman’s eyes, she saw why. Aggie’s clear blue eyes were brimming
with tears.
‘Oh Nell. I’m sorry. I had to come. It’s not true, is it? For God’s sake tell me it’s not true. They’re saying – that George – that his boat is
missing.’
‘
My
George is a fine skipper. He’ll no’ be losin’ his ship,’ Nell said, her mouth prim and tight. Was it Jeannie’s fancy or did Nell really emphasize
the word ‘my’?
‘But it’s all round the docks . . .’
‘Well, I’ll no’ believe any tale you bring to ma door, Aggie Turnbull. Good-day.’ And Nell made as if to close the door.
‘Please, Nell.’ The woman clasped her hands together as if in prayer and Jeannie could see that her fingers were shaking. ‘For pity’s sake . . .’
But Nell shut the door and leant her back against it. She closed her eyes and let out a deep groan. Jeannie stood watching her.
‘What was all that about?’ she asked.
Nell opened her eyes, pushed her glasses up her nose with an irritated gesture. ‘Dinna ask, hen. Just dinna ask.’ But as Nell bustled away, Jeannie heard her mutter, ‘The
impudent begger, coming to ma house . . .’
‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?’
The bearded fisherman, standing before him, nodded gravely. Robert had come down to the fish dock to seek out the men from the other Gorton trawlers.
‘As sure as I can be, sir,’ the man was saying. ‘The storm was dreadful. So bad that our skipper stopped trawlin’. And it takes a fair blow to do that. Before dark, the
Gorton Sea Spray
was alongside us, well, you know, fishing ’aside us.’ He flung out his arm to the left as if indicating that the two vessels had been fishing parallel with each
other. ‘Then in the morning, she’d gone.’
‘But maybe she’d moved. Maybe the storm had driven her away, out of your sight.’
The man shrugged. ‘Possible, sir, I’ll not deny it. But . . .’ He hesitated and then shook his head. ‘Not very likely.’