The Fisher Lass (13 page)

‘You see,’ Samuel thumped his fist on the desk. ‘I told you to keep your blasted mouth shut. We’re short of crews. One ship can’t sail.’

‘It’s affected our crews too.’ Hathersage stood with his back to the coal fire burning brightly in Samuel Hayes-Gorton’s office. ‘What have you to say to that,
young feller-me-lad?’

Robert glanced at Edwin and raised his eyebrows. The other smiled and gave a slight nod and held out a handwritten list to his brother. They had both known that this confrontation would occur
and were well prepared. Now Robert was able to face the two older men with equanimity.

He glanced down at the piece of paper between his fingers and began to reel of the list. ‘There are precisely seven men whom our ship’s runner has not been able to sign on. One has
been ashore for three weeks with a broken arm, sustained, incidentally whilst at sea on a Hathersage boat. One is in hospital with pneumonia, another with a suspected appendicitis. That’s
three. Tom Lawrence will, of course, miss this trip—’

‘Why “of course”? There’s no “of course” about it.’

Robert glanced at his father-in-law and asked quietly, ‘You really expect the man to put to sea for a three-week trip, leaving his mother and his sister . . .’ to say nothing of
Jeannie Buchanan, he added silently to himself, ‘to cope alone?’

Mr Hathersage gave a grunt and twisted the tips of his moustache. But he made no answer.

Robert continued with the list of absentees and their reasons. ‘That leaves three more. Abel Johnson, a cook, is retiring. It was his last trip anyway and we knew that. And lastly there
are two brothers, aged fifteen and sixteen and, yes, it is their mother who is adamant that they shall not go to sea again.’

‘Ah, there!’ Samuel boomed with triumph. ‘I told you so. Well, she needn’t come running to me begging for shore jobs for them.’

Calmly, Robert went on as if the interruption had not occurred. His tone was deceptively soft. ‘I don’t think anyone with any feeling could possibly blame her. She lost her husband
and her eldest son three years ago on the
Hathersage Evening Star
when it went down in Arctic waters.’

There was silence in the room now as the two older men glanced at each other a little uncomfortably.

‘Of course,’ Robert went on smoothly, ‘what is missing is a Gorton ship with all hands. The
Sea Spray
will never set sail again, nor will any of her crew.’

With that parting shot, he turned on his heel and left the office.

At breakfast the following morning in the Hathersage household, Mr Hathersage spread his newspaper and disappeared behind it, not even wishing his son-in-law ‘Good
morning’.

Robert stared down at the kipper on his plate, quite unable to eat a mouthful when he thought of the appalling price that men had paid with their lives to bring such fish ashore. He was about to
ask the maid to fetch him something else when the door opened and Louise, her face more animated than he had seen it since their marriage and holding a letter in her hand, burst into the room.

‘Oh listen everyone . . . Morning, Mummy . . . Daddy . . .’ she added hastily but she was so excited and happy as she smiled at Robert and waved the letter towards him.
‘You’ll never guess. Madeleine has invited us to stay with her in London. I was so hoping she would. We can go the day after tomorrow. Oh Robert, isn’t that wonderful?’

She was looking very pretty this morning, in the frilled morning dress and her hair neatly dressed. Her round cheeks were delicately pink with excitement and her blue eyes sparkled and, looking
at her, Robert felt a wave of tenderness for her and hated to be the one to have to say that at present such a visit was out of the question.

‘I’m sorry, my dear. I cannot possibly leave just now. The whole town will be in mourning for the loss of the
Sea Spray
and all its crew. And I must – I must see to the
family . . .’ Swiftly he added as a hurried afterthought, ‘All the families.’

But in his mind was only one family: the Lawrence family and their visitor, Jeannie Buchanan.

Louise’s pretty face crumpled and the ready tears spilled over. ‘You don’t love me,’ she cried in a childish voice. ‘Else you’d want to make me happy. What do
I care about some silly boat?’

Appalled by her callousness, Robert rose from the table and went from the room, leaving his breakfast untouched.

‘Have you heard any more news?’ Grace came in at the back door, her hair awry, her clothes dishevelled.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ Jeannie flashed at once. ‘And why didn’t you come home last night? Where were you?’

Twenty-four hours had passed since Robert had brought the only news so far. Since then, they had heard no more. A steady stream of neighbours had knocked on the back-door, but when they saw Nell
refusing to leave her net and Tom sitting gloomily by the fire, they patted Jeannie’s hand and whispered, ‘If there’s owt we can do, lass, you just let us know.’ But then
they left, unsure how to deal with the strange reaction of each member of the Lawrence family.

Weeping, they could have handled, or even rage from the lost fisherman’s son, but it was their silence they could not understand. A silence that seemed to rebuff their good intentions.

‘Oh come on, Florrie,’ Jeannie heard one woman mutter as she stepped out into the back-yard. Their voices drifted back to her as they waddled down the passageway between the
neighbouring houses. ‘Leave ’er be, if that’s ’ow she wants it.’

‘But I don’t like to, Wyn,’ her companion said, her voice high-pitched with distress. ‘When my Charlie’s ship were missing for a time, Nell were that good to me. I
want to help her now, like.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ Wyn said bluntly, ‘if she dun’t want your help.’ She sniffed. ‘Nor mine neither, it seems, and we’ve lived next door for
years.’

‘Seems she only wants that lass that’s just come – the one that answered the door to us. What do they call ’er?’

‘Jeannie summat.’

‘She’s a nice enough lass, but they hardly know her, do they?’

‘She’s a Scottie though, ain’t she? Like Nell.’

‘A relation, y’mean?’

‘Don’t think so.’ The woman paused and then said, with an insight that was beyond Florrie’s comprehension, ‘Mebbe Nell finds it easier because the girl
is
a
stranger.’

Jeannie sighed and closed the door as the voices faded and became indistinct. Returning to the kitchen, she said, ‘Tom, I’ll need to go to ma work to see the foreman. Will you take a
walk?’

But Tom shook his head, not even looking up at her. He had sat before the fire during the whole of that time, moving only to answer the call of nature or to stoke up the fire and Nell had
continued to work, non-stop, at her braiding.

So Jeannie had been the only one to leave the house.

‘Take as long as you need, lass,’ the foreman had said. ‘We all know what’s happened and we know Grace, and you too since you’re staying with the family, will need
a little time off. The other girls have said they’ll cover for you.’

A lump came into Jeannie’s throat. ‘That’s very kind of them. Please thank them for me, will you?’

‘I will.’ The man, usually so brusque, was showing a kindness Jeannie had not seen in him before. ‘George Lawrence was a good skipper and a fine man. I feel for his family.
Give Grace and her mam my best, will you?’

Jeannie looked at him, puzzled. ‘You mean Grace isna here? At work?’

‘No. She didn’t come in this morning.’

‘Oh.’ Jeannie could not prevent the surprise from showing in her face. She had been worried enough when the girl had not come home the previous evening, but since neither Tom nor
Nell had even mentioned it – in fact, they hardly seemed aware of it – Jeannie had waited until the morning to look for her. She had been so certain that Grace must have just stayed the
night at a friend’s but that she would be at work today. Now the young girl was missing from her workplace too.

Swiftly, Jeannie gave the foreman a weak smile. ‘I expect she’s gone down to the dockside. To – to watch . . .’ Her voice faded away.

Poor Grace, she thought then. I must find her.

Excusing herself, Jeannie hurried away towards the docks. It was still early, yet the fish market was in full swing. Row upon row of kits of fish lined the pontoon and buyers, resplendent in
black suits and bowler hats, moved amongst the freshly landed fish whilst the incessant drone of the auctioneers’ voices could be heard above the general rabble. Men with barrows rushed
backwards and forwards, carrying the sold fish ready to be transported to inland markets.

Jeannie pushed her way through the throng, past all the jetties where now the ships were making ready to set sail once more in a few hours’ time. But there was no sign of Grace, no sign of
a lonely figure far out at the end of one of the piers.

Jeannie searched everywhere she could think of, but she could not find the girl.

And now, standing facing Grace in the small back scullery, she felt both relief at seeing her safe but an overwhelming desire to shout at her for causing so much worry and at a time like this
too.

The girl’s face was suddenly mutinous. ‘You sound like me dad.’ The words were out before she thought and now Grace’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at Jeannie.
‘I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, but – but I couldn’t bear it here. I stayed the night with – with a friend . . .’ She lifted her head
again. ‘Me mam didn’t know, did she?’

‘That you never came home at all? She must have done, but she’s never said a word. Not all night.’

‘What do you mean “all night”?’

‘She never went to bed again. Grace,’ Jeannie’s tone softened, ‘you should have been here to look after her. You’re her daughter. It’s you she needs. Not me.
I’m a stranger.’

Grace shook her head. ‘No, no, you can help her more than me. Really. Maybe it’s because you’re from her homeland and she still feels the pull. You know?’

Oh yes, Jeannie knew. She felt the pull of home even more strongly now, and yet something still held her here and even now she couldn’t be sure that it was just because she wanted to stay
and help these people who had befriended her.

‘Where is she?’ Grace whispered and Jeannie gestured with her head into the neighbouring room as she said grimly, ‘Still braiding the net. She’s been at it all night.
Just standing facing the wall and braiding.’

Grace’s mouth dropped open.

For the second time in two days, it was Jeannie who opened the door to Robert Hayes-Gorton.

‘I presume you’ve heard the most recent news? That they’ve found some wreckage from the
Sea Spray
?’ he asked gently.

Jeannie nodded and said shortly, ‘One of the lumpers came to tell Tom.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘So it’s definite then?’

‘I’m so sorry, but yes.’ He paused and then said, ‘He – Tom – didn’t go back to sea then?’

‘No, but he’s expecting to be ignored by the ship’s runner for the Hathersage company because of it.’

Robert sighed, realizing that Henry Hathersage had more than likely already given instructions to his runner that ‘that idle bugger, Tom Lawrence, is not to be given a berth on any of my
ships again’. Aloud, Robert said, ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer. That he finds a ship when he’s ready to go back.’

Jeannie knew she ought to thank him, but the words stuck in her throat, so she merely gave a curt nod as if to say, ‘That’s no more than you owe this family.’

They stood there, an awkwardness between them for it was obvious that she had no intention of inviting him inside. His dark brown eyes troubled, Robert asked, ‘How are things?’

Jeannie lifted her shoulders. ‘How do you expect them to be?’

He sighed and said heavily, ‘If you – they – need anything, please let me know?’

Again she nodded, then stepped back and closed the door.

Standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen, she watched Nell, still at her work on the net. Sadly, Jeannie shook her head. Just what were they to do with Nell? She clicked her tongue
against her teeth in a noise of exasperation. Tom and Grace were little or no use.

After sitting by the fire for a full night and the following day, now Tom seemed to be out all the time, probably, she suspected, in the Fisherman’s Rest. He’d no doubt be coming
home the worse for the drink.

And Grace. Well, she was out again too and, at this moment, Jeannie did not like to begin to think where she might be.

Why am I bothering with them all? she asked herself. They’re nothing to me. I should be on my way home, back to Scotland. But she knew exactly why she bothered. The Lawrence family
reminded her of her own, the family she had lost.

No, she couldn’t leave now. Not yet. Not till things were better.

She moved forward to say gently, ‘Please, won’t you rest?’

‘I must finish this, hen. George will be home soon and wanting his tea.’

Jeannie’s hand fluttered to her mouth to stifle a startled gasp. ‘Oh no, Nell, no,’ she breathed.

On the Sunday morning, Nell finally left her net and put on her black coat and hat. ‘I’m away to the kirk.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Jeannie offered but Nell held up her hand.

‘No, no, hen. I’ll be fine. Sunday morning I always go to the kirk. George’ll know where I am.’

Jeannie watched her go with a heavy heart. The little woman walked briskly along the street, nodding to her neighbours as she passed by. Jeannie bit her lip and hurried up the stairs.

‘Grace, Grace . . .’ She shook the sleeping girl by the shoulder. She had been very late home the previous evening, but at least she was now coming home each night and had not, since
Jeannie had rebuked her, stayed away overnight again. Even so, Jeannie intended to question her about where she was going so often, but now she had a more urgent worry. ‘Grace, wake up.
You’ve got to get up. Your mother’s gone out. To the kirk. You ought to go after her. See that she’s all right. Grace, will you get up.’

But the girl shrugged her off, turned over and buried her head beneath the bedclothes. Exasperated, Jeannie dragged the covers off her. ‘At least tell me where the kirk is and I’ll
go.’