Authors: Margaret Dickinson
Grace sat up and tugged at the blanket, but Jeannie held on and the two girls glared at each other. ‘Just tell me where it is, then you can go back to sleep.’
‘Two streets away, at the far end.’ And Grace yanked the bedclothes from Jeannie’s grasp and lay down again.
The church was almost full and when Jeannie arrived they were singing the first hymn but she slipped into a pew at the back, her glance darting around the congregation for sight of Nell
Lawrence. Then her lips parted in a startled gasp for there, sitting in the third row from the front, his head bent solicitously towards Nell, was Robert Hayes-Gorton.
Jeannie could hardly believe what she was seeing, but there was no mistaking the slim build nor the dark brown hair that curled, just a little, over the edge of the stiff, white collar. Nor, as
he turned and she saw his profile, the straight nose, the curve of his eyebrow just above those deep, dark brown eyes. His mouth was serious, yet when he bent towards the older woman, Jeannie could
see the merest hint of a smile that uplifted the corner of his mouth and deepened the line running from nostril to chin.
Jeannie dragged her gaze away, picked up a hymn book from the ledge in front of her and rifled the pages to find the place. Glancing up towards the list of numbers on the hymn board, her glance
again found the top of Robert’s dark head and she allowed her gaze to rest upon it once more. Whatever was he doing here? Surely this was not the church where the Hayes-Gortons, nor the
Hathersages, would normally worship? And he was alone too. She could see no other member of his family amongst the congregation.
She bent her head and tried to concentrate on the words, but the print danced before her eyes and her heart was still racing from having run all the way here.
The service continued, but Jeannie could not have told anyone what prayers were said, apart from the one that mentioned the
Sea Spray
and prayed for all those aboard, nor what the vicar
said in his sermon.
Just before the end of the final hymn, Jeannie slipped from the pew and out of the church door. She walked swiftly across the grass between the gravestones and away from the main pathway to the
gate. In the shadow of the yew tree she stood to watch the worshippers leaving the church and when Robert appeared, leading Nell on his arm, Jeannie shrank back even further beneath the low
branches.
She could see now that Nell had a handkerchief to her face, a large, white, man’s handkerchief. She was dabbing at her eyes and Robert was still leaning towards her speaking quietly and
patting her hand that lay on his arm. As they passed among the other worshippers, Jeannie could see that it was Robert who nodded to them, or acknowledged their greetings, protecting Nell from
their intrusive sympathy.
It should be Tom with his mother, or even Grace. Not him. Not Robert Hayes-Gorton. But then, the truthful, honest side of Jeannie’s nature answered her. Neither Tom nor Grace were being a
comfort or support to their mother. That had been left to comparative strangers, herself and now Robert.
When they reached the gate, Jeannie saw them stop and Robert gesture with his arm towards his motor car standing by the kerb, but Nell shook her head firmly. Jeannie guessed that he was trying
to offer to take her home and Nell was, understandably, refusing.
Yet his action was a kind one, Jeannie admitted grudgingly as she watched them move off down the road, walking past the car as if intending to leave it and walk the distance to Nell’s
home.
Jeannie moved forward to the path and through the gate. She had almost reached them when she saw Robert look up and catch sight of her.
To her surprise, her smile as she went towards him was quite genuine. She had witnessed for herself his gentleness towards Nell. Whilst the cynical side of her nature, still smarting with
resentment against him, might have said that it had been his guilty conscience making him act so attentively towards Nell, the more generous part of her character was, for once, willing to give
Robert Hayes-Gorton the benefit of the doubt.
‘I came to meet you, Mrs Lawrence,’ she said as she came up to them. ‘Grace told me where the kirk was.’
‘Oh Jeannie . . .’ Nell began and as she turned to glance at her, Jeannie could see that her eyes were red and that she still dabbed at them with the handkerchief, pushing the cloth
beneath her glasses and almost dislodging them. ‘Mr Robert has been so kind.’
Jeannie nodded towards him and smiled again. ‘Thank you,’ she said briefly, but now it was Jeannie who linked her arm through Nell’s and drew her gently away.
Over her shoulder Nell called, ‘Goodbye, Mr Robert – and thank you.’
They walked for some time in silence and then Nell said suddenly, ‘You must have thought me a bit daft, hen. Going on about George as if – as if he was – well – still
here.’
Involuntarily, Jeannie stiffened and she found she was holding her breath.
Nell’s voice was low and flat, but quite steady as she went on. ‘I know he’s gone, Jeannie. I know that now, but I didna want to believe it – wouldna believe it until
today.’
Jeannie said nothing. There was nothing she could say. For she knew exactly how Nell Lawrence was feeling because it was how she had felt about her father. But Nell had accepted the truth more
quickly than she had.
Jeannie took a deep breath. Well, it was time she did the same then. Angus Buchanan was never coming home from the sea again and neither was George Lawrence.
As they walked along, Jeannie hugged Nell’s arm closer to her and feeling it, Nell tightened her hold on Jeannie in response. Together, they would come through this.
Watching them walk away from him, Robert was thinking, she smiled at me. And her eyes lit up until they sparkled. Jeannie Buchanan actually smiled at me. And, despite the
sadness of the day, the thought made him smile too and for a brief moment he felt ridiculously light-hearted.
‘Jeannie, I don’t know what we would have done without you these past weeks. You – you’ve been marvellous.’
She was standing with Tom on the edge of the jetty, below the ladder leading up on to the boat on which he was about to sail. He had stayed at home for two weeks to be with his mother and
sister, but now, he had to go to sea again. He had lost his place on the Hathersage boats, but Robert Hayes-Gorton had been as good as his word and had found him a berth on the
Gorton North
Star
.
It had been a difficult time for all of them and Jeannie, keeping her own private battle just that – private – nevertheless found that helping the Lawrence family come to terms with
their loss helped to ease her own heartache. It was strange, she reflected, standing once more on the quayside, the wind lifting her hair, how each of them dealt with their grief in a different
way. After her visit to the kirk, Nell had at last accepted that her husband’s ship had been lost at sea though she still turned to her work, standing before the wall in the kitchen, her
fingers working automatically, her need to keep occupied an unconscious therapy.
Tom found his salvation in the Fisherman’s amongst those who were, not hardened, but resilient to such tragedies. It had always been part of the fabric of their lives. As a miner lives
with the knowledge that he may one day be entombed, as a steeplejack knows he may, sometime, fall, so a fisherman knows that one day the sea may take him. They live with the knowledge but rise
above it, not allowing the might of the ocean to humble that inner core of courage that makes them men.
And Grace. Jeannie sighed whenever she thought of Grace, for the girl sought her comfort outside the family home with friends about whom Jeannie had serious misgivings. But when she tried,
gently, to broach the subject with the girl’s mother, Nell just lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Let her be, hen, for a while anyway. She’ll come to no harm and if it helps her .
. .’
She did not finish her sentence and Jeannie let the matter drop but it did not stop her worrying for now when Grace crept into their shared bed at night, Jeannie could smell the liquor on her
breath. It seemed strange to her that Nell seemed unconcerned when, at their first meeting, she had been so strict with her daughter.
But since then, Jeannie reminded herself, the star by which Nell steered the course of her life had gone from her firmament.
So now Jeannie smiled up at him and said, ‘Safe trip, Tom.’
His blue eyes were earnest as he looked down at her. ‘Jeannie, you will stay? You will still be here when I get back?’
Jeannie sighed. Part of her longed to go home, back to Scotland and yet another part of her shrank from doing so. She nodded and said hoarsely, ‘Yes, Tom. I’ll be here. There’s
– there’s nothing for me to go back home for. Not just now, anyway.’
Suddenly his huge hands reached for hers and he held them tightly. ‘Jeannie, I want to know you’re waiting for me to come back. I want to know you’ll always be waiting for me.
I need you. We all need you. Please, will you think about something while I’m away? Jeannie – will you marry me?’
‘I hear your dear little wifey has gone to London to stay with her friend again.’
‘How do you know so damned much about my life? You seem inordinately close to my father-in-law,’ Robert growled.
Francis laughed aloud. ‘Old man Hathersage and me . . .’ he crossed two fingers and held them up to show his brother, ‘we’re like
that
.’
‘Then maybe . . .’ for once Robert resorted to the sarcasm that Francis so often employed with enjoyment, ‘you should have married his daughter.’
Francis tweaked the sharp points of his fair moustache. ‘My dear fellow,’ he drawled, ‘I am not the marrying kind. You know that. I prefer to love ’em and leave
’em.’
Robert stared at him. For many reasons he admired his elder brother. There was no denying his astute business acumen which, though perhaps a little too ruthless, far outstripped anything that
Robert himself, or even Edwin, would ever attain. Francis always dressed elegantly; his suits were made of the finest materials and tailored expertly. He was a handsome devil. The trouble was,
Robert thought, he knew it. He knew how attractive he was to women, yet he treated them with a callous disdain that seemed to have them hanging on his every word even more. Even amongst their
parents’ small circle of friends, Robert was certain there were one or two unmarried girls who had ‘hopes’ of winning Francis Hayes-Gorton.
‘Even so,’ Robert replied smoothly, ‘I’d have thought that it would have been much safer for the business if
you
had married her. I mean, as the elder brother, you
stand to become head of the Gorton company. Who’s to say whether I will even stay.’
For a brief moment there was an unguarded look of incredulity in Francis’s eyes. Then the gleam of certainty was back. ‘Oh you’ll stay, Robert, my boy.’ Maliciously, he
added, ‘You’re trapped. There’s no way out now. Besides, you’d be cut off with the proverbial shilling.’ As he passed close beside Robert, heading for the door, he
paused briefly to pat his younger brother’s cheek. ‘So be a good boy and let’s have no more of such talk.’
He opened the door to leave, but then paused and said briefly, ‘Oh, I’ll be away for a few days. I’ve business in London. I’m sure you and Edwin can cope between
you.’
When the door closed behind Francis, Robert stared at it for a moment and then moved towards the window of the office to look out across the docks that lay below. He could see the
Gorton
North Star
nosing her way out of the harbour. Tom Lawrence would be on that ship – three weeks of backbreaking labour with little rest and icy, bone-freezing conditions. Three weeks of
living every minute knowing that one freak wave, a storm or even an accident with the machinery could end a life in a second. Living with the knowledge that out there somewhere in the depths of the
icy seas Tom’s own father, George Lawrence, had lost his life.
Yet, despite all this, Robert Hayes-Gorton envied Tom his life. It seemed, to Robert, one of glorious freedom. And that was not the only reason he envied Tom. For as his gaze dropped and he
watched the figures on the quayside, he saw her. Striding along, her hair blowing in the wind, her face lifted to the breeze, was Jeannie.
Robert leant against the window and watched her weaving her way amongst those thronging the quay, saw her turn and wave once more to the ship leaving the dock. Then she turned and hurried around
a corner and was gone from his sight.
Even so, Robert stood staring at the place where she had disappeared for a full minute.
Jeannie Buchanan. The name seared itself into his heart and her image was indelibly imprinted upon his mind.
When she entered the house that evening, Jeannie was surprised to see the net hanging limply against the wall. She knew a moment’s fear until she saw Nell sitting in the
rocking chair at the side of the range, her head resting against the wooden back of the chair, her eyes closed, her hands idle in her lap.
Jeannie made to turn and tiptoe away, back into the scullery, but Nell opened her eyes. ‘It’s all right, hen. I’m no’ asleep. But I just felt – all of a sudden, you
know – so very weary.’
Jeannie came and sat down opposite her. ‘It’s time you had a good rest. Time – time you let go, Mrs Lawrence.’
‘Aye.’ Nell nodded slowly and her voice was heavy. ‘Aye, you’re right, hen. But I never thought the sea would take him, y’ken? Not after casting him back on board
those times. I really though the sea didna want him. Ah well . . .’ She paused and then asked softly, ‘And have you “let go” too, Jeannie?’
The girl pressed her lips together tightly but nodded.
They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts, but it was a companionable silence born out of a shared grief.
It was Nell who broke it at last. ‘Has he asked you, then?’
Jeannie’s eyes widened as she stared at her. ‘You knew?’ She felt suddenly cheated that Tom had discussed his proposal with his mother before even telling her of his
feelings.
‘I suppose,’ Nell was saying slowly, her gaze on the flickering embers in the grate, ‘a young man usually talks over such things with – with his father. But now . .
.’ She did not finish her sentence and Jeannie was a little ashamed of her spurt of anger against Tom and was thankful she had not voiced her feelings.