A Safe Harbour, page 12
‘I don’t know, lass.’ Her mother looked bleak. ‘William doesn’t seem to like the drink very much. I don’t know whether he finds it distasteful or whether he’s been put off by your da’s behaviour. But Thomas . . .’ Nan’s voice trailed off and she stared ahead without really seeing anything. ‘I sometimes worry about Thomas. He’s a hothead to start with and when he’s had a drink he’s impossible.’ Nan pushed about half of the coins across the table towards Kate. ‘There’s as much as I dare give you. Your da will have to be satisfied with the rest.’
‘But how will you convince him that’s all there is?’
‘I’ll say she’s been spending it on drink. That’s partly true. And he’ll have to believe it because it was the drink that killed her, wasn’t it?’
Kate flinched. She’d been told how Meg had been laughing and joking with some of the lads on the boat field. She’d had a good day and had already been back to the cottage to leave her creel and basket. Then, seeking company, perhaps, she had strolled out into the sunshine.
If only I’d got home earlier, Kate thought now. If only I had not made any attempt to gossip with the customers the way my aunt did. She had tortured herself with such ‘if onlys’ ever since the day of the accident. But she hadn’t been home when Meg had returned to the cottage and her aunt had gone out seeking ‘a bit chat’ as she would have called it. After a while she had set off for home, taking the cliff-top path. Nobody saw the exact moment when she stumbled. No one was near enough to reach out and prevent her falling. And it must have happened only a moment or two before Kate had walked that way. So there was another ‘if only’.
The hateful vision returned. Kate tried to banish from her inner eye what she had seen when she had gazed down at the rocks below. Meg’s twisted body, the eyes staring up in surprise, the ribbons of blood spreading out across the rocks and into the pools of salt water.
‘Shall I put this money back in the tin?’ Her mother’s question brought Kate back to the present.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m hiding the tin at the back of this drawer in the dresser. Just in case your father gets it into his head to come looking.’
‘Do you think he will?’
‘Not if I do my job properly, but we’ll be safe rather than sorry, shall we?’
Kate nodded dumbly. She was surprised and grateful that her mother could be so practical when she herself was still too stunned with grief even to think straight.
‘What’s this?’ her mother said as she picked something up from the dresser. ‘There’s something wrapped up in this clean tea towel.’
‘Bring it over. I’ll show you.’
Wordlessly Kate unwrapped the bundle that her mother placed on the table before her and they both stared at what was revealed.
‘Your work?’ her mother asked. Her eyes had widened in disbelief.
Kate smiled. ‘Hardly. No, it’s Meg’s.’
‘But it’s beautiful. And I didn’t know Meg could knit anything more complicated than a simple shawl.’
‘It is a shawl,’ Kate said, ‘or at least half of one.’
Together they stared at the soft white wool and the delicate lacy pattern of what looked like tiny seashells. ‘For the baby,’ her mother breathed.
‘She wouldn’t let me see what she was knitting. I found it after she died when I was looking for – for clean things for the undertaker. It was wrapped up just as you found it and hidden among her petticoats.’
‘I’ll finish it,’ her mother said. ‘But we’ll keep it here. Whenever I can I’ll come round and spend some time with you. Are you going to be all right here on your own?’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘And you’ll be able to pay the rent?’
‘Yes, Aunt Meg taught me well. I’ll do as much of her round as I can, although I might have to let the new customers go.’
‘Then I can only hope that we’ll hear from Winifred soon. I don’t want anything to happen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In spite of the trouble you’re in, the poor bairn is an innocent soul. I wouldn’t want you to lose it.’
Kate’s hands went instinctively to her abdomen. As yet there was no visible sign of Jos’s child and she had felt no movements. But it was there, her child was there, safe within her, and a wave of love so powerful that it left her gasping overwhelmed her. ‘No,’ she whispered and she knew she was shaking. ‘No, I mustn’t lose my baby.’
‘So work hard if you must,’ her mother said, ‘but whenever you can you should rest. Put your feet up, eat properly. I’ll bring you food from home when I can. A drop of broth, a bit of stew. And make sure you drink plenty milk for the little ’un’s bones and teeth.’
‘But what will my father say about you bringing me things from home?’
‘He’ll never know.’ Her mother pursed her lips and suddenly looked old and tired.
‘What is it?’ Kate asked. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No more than usual. Although your father’s drinking is getting worse. I don’t know how he would manage without your brothers – particularly William. You know, Kate, I’ve come to rely more and more on your elder brother. And I know that’s not fair. He’ll want to get wed one day and then what will I do?’
‘Come with me to America!’ Kate said it impulsively and she saw her mother’s eyes light up briefly, but the light was soon extinguished.
‘No, pet. I took my marriage vows and I’ll see them through. And there’s Thomas. Big as he thinks he is, he still needs his ma.’
Her mother insisted on filling the coal scuttle and seeing to the fire before she took her leave. ‘Will you be down at the beach auction in the morning?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Then have an early night. Go to bed now. You’ve no one to please but yourself. I half envy you.’
But Kate didn’t go to bed. She was too restless. She knew she wouldn’t sleep so she got the writing set from the drawer in the dresser and sat at the table to write a letter to her friend – who still didn’t know what the true situation was. But she could tell Jane of her sorrow and how much she missed her beloved aunt. It would give her comfort to pour out her heartache, knowing her friend would sympathize. She picked up her pen.
A while later she finished the letter with a request that Jane should try to come home for a visit soon. She blotted the pages carefully, put them in an envelope, sealed it and attached a stamp. She left the envelope lying on the table and rose from her chair. But making a sudden decision she snatched her shawl from the back of the door and seized the letter. I’ll walk along and post it now, she thought. I need some fresh air and the village will be quiet at this time of night.
After she had posted the letter Kate stood for a while on Bank Top and let the light breeze from the sea cool her face and lift her hair. It was soothing. The surface of the sea, like grey silk, rippled in the breeze and the moon had laid a pathway of silver across the water in the bay. Kate clutched at the rail and stared at the dappled water. She could hear the waves slapping on to the beach and then pull back across the shingle.
‘Beautiful,’ someone said softly.
She recognized the voice and didn’t even turn when the speaker came to stand beside her.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ she replied. ‘The moonlight on the water . . .’
‘I didn’t mean the moonlight,’ Howard Munro said. ‘I meant you.’
Kate was shocked. ‘You shouldn’t speak to me like that.’
‘Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.’ He laughed softly. ‘I’m an artist, remember? Sometimes we don’t behave like gentlemen. But then people don’t expect us to. Am I forgiven?’
Kate smiled tentatively and nodded her assent.
‘Good, because I’ve been meaning to ask you, may I paint your portrait?’
‘My portrait? Why?’
‘It will be one of a series of pictures of this village and the people who live and work here,’ he said. ‘I hope to exhibit them in a gallery in Boston – my hometown.’
Kate was nonplussed. She didn’t know what to say.
He must have seen how puzzled she was because he smiled encouragingly. ‘I will tell you what to wear . . .’ Kate backed away a little. ‘Don’t worry, I want you dressed pretty much as you are now in your dark blue skirt and bodice with your neckerchief and your working shoes. And, of course, carrying your – what do you call it? Your basket.’
‘Creel.’
‘Yes, your creel. And you will have to be patient and stand still and it will be like work, so I shall pay you a proper fee, as I would any model.’
‘Model . . .’ Kate had heard about artist’s models and she was not sure if they were respectable.
‘And you won’t be the first person here to pose for me. I’ve already started work on some sketches of Martha Smith, standing right here on Bank Top, holding her creel.’
‘But Martha is so old!’ Kate couldn’t help saying. ‘All those wrinkles . . .’
‘And those piercing blue eyes. And all that wisdom in her face. Marvellous!’
‘So it’s not my beauty you want me for, then,’ Kate said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘If you’re looking for models like Martha . . .’
‘Kate, you’re teasing me. So, will you pose for me?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I could be bold enough to stand here on Bank Top and allow myself to be gawped at by the world and his wife as they pass by.’
‘You have a wonderful turn of phrase, Kate, but that won’t be necessary. I am used to being gawped at and I will stand here alone to make sketches of the background. You will come to my studio where it will be more comfortable and you will be safe from curious onlookers.’
‘Your studio?’
‘Yes – in the cottage Richard has loaned to me.’
‘In your cottage . . .’
‘If you are worried about the proprieties let me tell you Martha has been twice already. She brought her granddaughter Betsy to act as chaperone. You could bring your mother – or a friend, perhaps.’
‘I can’t answer you now.’
‘I’ll pay you well. After all, I may sell the paintings some day.’
‘Money is not my concern.’ Kate could not disguise her flash of fury and the artist looked abashed.
‘Of course it isn’t. And now I’ve managed to insult you again. But promise me you’ll think about it.’
‘I will. But now I must go. I have to be up early in the morning.’
‘Oh, no. I’ve kept you talking and I know how hard you work. May I see you safely home?’
Kate laughed. ‘It’s not far and the only creatures about are a few cats.’
‘Some of them mine, so I’d better come along to protect you from them. After all, we are going the same way.’
They fell into step but didn’t speak again until Mr Munro bade her goodnight just a few steps from her door. Once inside Kate got into bed as quickly as possible. She lay for a while and tried to make up her mind about Mr Munro. He had a disconcerting way of speaking but she thought there was no harm in him. But did she want to pose for him? Did she want her likeness captured on canvas for anyone to see? The idea was unsettling but not altogether unpleasing. She had promised him she would think about it. But not now . . . she was too tired. Then, just before sleep overtook her, a disturbing image flickered in her mind. That of a curtain twitching at one of the windows as she and Mr Munro walked by.
As they hurried along Heaton Road William glanced at his reflection in the rain-speckled shop windows and hardly recognized himself. Jane had told him long ago that he must never meet her in town wearing his fisherman’s gansey, even his best one, and he had turned up today wearing the jacket and trousers he wore at church. He had also put on his best shirt and his only tie. It pleased William to keep Jane happy. He was wise enough to know that she only wanted the best for him – as he did for her. His mother had smiled knowingly when he left the cottage but she hadn’t asked him where he was going. He was pretty sure that she knew.
He had called at the servants’ entrance of the Coulsons’ house and had been slightly aggrieved that Jane hadn’t seemed to notice the effort he’d made. She’d asked him in, which was unusual – in fact almost unheard of – and immediately directed him to a sort of cloakroom and told him to change into the clothes he would find waiting there.
He did so uncomplainingly and had presented himself for inspection. His darling had both smiled and frowned. He’d watched her changing expressions with fond amusement. The suit had been made for a less muscular man but Jane said it would have to do. The waistcoat was so tight it made breathing difficult and the shirt collar cut so sharply into his neck that he found it almost impossible to turn his head. Then there was the hat: the ‘bowler’. He thought he would rather go to the Afghan frontier than walk the streets of Cullercoats with that perched on his head. But as they were going to be walking the streets of respectable suburbs he guessed that he wouldn’t be too out of place.
William was walking on the outside as Jane said he must and reflected alongside him was the trim, elegantly dressed figure of Jane. She looked so self-assured as she hurried along holding her umbrella to protect herself from the sudden shower. But even his admiration of her and pride in her could not quell his doubt.
‘Do I look all right?’ he asked.
‘William, your appearance is every bit that of a gentleman, so please will you remove that pained look from your face.’
He stopped, and Jane turned to glare at him. William did not respond. He was looking up at the sign written in large gold letters above the shop. It said: C. & M. HOGG, LADIES’ AND GENTLEMEN’S OUTFITTERS. The C stood for Cyril, but he was long deceased. The M stood for Mabel, the widow Hogg, who wanted to retire and go to live with her daughter who had married a draper with a thriving business in Leeds. Or so Jane had told him.
‘Now remember, William, when we go in I will do the talking, but I shall look to you every now and then to make sure that you agree.’
‘Would it matter if I didn’t?’ William grinned. Jane was used to getting her own way and he’d never minded. He respected her quick brain and he considered himself a lucky man that a lass so dainty and beautiful – like a Dresden shepherdess, she was – would be content to walk out with him.
‘Of course it would.’ Jane’s tone didn’t carry conviction but the look she slanted up at him through her dusky lashes sent his senses reeling, as usual.
William felt himself flushing and he ran his forefinger along the inside of his collar to ease it away from his neck. ‘You said it was all done and dusted,’ he said.
‘It is, as far as the shop itself is concerned, but there’s the stock to consider. My father has been very generous in agreeing to set me up in business and I want to make sure we spend his money wisely.’
‘We?’ William had a nightmare vision of himself serving behind the counter, selling socks perhaps, or neck ties, or collars as uncomfortable as the one he had been forced to wear today.
Jane’s smile was thin. ‘I said “we” because Mrs Hogg is expecting an engaged couple. Even though she has run the business by herself for years it seems she is unwilling to sell to a single woman. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And, William . . .’ Jane’s tone softened and she raised her umbrella higher and moved closer to him, looking up into his face with those amazing blue eyes. ‘We are an engaged couple, aren’t we? I mean, I know I haven’t got an engagement ring – and I don’t mind, really I don’t – but we are promised to each other, aren’t we?’
‘Jane . . .’ He stepped closer and put his hands on her waist.
‘William, not now, people will see us.’ The umbrella trembled, sending a scattering of raindrops down on both of them.
‘The street is Sabbath quiet,’ William said. ‘All the shops are closed. There’s no one in sight.’
‘Somebody could be looking from an upper window. Many of the shopkeepers live above the shop – as . . . as . . .’ She bit her lip and hurried on. ‘Now.’ She glanced cursorily at the display in the shop window as she shook her umbrella and furled it. There were ladies’ blouses, gentlemen’s shirts, children’s smocks, socks and gloves all arranged in no particular order. William saw her frown. He guessed that should her plan to buy the shop be successful – and it looked as though it would be – the window would be sorted out very quickly. ‘Now,’ she repeated, ‘Mrs Hogg will be waiting for us.’
The notice hanging in the door said ‘Closed’ but as soon as they knocked the door opened. Mrs Hogg proved to be a tall, spare, wrinkled woman with wire-framed spectacles that always appeared to be sliding down to the end of her long nose. But her smile was welcoming.
William followed Jane in, smiled politely when he was introduced and then stood back while the two women discussed business. Jane kept looking at him questioningly and he remembered to smile or nod wisely. He had no idea what they were talking about, since he had lost track long ago, but he seemed to be making the right responses because Jane was looking happier and happier.
He was glad about that. He wanted Jane to be happy, but as he looked at the rails of ready-made clothes sheathed in protective covers and the bolts of cloth stacked neatly on shelves behind the counter, he saw no place for himself. Then he sensed that Jane and Mrs Hogg had stopped talking and when he looked up he found they were both staring at him.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I should ask you that question, William dear,’ Jane said. ‘You uttered such a sigh just now.’
‘Did I?’
‘Please don’t worry, Miss Harrison,’ Mrs Hogg said. ‘I think I know what the matter is. We’ve been talking so much that I’d quite forgotten poor Mr Lawson. I should have realized that he will want to talk to you . . . and perhaps advise you. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go upstairs to the flat so that Mr Lawson may express his opinions freely, and return in a quarter of an hour.’
