‘It was quite boring.’ In fact she had found it stimulating observing the tensions and interactions of her fellow guests. ‘Feena Opie offered me the use of her stables. I shall send for my horses and employ a stable boy.’
‘Definitely staying here then?’
‘Yes. Going back to Kent or moving elsewhere doesn’t appeal to me.’
‘Where will you live?’
‘I’ll stay at the Manse until I’ve found something in Porthellis or close to it.’
‘You like this house, don’t you?’
‘Yes, very much.’
He blew a smoke ring above her head. ‘I’m taking the train to Plymouth tomorrow. Would you like to travel up and meet me there?’
‘For what people call a dirty weekend?’
‘No, we’ll get married. I’ll make my conditions plain. I’ve always gone my own way and always will. Nag me, try to tie me down, interfere with anything I do and I’ll make you suffer. The house is mine but you can do what you like with it. I’ll be up there for a few days. You can think it over.’
Grace did not know why or where this proposal had come from. She did not care, and with the greatest sense of excitement she had ever felt she said at once, ‘I don’t need to think about it, Daniel. I’ll take what’s on offer.’
Chapter 7
It was the Sunday School’s anniversary and there was a special service in the chapel on Sunday. A bigger than usual congregation attended, packing into the pews, spilling over into wherever there was a bit of space. Some were attracted by the promise of well-rehearsed singing, others by the fact that one of the county’s best-loved circuit preachers was invited. It was an honour to hear him, most people agreed afterwards; he made the Gospel come alive, he was good Wesleyan stock. After the benediction, pronounced by the Reverend Skewes in a voice suitable to the occasion, the congregation, old and young, filed out of the chapel in respectful silence.
The next day was an even greater occasion, planned meticulously and looked forward to by all but those in a sick bed. The Chapel Tea. The long trestle tables were hauled out of their resting places and put up at one end of the Sunday School room. They were covered with calico and a feast was spread out on them for all to enjoy. Hannah was among the aproned women who arranged platters laid first with crocheted doilies then heaped high with richly buttered scones, golden splits, yeast cake, saffron cake, seed cake, black soda cake, thickly cut sandwiches filled with home-cured ham, and wedges of savoury pies. Pots of strawberry and blackberry jam and crusty-topped clotted cream, jellies and trifles and vases of polyanthus, tulips, daffodils and lilac added to the magnificent colourful display.
Those attending the teatime feast arrived dressed in their best finery. New feathers and strips of silk titivated the women’s hats, watchchains jangled on the men’s waistcoats. The older men wore bowlers, the younger ones trilbys; the swains among them tilted their trilbys slightly to the side. There was a feeling of oneness among the villagers, a sense of eagerness, anticipation and joy. Hannah was particularly light-hearted because Daniel had left the village a few days ago. She didn’t know how long he would stay away but a heaviness had lifted from her, she felt the air was fresher, easier to breathe.
Miss Peters sidled up to her. She looked like a surly-featured doll in a red velvet coat and matching bonnet tied under her pointed whiskery chin. Hannah raised her brows to see the old lady had brought her horsewhip with her. ‘You got the tea ready yet? And I want a comfy place to sit. Me old bones can’t manage a hard form.’
‘I’ve put aside a stool with a thick cushion on it specially for you.’ Hannah’s eyes gleamed.
‘No need t’talk t’me like I was a little child,’ Miss Peters said grumpily. ‘Where’s this stool then? Or have I got t’fetch it meself? And put it where I can see what’s going on. Better make it near the door. You can fetch me a cup of tea and plate of food.’
Miss Peters didn’t usually demand to be waited upon but Hannah was happy to do it. When she was seated near the door, out of the draught, as if it was her duty to check on who was coming in, Hannah helped the other elderly folk to comfortable seats.
‘I’m thinking of asking for tuppence off people as they arrive so they can touch the top of her head for luck,’ Matt whispered in her ear, motioning towards the inscrutable old lady.
Hannah dug him playfully in the ribs. ‘Don’t let her hear you saying things like that. You’ll get her whip across your legs, and serve you right.’
He laughed and popped half a triangle of ham sandwich into his mouth. ‘Look who’s come in. Constable Burt.’
‘He must be worried the Sunrise’s crew will try to cause trouble.’ It was all too easy with the villagers constantly on their guard and ready to retaliate.
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Brinley, Eric and their two mates, Tippy and Merv, burst through the doors. They pushed Hamlyn Innis and Mrs Trudgeon, who were discussing the rising cost of raw materials, out of their way. The chatter stopped, heads twisted in their direction. Mothers gathered their children to them. Hannah checked that Nathan was safely with Aunty Janet and Mrs Penney. She felt her stomach knot.
The Reverend Skewes and Constable Burt stepped forward.
‘You’re welcome to join us,’ the minister said, smiling weakly.
‘As long as you don’t cause any trouble or bother the ladies,’ the constable added in his most official voice.
‘Whad’ya mean?’ Eric scowled, his small, mean eyes disappearing in the loose folds of his heavy features. ‘Since when did we cause trouble?’ He made a gobbling sound and the others joined in. ‘We don’t never bother the women, ’tis the other way round. They get lonely when their men’s out at sea.’
‘If you’re going to talk like that you can get out right now,’ Matt fumed, pushing in front of the minister and the constable.
‘Leave this to me, Matt,’ Constable Burt said sternly, heaving the irate fisherman back behind him.
‘We’ll behave,’ Brinley said gruffly, pushing his bulk towards the food tables. People cleared a path for him like a field of com parting before a violent wind.
Prim quickly put some food on a plate and offered it to him. ‘Please don’t ruin it for the kiddies,’ she appealed.
‘We won’t bother no one if they don’t bother us.’ He winked at her. Brinley had a soft spot for Prim. The skipper had warned him and the others to leave the Spargos alone, saying he alone would deal with them, but Prim reminded Brinley of his late wife whom he had loved dearly and he would have been disinclined to cause trouble for her anyway. He spied Fred Jose, however; the skipper wanted him to be given a dog’s life.
Pressing two long slabs of yeast cake together, he munched them and advanced on Fred who backed away from him until he was wedged into a corner of the room. Then Brinley turned round and leant his massive frame against the hapless fisherman until Fred could hardly breathe. Eric, Tippy and Merv headed for the tables and piled so much food on their plates they threatened to leave nothing for anyone else.
Without Daniel there to warn him off and punish him for it, Eric cut a jibe at Hannah. ‘That’s your husband, ain’t it? He with the big mouth. Just lookin’ for a fist t’smash it in.’
Before Hannah could reply, Matt pushed her gently behind him. ‘Speak to my wife again and it’ll be your face that’ll end up looking like it’s been hit by a brick wall.’ There was something powerfully menacing about him, and Eric backed down from further confrontation.
‘What’s so special about you and your pretty little missus, eh? The skipper says you’re his.’ Eric shrugged. ‘He’s welcome to ’ee.’
‘What did he mean, Matt?’ Hannah clutched his arm, suddenly feeling faint.
‘I think it was obvious, darling.’ Matt patted her hand. ‘Try not to let it spoil the day. Hopefully they’ll go soon.’
Hannah clamped a hand to her mouth, muttering urgently between her fingers. ‘Take me outside, Matt. Through the back door. I think
I’m going to be sick.’
As they hurried out through the back door of the room, Leah came through the front door on Greg’s arm. Grateful to have something to take their minds off the troublemakers, the villagers crowded round to greet them. Stuffing food into his mouth, Tippy shoved his way through the press of people until he was facing the young couple.
‘Well, look ’ee here,’ he roared at the top of his rough voice. ‘We’ve gotta toff and some sweet little lady with un. I think you’ve come to the wrong place, m’dears. This is a village tea treat. Not for the likes of you.’
Greg frowned with annoyance and tried to lead Leah away. Tippy grasped Leah’s arm. Leah screamed. Greg put up his fist but Jeff got to the offender first and yanked him backwards then lifted him up, making him gag on his food.
‘You lay a finger on my daughter again and I’ll…’ Remembering there were women and children present, Jeff ran out of words.
Constable Burt sprang forward to do his duty and for a few minutes a pandemonium of argument and accusation broke out. Then the sound of a whip cracked through the air and people scattered.
In the silence that followed Miss Peters strode up to Brinley. Her tiny hobgoblin face held all the malevolence of an enraged bull. He stared at her, open-mouthed, food spilling down over his chin and on to his jersey. ‘I reckon you’re the leader of this rabble, matey. You can get them out of here right now, before I whip the skin off your backs. We edn’t afeared of you in this village. There’s many a good man who’ve kept his fists in check but not any more. We’ve had enough. When he gets back you can say up against that heathen rogue Daniel Kittow that he don’t scare none of us.’ She sliced the whip expertly through the air, swiping a split out of Brinley’s hand. ‘Now get! Before I get really mazed.’
Brinley looked as if he’d been struck by all the forces of nature. He turned as red as blood, air hissed out of the sides of his mouth, gurgling sounds came from his throat. His fists clenched and children hid behind their mothers’ skirts while adults blanched. They fully expected the huge man to order his cronies to tear them and the room apart.
John Jacobs stood at Miss Peters’ side and was quickly joined by Jeff, Roy Rouse and several other fishermen. ‘You may be a threat when you single out one of us or our women but you can’t take on all of us together. If we have to take the law into our own hands to protect the village, we will, you can count on that. Now, as Miss Peters said, get out, and stay out of everywhere but the pub from now on.’
Brinley was smouldering, a hair’s breadth from totally losing his temper. ‘You might put up a fight, you might even beat us, but we’d make sure some of you weren’t fit t’put t’sea for several weeks.’
Prim crept up nervously to him. ‘Please don’t fight in front of the children. They’ve done nothing to you. My grandchildren are in here.’
She had given Brinley a reason to step down without losing face. ‘All right, we’ll go, but only for the sake of the kiddies. You men with the big mouths had better watch out in future.’ With a snarl he stormed out and the other men followed him, muttering angrily.
Jowan and Lily had sneaked outside several minutes earlier for a kiss and cuddle. They were interrupted by Tippy on his way to use the outside toilet. His cloddish face gleamed with a malicious grin. ‘I’ll have some of that,’ he guffawed, grabbing Lily from Jowan’s arms and planting his ragged lips on hers before she could fight him off.
Jowan shouted in fury and grabbed at Tippy’s grubby shirt collar to free his sweetheart. He had help. Constable Burt had left the Sunday School room hard on the heels of the troublemakers. He had seen Brinley and the other three men amble off down to the quay and had decided to follow the man who had broken their ranks. In one efficient movement he bent Tippy’s arm behind his back and yanked him away from the distraught girl.
‘I’m arresting you for—’
Tippy gave forth an ear-splitting yell and butted his head backwards, splitting the young constable’s bottom lip.
With blood spurting down his face, Constable Burt continued calmly, ‘—assault, breach of the peace and striking a police officer. You’re off to a cell, mate.’ He swiftly put the handcuffs on the miscreant and hauled him off towards the public telephone to call for a police van.
Lily rubbed at her mouth with her hanky as if she’d been contaminated with a deadly poison. ‘I need a drink of tea,’ she said, her voice muffled as she kept up her ministrations.
Fear was making Jowan’s light grey eyes seem twice their normal size. He was terrified she would refuse to marry him if she thought this sort of thing went on in Porthellis every day.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Lily giggled, her merry nature driving out the unpleasant moments. ‘You look like a big fish out of water.’
Blinking, gulping, taking a deep breath, he asked Lily there and then to marry him.
* * *
The hotel in Plymouth wasn’t as superior as Grace was used to but it was clean, the surroundings were pleasant and it did have room service. She tipped the porter who brought the tray of champagne and chocolates generously. Daniel had checked in with her during the afternoon, then promptly left, saying he wouldn’t be back until late. Grace didn’t mind. She’d stood calmly at his side as he’d signed the register Mr and Mrs D. Kittow. The long sloping letters told the truth; she was Mrs D. Kittow, by special licence. Her stay here was above board, she wasn’t here for a grubby liaison and she looked the little desk clerk straight in the eye. The desk clerk knew a lady when he saw one and his manner was impeccable as he handed the porter the key.
Grace unpacked her suitcase. She hadn’t brought many day clothes with her but had been sure to include all the expensive, luxuriant underclothes and nightgowns she had bought soon after her mother’s death, a reaction against the strict life she had been forced to live. After a leisurely bath, her skin left satin-smooth by the fragrant oils she had tipped into the water, she tried on the three different nightgowns resting on the bed. She twisted and twirled in front of the cheval mirror, deciding, with a sense of burning excitement growing in the pit of her stomach, on the sheerest creation. Her mother would have called the dusky pink, low-cut, lace-trimmed nightgown wanton, disgusting, too sinful for even a husband to see. She would have had a seizure at her daughter’s choice of husband, too, but Grace could not have been happier. Even with her wealth, she knew she was considered too old and plain to secure a young, good-looking husband like Daniel, or one as exciting.
It was almost ten o’clock. The chambermaid had turned down the bed. Grace had closed the dark paisley curtains and lit the bedside lamps. She waited patiently. Every few minutes she stuck out her left hand, as she had done repeatedly since leaving the registry office, to gaze at the thick gold ring Daniel had put on her finger. Having learned that fishermen considered wearing gold was lucky, she had given him a ring too. She had no idea why Daniel had married her. It couldn’t be entirely for her money. He had ways of making his own and he didn’t seem the sort of man to sponge off a woman. She would have slept with him, as often and for as long as he’d wanted her, but now she could have him, lose her virginity to him, legally and morally.
Before leaving Porthellis, two days after Daniel, she had written to her lawyer. Despite the fact that she loved Daniel desperately, she did not believe it likely their marriage would last for ever, and she instructed her lawyer to set aside her property in Kent and tie up several thousand pounds where Daniel could not touch it. It gave her security, a sense of peace which would help prevent her from been overwhelmed and destroyed by Daniel. She had kept enough of her wealth afloat to live comfortably off the interest and she would open the gift shop in Porthellis.
She went to the dressing table and smoothed her hair, its dull colour a golden sheen in the lamplight, and studied her makeup. It was perfect. She dabbed on a little more scent, for the first time putting some down her cleavage. She had a good figure, firm and youthful. She felt confident Daniel would like what h
e saw when the nightgown came off.
There was the sound of a key turning in the door. She sprang up from the dressing table and stood beside the tray of champagne on the bedside cabinet. Daniel entered and locked the door after him. His business had gone well and he was in a very good mood. He smiled at Grace before taking off his hat and sports jacket. ‘Hope you haven’t been bored.’
‘Not at all,’ she said smoothly, disguising the fact that her pulse was racing and she would die of shame and disappointment if he didn’t notice her very soon. ‘I had dinner downstairs. It was rather good. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, with a friend of a friend.’
Picking up the bottle of champagne and two glasses, she moved towards him. ‘Would you like some champagne?’
He noticed the provocative nightgown, saw what it revealed. He took his time answering. ‘I’ll open it.’
They sipped the champagne. She watched his eyes. They were sliding over her as if she was wearing nothing. They put their glasses down at the same time.
He came to her, put his hands on her. ‘You’re a brazen hussy for a woman who’s never been with a man before.’
She slid her hot palms up over his broad chest and round his neck, bringing herself as close to him as she could. ‘Only you have this effect on me, Daniel.’
He thought about it, smiled. ‘I’m honoured.’ Then he didn’t waste any more time.
* * *
Used to very early starts, Daniel woke before his bride. She did not stir as he sat up in bed, switched on the table lamp and lit a cigarette. He was totally relaxed. Rarely had he felt more fulfilled than he had last night. Grace had allowed everything he’d wanted to do, with her nightdress off, the lights left on. There had been a special sweetness in her first time, yielding, not tense or demure, totally uninhibited. A long, lazy smile passed across his rugged features. He didn’t want Grace’s money, it would keep her independent from him and make it easier if he wanted to be rid of her. With the deal he’d clinched yesterday, via prison contacts, he’d be an able provider and still be in funds.
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