‘If it would help, I’d pay for the bleddy engine t’be repaired meself,’ Jeff said tetchily, spitting over the gunwale, then leaning back instinctively with the other two fishermen as the crest of a tall wave pitched over the side. ‘It was Fred Jose what wrecked Kittow’s engine, no one else would do such a mean thing. Kittow must know it too. He’ll tip Fred in the bleddy water one day and won’t let un come up for air. Pity that little runt didn’t drown backalong instead of my boy. ’Tis he what’s brought this extra trouble on the village. That Eric’s threatened to get hold of his mother. If he tries his hand, Fred and Curly won’t be able t’stop him. Mrs Jose is a good woman, bin a good neighbour all these years. We can’t let that happen to her.’
‘To her or any other woman,’ Matt barked, gnashing his teeth, suddenly fearful for Hannah. He was thankful Kittow was currently out of the village. He’d had enough talk of his enemy. Jeff was skipper of the Sunrise, but he gave the order, ‘Let’s see about hauling in the line.’
After nearly seven hours of long, hard work, all the lines were coiled and stowed away in the baskets, new hooks and stops attached where needed. Jeff had taken his turn at hauling, coiling, unhooking the fish, steering the lugger, his chest growing tighter, face getting whiter under its weathered veneer, breath coming harder. He said nothing. Matt had noticed but knew if he mentioned it, Jeff would swear at him for being a fussy old woman.
They headed back home, drinking tea, eating the last of the allowance, ruminating that they would have done better than the two hundred and ninety stone of fish in the fish berth if they had shot further out and if five baskets of line had not failed. Jeff sat down thankfully on his bunk in the cabin, glad for once to be out of the freshening winds that threatened to cut off his breath. If he could find the money he’d consider going to Mevagissey tomorrow to see the doctor, just to be on the safe side. If the doctor recommended a few days’ rest he’d take it, and look after the local women.
* * *
Jeff walked to Roscarrock the following afternoon. It was raining hard. He had his coat collar turned up, head down, trying to stop a bout of coughing.
Lily answered the door to him. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘I’ve come to see Mrs Opie,’ he said, his voice gruff, eyes watering. ‘Mrs Greg Opie.’
‘If you wait inside the porch, sir, I’ll see if Mrs Greg’s home. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘It’s Jeff Spargo.’ He coughed, searching about in his breast pocket for a handkerchief.
‘Oh, of course it is. I recognize you now. I am a silly fool,’ Lily laughed. ‘You’re Mrs Greg’s father. Come along inside, Mr Spargo, and I’ll fetch her from the study.’
Jeff waited in the vestibule as Lily hastened to the hall and tapped on the study door. She disappeared inside. Jeff heard her say, ‘’Tis your father for you, Mrs Greg.’
A moment later, Leah, feeling important to have a visitor, was helping Jeff off with his coat. She gave the coat to Lily, led him into the drawing room and stopped dead in her tracks. Mrs Opie was there. Leah had thought her grandmother-in-law was up in her suite.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, pulling on Jeff’s arm to hurry him away. Since Hannah’s confession she didn’t feel quite so in awe of Mrs Opie and rather than trying to court her favour she chose to avoid her.
‘I came to see Leah,’ Jeff said charily, meeting the challenge in the stubborn lift of Feena’s chin. She was sitting in her wheelchair, writing a letter. ‘You said her family could come here any time.’
‘And I meant it,’ Feena said coolly. ‘You are wet, Mr Spargo, and you look poorly. Do sit down.’ She turned narrowed eyes on Lily who had followed Jeff and Leah into the room. ‘Lily, fetch a tray of tea and hot scones. And next time someone calls at the door, don’t cackle like a giddy hen when you answer it.’
‘Yes, Mrs Opie.’ Lily breezed out, her face twisted in amusement. Her employer never fazed her in the way she did Mrs Greg.
‘I don’t want to intrude,’ Jeff said obstinately, not moving from a spot on the Turkish rug.
‘Did you want to speak to Leah alone?’ Feena asked haughtily.
‘Well, no…’
‘Sit down then. I shall be going to the little parlour at the back of the house presently. I’m busy today, but perhaps I may be permitted to take a cup of tea with you both before I leave.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jeff cursed the woman for making him feel awkward even though she was being sociable, but he secretly admired her elegant appearance as he sat down on one of the sofas.
Leah sat close to him. ‘How come you’re here today, Dad? I thought you’d be getting the Misty ready to take out again.’
Feena watched him keenly as he replied. ‘I saw the doctor today. He says I’ve got an infection on my chest and should stay home in the warm. He gave me some pills.’ Jeff produced the bottle of pills as if he wanted Feena to see he was telling the truth.
‘What a pity you had a wet walk, Mr Spargo.’ There was a note of suspicion in Feena’s voice.
‘It wasn’t raining when I started out,’ he replied smartly.
‘I’m glad you’re being sensible, Dad,’ Leah said, shifting about, wishing she could develop Mrs Opie’s grace and poise. No matter how hard she tried, it didn’t come naturally to her as it did to Hannah.
Lily arrived with the tray and automatically carried it to Feena. She waved it away. ‘Mrs Greg is hostess today.’
The little bit of confidence Leah had achieved vanished with the task of having to pour tea in polite society. Even with her rough and ready father here it seemed as mammoth a task as climbing a mountain. Her hand shook as she gripped the silver teapot. She remembered to pour the milk first and then the tea to protect the delicate china. The teacup rattled on its floral saucer as she held it out to Feena. A mistake. The old woman couldn’t possibly reach it unless she moved closer in her wheelchair. Leah’s bottom lip quivered as Feena stared at her. Jeff saved her further embarrassment by taking the cup and saucer and handing it to Feena himself.
‘Thank you,’ she said graciously. ‘I don’t want a scone, Leah.’ How like her father Leah looked, Feena thought, when he sat down again. She shouldn’t be unkind to the girl. After all, she was Greg’s choice, he adored her and she made him very happy. She was also Hannah’s sister and Feena had noticed Hannah’s irritation with her over Leah. There was no point in causing bad feelings.
She said conversationally, ‘Do you happen to know if Grace Treloar, now Mrs Daniel Kittow, is back in the village, Mr Spargo? We’re waiting for her to take her horses away from the stable so we can buy our own. Greg is going to teach Leah to ride. That is if you can tear him away from the study, Leah.’ She gave a pleasant little laugh.
Leah was surprised and pleased at this change in her attitude. ‘I shall do my best. Greg needs more fresh air and exercise.’ She poured two more cups of tea while her father and Mrs Opie chatted generally about horses. Then Leah blushed furiously. She was suddenly, reminded that her father had been Mrs Opie’s lover. Had they spent time together in this room? In Mrs Opie’s bedroom? Was that where Hannah had been conceived? She thought she’d drop her cup and saucer but at that moment Greg popped his head round the door.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Spargo,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you. Would you mind if I steal Leah away for a few moments? I’d like her to go over something with me. Then we’ll both come back and join you.’
‘You carry on,’ Jeff said. ‘They get on well,’ he remarked to Feena when they were alone.
‘One would never have thought it, but they do seem suited. I understand Hannah is to have another baby. I hope it’s safe for her in the village.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m referring to that dreadful man, Kittow, and his cohorts. Kittow lives very close to Hannah. There could be some unpleasantness, especially if Matt loses his temper. I’m worried about Hannah, Nathan and the new baby.’
Jeff sipped from his cup demurely. ‘Don
’t be. Us men are taking measures to protect the women and children. We could easily throw the troublemakers and Kittow, too, out of Porthellis.’
Feena was not impressed and said disdainfully, ‘Brave talk invariably leads to cracked heads.’
Jeff smiled wryly. Stuck-up cow, he thought. There was a strong tickle in his throat and he began to cough.
Feena wheeled herself towards him. ‘Let me pour you some more tea. It will help soothe your throat.’
‘Thank you,’ he said as he mopped his streaming eyes. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It looks as though you ought to take the doctor’s advice, Jeff. You didn’t-answer me about Grace Kittow. Is she back in Porthellis?’
‘I haven’t heard anything. I could ring you when I know something, if you like.’
Feena was looking into his dark eyes. She felt a moment of panic. It would be all too easy to fall under their spell as she had many years ago. ‘No, thank you,’ she said in a tone that would not be argued with. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must get on.’ Retrieving her notepaper and pen, she made for the door. Jeff stood up respectfully and opened it for her.
In the small parlour Feena couldn’t settle to writing her letter. She was disturbed at Jeff Spargo turning up here today, and flattered herself into thinking it wasn’t only Leah he had come to see.
While waiting for Leah and Greg to return, Jeff looked thoughtfully out of one of the tall windows at the wood on the edge of the cliff. Feena had been too afraid to let him into the house when they’d been lovers in case the servants saw him. They had met in the old coachman’s cottage at the back of the house and in the woods. Now he had an open invitation to the house and a legitimate reason to go on accepting it. If he got bored while he was off work he might pay another visit here.
Chapter 10
The villagers didn’t realize the Kittows had come home until three mornings later when Daniel appeared on the boat with three of his crew; the fourth, Tippy, had been sentenced to twenty-eight days for breach of the peace. Janet Rouse was the first to spot Daniel’s red head bobbing in and out of the wheelhouse as he shouted instructions to his men. Soon their swearing resounded up and down the quay, making the oldest male inhabitants of Porthellis consider taking their daily cogitation elsewhere. Janet went straight to tell Hannah.
‘Oh, Aunty Janet,’ Hannah groaned as she charged across the kitchen to stop Nathan pushing his cereal bowl off his highchair. ‘I’m trying to forget that man exists. Anyone would think nobody but him matters.’
‘’Tis a bit hard to ignore un with his men kicking up their heels every night. You don’t live down by the waterfront and hear ’em when they’ve left the pub. Noisy beggars. They can’t be earning anything so Daniel must have left them in plenty of funds before he went away. Not that Maggie Curnow’ll mind. She looked after him and he’s looking after her by putting all that extra money in her till. Still, at least we’ve got rid of one of ’em for a while. Hope they keep him locked up for months.’
‘You make those men sound like a band of outlaws,’ Hannah said in vexation. The morning sickness she’d suffered since she’d got up had only just subsided and she didn’t want anything to upset her delicate tummy. Wetting a flannel, she cleaned up her messy child and the equally messy highchair after his clumsy and joyful attempt at feeding himself.
Janet wasn’t about to change the subject. ‘You going down the street to welcome the new Mrs Kittow to the neighbourhood? I suppose she’s in the new house.’
Taking off his soiled bib, Hannah lifted Nathan out of the highchair, kissed his clean and shiny face and put him down on the floor to crawl about. ‘I wouldn’t know, Aunty, and I won’t be setting foot inside Daniel Kittow’s house to find out.’
‘Strange, him marrying her,’ Janet said, her face working as she thought over this conundrum again. ‘But then I s’pose his money must’ve run out with the way he’s been splashing it about. He’s got a big supply he can lay his hands on now. Women are silly enough to sell their souls for his sort. She’ll last till he’s got his hands on all of it.’
‘Daniel’s not like that,’ Hannah said, surprising herself at this sudden surge of loyalty for her childhood friend. ‘I mean,’ she added quickly to counter the astounded expression her aunt turned on her, ‘I’ve never known him to wheedle money out of a woman before.’
‘Well,’ Janet snorted, ‘with all his other vices, what makes you think he wouldn’t?’ Nathan was leaning on her feet, trying to untie the stout laces of her flat brown shoes. ‘Mind you, if only he could settle down with Grace she might manage to persuade him to get rid of those blokes.’
Hannah had endured enough talk about the Kittows and put the dishes in the sink. As she attacked them with the dishcloth she thought about her father, glad to have the small worry about his health to distract her.
Janet lifted Nathan to make a fuss of him. He was cross at being picked up and he smacked her shoulder and tried to bite her cardigan, but she hardly noticed; she was still thinking about Grace and Daniel Kittow.
Down on the waterfront Daniel was tight-lipped as he watched the engineer working on the thirty-horsepower Ruston diesel engine of his boat. ‘You got all the right parts, Merv?’
‘Aye, Skipper. Should have her sorted out in about four hours.’
‘You should’ve made a start yesterday,’ Daniel snarled. ‘Not waited for me to get back. What were you all bleddy doing?’ He looked at Brinley for an explanation.
He shrugged his enormous shoulders as if he had forgotten the reason. Eric and Merv looked away sheepishly.
‘Well?’ Daniel bawled, his harsh voice echoing round the harbour.
Jeff, who had telephoned Feena Opie to inform her that Grace Kittow had arrived at her new house, was sitting on a mooring stone some feet away, nonchalantly carving the figure of a mermaid out of a piece of whalebone, half his mind on the persistent questions from an ice-cream-licking, camera-clicking holidaymaker. He glanced up when Daniel shouted and grimaced. Most people saw those men as roughnecks whose behaviour disgusted them. He agreed with Hannah, that Daniel was biding his time to get revenge on the whole village. If he was in a filthy mood he might start wreaking it sooner rather than later. Apart from Fred Jose, who would suffer the most?
‘Merv was worst for wear, Skipper. Me and Eric didn’t dare touch the engine.’
‘I want it finished today and no excuses,’ Daniel said savagely. ‘’Tis time you started earning your keep. Is the coal on board?’
‘Yes, Skipper,’ Brinley said meekly. ‘A hundredweight’s safely stowed away, the fuel tanks are topped up and the new nets you ordered are aboard. You can see for yerself we’ve scrubbed her down prop’ly, scraped ’n’ oiled her mast. Long line’s coiled ’n’ ready. All we gotta do is put the grub on board ’n’ net the bait. We can go out with the fleet t’morrer.’
‘I should bleddy well think so,’ Daniel said irritably. ‘I’ll get the food myself. Eric, you can be the cook. I won’t have a drop of drink on board. If I find some, the man responsible will be over the side. You carry on working, Merv. Eric, you can stand by in case he needs help. Brinley, you clean up the cottage. It’s like a bleddy pigsty in there. It’s my home, remember.’ He lit a cigarette, not offering the packet round. When he spoke next he had dropped his voice. ‘I’m talking seriously now. We’ll occasionally be sailing upcoast to Plymouth and be dropping off something to another boat or I’ll be meeting someone in the port myself. Sometimes we’ll be passing on something downcoast or locally. I’ll tell you when, and then I want you really quiet and sober. I don’t want the police sniffing around. Got that?’
‘Yes, Skipper,’ his crew answered like children reciting at school.
‘Good. There will be extra in your pockets then. Tippy’s not coming back. He overstepped the mark by getting arrested. Get on with your work.’ He reached for the paint pot and brushes he’d brought with him.
‘Skipper, can we have something for t’night?’ Brinl
ey asked with a boyish grin. He pulled out his trouser pockets to show they were empty.
‘I’ll give you something later.’ Daniel leapt on to the quay and knelt at the side of the lugger to begin touching up the name Sunrise and the boat’s number in black. He baulked at giving these ruffians more of his money, which had dwindled to just a few pounds in his savings account, but it would be wise to keep them sweet until he wanted to get rid of them.
* * *
Brinley put in an hour’s elbow work at the Kittow cottage. When the overflowing sinkful of dishes was washed, ashtrays emptied, bottles thrown in the dustbin, heaps of discarded clothes picked up and the clutter packed away, all that was needed was a quick sweep over the flagstoned floors downstairs and the linoleum ones upstairs.
Brinley had a thing about hygiene from his army days when he had to share latrines with hundreds of other men and he took a bottle of disinfectant outside to the closet. He lifted the bucket out from under the wooden seat and emptied its contents in the hole dug ready in the earth, rinsed out the iron receptacle at the outside tap then swirled neat disinfectant round inside it. He wasn’t content to use squares of old newspaper and checked that his supply of soft toilet paper was intact in its hiding place behind the tools and sundries up on the high shelf. A quiver of fear ran through him. A huge hairy spider scuttled across the low galvanized sheeting which served as the roof. He shot out of the toilet into the bright sunshine, settling his ragged breathing by gazing up at the pale blue sky with its adornment of woolly clouds.
‘Morning, Brinley. You expecting rain?’
It was Prim, spreading her starched whites over the scrubby bushes in the next garden. Putting the disinfectant down on the ground, he went over to her, rubbing his massive paws self-consciously down his twill shirt.
‘Got the kettle on, Prim?’ he asked, hoping today she’d invite him inside to drink the mug of tea instead of bringing it outside him. But of course Prim was a respectable woman.
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