Porthellis

by Porthellis (retail) (epub)

  Hannah guessed Greg would be wandering about the harbour. Eager to get Feena away from Matt, she hurried down Porthkilt Hill. She hadn’t been out of doors very often since Matt had come home and although she would have been pleased to see her neighbours at any other time she was vexed at being continually stopped by their good-intentioned inquiries. She was nearly at breaking point when Miss Peters tried to coax her into her tiny house and wait while she fetched a homemade remedy for Matt’s aching ribs.

  She spied Greg’s tall fair head on the quay and waved and called to him. He waved back and she sighed with relief when he started towards her. Then Grace Kittow came out of her shop with a big cardboard box in her arms and Hannah froze. She wanted to whirl round and stride away but a heavy numbness spread through her limbs. The very sight of the woman was anathema to her. She couldn’t cope with it now.

  Grace smiled cautiously. Many times she had wanted to call on Hannah to say she was sorry she had lost her baby but she knew the door would be slammed in her face. And who could blame Hannah? Many people, including her Aunt Adela, had voiced their disapproval and astonishment that she could stay with such a cruel, heartless man. Jeff Spargo had forbidden his family to step inside her shop and he hurled abuse at her, even when she had Melanie with her. Grace wanted to turn on her heel back into the shop but Hannah was grimly facing her.

  Taking long strides, she approached her foe. ‘It’s good to see you out and about, Hannah. How are you?’ Her words were obviously unwelcome; in fact Grace wondered if they’d sunk in. There was something odd about Hannah. She’d never seen anyone look so fierce and yet the girl seemed to be looking straight through her.

  Hannah stayed motionless and Grace came to a halt a few feet away, unsure if it was wise to walk past her.

  Afraid there would be unpleasantness, Greg ran up the hill and took Hannah by the arm ‘Come along, Hannah. Let’s go back.’ He tried to lead her away but she was rigid and did not move. She was glaring at Grace but Greg had the chilling sensation she was not totally with them.

  In a flat, toneless, hate-filled voice, Hannah said, ‘Your husband nearly killed Matt and he killed my baby.’

  Grace involuntarily took a step backwards. The box of unsold summer stock was growing heavy in her arms, making them tremble. ‘People say Daniel was involved in Matt’s beating but there is no proof. You lost your baby, Hannah, at the shock of hearing about Matt.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she continued in a monotone. ‘Before that he came to me. He came into my house. He terrified me. He said he loved me and if I didn’t leave Matt for him he’d destroy everything I had. He imprisoned me in his arms and I thought he was going to attack me.’ Then, as if she had come partway out of her trance, her voice softened and she gave a smile that chilled Grace and made Greg blanch. He had to get Hannah home and call the doctor. ‘I feel sorry for you, Grace. You love Daniel with all your heart, as I do Matt. You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you? But you mean nothing to him. Poor Grace. Don’t you think you ought to go away and take Melanie with you? He’s a dangerous man. He’ll only bring unhappiness to Melanie. She’s just a child. You mustn’t risk him hurting her.’ She stopped speaking and stared into space.

  ‘You’d better go on your way, Mrs Kittow,’ Greg said urgently. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah isn’t herself at the moment.’

  Her face as white as a sheet, Grace skirted round them and hurried home, the box a dead weight in her arms.

  Greg wound his arm round Hannah’s waist and after some moments he led her up the same route.

  ‘Oh, Greg,’ Hannah said, as if waking up suddenly. ‘I was just coming to get you. Your grandmother wants to…’ She felt a dreadful need to cry. A sob came into her voice and she clutched him in panic. ‘I saw Grace… I… what did I say to her? I feel all strange. Oh, dear God. Greg?’

  ‘It’s all right, Hannah,’ he said soothingly, holding her very close as they climbed the hill, not caring what the few people about, staring curiously at them, thought of his attentions. ‘Seeing Grace brought home the enormity of all that’s happened to you. I’m going to get your mother to put you to bed and call the doctor.’

  ‘No!’ she wailed, the sound like the cry of a tortured child. ‘It would upset Matt. I’ll be all right. I’m tired, that’s all. I just need a little rest.’

  ‘You need help, Hannah,’ he insisted.

  ‘I’m not mad, Greg,’ she said angrily, trying to pull away from him. He refused to loosen his grasp. ‘Matt and I just need to be left alone to get better. Take your grandmother home. It’s her fussing that upsets us. What did I say to Grace?’

  She was staring at the new house now. There were moments when she hated its mistress simply because she was married to Daniel, then her mood would swing when she remembered that the difference in their class had not stopped Grace from befriending her, that her kindness had caused her to take Melanie into her home and then her heart And she couldn’t hold her responsible for being in love with Daniel – he had such a terrific attraction for women. It was not just his fine physical attributes; they were drawn to his reckless spirit, his contempt for goodness and justice. They lost their common sense the instant they knew him. All the way down through the centuries women had fallen for absolute bastards like Daniel. Women who scorned kind and faithful men. They didn’t want a doormat but a hero. But they mistook depravity for boldness.

  Would she love her kind and gentle Matt so much if he didn’t possess a quirk of moodiness, sometimes for no real reason? He was quick to defend his rights as aggressively as was required. He demanded his opinion, could be obstinate, unyielding if the mood took him. Would she have fallen in love with Matt, desired him so much that she threw all caution to the wind and made love to him when she wasn’t even sure she wanted a future with him if he was perfect? No. Women didn’t love or like perfect men, they needed the badness in them.

  Greg gave her a little shake. ‘We can’t stand here all day, Hannah.’

  ‘Did I say terrible things to Grace?’

  ‘No, you told her how you felt and exactly what Daniel had done to you. You mentioned he’d come into the house and terrified you, that he told you he loved you. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, it’s why I fainted. I felt the evil in his soul when he touched me. Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Matt would be distressed and my father keeps threatening to thump Daniel. I’m afraid he’ll do it and he’d be no match for him.’

  ‘I promise on one condition, that you’ll let me call the doctor. You’ll never get over this if you don’t seek professional help.’

  ‘But Mrs Opie will start fussing about me seeing a top specialist again.’ Her blue eyes were huge and imploring and Greg had to control the urge to hunt down Daniel Kittow and beat the living daylights out of him himself.

  Tenderly he stroked Hannah’s chin. ‘You have my word that I’ll keep Grandmother in line. Do we have a deal?’

  The fight had gone out of her. ‘Yes,’ She wept at last, the quivering hot tears bringing a little relief, but she was more frightened than she’d ever been; her reason seemed to be slipping away from her.

  Chapter 21

  Drawing heavily on his cigarette, Daniel stood, feet astride, swaying unconsciously with the movements of the boat, waiting silently until Colville had finished a few words of prayer. He had scoffed the first time Colville and his three sons bowed their heads to ask for a blessing on the catch before they’d shot the nets. Other times he’d shown his impatience, then demanded they stop their mumbo-jumbo on his boat. Now he stayed quiet, for at times the prayers seemed to work. The number of fish in the fishberth often had the edge on the other local boats. He hoped it worked today. The dogging season was over and they’d been fishing for pilchards for two weeks. Bad weather had often kept them in and when they had gone out, the nets more often than not were only half filled.

  Daniel was tempted to ask why, if their faith could influence the size of the catch, God had allowed their last boat to sink
. Why hadn’t they been blessed with a boat of their own? Or their own house instead of having to rent? Their last accommodation had consisted of two cramped rooms in a shared tenement. But he shied away from the inevitable sermon that would follow. He’d never understand how anybody could love and worship a being that sent such hard times.

  Porthellis shunned Daniel, folk made a point of crossing the street when he was about, but the Penroses were beginning to fit in. This had more to do with the eligibility of the three young brothers than the Penroses’ good nature and respectability. Aged between seventeen and twenty-four, Andy, George and Colville Junior were being sized up as potential husbands. If he hadn’t currently been keeping his extra-marital activities away from home, Daniel would have broken in some of the better females on offer before they ensnared a pious Penrose.

  When his crew had finished their prayers, Daniel gave the order to shoot the nets. They were approximately two miles southwest of Polperro, under an indigo, starry night sky, the wind bitingly fresh, the sea tipping the boat from side to side. The shore could be seen clearly, a comfort to the fishermen to know they weren’t far from home. George Penrose, the middle and smallest of the three brothers and the strongest, shot all fifteen nets, while Colville Junior steered them behind him. All the Penroses were expert at each job on the boat and carried out the work good-naturedly. There were few mistakes and very little lost tackle. His grandfather would have been proud of the lugger’s present crew, Daniel mused.

  He didn’t have time to ponder more. There’d be no long watch tonight. He eyed the dark water beneath the bows in awe, excitement running down his spine as a massive quantity of phosphorescent, silvery pilchards appeared as if in one body and then separated and spread out in the nets. It was a supernatural sight, he conceded. ‘You’ve done it this time, Colville!’ Daniel shouted jubilantly to the engineer in the wheelhouse.

  They hauled the nets in as quickly as they could. It was ten-thirty and they worked all through the night until early morning to clear the nets, their backs and arms strained to breaking point. Their tally was over nine ‘last’, nine thousand pilchards. The crew were in a sparky mood. Daniel tolerated the continual prayers of thanks as they started for home.

  ‘We’ll go up to Rame Head with the rest of the fleet next week and hope we’ll have as much luck there.’ Daniel mopped the sweat from his brow in the cabin, hoping Andy Penrose had said his last ‘Praise the Lord’ as he pulled out the remaining food in the allowance bags.

  ‘Can’t put it down to luck, Skipper,’ Andy beamed, rubbing his aching arms as he surveyed half a thickly curranted saffron cake, six rounds of beef sandwiches, a hunk of cheddar, a pasty the size of a battleship and a packet of shop-bought biscuits. ‘Plenty t’keep us going till we get home for dinner. I’ll take something out to George and Col.’

  Daniel snorted irritably. He’d had hopes for Andy, the youngest brother, thinking he would be the bad penny in the family and share some of his own, more natural, traits. On reflection, old Rufus would have hated the present crew.

  Colville joined Daniel in the cabin and sat without speaking on the end of his bunk to eat and drink. At least he was now leaving God in peace. A pasty in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, his expression was serene. He was probably contemplating something deep, Daniel thought, like the birth of the universe, his mortality, or the purpose of being alive. Silly old bugger. Lately Daniel’s emotions had veered between anger and regret and a terrible aching longing, and he brought anything into his mind rather than dwell on the cause. Now he was recalling Melanie’s christening. He’d stood in the chapel, a little apart from the party at the font, his hands stuck idly in his suit trouser pockets. He had not listened to a single word as an ugly, mannish female friend of Grace’s who had travelled down from Kent, Adela Skewes, and Colville – his own choice, an obvious one because he had no other – sincerely repeated the vows of godparents. Because of Methodist sobriety, cups of tea and a little cider were to be served with an iced cake in his house immediately afterwards and he had been concentrating on how quickly he could get away and take Dumpy for a walk across the cliff, to get the smell of all this damned holiness out of his nostrils.

  Then he’d caught a glimpse of Melanie’s face. She looked scared, her pale skin puckering around her eyes which were darting left and right, upwards and downwards as if she was desperate to escape. Clutching Grace’s hand as if it was her only hope of preservation, she was dressed in a white silk dress, a white bow in her red hair. She looked very pretty. Grace had carefully explained to her that this was her special day, rabbiting on about God and Jesus and the manger and the Cross and Heaven and belonging to the chapel family. Meaningless ritual, a bloody farce, Daniel wanted to shout out. It’s frightening the child as much as going into hospital for an operation would.

  The Reverend Skewes motioned for Melanie to be brought forward so he could sprinkle her head with the blessed water. The little girl gulped and pleaded mutely with her stepmother not to make her do this fearful thing. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ Grace assured her, smiling brightly as she steered her up to the font, and Daniel was consumed with furious indignation that his stupid wife didn’t realise how terrified Melanie was.

  Then Melanie looked directly at him and those large blue eyes, so like his, appealed to him to help her. His heart lurched. He wanted to tear her away from Grace and run out of the chapel with her. He moved towards her, even stretched out his hand, but at the last moment some tiny part of him, born of primitive breeding and superstition, or so he angrily berated himself later, made him let her suffer the ministrations of the ceremony. The instant the Reverent Skewes was finished with her, he pushed through the party and took Melanie’s hand, lifted her up in his strong arms and held her tightly.

  The feel of her small body against his, her face coming to lie on his shoulder, the fresh smell of her, her trusting him for the first time, helped blot out the memory of someone else he’d held in his arms. But not always. Too often he recalled Hannah’s pregnant body as he’d crushed her in his arms, her soft feminine scent, the sensation of her hair falling over his forearm, and he almost groaned in despair.

  He wasn’t sorry she’d lost her child. He wouldn’t care if the brat she did have suddenly died. He had one regret, that Matt’s beating had not totally disfigured him. There was sentimental talk in the village about how he had enough good looks left to overcome the scarring to his face. He should have ordered the bastard blinded and his back broken so he was crippled and couldn’t make love to Hannah. That hurt Daniel the most, the thought of them being together intimately. To him sex had always been the means of his own gratification. Women had always given themselves to him willingly and he particularly enjoyed the delicious moments when he had taken a young virgin. But he had never really given himself to them, not even to Grace who, strangely, fulfilled him the most despite the fact that his union with her was within marriage and lacked the wild sensation of forbidden fruit. He knew with a bleak heaviness, a vile numbing feeling, that he could only truly give himself to Hannah and then only if she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And that would never happen.

  He had meant it when he said he loved her. The longing for the one thing his good looks, overt masculinity and devil-may-care attitude to life had failed to give him had tortured him in prison. He couldn’t stand her rejection. The hurt, the overwhelming feeling of loss and despair had boiled away inside him like an evil brew, giving him no peace, no hope, until he felt he must punish her or go mad.

  Having the new house built close to her home to torment her had been easy. Causing havoc in the village had amused him. Ordering Matt to be attacked had satisfied him. Threatening Hannah, being hostile to her, scaring her out of her wits had meant nothing to him. Seeing her actually suffering had been totally different. He would never forget the look of pain and bewilderment which had turned into a terrible madness, her beautiful face corrupted as she’d attacked him with the piece of wood. She didn’
t fear him any more. She would never again plead for his understanding, that they make a fresh start, as she had in her parlour. She hated him with all her heart. She would never forgive him. His revenge had hurt him more than it had her.

  He was worried about Hannah. A doctor, not known to the village, called regularly at Seaview Cottage and rumour had it that he went there to see Hannah, not Matt. Prim and Josh Spargo had been living there for over a fortnight now. What was the matter with her?

  Daniel had let his tea go cold and blinked when Colville plonked a fresh mug down in front of him. ‘Are ’ee going to the bazaar on Saturday evening?’ he asked conversationally.

  Daniel needed a cigarette before he could answer and he searched about for his packet and lighter. Colville pulled them out from where they had slipped under his thigh on the bunk and handed them to him. Grunting his thanks, Daniel lit up and heaved a sigh as he blew out the smoke. ‘What did you say?’ He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  ‘Are ’ee going t’the bazaar? The missus have knitted a jersey for the sale of work. You went find a better knitter than she. And she can run up a jersey or cardigan quicker than any other woman I know.’ Colville could see he was boring Daniel and would soon be bawled out of the cabin. He hastily mentioned something Mrs Penrose needed to know. ‘She’d like to knit a little something for your little maid for Christmas, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Course,’ Daniel nodded. The boat heaved suddenly and he clung to the edge of the bunk to prevent himself being thrown to the floor. The movement made him cry out and he pulled up the sleeves of his jersey to reveal a chafed area on each wrist. ‘Should have worn my gloves,’ he grimaced.

  ‘Got some flannel in my locker,’ Colville said, fetching the three-foot lengths of red flannel and handing them to Daniel. Grumpily Daniel wound the bandages round both wrists then pulled his sleeves down. ‘Have to watch they don’t turn to boils,’ Colville said.