The Sea Shell Girl

by Linda Finlay

  Linda Finlay

  * * *

  THE SEA SHELL GIRL

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Penguin

  With love to Pern, Master Jack

  and our sea shell girls Heather, Darcey and Chloe

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Merryn Dyer, pull your dress down this minute.’

  As Grozen’s strident voice carried on the stiff breeze, Merry straightened up and climbed out of the pool. She eased her stiff back and then under her grandmother’s stern gaze, released her heavy skirts from her bloomers, grimacing as the damp material flapped around her bare legs. She’d been up since dawn prising limpets from the rocks where they clung when the tide receded, and she was cold and hungry.

  ‘Standards need to be maintained at all times, Merry. Showing what you’re made of to all and sundry, indeed,’ the woman continued, with a sniff. ‘How have you done, anyhow?’

  ‘Not too bad, Grozen,’ Merry replied, holding up her nearly full basket. ‘I’ll see what I can sell, then bring the rest back for our meal.’

  Her grandmother nodded and gathered up her bundle of sticks. Merry watched as the old woman tottered back up the path towards their cottage, irritation turning to concern when she saw how frail and stooped she had become. The harsh winter followed by the long cold spring had taken its toll on everyone in the little fishing village of Porthsallos. Food was still scarce, with even the pilchards yet to appear.

  Guessing her mother would eke out the limpet flesh by making a broth, she added a few strands of glistening seaweed to her basket. Then, ignoring her stinging hands, she eased her frozen feet into her hobbies. Despite the old cloths she’d lined them with she could feel every sharp stone that dug through the worn soles as she squelched her way across the beach. No good moaning, though; it would be some time before she could afford to have them mended.

  She made her way round the harbour where the usually bustling shore was eerily quiet, the fishing boats lying idle. Stopping outside the fisherman’s shack, she shook her basket, for the contents had settled as the limpets clung to each other and she was desperate to receive the best price for her labours.

  ‘You’ve been busy this morning, Sea Shell Girl. Come in out of the cold,’ Pucky Pint said, giving her the benefit of his toothless grin. Although most people in the village had nicknames, the one they’d given her as a child seemed incongruous now she was a young woman of seventeen, but she was here to do business and didn’t dare offend him by mentioning it. As the other men shuffled aside to make room for her, she smiled her thanks. The ramshackle shed, with its familiar smell of old fish and drying nets, was cosy and her fingers tingled as they began to thaw. Without looking inside, Pucky held up her basket and assessed its weight. There was no fooling the old salt, Merry thought.

  ‘Can you use them?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Aye, they’ll make good bait for the long lining if this wind ever eases and we can get the boats out,’ he answered, and her heart lifted at the thought of taking a few precious pennies home. ‘Trouble is, I’ll not be able to pay thee until the pilchards turn up. Soon as I get a catch, though, I’ll settle up with thee, you have my word.’

  She turned to the other fishermen, who shook their heads.

  ‘’Tis the same with us, maid. Ain’t been out in a long whilst owin’ to they sheep’s-head winds. No catch, no money,’ Doy Boy shrugged. There was a murmur of agreement from the others. ‘Can’t remember when I last provided a decent meal for the nippers.’

  ‘Tell thee what, take some of these limpets home to break your fast and I’ll still pay you for the full basket when my boat comes in,’ Pucky offered. ‘Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ Merry agreed, forcing a smile as he emptied three-quarters of the limpets into his pot and handed back her basket. Knowing he couldn’t really afford to be so generous, she was about to refuse. Then a picture of her grandmother’s pitifully thin body and pinched face flashed into her mind and she hurried away before he could change his mind.

  Her mother looked up from her mixing bowl as Merry entered their little cottage.

  ‘Any luck?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Pucky Pint said he’d buy the limpets but can’t pay me until he can get his boat out,’ she sighed, placing her basket on the table. ‘He said we could have these on account.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. I see you brought some weed as well so at least we can have broth.’

  ‘If I have to sup another bowl of salty liquid with them sea snails floating in it, I’ll go as loopy as me stitches, Karenza,’ Grozen declared, frowning over her knitting.

  Karenza winked at Merry. ‘I know, Mother, but we have to eat,’ she soothed. ‘Poor Merry’s been hopping in and out of that icy water since daybreak so you make room for her by the fire whilst I prepare our food. There’s not enough flour to make bread so I’m mixing dumplings to go in the broth. You know how you like them.’

  As her grandmother grunted, then reluctantly moved her chair, Merry smiled gratefully at her mother. Stifling a yawn, she eased off her wet boots and held her blistered feet out in front of the spluttering flames.

  Closing her eyes, she listened to the hissing of damp wood. The fire barely gave out any warmth and not for the first time she wished her grandmother was like the other housewives, who’d had their chimneys walled up and their hearths made smaller so they could burn the newly imported coal. Her grandmother was adamant that things in her home should stay the same as when her husband was alive. Why pay for fuel when you could collect it from the nearby woods, was her philosophy.

  ‘Have you given any more thought to having your hearth changed, Grozen?’ she ventured. ‘Coal is so much easier to …’

  ‘Not if you have no money to pay for it, Merry,’ Grozen snapped. ‘That wood might be wet but at least we have a fire, which is more than can be said for some. Besides, you can’t bake bread on a coal fire so we’d have to pay to use the bakehouse.’

  Knowing what her grandmother said was true, Merry closed her eyes again. The rhythmic clacking of the woman’s knitting pins reminded Merry she had a knit frock to finish herself before the agent made his next visit.

  ‘Cors, if Alfred had been lost at sea instead of just dropping dead on the beach, God rest his soul, we’d have been able to claim from the widows’ fund.’

  Merry sat bolt upright: the widows’ fund, of course!

  ‘You could claim, though, couldn’t you, Mother?’ she asked.

  Her mother shook her head and looked quickly away.

  ‘But why not?’ Merry persisted. ‘Father was a fisherman and you said he drowned.’

 
‘I said your father was a man of the sea and lost to me,’ her mother corrected.

  ‘Surely that’s the same thing?’

  ‘That’s enough, Merry. All your goin’ on’s giving me one of my heads,’ Grozen snapped. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and skein them blinkin’ snails instead of talking about things you don’t understand’

  ‘We Dyers have our pride and wouldn’t accept charity anyhow,’ her mother added, staring at Merry with her clear blue eyes.

  Merry shrugged. She knew their situation was dire and had only been trying to help. How she hated this way of life, always waiting and hoping for work and wages. Trying to ignore her rumbling stomach, she closed her eyes again.

  ‘You really should tell the girl,’ she heard Grozen mutter.

  ‘I know, Mother,’ Karenza whispered. ‘I wish you wouldn’t go on at Merry, though. If it wasn’t for her forays on the seashore, we wouldn’t have anything to eat at all. She’s a good girl and knows the best places to go.’

  ‘’Tis no different from other families, and at least we have warmth …’

  As the bickering continued, Merry feigned sleep. Three women cooped up in a tiny two-roomed cottage was a recipe for disaster. One day she would have a large house with a roaring coal fire, she vowed. She had no idea how she would achieve this but knew there must be more to life than fishing and knitting.

  After their frugal meal, Merry picked up her pins and wool and, glad to escape the tense atmosphere, made her way down to the quay. Knowing their frocks turned out better when knitted outdoors in natural light, and a pleasing finish meant receiving top price, the women would gather in little groups around the harbour. Her mother, being more reserved, preferred to keep herself to herself and could usually be found perched on a stool working by the light from their open front door.

  Merry heard the incessant sound of pins clicking before she reached the others. As usual they were sitting in the shelter of the pig house, knitting and nattering. Normally the mood was convivial but today she was greeted by long faces.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, squeezing in beside her friend.

  ‘Word is Agent Sharp’s retired and his son’s taken over,’ Jenna explained without looking up from her knitting.

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘He’s only gone and increased our target.’

  ‘What! Why? We can barely make the old one as it is.’

  ‘That’s not all,’ Jenna wailed. ‘It seems we’ll have to accept half our wage in goods from the shop he’s opening up by Killie Mill.’

  ‘But that’s against the law now,’ Merry declared.

  ‘I know, but who’s got the money or clout to make a stand?’ Ailla pointed out.

  ‘Sharp junior’s booked a room at Mrs Grace’s lodging house so he can put everything in place,’ Jenna added.

  ‘What’s the new target?’ Merry asked.

  ‘Another two knit frocks each, every month.’

  ‘But that’s six each! When was this decided?’

  ‘Old Ned brought word back from Logh this morning. Apparently Sharp junior warned if we don’t produce the extra, payment will be adjusted or even withheld,’ Jenna groaned.

  ‘But we’re starving as it is,’ Merry pointed out.

  Reflecting on their fate, they fell silent. Knowing every stitch counted, they continued working furiously. They’d all been knitting since they were big enough to hold the pins and manage the ribbed trails.

  ‘Will anyone be able to meet this new target?’ Ailla asked.

  As one they shook their heads.

  ‘It’s impossible with everything else there is to do. I’ve tried but when my pins go faster, I either drop stitches or do a purl when I should be doing a plain,’ Jenna sighed. The others nodded. They might know their patterns inside out but numb fingers and worry could make them fumble.

  ‘Don’t know how we’ll pay the rent if we don’t get our full pay.’ There was a collective groan.

  ‘We could always resort to damping down,’ Kelys pointed out. ‘Me old mother used to do it when times was hard. Many’s the day she put her work through the mangle to stretch it. Used to make us children socks with the extra wool she amassed an’ all.’

  ‘It’d serve him right, the greedy geezer. Ned says he wears expensive suits and smokes fat cigars. And there’s us wearing ourselves out trying to earn a living.’

  ‘I’m fed up with being hungry and me shawl’s falling to bits,’ Maggie moaned.

  ‘Mine too,’ Tressa nodded.

  ‘Even the fish are late this year,’ Ailla wailed. ‘Not that the men could get the boats out in these easterlies.’

  ‘Jem said he doesn’t know how we’ll manage when the baby comes.’ Jenna rubbed her swollen belly and Merry patted her shoulder, wishing she had an answer.

  The whole village was dependent on the little income they got from fishing and knitting. Whilst the men were at sea, the women made knit frocks and sold them to the visiting agent. When the pilchards were in the women supplemented this income by salting and packing the fish. These periods of frenzied activity when every available hand was needed were welcomed for nobody minded hard work. Empty bellies were another thing.

  ‘Isn’t there anyone else we could sell to?’ Merry asked.

  ‘You could take your frocks to old Ma Baker in Logh but you’d have to accept the entire payment in goods and you know that means you won’t get anywhere near the true value,’ Ailla muttered.

  ‘Or you could deal with the agent in Plymouth. ’Tis a long trek, but you can do the return journey in a day if you know the short cuts over the cliffs,’ Kelys said. ‘Cors, me old legs would never stand it nowadays.’

  ‘And does this agent pay cash?’ Merry asked.

  ‘He does, and I heard he offers a fair price too, especially for the fancies. Bet he’d be interested in yours with that elaborate shell pattern you work into ’em. ’Tis clever, that, and different too,’ Kelys answered.

  As the others murmured in agreement, Merry shrugged. It was no big thing to her for she just saw these things in her head and tried them out.

  ‘What do you think? Must be worth a try, surely?’ she said, turning to Jenna.

  ‘I can hardly make it through the day as it is. Being so near my time I waddle rather than walk,’ she laughed. As the sound echoed around the harbour, Merry stared from her friend’s bump to the sparkle in her eye and couldn’t for the life of her understand how she should be happy tied to a man so young. With a baby to look after as well as her home, she’d have precious little time to herself. Merry shook her head. Although they’d been best friends since their first day at dame school, their outlooks were very different. Merry wanted more out of life before she settled down.

  ‘Of course, if you were to marry someone like Nicco, you’d never have to worry about money,’ Jenna whispered, as ever picking up on her friend’s thoughts. ‘He’s taken a real shine to you, Merry. What with him being set to take over the fish factory when his father retires, if you were to be nice to him, well …’ She winked outrageously and Merry shuddered. Nicco with his oily black hair and staring eyes gave her goose bumps.

  ‘Need to concentrate, Jenna,’ she muttered, not wishing to be drawn, for hadn’t her mother said much the same, only she’d put it more delicately, of course? The one good thing about the pilchards being late was that she didn’t have to encounter him. Knit two, purl six and twist the wool, she silently intoned as she began forming the little shells that had become the mark of her work. With fingers flying and their pins clacking, the little group were hushed as they pondered whether to try to meet the extra target or resort to damping down, as Kelys suggested. They all knew what the penalties were if they were to be caught fiddling.

  A jab in her side jolted Merry from her thoughts.

  ‘Look who’s coming,’ Jenna whispered, jerking her head. As Merry followed her gaze, she saw the ebony-haired Nicco strutting up the hill towards them. Her heart sank. A
nd she’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

  ‘Must go,’ she muttered, jumping to her feet and disappearing into the warren behind.

  CHAPTER 2

  Hurrying into their little cottage, Merry wrinkled her nose as the all-too-familiar smell of fish broth greeted her.

  ‘That knit frock doesn’t seem to have grown much. Suppose you’ve spent your time gossiping,’ her grandmother grunted, as Merry unclipped the wooden fish, which supported her work, from her skirts and threw her knitting down on the stool.

  ‘We had lots to talk about, Grozen,’ she said. ‘The agent’s son has taken over and he’s increased our target.’

  ‘What?’ her mother gasped, looking up from the fancy frock she was finishing. Out of all of them Karenza was the most talented and Merry could only marvel at the way the intricate cable pattern flowed naturally from her fingers, although even with her skill, it was a race to meet the deadlines.

  ‘And that’s not all. Apparently, we’re to receive half our pay in goods from the shop he’s setting up at Killie Mill.’

  ‘But he can’t resort to that. Trucking’s illegal now,’ her grandmother sniffed.

  ‘We can barely make ends meet as it is,’ Karenza muttered, biting her lip.

  ‘Kelys says we could always resort do damping down to make the target. Apparently, her mother used the extra wool to make socks and …’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ her mother’s usually calm voice cut through the room. ‘I’ve brought you up to be honest, our Merry, and won’t have you resorting to low tricks like that.’

  Trying not to flinch under her mother’s direct gaze, which seemed to reach her very soul, Merry nodded quickly. It was true. Her mother prided herself on being truthful and impressed the importance of honesty upon Merry seemingly every day.

  ‘And what if the agent were to do a weigh check?’ her grandmother pointed out. ‘He’d spread word that we was cheats and our contract would be taken away. Why, I remember when Clara Broad got caught. Old man Muther threatened to cut off her right hand with an axe if she didn’t make up the shortage. Never worked again, she didn’t.’