Wishing now that she had thought of emptying it over Mr Gunn’s head, she laughed. ‘No, I just wanted to be sure my hands weren’t dirty.’
‘Mine aren’t dirty, for I washed them before I sat down,’ he confided, holding up his large paws for her to inspect.
‘They’re nice and clean,’ she smiled.
He seemed pleased at that and watched while she made the next course ready for his parents.
When they finished dinner, Mr Gunn addressed his wife as he stood up. ‘You look tired, Marguerite. Why don’t you go to bed, and I’ll give Katie a hand to clear the table.’
Her smile was a little wan. ‘Thank you, Angus, I do feel rather tired.’
Katie’s heart had given a jolt at the thought of being alone in the kitchen with him, and she was relieved to find Sammy still there. Ignoring his son, Mr Gunn turned to her when he had set the dishes on the draining board. ‘You are a very pretty girl, my dear. Do you know that?’
Feeling as she did about him, she couldn’t thank him for the compliment, and he went on, ‘You’ll have boys after you in a year or two.’ His hand snaked out when he passed her, patting her lightly on the hip as he left the room.
She could see by Sammy’s deep scowl that he was angry at this, but she thought it wisest not to refer to it, and as she lifted the kettle from the stove to fill the basin, he stood up. ‘You’re prettier than all the girls that were in my class at school,’ he mumbled, his face brick red, and she was glad that he didn’t look at her when he loped towards the back door; she was sure that the horror she felt must show in her face. It would be difficult enough to deal with Mr Gunn if he tried to do more than pat her bottom, but would she be able to ward Sammy off if he tried anything?
When she went up to her own room, the rain was making such a din on the sloping skylight window that she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until it stopped, and to pass the time she took out her writing pad and pencil to write a second letter home. She wouldn’t give it to the postie for a few days, though, for it was little more than a week since she first wrote, and she had made up her mind to make it once a fortnight. The writing took some time – it was so difficult to know what to say when every day was the same – and the rain was even worse when she finished. The water had become too much for the guttering, and was cascading to the ground as if a valve in some huge pipe had been opened. Giving up, Katie undressed quickly and got into bed, pulling the covers right up over her head.
Eventually, however, she realized thankfully that the rushing noise had lessened to a steady plop, then an occasional drip, and she was dozing off when she heard a different sound, a more familiar sound, like waves lapping the shore – but Fenty was nowhere near the sea. Puzzled, she stood on her pillow to look out of the skylight and discovered, in the almost dawn, that the river had burst its banks and must have reached the back of the house, though she couldn’t see from this angle. On the point of going to warn the Gunns, it occurred to her that this must happen every time there was heavy rain, and she lay down again, wishing she could leave the horrible place. But it would take far more courage to face her grandmother’s wrath than to stick it out here.
‘I hope the rain didn’t keep you awake last night,’ Mrs Gunn remarked, after breakfast. ‘None of us has ever slept up there, and the rain must make an awful noise on the roof. Angus did offer to go up in case you were afraid, but I thought you’d be more frightened if he came into your room in the middle of the night.’
Katie merely nodded at this. How could she tell his wife that she’d have died of fright if that awful man had walked in on her?
‘She’s happy enough, that’s one good thing.’ William John laid Katie’s latest letter down with a smile.
‘I ken’t she would be.’ Mary Ann stood up to clear the breakfast table. ‘The minister’s wife’s a genteel body, and when she said her sister was looking for a decent lassie to help her in the house, I was sure she was hinting for Katie. And I ken’t the doctor’s wife would easy get another maid … one o’ the lassies that left the school at Easter.’
‘You should have asked Katie about it first, though, for it come as a shock to her. Still, it looks like she’s got ower it, and no harm’s been done.’
Mary Ann’s shrivelled mouth shrank even more. ‘I’d never want to harm her, you should ken that.’
‘I ken that, but I’m nae so sure Katie does.’ William John stopped there. He wished his wife had shown the girl a bit of love sometimes, but it was best not to rile her by saying so; he’d had the sharp edge of her tongue too often over the forty-odd years they’d been wed. With a sigh, he stood up and went out to the yard.
Taking what he needed from the small lean-to shed by the back door, he sat down on his stool to carry on with the trawl net he had begun two days before. He had originally been a sail-maker, but there were hardly any sailing boats nowadays, so he had turned his hand to making and repairing nets. His rheumaticky fingers were much slower than they used to be, and from force of habit, he drew on the leather pad he had always used to protect his thumb from the end of the curved needle when he was pushing it through the stiff canvas – though he didn’t need it to make nets.
His mind was still on his wife as he began weaving knots in the tarry ropes. Mary Ann had been a right bonnie lass when he first met her, her hair as rich a brown as Katie’s was now, her wide eyes as dark as new-dug earth, her trim figure setting his blood coursing through him like fire through a forest. He’d lost his heart to her at first sight, though she had never been a loving person, not even to him, and he sometimes wondered why she had married him. His love for her had become a little blunted over the years, the rot setting in at the time their son had brought Lizzie Baxter to the house.
God alone knew why Mary Ann had taken such a dislike to her, and it had started even before she came to see them, when young William John told them about her. As soon as he said she was a Portknockie lass, his mother’s mouth had set in a tight line, and it was obvious that she wasn’t pleased. When the girl did come – a canty wee thing with a bonnie smile – it had taken Mary Ann all her time to acknowledge her. He could still remember how shocked he was at his wife’s manner. He didn’t understand what had turned her against the lass, and he’d hoped she would come round, but she never did. Lizzie’s very name had been like a red rag to a bull to her for a long time. Even when their son had come to tell her she was a grandmother, and pleaded with her to go to Lizzie because the birth had been very bad, Mary Ann had shaken her head and said she couldn’t.
William John’s mind skipped the days that had followed, days in which bitter words passed between him and his wife, and picked up his memories a month later, when he had placed the infant in her arms. He would never forget the look in her eyes at that moment, tender and loving as he had never seen them before or since, then it was as if a shutter had come down behind them. He was sure that it was shame at not having gone to Lizzie when she needed her that had prevented her from showing love to the child, for he knew she did love Katie, in spite of her apparent indifference.
Likely it was because the lassie reminded Mary Ann of Lizzie Baxter – the same russetty glints through the brown hair, the same oval face even to the dimples at the corners of the mouth, and sometimes, looking at Katie’s blue eyes, he could see Lizzie’s brown eyes forever dancing in the same way – that was, until she had recognized the animosity in the older woman.
Give Mary Ann her due, she had looked after Katie as well as Lizzie could have done, fed her and clad her, sat up with her when she had the croup, nursed her through the measles and the chickenpox, helped her with her home lessons once she started school, but nothing more than that. There had never been the warmth between them that there should have been, the warmth and love that only he had been willing to supply. And Katie had missed her grandmother’s love, that was why she had taken to seeking comfort from the sea when she was unhappy.
He had tried to make it up to the poor lass by reading t
o her when she was small, by taking her for walks in the summer, by setting her on his knee in the winter and telling her the tales his seafaring father had told him when he was a boy, but it wasn’t the same. Many a time, he had wanted to shake Mary Ann, to tell her she would get rid of her shame at how she had treated Lizzie if she showed Lizzie’s daughter her true feelings, but he had let it go on for the sake of his own peace, and it was too late now. All he could do was pray that some day Katie would find a man to cherish and cosset her – a man who would love her as she deserved to be loved.
Katie still got upset each time Mr Gunn struck his son, but she could do nothing about it and, in any case, Sammy was obviously afraid of his father and accepted the punishments as natural. He would just look at her sheepishly when they were left alone and then go outside, disappearing into the furthest reaches of the garden. She didn’t like to say anything to Mrs Gunn, who also seemed to be afraid of her husband. She would sit with her head bowed while he ranted on at her about the slightest thing, and Katie had even seen him twisting his wife’s arm and accusing her of looking at him in an offensive manner. Not that the poor woman ever let her feelings show, though she had an awful lot to put up with. It must be awful to be married to a man like that.
Katie was always uncomfortable in his presence, and was thankful that he never found fault with anything she did – not yet, anyway – for she didn’t think she would be brave enough to answer him back. He might strike her, too. As long as she did everything she was told and kept well clear of him, she would be all right.
With the lengthening of the days, Katie longed to be free of the house if only for half an hour and asked Mrs Gunn if she might be allowed to go for a walk before she went to bed. Being told that the late evening hours were her own, she went to her room to take off her pinafore and put on her jacket, because it was still cold at nights. It was pleasant to be ambling through the trees and to hear the crack of twigs under her feet, but she decided not to go too far in case she couldn’t find her way back. She didn’t fancy wandering about the woods if it was pitch dark.
She had been out for only about twenty minutes, thinking nostalgically of the walks she used to take along the shore at Cullen and wishing that the Three Kings were there to confide in, when the mist came swirling up from the river, so thick that she could hardly see even a few yards in front of her. She turned quickly to go back, but the trees were menacing now, looming up at her like witches with their scrawny arms stretched out to catch her, and she cried out in terror when something brushed against her shoulder.
‘I’ll take you home.’
In her relief that it was only Sammy, she was glad of his company, and smiled when he trotted just ahead of her like some huge dog, turning every now and then to make sure that she was still following him. She could laugh at herself now for being afraid of him when she first met him. He wanted to be noticed, that was all, and his mother and father had no time for him. ‘Do you often come to the woods at night?’ she asked him.
‘Every night,’ he told her. ‘I like the woods.’
‘You don’t come if it’s dark, though, do you?’
‘I like the dark. I see things.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Just things.’
His mysteriousness amused her, it was so childish. He was just showing off, of course, because he couldn’t really see anything if it was dark, but it was best not to argue with him. When he stopped abruptly, she walked into him and he let out a low gurgle of laughter. ‘I know your name. It’s Katie.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I like you, Katie.’
A pin-prick of fear stabbed her, but she said, ‘I’m cold, Sammy. I’d like to get back to the fire.’
‘Not far now.’ He turned and trotted on, and in a few minutes they had reached the back door of the house.
Holding it open for her, he said, ‘You’ll not tell my father I was walking with you?’
‘I won’t tell him, and thank you for showing me the way. If you hadn’t, I might have got lost.’
She turned up the lamp in the kitchen, and saw that his face wore a look of deep pleasure at her words. Poor thing, she thought, he never gets any praise, and the only time his father pays him any attention is to slap him. ‘Would you like some hot milk before you go to bed?’ she asked, lifting a pan from the shelf. ‘I’m going to heat some for myself.’
His eyes shining, he gave a sharp nod and sat down at the table, watching her every movement until she laid a cup in front of him. Gripping it with both hands, he drained it quickly, then stood up. ‘I’d better get to my bed before my father comes in.’
When he went out into the passage, Katie hurriedly rinsed out the two cups and the little pan. Like Sammy, she wanted to be out of the kitchen before Mr Gunn came in, and she wondered where he had gone, because his motor car was still standing outside.
The next few weeks passed uneventfully, even her birthday in June going unmarked. Katie had not expected a present to be sent from Cullen, but she was a little hurt that not even a card came. Of course, her grandmother was one of the old school, who thought that cards were a waste of money, that a birthday was just another ordinary day, but it would have been nice to think that somebody had remembered she had now turned fifteen.
She had learned from Sammy, when they were having dinner together one evening, that he was not paid for any of the jobs he did around the house, nor for the gardening, and she felt angry that his father took advantage of him, but it was really none of her business. All she could do was to talk to the boy and let him see that she regarded him as a friend.
She was in the habit now of going for a short walk each night if it was dry, and Sammy sometimes joined her, walking alongside her silently through the trees or along the river bank. She felt safe with him, and actually hoped to see him as she sauntered in whatever direction she chose to take. It was good to have company, and he didn’t expect much in the way of conversation.
The days were long, the air was warm, and she had stopped thinking so much of home. She liked Mrs Gunn and did not object to having more work to do than when she first came – she could see that the woman wasn’t fit and was puffing at the least exertion. It wasn’t her place to say anything, but one day, when her employer sat down with a thump, her face pure white, Katie murmured, ‘You should see a doctor, Mrs Gunn.’
‘Angus says there’s nothing wrong with me, and he doesn’t believe in doctors.’
This made Katie surer than ever that the man was a callous brute, though she hadn’t the courage to say so to his wife. ‘But you’re not well, anybody can see that.’
‘I don’t feel well, but Angus says I’ll be all right if I take things easy for a while.’
‘Let me make tonight’s dinner. You can sit down and tell me what to do.’
Having done the preparations and the cooking, as well as all the housework, Katie was so tired that night that she went to bed as soon as she had tidied the kitchen, but she was quite pleased that Mr Gunn seemed to have enjoyed the meal she had made.
After a few days of teaching Katie her way of cooking, Mrs Gunn began to take a rest in the afternoons, and the girl wondered if a pattern was being set. Her body soon got used to the extra work, but the peculiar looks Mr Gunn sometimes gave her were unsettling, frightening. She told herself that she would soon tell him where to get off if he laid a finger on her again, yet deep down inside, she wasn’t so sure.
The August day had been very hot, and Katie, tired though she was, felt that she had to get out for a breath of air before she suffocated altogether. She was strolling along slowly, drinking in the smell of the moss and the trees, when Sammy appeared at her side. ‘You haven’t come out for a long time,’ he said, accusingly.
‘I’ve been too tired.’
‘I thought you didn’t like me any more.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t that,’ she said, sorry that he’d been hurt by her absence. ‘It was just by the time I finished all
my work, I was ready for my bed.’ This satisfied him, and he trotted along happily at her side.
First thing the next morning, Mrs Gunn called Katie to the bedroom as she passed on her way down to make the breakfast. ‘I don’t feel able to get up at all today. Will you manage to do everything on your own?’
Having done everything on her own for some days now, Katie had to smile, but she just said, ‘I’ll manage fine, but I’d better get Sammy to go for the doctor for you.’
At that moment, Mr Gunn emerged from the wooden folding screen where he had been dressing. ‘There is no need for the doctor. My wife will be up and about again in a day or two.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Katie went out wishing that she could tell him what she thought of him.
When he came down, she went through to the dining room apprehensively, laid his plate of porridge in front of him and walked away, but he called her back. ‘My wife’s illness is just in her mind, you know.’
‘She hasn’t looked well for a while.’ She had to say it.
‘She thinks herself ill, actually thinks it on herself. She has done it many times before. Do not look at me like that, Katie, I am not an unfeeling man. In fact, I have got feelings that might surprise you. Now, take a tray up to her, but do not sympathize with her, it will only make her worse. A few days’ rest is all she needs.’
‘I hope so, sir.’ Katie was glad to get away from his dark, penetrating eyes. There was something about them lately that hinted at a touch of madness.
When she went through with the teapot and the toast, he said, ‘I have been thinking, Katie. My wife being in bed will cause you extra work, so, until she is on her feet again, I will take my meals in the kitchen. That will save you having to set the table in here.’
‘It’s no bother, sir,’ she protested, dutifully, knowing that she would feel safer with him in the kitchen since Sammy would be there, too.
‘I do not like eating alone, so we will start tonight.’
The Three Kings Page 3