Pearl Fishers

by Robin Jenkins

  She had her own plans ready. All right, they were selfish, but who could blame her? Daniel was coming, to claim his bride, as he thought. He wasn’t going to be disappointed, except that his bride wasn’t going to be Effie, who had rejected him a dozen times and would do it again. He would have to be content with her, Nellie Williamson, as he ought to be, for they had slept together often enough. In fact, Morag was his; they had the same pale blue eyes and fair hair. They would get married properly, in a church, and she’d be wearing white, with a bouquet of lilies. They would live in his nice little cottage outside Tain, and she’d help him run his scrap iron business.

  If Morag and Eddie had to be taken into care, what of it? They’d be looked after well enough there.

  As for Effie, if she was lucky she might land a job, as a hospital cleaner, say, or she might he bullied into marrying some drunken lout who’d give her half a dozen kids and many beatings. Yes, that could be poor Effie’s fate. A great pity but it couldn’t be helped.

  Three

  HE COULD have gone on his bicycle and still more quickly in his car, but he preferred to walk. He wanted time to think about his visitors, whose coming, he was convinced, was not accidental. They had been sent to him, surely for a purpose.

  He felt exhilarated. All doubts, inhibitions and feelings of unworthiness were gone.

  He stopped to look at the wild roses in the hedge, remembering the one on Effie’s breast, by now wilting and falling to pieces. He would replace it with the most beautiful rose in his garden. His hands trembled at the thought.

  It was much too simple to say that he had fallen in love with her.

  It was the McTeague children who opened the door.

  ‘It’s Uncle Gavin,’ they shouted to their mother in the kitchen.

  ‘Did you bring the tinker children?’ asked seven-year-old Ian.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said his sister. ‘Just because they’re camping in his field doesn’t mean they belong to him.’

  Their mother appeared, looking very fresh and clean. She was as great a contrast to Effie as her happy and healthy children were to shy sickly Morag and Eddie with his false confidence. Tall and fair, she was wearing an immaculate white blouse and a tweed skirt protected by an apron with Scottish scenes depicted on it. He thought of Effie’s workman’s trousers and boots, and the smell of dried sweat.

  ‘Sit down, Gavin,’ she said, ‘and tell me about your visitors. I’m sure you’re in no hurry to get back to them, so why not join us at lunch? The old man hasn’t died, has he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You two go and tell your father lunch will be ready in ten minutes.’

  The children went, grumbling. They wanted to hear about the tinker children.

  ‘You will, later. Maybe if Gavin doesn’t mind we’ll visit them tomorrow afternoon.

  ‘Now, Gavin, tell me about this tinker girl.’

  ‘She’s not a tinker, she’s a pearl-fisher.’

  ‘So Hugh told me. But we’ll all think of her as the tinker girl all the same. They lead the same kind of lives, don’t they? Hugh says she’s quite handsome, underneath the dirt.’

  ‘She’s not got a nice bathroom with hot water.’

  Sheila laughed at his indignation.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Effie. Effie Williamson.’

  ‘Hugh said he liked the way she stood up to Angus.’

  ‘Angus was unforgivably rude. And she would stand up to anyone. She’s very brave.’

  ‘Brave? Well, I suppose it would take a lot of nerve to travel from Sutherland on a cart with two children, sleeping in a tent in all kinds of lonely places. Have they got their tents up in your field?’

  ‘No, they won’t need them. I’ve invited them to sleep in the house.’

  ‘Good heavens, Gavin, was that wise? I was about to ask if you’d remembered to lock your doors.’

  ‘They’re not thieves.’

  ‘Maybe not, but they do get that reputation, don’t they? And you’ve got such valuable pieces of furniture. I hate to think of them being damaged.’

  God forgive her, she thought of the tinker children climbing up onto that magnificent chiffonier, like little animals let loose.

  ‘Effie wouldn’t allow it. Anyway, they’re not mischievous children.’

  ‘Don’t be surprised if you get a visit from the police.’

  ‘What have the police got to do with it?’

  ‘Isn’t it against the law nowadays for children of that age not to be sent to school? I’m surprised they haven’t been taken into care already. I don’t suppose the girl can read and write. There could be complaints.’

  One was likely to come from Miss Fiona, the minister’s sister. She wouldn’t be acting in the children’s interests.

  ‘Gavin, I’m going to speak frankly. I realise you can’t just order them to leave, but don’t interfere. Leave them alone. You know better than anyone else how easy it is to hurt people when your intention is to help them. Another thing. You’re a bit of a simpleton where women, and children too, are concerned. That girl, Effie, will probably try to take advantage of you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know fine what I mean. You’re not as simple as that.’

  ‘She’s not like that.’

  ‘How do you know what she’s like?’

  He got to his feet. He wanted to get back to present that rose to Effie.

  ‘Have you any whisky you could let me have?’

  ‘Whisky?’

  ‘It seems the old man needs it to help him sleep.’

  I suppose it’s true, she thought, as she went into the kitchen.

  She came back with a half bottle of whisky three-quarters full.

  ‘It’s all we’ve got. With Hugh’s compliments.’

  ‘Thanks, Sheila, and thank Hugh.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There’s another thing. Mrs Williamson said that Effie’s having her period and they’ve got no sanitary towels left. They’d be grateful if you could let them have one or two till Monday.’

  She couldn’t help laughing. ‘Hugh and I have been married twelve years but I can’t imagine him going on such an errand for me. Good for you, Gavin.’

  She went off and came back with an unopened packet. ‘With my compliments. Put it in your pocket. Poor girl.’

  ‘Yes, she deserves a better life. She needs someone to rescue her before it’s too late.’

  ‘I hope you’re not thinking of being that someone.’

  ‘Why not? They were sent to me.’

  Did he really believe that? She couldn’t be sure.

  Luckily she didn’t have to comment for just then her husband and children came into the house.

  She sent the children to wash their hands at once.

  McTeague was jovial. ‘Hello, Gavin. How are you getting on with your visitors?’

  ‘They’re no trouble. I’ve just come to borrow some whisky, Hugh. It’s for the old man. He needs it to help him sleep. I’d better be getting back.’

  Sheila saw him to the door. ‘Would you mind, Gavin, if I brought the children to visit you tomorrow afternoon? I could bring some clothes that they’ve grown out of.’

  ‘You’d have to be tactful, Sheila. Effie’s very proud.’

  What in heaven’s name has she to be proud about? thought Sheila. ‘I promise to be very tactful,’ she said.

  She hurried back to the living room. ‘Would you believe it, he’s invited them to sleep in the house.’

  Her husband often surprised her with his reactions.

  ‘Well, why not? He’s plenty of beds.’

  ‘But they’re bound to be filthy.’

  ‘Well, he’s got two bathrooms.’

  ‘But it’s ridiculous. He’s gone too far this time. Do you know what he said? He said they’d been sent to him. I think he meant it.’

  ‘Did he say who sent them?’

  ‘He must have meant God, of course.’

  ‘Well, considering t
hat everything that’s done is done by God he must be right then.’

  ‘You’re not taking this seriously. What if they decide to stay and he can’t get rid of them?’

  ‘I suppose he’d just have to wait till God sent them away again.’

  ‘It’s not a joke, Hugh. They could be there for weeks.’

  ‘Months,’ said McTeague, cheerfully. ‘Isn’t the house going to be used as a holiday home for poor children? Well, those children are very poor and they need a holiday. They will do Gavin a lot of good; especially the young woman. He’s probably thinking that this is the best opportunity he’s ever had to show what a good Christian he is. She won’t let herself be used in that way.’

  ‘She seems a remarkable young woman.’

  ‘She is. She’s got character. You should’ve seen her standing up to Angus.’

  Four

  THE FORESTER had not been joking when he had said that the Old Manse was not an ordinary house.

  Built in Victorian times, when Highland ministers had large families, some as many as a dozen, and when the Church of Scotland had been important and influential, the best materials had been used, expense no object. There were stained glass windows depicting scenes from the life of Christ and a grand mahogany staircase that would not have been out of place in Kilcalmonell House itself.

  The lighting back then had been by oil lamps. A careless maidservant had one day caused a fire which had destroyed part of the roof and the upper part of the house. To repair it would have cost too much. A new manse, more manageable and less ambitious was built closer to the church. In any case the congregation by that time was greatly decreased. The population of Kilcalmonell itself had shrunk from over five hundred to less than a hundred. The Old Manse was abandoned. Trees soon shrouded it. Its very existence was forgotten.

  One day, out walking, Gavin Hamilton had caught a glimpse of it among the trees. On a smaller scale he had felt the same thrill as those explorers who had come across the temples in the jungle in Cambodia. He had ventured in and like them had been greatly impressed. It had struck him that restoring it would be a work blessed by God.

  He had gone to Mrs Latimer, who was then owner of the estate. She liked the idea of rebuilding at a time when there was so much destruction in the world. She was willing to pay for the materials, but where were they going to find the workmen, in a time of war? This didn’t turn out to be the problem they had anticipated.

  Among the pacifists sent to work in the forest there were skilled craftsmen, mostly hailing from Glasgow, who were keen on the idea of restoring the house and offering it to their native city as a holiday home for children from the slums. They took no wages and worked hard during their spare time. News spread. There was an article in a Glasgow paper. People sent donations.

  It was agreed that the manse would be restored as a family home, and not as a charitable institution. There would be no indoctrination of the children. No uniforms would be worn, though wellingtons and raincoats might have to be issued. When an artist among them volunteered to put paintings on the ceilings, it was considered a good idea, but only if the paintings had nothing to do with religion. He suggested scenes from Treasure Island and Kidnapped. As a joke he painted Long John Silver to look like Gavin Hamilton.

  About a quarter of a mile from the house a military lookout post had been constructed. Water and power had to be supplied to it, whatever the expense and effort, and the pipes and wires had passed close to the Old Manse. Soon after the end of the war it had been easy to persuade the authorities to divert the water and electricity into the house.

  It was an excellent spot for its purpose. There was the big field where football and other games could be played. There were the sands. There was Towellan to visit. There were hills to wander over.

  Off-duty soldiers had been glad to lend a hand.

  There had been a proposal to call it Latimer House, in honour of Mrs Latimer but she had wanted it to keep its old name.

  Though it was ultimately to be handed over to Glasgow Corporation, Mrs Latimer insisted that it should first be made the property of Gavin Hamilton. It was now worth a good deal of money, and she had been afraid that her only living heir, a nephew who lived in England, might want it to remain the property of the estate.

  Five

  MRS WILLIAMSON was wishing that the house was a lot smaller and less grand. She would not have been so scared to go into it. Not even its owner could give the likes of her permission. Hamilton hadn’t warned her that he had a dog, a big fierce one, but owners of houses like this one always had such dogs to chase off riff-raff like her. Then there were the police who had often turned up and ordered her and her family out of broken-down sheds hardly fit for sheep.

  There were not many places where they were welcome.

  But she had to get Grandfather off the cart and put him somewhere where he could lie down. He must be stiff and sore from sitting on the cart for hours. Besides, he had wet himself.

  ‘For God’s sake, Effie,’ she muttered, ‘come and help me.’

  But there was Effie pushing Eddie on a swing they had found hanging from one of the beech trees. He was screaming with glee, for, to tell the truth, he wasn’t quite right in the head. From a distance Effie looked as if she was enjoying herself, big sister playing with little brother, but Mrs Williamson had never known her so unhappy, so despairing, so close to weeping. Meeting Hamilton had reminded her of what she would miss all her life.

  ‘Effie,’ yelled her mother, ‘come and help me with Grandfather.’

  Effie pretended not to have heard.

  She would never forgive Grandfather for trying to make her marry Daniel. She had said she would kill herself first. Not an empty threat, for her grandmother, also called Effie, had crawled out of the tent one dark wet November night and never come back. Three days later she had been found drowned in the river. She had been nineteen.

  Morag was telling Effie that their mother wanted her.

  Though only ten, Morag was the peacemaker. She had the sweetest nature of any child Mrs Williamson had ever known. They hadn’t needed old Bella the spaewife to tell them that Morag would never scart a grey head, meaning that she would die young. She would look sad and peaceful in her white coffin. Effie’s heart would break.

  Hand in hand they came across to their mother.

  ‘If you’re not going to put up a tent, Effie, we’ll have to get Grandfather into the house. He needs to lie down and he needs to be changed. He’s pissed himself.’

  ‘Well, take him in.’

  ‘I’m scared, Effie. I’m not brave like you. There could be a dog, and the police could come. Don’t forget I’ve a lot more experience than you of being attacked by dogs and ordered away by police.’

  ‘Didn’t Hamilton give you permission?’

  ‘I know but I’m still scared. It’s so big.’

  ‘It’s just a house. Even if it was ten times as big it would still be just a house. Houses are for people. We’re people, aren’t we? We’re not animals.’

  But Mrs Williamson knew that when she went into the house she would look more like a skulking animal than a person with permission.

  ‘I’ll go in with you, Effie,’ said Morag, ‘but I think you should take off your boots. We don’t want to cause any damage.’

  Laughing, Effie bent and embraced her sister.

  ‘They’re tackety boots, Effie.’

  ‘So they are. All right, I’ll take them off. I’ll pretend I’m going into a heathen temple.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind, pet. It was just a joke.’

  Morag was always slow to see a joke. When she did see it she seldom found it funny.

  Effie knelt and took off her boots. Her feet were shapely and strong but they might have been cleaner. She seldom wore socks.

  Barefooted she went boldly in, determined not to feel too impressed. It was just a house.

  Morag tiptoed. She stretched up her arms. ‘I couldn’t d
o this in a tent,’ she said.

  ‘No, pet, you couldn’t.’

  They found themselves in the hall at the front of the house. On the parquet floor were coloured reflections from a stained glass window that depicted Christ and a lamb in a field of flowers. On the ceiling Long John Silver and his band of villains brandished cutlasses and muskets.

  Morag noticed. ‘Is that because this is Mr Hamilton’s house?’

  ‘I think it was meant as a joke.’

  There was an imposing staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Shall I go up there tonight, Effie thought, or shall I sleep outside in a tent?

  She was in danger of feeling sorry for herself.

  They opened a door. It was a bedroom, probably Hamilton’s. The bed was unmade, his pyjamas were lying on it.

  For a few silly, guilty, shameful moments Effie shut her eyes and pretended that she and Hamilton were married and had shared that bed last night.

  She opened her eyes again and faced reality. Reality was her headache, her tiredness, her disgust with herself, and her dirty feet.

  ‘Are you all right, Effie?’

  ‘Yes, pet, I’m fine.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a lavatory?’

  ‘I’m sure there is.’

  ‘Would it be all right if I used it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I won’t make a mess.’

  ‘You never do.’

  They opened another door, and there was the bathroom.

  It was very clean and had blue tiles but it was not fancy. Hamilton’s toiletries were on a shelf.

  Morag sat down daintily. She did everything daintily.

  Her last lavatory had been a whin bush with bees buzzing among the yellow flowers. It had not been so comfortable, she thought, but it had been more interesting.

  ‘I would like to have a bath, Effie.’

  ‘So would I. Well, maybe a shower. A bath takes too long.’

  The next room they same upon was the sitting room. It was large, with armchairs and sofas. There was a sideboard with a vase of roses on it. There was a glass-fronted bookcase full of books.