by Linda Finlay
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. And she’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse.
‘Must go,’ she muttered, jumping to her feet and disappearing into the warren behind.
THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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Published in Penguin Books 2015
Copyright © Linda Finlay, 2015
Extract from The Sea Shell Girl © Linda Finlay, 2016
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover image © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred; background © Shutterstock
ISBN: 978-1-405-92205-0