The Fisher Lass

by Margaret Dickinson

  The thought filled his mind and clouded his reason. Jeannie Buchanan – that lovely, red-haired, feisty girl, with green eyes and a wide, smiling mouth – was to marry Tom Lawrence.

  He must talk to her. She couldn’t marry Tom. She couldn’t marry anyone. He must stop her.

  ‘Can I be your bridesmaid then?’

  Jeannie smiled at the excited young girl, pleased for once to see that Grace had something to interest her other than disappearing every night to be with her friends. Remembering an earlier conversation, she was now beginning to worry that Grace was meeting some boy. Someone of whom her mother would disapprove.

  ‘Of course you can,’ she said aloud, ‘but we’re not having a fancy white wedding. I thought you knew that. We’ve planned a very quiet affair. Just – just family. I mean, just you and your mother. It wouldn’t be right, in the circumstances,’ she said, referring to the fact that the Lawrence family were still within the expected period of mourning. Flatly she added, ‘And there’ll be no one from my side, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but you’ll have a pretty new dress surely and carry flowers? So, couldn’t I too?’

  ‘We’ll see. We’ll see what your mother thinks.’

  But Nell agreed with her daughter. ‘George wouldna have wanted us to spoil your day, hen,’ she said and added wistfully, ‘and he’d have been so pleased to see his son wedding a Scottish lassie.’

  ‘Are you really sure, Jeannie? I mean, you haven’t known him very long, have you?’

  Jeannie stared up into the face of Robert Hayes-Gorton and her lips parted, the angry retort ready to spurt out. But she bit back the words, quite literally for she felt the sharpness of her teeth on the tip of her tongue. His dark brown eyes were looking into hers with such impassioned intensity that it was impossible for her to doubt that his concern was genuine.

  Had she really misjudged this young man? Already, before today, she had seen his little acts of kindness but she had closed her mind and hardened her heart against him. Now, close to him, looking up into his face, she felt her resolve to hate him begin to crumble.

  Before she had time to form a reply he was speaking again. The words came haltingly, as if he were voicing aloud, perhaps for the first time, his innermost feelings. And that he found it difficult and painful was obvious. ‘Jeannie. I couldn’t bear to see you make a terrible mistake. If – if I tell you something, it’s just between the two of us?’ He waited until she gave a slight nod in assent. Then she heard him let out a long deep sigh.

  ‘I’ve made the most dreadful mistake in marrying Louise. It’s not her fault,’ he added hastily, ‘or mine. But we’ve both allowed ourselves to be pushed into a marriage of – of convenience. A marriage our families wanted. I thought I did too. At least – what I mean is – oh this is dreadfully difficult . . .’ He ran his hand distractedly through his hair. ‘I don’t even know if I should be saying this to you, but you see, from the moment I saw you . . . What I mean is, if I were still free, then – then I could speak, say all the things that are in my heart. But I’m not, and I – I can’t. And now you’re going to be married too.’ Now his voice faded away and he just stood gazing at her helplessly.

  And Jeannie just stood there too, looking back at him, for she could not think of a word to say.

  Now, his voice hoarse with emotion, Robert just said, ‘Please, Jeannie, just be sure. Very sure.’

  And then he was gone, leaving her just staring after him.

  Jeannie told no one of the incident. There was no one in whom she could confide such a thing. Maybe if Flora or Mary had still been here in Havelock, but they were long gone. They’d likely be back home in Scotland now. Aye, back home. Jeannie sighed at the thought. Was she really doing the right thing in marrying Tom? Mr Robert’s strange, almost impassioned plea, had at least made her stop and think. His words had forced her to take stock.

  She was sure that Tom loved her in his own bluff way, but he was not a demonstrative man. She didn’t expect him to be. To Jeannie, men were like her father; strong, courageous and hardworking and they showed their love for their families in their actions. In going to sea and doing a very dangerous job to earn a living.

  Jeannie was not used to the manners of a gentleman who, in her opinion, did little or nothing to earn his own living, but prospered on the toil of others. She had never encountered a man who made flowery speeches or showered a woman with expensive gifts. To her mind, Robert had no right to speak to her as he had done, though she did acknowledge that his words were genuine.

  The thought that he felt something for her shocked her. Not so much from a moral standpoint as that she could not believe that a man in his position should even notice someone like her.

  He’s just feeling guilty still, she told herself and tried to put the incident from her mind. But for many nights leading up to her wedding, her dreams were troubled by Robert’s face, his dark eyes and his voice saying ‘Are you really sure, Jeannie?’

  On the eve of their wedding day, Jeannie was mystified by Nell and Grace.

  Nell spent the early part of the evening forever glancing at the kitchen clock and then, on the stroke of seven, she said suddenly, ‘Awa’ to the Fisherman’s, son, and give us women a bit o’ peace. We’ve things to do for the morrow that you shouldna be seeing.’

  Tom grumbled, but he got up, put on his jacket and left the house.

  Jeannie eyed the two women suspiciously. They seemed to be sharing a secret, whispering and giggling and trying, yet failing, to stifle their amusement

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said at last. ‘I hope you’re no’ planning tricks on me. Sewing ma nightdress up or something.’

  Mother and daughter exchanged a glance and then burst into laughter. ‘We hadn’t thought of that, Mam,’ Grace said.

  ‘We should ha’ done, hen.’ Again, they smiled at each other. ‘Shall we tell her now he’s gone?’

  Grace nodded.

  ‘The lads at the pub are going to have a wee bit of fun with your bridegroom. He’ll no’ be coming home in the state he went out.’

  Jeannie groaned. ‘Och, you dinna mean he’s going to get drunk?’

  ‘Aye well, a little merry, maybe. But no, they’re going to wash his feet . . .’

  ‘But first,’ Grace gasped between peals of laughter and holding her side as if she had a stitch, ‘they’re going to smear his feet with shoe blackening, just to make it worth the washing.’

  Nell chuckled. ‘And if I know the lads round here, it won’t stop at just his feet.’

  ‘Oh, oh, stop it, Mam. Me side’s aching wi’ laughing so much.’

  Jeannie felt the corners of her own mouth begin to twitch. Their laughter was infectious.

  ‘Wait a while, till they bring him home,’ Nell said. ‘There’ll be plenty to laugh at then.’

  At ten thirty, they heard the commotion out in the street and hurried to fling open the front door and stand watching the merriment. Jeannie glanced at Grace, wondering if she were remembering the last occasion when they had witnessed the antics of a stag night, but the girl was convulsed with laughter watching her brother being borne down the street, plastered with black polish and covered from head to toe in flour. His tormentors had been thoughtful enough to remove his jacket and trousers, so Tom was being carried, shoulder high and amid much shouting and laughing, along the street in his shirt and long-johns.

  ‘There you are, Jeannie lass.’ A burly fisherman, who Jeannie knew was the third-hand on the same ship as Tom, came to stand in front of her. ‘Here’s your handsome bridegroom.’

  Entering into the fun, Jeannie said, ‘Thanks, but I’ll no’ be wanting him now. You can keep him.’ Mischievously, she linked her arm through the big man’s and said, ‘Are you doing anything in the morning, Jack Brightman?’

  The man’s eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly. ‘Don’t temp’ me, lass. Don’t temp’ me.’ He winked at her. ‘Shame, like, but I reckon the wife’d have summat to say about that, don’t you?�
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  ‘Bring him in,’ Nell was saying. ‘We’ll strip him down and wash him properly, now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jeannie shrieked and, feigning coyness, she put her hands to her cheeks. ‘Oh pray, spare my blushes.’ She turned and hurried away into the house, the sound of their laughter following her.

  It was all good, if not quite ‘clean’ in the literal meaning of the word, fun, and Jeannie was grateful to Tom’s pals for helping to lighten what was, in part, going to be a poignant occasion for the Lawrence family. And for her too, she thought soberly, for on her wedding day there would be no father to give her away.

  But he’ll be there in spirit, she comforted herself. I know he will.

  At the window of his office, Robert stood staring down into the bustling docks below him. To the west he could see the spire of the church where he knew, at this very moment, Jeannie was making her vows to love and to cherish Tom Lawrence and to remain his wife until death do us part.

  He had realized, when Edwin had told him of their marriage plans, that he had fallen in love with Jeannie Buchanan and he had not been able to stop himself going to see her. Remembering his halting, puerile babblings, he groaned with embarrassment. How foolish and weak she must think him. Though she had said very little, in fact now he thought about it, she had said nothing at all, but he had read in the depths of those beautiful green eyes, her puzzled expression.

  Perhaps she had even believed him to be drunk again. Perhaps she had not even understood what he had been trying to say. No doubt she had just dismissed him from her mind and thought no more about his near declaration of love. In fact now, standing here looking across at the church, he could not really remember what he had said. All he could remember was that he had wanted her to be absolutely sure that she wanted to marry Tom.

  Tom Lawrence. How Robert envied him at this moment.

  He sighed and turned away from the window and picked up his hat and cane. He would walk to the church in time to see them come out. He patted the inside pocket of his jacket, feeling the rustle of the white envelope that contained a cheque. It was his wedding present to Jeannie. He could neither write nor say the words that were in his heart but with this gift would go all his loving wishes that at least she would be happy.

  Sadly, he knew now that he would never find happiness in his own marriage.

  As Tom and Jeannie emerged from the dim interior of the church, they both blinked in the brightness of the January sunlight.

  Nell and Grace came to stand on either side. ‘Ha’ you some coppers in your pocket, Tom, ready for the bairns?’ Jeannie heard Nell ask her son.

  Tom looked about him. ‘I don’t see any . . .’ he began and then stopped.

  ‘Not here, maybe, but back at the house, the bairns in our street’ll be waiting. You can be sure of that.’

  But Tom was not listening to her now, ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘there’s Mr Robert standing at the gate.’

  Jeannie’s lips parted in a little gasp of surprise as she watched Robert walk up the path towards them. Stretching out his hand towards Tom, he shook it warmly.

  ‘Congratulations, Tom. You’re a very lucky man.’ His voice was firm and he was smiling as he wished them both well. From his pocket he took out an envelope and pressed it into Tom’s hands. ‘Please – just a little personal gift. And I hope you have a lovely honeymoon. Where are you going?’

  ‘Across the river, Mr Robert. On this afternoon’s ferry and then on to Scarborough.’

  Robert nodded and there was a moment’s awkward pause before he said, ‘Well, then. I’ll – er – not keep you . . .’ He nodded at Tom and then turning to look at Jeannie said, his voice deep and low, ‘May I be the first to kiss the bride?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ came Tom’s dutiful, though reluctant, reply.

  He was standing before her, looking down at her once more and now he leant forward and his lips touched her cheek in the most gentle, almost reverent kiss, that Jeannie could ever have imagined. Close to her ear, he whispered so softly that even she scarcely heard the words, ‘Be happy, my dearest Jeannie.’

  Then Robert straightened up and stepped back from her, smiling and raising his hat to them both. He turned and, with long strides, walked swiftly away from them.

  Eighteen

  They were walking along the seafront at Scarborough. Jeannie paused to watch the breakers far out to sea.

  ‘Do you wish you were back at sea?’ Jeannie asked him.

  Tom laughed, the wind whipping away the sound. ‘Fancy asking me that, Mrs Lawrence. On our honeymoon.’

  He put his arm about her waist and they walked on in companionable silence, until at last Tom broke it by saying, ‘Why did you ask me that question?’

  ‘I remember ma father,’ she said quietly. ‘Whenever he was ashore you could see it in his eyes, a faraway look whenever he looked out to sea. He could hardly wait to get back aboard his ship.’

  ‘Huh, more fool him, then.’

  ‘Tom!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jeannie, but I’ve never been able to understand it. Me dad was just the same. Me . . .’ he shrugged, ‘I’d as leave be ashore.’

  Jeannie was silent but she watched him now and saw that he hardly glanced out across the water, nor took any notice when the grey shape of a ship appeared on the distant horizon.

  She thought back to the previous night, their first as man and wife. She had known what to expect. Her aunt, God rest her, Jeannie thought, had been a sensible, down-to-earth woman, who had, at what she considered an appropriate age, explained the facts of life to her niece. A no-nonsense, practical explanation of the workings of a woman’s body, and of a man’s, it might have been, but it had left Jeannie with a well-balanced view, with no fears born out of ignorance and certainly no romantic expectations that were unlikely to be fulfilled.

  She had been surprised to find, however, that Tom was a gentle and considerate lover, and a practised one too. Tom Lawrence knew exactly what to do and how to do it, and even when he entered her for the first time and she felt the pain of the breaking of her maidenhead – as her doughty aunt had warned – he was thoughtful for her.

  If she had expected the inexperienced fumbling of a boy, then Jeannie was either pleasantly surprised or acutely disappointed to think that for him, it was not his first time.

  At this moment, she was not quite sure what she did feel. The matter, she decided rationally, was best left unspoken of, at least for the moment. Later in their marriage, perhaps.

  What had surprised and definitely pleased her was that Tom had not – as her aunt had also led her to expect once the lovemaking was over – turned over and fallen sleep. He had held her gently in his arms and he had talked to her, telling her of his life at sea.

  ‘I suppose there are some good things about it. The comradeship and the sight of a net coming up over the side, fair bursting with fish. And in the Icelandic waters, the views are magnificent. You feel as if everything’s so clean and pure, the icebergs sparkling and the blue of the sea and the sky. It’s as if no man has ever seen that part of the world before. As if you’re the very first to ever see it. But that’s about all that’s good. For the rest, it’s hard labour. Eighteen hours non-stop when we’re fishing. Longer, if the skipper’s a greedy bastard and the hauls are good . . .’

  She had nestled against him listening to his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. She was drowsy, scarcely taking in what he was actually saying. She drifted into semi-consciousness and imagined that it was her father once more telling her stories of his voyages. The same stories that George must have told his son, Tom. And now Tom was a fisherman too and experiencing all the wonderful sights for himself. Tom was like his father and her father. She believed that he, too, was a fisherman, born and bred.

  So her question this morning had seemed quite a natural one to ask. ‘Do you wish you were back at sea?’

  But his answer had shocked her and left her with a disconcerting feeling of disappointment.r />
  ‘Louise. My dear, I’ve booked a room for us at your favourite London hotel. I’m so sorry I couldn’t go when you wanted me to, but there were problems at work. You know—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to go now, Robert.’ Louise waved her slim hand, with its perfectly manicured nails and its soft skin that never saw a moment’s drudgery. ‘I’ve only just come back from Madeleine’s. I don’t want to go again.’

  ‘I’ve booked theatre tickets and I thought you might like to go shopping for a new spring outfit.’ He paused then added pointedly, ‘But if you’re too busy . . .’

  He watched as the gleam came into her blue eyes.

  ‘Well, I suppose,’ she said slowly, but he could see that in her butterfly brain she was already in the Knightsbridge stores, ‘I could re-arrange my plans, seeing as you’ve gone to so much trouble.’

  What, Robert thought to himself, did his wife ever have in her life that would prevent her accepting the chance of shopping in the London stores and the round of social parties they would soon find themselves caught up in once they arrived there? He was quite prepared, before he had even made the suggestion, that their weekend would become a week-long holiday.

  But Robert stretched a smile. It would be worth it if he could salvage their marriage. He was determined now to do everything he could to make it work. He was in it for better or worse. And it couldn’t get much worse, he told himself wryly. So there was only the ‘better’ to hope for. And he really meant to try. He had resolved to put all thoughts of Jeannie out of his mind. He was married and, now, so was she. He almost wished that she had gone back to Scotland, that she could have become just a distant memory of a girl he had once seen.