Joe helped himself to a tea plate and covered the china with two buttered scones and a large wedge of cake. He smiled at Christina as she spooned gooseberry jam, his favourite, on top the scones. He also took a tumbler of milk. He drank pints of the stuff to build up his burgeoning muscular body. He had numerous capabilities beyond his years, his self-assurance made him look a young man already. All three women took pleasure and pride in watching his every move and Joe, unembarrassed by their scrutiny, accepted it as his rightful homage.
‘We must all have lots of news to share. How are your family, Kitty?’ Joe said from his armchair, a second large bite of scone and jam on the way to his mouth to be devoured.
‘Stuart and young Louis and Martha are in pretty low spirits, but little Martha can be distracted and have some fun,’ Kitty replied sadly. ‘But both children are still taking it hard that they barely see their mother. It’s so unlike the Connie I used to know, but there it is. Stuart sends his regards to everyone.’
‘It’s a good thing they have you in their lives,’ said Beth glossing over the facts and the worried intonation of Kitty’s remarks. She felt guilty that if their affair had gone ahead, she would have been responsible for wantonly separating the two children from their father. And Christina did not need to be reminded she had once been a bad mother; she had more than made recompense for those terrible former days. Beth didn’t want to hear anything at all about Stuart Copeland. She had some sympathy for him and wished him well but those feelings were all she had left for him.
‘Joe,’ Kitty said. ‘How’s the little gang, Richard and Lily? Does he still complain about you allowing her to tag along with you both and is she just as noisy and cheeky. Has she grown at all yet?’
‘All is much the same as when you last saw them. If anything, Lily’s even noisier. Richard still threatens to tie her up and gag off her chatter every time.’
‘I’m proud of you for being so patient with a fisherman’s little girl, Joe,’ Christina said.
Joe merely shrugged his widening shoulders. Lily Praed who he and his mate Richard Opie had taken home after she’d been badly hurt in a fall which was partly their fault, amused him with her tomboy impish ways, and she was tough enough to keep up with whatever he and hotelier’s son Richard did. Lily was the youngest and most precious child, the only surviving girl of one branch of the extended Praed family. Joe felt a measure of responsibility for her. While she was with him and Richard they could keep her safe. ‘Now Mum, tell us what happened at the vicarage meeting today. I hope you haven’t allowed yourself to be roped into anything that will be overtaxing.’
‘There’s to be a new event called the Grand Tea Party, darling. It will be held at the vicarage. You need have no worries over me. Mr Opie, Richard’s father, was elected the chairman of the new social committee, and he and Mrs Opie are taking charge of the event. Mr Opie is a Methodist lay preacher, but the church and the chapel are eager to mould together for the good of the parish. I shall be in charge of the cake stall, and I’ll be able to sit down as much as I want to. I’m sure Beth and Kitty will help me.’ Christina received smiling nods of assent from her seconded two. ‘Posters will be put up in the shops in the cove. The committee has unanimously decided that we want to reflect a cosy relaxing image, something all ages can enjoy. There will be a large bran tub so the children can have a little foretaste of Christmas. Ken Tresaile will help Mr Benedict to move the furniture about in the vicarage. His housekeeper and cook, and our own Mrs Reseigh, will be in charge of the refreshments.’
‘Good luck with having Mrs Opie at the helm,’ Joe snorted. ‘Even Richard says his own mother is insufferably stuck up. His older brothers rarely come home for visits from university now. He says Mrs Opie is badgering Mr Opie to convert to Anglicanism, which she sees as a step up. As for his sister Claire, all she’ll think about is finding a husband at this tea party. The Reverend Benedict might find Claire all over him.’
‘Don’t be uncharitable, Joe,’ Christina scolded, but mildly. It was a fact that the Opie women could be difficult, but Douglas Opie was a pleasing humble sort. Richard was an easy-going boy and Joe’s lifelong pal. ‘Mr Opie will be in charge, he’s not henpecked, and Mrs Opie does, I admit, have an eye for suitable decor, so I’m confident the Grand Tea Party will be a success. People are hungry for something the whole community can join in with, something to look forward to. Claire, I’m sure, will make herself quite useful. She’ll bring along her acquaintances, I should think, and that will boost the funds and that’s our aim. We’re hoping for a good amount to share between the Seamen’s Mission and new equipment for the village school. ‘Besides –’ Christina lowered her eyes enigmatically as she took a sip of tea – ‘Mr Benedict is spoken for.’
‘What an old-fashioned phrase.’ Beth eyed her mother. ‘You mean he’s engaged to be married.’
‘I do mean that.’
‘Tell all,’ Kitty said eagerly. ‘I wonder if his fiancée is strange too.’
‘What’s this talk about strange?’ Joe demanded, although he was sure the turn of conversation was soon going to bore him. ‘That’s a really silly notion to connect with the vicar. He’s just an ordinary young man of the cloth, isn’t he?’
Kitty grinned. ‘Please go on, Christina. Do you know the young lady’s name?’
‘Yes, she’s a Miss Bettany Howard-Leigh, and she’s the granddaughter of a baronet and the daughter of a bishop. She’s to arrive at the vicarage with her maid very soon for a short stay. They are to be married early next year in her neck of the woods, Shropshire.’
Joe yawned. ‘Before the talk turns to wedding dresses, I’m off, if you’ll all excuse me. I’ll take Chaplin and Grace for a long walk.’
‘You do that, darling,’ Christina said.
‘Indeed, sir.’ Beth said mischievously. Her younger brother was so adult like, with a touch of militarism about him.
‘Beat you later at chess.’ Kitty said with a grin. ‘He’s such a dear,’ she added indulgently when he and the dogs had vacated the room.
‘Mmm.’ Christina smiled too. ‘But I fear we’ll be hearing fireworks when he learns he and Richard have been signed up to run about generally to fetch and carry for the tea party. Oh well, I dare say little eager Lily will enjoy tagging along with them too, and the boys will have to lump it. Mrs Reseigh and I are going to bake a lot of cakes, and other typical tea fare. So you two won’t mind being sent out to buy lots of ingredients, will you?’
‘Of course not,’ Beth and Kitty agreed together.
‘When shall we go over to Mor Penty, Beth? I’d love to see what you’ve done to the place since you bought it from Farmer Read. Seems ages and ages ago since we stayed in it as a holiday let when we first came down to Cornwall. Actually, I’ve got a huge favour to ask you concerning Mor Penty.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine whatever you want, Kitty,’ Beth replied, pouring out another round of tea. ‘Fire away.’
‘Well, I hope you won’t think this a terrible cheek, but Christina and I have arranged what will be a nice surprise. There’s nothing as wonderful as a big family Christmas, don’t you agree?’
‘Of course,’ Beth nodded enthusiastically. ‘Has this anything to do with Evie?’ Evie’s father, fisherman Davey Vage only reluctantly tolerated Beth in Evie’s life. Had her mother and Kitty somehow managed to persuade Davey Vage to allow Evie to spend part the Christmas festivities here? But what had that to do with Mor Penty, Beth’s roof that she hardly spent any time under – that would change in due course when the day came that Joe took a wife.
‘No, it’s not Evie. Someone would like to come down to Portcowl for Christmas, and as you’re bound to be staying here, I’m hoping –’ Kitty faked a pleading face but her eyes were twinkling – ‘that you’ll agree to allow Stuart and Louis and Martha to stay at Mor Penty for a few days. As college principal, Stuart will be on holiday. You haven’t seen him and the children for ages so it will be good to see you all reunited. Chri
stina assures me she can cope with the extra company. I wouldn’t dream of putting her to any extra work, of course. The children’s nanny, Miss Marchant, will be joining them anyway. What do you say, Beth? Isn’t it simply something marvellous to look forward to?’
Beth used both her hands to stop herself from dropping the fine china teapot with an awful clatter. Stuart coming here to Portcowl and actually staying in her own home? Nothing could be worse. But it was all arranged. What on earth could she say?
Three
A vicious wind blew up that evening making the cold waters of the sea roar and charge and pound against Portcowl’s outer harbour wall, and driving in the waves to smack against the quayside. It sounded like booming thunderclaps, and the cove dwellers’ windows rattled as the wind whistled like banshees, threatening chimney pots, causing the whole community to worry about the fishing fleet, at sea miles up the coast in the bight of Rame Head hunting down pilchards.
Along with luggers from Mevagissey, Porthellis and other neighbouring fishing villages, the Portcowl men had already shot their nets, but all had caught nothing. Every skipper and seasoned crew member knew from instinct that they’d only haul back in empty nets tonight. There would be no countless silver flashes exploding through the dark depths showing a great solid phosphorescent mass of pilchards, or as more usual, smaller catches. Only empty fish boxes were expected, and now with the conditions heaving and growing ugly, and the luggers rolling heavily, every skipper ordered their crews to run the nets in and stow the gear. The shore of Whitesand Bay once seen clearly had quickly disappeared in the glowering murk. There was nothing to be gained by confronting the elements, or God’s will, of risking the loss of their means of livelihood. All the fleets would make a run to safety to their respective homes.
One Portcowl lugger, riding and lurching through the angry waves and sheets of towering spray was about to have more than ‘a bad night of it’. The families of the fleet – a few boys were out on the thirty-to-forty feet luggers learning the trade – sighed in relief and thanked God as one by one, after midnight, the boats struggled into the protection of the inner harbour. The waves were slapping heavily and noisily against the quayside, spraying salt water almost up to the walls of the nearest cottages then splashing down on the stone-slab ground making it slippery and unsafe. Every fisherman’s home had lanterns or candles lit in the windows, twinkling lights of hope, warmth and comfort to the men as the boats breached the outer harbour wall. The lights would stay on until the very last boat was safely home.
Evie Vage was among the women periodically staring out of their terraced-cottage windows and praying for their men’s safe return. Evie’s first-of-terrace home was on the quayside, and she was watching out for her father Davey, engineer on the lugger Morenwyn.
The boat was among the last to appear. ‘Dad’s home!’ Evie called to her four slumbering cats, then she whispered with a grim smile, ‘Thank God.’
She set about making a pan of oxtail soup and laying the kitchen table, adding thick slices of home-made bread. There was no hurry. It would take a while for Morenwyn’s crew to batten down the lugger. It would be no surprise to Evie if equipment had been lost or there was some damage to the boat; the cost would be hard to bear; it happened and was accepted as a fisherman’s lot.
After putting her father’s slippers and some warmed socks beside his hearthside easy chair, Evie thought about her next-door neighbour, Alison Praed, who worked in a sail loft, waiting for her brother Rob on board the Our Lily. She looked out again then put her hands together prayer-like to see Our Lily’s prow nudging through the murk. Evie pictured Alison bustling about to make Rob a hot meal. Alison’s fiancé and her married sister’s husband were both safely home on Sea Days. All the quayside cottage kitchens stretched from the front to the back of the homes, and mostly, like the dwellings in the whole cove, now sheltered third and fourth generations.
Rob Praed, who worked on his uncle Lofty Praed’s lugger with his four cousins, was at times a disagreeable individual. He had well-defined swarthy good looks but in the strong angles of his face were hints of his underlying hardness. Women were drawn to him, and Evie had been so herself for a few weeks last summer when he had shown an interest in her, after rescuing her most adventurous cat, Smoky, who was trapped up a narrow drainpipe. Then Beth had publicly exposed him as the heartless libertine he was, after he’d flirted with Kitty Copeland and given her expectations, but had then gone on to throw her over at a Praed family gathering, deliberately humiliating her. It was a great pity the kindly and friendly Praed family had a nasty rogue within its ranks. Evie’s father loathed Rob. Rob had obviously deeply offended Davey on some other matter, but Davey refused to discuss it.
Later today Evie, who was delighted to have been asked to be one of Alison’s bridesmaids at her December wedding, was to go next door for a fitting of her dress. Evie hoped Rob, who tended to merely glare at her now, would not be there.
Finally Davey Vage entered the stable door round the back of number one Quayside Cottage, dripping wet in his high sea boots and oilskins. ‘Hello, my handsome. Good of you to stay up for me.’ His deep voice was thick with salt and fatigue.
‘You know I never go to bed until I’m sure the fleet’s all safely home.’ Evie would have helped Davey out of his wet weather clothes, but like her mother before her, Davey wouldn’t hear of her getting wet or made uncomfortable on his behalf.
‘You’re a good girl,’ Davey replied, putting his oilskins up on a hook on the door. He placed the bucket Evie had there ready for the oilskins to drip into. He peeled off his sea boots and damp thick woollen stockings, washed his hands and face at the sink, and then padded across the stone floor and mats to his chair. Evie passed him a towel and he dried himself off. Balding, small-framed and weather-trampled and appearing much older than his sixty-four years, and although quite stooped, he was still strong and healthy. Through clean living, he oft times said. ‘You all right, Evie?’
It was touching to Evie the way he called her ‘good girl’, and often ‘his little maid’. She had just turned twenty-seven and was heading towards being an old maid. She didn’t mind that, it was inevitable there were many spinsters without hope of marriage after the horrors of the war had wiped out so many young men. She was devoted to caring for her father, but part of her would love to have children. When young women hereabouts were married, Davey never mentioned the same prospect for her, that he’d like to see her settled and give him grandchildren. ‘I’m fine, Dad. I’ll have the soup on the table in a minute. I’m going to have some myself. I had some supper but I’m feeling peckish again. Are all the boats in?’ Davey nodded. ‘Well, we’ve all been spared in much worse than this, and on the other hand men and boats have been lost in a lot less. It’s all in the Lord’s hands. I b’lieve there’s been a bit of trouble on Our Lily.’
‘Oh? What about?’
‘Don’t know, but I caught a glimpse of Lofty Praed and I’ve never seen him so angry.’ Davey turned the talk to his own lugger. ‘Will have to take the engine apart, was sounding a bit watery.’
When they were tucking into the hearty soup, Evie said carefully, ‘Miss Copeland is down again. She’ll be staying a few weeks this time.’
Davey acknowledged this with just a nod.
Evie’s stomach grew achy and she couldn’t eat any more. Kitty Copeland was connected to Beth, and Beth, whom Evie had met for the first time last year and instantly connected with, was a moot subject to Davey. Although Davey did not stop Evie from seeing Beth and mixing with those at Owles House, he refused to be drawn into making any comment about them. It hurt Evie, he had no legitimate reason to stay set against Beth, apart from his never changing desire to keep Evie all to himself, which others frequently remarked on. This also irked Evie. Her company and constancy might be enough for her father, but it didn’t seem to occur to him that she might wish for more. She should at least be able to see her relatives, Beth and their uncle Ken Tresaile, the landlord
of the Sailor’s Rest, without feeling she was doing something wrong.
The mean braggart Phil Tresaile was Evie’s natural father, nothing could change that, but he was long dead and was no threat to Davey. Phil Tresaile had wanted nothing to do with Evie and her mother anyway, and that had never bothered Evie or Iris. Ken had faced Davey out on the quay and shamed him into allowing Evie and Beth to have a sisters’ relationship, and after that Davey, who used to go occasionally to the Sailor’s Rest for a glass of lemonade and a game of euchre had shunned the pub.
‘I’m going to tea at Owles House on Friday.’ Moments later, Evie frowned, ‘Say something Dad, please.’
Davey looked at her from piercing, sad eyes. ‘You know how I feel, Evie, but you go and enjoy yourself.’
‘It’s hard to enjoy myself when I know how much you disapprove of me being with Beth, when I can’t invite her here in return.’ Evie forlornly circled her spoon in her soup.
‘You think me selfish. I suppose I am.’ Davey sighed wearily. ‘Miss Tresaile hasn’t tried to slock you off or tried to get you take on ways I’d hate to see in you, so I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for her to come here, occasionally.’
‘What?’ Evie lifted her head cautiously and hopefully. ‘You mean it, Dad?’
‘You know I never say anything I don’t mean, Evie. But you also know I’m a very private man and don’t like to be disturbed under my own roof. Invite her here, by all means, but only when I’m not likely to be at home. Of course, you must go out and about when you like, you’re a grown woman, although I’d give anything to go back in time and have you as my little girl again. Just be careful, eh? That’s all I ask.’
Reflections Page 2