A Safe Harbour (29 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
‘Aye, I know that as well. So?’
‘He’s been painting me.’
‘So why were you upstairs?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I saw you by the window.’
‘That room is his studio – the room where he paints.’
‘Oh, aye. His studio, is it?’ Thomas’s eyes narrowed. ‘So what were you doing there with Mr Adamson?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw you. I saw the pair of you at the window. Mighty pally you looked. What were you doing there with him? Talking about the price of fish, were you?’ The look in Thomas’s eyes was one of rage tempered with contempt.
‘How dare you!’
Thomas glowered at her.
‘I know what you’re suggesting and I’m ashamed of you. I’m your sister, Kate Lawson, remember? How dare you suggest that there is anything improper between Mr Adamson and me!’
‘No . . .’ Thomas was still angry but, faced with Kate’s own rage, he was less sure of himself. ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘When I saw you there, in the window . . . well, at first I couldn’t believe it. And then I saw that you were talking to him just like – I mean, as if you were friends. That made me angry, and you’re a fool if you can’t see why.’
‘You hate Mr Adamson.’
‘And so should you. After what he’s doing to us.’
Kate knew there was no answer to that. She supposed she should hate Richard Adamson, just as many of the villagers did, but she saw no point to hatred. Anger, yes, but not hatred. Hatred didn’t solve problems; it only made things worse. Her silence gave Thomas the confidence to attack her again. His eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened.
‘And in any case what was
he
doing in the artist’s house?’
he
doing in the artist’s house?’
‘The house belongs to Mr Adamson. Howard is his cousin. He’s staying there as a guest.’
She realized too late what she’d done when she saw her brother’s face twist with fury. ‘Howard, is it? Mighty familiar with the American, aren’t you?’ Suddenly he seized her wrist and pulled her arm up between them. ‘For God’s sake, are you right in the head? How can you be stupid enough to pose for a picture painted by one of Adamson’s kin?’
Kate saw now exactly why her mother had not wanted to come with her to the studio. She would have had to tell Henry; and Kate’s father would have reacted in the same way as Thomas had. Nevertheless, she still tried to reason with him.
‘Sitting for a picture has nothing to do with the fishing—’ she began.
‘It’s got everything to do with the fishing. He’s painting the village, isn’t he? And the men and their cobles, and the women helping on the beach, and even the children watching for their fathers coming home. I’ve seen him out along Bank Top with his drawing book.’
‘But what’s wrong with that?’
‘Because his cousin – Adamson – is trying to put an end to all that. To destroy the village, to put paid to our way of life. If he has his way, all that will be left is a set of pretty pictures painted by his fine American cousin. Is that what you want? To be a picture in a history book?’
Kate stared at her brother. Thomas had neglected his school work but he had never been stupid. Kate had always known that. And now, in his rage, he had expressed most eloquently his fears for his livelihood – and that of all the families who had fished out of this harbour for generations.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He kept hold of her wrist with one hand and, raising the other, he jabbed a finger towards her face. ‘Now listen to me,’ he said. ‘There’ll be no more posing for this picture, understand?’
‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
In spite of the drama of the moment Kate felt like laughing when she remembered all the times in their childhood when her twin brother had tried to impose his will on her.
They stared at each other, neither giving way, and then a spasm of frustration crossed his face before he said, ‘What if I tell our da?’
‘You won’t do that.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because if you do our mother will suffer for it. And you don’t want that, do you?’
She watched his face purple and suddenly his grip on her wrist tightened until it was painful. His other hand swung back and, determined not to show fear, she prepared herself for a blow. But it never came. Like a small fury Betsy erupted from behind Kate’s skirts and kicked Thomas hard in the shin. He yelped with pain and immediately let go of Kate’s wrist.
‘Leave her alone!’ the girl yelled, and raising both her skinny arms she hit out at Thomas, the blows landing on his chest and probably doing no damage at all except to his pride.
Thomas let out a groan of rage and despair, and turning on his heel he left them abruptly as he had arrived. There was anger in every stride.
Kate rubbed her wrist as she watched him go. She heard a small sob and glanced down to see that Betsy had tears streaming down her face.
‘Don’t cry, Betsy,’ she said, putting her arms round the child and drawing her close.
‘I didn’t want him to hurt you,’ the girl said, her voice breaking with emotion.
Kate drew a handkerchief from her pocket and dried the child’s tears. ‘Let’s go home now,’ she said. And as they set off for Belle Vue Cottage she recalled what Caroline Travers had said earlier, and wondered if she had acquired her own small Cerberus.
Kate thought that Alice looked subdued and she wondered if Charlie’s condition had worsened, but she knew that the shopkeeper didn’t like people to ask. Perhaps she’s trying to pretend that there’s nothing the matter, Kate thought.
‘What can I get you?’ Alice asked. She was staring down at the counter.
‘Not much. A bit of butter for a start, please.’
The mound of butter sat on a shining stone slab. Alice broke a piece off and shaped it into a rough square with wooden pats, then dropped it on to a piece of greaseproof paper on the scales. She seemed to take longer than usual.
‘I must be losing my touch. That’s a bit over, but I’ll only charge you for half a pound.’
Kate was surprised. She doubted if Alice was losing her touch. Whatever she weighed out – butter, cheese, flour, sugar or lentils for the soup – she always got it right. It was almost as if she had a pair of scales in her head that ruled her hand and her eye.
‘Anything else?’ She still didn’t seem to be able to look Kate in the eye.
Has she heard that I’m posing for Mr Munro? Kate wondered. And does she disapprove too?
‘I thought I’d make a pan of soup,’ Kate said. ‘So I wondered if you have any bacon bits?’
‘No problem.’ Alice hurried through to the back shop. Kate heard her bustling about and a moment later she was back with a plate of bacon bits that she emptied on to another square of greaseproof paper and wrapped up. She handed them to Kate. ‘I was going to hoy these out. There’s nowt wrong with them – just didn’t have any use for them.’
Kate didn’t believe her. She had the strongest impression that the bacon had come from Alice’s own pantry. Another puzzle. ‘How much is that?’ she asked.
‘Just pay me for the butter. As I said, I was going to throw the bacon out. Now, hev you got onions, carrots, lentils? You’ll need those if you’re going to make soup.’
‘I’ve got the vegetables, although they’re a bit wrinkly,’ Kate said. ‘That’s why I thought of soup – to use them up. But perhaps I need some more lentils. Half a pound would do.’
Alice put the blue paper bag on the scales and shovelled the lentils in. Once more, Kate thought she was over-generous, but when the shopkeeper put the bag on the counter and folded the top over she said, ‘There you are, half a pound.’
Kate decided that the generosity was deliberate and she felt uneasy saying, ‘One more thing. I need candles.’ But at least she could insist on paying for every single one of them.
Mrs Willis disappeared again into the storeroom. Kate could hear her rummaging amongst the jumble of stock and she wondered whether she ought to go through and help her. She stood, undecided and suddenly weary. She didn’t know how much longer she could support herself by selling fish from door to door. It wasn’t that she was incapable of the sheer hard work required, even though the winter months would be hard. It wasn’t even the fact that she was pregnant. She was young and fit and she knew of women older than herself who kept on working right up to the moment their bairns were born.
No, the problem was that she was losing customers and she simply wasn’t making enough money to pay the rent and keep herself properly. Howard had promised to pay her the same rate as the folk he called professional models, but he hadn’t parted with a penny yet. She was sure this wasn’t an oversight on his part. He probably thought it would be easiest to pay her when the portrait was finished and he could total up the hours she had worked. She had considered asking him for some kind of advance but, so far, had been too embarrassed.
She was jolted out of her miserable daydreaming by a cry of dismay and the sound of something falling. She was just about to lift the flap in the counter and go to investigate when Alice reappeared, looking dishevelled.
‘Here’s your candles, pet,’ she said. ‘The damn things are on a top shelf and that would be no problem to a fine tall lass like you, or even anyone of a normal height. But a dumpy little body like me needs the cracket and I couldn’t find it. Then I saw that Charlie had his feet up on it and he’s asleep and I didn’t want to disturb him.’
Kate was intrigued by this glimpse of chaos. She would have liked to ask the shopkeeper why the candles were kept on the top shelf when they were such an everyday object and Alice couldn’t reach them without standing on a stool, but she decided the arrangement had probably been made years ago when both Charlie and Alice’s daughter Susan worked in the shop and no one had ever thought to reorganize things.
‘So what did you do if you couldn’t use the stool?’ she asked.
‘I put me foot on the bottom shelf and pulled meself up,’ Alice said. ‘I reached for a bundle of candles and brought the lot down. Heaven help us if I’ve broken any – Charlie will go mad.’
She gave a thin smile and tried to make a joke of it. But Kate knew very well that, even if Mrs Willis told her husband what had happened, he would not ‘go mad’. The Willises’ marriage was one of the happiest Kate had ever come across. Charlie had been a miner until they had saved enough to open a little shop. Alice had wanted him out of that hellhole, as she called it, and was prepared to work night and day to make sure he never had to go back to it.
Kate paid for her purchases and turned to go. She wasn’t altogether surprised when Mrs Willis said, ‘Wait a moment, Kate.’
She turned to face her. She wasn’t sure what she expected but the shopkeeper’s attitude ever since she had entered the shop had given her the feeling that something was wrong.
‘Listen, lass, I’m not being personal, but is there any chance of you making things up with your da?’
‘None at all!’ The response came without thought. That was the last thing Kate had been expecting.
‘Are you sure? I mean, if you apologized and promised not to try his patience in future?’
‘He wouldn’t take me back.’ Kate couldn’t tell her that it was not a matter of an apology. ‘You . . . you know what my father is like.’
Alice sighed. ‘Aye, he’s unforgiving.’
‘So why do you ask?’
Alice Willis shifted her position uneasily. She began to fold and unfold a piece of greaseproof paper that was lying on the counter. Outside the sky was darkening and the oil lamp hanging on a chain above the counter didn’t shed enough light to reveal the expression in the shopkeeper’s eyes. Kate suddenly felt very weary. She was sickened by the combined odours of cheese and bacon mingling with the fatty smell of stew drifting though from the kitchen in the back shop.
Her shopping bag, with hardly anything in it, suddenly felt heavy and she was aware that she must concentrate very hard on keeping upright. There was a wooden chair at this side of the counter placed there for the convenience of the customers but she did not want to sit down. That was not in her nature. Whatever it was that Alice was going to say, Kate would face it standing upright.
‘The truth is, Kate, I need the cottage.’ Alice’s words tumbled out as if she hadn’t been able to bottle them up any longer.
Now Kate really did sway. She placed one hand on the counter to steady herself. ‘Is it a matter of more rent?’ she asked. She tried to calculate how much an increase was likely to be. She was already finding it difficult, what with losing customers on her fish round and trying to put something by for her journey when word came from Aunt Winifred.
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