For both of them it was as if they knew each other well although they had never been properly introduced. He stood in the middle of the bar floor with his navy-blue peaked cap in his hand and stared at her. She wasn’t exactly pretty. Her face was too distinctive, her eyes too slanting and her mouth too wide to fit the conventional ideal but she was very unusual, with brilliant green eyes above high, almost Mongolian cheekbones. Her brown hair was vigorous and gloriously abundant, curling in enchanting corkscrews on her forehead and around her temples. The shape of her was delightful too, compact but shapely with a high proud breast, broad shoulders and a tiny waist which he knew he could span with his hands.
He had thought about this girl often during the six months of hard work and danger, lying in his bunk with the pack ice grinding its cruel teeth against the wooden walls of the ship. The memory of the impetuous lassie on the dockside who had thrown her arms around him with such strange intensity had shut out awareness of danger. Now that he saw her again, the force that came from her touched an equal force in him. They did not know it but they were a heaven-made match. Deep wells of passion in both were only waiting to be tapped.
She twisted her hands in front of her apron and stared back at him, absorbing every aspect of this stranger she’d dreamed about. Yes, as she remembered, he was tall, straight and well made. Yes, his hair was dark as a raven, uncurling and flat on his head. During his absence at sea he had grown a luxuriant moustache which suited him very well. Yes, his eyes were dark-fringed and deep set and there was a yearning in them that matched the longing in her own. She cleared her throat and was the first to speak.
‘I never thanked you properly for saving my wee brother.’
He grinned at her. ‘Oh, yes you did. Don’t you remember?’
She flushed, the colour rising in her matt skin like the flush on an apple. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds until he spoke again, still twisting the seaman’s cap in his hands.
‘I’ve come to ask if you’d like to go to the theatre with me on Saturday night.’
She nodded. ‘I’d like that,’ she told him without any pretence at reluctance.
‘Maggy, Maggy, where’s my shoes? Maggy, Maggy, where’s Mrs Adam’s garnet necklace? Maggy, Maggy, did you press the Paisley shawl like I told you?’
Excitement ran through the house that Saturday evening like a bolt of lightning as Maggy bustled about in Lizzie’s wake, tweaking at her skirts, tucking up her hair and complaining, ‘What a to-do, what a cerry-on! You’d think you were going out with the Prince of Wales, no’ with a man aff a whaling ship.’
He appeared on time, just as the preparations finished, and Lizzie swept into the evening crowds, proudly holding his arm as they walked solemnly along the street to the Palace Theatre where the best music-hall acts performed. On the way they passed Johnny Davidson, hanging about in the roadway in front of the Steeple Church with his friends. He thought he had never seen her look so magnificent and when he saw how she smiled at the man at her side, he felt as if someone had aimed a cruel blow at his stomach.
The theatre was crowded with fashionably dressed people and Lizzie felt like a duchess when she discovered that Sam had reserved a box for them. Her heart was racing as she settled down in a plush-covered armchair and carefully spread out her silken skirts to their best advantage. From her eyrie she could see the glamorous interior of the appropriately named Palace spread out before her. The walls were painted scarlet and gold; the circle was held up by lines of huge carved figures of goddesses, wrapped in clinging gowns. Cherubs blowing trumpets decorated the ceiling and batteries of hissing gas lights lent glamour to the auditorium. The stage was closed off by a heavy red velvet curtain fringed with golden braid and in the pit she could see the orchestra in evening suits tuning up their instruments. She had only been to a theatre once before and her face glowed like a child’s with anticipation as she looked at Sam and whispered, ‘Isn’t it exciting?’
He grinned back, pleased by her reaction. ‘I love the theatre. When I’m on shore I come every week. There’s a grand bill tonight. You’ll enjoy it.’
She did. She thrilled to the acrobats, expressed amazement at the cleverness of the jugglers, laughed at the saucy comedian who was all dressed up in a kilt and tarn o’shanter. When a singer in a beautiful gown poured out a love song, she and Sam were deeply moved and became acutely aware of each other’s physical presence. First they exchanged surreptitious looks in the darkness of the theatre and then their hands found each other’s. Lizzie’s were soft in her lacy gloves, Sam’s were big, capable and calloused with clean, square-cut nails.
For Lizzie the autumn days were a voyage of discovery, about herself as well as about Sam. It was not a gradual falling in love but a headlong plunge. From the first night they went to the theatre, she knew she loved him and hoped he loved her back.
Every moment she could snatch away from the Castle Bar they spent together and when she was working, Sam sat in a seat at the corner of the saloon, reading the newspapers and waiting for her. Her father, on his flying visits to the bar, noticed the attachment between them and made a point of sitting down beside the dark-haired sailor and engaging him in conversation.
‘That’s a fine chap,’ he said approvingly to Lizzie after several conversations with Sam. ‘He’s a fellow that’ll go some place in the world.’
She beamed. ‘I think so too. He wants to have his own ship one day.’
Her father looked fondly at her. She was glowing with love and her exhilaration touched his heart, for it made her look so like her mother in the days when they were courting.
‘Do you fancy sailing the seven seas, Lizzie?’ he asked jocularly.
Her expression became solemn. A haunted look flashed across her eyes. Her father thought that he’d offended her by presuming a marriage between her and the sailor but that was not what worried her. She was irrevocably bound to Sam in her heart but if she married him, she’d be in thrall to the dreaded sea as well and her soul cringed at the thought that she and the man she loved would be in its power.
When she took Sam to meet Mr Adams in Tay Lodge she was thrilled by how well her suitor fitted in with the elegant surroundings. He looked even taller and more patrician in the drawing room while she made the introduction and her heart leaped when she saw approval in the old man’s eyes. It mattered to her very much that Mr Adams approved of Sam.
George too shared her high opinion of the sailor and they laughed and joked easily with each other from the time of their first meeting. Beside the sailor her brother looked thin and frail and she talked to Sam of her fears about her brother’s health.
Sam had a wonderful power of making her less anxious. ‘Those skinny fellows are sometimes the strongest of all. I’ve seen chaps that look a lot less healthy than your brother standing up to terrible weather and hard work far longer than red-faced, sturdy fellows,’ he told her.
They had so much to discover about each other, the days were not long enough and words could not fully express all they wanted to say. Sam liked to walk and in the afternoons he asked Lizzie to walk with him but he could not understand why she always avoided going along the Esplanade.
‘There’s such a fine view of the river from there,’ he said.
She decided to share her most secret fear with him. ‘My mother was killed when the Tay Bridge went down. Ever since then I’ve been terrified by the river. I think it’s waiting for us – for me and my family. It’s as if it’s put a curse on us. For a long time I couldn’t even look at the broken bridge.’
He did not scoff but led her off towards a bench at the road side and sat down holding her hand.
‘I knew there was something like that. Your father told me about your mother, but you mustn’t brood about it now. Walk along the riverside with me. I’ll take your arm. I’ll look after you, Lizzie. I want to look after you for the rest of our lives.’
They walked along the Esplanade and they talked. She told him about the day of her mother’s death and of her desperate longing to protect her brother and father, her anxiety in case something terrible happened to them as well, her jealousy when her father married Jessie. He listened and said ‘I understand’ every now and again. Then, feeling guilty at talking about herself all the time, she asked him about his family.
He led her towards the river parapet and pointed across to where a de-masted man o’ war floated in the middle of the river. It was painted black and white and from the distance it looked like a floating beetle.
‘I grew up on that,’ he told her in a strange, tense voice.
She stared at him in amazement. ‘You grew up on the Mars?’
He nodded, his face solemn, and they both turned to stare out at the Mars, a wooden warship from the time of Nelson where bad boys were sent to be schooled under a discipline of terrible severity, where whippings were common and punishments draconian. The name of the ship was used by parents in Dundee to threaten disobedient sons. ‘I’ll send you to the Mars’ was enough to make any little ruffian think twice about breaking the rules.
Lizzie’s horrified gaze was fixed on the sinister hulk. There was no sign of life aboard but she knew that about a hundred boys were housed within it in conditions that she could not imagine. He was waiting for her reaction and her voice rang out, full of love and sympathy.
‘How terrible for you. Why were you sent there?’
No matter what he was going to tell her, it would not change the way she felt about him.
He looked into her eyes. ‘I was afraid you’d run away if you heard about the Mars, but I had to tell you. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. Not all the boys on the Mars are bad, Lizzie. My brother and I didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘You have a brother? Have you any other family?’ Her voice was soft.
Sam’s eyes were cold as stones. ‘My brother Arthur’s two years older than me. We were born in Aberdeen but our parents weren’t happy. When I was five our father left – later he sent us to the Mars.’
Lizzie’s face expressed outrage and astonishment. ‘He sent you to that awful place! He can’t have any heart.’
She remembered hearing that a few unfortunate boys were sent to the training ship because they were poor and destitute or as a preparation for a naval career by families who believed in subjecting sons to rigorous discipline.
Sam’s face was set in hard lines as he continued with his story. ‘He didn’t want us. He had another family somewhere. Sometimes he sent a little money, but not much. Our mother went mad about a year after he left and her family kept us, but they were grudging. They told our father he should take us but instead he sent us to the Mars.’
Lizzie’s heart overflowed with pity as she reached out and put a hand on his cheek, whispering, ‘Oh, Sam, it must have been terrible for you.’
Although she and George had known sorrow as children and lost their mother when they were small, they had been taken care of by a loving father and experienced none of the sufferings that Sam and his brother had endured. Her heart was filled with pity for him.
‘Where’s Arthur now?’ she asked.
He leaned towards her as if he wanted to hug her close. ‘He’s a policeman in Glasgow and doing well. He’s coming to Dundee to see me next week. I want you to meet him. Our mother’s in the madhouse in Aberdeen. I go to see her sometimes but she doesn’t know me. I’d take you if you’d come. God knows what happened to our father. We never saw him again after he sent us away.’
The sharing of this story brought them even closer together and Lizzie was full of such love for Sam that she wanted never to be parted from him. As they walked back slowly to the Castle Bar, he suddenly stopped before the window of a smart shop in Exchange Street and pointed out a grey silk frilled parasol with a chased silver handle.
‘I’d like to buy you that. It would suit you – you’re so elegant and ladylike,’ he said.
They went into the shop and made their purchase but Lizzie would not leave until he allowed her to give him a gift in return. In her purse she had a week’s wages from the bar and she spent it all on a long white silk scarf of exquisite fineness that looked well against his tanned skin.
As she looped it round his neck, he stroked the silk and told her, ‘I’ll wear this every time we go to the theatre. We’ll be a fine pair.’
For the first time since early childhood, Lizzie was truly happy. She and Sam were together every day and their happiness was so obvious that even Jessie was affected by it and gave Lizzie time off without too much complaint.
Sam was anxious on the day that Arthur was due to arrive from Glasgow. When he alighted from the train, Lizzie who was waiting with Sam on the platform recognized the family resemblance and liked him immediately. He was as dark as his brother, but not as forthcoming or humorous, for Arthur was a solemn fellow, perhaps because he was the oldest and also because of the job he had chosen to do.
The two brothers sat talking together in the Castle Bar with Lizzie listening, drinking in information about their different worlds.
Arthur talked about police procedure; about patrolling the streets of Glasgow in company with his partner; about fights on Saturday nights in the Gorbals when razors flashed and murders were often committed.
Sam talked of the ferocious hunt after the monsters of the deep, using words like ‘crang’ which she learned meant the carcase of a whale; ‘flenching’ which described the terrible process of cutting blubber from the whale’s body; or ‘milldolling’ which was the lowering of a boat from the bowsprit of a whaling ship to break the pack ice in front of it. As she listened to him, she saw a faraway look come into his eyes. It was clear that he loved his dangerous life in the wastes of ice and respected his adversaries the whales that blew up spumes of spray on distant horizons which his eyes searched in memory. It would be pointless for her even to consider trying to persuade him to give up the sea.
At Christmas he asked her if she would go to Aberdeen with him to visit his mother. Unfortunately, a few days before they were due to leave, Jessie fell ill again and Lizzie had to stay at home. When Sam returned he was looking very sad.
‘How was your mother?’ she asked him.
He shook his head. ‘She was raving. She didn’t know me. All she did was scream and try to attack me. They tied her up and took her away. The doctor said it’s best if I don’t go back. They think I remind her of my father.’
Now more than ever Lizzie felt that she must look after Sam. He had no one else to care for him.
Her preoccupation with him made her unaware of the rapidity of the deterioration in Jessie’s health. The invalid was looked after by Maggy and it was not an easy task.
‘Eh’m giving my notice.’ Maggy, bristling like a little terrier with her hair falling into her eyes, shocked Lizzie out of her dream of love one February morning. When she saw the distress of the little maid, Lizzie felt a pang of remorse. For months she had neglected Maggy, had paid her little heed except as a provider of work. Now she was sorry and she asked gently:
‘What do you mean?’
‘Eh’m giving my notice. Rosie can get me into the mill. I’m fed up with being ordered about here. That one up there isn’t for standing another day.’
‘Oh Maggy, you can’t leave us. You can’t go away. What would we do without you?’
‘You’ll be getting married soon to that big sailor. He’s a grand fellow and he’ll look after you. Georgie’s not going to be at home for ever either. Your dad’ll have to stay at home and look after her.’ Maggy gestured with an angry fist.
Maggy had a point. They all left the querulous Jessie to the maid. But living without Maggy was unthinkable. Lizzie was determined there was to be no fleeing into the mills for her.
‘Oh, don’t go, Maggy. Not when I need you most of all. I’ll speak to my father. We’ll get extra help. You won’t be burdened so much, I promise you.’
Maggy was easily won round. She had not really wanted to leave the family that was as dear to her as her own, but she would not give in lightly and only muttered, ‘All right, I’ll gie it a try – but if things don’t get better I’m off, mind.’
The crisis with Maggy made the family turn their attention to Jessie. It was obvious she was really ill this time and they decided to seek medical advice. The next day Lizzie and her father sat at the patient’s bedside as Dr McLaren questioned her about her symptoms.
‘Where’s the pain? When is it worse? Does it hurt when you breathe?’
The woman on the bed had shrivelled away to a shadow. Her skin was the colour of clay; her eyes were dull and her hands plucked nervously at the hem of her bed sheet as she answered the doctor’s questions. When the examination was finished, McLaren left the room with a nod to David to follow him.
‘It’s not good, I’m afraid. You’ll have to prepare yourself for losing her.’
David was shattered. He had not expected this and felt a rush of guilt for the off-handed way he had treated Jessie over their years together.
‘How long – how long has she got?’ he stammered.
‘Perhaps six months, perhaps less, but certainly not more,’ said the doctor.
If Jessie had not been so sunk in lethargy she would have been suspicious of the change in the family’s attitude towards her. David sat by her bed every afternoon, and during business hours he never left the bar. Lizzie divided her time between the bar and the invalid, dancing attendance on the sickbed and curbing her tongue when Jessie made caustic comments about her fancy clothes or her love-struck look. George and the little boys were tactful when they looked in. Even Maggy seemed subdued and took more care when she worked around the house.
As she grew weaker, it was decided to alert Jessie’s only sister, a widow who lived near Abroath, to the fact that she was dying. The sister descended on them at the beginning of March and though she was even more fault-finding than Jessie, she was welcomed, especially by Lizzie, for her arrival meant that there was more time to spend with Sam. The date for the whalers’ departure, 14 April, was near, and every hour was precious.
The understanding that they were to be married had grown between them without actually being voiced, but one afternoon as they sat in the Ladhope Park, he formally proposed to her. She looked at him with love as she replied, ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’
‘Then let’s do it before I leave for the Arctic.’
There was nothing in the world she wanted more but Jessie’s end was near and her father was distraught, too upset to consider a marriage in the family.
‘It wouldn’t be right to be married when my stepmother’s so sick,’ she said.
Sam’s eyes took on their distant look, as if gazing over miles of snow-covered ice floes. ‘It’s a dangerous world in the Arctic, Lizzie. There’s no telling what could happen to the Pegasus. I know it’s selfish but I want to marry you so much. I don’t care if we only have a small ceremony with no fuss. Let’s make the most of the time we’ve got. We must be married.’
All her old terrors came rushing back. She clung desperately to him to keep him safe within her arms. Even if they were only man and wife for a few days, she knew they had to be married.