Now that she and Patrick had made love, Maddy felt closer to him than ever. She considered it to be a bond between them, a trust, proving that they belonged completely to one another. Not even the risk of pregnancy caused her any misgivings. When her monthly courses appeared exactly on time it was only then she experienced regret, for she would have loved to have borne Patrick’s child. It was not to be, however, and gradually for Maddy, as for the rest of the family, the winter days began to acquire a regular pattern.
It was not the pattern they were accustomed to, that was gone for ever. But it was a systematic routine that they grew to appreciate. As they tried to become used to their changed lives, Jack was adamant about one thing.
‘Us’ve all been up to squire and said our thanks, as were right and proper,’ he said. ‘But us still be beholden to Cal Whitcomb for Davie’s coffin and that do stick in my craw, for all it couldn’t be helped. I be danged if us be going to be in debt to him for one minute longer than necessary.’
In the last confused hours before leaving Exeter Maddy had sought out the undertaker who had supplied the coffin and found out how much it had cost. Once home again, it was no easy matter putting aside the money. Jack had forsworn his scrumpy without being prompted, though in truth he had scarcely touched a drop since the execution. He would glare at Lew and Charlie if they even mentioned a visit to the Church House, so that they invariably announced that they had gone off the idea and stayed at home.
It was a hard struggle saving the money, especially in winter, when extra ways of earning a few pence were scarce. They saved hard, and Maddy took one of their few family treasures, a brass telescope, into Paignton to sell. Although she got a good price for it, the amount fell short of what was needed. Then good luck, in the form of winter ague, swept through the village, giving Maddy plenty of temporary employment standing in for folk who had been struck down.
‘That be it!’ announced Jack in triumph one evening when the contents of the Delft jug had been counted. ‘Us can pay Whitcomb, and I don’t mind telling you it be a load off my shoulders. Us’ll pay un tomorrow first thing.’
‘How?’ asked Lew.
‘What do you mean, how?’ demanded his father.
‘How’m you going to get the money to un? Be you going to knock on his door and say “Yer tiz” or what?’
‘You idn’t expecting me to go up Oakwood?’ Jack was appalled at the idea. ‘I idn’t setting foot on that land, I tells you straight.’
‘Then you’m going to have to traipse up and down the lane until you finds un then, aren’t you?’ pointed out Lew.
‘No I idn’t.’ Jack was firm. ‘Because one of you be going to pay him the money.’
‘Don’t be looking at me!’ Lew backed away. ‘I idn’t being the first Shillabeer to soil his boots on Whitcomb mud.’
‘Nor me,’ declared Charlie.
‘What do you think will happen to you if you call at Oakwood?’ asked Maddy. ‘That the ghost of Grandfather Shillabeer will strike you down?’
‘Course not,’ replied Jack uncomfortably. ‘But no Shillabeer—’
‘Never mind, I’ll take the money in the morning, and if pigs start flying and cows climb trees you’ll know who to blame,’ she said.
‘If aught of that nature be likely to happen then I be staying indoors.’ Lew’s grin held an element of relief. ‘Seagulls overhead be bad enough, but pigs and cows…’
‘Gurt fool!’ chuckled Maddy, pelting him with a sock that was drying on the line over the hearth. He responded, Charlie and Jack joined in, and in the ensuing battle she observed that this was the first friendly horseplay they had indulged in for a long time. Little by little the wounds were healing.
Early next morning Maddy walked over to Oakwood Farm and, seizing the highly-polished brass knocker, she rapped boldly on the front door. No lightning struck! The River Dart remained flowing in its natural course at the enormity of this event. The only happening was footsteps that sounded within. The door was opened by a gaunt-faced maidservant whose mouth dropped open with amazement at the sight of Maddy.
‘I would like to see Mr Whitcomb,’ said Maddy. Then, when she got no response she repeated, more loudly, ‘Mr Whitcomb? Is he in?’
‘I’d best fetch the missus,’ said the maidservant uneasily, and scurried back into the depths of the farmhouse.
From within, Maddy heard Mrs Whitcomb’s voice raised in irritation.
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Ellen? What would one of the Shillabeers be doing here? I suppose I’d better go and see who it really is.’
Slippered feet scuffed along stone flags, and the short, stout figure of Mrs Whitcomb emerged through an inner door. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Maddy. ‘Lord preserve us!’ she declared. ‘One of the Shillabeers, as bold as brass!’ Pulling herself up to her full stature, she advanced towards the front door, stays creaking, the white curls fringing her widow’s cap bobbing. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded.
Maddy regarded the indignant woman. ‘I wish to see Mr Whitcomb, if you please,’ she said politely.
‘I don’t please, and nor does he!’ was the response.
‘I really must see him, it will only take a few minutes,’ Maddy insisted.
‘Oh, you must, must you? What about?’
Something warned Maddy to guard her tongue. Mrs Whitcomb did not seem to know that they owed money to her son. Maddy began to doubt that Mrs Whitcomb knew how much her son had become involved with the Shillabeer family lately; she decided to be careful what she said. Mary Whitcomb had a reputation for having a sharp tongue, and the last thing Maddy wanted was to cause Cal trouble.
‘I need to see Mr Whitcomb on business,’ she said.
‘I know all my son’s business, but I know naught of this,’ declared Mrs Whitcomb, standing firm.
Maddy was growing tired of the older woman’s attitude. ‘Mrs Whitcomb,’ she retorted, ‘your son is expecting me to call. There is a small matter between us that needs attending to. If he is not at home then kindly say so, and I will return at some other time.’
Mrs Whitcomb seemed taken aback at this brisk approach. ‘He’s not here,’ she said, in a less belligerent tone. ‘He’ll be back in for his breakfast presently. You’d best come in.’ Then, in case Maddy thought this was too great a concession, she added, ‘I’m not having Shillabeers tramping up to my door all hours of the day and night. Once is once too often.’
She led the way into a low-ceilinged, well-furnished room. The smell of polish overlaid an atmosphere of chilly formality common to best parlours, unused except for special occasions. Maddy wondered why she was being afforded such an honour. She soon found out.
‘You may as well sit,’ said Mrs Whitcomb, indicating an upholstered chair beside the unlit hearth.
From her seat Maddy had an uninterrupted view of two glass-fronted cabinets against the opposite wall. They were packed with silver, delicate porcelain, and gleaming crystal. Maddy, as a representative of the Shillabeer family, was being shown what fine possessions filled the Whitcomb home, treasures far beyond the reach of a bunch of hobbeldehoy fishermen. Because she knew she was expected to comment on the display, she held her tongue, causing Mrs Whitcomb to speak up for herself.
‘My son had those cabinets made specially for me,’ she announced with pride.
‘Did he indeed?’ said Maddy.
‘And everything in them he bought for me,’ Mrs Whitcomb went on.
Maddy was determined not to appear impressed, even though she longed to get close enough to examine the beautiful things. She remarked, ‘You are fortunate in your son. He is certainly generous.’
‘Is?’ snapped Mrs Whitcomb in irritation. ‘Is? It wasn’t Calland who gave me these. It was my other son, my Christopher, who was taken from me by the cholera.’
If there was any doubt about the difference in Mary Whitcomb’s attitude towards her two sons, it was swept away by the disparity in her voice. Maddy was extremely thankful she had not betrayed the full reason for her visit. Cal’s mother clearly already held him in little enough esteem. A door banged at the rear of the house and firm footsteps echoed along the passage.
Mrs Whitcomb winced. ‘Can’t he do anything quietly?’ In a louder voice she called, ‘Calland, you’ve a visitor.’
Cal Whitcomb entered the front parlour, his face glowing with the chill of the morning. ‘Mad— Miss Shillabeer!’ he greeted her with surprise. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Good morning, Mr Whitcomb,’ replied Maddy, hoping his mother had not noticed his slip of the tongue. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is a matter I must settle with you. A private matter,’ she added with emphasis.
‘Ah yes,’ said Cal, ignoring his mother’s expression of blatant curiosity. ‘And you aren’t disturbing me, I assure you. But why on earth are we in the front parlour? It’s as cold as the tomb in here. Let’s go where it’s warmer. Can we offer you a cup of tea?’ He moved towards the door, to hold it open.
‘Thank you, but no.’ Maddy could see that Mrs Whitcomb was about to explode with indignation at this offer of hospitality. ‘My business will only take a minute, then I must be on my way.’
‘If you are sure? Then to business. A private matter I think you said.’ He looked pointedly at his mother, who withdrew with a sniff of protest. Closing the door after her he listened, his head on one side, until the shuffling of her slippered feet faded, then he turned to Maddy and smiled. ‘I can guess the reason for your visit,’ he said. ‘There is no need, you know.’
‘Yes there is,’ said Maddy. ‘We are in your debt, and the Shillabeers always pays what they owe.’
‘Particularly when it is to a Whitcomb, eh? You see how well I am coming to understand your family!’
‘Then you should know we would insist upon repaying you.’
‘This tit for tat repaying is getting out of hand. We really must stop returning the honours in such a way or we’ll never cease.’
‘This time it is rather more serious,’ said Maddy quietly. ‘We have more than one reason to be grateful to you. You made sure our Davie had a proper burial, and if we were to thank you from now until Doomsday for that alone it would never be enough. But we can pay you back for the coffin. It was exactly what we’d have chosen… if we’d had the time…’ Her voice broke. Unable to go on, she emptied her purse into a china bowl on the table. ‘It’s all there,’ she said, pulling herself together. ‘Count it.’
Cal shook his head. There’s no need,’ he said quietly, not even looking at the bowl full of sovereigns and silver coins. ‘How are you faring these days? I hear your eldest brother has gone off to sea. Things must be very different for you now.’ There was such compassion in his voice that Maddy felt a lump rise in her throat.
‘We’re managing,’ she replied with difficulty. She had a sudden desire to confess to him the true reason for Bart’s departure. The crazy impulse only lasted a moment. Firmly she quelled it, and pulling her cape about her she said, ‘Now that our business is done I will interrupt your morning no longer. I am sure we both have a great deal to do.’
‘Then I must thank you for coming. Will you please offer my thanks to your father and brothers for their promptness. I never regarded it as a loan, but if they feel more comfortable this way, then so be it.’
‘They do,’ Maddy assured him. ‘And so do I.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Whitcomb, and goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Miss Shillabeer.’ He shook her hand, then gave a sudden grin. ‘In our forgetful moments we are much less formal with each other, aren’t we?’ he said.
‘But this isn’t a forgetful moment, is it?’ she replied, looking pointedly at the door through which Mrs Whitcomb had departed. ‘Nor, I fancy, is this the best time or place to be informal.’
‘Very true.’ He was still smiling as he escorted her to the door.
Maddy entered the lane somewhat bemused by the events of the morning. Although she had been nonchalant in front of her father and brothers about coming to Oakwood, in truth she had been apprehensive. Now it was over she felt relieved. She had braved Mary Whitcomb in her home, and repaid Cal the money they owed him. But, strangely, it had never once occurred to her that she was in her ancestral home, the house which rightfully should belong to her family. As she was pondering on this unexpected omission her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
‘He paid for your brother’s coffin, then?’
Maddy jumped. ‘Who…?’ she gasped, then she saw Ellen, the Whitcomb’s elderly maid, leaning over the side gate to the farm. Rugs were hung on the washing line, and she had a cane carpet beater in her hand, but there were precious few other signs of activity.
‘How did you know?’ Maddy demanded.
‘Listened at the window,’ said Ellen, quite unconcerned. ‘Gawd, her’d go fair mazed if her ever found out.’ She inclined her head towards the house. There was no mistaking who she meant. ‘You and him speak really easy together. That idn’t the first time you two’m had a chinwag, not by a long chalk.’
‘What if it isn’t?’ Maddy raised her head haughtily and glared at the maidservant.
Ellen merely gave a toothless grin. ‘Don’t worry, I idn’t going to say naught. I idn’t one to get poor Mr Cal’s ears chawed off. If that idn’t typical of him. Don’t make no fuss, yet he’d do a good turn for anyone. Even a Shillabeer.’ Then, shaking her head in wonderment at such generosity, she raised the carpet beater with sinewy arms and began thrashing the rugs.
Maddy went on her way conscious that Cal had at least one ally in his home.
She was nearly at the turning to Duncannon Lane when she saw the unwelcome figure of Victoria Fitzherbert coming towards her on horseback. Of late Maddy had ceased to be wary of her approach, she had had other, more serious things to worry about. She saw Victoria rein in her horse and deliberately manoeuvre it across the narrow lane. Maddy refused to be intimidated. She held her ground.
Victoria’s smile, from her higher position in the saddle, had a strangely triumphant air about it.
‘You are the Shillabeer creature, I believe,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I recognise the plain face and the shabby clothes.’
‘You know perfectly well who I am,’ replied Maddy, tensing herself for whatever was to come. ‘There is no need to play games with me.’
‘I should think not!’ Victoria pretended to be shocked at the idea. ‘I would not even consider associating with you. I am only speaking to you now in order to relieve my curiosity.’
Maddy had no intention of asking the cause of Victoria’s curiosity.
‘Don’t you want to know why I am curious?’ Victoria demanded.
‘No, though I dare say you’ll tell me anyway.’
‘I want to know how you have the nerve to walk abroad in daylight. Most folks would be too bowed down with shame to leave the house if they had had a brother hanged for murder.’
Maddy refused to flinch. ‘I have every right to walk abroad, in daylight or the middle of the night if I choose,’ she said.
‘But to have a brother hanged,’ persisted Victoria. ‘Did you see him dangling from the end of the rope? Oh no, such things are carried out behind closed doors now, I believe. I understand the face goes purple first then quite black, and the tongue protrudes most fearfully.’
Maddy was forced to grit her teeth to control herself. ‘You have an over-lurid imagination,’ she ground out. ‘I’m surprised your mother doesn’t dose you with something to cool the blood. The juice of watercress is very effective, I’m told.’
Victoria gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I’ve no need of your filthy remedies,’ she said. ‘I was merely telling you what actually happens.’ Then she said in an arch voice, ‘I suppose you want to get by.’
‘I presume it amuses you, getting in other people’s way,’ Maddy retorted. ‘It’s surprising what trifling things entertain some folk.’
‘Oh, I have no difficulty in entertaining myself,’ replied Victoria. ‘And not in any trifling way, either. I have discovered that this place is much more amusing than I had realised. Much, much more amusing.’ And she laughed aloud, as if at a private joke. But she moved her horse to let Maddy pass.
Maddy seized the opportunity, walking past with all the dignity she could muster. Victoria’s attitude puzzled her. Apart from taunting her about Davie, there had been something more in her manner. Gloating… Yes, that was it. Victoria had been gloating over something. But what? Maddy could not understand such strange behaviour and before long she ceased to try. Let Victoria Fitzherbert do what she liked. She was just a silly, spoiled creature, not worth thinking about.
The winter seemed interminable. After weeks of unseasonable mildness the weather deteriorated with a vengeance. Torrential rain fell and bitter winds swept down the valley. Jack and Charlie returned from the quarry each day soaked, cold, and tired. As for Lew, there was never any knowing when he would come in from wherrying; the only certainty was that he would be totally exhausted after grappling with the gales and the fierce tides. Closer to home, the river lapped over the garden wall more than once, and life for Maddy became a constant round of heaving sandbags to keep the water from the house and mopping up and drying out when her preventative measures failed.
‘It takes so long to get rid of the smell, that’s what I hate,’ she declared, sniffing irritably at the dank stench of saltwater that continued to hang about the kitchen after the most recent inundation. ‘I lifted the rug and moved as much furniture as I could before the water came in, but it’s made no difference. This place still stinks and there’s no getting rid of the damp.’
‘There, that might make a difference.’ Lew, who had just arrived home, slung a couple of extra logs on the fire. ‘As for the smell, all I notices be that meat pudding on the hob. I be ready for un, I can tell you.’ He slumped wearily by the fire.
‘You look tired,’ said Maddy.
‘Is it any wonder? Three hours or more it must have taken us to tack down Long Reach, with the wind and tide against us. There idn’t a muscle in my body as don’t ache.’
’This won’t last much longer,’ said his father confidently. ‘Spring’ll be on us afore us knows it.’
Jack’s words echoed the thoughts that had been in Maddy’s head for some time. She waited until they had eaten and were taking their ease by the fire before she fetched her little black accounts book from the dresser drawer.
‘What’m you doing, getting that thing out for?’ protested Jack mildly as she put it on the table.
‘Because it’s necessary,’ replied Maddy, pressing the stiff pages open. ‘You said yourself that spring’s on its way. We’ve a few things to see to before that. There’s the net licence for a start.’
‘All right,’ said Jack resignedly. ‘As soon as the sailing’s a bit easier us’ll go to Totnes and see about un.’
‘Good.’ In pencil Maddy wrote down the licence fee. ‘How about the nets? Do you think they’ll do?’
‘I don’t know why you’m asking, maid. Habn’t you checked yourself?’
‘I did have a look at them,’ admitted Maddy. ‘They need some repairing but I think we’ll get through the season with them. I’d like your opinion though. You’re the expert.’
Jack gave a derisive snort. ‘So you tries to tell me.’ Then he gave a grin. ‘As it happens I did give them a going over the other day, and I agrees. Put down tar on that list of youm and a couple of balls of twine to begin. Then there’ll be caulking for the boat – I reckon us’ll have paint enough put by. There, what’s that come to? Can us afford to start the season?’
It was a question he asked every year. Maddy did her brief calculations and checked them with the money they had in hand.
‘We should manage,’ she said.
‘They salmon, they’m had their sea-year and they’m coming home to spawn,’ said Jack confidently. ‘I reckon they’m going to be early this season.’
How he could know about the movements of the salmon out in the Atlantic they did not know, but no one questioned his pronouncement. They had grown accustomed to relying upon his instincts bom of a lifetime on the river and having the blood of countless generations of salmon fishermen in his veins. He was seldom wrong.
‘It won’t be easy this year, with one thing and smother,’ said Maddy. ‘We’ll do it, though, with a bit of luck.’ Deliberately she closed the accounts book and looked at the others. Now came the part she was not relishing.
‘You know what I’m going to say,’ she said. ‘We’re two men short for the net. Who are we going to get to…?’ She tried to say ‘… replace Davie and Bart’ but the words stuck in her throat.
A brief silence followed, charged with emotion. The Shillabeers had always fished together. It had been a matter of pride to them. Maddy looked questioningly at Jack, but unexpectedly it was Charlie who spoke.
‘Best look for a third man while you’m about un,’ he said, staring steadfastly at the scrubbed surface of the table. ‘I got a place on one of they boats carrying stone from the quarry. Thought I’d take a look at Lunnon, like. It be only for a couple of trips,’ he added defensively when no one spoke.
But it would be for more than a couple of trips; Charlie was the one with wanderlust, inherited no doubt from Greatgrandfather Shillabeer. Now Maddy thought about it, she wondered that he had stayed at home so long.
Jack’s mind must have been working on similar lines, for he expressed no surprise. He said, ‘I suppose ’tis only natural to want to see a bit of the world at your age.’
‘When do you go?’ asked Maddy.
‘Monday. On the morning tide.’
So soon! Another one of her brothers going! Maddy’s heart ached at the thought.
‘We’ll miss you,’ she said.
‘Us won’t have time to miss un,’ broke in Lew. ‘They quarry boats be to and fro all the time. He’ll be back in no time, bawling for his dinner as usual, won’t you, boy?’
Maddy shot a grateful look at Lew. ‘Trust him to find some cheerful comment.’
‘When did you fix this up?’ she asked Charlie.
‘Some time back.’ He seemed reluctant to discuss his new life, but that was typical of Charlie. Quiet and taciturn, he always kept his thoughts to himself.
‘We’ll have to make sure you’ve got everything you’ll need,’ Maddy said, being practical. ‘Thank goodness I’ve almost finished that new pair of stockings.’ She paused. ‘In the meantime, perhaps we should get back to the question of who we are going to get to make up our crew. We daren’t leave it any longer or the best men will have found places.’
‘George Davis, he’m a cousin of your mother and a good enough man, if us can get him,’ suggested Jack. ‘And he’m got a boy coming up to the right age too. They be family, more or less.’
‘Who for the third?’ asked Lew. ‘How about that Lennie, as were a friend of Davie’s?’
‘Not that useless article!’ Jack objected. ‘Us’d never know if he were coming till he got yer.’
For a good hour names were put forward only to be rejected. Finally they decided on a nephew of William’s.
‘Always supposing they’ll come with us,’ said Jack gloomily. ‘If not, I suppose us’ll have to take who us can get.’
The days before Charlie left home were filled with hectic activity. Fortunately the men approached to complete the crew were agreeable. Then there was the trip to Totnes for the net licence.
‘You don’t need me to come with you,’ protested Maddy. ‘I’ve got Charlie’s things to iron.’
‘I do need you,’ insisted her father. ‘You’m better at the reading than me. ’Sides, I don’t know why you’m being so particular about Charlie’s things for. No one on the quarry boat’ll care if his drawers be crumpled or no.’
‘I suppose not,’ Maddy smiled. She knew that, as ever, her father needed reassurance over anything official.
‘And afore that boy goes traipsing off to Lunnon us’d best get the nets tarred. ’Tis a heck of a job at the best of times, without being one pair of hands short. Thank goodness we’m in for a dry spell.’
Before the tarring could commence, the nets had to be repaired. They were spread out along the foreshore, above the tide-line, the better to see the tears and the frayed patches. As Jack had said, they were in for a dry spell, and to make the most of it all three men worked on the repairs when they could. With the twine they painstakingly refashioned areas of net which were worn or tom. Jack was meticulous over his salmon nets. It was not unusual for him to insist upon repairs being done again if they did not meet his exacting standards.
‘That idn’t going to hold no weight of salmon,’ he would declare angrily. ‘There idn’t no point in catching fish only to see them burst free ’cos you can’t braid up a bit of net proper.’
When Jack was completely satisfied, the tar boiler in the old thatched shippen was lit. And he took full charge as the sharp familiar smell filled the air. Boiling tar was a dangerous occupation, and anyone fooling about in the proximity of the boiler got a hefty clout, no matter who it was.
Once each long hempen net was soaked with tar, it was a tricky job to hang it from the drying frames on the foreshore. Heavy and sticky-wet, it all too easily became entangled and covered everyone within range with melted tar. Every spare pair of hands was needed to carry the nets. Even Maddy, well swathed in sacking, joined in, helping to hook up the nets using poles, so that they hung up to dry like swathes of coarse black lace. A hard task, but a necessary one, for it was the tar that preserved the hempen twine. When dry, the nets were stored in the room above the boat store, filling the cottage with the clean pungent scent that to Maddy meant the approach of the salmon season.
‘Just in time,’ said Jack, as a drift of rain swept across the river. ‘There’s the boat to see to now, but I can manage un in the boat store.’
Charlie left on the Monday morning’s tide. Jack and Lew were already at work, but Maddy stood on the garden wall and waved as he sailed by.
How quiet the house was without him, which was strange, because Charlie had never had much to say for himself. Jack, too, became more silent, spending his spare time in the boat store working on their small craft, making it watertight for the coming season. Usually the approach of March brought with it a sense of excitement as everyone awaited the opening of the season, but not this year. Maddy knew that, without three of his sons and with a new and untried crew, for once Jack was not looking forward to snaring the great silver fish.
Nevertheless, promptly on the morning of the fifteenth of March, the first day of the season, he was up betimes, the net stowed in the stern of the boat, his attention divided impatiently between the lane at the back of the cottage and the river at the front.
‘Where’m they to?’ he demanded irritably. ‘Dang it, they’m late.’
‘Who’m you on about? George Davis and the rest or the fish?’ asked Lew. ‘For if ’tis the salmon, I reckon they’m here bright and early. I saw one jump not ten minutes since.’
‘’Tis the crew as is late,’ retorted Jack, his irritation growing. ‘A grand start this be.’
‘Don’t be so impatient,’ said Maddy. ‘The river’s dropping fast but it’s got a way to go before you can set the net. George and the others’ll be here presently, you’ll see.’
She was right. Soon afterwards two men and a boy came down the lane. They called a greeting to her and went on down to the foreshore where Jack and Lew were already standing by with the boat. Within minutes Lew had tethered one end of the net to a stout beech trunk, and the men had pushed the boat, with Jack at the oars, further into the water. The new season had begun.
From time to time during the next few hours Maddy paused in her chores to watch as they made their systematic way downriver, though from her position in the garden it was difficult to judge how things were going. Once Lew looked towards her and gave a ‘thumbs up’ sign, but even at that distance she thought the gesture showed a lack of enthusiasm. Her heart went out to her father. The first time out together was bound to be difficult for any crew, but Jack would be finding this trip extremely painful. Last season he had fished with his sons, this year he was with comparative strangers.
Maddy continued to observe the river, but now she was watching for a change in its flow. She knew her father would stop fishing just before the tide turned, to have the net out on a rising tide caused all sorts of problems hauling it in. But Jack was far too experienced to be caught out. He would have the net stowed, and he and Lew would be home soon, wanting their meal. Busy in the kitchen, she heard George and the other two walk past. They did not shout any greetings in passing this time, nor did they speak to one another. Maddy thought this was ominous. When Jack came in, his face lowering like a thundercloud, her enquiry about how the day had gone died on her lips.
‘A parcel of danged fools, that’s what I be burdened with!’ declared Jack, sitting down and removing his boots with unnecessary energy.
‘Things wadn’t so bad,’ said Lew. He looked tired and dispirited. Maddy had a pang of conscience. Her thoughts and sympathies had been for her father, she had overlooked the fact that the morning’s fishing would have been just as painful for Lew.
‘Wadn’t so bad?’ protested Jack vehemently. ‘When I had to tell they idiots what to do every step of the way? The boy I expected to be green, but George don’t seem to know naught from nought. And as for that nephew of William’s, I be rare disappointed in he, and I don’t care who knows it.’
‘They’m good men,’ insisted Lew. ‘And George’s boy be as bright as they come. They just idn’t used to your ways yet. With us it were different. Us’d come with you since us was in petticoats, and us knowd what was wanted without telling. Give these new lads time, ’tis all they need.’
‘And what you two need is some hot food inside you,’ said Maddy, setting down the plates. She knew her tone was overbright but she could not help it. She felt she had to lift their spirits somehow.
Jack merely grunted, but Lew managed a smile. ‘You’m right there,’ he said. ‘Tasty! Just the job. Yer, stand back everyone, let me get at un.’
Maddy waited until they had eaten before she asked the vital question.
‘Was the catch any good?’
‘Nothing special,’ replied Jack, concentrating on his plate.
‘How many’s nothing special?
‘A dozen.’
‘A dozen salmon? Maddy regarded him in amazement. ‘You’re sitting there like a wet wash-day and you caught twelve salmon on the first day of the season!’
‘They wadn’t no size. Us’d only get about one and threepence each,’ replied Jack gloomily.
‘There’s no pleasing some folks,’ protested Maddy fondly. She looked across at Lew, who gave her a conspiratorial wink. They both knew that it was possible to go days, even weeks, without catching anything. A haul of twelve salmon, even small ones, was very acceptable.
As the season continued, Jack grew to accept his new crew and became less critical of them. The annual urge to hunt for salmon was too strong in him ever to think of giving it up, and if this meant that now he must have outsiders in his boat, then so be it. Something of the old pattern returned to the , days, but the evenings were a different matter.
‘Place be as quiet as a tomb,’ Jack complained. ‘And he don’t help.’
The object of his complaint was Lew who, trim and spruced up, was going out.
‘Why shouldn’t he go out? He’s going courting,’ Maddy protested.
The object of Lew’s affections was the brown-eyed daughter of the wherry master who employed him each autumn and winter.
Jack snorted. ‘They’m chapel. What you want to get involved with chapel folk for?’
‘Because they’m good, decent people,’ replied Lew, then added with a spark of mischief, ‘And because Mollie Chambers be the prettiest girl in the village.’
‘I suppose that’s a good enough reason for deserting your old father every night,’ Jack agreed.
‘’Tis only supper once a week,’ corrected Lew. ‘That’s all her mother’ll allow. Though when the nights start lightening I be hoping for better things.’
‘Then you’d best be off sharpish. You idn’t going to keep in her mother’s good books by letting the supper spoil,’ advised Jack… When the door closed behind Lew, he said, ‘He’m going to be the next to leave. If he’m got his knees under the table it must mean her folks approve.’ Then he gave a tremulous sigh. ‘It would’ve been different if the others had got wed and gone. You expects your young uns to leave home that way, ’tis only natural…’
‘If Lew marries Mollie they won’t be far away,’ said Maddy. ‘They’d always be calling here, and think of the grandchildren. You’d never be short of visitors.’
‘We’m a long way off that stage,’ Jack pointed out.
Silence settled on the kitchen, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the logs in the hearth. From time to time Jack shifted restlessly in his chair until finally Maddy put down her knitting.
‘Shall I read you more about Heathcliff?’ she asked. ‘You enjoyed it the last time I read to you.’
‘If you like.’ The response was lacklustre, but she fetched Wuthering Heights just the same. As she searched for the right page, Jack suddenly said, ‘Book-reading be all very well but it idn’t near as good as real company. What about that mountebank fellow you keeps company with? Why don’t he never come?’
Maddy was so astonished she almost dropped the book. ‘You wouldn’t object?’ she asked.
‘If the Chambers can have Lew to supper up to their place I don’t seen why us can’t have that Patrick fellow yer sometime.’
Patrick’s astonishment matched Maddy’s own when she told him. ‘You’re asking me to supper? At your home? Does your father know about this?’
‘Of course he does,’ Maddy laughed. ‘It was his idea.’ Then she grew serious. ‘He gets terribly lonely in the evenings now. He doesn’t seem to want to go out much any more and…’
‘And he considers my company is better than no company?’ completed Patrick.
‘Something like that,’ admitted Maddy, smiling. ‘Please say you’ll come.’
‘How could I refuse such a chance – any chance – to be with you?’
‘We’ll see you on Friday then.’ She nestled her head more comfortably against him, conscious of the impending difference in their relationship. So far their romance had been carried on against a background of disapproval from her family. Now, seemingly, that was to change.
When Friday evening came, Maddy felt absurdly nervous, and her unease was not improved by her father’s restlessness.
‘Rabbit pie!’ he commented, looking at the fare she was providing. ‘And what be that to follow? Junket and cream? By harry, maid, ’tis only a potman from the Church House we’m expecting, not the Queen.’
‘The rabbits for the pie didn’t cost anything, because Lew caught them, and I decided we could afford to be a bit extravagant on the pudding,’ replied Maddy defensively. ‘I thought you liked junket and cream.’
‘I likes un well enough when I can get un,’ said Jack grumpily. ‘’Tis a sorry state, though, when I has to wait until a mountebank potman comes afore I gets the chance.’
Her father’s mood did not bode well for the evening. Then Maddy began to worry about Patrick’s reactions. His encounters with her family had at times been violent. Had he really wanted to come this evening, or had he accepted merely to please her?
The kitchen looked cosy and welcoming, with the firelight reflecting on the polished copper pans and the shining Delft. A freshly laundered white cloth covered the table, which was set with the best china and cutlery she could muster. She had even placed a jug of primroses in the middle, something which had caused Jack to snort derisively.
‘Here I am, pretty as a picture and fit for company,’ announced Lew, mincing down the stairs. ‘I’ve even washed behind my ears. Look.’ He bent towards her, pulling at his earlobe to give her a better view.
‘You mazed fool! Poor Mollie Chambers, she doesn’t know what she’s taking on.’ Laughing, Maddy tried to push him out of her way, but he insisted upon thrusting his ear towards her. In the heat of their mock conflict, Maddy almost did not hear the knock on the door.
‘I was afraid I’d come on the wrong night,’ said Patrick, when she let him in.
‘I don’t know about the wrong night, you must have thought you’d come to the madhouse with all this noise,’ Maddy said. ‘It was Lew acting the fool.’
‘When it comes to being a fool our Lew don’t need to act,’ said Jack, holding out his hand. ‘Come on in, boy.’
Stepping over the threshold Patrick grasped his outstretched hand, and Maddy heaved a silent sigh of relief. The brief moment of horseplay had caused her father to suspend his misgivings about their visitor. Her spirits rose more when, after having shaken hands with Lew, Patrick took a bottle from his pocket.
‘A small contribution towards what I know is going to be an enjoyable evening,’ he said.
‘Honey wine,’ said Jack appreciatively. ‘Well, there idn’t naught wrong with your taste, boy. I habn’t had honey wine since I don’t knows when. Come and sit by the fire and us’ll take the top off un while Maddy gets supper on the table.’
Maddy glanced at Patrick and he smiled at her, a reassuring smile that said ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
And everything was all right. At first there was little conversation, the excellence of the supper saw to that. No one could ever accuse Patrick of being poor company and, after the dishes were removed and the honey wine set out, he soon had the others in fits of laughter. Maddy was delighted to hear her father chuckling, she had not seen him look so animated for a long time. She enjoyed, too, the firm grasp of Patrick’s fingers as he held her hand beneath the table. This was an evening she had never expected to happen, to have Patrick sitting by their fireside, with her father’s approval.
‘I really must go.’ Patrick gave her hand one last surreptitious squeeze, then rose to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I’ve sadly outstayed my welcome.’
Jack looked up at the clock. ‘It can’t be that late!’ he exclaimed incredulously. ‘Why, it don’t seem two minutes since you got here, boy. You’m given us a merry time and no mistake.’
‘No, the giving was on your part,’ contradicted Patrick. ‘I can’t remember when I last spent so enjoyable an evening. Being something of a wanderer, with no longer any folks to call my own, it’s a rare treat for me to sit beside a proper fireside and be treated as one of the family.’
He could not have said anything that would have appealed more to Jack, who was still missing his lost sons sorely.
‘Family be a great thing, boy.’ Jack put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. ‘Sadly us don’t always appreciate it till ’tis too late. If you’m a mind, you must come again.’
‘I will, you can be sure of it. And my thanks for your hospitality and your kindness.’
Patrick said his goodbyes and Maddy saw him to the door. There were no lovers’ farewells, just an exchange of smiles that were brief and tender. Maddy did not mind. The evening had gone better than she could ever have anticipated. True, her father had never once referred to Patrick by name, only as ‘boy’, but she sensed a last residual reserve in this rather than disapproval.
‘That fellow of youm, he’m rare amusing, there idn’t no getting away from the fact,’ yawned Jack, reaching up to wind the clock, as he always did before bed. ‘Once you gets to know him he seems a brave enough fellow. Don’t be too long afore you invites him again.’
‘I won’t, and thank you, Father.’ Maddy was delighted. She became aware, though, that Lew had said little. ‘Don’t you like Patrick?’ she asked bluntly.
‘I agrees with Father. He’m some amusing, and that be a fact.’
‘But do you like him?’ she insisted.
‘Tidn’t no use asking me summat like that,’ Lew said. ‘’Tis if you likes un, that be the important thing.’
Maddy was not fooled. Beneath his diplomatic response she sensed he did not like Patrick. She felt a momentary distress, but it swiftly disappeared. He would soon come round. Once he really got to know Patrick, how could he help himself?
‘Your Lew’s in well with the Chambers these days, I hears,’ remarked Annie one day. ‘Us’ll be hearing wedding bells soon I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Perhaps, in time,’ replied Maddy. She knew that her brother had good reasons for not rushing things.
‘Us’ll wait a while until the talk about Davie dies down,’ he had said. ‘Not that I be ashamed of him, nor do it make no difference to Mollie. But her ma be still not too happy about her girl marrying into a family as has a hanging in its history. Only natural, I suppose, so I think ’tis only right to let things settle down a bit.’
Maddy hoped sincerely that things would ‘settle down a bit’ for the pair of them, for although he said little, she knew Lew was desperately fond of his Mollie.
‘And what about you, then?’ Annie’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I hope you’m getting your bottom drawer together too, for you’m going to need un afore long, if I be any judge.’
‘Get along with you!’ said Maddy scornfully.
‘Don’t you scoff at me, my girl!’ Annie pretended to be indignant. ‘My eyes idn’t playing tricks. That Patrick of youm be down here of a Friday night for his supper regular. If that idn’t a sign of a wedding to come I don’t know what be.’
‘If you’re looking for a chance to buy a new bonnet soon then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,’ Maddy laughed.
She did not admit that, of late, she had begun to be of the same opinion. No longer was it a question of deserting the family if she wed. If she married Patrick they could live with Jack, for there was plenty of room. She was sure her father would not object. Already he was beginning to say in a jovial tone, ‘Any day now I be going to have a serious talk with that fellow of youm. I wants to know his intentions.’
And what were Patrick’s intentions? He had never actually mentioned marriage, but his remarks always referred to the wonderful future that they would share one day. Recalling the things he said, and the way he was always so tender and loving towards her, it was no wonder that her thoughts were beginning to turn happily towards wedding rings and church bells.
It was one wash-day when Maddy thought she caught a glimpse of Lew going past the door as she was prodding clothes into the copper in the lean-to beside the cottage. Through the clouds of steam she could have sworn she saw him, but when he neither came in nor called out to her she decided she must have been mistaken. Hadn’t he said he was going down mill to settle up with the Totnes agent for the salmon? He would never have come home so promptly, not when he had a chance to call in on Mollie. But as she was carrying the basket of wet laundry into the garden, she definitely heard his voice.
It was coming from Annie’s house. She paused, puzzled as to what he was doing there. At that moment he emerged from next door with Annie. Seeing her, their serious expressions grew even more grave.
Maddy put her washing down. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. ‘What’s happened? Something’s happened to Father!’
‘No, Father be fine,’ said Lew, helping Annie over the rough path. ‘Just wait for us indoors. We’m coming as fast as us can.’ He looked unusually agitated.
It seemed an age before the pair of them finally entered the kitchen. When they did they looked at each other with seeming helplessness, as if each willing the other to speak.
‘You tell her,’ Lew urged Annie. ‘I habn’t got the heart.’
‘For pity’s sake, one of you tell me what’s been going on!’ cried Maddy.
‘You’m best sit yourself down, my lover, for us’ve got a bit of bad news,’ said Annie gently. She took a deep breath as if steeling herself for what was to come. ‘Maddy, my maidie, there idn’t no easy way to say this so I’ll come straight out with it. That sweetheart of yourn, Patrick, have run off.’
‘Run off?’ Maddy sank onto the nearest chair.
‘That idn’t the worst, neither. Oh, Maddy, I wishes I wadn’t the one to tell you this but… he’m eloped with that haughty Fitzherbert wench!’
Patrick gone? Eloped with Victoria Fitzherbert? It was unthinkable! Ludicrous! Maddy could not, would not, believe it.
‘What sort of stupid joke is this…?’ She looked from Annie to Lew. Their eyes showed distress and love and pity. ‘It’s a joke,’ she said. ‘It’s got to be… Please say it’s a joke.’
But no one admitted to joking. The only response was silence.
Then she knew it was true.