Hannah took her next afternoons off on Wednesday and Friday. She wanted to avoid another confrontation with her father, and she thought it might be best if she saw less of Matt. His possessiveness was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. Janet and Prim weren’t pleased, accusing her of playing with Matt’s feelings, but it gave her more time to see Sarah, Naomi and Lizzie. On the Friday, Sarah rounded up the young women to meet at her house. Hannah was delighted that Leah came too.
‘Did Father gave you a hard time last Sunday?’ Hannah asked her.
‘He said he’d thrash me if I ever spoke to you again,’ Leah replied, wincing at the memory of the tongue-lashing, pitted with obscene language, she’d received from Jeff. She hadn’t told anyone he’d smacked her face three times.
‘Well, he can’t do anything when he’s out at sea,’ Sarah said brightly, passing round the teapot and a plate of scones. ‘We can enjoy ourselves now.’
They plied Hannah with questions about Roscarrock and she happily gave them every detail. ‘I particularly like the nursery. Its style is late Victorian, so Mr Patrick told me, and there’s furniture, crockery and cutlery small enough for children to use, including a dear little rocking chair. There are even tiny ornaments on the mantelpiece. The cradle has rockers and there’s a matching one for dolls, and a rocking horse on wheels and a Noah’s ark which they’d love to have in Sunday School. I like the doll’s house best, it has miniature furniture just like in the house and Victorian dressed dolls.’
‘I’d love to see it,’ Leah said dreamily.
Hannah was telling them the true tale of Jeremiah Jago’s death when Lizzie suddenly sprang up with even more energy than usual and, white as a sheet, pushed her youngest stepchild into Hannah’s arms and rushed outside.
Sarah and Naomi exchanged knowing glances.
‘What’s the matter with Lizzie?’ Hannah asked. ‘I didn’t scare her, did I?’
‘She’s running to the closet. John Jacobs has fathered another,’ Sarah said, reaching out to stop his two eldest children from tearing round her spotless kitchen.
‘Oh, I see. When’s it going to be your turn, Sarah?’
‘Arch and I are working on it,’ she answered with a mischievous glint in her dark Spargo eyes.
Leah had gone quiet. She felt she would never be able to join in talk about husbands and babies. Hannah noticed her melancholy.
‘Have you thought any more about coming up to Roscarrock, Leah?’
‘I-I’d love to but how can I get away?’ she said in a panicky voice. ‘Grandmother will tell Father and Mother doesn’t want any of us to go there.’
‘Don’t keep making excuses, Leah. You can say you’re here with me,’ Sarah said stoutly. ‘Grandma rarely ventures across the bridge, she and Mother will never know. And it’ll do you good.’
‘Go on, Leah,’ Naomi urged. ‘You know you’ll love it and it will be worth the risk. You’ll never get a better chance to see inside the big house.’
Leah looked at her sisters’ expectant faces. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised, not wanting to be the centre of attention.
Lizzie came back from the lavatory clutching her stomach. ‘Ohhh, how long does this sickness go on for?’
‘As long as you’re capable of childbearing,’ Naomi said wryly, nursing her son at her breast. ‘Look at how many of us Mother had.’
Lizzie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t say that,’ she groaned, making the others laugh.
‘When’s Mitch coming home?’ Hannah asked. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’
‘He’s taken a fancy to a girl at Newlyn, so Josh said,’ Leah informed her.
‘Really? Looks like he’ll be the next one to settle down then.’
‘What about you and Matt?’ Sarah asked in a forthright manner. ‘You’re some lucky maid to land he.’
Hannah disappointed her sisters and cousin. ‘I’ve got no plans to marry yet.’
Hannah got back to Roscarrock at six o’clock. A fierce wind was thrashing through the trees and dark clouds were forming overhead and she managed to get inside the house just before a heavy shower of rain. The vestibule and hallway were dark and gloomy, the atmosphere heavy and stuffy. She felt a tiny prickle of apprehension. As she passed the portrait of the stern-faced medieval man, she tried not to look at it, but as always her eyes drifted that way. He looked sullen in the dusky light.
There was a sound on the stairs and turning her head Hannah made to bid Patrick Opie a good evening.
But it wasn’t Patrick Opie. It was a much taller man, younger, leanly built with short blond hair. It was the ghost of the man in the portrait and he was coming straight at her.
Hannah shrieked and clamped her hands over her mouth. She tried to back away but her legs wouldn’t move, she was petrified with fear.
He came closer and closer until he was standing inches away from her. Hannah thought her pounding heart would explode inside her.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ the man said tersely. Strangely, there seemed to be a look of shock on his face too.
A ghost that talked. What could Hannah say to him? Please don’t hurt me, ran through her mind.
‘Well?’ the ghost demanded haughtily. When still she did not speak, he went on in the same vein, ‘Are you Hannah Spargo? My grandmother’s new housekeeper?’
Grandmother? The terrible truth dawned on Hannah and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. The ghost – the man – was Gregory Opie.
Taking her hands from her face, she stammered, ‘I-I’m s-sorry. I th-thought you were a ghost.’
‘A ghost?’ He sounded scathing. ‘A ghost of whom?’
With a tremulous finger she pointed at the portrait. ‘Him,’ she squeaked, never feeling more foolish in all her life. ‘You look just like him.’
Gregory Opie made an impatient face. ‘That is me.’
‘Oh!’
‘I was in a university drama,’ he explained as if she was the stupidest person on earth. ‘My grandmother thought the costume suited me and talked me into sitting for her. It was years ago.’
Now she had the chance to study him, Hannah could see he was a few years older than in the painting, in his mid-twenties, and she realised he was wearing smart but casual modern clothes.
With a great effort she spoke normally. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Opie. Yes, I am Hannah Spargo.’
‘I’m glad we’ve settled that.’ He held out his hand and clasped hers in a firm handshake. ‘I’m going to my study. I don’t wish to be disturbed until dinner, understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered feebly, feeling like a gauche schoolgirl.
Rushing upstairs to her room she leaned her back heavily against the door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. One thing was certain, putting aside his intolerant manner, and the fact that he was younger and rather better looking than she’d expected, she had taken an instant dislike to Gregory Opie.
She heard three tinkles of Mrs Opie’s bell and hastily tidying her appearance in the cheval mirror hurried to her mistress’s rooms.
‘Hannah, my dear,’ Mrs Opie began from her seat at her desk, ‘Good heavens! Are you well? You look as if you have a fever.’ She beckoned Hannah closer.
‘I’ve just had a very embarrassing moment, Mrs Opie,’ Hannah said, and she told her about meeting her grandson.
Feena Opie gave a hearty laugh. She took Hannah’s hand. ‘Dear me, I bet Mr Gregory didn’t know what to make of you. I’d love to have witnessed it, he can be quite pompous at times – it comes from mixing with academics. You would have seen his motorcar outside the house but I insist he parks it round at the back. Don’t worry, my dear, he’ll spend most of his time shut away inside his study.’
Hannah was pleased to be reminded of that.
Mrs Opie glanced out of the window; the rain was hammering against the panes like hailstones. ‘I’ll get Mr Patrick to take Pogo for his walk this evening. I’m not having you going out in that.’
Hannah would have said she didn’t mind, that she’d never found even the harshest weather a bother to her, but she had learned that although Mrs Opie was very kind, when she had made up her mind she never changed it. Pogo heard the word ‘walk’ and sprang off his chair and performed an excited little dance at Hannah’s feet. She picked him up and stroked his silky white coat.
‘Angie’s just brought me up some tea. Would you like some, Hannah?’
‘Yes, please.’
Mrs Opie led the way to the other side of the room, overlooking the front of the house, where a tray had been put on a small round table. There were two teacups on it. Hannah put Pogo down on a cushion in the window seat.
‘What sort of afternoon did you have?’ Mrs Opie asked, pouring the tea.
Hannah was always delighted that her employer seemed to take a genuine interest in her. ‘I spent it at my sister Sarah’s house. My sisters Naomi and Leah joined us and my cousin Lizzie.’
‘Naomi’s the one with the baby, isn’t she? It must be nice having a large family even though you lived with your aunt. What does Leah do? Has she got employment?’
‘No, she stays at home and helps Mother with the housework. She’s very shy and rarely goes out.’
‘Oh, why is that?’
‘Her face was scarred in an accident as a child. It’s made her feel ugly and ashamed, which is a pity because she’s quite pretty and she has no reason to feel any blame.’
Mrs Opie was gazing steadily at Hannah and asked carefully, ‘Blamed for what, Hannah?’
Hannah looked down at her lap. It was difficult to talk even now after all these years, but she felt able to confide in Mrs Opie. ‘There was an accident, it wasn’t anyone’s fault really, a group of us children went out in a boat, it tipped up and… and my little brother and one of the girls were drowned. My father blamed me… and he turned me out. That’s why I lived at my aunty’s.’
‘That doesn’t seem at all fair. Why did he take such a hard line with you?’
‘He’s always hated me…’ Hannah coloured, but Mrs Opie might as well know the truth. She hoped it wouldn’t change her position here. ‘I’m not his daughter, you see. That’s why I’m fair and my brothers and sisters are dark.’
Getting up, Mrs Opie put her hands gently on Hannah’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, it must have been painful for you talking about it.’ She brushed a tress of hair away from Hannah’s face. ‘Never mind, you’ve got a new life here now and I hope you’ll always be happy. If there’s anything I can do for you, Hannah, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Hannah felt a surge of emotion and for the first time in years tears fell from her eyes. She felt she’d had a weighty burden lifted from her. For a moment she could have put her head on Mrs Opie’s shoulder. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she sniffed.
Resuming her seat, Mrs Opie said with a sunny smile, ‘Occasionally when he’s here, when we can drag him out of his study, Mr Patrick and I eat together with Mr Gregory. How would you like to join us for luncheon on Sunday?’
‘Well, I… I…’ Hannah was at a loss. It was not usual for a servant to eat with the family and she felt the invitation was a great honour. It would mean she wouldn’t see Matt until the afternoon, but that was no bad thing, she decided.
‘Do say yes. Mr Patrick is so very fond of you and he’d be delighted to have you taste his roast lamb and mint jelly. You can send word to your aunt not to expect you till later via one of the delivery boys.’
The words were out of her mouth before she knew it. ‘I’d love to, thank you, Mrs Opie.’
When Hannah went back to her own room, Feena Opie returned to her desk. She lifted a journal out from under her stationery and opened it at the place where she had last written, last Sunday evening: ‘Hannah enjoys her days off but is always eager to come back.’ She drew a careful pencil line under the entry then taking her silver fountain pen filled in the day’s date underneath it, and wrote in large flowing letters: ‘Jeff Spargo has a lot to answer for and I’ll make sure he does.’
The Sunrise had a tremendous catch on Monday night. The news quickly spread round Newlyn and the quay was soon crowded with people – ship’s chandlers, rope makers, innkeepers, the odd housewife – come to watch the landing; a couple of holidaymakers eagerly taking photographs were squeezed out of the way. Dozens of gulls with alert greedy eyes jostled for position up on the market roof. Four ‘slingers’, old retired fishermen, were employed by the crew to help count the pilchards into maunds, the two-handled, close-woven baskets which were slung down from the long quayside by the foreman.
Viv Hickey heard about it from one of the boarders. Wilfred was out so she stole to the quay too; she knew there was no chance of a word with Daniel but if he saw her he might give her a wink or quick wave and she’d know if she was still special to him. Mitch was one of those watching and he opened up a conversation with her.
‘Be all day, they will, with a catch that size,’ he said loudly over the screeching of the excited gulls.
‘It’s one of the biggest seen here for a long time,’ she answered, hoping that Daniel had left a message with him for her today.
‘Time they finish they’ll only have an hour to get their heads down.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she murmured miserably. She had been aching to know exactly what she meant to the powerfully built, red-haired fisherman and was jealous to see hers weren’t the only female eyes lingering on him.
‘Could I take you for a cup of tea?’ Mitch ventured, crossing his fingers behind his back.
Viv considered it for a few moments. Mitch Spargo might be able to tell her about Daniel’s life at Porthellis, whether he had a girl there, but if Daniel saw her going off with him he might get the wrong idea.
‘No, I’d better get back to work.’ To keep Mitch friendly, she added pleasantly, ‘But if you want a meal in Newlyn any time, I cook dinner and tea for a shilling at the boarding house up Trewarveneth Street. Just let me know.’
She left after one last sad look at Daniel’s straining back.
Mitch thrust out his chest, content that he seemed to be getting somewhere with Viv at last.
Onlookers moved on and were replaced by others until fifteen wagon loads, over three hundred maunds, were carried away to be salted in vats; a lot of the fish would be sold on the Continent, with two hundred of every ten thousand fish given to the merchant. At a pound a thousand, the hard night’s labour made ninety pounds, a very handsome sum. Congratulations abounded but the Sunrise’s crew would keep their celebrating until the weekend – if their luck held.
Even Daniel’s muscles were aching by this time, but the deck had to be scrubbed down with chloride of lime to kill off green algae and the cabin cleaned, and he did this with Fred while Matt had the easier job of slipping ashore to replenish the food store. Rufus repaired shark holes in the net and Curly saw to the all-important job of tending the engines and fetching fuel and fresh water. The first man to finish would start cooking a meal.
The next night’s fortune went the other way and the maund of fish they caught did not even cover their expenses. Daniel was bitterly disappointed but it gave him time to take his package to Wilfred Hickey and make a good sum of money that way. He could tell by Viv’s shining face she was pleased to see him and he hoped Wilfred, who was lounging by the hearth in his stockinged feet, would soon send her out of the room on some pretext so he could hand over the goods burning a hole in his allowance bag. Wilfred would then leave at once to see his contact and Daniel would have plenty of time to talk Viv into making the short journey upstairs with him to her room; he even had a plausible excuse ready.
Viv had to answer a knock at the front door and when she came back Daniel was alone. ‘Where’s Dad gone?’ she asked.
‘Had to see someone, he said.’
‘Got a card game, I expect, the lazy swine,’ she said grimly. Wilfred didn’t work and the boarding house made only a small profit but he was usually in funds through his fast hand at the card tables – so Viv believed.
‘Come here, Viv,’ Daniel said with an engaging smile from his chair at the table.
Taking off her apron, Viv stood shyly in front of him. He lifted her slight form onto his lap and caressed her hair with gentle fingertips.
‘Seems like an eternity since we’ve been together,’ he said.
‘I’ve missed you terribly, Danny,’ she breathed, hugging his neck. ‘Will you have to go home this weekend?’
‘That rather depends on you,’ he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘On how welcome you make me feel.’ His voice had dropped to a husky tone and he sought her lips and kissed her deeply. Then he took something out of his trouser pocket. ‘This is for you, sweetheart.’
‘Another present?’ Her hazel eyes widened in amazement.
‘I don’t want you to open it here, someone might come in. It’s private and personal and special just between us.’
‘Let’s go out for a walk then.’
‘I need some sleep, darling. I’ve got another hard night in front of me.’
Doubt flickered through her mind. ‘There’s only my room.’
‘You can open it up there, then perhaps you’ll let me sleep for an hour on your bed and wake me up with a cup of tea, eh?’
It sounded innocent enough.
She was absolutely thrilled with her present, a paste brooch in the shape of a fish. It was to remind her of him when he couldn’t be with her, Daniel said meaningfully.
It was nearly an hour later, with burning cheeks and a sense of shame mingling with the hope in her tender heart, that Viv left her room and Daniel settled down to sleep.