The Wind In The East
by
Pamela Pope


THE WIND IN THE EAST

Pamela Pope

THE SHERIDAN

BOOK COMPANY

This edition published in 1994 by The Sheridan Book Company First
published in Great Britain by Century 1989 Random House 20 Vauxhall
Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA Arrow edition 1990 0 Pamela Pope 1989 The
right of Pamela Pope to be identified as the author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988 This book is sold subject to the condition that it
shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be [lent, resold, hired out,
or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any
form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on
the subsequent purchaser Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox &
Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire

ISBN 1855015137

For Ron, with my love.

PART ONE

Poppy Ludlow turned the corner into Drago Street on her way home from
the net-store and heard furious bellowing voices coming from the second
house down, almost as if a bull was tethered in the back yard.

Likely Tom Kerrick was drunk again.

It was impossible to see into the yard.  The terraced houses lining
both sides of the street were packed tighter than herrings in a barrel
and a cold wind blowing in from the North Sea funnelled through them
without so much as an alley to break the force.  The month was August
but it might just as well have been winter.

Sometimes it seemed as if a permanent cloud hung over Drago Street, and
Poppy never lingered.  Today, though, the noise intrigued her and she
glanced in the window of the second house.  Grime prevented her seeing
anything and she was about to hurry on when the blistered front door
burst open and an old man stormed into the street.  To her amazement
she saw that it was her grandfather.

He was fighting mad and still shouting to someone inside.

"You'll be sorry you didn't listen to me.  I was going to give you full
responsibility as soon as you was twenty- one and could use yer
skipper's ticket, but likely I'll change me mind."  His face was red,
and the sparse white hair stood up like fine sun-bleached grass on his
bald dome.

"Aye, you'll be sorry.  You and yer father both.

You're bad 'uns, the lot of you.  "

His black hat with the high crown came hurtling out after him, thrown
boomerang fashion to land across the street.  Poppy could only stare,
too surprised to do anything until Grandfather Ludlow tottered towards
the gutter and lost his balance.  He was muttering to himself.  At
first she thought he was drunk, but he never took more liquor than he
could hold and never touched any at this time of the afternoon.  She
rushed to grab his arm as he staggered but couldn't prevent his great
weight collapsing into a puddle. Her skirt trailed in water and her
petticoat soaked up the mud.

"Grandfer!"  She yelled loudly enough for everyone in the street to
hear, but no one came to see what was the matter.  The people of Drago
Street knew better than to interfere, and stayed hidden behind their
shredded curtains.

"Whatever d'yuh think you're doing?"

"That's right ask him."  An angry taunt came from the doorway.  Poppy
looked up.  It was not Tom Kerrick.  It was Joshua, the son, and he too
was full of rage.  His straight black eyebrows were drawn together and
the eyes which usually beguiled a girl sparked furiously.

A fresh gust of wind defeated the old man's attempt to shout another
angry retort and rocked him back when he tried to get up.

Poppy glared at the unrepentant figure on the doorstep.  "You'd better
tell me what it's all about."

She couldn't think what had gone wrong between them.  In recent years
the Ludlow sailing drifters hadn't been doing too well and Grandfer had
sold all but two.  Then he'd taken on Joshua Kerrick as mate on one of
them and things were beginning to look up.  He'd been singing his
praises until now, so something serious must have happened to turn him
sour.

"He accused me of taking more than my fair share of the gurnets,"

said Joshua.

"A few more rotten gurnets than anyone else to make up me stockie! 
Well what if I have?  I've earned them and I'll not be spoken to as if
I was a kid pinching sweets from Ma Brady's."

"Honesty!"  Old Bill Ludlow shouted again as he struggled into a
sitting position.  The gutter water seeped upwards from the seat of his
striped trousers.

"That's what it's about.  I won't have anyone working for me that ain't
honest, of course I won't."  He looked up at Poppy.

"I told him as much, and if he doesn't mend his ways he'll be sorry."

"Doesn't sound enough to be making all this fuss about to me," she
said.

"There's penty more ships'll take me.  I can join one of Nathaniel
Lea's drifters tomorrow, like me father.  Yes, that's what I'll do."

"You'll stay with the Night Queen and learn what's right, Joshua
Kerrick. I've been fair to you and you'll be fair to me.  You're a
first-class mate and soon you'll be a good skipper.  Yuh'vegot the fed
for fishing, lean tell."  The old man moved on to his knees and let
Poppy help him to his feet.

"It was more than gurnets you took.  I know it for sure and I won't
have you paying for yer pleasures out of money that should be mine."

"I've taken nothing that's not me due.  Don't worry, I won't be signing
on for the home fishing.  I'll be going with me father."

Joshua turned his back on them.  His trousers were tucked into a pair
of old leather boots and red braces gave a dash of colour against his
well-washed shirt which may once have been white but was now a mottled
grey.

"That's right, join yer father!  Learn to be a drunk like him!  I've
done me best to help you."  Grandfer was determined to have the last
word.

The door slammed like an explosion.  Joshua had disappeared inside.

For a few seconds there was the absolute silence that follows a violent
blast, and Poppy held on to her grandfather's trembling arm

All this fuss about a few gurnets!  The remains of the catch wasn't
worth much and crewmen were supposed to have equal shares of it to
supplement their
wages.  She had heard that Joshua Kerrick's stockie usually came to
more than anyone else's but it didn't seem worth this much trouble.

"I'll see you home, Grandfer.  Don't know what you wanted to come down
here for anyway, makinga scene.  Gran's going to be real cross about
your trousers."

She was watching his feet as he negotiated the kerb so she didn't see
the tears brimming over from his rheumy eyes until he was safely out of
the gutter.  The sight of them filled her with dismay.

"I only wanted to help him," he was muttering, in a querulous voice she
hardly recognized.

"I want him to make something of himself."

"You've done more than most people would, and I don't know why you've
bothered.  He'll never thank you for it."

She'd listened to gossip about Joshua Kerrick at the net-store and knew
where his extra money went.  If he wasn't spending it at the Trafalgar
Arms he was sure to be looking for a secluded place along the shore
with any girl who would go with him.  Nor was he ever short of girls. 
His good looks took care of that, and the silly creatures seemed to
think there was some sort of prestige in being seen with him.  But she
couldn't fathom out why Grandfer found him worth worrying over.

The old man brushed the back of his hand over his cheek.

"If only you'd been a boy."  It was a disappointment he often voiced.

"You'd have been working for a skipper's ticket soon and sailing my
ships, girl.  Seems such a waste with all the spirit you've got.  I
remember when I got my ticket.  Twenty I was, like him in there, and
they made me go back to be inga mate until I was twenty-one.  Longest
year of me life, that was."

"But worth waiting for, eh, Grandfer?"  She tried to steer him away but
his feet seemed to be firmly planted in the cobbles.

"Worth every bloody second."

"Tell me about how you bought the Sarah Star and named it after Gran,"
she
said, attempting to make him think of other things.  Tell me while we
walk along.  I like hearing about it.  "

For a moment it looked as if he was going to do as she asked, but a
stubbornness came over him and his body stiffened.

"Don't try to humour me.  I won't have it.  I may be old but I still
know exactly what I'm doing."  He shrugged off her help and shook a
belligerent fist at the closed door.  Purple veins stood out at his
temples as he raised his voice with renewed anger.

"I wanted to help you, d'yuh hear?  You'll be sorry you didn't do right
by me, boy.

Sorry like yer father wuz.  "

His face darkened and his Norfolk accent thickened as the shouts built
up.  A second later he was once more on the ground, rolling sideways
while white froth gathered at his lips.  After that he was still.

"Grandfer!"  Poppy screamed.

She had never seen him in such a state.  There was no one in sight and
she didn't know what to do.  His eyes were shut, and the silence now
enclosed her like some menacing cloud which made her body tighten with
fear.  A motorcycle and sidecar clattered over the bridge at the end of
the street but it was too far away to signal.

"Why did yuh have to fall down here of all places?  Ain't no one in
Drago Street going to come and help."  She hated the area and would
have avoided it herself if it hadn't been a short cut home.  She gave
his shoulder a shake in panic.  "Grandfer, you've got to get up.  You
can't lie there and get cold."

She could feel eyes looking at her through salt-streaked windows as she
chafed his hands.  He didn't respond.  His large body was a daunting
mound on the pavement which she could not' possibly hope to move and
she knew that help had to come from somewhere.  She looked at the door
Joshua Kerrick had slammed against them and got to her feet in mounting
temper.  It was all his fault.  He would have to come out again and
show a bit of decency.  Poppy
went and hammered on the weather-worn wood with balled fists which
created such a shuddering it was a wonder the panels didn't splinter.

"Joshua, you come out here this minute.  Me grandfer's ill and it's all
your doing."  There was no response, and she renewed her assault.

"You've got to help me get him up.  I can't do it on me own.  Come out
here, you devil."

The door swung inwards once more, opened this time by his mother.

Clara Kerrick stared at Poppy vacantly and her lustre less eyes
appeared to see no further than the angry young girl on her doorstep.

"He's out in the privy," she said.

"Then you'll have to help me."  Poppy reached out to drag the apathetic
woman by the sleeve of her grubby brown dress.  The apron she wore was
encrusted with fish scales and reeked of the dried blood and fat which
stiffened it.

"If that's old Bill Ludlow he can stay there."

"But he hasn't done you any harm.  Please, Mrs Kerrick."

"He hasn't done us any good either.  Alwuz poking his nose in and
upsetting my men like he had a right."

Frustration made Poppy want to strike the woman but it would only have
made the situation worse.  Marsh Village women were known to enjoy a
fight.  She debated whether to knock on someone else's door but dreaded
a similar response.  Grandfather Ludlow was known to be a hard man and
was not all that well liked in Fenstowe, so no one was going to risk
the wrath of the Kerricks to come to his aid.  Seeing him lying there
it would be assumed he had been hitting the bottle and there was no
sympathy for that condition in Drago Street.

She knelt down again and lifted the old man's head into her lap, wiping
his mouth with the edge of the button less overall she used when
mending nets.

Clara reluctantly stooped to take a closer look.

"He dun't look too good."

"Then please will you stay with him while I go and fetch someone?"

A shadow fell between them and Joshua planted his booted feet at her
side. His dark brown eyes assessed the situation without any appearance
of urgency before he too squatted down beside the inert figure of old
Bill Ludlow.  His hand explored the barrel chest beneath the melton
coat but his expression betrayed nothing as he lifted one of the old
man's eyelids with his index finger and exposed a staring, unseeing
eye.

"He's dead."  Joshua let the eyelid drop gently back.

Poppy opened her mouth, wanting to scream, but no sound came.  She felt
numb, frozen into this horrifying moment.  She had been stroking the
hair at Grandfer's temple but she lifted her hands away and held them
over the still body, afraid to touch it any more, and the weight in her
lap was leaden. Joshua looked at her and she saw a pulse quickening in
his strong neck, but he showed no other sign of emotion.

"It's all your fault."  Her tears now mingled with-the raindrops.  "
You killed him with your ranting and I'll never forgive you.  Josh
Kerrick."

The north-easterly wind gusted into a full-sized gale by evening.  It
whistled and roared round the Fisher Company shed down near the shore,
and rattled the corrugated iron roof so that the men inside had to draw
close to talk about old Bill Ludlow's death.

"He must have belonged to the Company for nigh on fifty years."  They
had begun to count up his exploits.  "Done his share of life-saving an
all when he was younger."

The Fisher Company was like a club, housed in a wooden building next to
the old lighthouse and exclusive to fishermen with an hour or two to
idle away. But more important it was a salvage and rescue service which
saved lives, and
meant men could make a little extra money if they were prepared to go
out in the Company yawl in the worst weather to answer distress calk. 
There was a lookout post directly above the main door, extended
outwards and supported by stout wooden posts.  The voluptuous figure of
a mermaid from the bows of an old clipper decorated the left front of
the building but it had distracted observers on watch and obstructed
the range of vision before the extension was added.  It had been
disconcerting to find that what had been taken for a full moon was
actually a large, gold-painted breast emerging from carved wooden
draperies.

Joshua Kerrick paid twenty-five shill inga year to belong to the
Company now that he was over eighteen.  His father had taken him there
first.  Now he stood by the window where he could watch huge seas
churning up sand and shingle against the breakwaters.  His pulses raced
each time a fresh wave burst and spewed out foam which fell like hail
against the tarred weatherboarding of the shed, He felt a vague sadness
that the old man had died, but no guilt.  Bill Ludlow had employed him,
but he hadn't owned him and he'd had no right to come round to the
house preaching morals.  They'd had rows before.  Joshua was a good
seaman, and knew it, and though he was still two months short of
legally being able to skipper a drifter he had more to say in the
handling of the Night Queen than Bill's spunk less son Clan had.  Bill
had known he couldn't do without Joshua and the rift would only have
been temporary.

The door creaked open wide enough for a man to get through without the
wind tearing at the hinges.  Between his feet slithered a cat which was
so wet it gleamed with the sleekness of a seal and it skittered
terrified from chair to chair as boots lashed out at it.

"Leave it be!"  Joshua said, raising his voice just loud enough for the
authoritative tone to be heard.  The Marsh cat came near him and let
him pick it up.  It trembled against him as the men resumed their talk,
and he 18
smoothed it gently, drying its fur with the warmth of his large
hand.

And there it stayed until the lifeboat guns went off, making it fly
into the darkest recess as the place erupted with noisy activity.

This was what Joshua had been waiting for.  It had been odds on that
some vessel would need assistance in the gale and he had made sure he
was on the spot in case the Company boat was needed.  He'd get two
shares of any salvage money if he wa screwing and he never missed an
opportunity to make an extra quid.

"Leave that blinkin' mast alone," he shouted at a youngster not big
enough to cope with it, then grasped the end of the mast himself to
help another man carry it from the shed, flexing his body to take the
weight and balancing the heaviest part on one of his broad shoulders.

Not so long ago he had got into fights in his eagerness to grab a place
on a lifeboat.

The yawl was tied up on a slipway a few yards along the beach, and men
were running towards it with oars and sails, their heads bent as they
fought against the wind, "Some damn fool in a fancy yacht's in trouble
off Crab Sands Buoy,"

the coxswain yelled.

"Comin' infer the regatta he wuz."

"Yuh reckon he'll need a line aboard?"

"Likely he will.  Tide dunt change for a couple of hours yet."

There was a ridge of broken water at Crab Sands and with the tide
running to windward anyone unfamiliar with the area could get stuck
fast.  If a line was needed the hovel might be good, and Joshua hoped
the Fisher Company boat would be first on the scene.  In this kind of
weather the excitement was more heady than a tankard of raw spirit, and
if there was a share bonus at the end of it he was well pleased.

Women and children appeared, and hitched a thirty- foot pole with a
forked end over the stern to push the yawl into deeper water once the
anchor was
stowed.  The sea bit and tore at them, soaking their boots and black
stockinged legs, but they were undeterred.  Nineteen men manned the
lifeboat. It grated over the shingle until it was shoved clear and
Joshua grabbed one of the life belts taking his place to starboard as
the lugsail was raised and the wind filled it with a noise like an
enormous belch.  Then the yawl hit the first of the huge breakers,
which lifted her on to its crest and tossed her over into the trough
behind it with murderous sport, and foam cascaded over the sou'h
westered heads bent over the oars.

Joshua pulled hard, hands gripping his oar with a strength which
brought up reins like cords in his arms, and his muscles bulged with
energy.  He breathed from the depth of his stomach and took the rhythm
from the coxswain, dipping and drawing on his oar with practised skill.
 The sea in this mood filled him with elation and as his lungs expanded
he felt an urge to shout aloud.

There were two things he wanted more than anything in the world and he
would fight for them with every ounce of his strength.  One was enough
money to buy the first of the fleet of drifters he intended to own
before he was much older.

The other was Poppy Ludlow.

Poppy was seventeen that summer of 1910 when Grandfather Ludlow died.

The suddenness of it had been a shock and she was made uneasily aware
of the uncertainty of life.  It had been a hard one for Grandfer,
struggling to better himself in an industry which was notoriously hard,
but he had mostly enjoyed it.  Now he was gone.

Death was no stranger to families in Fenstowe where men went fishing
whatever the weather.  The wind blowing in from the grey North Sea was
cold enough to chill the bones, and it could chill the spirit too with
the havoc it brought. No woman let her man put to sea with bad words
lingering between them in case he never returned, although she could be
heard complaining that the herring meant more to him than his wife and
family.

"Herrings!"  Maw would exclaim.

"I know they're our living, but I hate the sight of them sometimes. 
And the taste too.  The only day of the year I like is Christmas when
yer grandfer buys us a lump of beef."

Agnes Ludlow had lost her father and two brothers when she was only
twelve years old.  They had been on board one of the sixteen ships
wrecked along this part of the East Anglian coast in a storm one
terrible day in the October of 1882, a day known ever since as Black
Saturday.  Yet she had married into a fishing family, the same as most
girls did.  There was little choice, but if sorrow came they had the
support of the community.  Hardly a family was spared the loss of a
loved one at sea at some time or other.

But hearing that someone dear had drowned was not the same as seeing
him die in Drago Street before one's eyes.  The only other time Poppy
had thought about death seriously was when she'd read accounts of King
Edward's funeral in May this year, and looked at pictures of the pomp
and ceremony.  He'd only been ill two days, and with a common thing
like bronchitis which everyone got in the winter.  It had disturbed her
to realize that even a king with all his money and power couldn't
escape.

Now death had reached the heart other own family and she had come face
to face with its inevitability, though it was no good dwelling on it
until she was miserable.  Grandfer would want her to get on with living
and make each day count.

She was happy in Fenstowe and didn't have ambitions to go off to some
big city in search of excitement.  She had always lived in this cold
town on England's most easterly point and loved it in spite of its
plainness.  She loved the cobbled streets and alleys down near the
shore, the flat landscape she had seen on the Sunday school charabanc
outing, and the salty smell offish which hung about all the houses she
knew.  The only horizon she wanted
to see was the smudgy grey one beyond the breakers rolling towards the
harbour on all but the calmest days, and she thought the most exciting
sight in the world was the fishing fleet returning to harbour at the
end of a voyage.  Home came the men from Ireland or Devon or the
Shetland Isles, hearts full of longing for family and fireside.

As a child Grandfer had taken her to the Bethel service held on the
fish market every Sunday morning.  She'd loved to stand beside him
while he sang in his deep bass voice to the hymn tunes played on the
harmonium.  Sometimes he'd helped to carry the harmonium down to the
market and she'd walked beside him, proud of his strength.  On the day
of the funeral Poppy's attention wandered from the solemn incantation
over the coffin.  She reckoned Grandfer would rather have had his
funeral service held down on the fish market than in the starchy church
of St Martha that had been built in times when there must have been
more wealth from the sea than there was now.

He had always seemed to have twice the strength other father and she
remembered him as a giant of a man with a loud voice which everyone in
the family obeyed, but no doubt the eyes of childhood had magnified
him.  Every Saturday during the autumn home fishing season she had gone
down to the Marine pier with her mother and Daisy to watch the fleet
come in, like many other families did.  Grandfer's boat the Sarah Star
had always been one of the first to sail between the harbour arms
because he'd never believed in fighting for a berthing place.

"No use spending hours waiting to get near the fish market when I could
be at home with me feet up before half of them are further than the
dock entrance," he used to say.

So they had waved to him frantically as he came in triumph on a strong
flood tide.  Then all three had sat with their backs to a machine which
delivered little tin boxes of chocolate to anyone rich enough to put a
penny in the slot, waiting for Pa to get back too.

Maw would produce an orange from the patchwork bag with wooden handles
she always carried.

She'd peel it and share out the segments, giving Daisy the ones without
any pips because she was the youngest.  Later, when most of the fleet
was through, they would be nearly the only ones left on the pier and
Fa's boat would still be tossing like a gull on the waves outside.  For
him the worst of the jostling never came from vessels trying to land
the catch, but from those which had already done so and were trying to
get out again.  Likely it would be late evening before he was home. 
Grandfer would be waiting with enough share money to pay his crew, and
a bellyful of curses to level at his son who had not.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth
in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and who sever live th
and believeth in me shall never die."

The vicar chanted the fine words in a resonant voice but Poppy couldn't
find any comfort in them.  Life was very good and it was hard to credit
that there were better things to come.  She was not even sure whether
Grandfer would merit them.  He wouldn't have rejoiced that the sun ^as
shining on the last day his mortal remains were above the ground. 
Whenever he had been in a black mood he had let everyone know it and he
wouldn't have approved of the way life had been snatched from him. 
Even as she thought about it a cloud appeared in the blue sky and
scudded across the sun as though he had summoned it.  St Martha's
Church stood on the only elevated piece of ground in Fenstowe, its tall
spire a finger collecting clouds like wool round a spindle, but on this
day it soon discarded them and the sun continued to shine.

The Kerrick men were at the funeral.  It was inconceivable that they
had been invited and Poppy thought it strange they had come to pay
respects when they had disliked the old man.  No doubt they had their
reasons, but surely it would have sufficed if Joshua had come alone
since he was the only one now indebted to old Bill Ludlow for his
livelihood, and had been there when he
died, She was uncomfortably aware of Joshua's bold eyes on her.  He
stood, cap in hand, beside his father and younger brother, and the
smell of fish grew stronger as the sun warmed their clothes, "Why do
you think all the Kerricks have come?"  she whispered to her fat^r from
behind her handkerchief.

Blessed if I knoy,; Clan Ludlow said.

"Of course I don't.  Nice of them, though.  Perhaps I should thank them
for the thought."

Soil was sprinkled on the oak and brass coffin down in the ground, and
s^s and sniffs swept through the clustered womenfol^ poppy tried harder
to keep her mind on the sad farewell to Grandfer Ludlow's departed
spirit.  She'd had a great respect for him.  It was not the same as
love but it had bred a strong affinity.

"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
nothing o^' the parson intoned.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of
the Lord."  .

Grandfer wouldn't like that much either.  He hadn't been rich but he
had made a good enough living with his sailing drifters and h^'d bought
a nice piece of property up near the cliff when things were going well,
nearer to where ship owners lived above the Marsh Village folk who
worked for them.  ^e had guarded his money and his affections
jealously, and since love given mostly begets love in return he had
maybe been a mite short of it, but it hadn't seemed to bonier him as
long as he could count on Poppy's loyalty.  She had three younger
sisters but they might not have existed for all the notice the old man
had taken of them.  Poppy was the only one of the family who had got
anything like clo^e.  She was strong, and he had always admired the
quality. Having had the strength himself to work for whatever h^ wanted
he had encouraged her to do the same.  He hadn't ^yen her anything she
wasn't prepared to work for but he l^d fostered her ambitions as best
he could, seeing that she was a female.

24 "You won't appreciate anything that's handed you on a plate,
girl."

It had been a favourite saying.

"Thank God you're not like yer father.  How I could have bred such a
pious landlubber I'll never know."

"Grandfer, that's not kind.  Fa goes to sea like everyone else."

She could hear herself protesting even now as she stole a glance at her
father's stocky figure.  Clan looked nice in his serge jacket with the
velvet collar, the new gansy Maw had knitted for him and the black silk
wrapper at his neck.  He had boots with pointed toes and a flat cap
with a button on the top.

"He's weak and you know it," Grandfer had said.

"Can't bring back a decent catch even once in a season.  It breaks me
heart to see all I've worked for falling about his ears.  If he wasn't
me son I wouldn't sign him on."

"He does his best."

"And his best ain't good enough."

"Mebbe not, but I love him just the same and I'll thank you not to
criticize him, Grandfer.  All men ain't like you^ She had risked his
wrath in defending her father.

"Mebbe he does spend hours catching up on back numbers of the Church
Times when he's home, but that's better than be inga drunkard like Tom
Kerrick.  At least Maw knows where he is, and he can't help it if he
doesn't like the sea."

"Huh!"  The old man had only grunted.

Her eyes roved slowly over the crowd.  Fa was the smartest man there.

Her mother had said she would stay up at the house because someone
needed to be with Grandma Ludlow while the funeral took place, but
Poppy had a suspicion it wasn't altogether a kindness.  Her two younger
sisters.  Violet and Iris, were not old enough to attend either, which
gave Maw an added excuse, but it could be that she was ashamed of not
having the right clothes for the funeral.  Everyone, it seemed, had
decent Sunday best except Maw.  It was the first time Poppy had really
noticed.

The Lord's Prayer was murmured, the final collect said and the
blessing given.  Grandfer was left in peace to travel the road to
Eternity without any more help as the mourners turned away.  The family
straggled along St Martha's Church path in solemn procession towards
the Ludlow house in Manor Road, and the sun shone on their black
clothes, giving them the greenish shimmer of a flock of starlings.

"Come on, my little flowers."  It was Fa's pet name for his
daughters.

Poppy walked beside him while her sister Daisy, who was two years
younger, lingered several paces behind with Aunt Lizzie.  When Poppy
looked round she saw the Kerrick men bringing up the rear at a
respectable distance, and her heart gave a peculiar jolt.  She had the
strangest feeling they were a shadow about to fall on the unsuspecting
Ludlows, yet there was nothing menacing in their behaviour.

"Fa, the Kerricks are still with us.  Why are they here?"

"The church was full of people, representatives from the Fisher Company
and the likes."

"But they didn't all come to the graveside.  It should be family
only,"

Her father could offer no explanation.

"Likely they'll turn off down to Marsh Village when we get to the
corner," was all he said.

The next time Poppy glanced around Aunt Lizzie Ludlow's hat had caught
in a branch of the sycamore tree at the churchyard gate and tilted it
over her eye.  She stopped to rearrange it.  Tom Kerrick and his sons
paused a few yards behind until she was on her way again, then they
continued to amble in silent pursuit.  No one spoke to them.  Neither
did they talk to each other.

When Poppy was eleven years old Tom Kerrick was skipper of one of the
Ludlow drifters, but it foundered in a storm.  It was presumed that he
had drowned
with the rest of the crew, and Gwendolen Kerrick, the only girl of the
brood and the same age as Poppy, was given a day off school to be with
her grieving mother and brothers.  The next week Tom Kerrick was back
on shore, none the worse for his ordeal.

Another child in the class had lost her father and a brother on the
Fairoaks but there was no hope of them coming back like Tom Kerrick had
done.  And the way everyone talked at school it sounded like it was all
Grandfather Ludlow's fault, which upset Poppy no end.  She'd heard his
version of what happened and knew it was more likely to be true, so she
repeated a few things to Gwendolen.

The Grandfer says your Fa was too drunk too handle the boat properly. 
"

"How does he know he was drunk?  He wuzn't there."  Gwendolen had clean
pinafore on only once a week, and then it was still stained.  She
rubbed her grubby hands over it.

"Grandfer ain't never going to sign him on again."

"Don't you say that."

"It's true.  He says it's yer Fa's fault all them other men drowned."

The Kerrick girl went for Poppy with bared fingernails, raking them
across her face until she drew blood.  Then she knocked her down and
the two of them went rolling across the classroom floor locked in
battle until the teacher came in and made them stand in separate
corners for the rest of the day.

That was not the end of it.  After school skinny Hal Kerrick, who was
two years older than his sister but not as big, was wailing at the gate
for Poppy and Daisy to come out.  He grabbed Poppy by the hair and
forced her to stop.

"What d'you mean by saying all them things about our Fa?  None of it's
true and you'd best say sorry."

"Shan't," said Poppy.

Hal was joined by Joshua Kerrick, and Daisy began to cry.

Joshua was a tall boy of fourteen who had already been to sea on a
smack as cook for several months.  He had black hair which grew
straight and strong, and his dark eyes were the colour of shiny
conkers.  Poppy hadn't seen him around for a while and she sensed
rather than saw the change in him.  He came towards them with a swagger
and when he looked at her it was like he was now on the grown-up side
of the fence with a right to tell her off.

"You've been upsetting Gwennie, Poppy Ludlow.  I won't be having
that.

And you can't get away with the things yuh've said about me father. 
"

He stood over her like a copper, and the dreary walls of the school
rose up prison-like behind him.

"What are you going to do to me then?  I only spoke the truth."

"As old Bill Ludlow sees it.  That mean old tyrant ain't never liked us
and now he's spreading lies.  If he does it some more me father'll shut
his mouth."

"And is that what you're going to do to mine?"  Poppy was trembling
inside and her head was hurting where Hal still pulled at her hair but
she wasn't going to take back anything.  Her little chin jutted and the
colour coming into her face hid some of the freckles.

"You wouldn't dare.  You're all the same, you Kerricks.  Cowards. 
Gwendolen had to get her big brothers to fight her battles, didn't she?
 Well I ain't afraid of any of you."

She was sure there was a look of surprise in Joshua's eyes.  He seemed
about to say something else but it was sucked back and his expression
changed.  He stared at her a moment, then turned away with a sharp
command to his brother.

"Let her go, Hal.  She's only a kid.  She ain't worth bothering
with."

"Aw, Josh!"

"Let her go, I said."

Daisy was still crying and Poppy took hold other hand, leading her
away.  When
they got to Ma Brady's shop in Cooper Street she bought sweets for her
younger sister with a farthing she'd been saving.

Whatever the rights of the matter, it was a long time before anyone
took on Tom Kerrick again as skipper.  Nathaniel Lea, one of the
wealthiest fleet-owners in Fenstowe, eventually did so when he was
desperate to find a replacement on the eve of a voyage.

Poppy left school when she was fourteen and started as an apprentice
beatster in a net-store belonging to fed Rain who was a sort of distant
relation to the Ludlows.  There was nothing much else for girls to do
except mend nets, and she was resigned to it.  At fifteen she began
attracting plenty of admirers and Joshua Kerrick started hanging round
the store whenever he was ashore.  He tormented her, trying to make her
temper fly the way it had done in the schoolyard, but she had learnt
more control by then and she tossed her head at him.

When she found out that Grandfer had signed on Joshua as a deckhand she
had to grit her teeth and remind herself the old man had the right to
take on anyone he pleased.

The day it happened a fierce wind was tearing through Tanners Row and
when she left the net-store it whipped her hair across her face,
momentarily blinding her.  She didn't see a bicycle propped against the
wall until it was too late and she stumbled into it, toppling the
machine.  The dog guarding the bike barked furiously, catching her
skirt in its teeth.

"Get off me, you miserable mongrel!  Get away!"  She tried to shake off
the dog before it ripped a hole in the grey flannel.

There was no dislodging it until a man's voice bellowed nearby.

"Leave her be, Blackie.  She ain't trying to pinch me bike."

Joshua Kerrick was leaning with one shoulder against the wall, idly
watching her predicament.  His eyes roved over her with lazy
appreciation while the dog continued to bar her way.

"Will you let me get by, please."  Poppy voice was tight with
annoyance and her leg was sore where the skin was grazed.

"He's doing me a favour."  The insolent wretch didn't attempt to
move.

"Too proud to speak to me usually, aren't you.  Poppy Ludlow?  Well
this time yuh'll have to.  You've got the looks I fancy, and there's
better things we could be doing than fight."

"There's nothing I'll ever be doing with you.  I ain't one of the cheap
girls I've seen you hanging around with."

"Yer grandfather doesn't think so badly of me these days.  He's just
signed me on to work on the Night Queen."

"I reckon me grandfer wants his head seen to."

Joshua gave an impudent smile which was so heart- stopping it could
have put paid to her resistance quite easily, but she steeled herself
against it, knowing it to be a trick.  The wind was full of salt spray
from the sea and it was damping her clothes.  She drew her skirt
tighter round her legs and there was more in the gesture than fear that
the shaggy mongrel might snap again.  She wanted to shield herself from
something she didn't understand. The shiver which ran down her spine
was chased by dismay that Granfer was once again prepared to trust a
Kerrick.

After the funeral Mr Dunwoody, the solicitor, was waiting at the house
in Manor Road to read Bill Ludlow's will.  He was already seated like a
schoolmaster at a table in the window when the family returned, the
light behind him creatinga sombre silhouette.  The parlour had been
arranged to seat everyone, and Grandma Ludlow was already occupying the
large armchair vacated by her late husband, her back straight against
the woven fabric which was worn where his head had rested.

One by one the women came in and kissed the pale cheeks which still had
a peach-bloom softness.  Aunt Lizzie was first, the dutiful daughter
who was
forty-four years old and still unmarried, followed by Daisy and Poppy
and a handful of cousins.  Grandma Ludlow greeted them all, dry-eyed
and more composed than most of the assembling company since it was her
health rather than an emotional state which had kept her from attending
the funeral.  Maw was fussing with food in the dining room, peeping
under the lace cloth covering plates of sandwiches to make sure nothing
had been forgotten, and her two youngest children clung to her skirt
unhappily, affected by the solemnity of the occasion.

When the front doorbell rang the last of the party had entered and they
were all selecting their seats.  For a moment there was an exchanging
of puzzled glances.

"I'll go," said Clan.

Poppy was at the back of the room where she would be ready to help Maw
with the food, and saw her father go to the door.  The sun was shining
through panes of coloured glass in the fanlight and flecks of colour
stained the drab brown walls.  One of them lighted on Clan, touching
his face with a red glow which vanished as soon as he opened the door. 
The Kerricks were grouped on the step.

"Don't suppose you were expecting us."  Tom Kerrick was the
spokesman.

"Likely yuh'll be as much in the dark as we are.  Something to my
advantage, the letter said.  I had to come and hear the will read."

Poppy crept into the hall but kept back in the shadows.

"Well this is a strange thing," said Clan.

"I take it you've got the letter with you?"

"Yuh can have a look at it."

Tom Kerrick brought a folded white envelope from his pocket and
extracted a sheet of paper which he handed to Clan .  He read it with a
frown, then said grudgingly: "Yuh'd better come in."

In they trooped, Tom ahead of his sons who snatched off their caps and
wiped their feet unnecessarily hard on the mat inside the door.

There was no time for Poppy to get back into the room before them.

She stood in the dimness and waited for them to pass, her nose
wrinkling up at the fishy tang ymch accompanied them.  She felt it
ought to have been ^ behind, at a funeral.

Tom Kerrick and Hal disappeared into the throng of people waiting in
the parlour.  Joshua followed, but when he came level with t>oppy he
paused.  She was trapped in her shadowed corner, unable to avoid
meeting his eyes.  Her tender mouth remained unsmiling and her dimpled
chin lifted proudly.  The gold-flecked eyes stayed wide and
undaunted.

She h^ been cornered by Joshua Kerrick before.

"You're still a giq that takes me fancy," he said quietly.  "Even more
in yer Sunday hat, though it's a shame to cover all that lovely red 1^
" It ain't red.  "

Then why did they call you Poppy?  You always make me think dangerous
thoughts.  "

"Will you hush yore.  mouth.  Josh Kerrick, and remember what's going
o^."

He grinned slowly ^ his dark eyes challenged her to admit she was not
gg immune to his saucy words as she made out.  There w^s a tightening
in her chest which made her draw a deep breath when he turned away,
taking his roguish smile with him.  She put both hands to her wide
brimmed hat and tagged at it until the stitches split in the black
velvet ribbo^ she had attached last night.

It was not right seeing the Kerricks in Grandfer's house.  They didn't
belong and she wished her father hadn't let them in.  There was always
trouble when they were about.

Grandma Ludio^ sniffed audibly when the men came into the room and her
old eyes narrowed as she tried to focus them.

"Ah, Mr Kenic^' said Mr Dunwoody.

"Will you please be seated."

"Kerrick?"  Grandma Ludlow's back stiffened and her hands knotted
to^th^ m ^ igp.

Room was ma^e f^ ^g newcomers to sit on upright 32 chairs against the
wall, but before he sat down Tom Kerrick leaned towards the old lady.

"Condolences, ma'am."  His abruptness disclosed his discomfort at
having to be part of this sad family occasion.

Grandma Ludlow nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"Don't know what you're doing here but I suppose you have a right."

"He has a letter," said Clan.

Tom was now bending towards Aunt Lizzie, and Poppy noticed the erratic
way her breast rose and fell beneath the black bombazine other mourning
dress.

"Good day to you.  Lizzie."  He didn't call her ma'am, or Miss Ludlow,
with decent respect.  Lizzie, he called her.

Aunt Lizzie's eyes wavered, resting on him a second, then dropped
discreetly. Her thin cheeks coloured but she didn't reply and it seemed
to Poppy that she was more disquieted than anyone at the strange
arrival of the Kerricks. It was another puzzling development.

Mr Dunwoody cleared his throat loudly, signalling his impatience to get
on with the business and have it out of the way so that he could sample
some of Aunt Lizzie's cooking.  There was an expectant hush.

"I am here to read the last will and testament of our dear departed
relative and friend, William George Ludlow, who died on the eighteenth
of August in this year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and ten."  Mr
Dunwoody smoothed the thick cream paper after untying the ribbon which
had bound it, and cleared his throat again before starting to read.

"I, William George Ludlow, being of sound mind .  .

"Poppy listened attentively while small bequests were mentioned,
waiting to hear what Tom Kerrick was to receive, and why.  By the time
the fringes of the family were reached the Kerrick name had not been
voiced.  It was very peculiar.  She saw Tom Kerrick fidget, and she
took pleasure in staring at the back of Joshua's neck which was chafing
against a collar that was too tight. She hoped it would choke him.

"Finally, I come to my family."  The solicitor paused and looked at
his audience like an actor about to deliver the most important speech
of his career.

"To my wife, Sarah, I leave my house and the residue of my estate on
the understanding that it shall pass in due time to our daughter. 
Lizzie, who has shown great devotion.  To my son, Daniel, I leave the
house he occupies in Murdoch Street, and my sailing drifter, the Sarah
Star."

There was another pause in the reading, lengthier this time, and Poppy
saw a muscle move in her father's cheek.  The drifters were one of the
most important parts of the legacy and everyone had expected him to
inherit them both.  No one else was entitled to them.  So what was to
happen to the other one?  The poker-faced solicitor held the answer in
his hands.  He coughed discreetly behind his hand, and turned for a
second towards Grandma Ludlow.

"With apologies, ma'am.  I am duty bound to make the following matter
public."  Yet another pause.  If only the old man would get on with
it.

"I wish it to be known that I, William Ludlow, fathered the son born to
Lottie Kerrick, formerly Smith, seven months after she married Alfred
Kerrick, who believed the child to be his.  The said Lottie Kerrick, on
learning that I intended to go ahead with my plans to marry Sarah
Waddington, agreed to take a sum of money, a condition being that she
was never to approach me with the child after it was born.  The boy was
christened Thomas and she abided by my wishes.  In my final hour I want
to acknowledge Thomas Kerrick as my own flesh and blood and in some way
make reparation by bequeathing to him the second of my sailing
drifters, the Night Queen.  I trust that he will benefit from it and be
encouraged to lead a sober and industrious life from now on.  Our
relationship has always been stormy and I have caused him much
unhappiness in the past, but I know he will understand why when the
truth of his birth is revealed."  The solicitor glanced up briefly.

"I also stipulate that the drifters shall pass in turn from father to
son."

After a few more paragraphs, uninteresting compared with what had gone
before, Mr Dunwoody concluded the reading.  He lifted his head slowly,
his gaze moving over the motionless assembly from Grandma Ludlow to the
un savoury Tom Kerrick.  Then he picked up the will and tapped it on
the table to straighten the pages.  The sound was like a rifle shot in
the silent room.

35 Poppy had not been born in the house in Murdoch Street which now
belonged to Daniel, her father.  It was the one Grandfer Ludlow had
been able to buy with his wife's dowry and where they had brought up
their children.  When his son Clan married he had made him find a place
of his own, and the only one he'd been able to afford to rent was a
cottage in Marsh Village at the bottom of Dogger Alley.  He'd hated
it.

"Nearest place yuh could get to the steps back up to Murdoch Street,
weren't it, Clan Ludlow," his surly neighbour had said when he went
indoors with lime to cover the ceiling which paraffin lamps had
blackened.

Poppy and Daisy had been born in the cottage near Dogger Alley but they
hadn't lived there long enough to develop any affinity with the Marsh
people.

In his affluent days Bill Ludlow bought the house in Manor Road, which
was nearer the cliff, so that he could claim that he lived 'up top'
among the fleet-owners.  He'd then let Clan rent the Murdoch Street
house which was a cut above those in Marsh Village.  The door didn't
open straight on to the road.  There was a brick and flint bond wall in
front of it and a path which could be covered in a stride, but there
was not enough space or light for an actual garden so in summer Agnes
Ludlow tended a window box which gave her more pleasure than anything
inside.  She grew Virginia stock from a packet of seeds and looked
after the delicate flowers lovingly until the last stem had turned
brown.

Daniel became a much happier man, praising the Lord for his change of
fortune.  The same couldn't be said for his father.  Bill Ludlow was
never quite accepted among the cliff people, and when his fleet
dwindled at the end of his heyday he found it, more and more difficult
to be part of the community into which he had moved.

Perhaps he would have been happier if his ambitions had not taken him
up there when he belonged firmly among the working class which had
sprung up throughout the last century in the newer part of town.

There was a lot of snobbishness around Fenstowe.  Over the years Marsh
Village had gradually become integrated with the town but the people
who lived there retained the kind of pride which only poverty breeds.

There was very little money but folk held their heads high and many
family names dated back to the Domesday Book.  It was the oldest part
of town, a network of streets clustered near the shore where fisherman
had lived for centuries under threat of being washed away by
exceptionally high seas. Longshoremen and drifter hands with large
families were packed together in houses so small a mother couldn't tell
whether it was her own baby crying or one three doors down, and there
was hardly a family that didn't have to chalk things up on the slate at
the grocer's.  It was a wonder the shops kept going at all when there
were four pubs as well on the Marsh, but somehow they got by even if
the boats didn't bring in enough fish for the crews to be paid.  There
was a strong bond uniting the Marsh people and they helped each other
through hardships.

The beach tipped Marsh Village with an illusion of gold when the sun
shone. It stretched northwards until the land rose up in a rocky cliff
just high enough to have been recognized as a desirable spot for
building superior dwellings.  Only the wealthiest fleet-owners lived
right up on the cliff, their houses sturdy and somewhat austere from
the outside because there was a penalty for being able to afford the
elevation.  The wind which blew down from
37 the Arctic, unhindered by any land mass until it reached Fenstowe,
found every vulnerable spot in poorly built property.  Few of them had
main windows facing the sea, and those that did had shutters that could
be fastened across during the worst of the winter.

Fenstowe itself had once been nothing more than a hamlet around the
church of St Martha on its pimple-like hill, quite separate from Marsh
Village.  Open land had separated the two lots of people and they'd had
little to do with each other.  Then a harbour was developed at the
mouth of the River Fenny and houses were built on land reclaimed from
the marshes after the harbour arms caused silting.  A town began to
grow and ill feeling between the two communities grew with it the
closer they lived together.

When the railway came in the middle of the last century people moved in
from the country, and more and more joskins went to sea in the
fast-growing fleet of fishing vessels that made it necessary for the
harbour to be enlarged.  A new fish dock had to be built.  Fenstowe
became a popular place for holiday makers too.  The air was so
bracing.

South Park was developed along the river and Marine Pier was built out
into the sea, long enough to be beyond the reach of smells from the
fish dock when the wind was in the wrong direction.  A handful of
hotels set up in business when yacht-owners discovered there was sport
to he had on the river, and the soft sands to the south of the pier
became a summer playground for visitors, who brought a new source of
income to the town.

So the alleys at the top end of Marsh Village became arteries for the
new blood which pumped life into the streets of houses now filling the
gap between cliff and shore.  Such a one was Murdoch Street where Bill
Ludlow had first lived with his bride.  He'd once been a joskin
himself, a country boy who had turned to the sea when he grew tired of
being stood off after harvest
each autumn.  If Sarah Waddington hadn't come to him with a dowry
perhaps he might have married Lottie Kerrick instead.

Human nature being what it is, the relationship between Marsh Village
dwellers and their employers who lived 'up top' was cordial and
deferential, but between the two extremes there were the townsfolk.

The residents of Murdoch Street and the like had little to do with
those who lived at the bottom of the alleys.  They had escaped too
recently from similar circumstances and didn't want to be reminded of
it.  And the Marsh people hated being grouped together as just another
part of Fenstowe.  They refused to give up their individuality and
looked upon the newcomers as intruders, so there existed a permanent
state of animosity.

Pride caused very strong feelings.

The Ludlows returned to their Murdoch Street house after the funeral,
dismayed and mortified by a totally unexpected turn of events.

A fire burned in the black-leaded stove and the kettle lid bounced
cheerily. It was the only cheerful thing in the room that evening.

"You're not going to let him get away with it, are you, Fa?"  Poppy
said, her voice sharp with accumulated anger.  "Both Grandfer's
drifters should be yours.  What proof have we got that Tom Kerrick
really is kin?"

She shuddered as she pictured the man when he stood up in Grandma's
parlour preparatory to makinga stunned exit.  He was taller than her
father and there was nothing about him to suggest they could be
half-brothers.  His belly had protruded over the top of his trousers,
filling the indecently tight creased shirt like a suet pudding wrapped
in cloth, and he had found it difficult to rebutton his jacket.  His
cheeks were red and marked with veins, not so much through exposure to
the elements as to the constant downing of cheap liquor, but there was
still evidence of the handsome man he had been in his youth.
Joshua was 39 like him.  It was only in Hal that Poppy could see some
slight resemblance to her father.

"What can I do about it?"  Daniel asked.  Tis done now and no law's
going to change it.  "

He had taken off his cap and the dark hair which was thinning on top
was oiled down with sweat.  He unwound the wrapper from his neck and
began wiping his head with it as he slumped into his chair.

"I don't believe you care!"  Poppy stood in front of him, her hands on
her hips.

"I don't know how yuh can accept it so calmly.  It's as if it doesn't
matter to you at all."

"Don't speak to your father like that.  Poppy," Maw scolded.

"It's been a terrible shock to him.  To all of us.  Don't make matters
worse."

Daisy unhooked a pot holder from its nail beside the stove and used it
to pick up the kettle.  There was a sooty smell and the bottom of it
glowed with little red sparks which were attached like limpets.

Maw hurriedly replaced the cast-iron cover over the hole in the top of
the stove from which heat was escaping like a furnace.

"I think it must all be a terrible mistake."  Daisy had a quiver in her
voice.  Her hand was unsteady as she poured boiling water into an
enamel teapot and her flushed cheeks were streaked with tears.  She was
small and dark like her father and had inherited a similar
fastidiousness.  The shock of Grandfer's will had been more than she
could hide.

"It'll be all over town by morning and I shall never be able to look at
anyone again.  The Kerricks of all people!  If we had to be related to
someone why couldn't it have been to someone decent?"

"Well, something's got to be done about it," Poppy insisted.

"If the Night Queen stays in Tom Kerrick's hands her days are numbered,
and no mistake.  It's such a wicked waste."

"I don't know how Grandfer could have done such a thing."  Daisy's
innocent eyes brimmed with more tears.

Her mother gathered up Violet and Iris, the two little girls born to
her after a succession of miscarriages.  No one had expected her to
produce another healthy child, least of all Agnes herself, and the
strain of coping with children, of three and two years old showed in
her face.  She was not a physically strong woman, nor was she
particularly patient.

"Take the little ones upstairs.  Daisy.  They don't need anything else
to eat.  Yuh can take them up some warm milk when you've got them to
bed."

"But, Maw .  . ."

"Now, please.  Daisy,"

Poppy kissed the baby faces uplifted to her and hugged each of her
sisters in turn.  She, too, had felt the shock three years ago when she
saw the swelling fill her mother's frock and the thin waistline
disappear.  Pregnancy was what happened to other girls' mothers, not
hers, and she had tried not to look at the curious shape Maw had
become.  She and Daisy had talked a bit about it when the light was out
in their bedroom, but nothing was said of Maw's condition downstairs. 
Everyone pretended she was just tired from working too hard, yet in
homes where a new baby arrived every year it was accepted as an
inevitable occurrence.

Then soon after Violet arrived and Maw's figure had returned to normal
it began to swell again in just the same way.  This time Poppy lost her
embarrassment and pity took its place.  Her mother's hair, which had
once been the colour of dark honey, was now dulled to the shade of
unpolished brass, and grey-streaked tendrils escaped the knot at the
neck to cling damply against her thin cheeks.  Poppy did all she could
to save Maw's energy.  And she felt a huge, protective love for Violet.
 She would hold the baby in her arms and wonder at her smallness,
marvel that she never cried, and there was a curious stirring within
her.  When she watched Maw nursing Violet, guidinga dark, damp nipple
into the little seeking mouth, there was a tingling in her own newly
budding breasts.

"Ain't she got the sweetest little tongue.  Maw," she 41 remembered
saying.

"She keeps putting it out as if she's hungry all the time."

It wasn't until much later they learnt the reason for Violet's unusual
docility and protruding tongue, but the fact that she was a mongol
child only increased Poppy's devotion.

It was Daisy who took naturally to looking after the new baby.  When
Iris was born and Maw was too weak to leave her bed for several weeks. 
Daisy did most of the caring for the tiny mite.  Daisy knew
instinctively how to bring up the baby's wind and clean it up when it
was wet and dirty.  A natural little mother, the neighbours called her.
 Poppy shuddered at such things.  The maternal role didn't come
naturally to her at all.  When she closed her schoolbooks for the last
time and was able to work in the net-store she thought she had never
been happier.

Daisy and the toddlers climbed the narrow stairs which led straight up
from the kitchen, and she could be heard laughing with Iris while she
tucked her in the cot.  The stairs came up in the middle bedroom, where
the little ones slept to make it easier for Maw if they needed her in
the night.  Poppy and Daisy had been moved into the narrow room over
the scullery, which was not big enough to hold more than the bed they
shared.

Agnes listened at the foot of the stairs a moment, then she turned to
her husband with pursed lips and a glint in her eyes.

"I always knew there was something nasty about your father.  He smelt
of secrets.  I'm not a bit surprised he had a bastard.  I just don't
know how your dear mother could've taken it as calmly as she did."

"Don't speak ill of the dead, Aggie," Fa said.

"And I'd rather yuh didn't use that ugly word.  The old man may not
have been all he ought, but he's gone now and I won't have his name
muddied."

"It'll be muddied all right, and without any help from us."  Agnes's
fingers
twined together like plaited cane, white and taut.

"I remember old Lottie Kerrick.  She used to keep herself to herself. 
To give her her due she kept that hovel in Drago Street a lot cleaner
than Clara Kerrick has ever done.  A right slut that one."

"She's one of God's children, the same as we all are."

"And in every family there are some as are better than others.  Tom
Kerrick's a wrong 'un if ever there was one."

"He's me half-brother," Clan said.  And because of its strangeness he
repeated the statement with a touch of incredulity.

"He's me half-brother.  I know me father sinned, going with another
woman like he did before he married me mother, but he repented and he's
tried to put things right."

"At our expense.  It's you he's wronged, and two wrongs don't make a
right. They never did, and they certainly don't now.  You're always too
ready to turn the other cheek and make excuses for people.  You're too
soft for yer own good, Clan Ludlow.  If there's anyone who deserves a
bit of sympathy it's Lottie Kerrick for keeping her mouth shut all
these years."

"I wonder what happened to old Lottie?"

"Don't know.  After Alf Kerrick was drowned and Tom got married she
went and lived with her daughter at Greenmarket.  Likely she's still
there."

Poppy went out to the scullery and pulled at the pump until water
splashed loudly in the pitted stone sink.  She couldn't stand to hear
them arguing. Neither did she want to know anything else about the
Kerricks.  Her mother was right but it was not Poppy's place to take
sides, and she couldn't listen any longer without voicing her own
opinion.

Her thoughts sped back to that dreadful day when Grandfer had died and
she went over in her mind, as she had done dozens of times since, the
words he had shouted to Joshua.

"You'll be sorry you didn't listen to me," he had said.  In another few
days,
maybe only hours, the Kerricks might 43 have been crossed off that
will. The old man had been finding out things he didn't like, and maybe
he'd been having second thoughts about making the relationship known. 
Given just a little more time, the truth might have stayed respectably
hidden.

There was only one small consolation.  The Sarah Star was a much better
vessel than the Night Queen, and with a skipper who knew the fishing
grounds well there was more chance of makinga decent living with her. 
The trouble was, Fa was not the best of skippers.  Clan didn't use his
initiative enough and was timorous in bad weather, so although he now
owned the better boat there was little chance of him making it pay if
he didn't buck up his ideas. The Night Queen with its more forceful
crew had been the money-maker for old Bill Ludlow, and would likely do
the same for Tom Kerrick if he could stay sober.

"Something's got to be done," she said to herself.

"Yuh've got to keep us all on what yuh can earn with one drifter, Fa,
so it's no good sitting around praying for lucky hauls."

She stopped pumping.  The effort had made her breathe fast, and
thinking about Grandfer was making her angry.  How she wished it was
possible to tell him just what she thought of the situation he had left
behind.  If his spirit was still around she hoped he knew that he had
upset her very much.  Had upset them all.  The old devil!

Poppy went back to the middle room.  Maw was heating milk in a
saucepan, the bony hands fidgeting with the hot, smoke-blackened handle
as if it satisfied her to suffer pain rather than reach for the pot
holder.

Fa was sitting forward in the chair with his head in his hands, and
there was a stillness in the room which had a hint of despair to it.

She went to the bowed figure and pressed his shoulder, gripping it with
her long, strong fingers so that he would know she understood.

He covered her hand with his own in mute appreciation.

"We'll manage, Fa.  We'll have the Sarah Star converted to steam.

That'll be a start.  "

"We can't do that without money."  When he looked up worry Was etched
deeply in his eyes.

"I went to the bank this morning.  The old man hardly left enough money
for yer grandmother to live on.  The Lord knows where it all went."  He
mopped his head again.

"I don't know what we're going to do, girl, that I don't."

"Will yuh stop looking on the black side?  You're as good as any other
drifter man and you're not too old to change yer ways.  We're going to
make our boat pay."  She had to boost his confidence.

"Joshua Kerrick ain't going to waste his chance and we ain't going to
waste ours either.  He'll be even more unbearable with a boat in his
grasp."  She shook her head impatiently, as if to rid herself of the
dreadful thought.

"If his father keeps it afloat long enough for Joshua to use his
skipper's ticket I reckon he'll make a go of it.  But I ain't going to
sit around waiting to see."

Dan's own father had given him no encouragement or hope while he lived.
 He had never praised him or understood that in his quiet way he was a
brave man, because although he hated the sea he had never turned his
back on it.  It was not hard to guess the humiliation he must be
feeling now.  What Grandfather Ludlow had done to his legitimate son
was cruel and vindictive, and Fa didn't deserve it.

"I don't know what a girl like you can do about it," said Maw.

"I'm going to take Grandfer's place.  I'll look after the business side
of things and Fa can do the fishing.  We'll do better than them
Kerricks, you'll see."

Grandfer might have been a clever man when he was younger, but age had
withered his ambitions and he had done nothing to replenish his
depleted fleet when it gradually dwindled from ten boats to two.  He
had refused to move with the times.  She had heard him shouting his
opinions about steam, and he had sold his vessels at a loss rather than
have them converted.  He had belonged to the age of sail, believing
wood and canvas to be infinitely
45 superior, but it was no use keeping to sailing drifters when it had
been proved that modern, better equipped craft were more suitable for
the job.

"I wish I could believe yuh," Fa said.

"You're a good strong girl.

Poppy, but it takes more than just strength to bring about the
impossible.  "

"I'll do it," she vowed.

She couldn't stay in that dull, doom-filled room a second longer.

Snatching up her straw hat, she ripped off the black ribbon reveal inga
red silk band underneath.

"Poppy, what are you doing?"  Her mother stopped in the midst of
pouring milk.

"I'm going out to do some thinking and I don't want me hat draped in
black."

"But you're in mourning."

"Not any more I'm not.  After what Grandfer's done I'm in no mood to
mourn him."

"Poppy!  What will people think?"

"I don't care what they think.  If anyone asks, I'll tell them.  It was
a dirty trick that old man played on us."

Fa stirred himself and stood up just as she reached the door.

"Poppy, come back here," he called ineffectually.

Poppy slammed the door after her and strode the length of Murdoch
Street with her head held high and the evening light giving an
audacious brightness to the red silk hatband.

As soon as Joshua turned into Drago Street he let out a yell of triumph
which was as loud as a ship's siren on regatta night, all the
excitement of the last hour bursting from his lungs in raucous sound.

"Ya - hoof" He tossed his cap in the air and kicked it before it could
land, sending it several yards ahead of him.  "We're drifter-owners,
Fa.  We own that dandy-rigged old Night Queen, and we're going to be
rich."

"Will you shut yer mouth!"  Tom's face was one big scowl.

"There's people about.  And I own it, not you."

The Trafalgar Arms was open and men were making for it with ears
pricked for a good scandal to drink on.

"One day we'll live up on the cliff," Joshua chanted.

"To hell with Drago Street."

"Shut up, damn you."

Tom lashed out with his hand and caught his son across the ear.  The
force of the blow made Joshua stagger.

"Lay off it, Fa," Hal protested.

"No need to act like a drunk even if you are one."

"No need for violence either."  Joshua rubbed his ear, which was
turning as red as a port light.

"You're too fond of using yer fists."

Since leaving the Ludlow house Tom had hardly said a word.  He had
lumbered along with his chin buried in his collar and there'd been no
sign that he rejoiced over his new prosperity.  Likely it hadn't
registered with him properly yet.  He'd had other things on his mind,
no doubt.

Clara Kerrick was at the door when they reached home, her arms folded
as she leaned against the sun-blistered wood.

"About time yuh came.  What took you so long?"

"Cheer yer face up, woman.  Ain't nothing for you to get in a mood
about," said Tom.

"There sure ain't.  Maw."

Joshua took a deep breath before stepping on the rag mat and he saw the
grime inside his home with new eyes.  A smell of cooking mackerel
drifted on the still air.

"Well go on, then, tell me what I've got to be glad about.  I suppose
old Bill Ludlow left you a fortune!"

Over at the stove Gwendolen was busy transferring fish from pan to
plates and she looked up with a show of curiosity.

"C'mon, Fa, we're dying to know."

"He's left me one of his boats, that's what he's done."

"He's done what?"

47 Joshua repeated the news.

"He's left Fa the Night Queen."

Clara put the meal on the table and her expression hardly changed.

She showed about as much interest as if her husband had been given a
pair of kippers.

"I'd like to know what you've ever done to deserve a thing like that,
Tom Kerrick.  The old devil wouldn't even sign you up.  Must be a
mistake."

"It ain't no mistake," said Tom.  "Seems me Maw was more than friendly
with Bill Ludlow before she married, and he reckoned as I was his."

She straightened up and looked at him.  Upping the plate she was
holding so that the oil from the mackerel spilt on the un scrubbed
table top.  Joshua watched her.  There was silence all round, no one
daring to say anything more until she'd made a comment.  When it came
she sounded quite unimpressed.

"So you're a Ludlow bastard, are you?  Well that dun't change anything.
 Yuh won't do any better with a boat of yer own than you do with other
people's. Like as not you'll sink.  it the same as you did the
Fairoaks."

Hal sprang to his father's defence.

"How can you say that.  Maw?"

"It'll not stop him drinking."

"Yuh don't mean I'm related to that snotty bitch Poppy Ludlow!"

Gwendolen exclaimed.

"Yuh'll not drink on board any more, will you, Fa?  There'll be no more
putt inga crew in danger and yuh'll have more respect for a boat that's
yer own."  Joshua went and stood over Tom like his keeper, his hands on
his hips.

Tom's eyes glinted.

"What are you meaning, boy?  Are you making out I was to blame for the
Fairoaks>' " When it went down with all hands you weren't even there. 
You were still aboard an illegal Dutch coper, too drunk on disgusting
liquor to get back to the Fairoaks with the rest of them.  No wonder
old Bill Ludlow would never sign you on again.  "

It was the first time Joshua had ever accused his father, or let him
know he was wise to the floating grog shop that had been his downfall. 
Thank God there were none around now.  There were tales of men who'd
gone berserk on spirit that was strong enough to strip the varnish off
spars.  Since Nathaniel Lea had taken Tom on there'd been no talk of
him being drunk on board.  But he made up for it when he was ashore, so
there was no harm in a warning.  His father didn't seem overjoyed at
owning the Night Queen, but Joshua was and he'd do this best to
safeguard it.

That boat's a ticket to bettering ourselves, ain't that so?  " Joshua
had never felt so good about anything before.

He could hardly tell what he was eating in the dank, dark kitchen, and
the overcrowded flypaper hanging from the gas mantle shed a dead fly on
to his plate.  The landlord wouldn't do a thing.  Joshua had helped Hal
to put lime on the ceiling to try to lighten it, but the walls were so
damp the only thing that would stay on them was tar.  To think they'd
had to put up with squalor like this when all the time his father was a
Ludlow.

Well, things were going to be different.  Whether his father liked it
or not Joshua was going to skipper the Night Queen just as soon as he
could use his ticket, then he could keep an eye on it.  It represented
everything he had been saving up for and he saw the boat as a talisman
which was going to bring him within reach of the fleet he intended to
own.  , Of course it had set him back a bit with Poppy Ludlow, but he
had enough faith in his persuasive powers not to let it worry him.

Tom Kerrick was six months older than Clan Ludlow and they went through
school always in the same class.  Tom hated Clan, who was quiet,
fastidious and always a favourite with the teacher.  He was a right
boot licker His Maw
dressed him in white shirts and knickerbockers like a 49 real little
gent, which inevitably made him a target for taunting.  It was a sport
Tom enjoyed, but Clan was never easily provoked.  His calm acceptance
of the ragging increased Tom's aggression and he carried his animosity
beyond school days

The real trouble started when he looked at Lizzie Ludlow, who was a
year younger than her brother, and saw a girl he wanted more than any
other.

Lizzie was pretty.  Her hair was the colour of a fiercely burning flame
and he imagined her desires burning with equal intensity.  His own were
kindled from the day he saw her scrubbing the step outside her house in
Murdoch Street.  Lizzie, her neat little rump wriggling with the
exertion of scrubbing, had driven him wild with longing as he stood and
watched, and it took all his willpower to stop himself grabbing her
from behind there and then.  When she became aware of his eyes on her
she turned her head, and the red hair clung in damp tendrils to her
neck where she sweated.  The smile she gave him was slow and
provocative.  She knew why he had been watching her and didn't take
exception to it.  He saw invitation in that smile, and he throbbed with
anticipation even while he despised himself for letting it happen with
Clan Ludlow's sister.

The first time he took her out it cost him twopence each to go on the
pier, and the money he used had been given to him by his mother to buy
a sheep's head for stew.  Lizzie clasped his arm after he had tendered
the coppers and helped her through the turnstile, and for the first
time in his life he felt important.  Strolling down the pier with a
girl on his arm was a new and very respectable experience.  Of course,
he had other plans for later, but he found he could contain his urgency
to lie with her because she was different. He felt he could confide in
her.

They leaned over the iron railings that autumn evening and their
shadows fell on the water, dancing erotically with the swell as if they
were already lovers.  The sea slurped hungrily against the pier
supports and there was
the strong iodine tang of seaweed when he and Lizzie looked down to
see it swaying and beckoning just below the surface.  He wanted to say
provocative things which would leave her in no doubt as to what he had
in mind.  Instead he said the most stupid things.

"Maw made me wear me father's cast-off boots when I was at school.

They was always too big and they rubbed me heels raw.  Your Clan had
new ones.  "

"Our Clan was spoilt."

"You wasn't, though.  You ain't like him at all, thank the Lord."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"Not much."

Another time he told her how it had been when he first went to sea at
fourteen.

"All the brash brought up in the trawl I had to get rid of," he said
Fell like the brash me self the way they treated me in them days.

And dint that boat smell awful!  Kept me self clean with a sweat rag
and a sluice-down.  "

If Lizzie thought him coarse it didn't seem to bother her.  She let him
hold her hand while he talked and he felt protective towards her,
something he had never done before.  The feeling grew and expanded into
an emotion he didn't recognize as love until the first time he kissed
her.

Lizzie was pliant.  She moulded her body against his with trusting
enthusiasm, but drew away before the taste of her lips could lead him
on to try for richer fare, and surprisingly he respected her.

He wanted to marry her.  At twenty-one it was right to think of
settling down, and he declared his feelings roughly one evening when
they were hidden among the trees in South Park.

"I know I ain't got much to offer but d'yuh think you could marry me.

Lizzie?  "

"Mebbe," she said.  The way she clung to him almost snapped his resolve
to treat her decently.

"I'll have to think about it."

51 He could handle a drifter as good as any master but he couldn't
rise above third deck-hand because there was no money for him to sit
for his ticket.  Even if he'd been able to afford to go to navigation
school he couldn't have stayed ashore long enough to study.  His Maw
depended on the money he brought home.

It was Clan Ludlow who brought matters to a head.  He saw Tom and
Lizzie together and they were not quick enough to disentangle their
clasped hands. He stood in their path and stared at them, angry colour
staining his face.

"Lizzie, can't you do better than this?"

Lizzie took a tighter hold of Tom's hand and held her head higher.

"I

can walk out with Tom if I like.  He's just asked me to marry him.  "

Tom watched Dan's nostrils pinch in as he took a deep breath.

"The Kerricks are scum.  Fa won't ever agree."

To his great discredit Tom then struck a blow which felled the
mealy-mouthed sod.  He knew it meant the end of any hopes of winning
Lizzie but it was done before reasoning had a chance.  He'd always been
a man of action and Lizzie had to hold him back while her brother got
to his feet, otherwise he might have hit him again.

The father ain't going to like this, I warn yuh.  " Clan nursed his
chin as he strode away.  And Tom knew the good times were over.

The next thing was.  Bill Ludlow cornered him down at the fish dock.

Tom had just come ashore after one of the roughest voyages he'd ever
known. His legs and stomach were still on the move and his arms felt
stretched out of their sockets since he'd steadied the rope slung over
the foremast's boom to run baskets of herrings ashore.

"You ain't never going to marry my Lizzie!"  Bill Ludlow shouted it on
the wind.

"She ain't never going to marry a Kerrick, that's for sure."

Tom squared his shoulders.

"Yuh can't stop me."

Years of hauling nets had given him a physique to equal any man's and
he was feeling like using his strength once more to make himself
understood when a staggering proposition was put to him.

"I'll make a bargain with you.  Stay away from Lizzie and I'll pay for
you to sit for yer skipper's ticket."

There was a great patch of oil on the water near the dock entrance
where a boat had tossed in on a huge wave, causinga basket offish to
slide overboard. The herrings had made the oil, and gulls had settled
on it faster than flies on bad meat, screeching and squarking so loud
Bill Ludlow had to roar to make himself heard.  Tom thought he must
have heard wrong.  An offer like that was staggering, and surely worth
far more than the sacrifice involved.

"What else d'yuh want from me?"  He was mighty suspicious.

Yer word'll do.  "

"Reckons a how yer snobbery's going to cost you dear then, because I
accept."

The idea of taking anything from a Ludlow stuck in his throat like a
thistle in a chicken's crop but he would have been a fool to turn down
the offer for the sake of one girl when there were plenty more
around.

Oh, yes, he enjoyed studying at Bill Ludlow's expense and in time he
got over most of his disappointment at not having bedded Lizzie.

He never discovered her feelings in the matter.  No doubt her father
and Clan between them made sure she was kept away from him, and Tom
found himself another girl to wed.  The penalty he paid was that he
never felt the same way about Clara Barnes as he had done about Lizzie,
but he laughed it off and downed an extra pint whenever he started
feeling sentimental about the girl he had lost.

A terrible, inexpressible anger had darkened Tom's mind when that
dreary solicitor opened the cupboard door on the Ludlow family
skeleton.  So many
things had crowded 53 in on him suddenly.  He'd looked across at
Lizzie, whose eyes had remained steadfastly cast down, and his initial
thought was not shock that he had almost lain with his sister.  It was
fury that he had not known the enormity of the hold he could have had
on Bill Ludlow.  All these years he had congratulated himself on his
luck, when in fact there would have been no limit to the demands he
could have made on the man who had fathered him.  Bill Ludlow would
have had to agree to anything to keep him away from his daughter.  The
skipper's ticket had been no more than a very small portion of his
right, and the legacy of a boat went nowhere towards repaying the debt
the old man owed him.

All these years he had hated the bloody Ludlow men, and now he
discovered he was one of them.

He looked hard at his wife while his family talked round him at the
table. Sometimes he imagined her face was a lump of dough that had been
kneaded into amateurish features by some ambitious baker with no
talent, and he tried unsuccessfully to remember the pretty plumpness he
had thought attractive when he married her.

He needed a drink.

On his way to the Trafalgar Arms Tom saw the area in which he lived as
if he had been relieved of blinkers.  The evening sun was touching
Drago Street but it couldn't disguise the drabness.  He turned right
into Tanners Row, the long road which formed the seaward perimeter of
Marsh Village, and a hot, thundery gust of wind cut through it from the
southern end, blowing grit into his eyes.  Several short lanes went off
to the left, leading down to the beach.  Tom knew everyone in the
dilapidated brick and flint cottages which flooded when extra-high
winds sent the tide licking into doorways.  Sometimes he would stop,
but tonight his tongue was cleaving to the roof of his mouth with
thirst.

To the right of him were streets of terraced houses.  At the end of
each was
a corner shop like a reinforcing thread to keep the terraces stitched
together.  The fish and chip shop was full of people, and the smell of
frying hit him.

"Yuh may sell bigger portions than the shop down further.  Bertha
Roberts, but that's only because you get cheap fish and batter it
thicker."

Tom was out of patience with everyone.  He strode on down the
sepia-shadowed road, seeing the Trafalgar Arms ahead as a beacon
guiding him towards sweet oblivion.  .

He ought to have taken his family away from all this years ago, but
money washed through his fingers on the tide that quenched his thirst. 
He had known Clara to come storming down to the pub with his dinner and
shove it in front of him on the bar.

"Since yuh live in the bloody place yuh might as well eat here as
well." He'd heard her say it more than once and thrashed her for it
when he got home.  He hated being made to look a fool in front of his
mates.

It had never mattered to Clara that he did nothing to better himself.

She'd been brought up in the Village the same as him and had never
talked of wanting anything different.  But he should have done it for
the children.

He pulled himself up sharply.  Damn it, he'd only known he was a Ludlow
for a couple of hours and he was already thinking like them.

It was like some kind of disease.

Tom downed two pints of beer in rapid succession as soon as he was at
the bar, and the brown walls softened when he saw them through the
bottom of the second emptied glass.  He ordered a third.  An
advertisement for Morley's Ale was painted on the mirror beside him and
he moved so that the picture of a frothing beer tankard didn't obscure
his vision.  He was a bull of a man, strong-necked and powerful, with
curling grey hair as thick as it had been before the colour changed. 
Old Bill Ludlow had never had a head of hair like it.

A hefty slap on the shoulder made him bounce against the bar and he
looked up to see George Blower at his elbow.

55 "Yuh've beaten me to it, Tom."

"What'll yuh have, George?"  Tom was glad of company.  "Yuh can help me
celebrate."

"What's happened?  Clara got took bad?"

Tom grinned.

"No."  He tipped some more beer down his throat and his Adam's apple
rose and fell like a cork on a trawl net.

"The Night Queen's mine.I've bin left it by old Bill Ludlow

"Yer never did!"  George gasped.

"That's funny all right, in'it?"

"I s'pose so."

"I dun't understand, though.  What's he left it to you for when he
wouldn't even trust you to skipper it after what happened to the
Fairoaksy His tone changed to scepticism.

"If yuh think I'm making it up, ask the Ludlows."  Tom fixed him with
eyes that hardened beneath the alcoholic glaze.

"They're not too happy about it, I can tell yuh."

"But why did he do it?"

"Because I'm Bill Ludlow's bloody bastard, that's why."  He started
telling his life story with maudlin candour and soon had a crowd round
him.  They plied him with stronger drinks.

"I own a drifter."  He boasted about it now, thumping his fist on the
bar, and his laughter was a dangerous roar they all recognized.  No one
got in Tom Kerrick's way when he was in this kind of mood.  Then he
seemed to crumple and the muscles of his face and arms went slack.

"I'm a drifter-owner, for what good it'll do me.  I've always hated
that old man's guts ever since he stopped me from seeing Lizzie, and I
could've killed him when he blacked me name after the Fairoaks went
down.  Fat lot he thought of me when he was alive, and now he's dead he
thinks he can make up for it by leaving me a boat.  Pity he didn't take
it with him to his grave."

Tom rolled off the bar stool and started to leave, surprisingly steady.
 All eyes were on him and he knew they were only waiting for him to be
out of
earshot before crucifying him verbally.  At the door he stopped and
his huge body was silhouetted in the entrance so that the top of his
head was lit with silver.

"D'yuh want to know what he's done?  That old man's stirred up a whole
lot of trouble.  That's what he's done."

He lurched into the street and coughed as the fresh air filled his
lungs. Then he lumbered slowly towards the harbour.

"Bugger Bill Ludlow," Tom kept muttering aloud A woman came out of the
shoemaker's and looked at him warily.  He swayed and peered back at
her.

"Bugger him, I said.  The old hypocrite!  The man I called me father
alwuz made me sleep downstairs on the floor.  Likely he knew I wasn't
his."

The woman scurried away.

His mind was a confusion of memories and grievances.  Tension built up
in his head like a dam about to burst.  He crossed a patch of rough
ground, tilted into some nets that were hanging there to dry after
tanning, and swore volubly at some boys who were using the empty posts
as goalposts.  They jeered and disappeared behind a smokehouse over the
way.

The fish dock hummed with activity and the smell of herrings, in spite
of the hour and it being regatta week.  As it was August a lot of boats
had already returned from the Shedands summer fishing, the Night Queen
among them, but others were still coming in, and for as long as the
light lasted herrings were being rough packed into barrels and salted
down, the fish being so full of oil in summer they didn't keep long
without it.  Tom skirted round mounds of fish and barrels as if he were
negotiating an obstacle course, ignoring the ribaldry that followed
him.  The Night Queen was tied up at the far end of the quay and he saw
her in the distance alongside the Sarah Star.  He made his way towards
the two vessels.

The sea sucked and tugged at the drifters roped to bollards all the
way
along, stanchion creaking against 57 stanchion with the enforced
intimacy of overcrowding.  It got a bit quieter the further he walked
and he was soon alone beneath the sheds where he could stare at his
inheritance undisturbed. He sat down on a pile of baskets and let his
gaze wander over every line of his boat.

The ketch-rigged sailing drifter rolled a little with the gentle
movement of the water, still as spritely as she must have been when
she'd run a trial from the boatyard.  She'd been carvel-built back in
1890 or thereabouts.  Her sails were furled now, but he knew how grand
they looked when they were set, and a smile crossed his face as he
pictured them.  She had topsails on both masts, bonnets the men called
them, and a foresail on the mainmast.  There were gaffs on the mainsail
and the mizzen, and he had seen the way she strained every spar and
stay to speed home in time to get the best market prices.

Six hundred pounds at least, Tom reckoned it must have cost to have her
built.  Six hundred pounds' worth of boat, all thirty- eight tons of
her, now belonged to Tom Kerrick, and he feasted his eyes on her.

Come Monday he'd take her out.  The moon would be full by then, and
given a good force six or seven wind he'd sail her down to the Dowsing
Ground off Lincolnshire and hope for a few calm nights to bring in a
big catch before overhauling her ready for the home fishing.  He
couldn't wait to feel the Night Queen pitching and tossing like a
heated woman beneath him on a rolling sea, knowing that she now
belonged to him.

It was hot under the sheds and the baskets reeked of fish.  He
remembered he still had his only good pair of trousers on and knew he
would get a tongue-lashing from Clara if he got them greasy.  He stood
up and stretched his legs.

Tom still had his eyes on the Night Queen, trying to focus them, and he
cursed it when it wouldn't stay still.  He blinked hard because he
could have sworn someone was on board her.  He shook his woolly head,
then looked
again.  Sure enough a figure had emerged from the hood way and was
leaning against the mizzen mast, eyes lifted to the top of the mainmast
where a seagull mewed.  Whoever it was wasn't wear inga seaman's cotton
slop.  There was a feminine neatness to the waist that could be seen
even at a distance, and a flash of red caught Tom's attention.

"Damn it, there's a woman on me boat."

Perspiration gathered on his forehead and dripped into his wiry grey
eyebrows.  He moved stealthily and managed to get nearer without
knocking over the piles of baskets.  The sweat ran into his eyes and
when he looked again at the girl on the deck his heart began to pound
like a steam hammer.

Beneath the hat with the red ribbon there was a heavy knot of red hair
falling loose at the back, just waiting for the pins to be pulled out
to give it glorious freedom.  For years he'd carried a picture of that
hair in his mind, remembering the coppery sheen that had turned to dark
gold when the sun caught it.  He'd dreamed of feeling it slip through
his fingers, of weighing it in his hands as he lifted it from her
slender neck, and the throbbing always started in his loins.  Lizzie
was the most beautiful girl in Fenstowe.  There was no one to match
her, and in his dreams he took her and made her groan with
satisfaction.  The reality of finding Clara beneath his anguished body
always made him angry and he would roll off her into a cloud of
depression which became heavier every time.  There was only one way to
find relief and that was down more liquor than was good for him, and
though he knew he was ruining his life there was nothing he could do. 
He loved Lizzie Ludlow, and always would.

She seemed lost in a dream as deep as his own and kept her back
straight against the mizzen mast.  But the loosening bundle of hair
against her collar must have aggravated her.  She took off the straw
hat and shook her head.
Like a silken rope uncoiling the red-gold mass 59 tumbled free, and
Tom watched with ever-increasing excitement.  Lizzie was waiting for
him, as anxious as he to put an end to the frustration he had seen in
her eyes on the few occasions they had chanced to meet since her father
had forbidden it. Saliva filled his mouth, and his limbs trembled.  He
couldn't seem to control the shaking that anticipation induced.

He was not able to move until he saw her start to twine her hair back
into a knot.  Sick with fury, he watched her jab hairpins into it, and
knew that in a moment the hat, too, would be back on her head if he
didn't act quickly to prevent it.  He hurried across the quay with
surprising agility stepping on to the deck of his boat with caution so
that he hardly caused a movement.

' Lizzie still had her back to him, but he wasn't quick enough to reach
her before she became aware of someone near.  Startled, she swung round
to face him, and fork lightning split the darkening sky behind her.

Then he saw it wasn't Lizzie after all.  Disappointment made Tom hunch
his shoulders and he let out his breath like an angry bull as he
realized what a fool he had been.  If he'd been sober he would have
remembered that Lizzie's hair was turning grey now, like his own.  The
girl facing him was Clan Ludlow's bitch of a daughter and she was
looking at him as if he wasn't fit to wipe her boots.

"What are you doing here?"  she demanded, just as if she had the right
to turn him off his own property.

He was too angry to answer, and the throbbing in his loins was so
fierce it couldn't be denied.  She had jammed the hat back on her head
but he snatched it off and sent it bowling along the deck as the red
hair close to his eyes produced a scarlet rage in him.  He thought he
had been about to indulge in the most precious sexual experience of his
life.  Instead he was left with a hardness which had to be released,
and there was only one way to punish this prudish miss for making him
think she was Lizzie.

He grabbed hold of her, and when she started to scream he slapped her
mouth so hard she couldn't make another sound as he carried her
struggling down the hood way into the cabin.  There he threw her down
on to one of the bunks where a sack of straw served as a mattress, and
in spite of her struggles he pushed up her skin and the two white
muslin petticoats beneath it.  Her boots had pointed toes and she
kicked out like a demented wild thing, inflicting bruises on his arms
and stomach, but he felt physically stronger than he had ever felt in
his life and her resistance intensified his excitement.

He managed to part her legs and laid on top of her, his vast body
pinioning her down so that she could no longer move, and he ripped the
lace-trimmed blouse which had been so modestly buttoned to her throat. 
She had fine breasts beneath her chemise which he took pleasure in
handling, and the fight she put up fired his desire even more.  There
was something barbaric about the way she clawed at his hair and tore at
the lobe of his ear with her teeth.  His savagery increased.

He pulled down her drawers and entered her brutally, deaf to her
screams, and when she went limp beneath him he murmured Lizzie's name
over and over again.

61 The straw hat with its jaunty red ribbon and chipped brim had blown
against a fish basket on the deck of the Night Queen.  When Joshua
jumped on board it was the first thing he saw.  He picked it up in
surprise and twirled it in his hands as he scanned the quay side for
its owner, but there was no girl to be seen, which was disappointing
because he was almost certain he had seen the hat earlier on the head
of Poppy Ludlow.  There had been a black ribbon on it then, but he
guessed she might be feel inga bit rebellious after what she had learnt
about her grandfather.

He admired her spirit.  It was one of the things that attracted him,
though her looks were also strongly in her favour.  He couldn't resist
making those magnificent tawny eyes turn in his direction, and he
enjoyed bringing colour to her cheeks with saucy words which made her
bristle indignantly.  He laughed to himself when her chin tilted higher
and her lovely mouth pouted at his effrontery.

But every time she walked away without so much as a smile he felt a
growing sadness which disturbed him.  He'd been trying for a year to
make her notice him but had only succeeded negatively, and that was not
the way he wanted it. He longed for her to smile at him.  It seemed
lately as if that was what he wanted more than anything else.

At twenty he didn't have the worldliness to know that a girl like Poppy
Ludlow would never smile upon him until he refined his approach.  He
hadn't
learnt the difference yet between lett inga girl know he wanted her,
and courting her.  He was used to going after what he wanted quite
blatantly, and with his own kind he was nearly always successful.  But
Poppy was not the same.

Yet he knew she was not completely unreceptive.  This afternoon he'd
watched her at the funeral and been aware that her attention was
divided between the service and himself.  He'd tried deliberately to
divert her and a strong tide of elation swelled in his heart when he
knew he'd made contact across the open grave.  Later, when he was
sitting on the hard chair in the Ludlow parlour, she had been behind
him.  He'd felt her looking at him and his stomach had churned with
excitement.  His mouth had become dry and his pulse had quickened with
a nervous hope that she might at last be thinking of him more
favourably.

Then he'd learnt that they were kin.  It was a shock an' all, but it
didn't matter that much.  They were not full cousins so there was no
law against him continuing to pursue her.

The storm had veered away and very little rain had fallen.  Lightning
still flared spasmodically to the south and there was an occasional
rumble of thunder, but the sky had cleared overhead.  The hat was
hardly wet at all and he supposed he must have been mistaken about it. 
Poppy would have had no reason to come down to the quay this late in
the evening, especially today, and he was a fool to think he might have
seen her.  But he kept hold of it as he went down to the cabin.  No use
leaving it there to spoil.

There was a sudden shuffling when Joshua's leather boots thudded down
the steps, as if rats were aboard, and he still stood still to listen
and adjust his eyes to the dimness.  The usual smell of fish and stale
smoke, bilge water and oilskins met his nose, but a sweeter scent was
present too, a hint of rose water which was quite out of place.  He was
motionless, breathing in
slowly.  Then he 63 saw a gleam of white on the lower bunk to
starboard and knew a woman was there.

He moved caustiously now.  When he was near enough he bent his knees
and reached into the narrow space to grab the intruder.  A shrill
scream pierced his eardrums.

"Get away from me!  For God's sake don't touch me!"

Surprise made him back away, but now he could see her.  For a moment he
hardly recognized the dishevelled creature cowering against the back of
the bunk.  Her blouse was torn and she was trying to cover herself. 
Her knees were drawn up under her skirt.  The only way he could be sure
it was Poppy Ludlow was the abundance of red hair colouring the dark
corner with its unrestrained brightness.  Damp strands of it clung to
her cheeks, and her eyes stared at him with the horror of a trapped
rabbit.  She was clearly terrified.

"Poppy?  Come on out of there.  What d'yuh think you're doing?"

He found that his legs were trembling.  Something had happened to scare
her out of her mind, and he knew she didn't scare easily.  He couldn't
begin to form the ugly word which the state of her conjured up, but
instinct told him there was only one explanation, and it appalled
him.

He reached towards her again, his arms stretched out with sympathetic
intent, but she misread the message and made a noise like a frightened
animal.  She lunged out with her foot, strikinga blow to his chest
which made him fall backwards, enabling her to scramble out of his way.
 Once clear of the bunk she darted towards the steps, but Joshua caught
her skirt and pulled her back.

"You've got to tell me what happened."

"Let me go!"

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Please let go of me."  She was sobbing now.

I only want to help.  Poppy.  Did someone attack you?  "

She tried to wrench herself free, but the struggle made her lose hold
other
torn blouse and chemise, and they fell away.  Late evening sun
filtered down the hood way touching lightly upon her pale skin to give
it a golden glow. Her beauty amazed him.

With male arrogance he felt the physical urge to rip the material
further, but for the first time in his life he recognized the need for
restraint.  It was all to do with the ache in his heart at seeing her
so distressed.  He allowed her her modesty and lifted his head to seek
her eyes as she wrapped her coat safely round her.

She turned away from him, but hesitated.  He saw her back straighten,
her chin lift, and from the way her shoulders moved he knew she was
breathing deeply to restore her confidence.  The boat timbers
creaked.

"That evil beast raped me."  Her voice was tight now with fury.  She
swung round.

"I was takin ga last look at the Night Queen and he came at me from
nowhere. But he won't get away with it.  I'll tell the police."

The word rape was forced from her lips, the word he had dreaded, and it
made him turn cold.  He was ready to tear the wretch apart.  He would
kick him so hard he would never be able to commit such evil again.

"Who was it?"  He was incensed, though to his shame he realized it was
not purely on Poppy's behalf.  He had always planned to be the first to
have her, but someone else had beaten him to it.

"Who was it.

Poppy?  I swear I'll kill him.  "

Oh, he was full of vengeful intention, until she named her attacker.

"It was that drunken sod who fathered you.  Tom Kerrick ought to be
locked up, and I'll see that he is.  He won't get away with it."

Joshua's coldness turned to ice.  He didn't believe her.  His old man
was a devil with drink but he sure as hell had never been lecherous.

Josh hadn't heard a word against him on that subject and he knew his
mother would have made his life unbearable if there'd been a single
rumour about
other women.  His Maw didn't pretty up her words 65 when she was mad. 
No, he'd swear his father was innocent, and his sympathy swung to
indignation at the temerity of this bit of a girl.

Anger at the lying insult made him lash out with his tongue.

"You liar!"  His dark eyes flashed.

"Just because you don't like what yer grandfather did, don't think you
can take it out on my father.  He didn't ask to be born.  And he
certainly wouldn't have chosen to be a Ludlow."

"I'm not a liar.  Do you think I'd lie about something like this?"

"Yes, if you want to shield someone else.  Perhaps another bloke
brought you down here and when he took what he thought you were
offering willingly you took fright and called it rape."

"How dare you!"  Poppy trembled visibly, but now it was with temper.

"It was your father.  I wouldn't make up a thing like that."

"Then why didn't I see him leaving?  There was no sign of anyone when I
came on board.  Why?  Because there's only one place he'd be at this
time of the evening and that's the Trafalgar."

"I don't know where he went and I don't care.  But I know where he's
going. Prison.  My father'll see he doesn't get away with it."

The boat rocked and he stood with legs astride to keep his balance.

He wanted to take hold other and shake her.  She had regained her
confidence, and now the coat was safely buttoned across she hurriedly
twisted her hair into a rope, looped it at the back of her head and
stuck pins in it so savagely it could have been a wax effigy of her
assailant.  He had never seen her like this before and it fired his
blood.

"You can't go to the police."

"Why not?  I've a right."

"You can't prove anything.  And if you could there'd be even more
reason not to go.  My father and yours are brothers."

"Half-brothers."

"It makes no difference.  Think of the scandal.  Your family would come
off worst if it went to court, and it'd be all over Fenstowe.  A family
feud they'd call it, but everyone'd know you were just trying to get
revenge and they'd feel right sorry for me father."

Her body became rigid as she thought over the implication and her
lovely mouth quivered momentarily.  Then she straightened her shoulders
and her red hair touched the overhead beams.

She was defiant.

"I don't care."

She swung round towards the steps again but he caught her arm.  His
touch brought a shuddering rebuff which loosed the hold straight
away.

"Tell me who it really was and I'll teach him a lesson he'll never
forget," he called as she climbed the steps.  His eyes would have shown
her he was far from insensitive, but she didn't look round.  Her spirit
had revived and she was the old Poppy, contemptuous and still very
desirable.

She flung him her answer.

"You're the last person I'd want to do anything for me.  Just keep out
of me way.  Josh Kerrick.  I wish I never had to set eyes on you
again."

Her voice rang in his ears, the furious rebuff hurting him.  For a few
moments he stayed in the cabin, crouched on the steps which her skirt
had brushed, and he was left feeling angry yet passionately aroused.

Whatever she said, he wanted to see her again as soon as possible.

He went up on deck to stop her, but she had gone.  In the distance the
proud figure in a black coat and straw hat looked to neither right nor
left, but kept on along the quay and was soon lost in the gloom.

He strained his eyes until the last knob of light from the pale straw
disappeared.  Then he turned and kicked at the tarred nets piled in the
bows, giving vent to his frustration.

From the far side of the bale came a deep-throated grunt.  Joshua
froze.  He prayed the sound had only been in his imagination, but he
had heard it too
many times before 67 not to recognize it.  Suddenly he felt ill. 
After a moment's hesitation his boot crunched into the netting and he
tugged at it fiercely until his father rolled on to the deck, where he
continued to lie on his back in a drunken stupor.  His trouser buttons
were undone.

Tears rained down Joshua's face.  He had never felt so ashamed in his
life.

"We'll be late.  Poppy."  Daisy had done nothing but complain since
getting out of bed.

"We've never come this way before.  Why do we have to today?"

Poppy hurried along, paying no attention to her sister's grumbles.

"I'm never going down Drago Street again."

"But why?  I don't understand."

"Because I'm not going past the Kerricks' house, that's why."

"Oh Poppy.  That's silly."

"You can go that way if you like."

The net-store where the girls worked was at the bottom of one of the
alleys leading down from Fleetwood Road and the short cut to it was
through Drago Street, but on the morning after the funeral Poppy would
have walked halfway round town to avoid the risk of bumping into any of
the Kerrick family.  She made Daisy accompany her the long way round,
walking painfully down the steep, cobbled alley.  Her toes pressed into
the ends other boots with every step as she tried not to slip, and the
jarring made her wince.  She felt bruised inside and the muscles of her
legs ached, but there was no outward sign of last night's trauma except
for the shadows under her eyes caused by sleeplessness.  The mark at
the side of her mouth where Tom Kerrick had slapped her had faded to a
slight blue ness which was not remarkable.

She hadn't told anyone what had happened on board the Night Queen.

Joshua's warning rang loudly in her mind and she understood what
repercussions there would be if she made it known what Tom Kerrick had
done to her.

There would be terrible questions to face if she accused him and she
didn't feel in a fit state to provide answers.  For one thing there was
only her word against his, and she couldn't doubt that he would make a
dangerous enemy.  For another, embarrassment would make it impossible
to put an accusation into words.  She'd been hurt, humiliated and
degraded, yet there was nothing she could do about it without leading
her family into a very ugly row.

Daisy knew that something was wrong.  Impossible for Poppy to
completely hide her misery when the sisters had to share a bed.  She
had sobbed into her pillow when she thought Daisy was asleep but soon
realized Daisy was crying in sympathy even though she didn't know the
reason.  Towards dawn they had slept with their arms around each
other.

"What's the matter with you.  Poppy?"  Maw had been real concerned this
morning when she saw the puffy, shadowed eyes.

"Things ain't that bad.  Yer father won't be any worse off than he was
when that mean old skinflint was alive."

"Where's Fa now?"  Poppy asked.

"Down at the Bethel."

"Well we shall't be any better off until he gets up off his knees and
puts his mind to improving what we've got left.  God helps those who
help themselves, doesn't he?"

"Don't talk about yer father like that."

Poppy tossed her head impatiently.

"I'm going to work.  Come on.

Daisy, some of us have got to keep the family together.  "

So now, at almost eight o'clock, she was hurrying towards the net store
with her sister, determined not to let anything, especially the
Kerricks, stand in the way of the fresh start she needed to plan if she
was going to manage things the way Grandfer had done.  For the moment
she had cried enough.  Last night's dreadful affair was not going to
interfere with her ambitions.  She would think what was to be done
about Tom Kerrick later.

69 The sun was shining on the long brick building where nets were
mended, and a tabby cat was asleep on an old folded sail which had been
dumped against the cistern used for tanning.  In the days when Bill
Ludlow had owned ten smacks he had shared the net-store with his wife's
brother-in-law.  Jack Rain, who was then starting out as an owner
himself in a small way.  The arrangement had worked well.  When Jack
died and his son, Ned, took over his father's share nothing much
changed except that the Rains prospered while the Ludlow fleet
dwindled.

Two years ago Ned Rain had bought out Grandfer's share of the store but
he had gladly kept his granddaughters on as beatsters.  Poppy was a
very good worker and Daisy looked like shaping up the same.  He
employed eight girls. The volume of work was increasing steadily and
there was always plenty to do. Ned now had eleven drifters plying the
sea for fish and there was another on the stocks at Burkeman's.

Poppy and Daisy crossed the earth clearing hardened by the summer sun.
Broken corks and clumps of tangled hemp littered the path to the stairs
leading to the wooden balcony along the seaward side of the upper
floor, and both girls shook their skirts free of dust before going up. 
They were three minutes late.

"My legs ache," Daisy grumbled.

Poppy's legs felt as stiff as if she had walked ten miles, but she
didn't complain.

"Never mind, you'll soon get used to it.  Put yer overall on, quick,
before Mrs Wilson sees us."

By the time they went in by the stable-type door on the upper level the
blue overalls were neatly covering their working dresses, but Mrs
Wilson spotted them before they could reach the beatsters' hooks where
the first of the day's nets hung ready for attention.  Mrs Wilson was
the forewoman, a buxom person with grey-streaked hair drawn back so
tightly from a centre parting it
had the effect of making her nose protrude like a beak.  Poppy always
wondered whether it would sink out of sight into her fat cheeks if the
hairpins were suddenly taken out.

"What time d'yuh call this?"  The big woman looked at the fob watch
which was pinned to her blouse just above her apron top so that it
could always be seen.  She was very proud of the watch and consulted it
often, with an exaggerated air of importance.

"We're sorry, Mrs Wilson," Poppy apologized while Daisy pouted.

"Yuh'd better get started quick then.  There's still a couple o'
dogfish nets in the bay downstairs and they'll be wanted come next
week."

Poppy's heart sank.  She hated working on dogfish nets.  They always
had the biggest holes in them, sometimes cobbled together by the men
while they were out round the Shetlands to last until they got back
home.  Stinging nets, some of them were.  They'd had jellyfish in them
and they made her fingers sore.  Some stores left the bad nets to mend
until after Christmas when it was quiet, but Bill Ludlow had always
needed his.

Four girls worked in the upper room.  Esme was the fourteen-year-old
apprentice.  Daisy, a year older, had already served a year's
apprenticeship and was now an improver being trained by Poppy, who was
a full-time beatster. The fourth girl was Poppy's friend, Tilda
Jennings.

"Are you all right.  Poppy?"  Tilda kept looking with concern at her
pale cheeks.

Poppy took her beatster's knife from her pocket and found a net with a
crow's-foot tear which Daisy was now capable of mending on her own.

"Of course I'm all right," she said.  She longed to talk to someone but
it was neither the time nor the place, and she didn't think she could
even tell her dearest friend about Tom Kerrick.

She started Daisy off, set Esme filling the wooden needles made by
workhouse
men, then silently started on 71 her own net which was split from end
to end.  It took her a while to take out three meshes on either side of
the split and when she tried to join it up to the headings down the
side she couldn't get the norsels right.  Her fingers felt clumsy.  The
norsels were lengths of twine which joined the meshes to the net-rope
and held the corks in place, and if they weren't right the net wouldn't
hang properly.

Twice she had to unpick what she had done and start again, which wasn't
like her.  She had learnt her craft well and was usually faster than
anyone else, but today it seemed to take her twice as long even to
split a knot with her shut-knife.

Her mind wasn't on what she was doing.  From the window she could see
up Tanners Row towards the greens where net-drying posts stuck up
through the grass like pegs on a cribbage board.  The store was not
really near enough to the harbour but it had never been easy to get
that good a site, the best having gone more years ago than even
Grandfer Ludlow had remembered, so before the start of a voyage all the
nets and gear had to be loaded on to a horse-cart for transporting down
to the boats.  Ned Rain always made a ceremony of it, never letting the
nets go through the gates before they had been sprinkled with whisky
for luck, and that meant a glass or two being downed as well.  Fun,
that was.

Halfway through the morning someone came up behind Poppy and tweaked
the long plait of hair hanging down her back, tied with a big black bow
at the top and a smaller one at the bottom.  When she turned round she
saw Ned Rain had come in through the ransacker's room and he gave a
teasing smile as he held out the lower ribbon he had just removed.

"This yours?"  he asked.  He'd played the trick before and she always
laughed.  Today she only smiled as she took it from him.  Over the last
few months she had often caught him looking at her with a thoughtful
expression and knew he was becoming increasingly interested.  It didn't
displease her. She like Ned.  Everybody did.  He was one of the best
skippers around Fenstowe, had a good head for business and was greatly
respected.  But more important, he had a warm, easy-going disposition
which won him many friends.

"I've just seen yer father.  Poppy.  He told me about the Night
Queen.

I'm real sorry.  "

"I bet it's all over Fenstowe.  Oh, I hate Tom Kerrick so much."

Tilda had gone to make the mid-morning cocoa and the younger girls had
their heads together at the far end of the room.

Ned was serious now.

"Yer father's never liked the sea.  Mebbe it's a good thing."

Poppy's freckled nose lifted indignantly and her eyes flashed.

"How can you say that!  We've still got the Sarah Star and Fa's going
to make her pay.  We ain't going to be the poor Ludlows for long.  Soon
we'll have a fleet like Grandfer did and they'll all be better than the
Night Queen."

Ned ran his fingers worriedly through the fine hair falling across his
forehead, and she was a bit ashamed of her outburst.  But he pursued
the subject.

"I think Clan would be glad to sell me the Sarah Star if I was willing
to take it off him.  He could work for me on shore."

"Oh, no!"

"His heart isn't in it.  He was never a drifter man

The sun was late coming out.  There'd been an early sea mist which had
taken its time clearing, but now the first beam of sunlight penetrated
the window and dust motes from the nets drifted between them in the
still air.  Poppy was angry.

"You ain't having our boat.  Oh no, Ned.  Seems to me you just want to
get hold of a drifter cheap to make yer own fleet bigger.  Well, you
ain't getting ours."

"You know me better than that."  His hand moved down 73 to his chin
and he rubbed the golden hair which covered it.  His beard started as
soft down beneath his cheekbones and became a silky growth over his
upper lip and jaw. Maw said he was twenty-six.  He'd been married once
to a girl called Meg who had died giving birth to their only child. 
Since then Ned had got engrossed in making money and had shown no signs
of wanting to marry a second time.  He sighed as he looked at Poppy.

"I thought we were friends.  You know I wouldn't be that underhand.  I
just thought I might be able to help."

Poppy's world was falling apart Since yesterday everything had been
going dreadfully wrong and she didn't know for sure what to do about
it.  She'd thought Ned was someone she could trust but even he wasn't
acting the way she would have expected.

When she seemed unwilling to accept his invitation he sat down in
Tilda's chair and faced her.

"Tell me how you propose to start building up a fleet?"

"You're laughing at me, Ned, I know it.  But I'm serious."

"And I'm interested."

She put down her needle.

"I'm going to have the Sarah Star converted to steam."

"It'd cost money."  He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"I know."

"Has Clan got any?"

"We'll raise enough somehow, I'm determined on it."

"And does yer father know about all this?"

"Not yet.  There's not been chance to talk to him."  Ned was almost
family. Grandma Ludlow spoke of the Rains as if they were blood
relations instead of only being connected by marriage.  Ned's mother
was a close friend of Aunt Lizzie's and she was bringing up Ned's
motherless little boy who was so often in Grandma's house he was in
danger of becoming spoilt by the two doting Ludlow women.  Poppy had
always felt she could turn to Ned Rain as she would have done to a
brother.  She touched his hand.

"I'm sorry I snapped.  Ifyuh really want to help d'yuh think you could
speak to Fa for me about the converting, Ned?  I'd be ever so
grateful."

"I'll consider it if you'll come with me on Saturday night to the
regatta fireworks."

Her throat became dry and a chill stole through her.  Ned's smile gave
deeper meaning to the invitation than she was prepared for and she was
glad to see Tilda coming back with the cocoa.  Last night's experience
was a raw and terrible memory which was going to put her off being
alone with any man for a while, and her instinct was to refuse.

"I don't know."  It was an effort to keep her voice normal.

"Were you going with anyone else?"

"No.  I wasn't going at all."

"Then I'll call for you on Saturday evening so that yer father knows
you'll be in safe hands," he said, and he left before she could find a
reason to tell him not to.

Her needles needed filling but she didn't call Esme.  It was the only
excuse there was for sitting down during the day and she felt as if she
couldn't stand up another minute.  Her legs didn't seem to belong to
her and her head wouldn't stop aching.

"Don't yuh think he's right good-looking?"  Tilda was watching Ned go
down the stairs.

"I reckon he's keen on you, I do, and I wouldn't mind if it was me
instead."

"You can have him.  I don't want anybody getting keen."

There was a frightened tone in Poppy's voice and Tilda put a
sympathetic arm around her waist.

"Somat's wrong.  Do you want to tell?"

Poppy shook her head.

"Not now.  I'll talk to you at lunchtime."

But she wouldn't tell Tilda everything.

Most of the fishing fleet was in harbour during regatta week.  Crews
timed their return from the summer fishing grounds in the Shetlands so
that they would be back for the festivities.  If it hadn't been for
Grandfather
Ludlow's 75 funeral the girls might have taken a tram out of town last
evening to watch yachts racing on the river.  Poppy yearned to be able
to turn back the clock.  She felt she would never be able to take
pleasure in simple things again, and recurring thoughts of Tom Kerrick
made her feel sick.  She hadn't been able to eat any breakfast and the
first sip of cocoa cloyed round her mouth with a sickly thickness which
turned her stomach.

Just before five Daisy came in from the balcony where she'd been
helping Mrs Wilson to haul up the last of the dogfish nets.  There was
a mischievous look about her and she tilted her head towards Poppy as
she passed.

"Joshua Kerrick's waiting outside for you with his dog."

Poppy's face drained of colour and the freckles across her nose and
cheeks were like flakes of damp sand which a breeze could blow away.

The chill came over her again.

Then I shall't be leaving till he's gone.  I'll stay here all night if
he waits around that long.  "

There'd been jellyfish in the stinging nets Daisy had just handled,
leaving it full of dreadful dust which made her sneeze until her eyes
were red and sore.

"I don't know what's the matter with you.  Poppy, but I ain't walking
all up Fleetwood Road home just so as you needn't mardle to Joshua
Kerrick.  What Grandfer did ain't his fault and it's no use sulking."

"I'm not sulking.  You don't know anything about it."

"It's no use pretending the Kerricks don't exist.  You'll have to speak
to them some time.  Ah - choo!"

"Well I ain't talking to any of 'em today," Poppy said.  "You can go on
home on yer own and I'll stay here until he's gone."

She gave Daisy a handkerchief from her sleeve and wouldn't argue any
more.

After the others had left.  Poppy took off her apron and went to the
window. The air was still and she was afraid the storm might come back
again.  The likelihood filled her with terror.  She would never live
through one again
without being reminded of Tom Kerrick standing over her like a madman,
mouthing obscenities as foul as his liquor-laden breath while lightning
emphasized the ruttish way he stood.  Nothing in her life had prepared
her for such a horrifying shock.

She saw Joshua leaning indolently against the wall and her heart gave a
lurch, a sort of inner gulp as if she would never breathe again.

Hatred was a powerful thing.  Since he had branded her a liar he shared
his father's guilt.  Like father like son.  She believed that if Joshua
had boarded the Night Queen first yesterday he would have behaved in
just the same way.

He moved when Daisy approached and went to speak to her.  Daisy nodded
in the direction of the store before starting off home.  Joshua Kerrick
entered the yard, the black dog at his heels, but he didn't enter the
building, which was private property.  Instead he looked up at the
window where Poppy stood and caught her looking at him.  His dark hair
blew untidily about his shoulders and his red shirt was opened
indecently wide at the neck.  There was something very earthy about
him, a lustiness which she didn't think the least bit nice, and her
muscles tightened uncomfortably.

She stared back at him with eyes which were hard and unforgiving.

Daisy was reading to Violet and Iris from The Big Book of Nursery
Rhymes, which Grandma Ludlow had given to Poppy when she was a baby.

The cover had been glued together but the pages were still intact even
though the edges were worn through constant turning.

"Blow wind, blow!  and go, mill, go!"  she read.

"That the miller may grind his corn; That the barker may take it, and
into rolls make it.

And send us some hot in the morn.  " She looked up from the book to the
two rapt faces and said again,

"Blow!  Go on, blow."

Violet understood enough to pucker up her mouth and 77 blow as hard as
she could, making the rag doll fall off the end of the bed where it had
been propped up to listen as well.  Iris squealed with delight and
joined in the fun, jumping up and down on the bed until the springs
complained.

"Blow!"  cried Violet, and did it again.

"Bow," repeated Iris in her baby voice.  She was a beautiful child with
tight curls which looked as if they got their colour in a tanning
copper.  She was going to be just like Poppy when she was older.

Daisy loved her little sisters, but it didn't seem fair that she was
nearly always the one who had to stay at home and look after them if
Maw and Fa went out.  Tonight they'd gone to a chapel meeting and Poppy
was down with Tilda Jennings, so Daisy had been left to put the little
ones to bed.

When they were finally quiet and tucked under the sheets she stayed
until they were, asleep.  Violet was hugging her beloved rag doll, and
Iris had stopped sucking her thumb though it was still in her mouth.

Daisy removed the thumb gently, smiled down at them both, and tiptoed
away.

She went into Maw's room at the front.  There was a mirror above the
washstand and she preened in front of it, raising her chin the way she
had seen Poppy do, but with a coquettish smile which made her eyes
shine.  Then she lifted her hair and gathered it into her hands,
tumbling it from the top other head so that the curls glowed like a
pile of black plums.  She longed to be old enough to put her hair up.

Poppy had been allowed to put hers up for the funeral and it had made
her look different.  Very grown up.  But it hadn't made her happy.

Since yesterday she had been behaving very strangely and Daisy didn't
understand her at all.

Her smile slipped away and she let her hair fall back over her
shoulders.
Last night Poppy had come home quite late.  Daisy had been in bed but
she had heard the door bang downstairs.  Poppy had hurried straight up
to the bedroom without speaking to her parents and then she had
undressed in the dark.  The room was full of a mysterious atmosphere
which had made Daisy uneasy, and because of it she hadn't dared to ask
Poppy where she had been or what was wrong.

Later she had been awakened by muffled sobs.  She'd put her arms round
her sister and begged her to say what was the matter, but Poppy had
just gone on crying.  In the morning she had put on clean drawers and a
clean chemise, though she had already had fresh ones the day before the
funeral.

There was a little bit of prying Daisy wanted to do while Poppy was
away. She went through the middle bedroom, tiptoeingagain past the
children, and into the back room she shared with her sister.  Then she
did some rummaging. At last she found what she had been looking for
tucked underneath the mattress.  It was the lovely blouse with frills
at the neck which Poppy had saved for weeks to buy, and to Daisy's
amazement it was torn from top to bottom.  Resentful tears filled her
eyes.  Poppy hadn't appreciated having such a pretty thing to wear, she
hadn't even bothered to take care of it.

Daisy held the blouse in her hands for several minutes.  Likely Poppy
had fallen somewhere, but then surely she would have had some
scratches?  There'd been a mark on her chin.  She sniffed, then held
the material up to her nose. It smelt offish.  Surely the silly
creature hadn't been down to the Sarah Star and fallen into the hold!

Poppy'd been right put out about Grandfer only leaving the one boat to
Fa, though it didn't seem worth sobbing all night into the pillow
over.

She put the blouse back where she'd found it and went back to look in
Maw's mirror.  She wished she could wake up and find this beastly
business about the Kerricks had been a bad dream.  It spoilt her hopes
ofFa having enough 79
money to take her away from the net-store and paying for her to train
as a nurse.  She wanted to do that more than anything else.

Daisy hated be inga beatster.  She hated the nets and the way they made
her fingers sore.  It was even worse when they made her sneeze.

Sometimes the creosote hadn't dried out properly on the cotton she had
to use for mending and her hands would be stained and ugly.  She spread
out her fingers and flexed them daintily.  Her hands were pretty, small
and neat with almond-shaped nails which she kept clean.

The thought of be inga beatster for the rest other life was enough to
make her sink into a well of despair.

There was a knock on the front door.  Daisy went to the window and
looked down on the shiny black head of Joshua Kerrick.  She popped back
quickly, her heart beating absurdly fast.  What was he doing here?

He knocked again more loudly and she had the feeling he wouldn't go
away until someone answered.  Already Violet was stirring at the noise
and she didn't want the chidren to be awake when Maw came home.  She
crept past their bed and down the stairs, pausing nervously a moment
more when she reached the door and knew she had to open it.

Joshua said at once,

"I must see Poppy."

"She ain't here."

"When will she be back?"

"Don't know."

She was not five feet tall and when she tipped her head back to look at
his face she thought what lovely eyes he had, dark as night and fringed
with long lashes.  He was wearing the same red shirt he had had on
earlier and it was damp with the sweat she could smell on him, but she
didn't find it unpleasant.  It was a healthy, masculine smell.  From
the pocket of his old trousers he brought out a folded envelope, looked
at it a second and glanced at Daisy as if doubtful whether she could be
trusted.

"Be sure she gets this, will you?"  He thrust it into her hand.

"It's very important."

Daisy held it like it might bite.

"I'll give it to her soon as she's home," she promised.

"Is it a love letter?"

"Mind yer business."

Joshua took a quick step back through the iron gate which was propped
open permanently because the hinges had rusted.  Then he strode off
down Murdoch Street as if he might be tempted to snatch the letter back
again.

Daisy took it indoors.  It was not a very thick envelope.  If she held
it up to the light she could even make out a word or two on the paper
inside.  One of them was 'sorry'.  It was frustrating not to be able to
read the rest. She moved it around to make the paper shift a bit,
hoping another word might become readable, but she was out of luck.

Now why would Joshua Kerrick be saying he was sorry to Poppy?  Daisy
thought about the torn blouse she had stuffed back under the mattress
and a dreadful suspicion came to mind.  Surely Poppy hadn't met him
secretly?  After all the mouthing she'd been doing about the Kerricks
it would be real underhand if she had.  He'd been looking for her at
the net-store though, and Poppy had been determined not to speak to
him.  If that wasn't a lovers' tiff she didn't know what was.

Daisy remembered how hard but handsome Joshua's mouth was, and how it
softened when he smiled and showed his strong, slightly uneven teeth.

A strange feeling , spiralled down through her body and twisted within
the most private part of her quite deliciously.  It was such a new
experience she wanted it to last, and yet she felt impelled to press
her hand against her skirt above the place to stop it.

She looked at the stove where the kettle was steaming.  She held the
envelope near enough for it to curl with the damp and the flap came
unstuck easily. It was a wicked thing to do, but she told herself it
was only to try and help Poppy.  Daisy slipped the paper out.

81 "Dear Poppy," she read.  The writing was black and bold.

"I must see you to say I'm sorry.  I was cruel to you and I know now I
wronged you right badly.  Please let me see you.  Joshua."

She read it quickly, then replaced the note in the envelope and stuck
it down again before the gum had chance to dry.

4 The night sky was a black curtain against which the regatta
fireworks exploded in vivid colours and patterns.  Rockets, Catherine
wheels and cascading golden rain brought delighted cries from the crowd
on the quay, and Poppy clapped her hands as each brilliant flash
heralded a display that was better than the last.  Her eyes, like
everyone else's, were turned sky wards so she didn't see the newcomer. 
Just before the final set piece Ned tapped her shoulder.

,

"Poppy, this is Dolph Brecht.  He'screwing on the German Yacht that
went aground off Crab Sands in the gale last week."

She didn't turn immediately.  Red, white and blue stars were bursting
simultaneously and she watched them rush through the darkness towards
the sea, hoping that they wouldn't disappear before they reached the
water, but of course they did.  A hand touched her hair, lifting one of
the curling coppery locks which were gathered into the big black bow at
the back of her head, and she shivered with surprise.

"Soyou are Poppy."  A low voice spoke very close to her ear.

The fireworks fizzed and popped and banged.

She looked round and saw a tall young man with hair that looked a bit
like sand newly washed by the sea.  It curled close to his head and
brushed the
top of his aristocratic forehead.  He was clean-shaven and had very 83
pale blue eyes which shone as brightly as the exploding rockets.

"Sounds like Ned's been talking about me."  She turned away again, her
coolness evident.

The set piece was beautiful.  It formed portraits of King George and
Queen Mary, each framed in heart shapes in the centre of a Union Jack,
and a cheer went up as it flared into life.  The oohs and aahs rose and
fell like waves among the crowd until the framework began to
disintegrate and the colours dripped down the sky.  Then the display
was over and children started to grizzle.

Poppy could still feel the stranger's impudent touch on hair.  It had
made her scalp tingle.

"I'm taking Poppy to a band concert by the pier now."  Ned linked his
arm through hers but spoke to the foreigner as people pushed to move
away.

"Perhaps yuh'd like to join us."

She hoped he would say no, but he didn't.  He linked her other arm so
that she was walking between them.

The evening was mild and he was not wear inga jacket over his white
shirt, which was almost luminous in the moonlight.  He looked to be
about the same age as Ned and his shoulders were set well back, as if
he had done military training.  His black trousers too, might have
belonged to a uniform, and instead of braces he wore a belt.  Ned had
on a new norfolk jacket of brown tweed which was yoked and pleated and
had bellows pockets.  It suited him well, adding breadth to his slim
build, but she thought he must be hot.

"I am very glad the Gretchen will not be ready to sail until tomorrow."
 The young German gave her a polite smile, but the secret pressure he
applied to her arm said much more.  When Ned's attention was distracted
he leaned towards her ear again.

"You are very beautiful.  Poppies are my favourite flowers."

"And you are very forward."  Poppy tossed her head to show her
disapproval.
His flattery wasn't welcome and she pursed her lovely lips until they
were pouting, unaware that the expression was bound to inflame him
further.

The bandstand was illuminated with electric lights and the musicians
were taking up their instruments.  Ned was looking along the rows of
deck chairs set out on the promenade but they were all taken and the
only place to sit was on the low wall beside the path.

"What did you want to ask him along for?"  Poppy managed to whisper to
Ned on the quiet, inclining her head in the direction of Dolph
Brecht.

He smiled.

"Dolph's a good sort.  And it's only right to make foreigners feel at
home."

The answer was typical of him.  He was thoughtful and kind, and it made
her feel ashamed of her own brusqueness.

She made an effort to be more sociable.

"What do you do besides crew for rich people with yachts?"  she asked
the presumptuous young man.

"I'm on leave from the German Navy."

"You must love the sea."

"It is in my blood.  My father is Kapitan of a German Passagierdampfer
which I think you call a liner."

"How did you meet Ned?"

Ned answered for him.

"The Gretchen's been up on the slips at Charlie's boatyard having her
rudder seen to."  Charlie Rain was his older brother.  He built smacks
and did repairs at his yard a little way upriver from the bridge.

"You speak very good English," Poppy said to Dolph.

"I spent two years studying at a university here."

The bandsmen blew into the brass instruments, noisily tuning up, and
their cheeks filled out like freshly baked muffins.  Gold braid
decorated the front of each red jacket like extra ribs and it glinted
on the military-style peaked hats.  There was no smarter band along the
east coast and Fenstowe people supported it wholeheartedly.  They
started off with a rousing march to set feet tapping and the festive
atmosphere increased as everyone clapped in
time 85 to the music.  There was a smell of vinegar and pipe tobacco
and seaweed along the sea front which somehow made Poppy feel in a
holiday mood, and she loved the night lights nickering in coloured
glass jars strung above the flowerbeds.  They brought a touch of magic
to the evening.

A breeze from the sea fluttered Poppy's black taffeta bow and she was
aware of Dolph's fascination with her hair.  He couldn't keep his eyes
off it.  She was sure that if he had dared he wouldn't have kept his
hands off it either. He was very good-looking.  Once she stole a glance
at him and was disconcerted when their eyes met.

The beat of the music changed to a polka.

"I think that we should be dancing."  Dolph stood up and held his hands
out in invitation.

"Oh, no!"  Poppy protested.

"Oh, yes!  You do not mind, do you, Ned?"  He dragged her to her feet
without giving Ned time to answer, and swung her into an energetic
polka.  Resistance was impossible.

"This is wonderful.  It is the way we dance in Germany."

There was not much room on the promenade and they dodged between people
until a space was made for them and soon they were flying round in a
circle with an audience looking on.  After the second time round she
was too dizzy and too exhilarated to care what anybody thought.  She
loved dancing and she lifted her skirt above her ankles and leaned
against Dolph Brecht's arm as he whirled her faster and faster to the
music.  He was an expert and she hadn't enjoyed anything so much in a
long while.

Soon other couples joined in and the promenade became a dance floor.

The warm air rang with gaiety.  And so it should have continued until
the last lamp was extinguished just before the start of the sabbath
day, but trouble came from the direction of the beach.

Boat races had been going on all evening while the light lasted, the
final one reaching the line only minutes before a sunset gun was fired
to signal the time for flags to be lowered.  Since then men from the
three Companies in Fenstowe had been celebrating victories with endless
glasses of beer from barrels they had carted down to the shore, and
they were in riotous mood. The Fisher Company had the most to
celebrate.

"For he's a jolly good fella," the revellers bawled as they carried
Joshua Kerrick shoulder high across the road.  "Ain't no one can handle
a lugger like him."

The music had just stopped when Poppy saw him.  The Company men parted
the crowd surrounding the dancers and lowered him to the ground with
ribald laughter at the same moment as Dolph Brecht let go other, and
she was so dizzy she staggered.  She saw Joshua through a haze, and all
pleasure disappeared instantly.  The sight of him reminded her of what
his father had done and she remembered the note which she had torn to
shreds and then thrown in the fire.

She hoped he hadn't seen her.  People were milling round and she tried
to keep behind them while she looked desperately for Ned.  When she
couldn't see him she began to panic.  Her head was still spinning and
Dolph tried to put his arm around her again but she shrugged it away.

Joshua detached himself from the group of men and crossed the space
where she had been cavort inga few moments earlier, his height giving
him the advantage of seeing above the heads of everybody else.

Everything started happening at once.

"Ned!"  She called his name desperately.

The band, flushed with the success of the last tune, struck up another
with a similar rhythm before the dancers had chance to disperse, and
Dolph swung her round again, laughing as he invited her to repeat their
performance, but as he did so Joshua caught up with them.  He took her
by the wrist and dragged her away from Dolph.

87 "Yuh'll dance with me this time.  Poppy."

His grip was painful when she tried to pull away.

"No, I won't.  Let go of me," she hissed, afraid of drawing unwanted
attention.

She twisted round, still looking for Ned, and caught sight of him with
his mother just as Aunt Lizzie rose from a deck chair and started
moving towards her niece and the two men.

"Poppy, you should be ashamed of yourself."  Aunt Lizzie descended on
them like a black moth about to deposit further blight on the
evening.

"Dancing when yuh're in mourning for yuh grandfather!  I don't know
what yuh father'!!  say."

Joshua ignored her and clasped Poppy's waist as he forced her to merge
with the revellers now stepping out enthusiastically to the strains of
a hornpipe.

"Poppy, come back," shouted Aunt Lizzie.

But Joshua set her whirling like a mechanical doll, and when she
punched his chest with her free hand and ordered him to stop he just
laughed.  The brilliance of the bandstand recurred with the regularity
of a lighthouse lamp as he danced her round, and gradually the music
worked its spell once more. Her resistance weakened a little and she
followed his steps, which surprisingly were every bit as confident as
Dolph's.

"I've got to talk to you.  Poppy.  Did yuh get my note?"

"We've got nothing to say."

"There's things I want to say, but not here.  Meet me somewhere."

"Never.  You're a nobody.  Josh Kerrick.  A nobody.  And yuh'll always
be one.  I don't want anything to do with you."

His hand moved up her back, lifting the square white blouse collar
which was edged in black like an obituary card and his fingers played
over her spine in time to the music.  Incredible sensations chased
through her body.  It was
the first time he had touched her and she couldn't stand being pressed
familiarly against the coarse, darned shirt which was so tight across
his chest she could see black hair curling in the gaps between the
buttonholes. There was a faint black stubble around his chin.  His
hands were hard and calloused from pulling on ropes, hard and strong
but disturbingly sensitive. She held herself as far from him as she
could until the music stopped, and to her relief they finished up next
to Dolph and Aunt Lizzie, who had been joined by Ned and Jessie Rain.

It was plain to see Dolph Brecht's pride was scorched.  Joshua
Kerrick's effrontery had incensed him and the pale blue eyes were
glacial.  The moment they were level he grasped Joshua by the shoulder
and wrenched him round until they were facing, splitting the
insubstantial shirt as he did so.

"Poppy did not wish to dance with you," he said.

"You are an ignorant pig to force your attentions on her."

There was plenty of noise around but somehow the angry voice of Dolph
Brecht was singled out and all the others ebbed away at the promise of
trouble.  As it became quiet the space where dancing feet had trodden
grew smaller and Poppy imagined the faces surrounding them were
grimacing masks closing in. Even the breeze had died down so there was
nothing to dispel the current of bad feeling which had apparently
arisen from nowhere.  She saw Joshua suck in his breath in outraged
surprise.

"And you're the bloody German off that fancy yacht who did all the
talking when it went aground off Crab Sands."  His dark brows drew
together as he recognized the other man.

"Watch it, Kerrick," Ned warned.

"Such haggling there was over the salvage money it was a wonder we
didn't miss the top of the tide to get off, and it still ain't
settled."

"A fair price is to be paid before we sail tomorrow."  Dolph's back was
rigid.

"We will not take anything from you British."

89 "Then leave Poppy alone.  She's too good for a mean bastard like
you."

Dolph's hand went swiftly to his pocket.  Poppy went cold as he pulled
out a leather glove and struck Joshua across the face.  Retaliation was
immediate. She hardly had time to jump clear before Joshua struck a
blow to Dolph Brecht's chin which sent him reeling backwards.  It was
too sudden for anyone to save him from crashing into a lamp post and by
the time Ned and Poppy reached him he was cursing his ass ailment in
colourful German, and nursinga broken arm.

The swing bridge connecting the north and south sides of Fenstowe
opened late the following afternoon and people out for a Sunday stroll
were able to see the yacht Gretchen steam through the narrow channel on
her way to the sea. She was a beautiful vessel, graceful as a swan and
very much a rich man's plaything.  A golden garland decorated the
tapering bows and trailed a thread of gold all round the shiny white
hull from stem to stern.  The deck house was made of mahogany and there
was a small saloon with curtains at the windows.

She was flying the bur gee of a German yacht club, and a blue and white
striped awning shaded the afterdeck where a very large gentleman with a
cigar sat in a canvas chair as if it were a throne.

Adolphus Brecht, Leutnant zur See in the German Navy, was not aboard.

He was pacing the floor of B Ward in Fenstowe's Victoria Hospital, his
arm in splints and his temper boiling.  In a week's time he was due to
start training with the submarine service and he had to get back to
Germany, but Baron von Meerbaum, the owner of the Gretchen, had sent
the most junior member of the crew to the hospital with his luggage in
answer to Dolph's message about the accident.  It seemed that as he was
not able to work the Baron was not prepared to offer him free passage
home, and he had already been replaced by an able-bodied Fenstowe man
who was glad of the job.  An
envelope containing about enough money to pay his return fare to the
Fatherland when he was sufficiently recovered was his salary for the
duties he had carried out on the eventful journey over.  Nothing more
would be forthcoming.  Out of that he would also have to pay his
hospital fees and perhaps a night's lodgings.  He was going to come out
of his trip financially worse off than before and that was the most
annoying thing of all because he wouldn't have taken the job if he
hadn't desperately needed the money.  He had hated every minute on
board that fat man's yacht and there were plenty of things he would
rather have done with his two weeks' leave.

He thought of Anna at home in Koblenz watching the Rhine flow past
their riverside house.  In order to marry her it had been necessary to
prove to his superior officers as well as to her family that he had
sufficient private income, the stipend from the Government being so
miserably low it would be otherwise impossible to support a wife.  At
the time he had been besotted with Anna and would have gone to any
lengths to possess her.  When she would settle for nothing less than
marriage he had borrowed a large sum of money from a friend who was now
pressing him for repayment.  It meant he had to do everything he could
to raise at least a token to keep the man quiet.

If Anna knew how much he was in debt she would make his life hell.

Already he had discovered that the meek girl he had courted was very
hard-headed.  She had put impossible restrictions on her dowry, as well
as on Dolph himself.  He was regretting the marriage more every day,
but could see no way out of it.

All the morning he had pretended he didn't speak very good English.

He didn't want to get into conversation with other patients in the
ward, but he was quite fluent when a nurse came to put a fresh dressing
on a cut above his eyebrow which kept oozing blood.

"I want to leave here today.  It is imperative that I do."

91 "And where will you go, Mr Brecht?"  The woman's starchiness
matched her glossy starched belt with a silver buckle.  It spanned the
middle of her blue uniform dress so stiffly it might have been there
solely to give support to the roll of fat it had forced up from her
waist.

"You're in no condition to travel yet and I understand your employer's
yacht will be sailing on the afternoon tide."

She spoke to him as if he was a deck-hand, and he resented it.

"How dare you call that inflated baron my employer!  A Leutanant zur
See serves only the Kaiser."

He caught sight of his reflection in the window opposite and saw
himself in the grey hospital pyjamas.  He had to admit her mistake was
understandable. He had seen better-dressed convicts, but he still
required respect.

"I will not stay here," he said.

"I want my clothes."

"You wish to go back to Germany?"

"Of course.  As soon as possible.  It is very important."

"Then you'll have to have patience and rest for a day or two, otherwise
you'll never make the journey.  You took quite a knock."

He stood very straight, as if on a parade ground, and the baggy pyjama
trousers sliped down over his slim hips almost to the point of
indecency.

"Madam, I am in the German Navy.  It is an insult to make out that I
have been weakened by a quarrel with one of your uncouth British
fishermen."

"As far as we are concerned, Mr Brecht, you had a quarrel with a
British lamp post, and they're made of iron."

She orderd him back to bed and he didn't have any more strength to
argue.

He slept for a considerable time and woke in a worse temper than
before.  The sun shining through the narrow windows cast shadow blocks
across the floor and he paced over them, matching his strides to their
size as though wearing boots.  He was suspicious of everyone.

Inert lumps of humanity filled all the other beds, so heavily asleep
he wondered whether a drug had been administered with lunch to ensure
the staff had a quiet afternoon.  His arm was aching.  He took off the
sling and tried straightening the damaged limb.  The pain it caused
produced a volley of bad language just when a new nurse came in.

"Mr Brecht, you have a visitor."

"If it's someone from that damn yacht I do not wish further talk."

"It's a lady."  The little nurse smiled sweetly.  She was much younger
than the other one and he would have preferred to have had her around
sooner.  She had nice eyes.

"I think you'll be pleased to see her."

"Is she as pretty as you?"  Dolph's mood changed and this time he was
keep inga tight hold on the pyjama trousers.

"Go on with you," the girl scoffed.

A figure in black came through the door at the end of the ward.  He
frowned, trying to think where he had seen her before, and then he
remembered Poppy Ludlow had called the woman Aunt Lizzie.  She had his
clothes over her arm.

"Good afternoon, Mr Brecht."  She removed a glove and extended her hand
to him.

"I'm Miss Ludlow, Poppy's aunt.  My niece was too embarrassed to come
and see you after what happened last night so I've come myself to offer
you hospitality until you're fit to travel.

It's the least I can do to show you that Fenstowe people are not all as
low as the Kerricks.  I hope yuh'll accept.  "

His anger gradually melted away, leavinga little pool of emotion which
began to bubble with anticipation.  The middle-aged spinster in front
of him was momentarily transposed into a younger version with long red
hair and a mouth made for kissing.  Several times during the long,
painful night he had been aroused by thoughts of Poppy Ludlow, and if
she had come herself to offer the invitation he would have had
difficulty restraining the desire to pull her lovely body against him. 
The delicious image dissolved away and he was left
with the reality of Aunt Lizzie, 93 whose hand he had been holding
over long.  He gave a small bow over it which was so full of
Continental charm it made the lady blush.

"How very kind of you.  Miss Ludlow."  His cultured voice was full of
warmth.

"It gives me much pleasure to accept."

Joshua Kerrick spent Saturday night in Fenstowe Police Station, sharing
a cell with half a dozen others who had been hauled in for being drunk
and disorderly.  It made no difference when he protested that though
he'd had a few drinks he was very definitely not drunk.

In fact he had been quite sober when he'd punched Dolph Brecht.

"Take my advice, laddie, and hang on to the drunk charge if yuh know
what's good for you."  A young policeman put pressure on Joshua's arm
and gave the warning while the sergeant was out of earshot.

"You could be charged with committing grievous bodily harm if you
insist you weren't under the influence."

So he sat in a corner of the cell all night, stewing over the latest
turn of events while the others snored like dogs.  By morning he was
still unrepentant.

He had been trying to find Poppy all the week, ever since she had gone
walking away from the Night Queen with her head in the air and her
pride intact.  He admired her so much that night.  She'd suffered
cruelly, yet her spirit was not broken and the fancy he had always had
for her became far deeper.  He'd waited around trying to speak to her
but she'd avoided him, and frustration had made him want to take it out
on his father for causing so much misery.  He'd restrained himself for
his mother's sake.  No use making things worse than they were
already.

He had imagined Poppy staying at home and missing all the fun of the
regatta. So great was his concern he had almost dropped out of the
regatta races himself because he had lost his usual brash certainty of
winning.  His mates
had eventually talked him round, but his success had come about mainly
through the strength of his arms and the kind of energy born of anger
rather than skill.  He couldn't stop thinking about Poppy, He wanted
desperately to be with her, to take her in his arms and comfort her,
even offer her his loving protection for the rest of her life.  The
depth of his feelings amazed him.

Then he had seen her cavorting round the promenade with some high-flown
stranger, flirting with him as though she didn't have a care in the
world, and something had happened inside his head.  He was suddenly
driven by a different though equally passionate anger.

He had forced her to dance with him.  The heat of her body as he
explored it shamelessly through the cotton blouse had excited him and
he'd held her tighter when she pretended to find him offensive.  He
made her cover the ground with him the same as she had been doing with
the stranger, and a fierce heat licked dangerously through his body. 
He had wanted to punish her.

"So help me, if there'd been a place to take her I swear I might have
done exactly what me father did," he said aloud.

"Sleep can't yuh," one of the drunks complained.

"Sleep it off, mate, and let's all get some rest."

In the morning his father came to bail him out.  Joshua saw him through
the bars and studied him objectively while he was unaware of being
watched.  He supposed Tom Kerrick was still a handsome man in spite of
the spread of his waist.  His hair was as thick as ever under his cap,
and his clean-shaven jaw was firm.  There was maybe a slight bowing of
the shoulders caused by being too tall to stand straight in a cabin. 
Years of stooping had left a permanent curve to the upper part of his
spine, a condition Joshua could expect for himself if he spent the rest
of his life on drifters, but the hefty shoulders still strained at his
jacket.  All in all he was the kind of man a woman would look at
favourably, and there was no doubt now in Joshua's mind that Poppy
Ludlow had led his father on.

95 "Poor old boy."  His teeth pressed into the side of his index
finger as he gripped the bars.

"She played around and got more than she bargained for with you, didn't
she, Fa?"

The policeman who had been on duty all night yawned as he made Tom sign
a book, stretched to ease the boredom, then strolled over to the cell
and unlocked the door.

"All right, Kerrick, you can go.  If the gentleman you had a quarrel
with prefers charges we'll likely see you again.  If not, let this be
the last time you drink too much and land in trouble.  We're not a
bleedin' hotel."

Joshua said nothing.  He knew when to keep his mouth shut.  His father
said nothing either until they were well away from the police station
and striding along Dock Street.

"Fists!  That's all you ever think of using, 'cept when you're with a
wench." Tom had been bottling up his anger and the words were
explosive.

"I learnt it from you.  You taught me to use me fists if nothing
else."

"Don't try making out you're any different, because you ain't."

"I hope I'll never rape a woman."

"Yuh don't know what you'll do when you're drunk."

"Or when you're sufficiently provoked, eh, Fa?"

Tom looked at him sharply, not following.

"What did that bloke do to provoke you, boy?  Ain't no excuse if there
ain't a good reason."

"Mebbe I did it for you."

"For me!  That be a rum answer.  Since when have yuh cared?"

"I reckon I wronged you, Fa.  I thought you'd sinned against Poppy
Ludlow good and proper, but I found out she ain't any better than
anyone else and likely it wasn't all your fault.  It was her I felt
like hitting last night."

Tom gave his son another sharp glance but this time it was accompanied
by a wry smile.

"Hah!"  he grunted, lowering his head as they pressed on towards Drago
Street.

Joshua was ravenous.  His stomach was growling for want of food, and a
smell of kippers wafting from a doorway aggravated his gastric juices
to the point of rebellion.  When they got home his mother was in the
scullery trying to light the wash quickly with a strip of rag dipped in
paraffin.  Flames from it licked quickly underneath and smoke curled
away from the brick base to gather near the blackened ceiling and sting
their noses.

"I've sent Gwen round the boatyard for some more chippings," Clara
said, without looking up.

"It may be Sunday but I've washing to do.

Someone has to make some money round here or we'll not be eating at
all.  " She didn't say anything about where Joshua had spent the
night.

"If yuh're hungry, boy, you'll find bread in the cupboard.  Dip it in
some sugar.  That's all there is."

"Maw!  What's that to a starving man?  I've had nothing since yesterday
morning."

"Then yuh should've bought food instead of drink."  The wood chippings
caught and names spread under the copper.  Clara got stiffly to her
feet and wiped her hands down her apron, then looked up with the smile
she reserved for her favourite son.

"Go round next door to Fanny.  Mebbe she'll have a herring she can
spare yuh. As for you, Tom, I hope as how now you've got a boat ofyer
own you'll have it ready to take out by tonight instead of sloping off
down to the Trafalgar."

She prodded her husband in the paunch and the tip of her finger
disappeared into the fat.

"I'll get us all some herrings from somewhere."  Joshua put an arm
round his mother's shoulder and pressed her towards him.

"But mebbe I'll have some bread first."

He loved his mother.  He'd see that Fa worked hard and earned enough to
pay the bills now he had the Night Queen.  Likely he'd be more
ambitious with a
vessel of his 97 own, but if the old man looked like he'd lost his
touch for knowing the best fishing grounds he'd have to step down as
skipper.  Joshua knew by the gulls and the colour of the water among
other things where to aim for a good catch.  Like old Bill Ludlow had
said, he had the feel for it.

That afternoon Joshua went down to the green with the dog Blackie at
his heels.  He strode over the rough grass through lines of drying
posts, dodging among the terra cotta-coloured nets which made the ropes
between them sag almost to the ground.  He had intended checking the
nets belonging to the Night Queen but the dog ran off towards the sea
wall, barking at birds, and he went after it.  Up the steps it went and
stood on top of the wall, wagging its tail furiously as it waited for
Joshua to catch up.

The sun was shining and the sky was almost a clear blue, but the sea
didn't reflect the colour.  It was as if it objected to it and threw
back a cold, obstinate grey.  Down on the beach waves were trickling
in, tickling the shore mischievously, and the sand showed ochre through
white suds bubbling towards the wall.  Perhaps the sea knew that
further disturbance awaited Joshua Kerrick down at the water's edge.

There were not many people on the sands.  Two ladies were sitting with
their backs against a groyne, their long skirts arranged carefully so
that their legs were covered.  A longshoreman was digging in the wet
sand for bait, and some boys played with a dog which stopped and barked
in answer to Blackie's excited yelps.  Joshua swore as the shaggy
mongrel set off once more, but when he looked along the beach he saw a
girl hold inga child by the hand and he knew by the colour of her hair
that it was Poppy.

He watched her for a moment.  Her discarded button boots were higher up
on a patch of shingle and she was lifting her skirt clear of her ankles
so that she could paddle with the child.  Every time the water receded
he glimpsed her slim white feet.  He'd been running to catch the dog
and had taken the
steps leading to the top of the wall two at time.  His lungs were
bursting, yet the effort had been nothing.  It was the way he always
felt when he saw Poppy Ludlow.

By the time he reached her there were hammering noises in his head and
his mouth was dry.  He took a few deep breaths and stood a moment
before he spoke.  She was laughing, jumping over the tiny lace-like
ripples and making the child do the same.  He could have spanned her
waist with his hands without any effort and she moved her hips with
unconscious grace which stirred him afresh.  Her hair, that luxuriant
mane which fired his senses, hung down her back like flame-coloured
silk in the sunlight.

"Poppy."  He called her name sharply.  It was torture to look at her
like that and remember what she was.  She turned round and the
happiness disappeared from her face as if a light had been
extinguished.  It shocked him, like being hit below the belt.

"What are you doing here?

"What's the matter?  Ain't I good enough to keep you company?  I didn't
think you were particular."

She stooped quickly and picked up the child.

"Let's go, Violet.  It isn't nice here any more."  The little girl
stared at him from the safety of Poppy's arms, her strangely shaped
eyes pale and vacant.

Poppy's eyes were hostile.

"Have you no shame.  Josh Kerrick?  What you did to Dolph Brecht last
night was unforgivable.  He'd done nothing to you."

' exCept showed me the kind of girl you are.  Toffs is it you're after
now? Not so many nights ago it was me father and you had the neck to
shout rape. That was no raping."

She swung round to try to get away from him but-he caught her wrist in
a painful grip.

"Let go of me!  I want to get me boots."

"Easy, are you.  Poppy?"

He held her like that for several seconds but she refused to either
answer him or turn her head.  Her pride seemed to vibrate through the
pulse beating beneath his fingers.  One of the women by the groyne
looked round curiously.
He 99 let Poppy go and she went on up to the shingle patch and sat
down with the child clinging closely as she struggled to push a foot
into one of the black boots.  She pulled at the buttons to fasten it,
silent and tense and breathing quickly as if holding back tears.

Joshua squatted beside her.  He leaned over and fastened the boot, then
lifted her other foot and held it between both his hands.  Her skin was
cold from the sea, smooth as marble but soft to touch, and he felt the
delicate bones move as she stretched.  He looked at the fine blue veins
and traced one up to her ankle.  Excitement throbbed from his belly to
his loins as he pictured the route his hand could have taken if there
had been no one else around.  Her knees slammed together beneath her
skirt and she sat like stone while he put on the second boot.

"All week I've been worrying me self sick thinking you might be too
upset to go out, after what happened.  I even thought you might be
missing the regatta and I was going to come round to say things to you
I might have regretted for the rest of me life.  Oh, I was taken in all
right, till I saw you with that dandy, then I knew what you really
are."

"You see what you want to see."  The child whimpered and Poppy put her
arms around her, holding the little body close like a talisman.

"You're coarse and you measure everybody by your own standards.  Well I
don't care what you think.  I'll see who I like and I'll thank you to
keep yer opinions to yourself."

Her beautiful wide mouth was proud and sensual.  For months now he'd
been longing to know the feel of it softening beneath his own, and
being so close was an unbearable temptation.

"You're no better than a whore," he accused her as he pulled at the
boot buttons, his voice low so that nothing he said would carry on the
breeze.

"But I'll still have you one day for all that."

Poppy Ludlow's foot shot up so suddenly he had no time to anticipate
the kick
which landed centrally between his splayed legs and he fell backwards,
creased with the pain she had inflicted.  He saw her get up and hurry
away with the child, but he didn't see the tears she could no longer
hold in check.

His dog came back panting, stood a second with its head on one side,
then licked his hand in sympathy.

After the Bethel service on Sunday evenings Poppy and Daisy always
wenttoseeGrandmaLudlow.  Thatsame Sundayafter the regatta, when Poppy
had spent the afternoon on the beach with Violet, they left the rest of
the family at the junction of Cooper Street and Fleetwood Road as usual
and carried on to Manor Road, their Bibles tucked under their arms and
heels clicking along the pavement in unison.

"I wish I'd been there last night," Daisy said.

"Josh Kerrick doesn't care, does he?  Fancy hittinga bloke when there
were all those people about."  She laughed as she kept pace with her
sister, as though it had all been a huge joke.

"It wasn't funny."  Poppy was still feeling the effect of her latest
encounter with Joshua and her nerves were in shreds, added to which
there was the possibility of yet another awkward meeting ahead

"He'd no business hitting that poor man whether there were people about
or not.  It was awful.  I felt so ashamed."

"Were they really fighting over you?"

"No, they were not."

"I wish Josh Kerrick wanted to fight over me."

Daisy!  "

"Well I do.  He's that good-looking."

Poppy was astounded.  Little Daisy was growing up quickly and it seemed
she was in need of a few quiet words of advice if the first man she
admitted to taking an interest in was that no-good ruffian.

"Don't let me hear you talk like that again," she scolded her sister.

"Show a bit of sense, Daisy.  Joshua Kerrick ain't worth looking at

He's got no morals.  Even Grandfer said he was a bad 'un.  Nearly his
last words, they were.  "

101 She was breathing fast.  It was dreadful the way she kept getting
upset when the Kerricks were mentioned and she would have to get out of
it right smartish or else there'd be questions asked.  She'd hardly
eaten anything since the day of the funeral and Maw was getting
concerned.

She went ahead of Daisy up the path to the front door with the coloured
glass fanlight.  The lowering sun touched on it differently from
outside, picking out the colours and edging them in gold where the lead
kept them together, just as if they were jewels.  She gave the special
family rap on the knocker and stood back, straightening her hat and
gloves so that Aunt Lizzie would have nothing to complain about.

It was a moment or two before the door was opened and Lizzie greeted
them with a peculiar little smile.

"Yuh can come in.  We've got a visitor."

He came then.  " Poppy's heart began to race.  She dreaded seeing Dolph
Brecht.  She smoothed the pleats in her skirt and touched the frill of
the high-necked black blouse which was sticking uncomfortably to her
throat. Then over Daisy's shoulder she saw into the room where Grandma
always sat watching people go by.  Dolph was standing by the fireplace,
his splinted arm in a calico sling which emphasized the whiteness of
his shirt.  Her face drained of colour.  Then it came flooding back
with such brightness she was like a rose in black tissue wrappings. 
Her eyes flew to his, but dropped again in confusion.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, then became even more confused.

"I

mean, I'm sorry it all happened, about your arm and everything.  You
must be so angry.  "

"Not any more."  Dolph smiled at her.

"I too must apologize.  I caused trouble for you last night.  I did not
know there had been a bereavement in the family or I would not have
forced you to dance when you had already refused.  I hope you will
forgive me."

It was a gallant speech, delivered with sincerity.

"But you got hurt," Poppy said.

"And now I have the privilege of meeting you again so perhaps it was
worth it."

Her eyes rested on the dressing on Dolph's forehead and trailed down to
his arm which was immovable against his chest, and a bubble of laughter
fizzed up at the compliment he had just paid her.  She stifled it
quickly by disguising it as a discreet cough and she covered her mouth
with her hand.

Daisy was wide-eyed with curiosity, her glance darting from one to the
other.

"Well I think it was real romantic, having men fighting over you an'
all."

"It was a disgrace," said Aunt Lizzie.

"I've never been part of anything so shameful and I've brought Mr
Brecht here to rest up so as he'll know we ain't all heathens."

Grandma leaned forward in the high-backed chair which was sprouting
horsehair from the corners of the seat where Grandfer's legs had worn
it.

"Lizzie, I'd like a cushion at me back, and I'd like some of that
lemonade you made."  She wore a black lace cap over her white hair and
lace mittens on her hands, which were permanently chilly.  Her eyes,
hooded with age, settled on the foreign visitor.

"I'm sure you'd like some too, Mr Brecht.  Lizzie makes very good
lemonade."

"Please allow me to get it for you."  Dolph gave the old lady one of
his dazzling smiles.  Aunt Lizzie had gone for the requested cushion.

"Perhaps Poppy will be kind enough to show me where it is."

He followed Poppy to the kitchen, his shiny black boots makinga
military sound on the red-patterned linoleum.  The footsteps made her
nervous and she wished she had asked Daisy to do it.

Dolph quickly made use of his opportunity.

"I wanted to tell you in private that I have not stopped thinking about
you since yesterday,"

he said.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again after last night."

"It was not your fault.  To show that it is forgotten will 103 you let
me take you out one evening before I go back to Germany."

It was hot in the kitchen.  A fire was burning in the iron basket in
the centre of the cooking range and it sent out so much heat the air
seemed to quiver with it.

"I reckon not," Poppy said.  She went to the pantry and found lemonade
in a glass jug on the marble shelf but before she picked it up she
spread her palms on the cold surface for a second to cool them.

"We haven't known each other long enough."

"I knew the moment I saw you that I would know you for ever."

"Seems a mite quick to me."

"I have never been so certain of anything.  If you will not allow me to
take you out I shall believe that all English girls are as cold as your
dreadful climate."

She took down a tin tray decorated with pictures of King Edward's
coronation and set glasses on it.

"What's wrong with our climate?"

He was standing close to her and with his good hand he tipped up her
chin so that it was difficult to keep her eyes lowered.  For a moment
his gaze lingered on her, moving over each feature as if memorizing it.
 Then he smiled and gently shook his head.

"Nothing is wrong with it if it can produce someone as beautiful as
you."

She was trembling inwardly.  Firelight flickered on her face, making
shadows chase over it as she considered how best to deal with this
persistent man. He had a silver tongue and his flattery touched her
senses like a soothing balm after the indignity she had suffered
through both Tom Kerrick and his son, but she was not fooled by it.

The cruel, unwarranted things Joshua had said this afternoon still rang
in her ears, hurting abominably Men could never be trusted.

As Dolph tried to move closer she hurriedly thrust the jug of lemonade
into his good hand.

"You'd better carry this," she said.

"I'll take the tray."

He held the jug against him and tried again to persuade her.

"Please do not think I would presume to invite you out without first
asking your father's permission.  I should like to call on him."

"Fa'll be going out with the fleet tomorrow."

He sighed.

"You find so many excuses."

"And you'll be back across the sea next week."  Poppy moved to the
door, intent on putting an end to the conversation.

He spent the rest of the evening talking to Grandma
Ludlow,AuntLizzieandDaisyabouthisfamily in Germany, just as though that
brief exchange in the kitchen had never taken place, except for an
occasional glance in Poppy's direction.  She watched him charm them. 
Heknew exactly the right things to say and his manners were
impeccable.

"That was the best lemonade I have ever tasted."  He drained his glass
and handed it to Aunt Lizzie.  He couldn't have said anything to please
her more.

"Perhaps, Miss Ludlow, you will be kind enough to write down how you
make it so that I may take the recipe to my mother."

Poppy was uncertain about him.  It was a treat to meet someone with all
the refinements lacking in other people she knew, but she suspected he
used his charm to gain whatever he wanted, and doubted whether any of
his compliments had been really sincere.

As they were leaving he took Poppy's hand and bowed over it, clicking
his heels together.

"It has been a great pleasure to meet you."

The words and actions were repeated for Daisy and on the way home she
stated one indisputable fact.

"I'll say something for Dolph Brecht.

He's a real gentleman.  "

Poppy had to agree.

"He could certainly teach Josh Kerrick a thing or two."

She pondered the matter while her sister chatted on, and she came to an
important decision.  If she ever got over the shock of being raped,
enough to consider marriage, the man she chose would have to be a
gentleman.

105 The sea growled at Clan Ludlow.  It always plagued him, churning
his stomach when there was only the slightest swell, and he could never
touch dinner the first night out, or breakfast next day.  He'd had the
silly feeling that things would be different now he was owner of the
Sarah Star but of course they weren't.  He still felt as queasy as when
his father had forced him to go out on short voyages when he was a
boy.

Of course, it could be that he hadn't got used to the idea yet that Tom
Kerrick was related.  It had made him feel sicker than he'd ever felt
in his life, and he'd decided the only way to take his mind off it was
to put to sea for a spell to give him something else to think about.

This trip out was to be the last before making-up ready for home
fishing but it hadn't got off to a good start.  As soon as they were
out of sight of land a squall had come up which knocked the beef-kettle
flying off the stove, smashing it to bits.  The cook had found a
makeshift cooking pot but it wasn't so good for making suet-duffs.  If
it hadn't been full moon, the best time for pulling in a good catch, he
might have thought of putting back to harbour, but the sky had cleared
now and he hoped for just enough stir to the water to fill the nets
with herrings.

When they reached Bell Knoll there were plenty of other drifters about,
making it a bit crowded for shooting nets, but the water was milky and
gulls were dipping into the waves, which were good signs.

Clan began to feel better and he stood on deck in his oilskins and
crotch boots hoping the crew didn't know how miserable he always was at
sea.

With the wind astern he ordered a three-fathom strop to be used so the
warp would go deep, and began shooting his fleet of nets just before
sunset while the Sarah Star sailed along slowly.  One man worked aft
with the net-rope, another for' ad between the hold and the gunwale
with the lint.  The mate put the seizings on the warp and the hawse man
shot the ropes which the cook down in the hold watched running out so
they didn't get fouled up.

"In the name of the Lord, pay away!"  Clan cried, as the first buff
touched the sea.

Half an hour later all the nets were overboard and the swing-rope was
paid out.  He brought the boat round head to the wind with the
drift-mizzen set to keep her that way, and she drifted along with the
tide, secured to the nets and following them on the wrinkling black
waves which became silver-tipped in the moonlight.  Then he set up the
lantern on deck and ordered a light at the head of the mizzen-mast
before going below to stretch out on a straw mattress, leaving the
hawesman on watch.

A string of prayers started running through his head.  He thanked God
that the Sarah Star had been left to him.  Then he asked for help to
put aside the hatred he felt for his newly discovered half-brother so
that he could come to terms with all that had developed.  There were
other things as well.  Poppy had been giving him no peace since the day
of the funeral, continually talking about having the Sarah Star
converted to steam.  He didn't know what had got into her.  Sail had
been good enough for his father and the old man hadn't been gone long
enough yet for Clan to have the courage to change anything, even if
there'd been money available, which there wasn't.  But Poppy wouldn't
have it.  She was such a determined girl, and so much like his father
it worried him.  Old Bill had made him feel useless.  Now his
daughter
was beginning to make him feel the 107 same, and he hoped the Lord
would give him strength to win her respect, because he loved her.  So
he prayed over that matter, too, asking for guidance.

Surely if he was meant to go to all the trouble of trying to raise
money for conversion there would have to be a sign of some sort.

Just before midnight the haw semen called him on deck.  The buffs were
tipping so low in the water they were almost submerged.  Clan looked
down at the water, his heart beginning to thud at the prospect of the
first really good catch in a year, and he silently formed words of
thanks to the Almightly that the sea was not too restless.  Then he
called the crew.

"Work-0!"  He shouted strongly down the hood way "Hurry on!  Looks like
we'll be hauling till dawn."

By the time the first tinge of colour was tinting the sky they were
still pulling on the ropes, ripping their hands with the weight in the
nets.  There had been nigh on a cran offish in the first pull.  The man
stowing the net-rope and putting the buffs to one side changed places
with the mate and took a turn in hauling, with no change to the rhythm
as he did so.  One, two, three, shake.  The only thing that made the
rhythm falter was when a blower came to the surface, a porpoise
smelling of herring oil and making such a stink they had to hold their
noses.  All night the silver herrings were scudded into the hold
unceasingly, slippery and shining, and the space was almost full before
they reached the red and white chequer buff which showed there were
still five nets to go to the end of the fleet.

Clan had never had such a good catch.  It was ten o'clock in the
morning before the ropes were finally coiled and the nets stacked.

Thank God they hadn't got parted by a buoy or fouled with anyone else's
nets. He was tired and hot, sweating under his oilskins, and for once
he was hungry.  Such a satisfactory night's work had made him feel good
and he was anxious now to get back to tell Agnes and Poppy how luck and
the Lord had been with him.

"How many cran d'yuh reckon?"  the cook asked.  He was a boy still,
only out on his third voyage, but he had worked like a man, and
exhaustion showed.

"Hundred and fifty."  said the mate.

"Mebbe more."

"More," said Clan, with certainty.

He shut down the hatch with visions of unloading at the fish dock and
getting the best sum yet to share out among his crew.  Then he looked
at the concentration of drifters that had been around him all night.

They were all moving away south westwards heading towards Fenstowe, and
each one was as low in the water as the Sarah Star.  Smoke was rising
straight up into the cloudless sky from their tall Woodbine funnels.

Clan stirred himself immediately and shouted,

"Hoist all sails."

There was no time to rest and feel satisfied.  A race was on to get
back to harbour.

"Smartish like!  If we don't get a move on we're going to be last back
and that lot'll get the best prices."

The mizzen was already up and he began raising the jack yard topsail
himself. The rigging slapped the mast and screeched in protest at the
hurry, and the sails rumbled as they were unfurled, but not one of them
bellied out.  All eyes turned to look at the useless red canvas hanging
there like wallpaper pasted flat against the sky, and the only breath
of air came from Clan' mouth as he uttered words that were usually
foreign to him.

"Damn!"  He actually swore.

"Damn and blast."

The sea was as smooth as a freshly ironed sheet.  It smiled up at Clan
Ludlow, knowing that he was wont to pray for calm water to stop his
stomach churning, and it lapped round the hull of the Sarah Star like a
capricious woman scattering butterfly kisses.  He was becalmed with a
holdful of dead silver fish which would be no good to anybody if he
couldn't sail into harbour before noon.

"Mebbe we should make a pot o' tea," the mate suggested.

Clan ran his fingers through his thinning hair and gazed 109 at the
heavens with resignation settling on his face.  He had asked for a sign
and sure enough this must be it.  God was showing him that Poppy was
right and he had to convert his drifter to steam.  "Aye,"

he said at last.

"Let's make a pot o' tea."

On Wednesday evening Poppy went down to the shore.  All day at the
net-store her head had been throbbing and there was no peace to be
found at home. Violet had a cold, Iris was cutting teeth, and Maw was
that short-tempered her voice was raised at the least little thing.

It was Fa's fault, of course.  He had come back from the first night's
fishing as a drifter-owner and he hadn't made enough money to share out
among the crew.  My, how Maw had gone for him because his catch had had
to be taken back out to sea.  Dear, oh dear.

One good thing had come out of Fa's disastrous trip out.  He'd been
forced to admit Poppy was right when she insisted that the Sarah Star
needed converting to steam, and he had agreed to see Charlie Rain as
soon as possible.  The worry now was whether the bank would be willing
to grant a loan for the purpose.  If it wasn't then she would have to
find another way of raising the money.  She was quite determined to get
the project under way before the winter even if it meant having to miss
the start of the home fishing for one season.

Poppy kicked at pebbles as she wandered along the shore.  The day had
been chilly and an easterly wind was rising, sending up fine sand to
sting her face.  The sea was beginning to hit the beach with boisterous
force, rushing up the gullies left by the longshore boats when they
were dragged up on to the shingle, and leaving froth at the tide line
Smoke was blowing from the direction of the cottages at the end of the
lanes.  Most of them had a smokehouse in the back yard, a little
building made of flints rounded by the waves, with a brick floor for
the fires and a tiled roof with a hole to let
out the smoke.  It made her eyes water as it drifted in the salt air. 
She stopped and wiped them with her index fingers, holding the lids
down for a few seconds, just long enough for the picture of a man with
curly hair the colour of the sand to form behind them.  She shook her
head angrily and walked on again.

"Yuh'd best watch the weather, mind," a longshoreman called after her
as she kept on towards the cliff.  He was collecting up his nets which
had been spread out to dry and he looked sceptic ally at the sky.

"There'll be rain before long."

"I'll be careful," she said, but kept walking without any purpose
except to get away from everything familiar for a while.

She heard her name called as she passed the slope which led down from
the cliff at the far end of town.

"Poppy, wait!"

The voice was clear and imperative.  It halted her, but she daren't
look round because she was afraid it was only a trick of the wind and
she would find it was only another of those odd fancies she had been
suffering from since Sunday night.  She had been thinking too much
about Dolph Brecht and it was affecting the nerves of her stomach.

They kept tightening in a most peculiar way.

She was about to walk on when the call came again, and this time she
turned round.  When she saw him her heart gave an uncomfortable jerk.

He had a grey jacket over his shirt, the right sleeve hanging empty
over his splinted arm, and he was hurrying towards her.  He crunched
over the shingle as if firecrackers were exploding beneath his boots. 
She wished she could escape.  A flutter of fear curled in her throat,
bringing saliva to her mouth, and she swallowed hard.  Then he met her
eyes over the distance still separating them and she had no option but
to stay.

"I have been to your parents' house."  Dolph stopped a few yards from
her.

"It is very urgent that I see you."

"Why's that?"

"I have to leave for home soon and I need to talk to you."

111 She stood with her hands primly clasped in front of her skirt and
drew her shoulders back as she tried to quieten the erratic rhythm of
her heart. He was a very attractive man and he disturbed her, though
she had no wish to encourage him.  He was so respectable.  Annoyance
with herself made her answer sound sharper than she intended it to
be.

"I didn't think there was anything we had to say."

"There are many problems on my mind and I have no one to talk them over
with except you.  I cannot bother your aunt.  She has done so much for
me already."  The wind caught Dolph's blond hair and ruffled it.

"May I walk with you, please?"

"It ain't my beach.  You're free to walk where you like."  They started
off along the shore together, leaving the houses behind.  The cliff
rose up gradually to take the rest of the world out of their reach.

"What's the trouble then?"

"I have to report for duty in Germany next week but I do not have
enough money or time to travel overland."

"If it's money you want I can't help.  I could do with some me self

He stopped for a moment, so shocked he threw up his hands.

"I would never, never ask a lady for money.  No.  The problem is I must
find a boat to take me."

"Ask Ned Rain then.  I'm sure he'll think of something."

"You like Ned Rain very much?"

"He's a good friend."

"And the other man?  The one who dared to strike someone from the
Fatherland?"

"He's a sort of cousin."  Poppy tried not to betray any of her feelings
about Joshua Kerrick.

Clouds were gathering, bruising the sky with purple and black
thunderheads which threatened to disgorge a deluge.  They were so heavy
with rain the wind lacked strength to move them any further.

The first drops made little craters in the sand, and where they fell on
the water circles spread out and linked like the meshes of a drift-net.
 Then the rain came sweeping down.

Dolph caught hold of Poppy's hand and started running with her.  There
was an old hut along the shore, the nearest place to find shelter, but
before they could reach it their clothes were clinging to them.

Poppy's feet squelched in her boots.  She pushed open the rickety door
and stumbled inside.  Her hair straggled down her back and was
plastered against her cheeks like seaweed but she was laughing when he
followed her in.

"What luck!"  Dolph set his back against the door and the swollen,
weather-worn wood scraped over the crumbling boards as he closed it.

Poppy was suddenly alarmed.

"Oh, please don't do that.  Don't shut us in."

Rain was beating down hard on the roof and water leaked through as if a
collection of taps had been turned on.  It splashed between the
crevices and dripped down her neck.  She drew the collar of her black
serge coat up higher and cowered back towards a drier spot, her eyes
wide with fright.  She began to shudder.

Dolph was full of concern.

"What is the matter.  Poppy?"

"Please open the door."  The sound of the rain was deafening and her
voice rose.

He stood tall in the dimness and light filtering through a broken
window shone on the rough wet curls which even a downpour couldn't
flatten.  His eyes were full of questions but he didn't voice them
straight away.  After one of the longest minutes Poppy had known he
reached behind him with his left hand and inched the rotting timber
wide enough open for her to escape if she was desperate to do so.

Only when she could see the sea scouring the shingle did the dreadful
panic begin to subside and she took a gulping breath.

"Thank you."

"Are you afraid of the dark?"  he asked.

"No."

"Of closed places perhaps?"

"No."

113 Of what then?  "

She clasped her arms round her wet coat to try to stop the trembling
which seemed to start in the pit of her stomach.

"I think I'm afraid of you."

He looked so surprised she gave a little nervous smile by way of an
apology. After a moment he approached her slowly, as if she were a
butterfly which might elude him.

"Why?  I have done nothing to frighten you."

"I know.  It's what someone else did to me."  The words came out
painfully, forced out by a need to tell someone, and Dolph Brecht was
leaving Fenstowe soon.  It wouldn't mean anything to him.

He was close enough now for her to see a mixture of expressions chase
across his face.

"This.  . . sort of cousin.  Is it he who frightened you?  If so I will
personally kill him."

"No!  Oh, no, it wasn't Joshua."  So quick was the denial she seemed to
be springing to Joshua's defence.

"My poor little Poppy."  Dolph obviously didn't know what to say but
after a moment the ice melted from his keen blue eyes.  The wind had
been cutting in through every crack in the woodwork but it was losing
its strength and the squall died down with a final sigh which stirred
the dry patches of sand on the floor for the last time.

"You know that / will never do anything to hurt you.  I think already I
am a little in love with you."

Her head shot up.  He must be trying to win her over with the kind of
flowery sentiment that had turned Aunt Lizzie's head.  Suspicion made
her search his face for signs of treachery, but she saw none.  He was
looking at her with the gentlest of smiles.

"Now you're teasing me."

"I wouldn't do that.  I love you in a way which wants to give comfort
because you have been hurt."

He cupped her chin with his hand, held her face tenderly and looked
into her golden eyes.  The lids of his own eyes drooped heavily and his
lips parted on
a breath of pleasure when she didn't try to move away.  He waited,
accustoming her to his touch.  His fingers moved upwards to stroke her
cheek, soothing her, preparing her for the feather-like kiss he risked
a few moments later.  Poppy quivered.  The softness of his lips made
her mouth warm and sensual.  Then she pushed her hands against his
chest.

"The Klondyking boats."  She forced herself to be practical.

"If there's a German one in perhaps Ned can get you on it."

"Hush," whispered Dolph, and he risked kissing her again, putt inga
little more into it.  The feeling he awakened made her toes curl inside
the wet boots.

His good arm slid round her waist and when he drew her to him she
rested limply against his shoulder, mindful of the sling on his other
arm.  It was wonderful to know that someone cared, and she relaxed her
guard.  Her coat had fallen open.  She thought that his right hand was
as immobile as his arm until one finger found its way into the front of
her blouse and moved over her breast, touching the nipple which was as
soft as a rosebud against the cambric chemise.  The moment she felt the
invasion of that finger her panic returned.

"No!"  She pushed him away frantically.

"How dare you touch me like that.  I thought you were a gentleman."

There was just room to squeeze round the door and she tore the sleeve
other coat in her haste to escape.  The ride was near its height and
she stumbled down on to sand which was as smooth as glazed pastry where
waves were washing over it.  Her heels sank in, making harsh dents, and
the sea mocked her with its incessant licking at her feet as she tried
to run along the wet shore towards home.

"Yuh'd be better off buy inga new boat," Charlie Rain said.  "Admitted
the Sarah Star is a sound vessel, but it'll cost yuh a tidy sum to have
her converted."

"How much?"  Poppy asked.

She and Clan had come to Charlie's yard, which was off 115 Dansom Road
and close by the river.  A smell of fish and garbage came up on the
wind from the fish dock.  His office was a partitioned-off corner of
the shed he used for building boats under cover and he had given her
the only chair there was. Papers were scattered all over the desk and
he pushed them aside to make room for a clean sheet on which to
write.

"I'll tell yuh what needs to be done."  Charlie bent over the desk with
a pencil to do a quick sketch of the halved section of a sailing
drifter.

"First of all the masts and spars'll have to be lifted out, and the
deck beams might have to be cut so as to get to the engine room and
boilers.  We'd have to put in steel engine beds, and boiler bases, so
the framing needs strengthening.  Then yuh'll need a coal bunker and an
afterpeak tank for boiler water."  He tapped each section on the
diagram as he mentioned it. His stubby fingers were split and scabbed
where they had suffered from misplaced hammer blows.

"That dunt sound too much."  Clan nodded in time with the tapping
pencil.

I

"I ain't finished yet.  " The younger man was doing rapid calculations
at the side of the paper and the sun shone through a thickly cob webbed
window on to his balding head with long fair strands of hair greased
across it to give an illusion of growth.  He was about thirty but
looked more, and he bore hardly any resemblance to his brother Ned.

"Go on," Poppy urged.

"Well, yuh'll need a stern tube boring through the after deadwood and a
stern post.  Then the engine'll cause vibration so she'll need
strengthening in way of the propeller shaft.  The hull has to be
pierced for inboard and outboard seawater and condensed discharges, and
the decks will need to be re laid

"Sounds reasonable."  Clan was trying to look intelligent but from the
way he scratched his head Poppy knew he didn't understand it any better
than she did.

Charlie went on.

"Yuh'll have to have an engine-room casing with a skylight over the
engine and an iron grating over the boiler furnace space.  After that
there haster be a funnel, ventilators, a boat in davits over the engine
casing, plus all the deck machinery."

"How much?"  When Poppy asked again there was a touch of dismay in the
question.

"Well," said Charlie, 'depends how many men haster be put on the job,
but I reckon as how yuh'Il have ter find a thousand at least.  "

"A thousand pounds?"  gasped Clan.

Outside in the yard the morning air rang with the sound adze and
mallet. Poppy stood up and went over to the window so that Charlie Rain
wouldn't see that his estimate had come as a nasty shock.  She hadn't
expected it to be half that much.

"How long will it take?"  she asked, just as though they were still
contemplating having all these things done.

That depends on whether I can get a boiler and machinery quick like.

And whether I can get this other little lady clear of the shed by the
end o' next week.  " He pushed open the door so they could see the keel
of a new vessel lying between scaffolding under the tin roof.  " Mebbe
two weeks and mebbe four.  If we has to do it outside it'll take
longer.  "

Poppy turned back to look at her father Who was twisting his cap round
and round in his hands.  She felt sorry for him because he honestly
believed he had been given a sign and it had made him decisive for the
first time in his life.  Now he didn't know what to do.  She had been
so pleased when he had agreed to make enquiries.

She'd come with him in high spirits, determined that they would go home
with a reasonable estimate to show the bank manager, but this was
awful.  She hadn't realized so much would have to be done to the Sarah
Star.

"Well, we can't afford to order a new boat."  Dan's tone was wistful.

"And we certainly can't raise a thousand 117 pounds, so I reckon as
how we shall have to leave it, Charlie.  But thanks for yer time."

His cap was back on his head when another voice came from the
doorway.

"Wait on, Clan.  Don't be so hasty."

Ned Rain came in, his words for Clan but his eyes seeking Poppy's.  It
was all very well for Ned to say wait, but what was there to discuss
any further? Disappointment dulled the smile Poppy gave him as he
motioned for her to sit down again.

Charlie explained to his brother,

"I've been telling them how much it'd cost, to have that drifter of
theirs converted."

"Aye, I know."  Ned turned to Clan.

"And you reckon it's more than yuh can afford, eh, Clan?"

"A sight more.  We ain't got that kind of money and I can't see the
bank loaning that much, not with me catch record the way it is."

"Then will yuh listen to a proposal?  There's more ways than one of
getting things done, yuh know, and I'm here to help."

Poppy was still standing, but Ned looked so cheerful she had a new
upsurge of hope which made her legs tremble, and she was glad the chair
was close by so that she could sink into it.

Clan snatched off his cap once more,

"Tell us then."

"Suppose I lend you the money," said Ned.

"Yuh can pay me back the same as you would the bank, only me interest
rate wouldn't be as high."

"Would you really do that?"  It was Poppy who found the breath to
ask.

"We couldn't let yuh."

"Decide when I've finished putting me propositions.  Like I said, I'll
lend you the money, but so as I won't stand to lose by it I reckon it
would be fair if you put the Sarah Star up as collateral, then if you
can't pay me
back she'll be " And how long will yuh give us to pay off the loan? 
"

"Five years."

"That's very generous, Ned."  Poppy watched the light catch on his
silky beard which didn't hide the firm lines of his chin, and she knew
he was a good man.  But remembering Grandfer, she resolved to stay
businesslike. "What rate of interest d'yuh have in mind?"

Ned sat on the edge of the desk, swinging one leg as his gaze travelled
from Charlie and Clan, and round to Poppy where it rested
thoughtfully.

"I'm prepared to waive that altogether if you'll marry me.  Poppy."

The sounds outside went on uninterrupted, but there was a stunned
silence inside Charlie's Rain's office.  The proposal was so unexpected
it robbed everyone of speech.  Dan's mouth dropped open and he ran an
anxious finger round the inside of his wrapper, loosening it from his
neck, while Charlie stared at his brother in such surprise his eyes
became as round as the eyes of a codfish.

Poppy felt numb.  She sat very straight on the bentwood chair, her chin
lifted high, and her only movement was the rapid rise and fall of her
breast.

Clan spoke at last.

"Now there's a good offer.  I doubt yuh'll get a better one, girl, and
I must say I'd like fine to have Ned as me son-in-law."

"Would yuh now."  This was the last thing she had expected to happen
today and she was unprepared, but no one was going to make decisions
for her.  She got up with dignity and went over to Ned, putting her
hand lightly on his arm.

"I thank you for asking me, but I'm not going to be part of the
bargain. We'll pay interest at the going rate, all drawn up legal like,
and I'm sure it'll be all right with Paw if the Sarah Star is put for
collateral.  I reckon we can pay you back in a lot less than five years
and we'll always be grateful, Ned."

She wondered if he would withdraw the financial offer once she had
refused him, but it was a risk she had to take.  It was unfair of him
to try to take
advantage like this and 119 she wanted to hurry away before anything
else could be said.  Her skirt swished over the stone floor as she
turned, sending up a cloud of dust which made her eyes smart.

Ned caught up with her just as she reached the door, and he
apologized.

"I'm sorry.  Poppy.  I didn't mean to offend you.  I'll be asking you
again when I've plucked up enough courage."

"I'd rather you didn't."

She couldn't look at him any more.  There was a strange choking at the
back of her throat, partly anger, partly embarrassment that Ned had
thought something as personal as marriage could be discussed at a
business meeting. There was no delicacy left in the world any more.

She marched across the yard and out through the main gate just before a
dray pulled by two heavy horses turned in with a load of timber.

The animals snorted and sweated and their iron-shod feet clopped
noisily over the cobbles.  She set out along Dansom Road, then darted
down a side alley whch led to the river, keeping close to the houses so
that her father wouldn't see her if he was in pursuit.  There was a
rough concrete slipway at the bottom of the alley where skiffs were
tied up, and a barefoot child was kicking its toes in the still water
while the mother threw precious scraps of bread to two swans with wings
widespread like ships in full sail.

A group of old men sat in a row on a log in the sun, mardling
argumentatively, their backs against a crooked fence which creaked
every time they moved.  Rheumy eyes lifted to take a look at Poppy
Ludlow.  She stared out over the river with resentful thoughts clouding
her lovely face, aware of their scrutiny, and she wondered whether they
too considered women were only fit for one thing.

She'd had enough of men over the last couple of weeks.  More than
enough, what with Joshua Kerrick making her sound as if she was a bitch
on heat after the terrifying episode with his vile father.  She still
felt sick at the memory.  Then Dolph with his flattery.  Now Ned.

Suddenly it seemed like every man she met was after her, and she hated
it.

Agnes Ludlow poured the second kettle of hot water into the galvanized
bath on the mat in front of the fire and peered at Clan through the
steam.

"D'yuh think Ned'll ask her again?"  She put the kettle back on the hob
and started stripping off Violet's clothes.  "You ought to have talked
to him yourself, Clan, and said she'd have him."

"I can't speak for Poppy.  Of course I can't," said Clan.  "No one
can.

She has a mind of her own.  "

He hid behind the Church Times, rustling the pages as he turned them,
but Agnes was not going to be put off.

"You've got to make her see sense."

"Aye, well mebbe you'll have to do that, Aggie."

"I've tried."

"Then you'll know how impossible it is."

Violet was wriggling so much Agnes couldn't undo the buttons other
knickers and she gave the child a slap across the bottom which brought
forth howls.

"I believe you're frightened of our Poppy, just like you wuz of yer
father." She had to shout above Violet's protest.  "She's young yet and
she ought to be doing what we say.  Ned Rain's a good, hard-working man
with a home already made for her.  She'll never have to worry about
money like I've had to all me life, and I reckon if she doesn't have
him she's a fool.  She certainly won't get a better offer."

"Mebbe not, but the girl's got to have time to think.  The proposal
came when she wasn't expecting it."

Agnes tested the water, then lifted Violet in, making her stand while
she soaped the little body all over with carbolic.  It seemed no time
at all since she had been soaping Poppy in just the same way, and it
was hard to believe she had grown to marriageable age already.

She'd never been able to get close to Poppy.  From the 121 moment
Daisy was born it seemed as if Poppy became independent, though only
just a toddler herself.  All at once she had become sell-sufficient in
so many ways and had taken to beguiling old Bill Ludlow with her smiles
until he could deny her nothing.  She'd been a wilful child, and now
she was a wilful young woman. Agnes thanked God that Daisy was not the
same.  It would have been right unfair if she'd been landed with two un
biddable daughters as well as one that was not quite normal, though it
could be that Iris was going to have the same stubborn streak a bit
later on.  Too soon yet to tell.

She finished washing Violet.

"Sit down now while I get the towel.

Watch her, Clan.  Do something useful for a change.  "

Her thoughts had been mixed when Clan told her about Ned's proposal.

Poppy hadn't even had the grace to mention it.  Surprise had come
first, of course, because although she'd guessed he was interested in
Poppy she hadn't dared hope he would ask her to marry him so soon.

Then she had been envious.  It was just like the girl to have the
chance of a home she could be proud of right from the start.  And Ned
Rain was a fine man, someone they'd known all their lives.  But she had
turned him down, and that made Agnes angry.  Apart from the ingratitude
it meant that Poppy would still be at home for a while yet with all her
airs and graces, dictating what she would and would not do.  Agnes was
not ashamed to admit that for a few moments she had felt relief that
her oldest daughter might be leaving the fold.

When she came back from the scullery Clan was on his knees beside the
tin bath, playing 'this little pig went to market' with Violet's toes. 
The child didn't laugh but splashed about, send inga shower of water
across on to the range where it spat just as Agnes would have liked to
have done sometimes to express her feelings.

"You're more bothered about Poppy turning Ned down than you are about
the boat," Clan complained.

"Ain't you glad Ned's going to lend us the money?  Poppy says we can
pay back the loan in less than five years, and I reckon she's right."

"Poppy says.  Poppy says!"  scoffed Agnes.

She whisked Violet out of the bath and on to the rag mat just as a
knock came at the front door which was standing open to let out the
smell of the mackerel she had cooked for dinner.  Clan was still on his
knees.  Agnes thrust the towel into his hands and went to see who it
was.

A young man with an arm in splints was standing on the step.  She knew
who he was.  Clan said he had called a couple of days ago, and Lizzie
hadn't stopped talking about him when Agnes went round to the Ludlow
house yesterday.  It seemed the ugly business down on the sea front on
Saturday night had brought out the mothering instinct in Lizzie, and
even the old lady had sung his praises.

"Good evening."  The young man was as smart as a sea captain.

"I am' Dolph Brecht and I wish to speak to Poppy, please."

She ain't here.  "

His face dropped.

"But I must see her.  I am leaving early tomorrow on a Klondyking boat.
 I must say goodbye and thank her for suggesting Ned might arrange it
for me."

"She's out with her sister."

Agnes looked at the handsome face and decided she didn't like it.  He
was smiling, but the smile didn't reach his pale blue eyes and there
was a hint of cruelty in the set of his mouth.  His skin was coarse.

But she recognized good breeding in the way he wore his clothes.  He
had on a light brown suit which fitted him exactly right, but when she
lowered her eyes she thought it a bit vulgar the way the trouser legs
emphasized his thigh and calf muscles.

"You must" be Poppy's mother," Dolph said.

"I can see now why she is so beautiful.  Can you tell me where she has
gone?"

Now she understood why Lizzie was so besotted with 123 the man.  Agnes
scowled and pursed her lips, unimpressed by the compliment, but before
she could send him packing Clan was behind her with Violet in his
arms.

"Ah, you're wanting Poppy again."  Clan was tightening the well-worn
towel around Violet's little body.

"She's down at the Bethel with Daisy.  There's a meeting about the
Sunday school outing."

"Thank you, Mr Ludlow."  Dolph stepped back towards the gate.  "I shall
find her."

Agnes slammed the door.

"Why did yuh have to tell him where she was?"

"Why not?  He's a decent enough bloke."

She pushed past him, picked up the tin bath and took it out to the
scullery sink where she emptied it noisily.  It grated against the
stone and the hot water brought a stench of cabbage up through the
plumbing.

She didn't know why but that brief encounter with the young German had
upset her.  Uneasiness brought a prickling sensation to her stomach and
she clattered things about to deafen a voice inside her which warned
that Dolph Brecht was not to be trusted.  He was too glib by far, and a
strong premonition of trouble made her fingers curl painfully round the
pump handle as she pressed it down to flush away the cabbage smell.

Very early the next morning Poppy made for the harbour with Dolph
Brecht, helping to carry his luggage.  He could manage the leather case
with his good arm, but there were two other smaller bags as well.

"I don't know how yuh come to have so much stuff with you," she said.

She had forgiven him enough to feel sorry that he was going.  The whole
wardrobe would fit into this lot.  "

"Baron von Meerbaum is famous for entertaining on board his yacht.  I
was prepared for every occasion."

"And you ended up slumming it in me grandma's house."

"Your aunt and your grandmother have been more than kind."

"Yes, I can see."  She looked him over.  His black trousers had been
freshly pressed and his white shirt gleamed from the amount of time
Aunt Lizzie must have spent washing and ironing it.  Then she glanced
at the cargo boat they were making for over in the outer harbour, and
she smiled.  He was not likely to stay immaculate for long if he was
expected to make some attempt to work his passage.  "I'm glad Ned could
help you get a passage.  I knew he would. He knows so many people."

"It's lucky the Leitstem is leaving this morning.  When I reach Hamburg
I can contact the naval authorities for my instructions."

They went in through the fish-dock gate and crossed railway lines which
carried fish to the station for transportation to Billingsgate.

The dock was clogged with drifters.  Poppy led him round the back of
the sheds.

"It'd be shorter round the front but there ain't room to move when
they're unloading."  A glimpse along the quay side showed mounds of
silver herrings being shifted by men with wooden roaring shovels to
make room for the fish that were still to be brought ashore.  Baskets
were brimming, the concrete was awash, and the smell of fish and brine
stung their noses like a sniff of salt water.

"Of course we could climb over the boats to get to the other side of
the dock.  It might be quicker!"

Dolph gave a grunt of disapproval.

"I think that is not a good idea.

I am not prepared to ruin my clothes or risk breaking my other arm for
the sake of savin ga few minutes.  "

"No, mebbe not."  Poppy laughed.  He hadn't much sense of humour.

With all the activity it took a good ten minutes to get round to the
Leitstem's berth, where the boxes of salted fish, known as Klondyke
herrings, were almost loaded.  They were destined for the merchants of
Altona near 125
Hamburg who were Fenstowe's best customers.  Klondyking was good
business for the town but it was hard work.  The final cart loads were
being deposited on the quay side where men had been working all night,
and the horses sweated and snorted with exhaustion.

"I feel real sorry for those horses," Poppy said.

"They don't know what a stable looks like and I've seen them fall
asleep where they stand.  Takes two or three men to lift one up by the
shafts and get it on its feet again."

"The work has to be done."  Dolph looked up at the cargo vessel.  Smoke
belched from the tall yellow funnel which reared up into the dawn
sky.

"She is almost ready to sail.  I must get aboard."

"And I've got to get me self to the store.  I daren't be late."

He put down the case and took his other bags, then faced her.  All
around there was a clanking of chains, steam hissing, men's voices, the
sound of the sea which was about to carry him away from her.  He
gathered her hand into his.

"I shall be back.  Poppy," he promised.

"I shall come for the regatta next year.  Wait for me."

On top of all the other noises it sounded as if the Fenstowe Town Band
had let the drummer loose inside her head, and she felt dizzy.

But she made no promises.

"It'll be nice to see you."

"Is that all you can say?"

She lifted her eyes to his.

"Take care ofyuhself.  I hope as how your arm'll soon be better."

"Oh, Poppy."  He held her hand a moment longer and she couldn't escape
from the look in his pale blue eyes.  He lowered his head slowly and
touched her mouth with the lightest of farewell kisses, then he turned
away abruptly, slung the two bags over his shoulder by the knotted
handles and picked up the case.  He didn't look at her again before he
went up the gangway.  She heard him calling out in German to someone on
board, and then he disappeared into the depths of the big iron ship
which would take him back to his homeland.

6 "Full ahead, I said!"  Jim Westbrook shouted to Joshu; from the bows
of the steam drifter Nellie Sparkes one ear'y October morning.

"Otherwise yuh'll never get her up to the quay."

Joshua kept the engines going as he was told, following instructions
from the driver who had stepped aside to let him do the job alone.  He
edged nearer the fish market, pushing among the pack of vessels
fighting for a place, and he thought they were going to get jammed in. 
The wooden hull creaked and it sounded like the stanchion might crack,
but he kept on working his way forward with the rest.

"Yuh're doing all right, boy.  You won't have no problems when yer on
yer own."  Jim kept yelling encouragement.

"That's right, now edge 'er to port.  Steady.  That's it.  Yuh bugger! 
What dyer want to do that for?"  The cursing and waving of arms was for
the skipper of the adjacent smack who was trying to cut in.

"Keep her going.  Josh."

Joshua poked his head out of the wheelhouse.

"We're running out of steam."

"You'll have enough.  We're nearly there.  Try to bring her in
broadside."

The drifter to starboard heaved against them but Joshua pulled on the
wheel and started weaving through.  There was swearing and cursing on
all sides but he didn't care.  He'd got the feel of it now and to hell
with everyone.  He
127 was going to be the best skipper along this coast and that meant
he'd have to make sure he was always ahead of most of this lot when he
put into harbour in future, especially if his catches were as good as
the one on board now.

Jim Westbrook was a canny skipper, a short man in his forties with a
shock of grey hair and the biceps of a wrestler.  Joshua had fished
with him now for nigh on two weeks, starting from North Shields,
working off Scarborough and Whitby on the way back, and finishing up on
the Dowsing Ground off Lincolnshire.  It had been a great trip, and a
profitable one if prices in the sale-ring were staying high.

Exhilaration made him shout aloud as Jim threw the rope over a bollard
and started heaving them forward on the capstan.

"Watch out for the berthing master.  He's got his chopper and he's
hacked a rope further down."

"Well he ain't hacking this 'un," yelled Jim.

Minutes later the drifter was alongside, ready to unload.

Rain was sweeping across the fish market on a bitter- cold easterly
wind.  It tossed the water and blew smoke from the forest of Woodbine
funnels into the iron-roofed sheds in swirling clouds, blackening
everything.

"Get ashore."  Joshua shouted to the haw semen

"Guide the ropes, can't yuh."

The lanky hawse man wasted no time.  The boom on the foremast of the
drifter now served as a derrick and loaded baskets were soon being
hauled up on ropes from the hold, powered by the steam capstan.  The
fourth hand ran off towards the sale-ring with a sample of the fish,
lost to view among men with smoke-blackened faces who tussled with
buyers all along the quay.

"Keep yer baskets full!"  The buyers could be heard all round the
dock.

Jim Westbrook's baskets were new so there were no worries about filling
them. It was only when they were old and stretched they didn't hold as
much.  No fears about the rest of his catch matching up to the sample,
either.  Ninety
cran they reckoned on selling this morning, and that wasn't bad.

The bell sounded again in the sale-ring.

"Get along and watch."  Jim slapped Joshua on the back.  "First time
they've auctioned a catch you brought in yuhself."

"I'd like that fine."  A bond had sprung up between the two men while
they had been at sea.

"Thanks for everything, Jim."

"Glad to 'ave been with you, boy.  Twenty-one yare now and already on
yer way to becominga first-rate skipper.  Ain't so easy getting the
hang of handlinga boat with steam coal in her bowels after yuh've been
brought up with sails, but given a good driver and fireman next time
yuh're out you won't have no bother bringing in catches the same as
this.  Yer Fa ought to be right proud ofyuh."

Joshua's face darkened and the smile left it.

"Yuh reckon?"

"Well if he ain't, he should be."

"Mebbe."  He swung himself up on to the quay side the rain beating down
on his uncovered head.  Not for him the protection of a sou'wester.  He
liked the feel of wind and rain on his thick black hair, but he
shrugged deeper into his oilskins before setting off for the auction.

Next time he came in he would be a fully fledged skipper in his own
right. Plenty of dons wanted a good skipper, and Joshua intended to be
the best. The time would come when he was a don himself, one of the
rich fleet-owners who lived up on the cliff.  He didn't doubt it.

Then he would thumb his nose at the Ludlows because it wouldn't be
through any help from them.

He strode along, his tall figure dodging between crowds, and he
wrinkled up his nose.  Easy to tell the Scotsmen were in for the home
fishing.  They ran their boats on paraffin and the smell of it made him
want to cough.  You could hear them too.  That tongue-rolling accent he
could hardly understand
was all round and he brushed 129 against Scottish girls who were in
town for the gutting, wrapped in huge stained aprons and black shawls
which covered their heads.

One of the girls was standing by the sale-ring, unusually intent on the
business in progress, and he wondered why she wasn't down at the
pickling plots.  He went to push past her to see what number basket was
about to be auctioned, but as he did so the shawl slid back from her
red wet hair.  His mouth went dry and there was a sudden pain in his
chest as if he'd hoisted a barrel in the air.

"This ain't no place for the likes of you.  Poppy Ludlow."

"I've as much right here as anyone.  I've got to see me father gets a
fair deal."

"You mean yer father's got his catch ashore already?"

"He has and I'm right proud of him."

Bidding was underway again but Joshua no longer had the same interest. 
Just the sight of Poppy set him thinking sinful things.

She'd turned away so that her face was now in profile and he thought
she looked a bit pea ky Her small straight nose was not held as high as
usual and the dusting of sandy freckles didn't have the same healthy
colour.  Nor was her sultry mouth set in quite the same proud line.

"So it was worth having the Sarah Star converted, was it?"  He could
see his basket was next in line and his nerves were as taut as rigging
in a gale.

She turned her golden eyes full on him.

"Aye, it was well worth it,"

she said, her voice low and terse.

"I thought Clan Ludlow had no money.  I don't reckon he could've laid
his hands on enough to have that lot done."

"It's no business of yours where the money came from."

He was sweating under the oilskins.  Water ran down his face from his
hair, down his neck and under his jersey.  He felt more uncomfortable
than he had done at any time during the last two weeks at sea when
there had been enough rough weather to soak him day and night.

"You're right, it ain't.  But I hate to think where the money might
have come from."

"What d'yuh mean by that?"

"I mean that a bloke with enough cash to spare would hardly count Clan
Ludlow a good risk, but he might be tempted to invest in you."

As soon as the words were out he wished he'd kept quiet.  Her face
became paler than ever and she looked like she was going to drop down
in a faint at his feet.  The pity of it was he hadn't been talking
entirely out of spite. There was a confidence about Poppy Ludlow which
made him certain she would make something of herself.  What angered him
was his doubts about the way she would do it.

"You have a cruel mind, Joshua."  She looked stricken.  "If you can't
hurt people with yer fists you do it with yer tongue."

"I've never been cruel in me life."  A man pushed out of the crowd and
jolted against Poppy so that she was forced against Joshua's chest.

His arm shot out to stop her falling and he let it stay where it was.

"I've stuck out for me rights and I've defended me self when I've had
to.  I'm ambitious and mebbe cunning, but I'd not say I've been
cruel."

Poppy slapped the hand which had strayed round her waist, and
straightened herself up.

"I don't really care what you are.  I want nothing to do with you so
I'll thank you to leave me alone."

The autioneer had completed the bidding for the lot before Joshua's,
and he dragged his attention back to business.  It had made a good
price.

"That was Fa's fish," Poppy cried.

"He's never made that much before.

I knew he could do it.  " She clapped her hands and gathered up her wet
skirt preparatory to rushing back along the quay.  But first she gave
Joshua a withering glance.

"We don't need the Night Queen.  Yer father can do what he likes with
it and if he scuppers it I hope as how he drowns.  Come to that I
wouldn't care if you drowned an' all."

131 Voices were raised all around as bidding started again, and rain
cascaded off the corner of the iron roof with the noise of a waterfall.
Joshua moved into the place where she had been standing and her
presence seemed to linger there for several minutes.  She disturbed him
more than he would have thought possible.

The early morning light filtered weakly through an October fog which
clung to the bedroom window like a curtain.  It blotted out everything
and Poppy felt it might [8 smother her.  She wished it would.

"What's the matter with you.  Poppy?"  Daisy demanded, buttoning her
blouse before Poppy was even out of bed.  "You're late down every
morning, and you look awful."

"I'm fine," said Poppy.

"Ain't nothing wrong with me now Fa's got the hang of the Sarah
Star."

"Well get yer lazy bones up before Maw gets mad.  I'm going for me
breakfast."

When Daisy had gone downstairs Poppy swung her feet round and stood up,
but the movement made her dizzy and a wave of nausea hit her so
forcefully she began to sweat with the effort not to retch.  After a
moment it passed and she slipped out of her nightgown, immediately
pulling her chemise over her head so that she wouldn't have to look
down at the slight swelling other stomach which had always been so
flat.  The thickening was quite high and it was tender when she pressed
it, but that didn't stop her from struggling into the corsets Maw had
been trying unsuccessfully to make her wear for the last two years. 
She tightened the laces until she could hardly draw breath.

Her skin still fitted, but it wouldn't be long before she had to find
something with a bigger waist.

"Poppy, come on, y'hear," Maw shouted up the stairs.  "You're gettinga
right slut staying abed so long."

Poppy clenched her teeth.

"Coming, Maw."

She brushed her hair and tied it up neatly, but all the while tears
were
rolling down her cheeks and she couldn't stop them.  She felt worse
than ever this morning and she didn't know what to do.

It was the first time she had not known how to handle a situation.

She felt helpless, trapped by this thing in her body which was soon
going to be noticeable to everyone, and she was too ashamed to ask for
help.  Besides, who was there to ask?  No one would understand.  No one
would want to know her any more and she wished she were dead.

If only she hadn't listened to Joshua Kerrick that night when it
happened. She knew now she ought to have gone straight to her father
and told him what his half-brother had done to her.  But shame had kept
her silent and she believed she was doing what was best for the family
in saying nothing.  She hadn't given a single thought to possible
consequences until the first time she missed seeing any blood.  Now the
second month was missed and she felt so sick each morning she didn't
know how to force down a bit of breakfast to allay suspicions.

Her head ached and every step down the stairs jolted her, making the
last drop of colour ebb from her face.  When she reached the kitchen
her mouth was full of saliva again and she had to keep swallowing to
force down the sickness.  It was hot in the small room and the smell of
gruel was sour in the stifling air

Maw was stirring the gruel in ah iron pot.  Iris balanced on one hip.

When she saw Poppy she held the baby out to her.

Take Iris, will you, girl?  Yuh've time to give her her breakfast
before you go out.  "

But Poppy hand's flew to her mouth.

"I can't.  Maw.  I've got to go out to the privy."  She flew out
through the back door, unable to hold back the sickness any longer.

When she came back her mother was standing by the table, her scrawny
body held stiffly, her mouth pursed into a thin line which meant there
were serious things on her mind.  She had a hand on Fa's shoulder and
Daisy was
perched on the edge of the cane chair like a bird ready to 133 take
Sight. Only Violet showed no change of expression.  Her little moon
face wore the same bland look as always and the tiny round eyes stared
at Poppy without any emotion at all.

"Poppy, have you.  . . are you.  . . ?"  Maw didn't know how to get the
words out.  Leaning over the fire had made her face unhealthily red and
the colour stained her neck in patches which made it look like a map. 
Her mouth tightened even more.

"You're havinga young 'un, aren't yuh?  That's what's the matter with
yuh."

Poppy ached from retching but she pulled her shoulders back.  Her heart
was hammering fit to burst through her blouse.

"Reckon I am," she said.

Daisy got up and started for the stairs.

"I got to get ready for work."

"Stay where you are," Agnes commanded.

"This is a family matter and we're all going to hear about the shame
yer sister's brought on us."

Fa would have moved too, but her hand was heavy on his shoulder.  She
turned again on Poppy.

"It's that German.  I knew he was trouble.  I could smell it on him
when he came to the door and thought he could sweet talk me the same as
he did yer Aunt Lizzie.  I thought.  you would have had more sense than
to let a dandy bloke like him have his way with you."

"It wasn't Dolph," Poppy cried.

"He was too much of a gentleman to treat me like that, so don't you go
blaming him."

"Who are we to blame then?  I can't believe it's Ned Rain."

"No, it ain't him either."

"Then yuh'd better tell us who it is, miss, so as we can get yuh
married right quick."

"Ned wants to marry her," said Clan.

"He offered for her."

"Stop it!  Stop it!  I ain't marrying anybody Poppy covered her face
with
her hands and stamped on the floor so hard the cups rattled on their
chipped saucers.

"And I can't tell you who it was.  It'd cause more trouble than I'm in
already."

Her father shook off his wife's restraining hand, went to poppy and
clasped her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake to make her look at
him.  She was grateful for the concern in his touch.  He'd not yet
condemned her the way Maw had.

"We shall have to know some time, girl," Fa said.

' "I can't tell yuh."  Her eyes were swimming with tears.

"It was so awful."

'/ know who it was.  " Daisy's voice cut into the questioning with the
certainty of a whip stroke.

"It was Joshua Kerrick."

"No!"  gasped Poppy.

"That's a lie."

"A lie, is it?  Tell us how you know.  Daisy."  Maw went and stood in
front of Daisy, lacing her fingers together so tightly the knuckle
bones showed up like white knobs.  The truth, mind.  "

"He wrote her a letter.  I saw it.  He said he was sorry."

Poppy couldn't believe her sister's treachery.  It came as a terrible
shock on top of everything else and she began to feel sick again, only
this time it wasn't just pregnancy that was the cause.  If Daisy hadn't
had Iris on her lap Poppy would have shaken her until her teeth
rattled.

"Joshua Kerrick!"  Agnes snorted in disgust.

"Is this true.  Poppy?"  Fa asked.  Even he sounded angry now.

"No it ain't true.  And Daisy has no right prying into things that
don't concern her.  What Joshua wrote to me was private."  Poppy's
voice was rising and she backed against the wall like a trapped animal,
seeing their eyes huge and red and glowing in the firelight.

They were all trying to get at her.  Well she'd had enough.  They
wouldn't be satisfied until the whole shameful story was out in the
open.  She took a deep breath to gather her courage.  Then: "It were
his father.  That bastard
Tom 135 Kerrick raped me the night Grandfer's will was read, and he
kept on calling me Lizzie over and over."

They said nothing.  The silence was worse than their accusations had
been. The only thing that happened was that Violet suddenly seemed to
be aware of Poppy's suffering and she ran to bury her face in her
skirt.

"Well, say something!"  Poppy shouted to them in desperation.

"I

wouldn't make up anything that bad, now would I?  I couldn't.  " She
clasped Violet against her knees and looked over at her father,
imploring him with her eyes as well as words to do something.

"Oh, Fa, help me.  Please help me."

She was sobbing now but no one came near.  Daisy gave a choking cry,
put the baby down and darted upstairs.  Fa stood there with horror
stamped over his normally placid face and his lips were so compressed
they turned inwards.

It was Agnes who spoke first and her voice took on a different tone.

"Do you swear to this on the Bible, Poppy?"  "On a dozen Bibles."

"Then why in God's name didn't yuh tell us about it?"  "I couldn't.

Oh, Maw, I couldn't.  I was too ashamed.  " " So yuh've told no one? 
No one knows what happened?  " " Only Joshua.  He came by after it
happened but he wouldn't believe me.  Oh, how I hate them Kerricks.  "
Poppy's whole body tightened with the hatred she couldn't express
fiercely enough.  Then she stooped to pick up Violet.  She rested her
cold cheek against the pretty brown head which was empty of
intelligence but full of unquestioning love.

"What am I going to do, Violet?"  she sobbed.

"Someone's got to tell me what to do."

Clan Ludlow plunged into the fog.  He started running as soon as he
turned out of the gate and he couldn't stop even though his lungs were
bursting and he was gulping in the salt air through a mouth which was
dry with inexpressible hatred.  He was normally slow to anger, but this
terrible fury had come upon upon him in an instant.

He'd not given himself time to think what he was going to do when he
found Tom Kerrick.

The length of Murdoch Street he lumbered, his short, heavy body
sweating with the unaccustomed effort.  Houses came and went in the
gloom, swathed with cold sea broke.  His breath was rasping.

All these weeks he had been quietly trying to get used to the crushing
blow his father had dealt him, praying that the Lord would grant him
understanding of the situation and the strength to adapt to it.  He had
kept out of Tom Kerrick's way as much as possible and he had
congratulated himself on hardly seeing anything of him, but avoidance
must have been mutual in view of the terrible thing Tom had done.  As
for calling out Lizzie's name all the while he raped a young, innocent
girl, well that made it even worse.  Lizzie was his sister!

There was a great blackness in his mind where he was hiding from the
picture of his beautiful Poppy being handled by that drunken boar.  He
couldn't begin to think about the horror she must have endured.  And
all these weeks she had said nothing while that monster still walked
the streets and downed his liquor as though it had never happened.  He
thought he'd got away with it, but such wickedness had to be punished
sooner or later and the wrath of God was coming down on him this very
hour.

Daylight was still struggling to pierce the gloom and the smell of
smoked fish hung all over town, held down by the fog.  Clan crossed
into Drago Street and moisture gathered thickly on his clothes until it
looked like they were stitched with bugle beads.  His face was wet with
it and rivulets ran down into his neck, but he didn't notice.

Rage was hot in him, forcing him to keep up the pace which made his
heart stab with pain.  At the second house from the bottom he hammered
on the door without a break.

Clara Kerrick came in answer to the incessant banging.  Her mouth was
already open to yell abuse, but no sound came when she saw who it was. 
She just
gaped at Clan and 137 the vertical lines radiating from her lips
through lack of smiling were dark furrows.

"Get me that bastard me father created," Clan shouted.  "Get me him
now, d'yuh hear!"

Clara found her voice.

"What d'yuh want with him this time o' the morning?  It's taken yuh
long enough to come looking for him.  Ashamed of him, are yuh?  You
with yer prissy ways."

"Just get me 'im."  Clan tried to push past her into the house but she
stood firm in the narrow doorway, her elbows spread to support herself
against the wood on either side.

"Tell me why yuh want him."

"I'm going to teach Tom Kerrick a lesson he'll never forget."

"You!"  she scoffed.

"I might even kill him for interfering with my daughter.  Raped her he
did, and left her expecting, what's more.  Now get him, or by God I'll
come in after him."

Clara's pasty face was as grey as the fog which enclosed them in
sinister solitude almost on the spot where old Bill Ludlow had taken
his last breath not so many weeks ago.  Her arms dropped by her
sides.

"Liar!"  she breathed.

"It ain't no good coming round here with tales like that.  My Tom might
not be all that he ought, but one thing he ain't is a man who'd force a
girl young enough to be his daughter.  Or any woman come to that, so
don't you creep round here with yer filthy lies."

"It's the truth, woman.  Our Poppy swears on the Bible."

"Well he ain't here to defend himself.  He went off to the harbour with
Hal afore daybreak and they'll be gone on the tide.  They got a living
to make and they ain't afraid of work like you."

Her final words were swallowed up in the fog as Clan set off to the
harbour as if devils chased him.  The cobbles were wet and slippery
under his hurrying feet and he skidded on them like a man drunk.

Voices carried in the early morning calm and figures materialized like
spirits, but as daylight increased Clan could see more clearly.

There were men about swilling decks to clean off fish scales, stacking
baskets, tilting barrels.  Some were coming in after a night at sea.  A
few of the Scots girls were working at the back of the fish-dock sheds
instead of on the pickling plots, and he edged round the huge
rectangular wooden troughs where they were already busy gutting, their
arms bare as they worked with their knives which had short curved
blades.  They looked at him and laughed, jabbering away in the brogue
he could hardly understand, and the smell offish and smoke clung to
them as thickly as the oil which oozed through their fingers.

The first ray of sunlight cleared the fog enough to show the cold grey
water of the harbour, its smooth surface glinting like steel.

Some boats were already leaving to make room for others to come in, and
the moisture on Dan's jersey became soot-blackened from the smoke which
bung in the windless air.

Then he saw Tom Kerrick, casting off the Night Queen ropes.  Clan came
upon him from behind.

Tut that down," he commanded, his voice as raw as the morning.

"You ain't going anywhere

Clan had hold of him by the shoulder and swung him round with such
force that the mooring rope went spiralling over onto the bows of the
drifter like a whiplash.  Tom grunted, more in amazement than pain as
his half- brother's knee came up against his groin.  He went backwards
and teetered on the edge of the quay for several seconds.  Clan could
have taken advantage if he'd been used to picking fights, but he was
not quick enough.

The Night Queen swung round and slid out other berth stern first amidst
shouts from her crew and the men on the boats alongside.  Hal Kerrick
was too late to spring ashore to come to his father's assistance.

Tom came back like a bull, roaring with rage, his 139 nostrils
flaring.  A crowd began to gather immediately in the gloom as he set
upon Clan in retaliation, figures in oilskins emerging from the fog
like an army smelling the blood of battle.

"You stupid little runt," Tom muttered, and grasped Clan by the collar,
holding him at arm's length like a worrisome mongrel.  He was the
taller by several inches, stronger built and used to pitching in as
soon as there was trouble.

"Strange time of day to pick a fight, brother, but if that's what yuh
want I'll be happy to oblige."

His fist shot out, catching Dan's shoulder as it landed wide, and Clan
wrenched himself free.

"You can do what you like to me, you bastard, but you ain't getting
away with what you've done to our Poppy.  I could kill yuh.  I swear I
could kill yuh for what you did to her."

Fury gave strength to Clan, strength he didn't know he possessed.

Strength he truly believed was God-given.  Or it could have been that
his most powerful weapon was the accusation he had just hurled into the
arena, for Tom recoiled as if a serpent had struck.  Clan went after
him.  The two men went rolling through swilled water as they hit the
ground and punches flew with cracking power which could have done more
damage if they had been aimed better.  Clan avoided most of them by
squirming to left and right with thrashing movements too quick for Tom
to anticipate.  They slithered through the slime of yesterday's
gutting, caking themselves in herring scales as they dealt blow after
blow.  The crowd urged them on.

Finally Clan managed to extricate himself.  He staggered to his feet
and cowered backwards ready to make his next move, dodging when Tom
launched himself at his legs in an effort to bring him down again.

Back further he went as Tom also got to his feet and he felt one of the
wooden troughs behind.  He leaned against it and raised his leg to
deliver a crippling kick but his half-brother saw it coming and grabbed
his foot, tyring desperately to floor him.

Dan's fingers curled tightly round the rim of the trough, feeling fat,
oily herrings burst beneath the pressure.  And there was something
else, something sharp which cut into him.  One of the gutting girls had
left her knife when she came to see what was going on.  He clutched it
by the handle as he steadied himself for the next move.

Tom Kerrick had backed away, breathing heavily, and Clan knew he was
preparing to strike a blow which he hoped would settle the matter.  He
waited until the expected lunge came and raised his hand with the knife
clutched in just the right position to bring it down with a vicious
stabbing motion.  It entered Tom's chest through his canvas jumper as
easily as cutting into butter.

He didn't cry out.  He didn't make any sound at all.  Just stood for a
moment with his drink-blurred eyes growing wider, and then he crumpled
into a heap beside the gutting trough with his blood flowing into the
mess offish entrails that had upped from a bucket as he fell.

141 There was no one Poppy could turn to.  Her mother sat hunched in
front of the fire with Violet on her lap, swaying back and forth in
misery.

Whenever she spoke it was to put the blame on her oldest daughter.

"It' all your fault.  Every bit of it.  If you hadn't worn that red
ribbon in yer hat none of this would have happened.  Flaunting yerself
on the very night yer grandfather was buried!  It wun't seemly.  It
were downright disgraceful and you deserved what yuh got.  I kept
telling yuh no decent girl goes down to the harbour alone.  Yuh've
brought trouble on all of us and I don't know for the life of me what
we're going to do."  Her voice rose to a wail.

"Now yer father's committed murder for yuh.  How could he do it?  You
just ain't worth it."

"It weren't murder.  Maw."  Poppy tried to close her ears to the unfair
condemnation.  It only aggravated the dreadful situation.

The first thing she'd done was try to find Ned Rain, but he'd left on
the night tide and was somewhere at sea, which meant he would probably
be away all the week.  It was an added blow.  Ned was the one person
she felt she could count on for help, which she desperately needed.

Daisy cried incessantly.

"I want Fa back."  Her tears spilt over on to Iris, who seemed to be
permanently damp.

"I can't bear to think of him in that awful prison.  You've got to get
him out of there.  Poppy.

It's all your-fault.  "

"I can't get him out.  No one can.  He's got to stand trial."

"But he ain't a murderer.  He didn't kill anyone.  All men get into
fights."

"Fists is one thing.  Knives is another."  Poppy said.  "Anyway it
ain't certain yet if Tom Kerrick'll live or not.  For Fa's sake I pray
he does, but if it were left to me I'd go round to the hospital and
finish him off.  I wish I could've killed him when he raped me."

"I hate you.  Poppy."  Daisy clutched Iris so tightly she began to
scream.

"You're so high and mighty, but all yuh've done is bring shame on us. 
I don't want to walk down the street."

"Well, you'll have to.  We've got to live somehow and there's only you
and me to make a bit of money now, so you'll be off to the net-store
first thing tomorrow."

"And what'll you be doing?  I ain't going down there on me own while
you sit at home."

"I'll come too, of course I will.  Fa'll want us to carry on the same
as before."

The hours since the word had been brought that Fa was at Fenstowe
Police Station had been interminable.  Poppy had been frightened when
he went rushing from the house but no one could have stopped him.

She'd never seen him in a rage before, and it was frightening.  Like
Maw and Daisy she had waited indoors with dread sitting on her like a
dark bird, and when a smacks man they all knew came knocking on the
door she'd felt faint with justifiable fear.

"It's sheer luck this isn't a murder case," a police officer told the
three women when they arrived at the police station.

"There's a curve on those gutting knives and it happened the blade went
in point downwards.  If it had gone the other way it would have reached
the heart.  Yes, I reckon Tom Kerrick's lucky to be alive."

"I'm sorry he ain't dead."  Clan had been unrepentant in the few
moments they were allowed to see him.

"Don't let anyone hear you say that, Fa."

He reached out to touch Poppy.

"I did it for you, girl.  I 143 couldn't let Tom Kerrick ruin me
daughter and get away with it."

"Oh, Fa," Poppy cried.  She was allowed to hug him.

"I love you and you shouldn't have done it.

An hour later a motor van came to take him to Norwich prison.

As for Tom Kerrick, the only Ludlow who cared anything about him was
Aunt Lizzie, and Poppy found herself once again subjected to blame.

"It's all your fault."  It was the first time in years Lizzie had been
in the house in Murdoch Street and her presence was an added strain.

"You're a shameless hussy.  Poppy Ludlow.  I always said so, and now
because of you your father's in prison and there's a poor man fighting
for his life."

"Poor man!"  Poppy finally lost her temper.  She stood tall, her amber
eyes burning with wrath at the suggestion Tom Kerrick should be pitied.
 Her voice rang with contempt.

"Poor man, you say!  What about me?  Doesn't anyone care that I was
raped by that drunken monster and now I'm going to have a child that no
one'll want to know because of the way it was begot?  Yes, Aunt Lizzie,
he got me pregnant. Has no one told you yet?  But by rights it should
be you doing the expecting because it was your name he kept calling all
the while he raped me.

Now why would he do that?  Why?  You tell us that and perhaps we can
shift the blame a bit.  "

Lizzie's cheeks became putty-coloured.

"Don't you speak to me like that."  She put her face nearer to Poppy's,
peering at her with equally angry eyes.

"I'm a respectable maiden lady and there's no stain on my character, so
don't you try making out things to excuse yerself."

Agnes ceased her swaying and looked up at her sister-in-law.

"I

remember when you walked out with Tom," she said quietly.

"Yer father put a stop to it, so Clan told me.  We all know why since
the will was read."

A wind had sprung up to disperse the last of the fog which had
lingered throughout the day and it howled down the chimney with a sound
like derisive laughter.

Lizzie seemed to need a moment to compose herself.  "Tom was a perfect
gentleman when I knew him.  I don't want to believe ill of him, and
I'll never forgive Clan for what he's done."

"Dan's yer brother."

"So, it seems, is Tom.  It's his brother Dan's nearly killed, and he
calls himself a Christian."

"He did it for me.  Aunt Lizzie," Poppy cried.

"Yet we've only your word that you were raped.  It could be a clever
way to conceal yer own sins, miss.  Yer father would believe you even
though it's obvious to other people you could be tell inga pack of
lies.  Why didn't you tell anyone about it at the time?  Answer me
that.  Who are you shielding. Poppy?  Joshua Kerrick?  I've seen the
way he looks at you."

"If you think I'd willingly let any of the Kerricks touch me you must
be mad. I hate them all."  Poppy gripped her stomach as though it was
possible to force out the loathsome foetus.

"I didn't do anything to encourage Tom Kerrick.  He just came at me
like a beast, and if you have any soft feeling left for him I'm sorry
for you cause he ain't worth a single scrap of sympathy.  P'haps when
this baby's born you'd like to raise it for me, because I sure as hell
don't want it."

"Poppy, don't," her mother said feebly.

"Don't say terrible things like that."

"Truer to say won't be able to afford to raise it," said Lizzie.

"I

suppose you'll be coming to me for help.  What about yer father's boat?
 With him in prison who's going to pay the men?  Who's going to sail
her?  Have you thought of that, miss?  "

Poppy's head began to ache unbearably.

"No," she admitted.

With everything else to worry about she hadn't given a thought to the
Sarah
Star.  She was still lied up in harbour, 145 loaded with drift-nets
and buffs and quarter-cran baskets ready for the first long voyage of
the home fishing season.  | Her father had been going to sail out^ that
morning along with the rest of the fleet, it being Monday.

Aunt Lizzie rescued Iris from Daisy's grasp and held her against her
shoulder.

"Well yuh better start thinking."  Poppy's despair brought the first
hint of compassion.

"I'm sorry if I was hard on yuh.  It's all been such a shock and I
don't know ifyer Grandma'll get over it, but what's done can't be
undone so we'll have to stick together and see it through somehow."

The attempted conciliation was not enough for Poppy.  She still had her
pride.

"I swear to you.  Aunt Lizzie, the same as I did to me father, that it
weren't my fault.  Yuh'd better believe me.  Now I'd best get down to
the harbour."

The eyes of them all were on her.  For the moment there was no man in
the family, no one to take responsibility or to look to for advice.

There was no one capable of seeing to the boat except herself.

She reached for her shawl and wrapped it round her head and shoulders. 
When she turned to leave no one stopped her.

When Poppy reached the harbour she saw a cluster of men in ugly mood
near the Sarah Star.  Her steps slowed.  They were gesticulating and
nodding in obvious agreement over a grievance, while the Sarah Star
rocked on a heavy swell looking lonely and forlorn.  Few other boats
were berthed.

None of Ned Rain's drifters were in.  Not that she had expected there
would be, but a vague hope had lingered that he might have got word
from another drifter and put back to port.  It surprised her how much
she minded that he was not around.

The wind tore at her shawl, blowing one of the corners across her face,
and she pressed it there to stop the smell of fish getting inside her. 
A group of Scottish girls still worked by the sheds, naphtha flares
hooked on wires
above their heads ready to light if they were still working after
dark. Poppy paused a moment behind one of the huge troughs where they
gutted herrings so fast it was almost impossible to see how it was
done.  She needed all her courage to face those angry drifter men

"Fascinating, isn't it."  A man's voice startled her.  It came from the
side of a cart laden with empty wooden barrels and she turned to see a
stranger sitting on an upturned basket, watching the gutting girls.

Longish grey hair which hadn't seen a pair of scissors in months bushed
out from a cap blackened with the grease and grime of a good many
years' wear. He was smokinga clay pipe.  His guernsey hung on him like
it was used to cover inga bigger frame, and a shirt-bag at his feet
bulged with what she guessed to be the rest of his possessions.  He
smiled at her and creases deepened at the sides of his eyes arid mouth,
showing he was used to smiling.

She didn't answer him.

There was a sound of tearing as fish were slit from throat to vent.

Livers and backbones went flying, scooped away in seconds, and the wet,
gutless herrings flopped into baskets at the girls' feet.  Knife blades
glinted in dexterous hands.  Poppy saw them with a kind of horror,
suddenly picturing one of those deadly steel weapons piercing Tom
Kerrick's chest. She hunched her shoulders and looked again at the
group of men.

"Stay there an' we'll find ye work, hinny," laughed one of the girls.

She had to be strong.  And she had to do something right away about the
Sarah Star before the crew found other boats to take them on.  A new
knot of fear tugged at her.  The conversion she had insisted on had
cost a fortune, and the money had to be repaid somehow.  For that
reason alone she couldn't leave it tied up indefinitely.  It was so
unfair that all this had had to happen just when it seemed the Ludlows
had made a bright new start.

Poppy took a deep breath and set out along the 147 quay side The men
saw her coming and formed themselves into a semi-circle, as if settinga
trap. Their heads were hunched into their shoulders.  Black clouds
scuddered low, filled with the menace of rain, and gulls settled along
the length of the shed roof, shrieking and shuffling for places like
spectators at a sacrificial ceremony.

"You be Clan Ludlow's girl."  The spokesman was young and burly and he
had his hands in his pockets.

"We was just coming up to the house to find out where we stand."

"We've already lost a day," another man said belligerently.

"Can't afford to lose any more.  I got eight little 'uns at home what
haster be fed."

"Not to mention a parched throat, eh George?"  Thank goodness one of
them could still banter.

"I'm sorry."  Poppy's voice quivered and was too low to be heard.  She
cleared her throat and started again with more confidence.

"I'm real sorry.  You must all know what happened."

"Skipper's in Norwich gaol, so they say."  This was from the oldest
man, who stared at her with hard eyes.

"No one's clear what the fight was about but 'tis rumoured Clan was in
a right state about one of his girls.  Wouldn't be you, would it?"

"I'll find another skipper," she said.

"I promise you I will."

"When?  Tonight?"

"How can I tell?"  She felt so inadequate.  Even the boy with a cap
sitting straight across his head had more knowledge of drifters than
she did, but it wouldn't do to let them dictate.

"I'll put a notice in Rain's office window right now, and I'll go down
the Fisher Company."

"If you ain't found anyone by tomorrow we're signing on elsewhere,"

said the spokesman.  He was a burly young man, an engineer who had only
recently been taken on as driver.  He came closer and drew himself up
so that
he would appear more impressive, and she could tell he was about to
try intimidation.

"There's a good sou'westeriy getting up and there'll be other skippers
wanting to make the most of it.  The rest of the fleet'll be leaving by
morning and we ain't hanging around while a murderer rots in gaol."

"My father's no murderer.  Find another boat if yuh want.  I can easy
get another crew."  She knew she ought not to be hasty but it was no
easy matter to stay firm.

"Fine words!"  they jeered.

The Sarah Star tilted at the sou'westeriy breeze and her new funnel
drew an arc across the low clouds.  Poppy swung away from the men and
made for the wooden offices lining the back of the shed.  Ned Rain
owned one of them since his business had expanded to include the buying
and selling of fish.

"Aye, I'll put a notice in the window," said Walter Smith, the old man
at the high desk.  The tall stool was too high for him and his feet
were propped on a bar.

"Don't suppose as how there'll be many come past to look at it afore
morning, though."

He printed out the advertisement, but before he could stick the paper
in the window a shadow fell across the doorway and the thin man who had
been sitting on a basket came in.

"Wait a minute, little lady."  His accent was not like any Poppy had
heard before.

"I couldn't help hearing what was going on just now.  I was about to
come over.  Seems to me I might be able to help you out."

He brought a battered leather wallet from the top pocket of a shirt
under his guernsey as though it held everything that was important to
him and had to be kept close to his body.

"The name's Morris Johnson.  I'm a skipper and I'm offering my
services."

"Indeed, Mr Johnson."  Poppy looked at him, and then at the old man
with the notice still in his hand, who gave her no help.  She felt
flustered.

"You ain't from these parts, I can tell, so what makes you think
anyone's
going to take 149 you on without proof you're what you say you are? 
Do you have a ticket?"

*I surely do.  " He produced papers from the wallet, and when the baggy
sleeves of his jersey slipped back she saw that his wrists were covered
with salt-water boils.

"I've been to sea since I was a boy.

My family were fishing people over in the State of Maine.  "

"Where's that?"

"America."

"And what made you leave there?"

"When my dear wife died I'd nothing to stay there for so I decided to
travel the world, but I got as far as this little island and I liked it
so much I just stayed on.  I've been fishing in the North Sea for two
years with the Aberdeen fleet, mostly on steam drifters, and I came
down here before with the Scots.  Now I want to settle awhile.

The home fishing off Fenstowe takes some beating.  "

"You're right, it does."  Poppy liked the ring of his words and the
warmth of his smile.

"Where do you live, Mr Johnson?"

"Where my heart is," he said.

She looked again at Mr Smith, begging him with her eyes to tell her
what to do.  The old man lifted his shoulders noncommittally He had
worked on the docks all his life and she remembered Ned telling her
that he had never been to sea more than a couple of times because it
made him too sick.  No good expecting him to take the responsibility of
such a big decision, she had to do it herself.  But he did help her to
inspect the papers thoroughly.

"Seems all in order to me," Mr Smith said.

Morris Johnson waited.  He didn't say any more to try persuading her.

He didn't question her or look the least bit anxious.  Here was a
strong man with an honest face, experience of the North Sea, and an air
of quiet confidence about him which she found pleasing.  If her father
had been around
he would have said the Lord had sent him and, considering everything,
she was inclined to believe it herself.

It only required a glance across at the Sarah Star crew to convince her
she had to take a risk.

"All right," said Poppy, 'in my father's absence I'll sign you on as
skipper, but on the understanding that as soon as he's.  . . It'll just
be until he can take over again himself.  "

"I understand that, ma'am."

The steam drifter bobbed about on the waves, shifting uneasily under
the weight of the new equipment she had not yet had time to get used
to, and tears pricked beneath Poppy's eyelids.

"You'll take care of her, won't you?"

"I surely will, ma'am.  You won't regret taking me on.  You done right
by me and I'll do right by you."

She set off with him to meet the men, fearful of what they would say
about sailing with a skipper they didn't know, but determined to let
them see she was the one giving the orders.  When she got there they
had been joined by Hal Kerrick.

"If yuh sail for Clan Ludlow after what happened this morning me
brother'!! see you're all black-listed," Hal was saying.

"There ain't going to be any Ludlow boats after this."

"He's always been good to us, though."  One of the older men showed a
spark of loyalty.

"A good Christian man he is.  One of the few what flies the Bethel
flag."  He pointed to the white bur gee with a blue star which
fluttered atop the mizzen mast.

"Shows a man's devout when he refuses to fish on Sundays."

Suddenly Poppy's tears began to flow in earnest.  She remembered how
proud she had been of Fa when the Missionary had praised him for
observing God's day and had presented him with the sabbath-keeping flag
at the Bethel's annual meeting two years ago.

"No Christian would stab a man," said Hal.

"Don't sail in that sinner's ship, I say."

The father was sorely provoked," Poppy cried.  The men 151 split into
two dissenting groups and argued.

"Please don't listen to him."

Morris Johnson had been standing apart He watched for several minutes,
then he shouldered his shirt-bag, climbed aboard the Sarah Star and
stood in the bows to command attention.

"A while ago you men were shouting for a skipper."  His voice carried
on the rising wind like that of a biblical prophet.

"Now you're prepared to scuttle your chances of work for the sake of
some god damned principle.  Well this little lady signed me on and I'm
sailing for her in the morning.  If you're with me, come aboard.  Any
man who's not is at liberty to find another boat, but by first thing
tomorrow I'll have a full crew and we'll be bringing back the best
catch you've seen in these parts in years.  I've got a reputation for
knowing how to read the sea.  Ask any of the Scots.  Now make up your
minds."

A surprised silence reigned for a few seconds and the men looked at
each other.  Hal tried rallying them once more but Morris Johnson had
swayed the verdict and to Poppy's relief every one ofFa's crew slowly
climbed on to the Sarah Star.

She was almost too choked to speak.

"Thank you.  All of you."

Hal stopped her when she started to walk away.

"Just you wait till Joshua's ashore again and hears about all this. 
Yuh'll wish you'd never been born."

"I ain't afraid of Joshua," Poppy said.

"And me father'!!  soon be back, so you'd best be careful what yuh
say."

"He'll never be back.  I've just come from the hospital and they say my
father ain't likely to live until the end of the week.  Clan Ludlow's
going to hang for what he did."

The next day Poppy took the ribbon off her hat and went to Norwich.

"Someone's got to go and see yer father."  Maw's face had been gaunt as
she
tried to get breakfast.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and she kept
clasping her hands together as though they were wringing washing.

"We've got to know how he is and what's happening to him."

Poppy was firm with her.

"It's got to be you Maw.  It's you he'll want to see.  The police said
he can have one visitor a day, and he'll be looking for you."

"I can't," she breathed, and sank on to a chair.

"I can't go and see him in that awful place.  Poppy.  I just can't."

Her shoulders began to shake and Poppy went to her, putting her arms
round her mother for the first time in years.

"Don't go upsetting yuhself like this.  It'll be all right.  Maw."  She
could feel the shoulder blades cutting at the blouse which had no
warmth in it and she gathered the thin body close to share some of her
own warmth.

"You'll have to go.  I'll ask Lizzie if she can lend us the money for
yer fare."

"I've got to go to work."

"Yer father's more important.  Daisy'll have to tell Mrs Wilson where
you've gone.  She'll understand."  Agnes began to cry.

"I don't know what we're going to do, girl, I surely don't."

"Hush, Maw.  We'll find a way, don't worry."

Her tone was reassuring, her words full of confidence, but when Poppy
set out for the railway station a little later she was nowhere near as
confident as she had sounded.  She'd never been as far as Norwich
before and the thought of going inside a prison filled her with
apprehension.

She got off the train at Norwich Thorpe station and made her way to the
prison, carrying the bag of things for Fa that she'd brought from
home.

A warder pounced on her as soon as she was inside the building.

"Sorry, miss, you'll have to leave the bag here until you leave.

Nothing must be passed to the prisoners.  "

"But it's only a warm vest and socks Maw's sent for me father, and some
of me aunt's cooking.  Yuh can take a look."

153 "Afraid you'll have to take them home again."

"But me Fa suffers with his chest."

"Sorry, miss, orders is orders."

Empty-handed, she followed the warder along a corridor and ended up in
a bleak room where she was shown into a box-like cubicle with a grille
through which she would be allowed to speak.  Her heart was heavier
than the metal it was made of and she hardly dared to draw a breath in
case it was the wrong thing to do.

"The prisoner'!!  be brought in.  Fifteen minutes is all the time you
can have with him."

She sat and waited.  The silence was terrible.  Somewhere in the
distance there were eerie, muffled sounds of doors slamming and voices
carrying through the corridors with a certain tinniness.  But all
around her the silence had a beat of doom to it which throbbed in time
with her pulse.

Then Fa shuffled in.

He had aged ten years overnight.  The prison uniform hung on him and
his face had no colour at all.  She wasted several precious seconds
just staring at him.

"Fa, how are you?"

"I've sinned in the sight of the Lord.  I'm no longer fit to call upon
His name and when He sits in judgement I'll be sent into eternal
damnation."  The spirit of yesterday had completely deserted him.

"You mustn't speak like that."  She longed to touch him but it was
impossible through the grille.

"What you did was only natural after the way Tom Kerrick treated me. 
We can prove it at the trial.  Mebbe you'll have to stay in prison a
week or two, but it won't be for long.  I've been asking at the police
station and they reckon as how you'll have to go up before the Court of
Assizes at the end of the month."

"No man can speak in me defence.  There was murder in me heart when I
went for Tom Kerrick, and God knows it.  Besides we ain't got any money
to pay for a lawyer."

"Don't be silly, Fa.  I've found out you can get someone called a dock
brief to defend you.  They wait in the court and the judge tells one of
them to take the case."

"What good's that when he don't know nothing about me?"

"You get ten minutes to talk it over with him."

"Ten minutes to tell him what me father did and how it's made us all do
things we're too ashamed to put names to.  What good's that, I ask
yuh?"

"It's better than nothing, but you can defend yuhselfif yuh'd
rather."

Dan's eyes were glassy.  '0 Lord, I tried to take the law into me own
hands. I let me self be guided by me temper and I took a knife against
me brother. I've nothing to say.  "

"Don't talk like that, Fa!"  Poppy wanted to shake him.  His attitude
shocked her and she was so afraid for him she wanted to shout for
help.

"Is there a chaplain you can speak to, someone from the church?"

He brightened a little.

"Aye, mebbe I'll make a confession.  Of course I will."

"You've got to get back home soon, Fa.  I've found a skipper to take
the boat out, but it ain't the same as having you there.  We all need
you."

"How's yer mother?"

"She's upset, like all of us."

"And how's Tom?"  ' The question took her by surprise but she managed
to summon up a quick smile.

"Oh he's fine.  He's getting on a treat."

"You're lying.  Poppy.  I can always tell when you're lying."

She was very conscious of the warder sitting across the room behind her
father, watching them and listening to every word.  She linked her
fingers with increasing nervousness.  It wasn't right that they
couldn't speak in privicy.

"I want to know how he is," Clan asked.

"He's still in hospital."

155 "Have yuh seen him?"

"Of course I haven't.  He's the last person I want to see."

"How bad is he?  I must know."

Poppy swallowed hard and there was a pain across her chest.  "Hal says
he ain't so well.  They.  . . reckon he won't last the week."  She
stretched out her hand and her fingers curled round the grille.  The
warder immediately stood up.  "Oh, Fa, we're all real afraid for
you."

Clan seemed calmer.  He smoothed the strands of hair over the top of
his head and sat forward.

"Don't worry about me, girl.  You just look after things at home.  I'll
ask to see the chaplain tonight."

"Yes, Fa."

The room was as cold as the ice box they'd had installed on the Sarah
Star. Poppy's toes curled inside her boots, aching with the cold, and
her fingers felt numb.  She couldn't bear the sadness in his eyes.

The warder came over, a pocket watch in his hand.  "Time's up!"

Clan got to his feet and the chair scraped behind with a harsh sound.

"I love you all very much.  Poppy.  Remember that," he said.

"I love you too, Fa."  Tears welled up and spilled over, running to the
corners other mouth so that she had to lick them away before she could
repeat the words.

"Oh, I do love you.  You're suffering all this because of me, and I'm
sorry."

He hovered near the grille for as long as he could and she wanted to
snatch him free and take him home.  He was such a good man.  There were
plenty she could think of who deserved to be behind bars far more than
he did.  The tears still flowed while his gaze lingered on her and she
hoped he had warm clothes beneath that awful uniform which seemed to
drag him down into the depths of despair.  Then he was hustled away.

Look after yer mother.  " They were the last words he was able to call
over his shoulder.

A moment later he was sucked back into the bare, echoing precinct
where she could no longer reach him.  She hadn't even been able to say
goodbye.

There were screens around Tom Kerrick's hospital bed.  A young nurse
came out from behind them and was bustling round to another patient
when Lizzie Ludlow entered the ward.

"I'd like to see Mr Kerrick, please," Lizzie said in a church-like
whisper. All the occupants of the beds looked as though they were
waiting for the grave.

"I know it's not visiting time but seeing as he's so ill I wondered if
I could sit with him for a bit."

"Are you a relative?"

"His sister."

"In that case I don't see why not, but he won't know you, I'm
afraid."

"He's unconscious then?"

"He hasn't come round since the operation.  The police have been in a
time or two but they can't get anything out of him.  Doubt if they will
now, poor man."  Lizzie didn't know much about hospitals but she was
sure the matron would be none too pleased if she knew the indiscretion
of her nursing staff.

"That's his bed behind the screens."

"Thank you."  Lizzie's hands were trembling and she hesitated a moment
before moving one of the blue-covered screens.  All night she had had
Tom on her mind and known she must visit him.  It wasn't until she was
almost at the hospital that she began to feel nervous.  She'd been
worrying that Clara might be with him, but it was no real surprise to
find she was not.  Now she was afraid to go near the man she had
carefully avoided for more than twenty years.

She peeped round like a bird.  He was lying on his back with his eyes
closed just as though he were havinga nap, and she tiptoed to the
bedside, fearful of waking him.  Then she stood looking down at the
still form and there was a strange constriction in her throat.

157 Tom, it's Lizzie," she murmured, her voice low enough for him
alone to hear.  There was not so much as a flicker of response.

He didn't look as though anything was wrong with him lying there,
except that his weathered skin had lost its healthy colour.  The strong
hands, so still on the woven yellow cover, were rough and work-worn,
and she was poised for flight in case one of them suddenly reached out
to grab her.  Palpitations made her press her own hands against her
chest.  She didn't know what she would do if he opened his eyes and saw
her, yet from the safety of home this visit had seemed a natural and
Christian thing to embark on.

After a minute or two she became accustomed to his condition and dared
to sit on the upright chair.

"I know why yuh did what you did to our Poppy," she said, still in the
same quiet tone which couldn't be overheard.

"I know, Tom, and I understand.  I can see me self in Poppy, and likely
you did the same, but you shouldn't have hurt her.

He was breathing quite naturally.  A lock of greying hair had strayed
over his brow and she wanted to brush it back, but her fingers dithered
just above it and she didn't have the courage to touch him.

"It were a cruel trick fate played on us.  I knew it was me father what
made you stop seeing me but I always thought you would have defied him
if you'd really loved me.  I argued something terrible with him.  I
couldn't see why he should suddenly be so high and mighty, insisting
you wasn't good enough. You were good enough for me, Tom."

She gazed upon him sadly.

"I loved you more than anyone in the world.

Then I found out he'd bribed yuh to stay away.  That were the biggest
blow of me life.  "

She studied the strong mouth, the lines which now made fork marks from
the corners of his eyes and furrowed his forehead, and she would have
forfeited
everything to have been with him through the years that had stamped
experience on his handsome features.  Just looking at him made her feel
emotions she thought she had buried along with the few souvenirs of
those precious weeks they had spent together.

"I know you haven't got much of a reputation, but you'd have been
different if you'd been able to marry me instead of Clara.  She ain't
no good for you. When I heard you'd married her I howled up in me room
for a week, that I did."

Lizzie's hand hovered over his, the fingers opening and closing with
indecision, and then she let it come to rest.  She'd never thought she
would touch him again.  The hardness of that veined hand under hers
brought forth deep compassion, and she had difficulty restraining
tears.

"Clan shouldn't have done it.  He was always jealous because you had
all the things he really wanted, like good looks and confidence and a
way with girls. I suppose it weren't fair that you took after me father
and Clan didn't. But it weren't your fault.  You must have been right
amazed when you learnt who you were.  I suppose that's why you got so
drunk you mistook Poppy for me."

She bent a little closer until her face was nearly beside his on the
pillow. Curious sensations tugged at her heart and curled from her
stomach to her loins, sensations she would have termed disgraceful for
a woman her age to experience, but she could no more put a stop to them
than she could change the truth of the situation.  This was the nearest
she had ever got to realizing the dream of sharinga bed with Tom
Kerrick.  The secret fantasy had stayed with her all through the years
until that dreadful day when her father's will was read.  It made no
difference now that he was her half-brother.  Clan had succeeded in
taking him away from her more effectively than either her father or
Clara had done.

"I'm glad you thought Poppy was me, Tom.  It showed you still wanted me
in spite of everything.  Oh, I don't mean I'm glad you did what you
did.  That were awful.  But I must still mean something to you."  She
had found her 159
courage now.  With the lightest of movements she smoothed his hair
back from his forehead and touched his mouth with the tip of her
finger, then she bent and kissed his lips.  They were warm but
immobile.

"I love you just the same as ever, Tom.  I know I shouldn't be saying
it, but no one's going to hear, not even you.  Or maybe you do know
what I'm saying. I just want yuh to know that there's someone who
cares."  She kissed him again very gently.

"Love's a very powerful thing."

Lizzie carried his big hand up to her face and rested it against her
cheek. She was still sitting there in the same position half an hour
later when Clara Kerrick pushed aside the screen and stopped a foot
away from her.

"What d'yuh think you're doing here?"  she breathed.  There was venom
in her tone.

"How dare any of you Ludlows come near my husband after what happened?
Especially you."

"He's me brother," said Lizzie.

"Get out and leave my man alone!  Get out, d'yuh hear, or I'll call
someone and have you thrown out."

Lizzie stood up with dignity.

"I was leaving anyway She stole a final glance at Tom, then pulled on
her gloves and plucked her skirt clear of Clara's clothes as she
passed.  The smell of them offended her nose and she wondered how he
could have stood being married to the slut for over twenty years.  She
looked at the woman disdainfully and saw in her the vindication of all
Tom Kerrick's sins.

A skipper by the name of Fred Parry, from the Missions to Deep Sea
Fishermen, visited Clan Ludlow that evening.  They talked and prayed
together for a while.

"You're in the hands of the Lord now, Clan," Fred Parry said.

"There's nothing more we can do except to go on praying.  I can't help
feeling that provocation robbed you of all sense of right or wrong, but
it doesn't alter the fact that what you did was criminal, and I'm
afraid you'll
have to pay the price.  We must hope that you have a lenient judge.
However, there are things we can do to help your family.  I hope your
mind will be eased on that score."

"I've only ever wanted what's best for them."

"Of course you have.  Think of them, Clan, and pray for them because
they're going to need strength as much as you are."

"Aye, I'll do that."

Clan spent most of the night on his knees, thinking over everything
Skipper Parry had said, but when the bell rang at six the next morning
he was no easier in his mind at all.  The shame he had brought on Agnes
and the girls could never be erased, and the Ludlows would be shunned
in Fenstowe from this day on.  Sympathy would all be for the widow of
Tom Kerrick, and no would want to know that it was he who had heaped
shame on the Ludlow family in the first place.

Clan lined up for slop duty.  No talking was allowed and the only sound
as he queued to empty his enamel chamber was the clanking of other
men's pots as they were rinsed at two sinks in the room ahead.

He had never felt so degraded.

He'd already stood his bed board on end against the wall and folded the
blanket, so there was nothing to do when he got back to his cell except
wait for breakfast.  When it came he couldn't even eat a mouthful. 
Food at home was sometimes meagre but he'd never had to face porridge
without milk or sugar.  If he got off without hanging and had to spend
a lifetime in gaol he faced the prospect of this same stodgy fare every
day until eternity.  He pushed it away from him and picked up the Bible
instead.

Time to scrub out," the warder said a short time later.  " On yer knees
now and make a god job of it if yuh know what's good for you.  "

He was given a bucket of water, a scrubbing brush, carbolic soap and
disinfectant.  Down on hands and knees he scrubbed every inch of the
floor, and he knew the exact size of it because he had measured his
steps yesterday
to 161 take his mind off everything else.  Thirteen times his sandaled
feet had fitted together from end to end, eight from side to side.  He
put so much energy into scrubbing that by the time he was due for half
an hour's exercise he had a job to march round the cellblock yard.

"Keep yer distance 471!  Pick yer feet up."  He was yelled at every
time he dropped back towards the man behind.

No one came to visit him, and by evening his spirits were so low he
took no more than a mouthful of pasty and had to swill that down with
cocoa because he couldn't have swallowed it otherwise.  Then he lay on
the bed board and counted the panes of glass in the window high about
his head where faint moonlight was shining through.  There were
twenty-one of them.  Twenty-one little windows and he couldn't see out
of any unless he stood on the table.

He kept thinking of Poppy bear inga child without a name, and tears
filled his eyes.  What would his father have said?  Old Bill Ludlow had
foreseen none of this when he'd thought it right to belatedly atone for
his sins, but Clan guessed the old man's reaction would have been much
the same as his own.

He sat with the Bible in his hands, unable to read because there wasn't
enough light, but he knew so many passages by heart he could almost
find the places without looking.  To seek comfort he began saying some
of them aloud. It seemed to work until he recited the Ten Commandments.
 The one about not killing caused him momentary pain, but there was
another which was far more upsetting.

' ". . . and visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the
third and fourth generation," he quoted, then paused.

"Poppy doesn't deserve to suffer like this for what me father did."  He
put his hands flat on the open pages of I the Bible and tears fell on
to them as he began to sob uncontrollably.

"So what will her children's children have to suffer because of me? 
Oh,
Lord, I can't bear to think of He curled himself into a ball of
despair, his head buried against his chest, his arms clasped across
across his stomach, and he stayed like that until he was so dizzy he
had to unwind.

They would hang him for what he had done, he knew it for certain.  He
stared at the blank wall and saw on it a picture of Agnes and the
children, his little flowers, standing watch inga noose being put round
his neck.  It was a public place and there were other people nearby. 
"Murderer," he could hear them chanting.  Their voices rang through his
head, getting louder and louder.

"Hang him, hang him, hang him."  They pointed accusing fingers and none
would speak to the weeping Ludlows.  The circle round them grew wider
and he could see that those who were moving away had once been their
friends.  He pressed clenched fists against his eyelids to shut out the
terrible pictures.

So this was what would happen to his family.  All the sordid details
would come out at the trial and they would be subjected to the most
dreadful humiliation.  He would do anything to spare them that.

He was cramped with worry and hunger and he stretched out again on the
bed, looking up at the window once more.  The three little windows at
the bottom were made to slide back and forth in the metal framework. 
He studied them curiously and had a sudden longing to find out what
could be seen through them.  It was easy enough to push the table
against the wall and climb up on to it, then stand on tiptoe until he
could just make out the gaol gate silhouetted in the moonlight.

He dreamed of freedom.  He had been in this place only two days, yet
already he craved for the feel of salt spray on his face.  To shut a
fisherman away from sight and sound of the sea was to deprive him of
life, because whether he liked it or not it was in his blood.

He almost slipped, and saved himself by catching hold of a metal
piece
sticking out from the bottom window, a 163 kind of lever with which to
open it.  The discovery that he was so impossibly close to the outside
world nearly drove him mad, and the cell was suddenly more
claustrophobic than ever.  He climbed down again and sat with his eyes
closed.

Skipper Parry's words kept coming back to him: "It's your family you've
got to pray for.  They need strength and help as much as you do."

A voice came to him, but it wasn't Fred Parry's voice any more.  He had
to think of his wife and children.  It was an instruction he had to
obey, and he knew without any doubt there was only one way he could
help them now.

He unfolded his blanket and tore it into three strips which he
proceeded to knot together, then he climbed back on to the table and
attached the improvised rope to the metal lever on the window.  This
done, he tested it for strength, and when he was satisfied he knotted
it again into a loop which he slid over his head.

For several minutes he stood in silent prayer and he imagined the sound
in his ears was the roar of the wind in the sails of the Sarah Star.
Perspiration dripped down his face and when he wiped it from his
forehead and touched his lips with his fingers he tasted salt.  He
seemed to hear the sea pounding in from the distance and breaking with
fury against timbered bows, setting the deck awash, and he was afraid
it might knock him off his feet.

Oh, God, what was he thinking of?  The worst sin of all was to take
one's own life.  It would take him into everlasting damnation.

He couldn't do it.

"Forgive me, oh most merciful God, for what was in me mind.  Forgive me
for ever thinking about it when life is the most precious gift You give
us.  It was to be for the sake of me family.  I wanted me to be the
only one to suffer for me sins, but I know I was wrong.  They would've
suffered even more if I'd done it."

He tried to lift the loop back over his head, and the table wobbled. 
He kicked out to try to save himself, and the table went crashing to
the ground, leaving Clan Ludlow with the knotted blanket tight about
his neck.

165 When Daniel Ludlow's life ended, most of the Fenstowe drifters
were at sea.  They stayed out for three days, which was longer than
usual during the home fishing season.  The wind was the reason.  It
veered round from sou'westerly to settle in the east, and that was no
good to fishermen.  An east wind drew herrings away from the coast and
caused the shoals to disperse, so there weren't enough fish in the nets
to merit a return to harbour.

Joshua Kerrick had been working the Knoll.  Smith's Knoll was the best
fishing ground in the North Sea and he'd reckoned on haul inga record
catch, but things had gone wrong from the start.  His nets had been
parted by the Knoll Buoy and he'd had to wait until daylight before he
could pick them up. Next day the swell was against the wind and he'd
had to shoot the nets to port instead of starboard so that they
wouldn't go under the boat and catch in the screw while the engine was
going.  It was like doing everything backwards, and he was lucky he had
a crew who knew the net-rope had to be pulled for' ad and the seizings
put underneath.  On sailing drifters he'd not had the same problem. 
When at last conditions changed, his haul was reasonable and he made a
dash for home.

"With a load ofoverdays on board we'll need to be well up or we'll
never get rid of them," he called.  Second-day herrings never made much
of a price at auction.

It came as a surprise when he got into the fish dock and saw the Night
Queen
tied up and idle.  There was no sign of anyone on her.  His father and
Hal had intended staying with the fleet on the Knoll, but if they'd
been there and come back yesterday they could have caught hardly any
fish.  He found out that they hadn't even sailed at all when the
terrible news was passed from deck to deck and reached him before he
could set foot ashore.

They're saying Clan Ludlow tried to murder yer father, Josh.  He's
right bad in hospital and now Ludlow's hung himself in prison.  "

"What!"  He didn't believe it.

"Who the hell's got hold of a tale like that?"

"It's true, boy.  Seems Clan Ludlow went berserk.  Something to do with
his daughter, though no one knows the truth of it."

"My God," Joshua breathed, and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

He didn't know what to do first.  Within minutes he'd gleaned as much
information as he could, and leaving the mate to see to the catch he
sped off home as if darts were piercing his heels.

"Aye, it's true."  His mother's face was flushed as she confirmed all
that he'd heard.

"Clan Ludlow came storming round here mouth inga load of lies about yer
father, and the next thing we knew he'd gone for him with a gutting
knife. Him as called himself a Christian."

"How's Fa?"

"He's come round.  Nothing short of a miracle, they call it.  No one
thought he'd live to the weekend but he's asking for beer today."

"And what about Clan Ludlow?  Has he really hung himself?"

Hal came in the door.

"Strung himself up with a blanket yesterday,"

he said.

"Saved us the bother of settling the score."

Joshua felt sick with horror.  What a thing to come home to.  He
listened to his brother's version of what had happened and it sounded
like something made
up, but Joshua knew the truth better than anyone.  He knew all the
reasons, and there was really only one person to blame.

"I were there," Hal went on.

"He threatened to kill Fa even before he found a knife to stick in
him."

"Threatened it here on our step too," said Clara.

"Right off his head he was.  He said as how yer father had raped Poppy
Ludlow and left her expecting.  Did yuh ever hear such rubbish?"

Joshua closed his eyes and the floor seemed to move under him as if he
were at sea in a gale.  A wall of red banked up beneath his lids as he
relived the spectacle of his father lying on the deck of the Night
Queen in a drunken stupor, having subjected Poppy to the grossest
indecency.  Oh God!  So this was what had come of it!

He left the house while they were still talking, unable to listen to
any more.  He went up Drago Street with his boot heels clattering on
the cobbles and fish oil still on his clothes, too upset to stay and
draw water to wash himself down.  All he could think about was Poppy.

It was beginning to rain.  A sudden squall turned it into hailstones
which stung his face like needle spikes, but he didn't seek shelter.

He lowered his head and kept on going, up the steps through one of the
alleys, across Fleetwood Road and into Murdoch Street.  He had to see
her.

His own guilt in the affair nearly tore him apart and he daren't stop
to find words.  In making her keep quiet he had added to the wrong his
father had done.  Now the consequences couldn't be hushed up, and the
shock must have been too much for Clan.  It had turned his head, same
as Maw had said, but if he had known from the beginning perhaps there
wouldn't have been the violence.  As for Poppy .  . . Joshua lunged on
towards her house feeling too anguished to think coherently.

The curtain was pulled across the window.  He knocked on the door and
put his ear to the wood to listen for footsteps coming in answer.

There were none.  When he knocked again it was the neighbour who opened
her door.

They ain't at home.  " She sniffed as she looked him up and down.

"Where are they?"

"Aggie Ludlow and the kids are up in Manor Road."

"And Poppy?"

"She's gone to Norwich along with Ned Rain to see about her poor Fa's
body. Like as not she'll be glad to miss yuh.  I can't think as how any
Kerricks'll ever be welcome round here."

Joshua turned away.  No use putting up an argument.

From there he went to the hospital and was stopped before he reached
the ward door.

"I think you could do with a wash, Mr Kerrick," the sister on duty told
him.

"I appreciate you must have had a terrible shock when you heard about
your father, but a few minutes spent with soap and water before you
came would have made your visit more pleasant, I'm sure."

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a glass door panel and
realized she was right.  A few minutes later his face and hands were
clean and his hair was brushed.  When he presented himself a second
time he had left his oily smock in the washroom and the shirt
underneath was quite presentable.  The nurse looked at him more kindly.
 In fact he couldn't mistake that she looked at him with eyes which saw
his masculinity and appreciated it.  At any other time he might have
played on it, but not now.

His father was lying on his back, with his eyes open.  Joshua stood by
the bedside for several seconds, saying nothing.  The old man looked
pale and innocent in a clean pyjama jacket which was buttoned
discreetly to the neck. It must have been the first time he'd ever worn
one.

Tom turned his head slowly.

"Son?  Where've you been?  I wanted to see yuh."  His voice was
querulous.

"That idiot Clan Ludlow nigh on killed me."

"I've heard.  And don't think I've any sympathy, because I haven't."

"Hey, boy!"

169 "I've heard worse things an' all.  Clan Ludlow's hung himself, did
yuh know that, or have they been protecting yuh from hearing what your
sins are responsible for?"  Tom said nothing.

"Poppy's lost her father, and she'll be needing him badly seeing as
how.  she expecting, they tell me.  Did yuh know that too?"

Tom's eyes seemed to glaze over and though he still kept them on Joshua
they were seeing beyond him, in a private world of his own.

"She understands, boy."  The dreamy eyes closed and a smile of
contentment eased the lines away from his face.

"Fa, you don't know what yuh're saying."  Joshua bent over him and
shook one of the huge shoulders.

"Damn it, Fa, will yuh listen to me?

I tried to tell me self it was mostly Poppy's fault and she led you
on.

I did it because I couldn't believe you were all that bad.  I've been
blaming her too because I was jealous and I can't bear it when anyone
else looks at her.  "

"She loves me, she does.  She told me so."

"Fa!  You're off yer head!"

That's why that weak, snivelling brother others went for me.  He never
thought I was good enough for her, but she thinks I am.  "

"What're you talking about

"Lizzie," said Tom, and even though he smiled, a tear oozed from the
corner of his eye and ran down the side of his face to the pillow.

Joshua's shoulders hunched with despair and he knew it was useless to
try to hold a proper conversation.

He knew, too, that Tom Kerrick wouldn't be skipper- inga steam drifter
for quite a while.  From the way things looked it was doubtful whether
he would ever be going to sea again, and that meant Josh would have to
take out the Night Queen himself.  The thought of even setting foot on
board sent a shudder through him.

When he left the hospital he went down to the shore.  He'd had enough
of
people.  He climbed the steps to the sea wall and went down over the
other side to the beach, his feet dragging through the dry sand above
the high- water mark.  It wasn't raining now but the hailstorm earlier
had left an icy chill which cut into Joshua almost as painfully as the
knife Clan Ludlow had used on his father.  He sat down on a breakwater,
his arms clasped round him, and stared at the water in search of relief
from the even greater pain his guilt inflicted.

The breakwater posts extended out to sea like weathered tombstones
lining up to meet the waves which rolled towards them and broke in a
cascade of spray. He watched the waves surge towards the beach like
capricious women tilting lace petticoats against each post in turn,
flirting with them the way he had accused Poppy Ludlow of flirting with
any man who took her fancy.  The sea was mocking him, telling him he
should have seen that this tide race came only when the deep water
further out was troubled.

The prison officer was being very kind.  He sat forward in his chair
and had his arms folded on the desk so that Poppy would know there was
friendliness around her even though the board room was a stark,
chilling place.  She was perched on the edge of her seat, and Ned Rain
stood behind her, one hand protectively on her shoulder.

"There was no chance for a case to be brought against your father.

Miss Ludlow.  He was not charged with any crime and the jury had no
alternative but to bring in the verdict that he took his life while the
balance of his mind was disturbed.  " The inquest had been quick and
brief. " There only remains now the sad duty of arranging for his
burial.  I understand there is no money so I take it you would like me
to inform the parish.  "

Ned spoke before she could say anything.

"That won't be necessary.

I'll have all the arrangements made and see to the expenses myself. 
"

She turned her head and looked up at him, shaken out 171 of her sad
preoccupation.

"You can't do that, Ned.  We couldn't let you."

"We'll talk about it later."  He went to the desk.

"If there're papers to sign I'd like to do it now so as I can take Miss
Ludlow home.

Reckon she's had more than enough for one day.  "

Poppy watched him dealing with all the formalities she would have had
to see to herself if he hadn't been so insistent on coming with her,
and she felt weak with relief.  She was so grateful she didn't know how
she was ever going to be able to thank him.  As for the money, well it
would be up to Maw to say whether it could be accepted when they
already owed Ned so much.  But for now she was ready to shelve the
problem if it meant she could get away from this terrible place a bit
sooner.

Her head was aching violently and she kept thinking Fa would shuffle
through the door in that drab grey uniform.  It hadn't sunk in yet that
she was never going to see him again.  The memory of that visit when
she had to look at him through the bars would haunt her for the rest of
her days, and she was just thankful that Maw had not seen him like
that.  Maw hadn't had to hear his pathetic self- condemnation either. 
It would have broken her heart for sure.

"It's all right.  Poppy, we can go now."  Ned put a hand under her
elbow and helped her to her feet.  It was incredible how weak she felt,
and tears brimmed on to her lashes, slipping softly down over her pale
cheeks.

The board room was near the main gate and they were soon outside in the
sharp October air.  She drew in her breath slowly and fought for
composure, glad that Ned still had hold of her arm.  It had been a
traumatic ordeal and she prayed she would never have to go through
anything even remotely like it again.

Thankfully not all Poppy's experiences that day were so unpleasant.

Parked by the gate was a new Austin Runabout, one of the cheaper
varieties of
motor car which were coming within reach of some of the lower classes.
 This one belonged to Ned Rain.  He had bought it a few weeks ago and
was very proud of it.

He handed her into the passenger seat and she solemnly wrapped the rug
around her legs.  Ned had promised that one day he would take her for a
ride but this had been the first opportunity, and the initial thrill
was absent while her mind was so laden with grief.

Nevertheless there was a subdued pleasure in anticipating the return
drive home.  Being transported so luxuriously was very much a novelty,
and even this day's events couldn't entirely detract from the thrill of
travelling so far by road.

"I don't know what we would've done without you, Ned, I surely don't." 
She sat very straight, her hands clutching either side of the seat as
he manoeuvred through the gate and into the street.

"Clan was almost family.  I thought a lot of him."  A cart-horse reared
up at the noise of the engine, and the carter had difficulty calming
it.

"I think a lot of you too, Poppy.  You need someone to look after
you."

"I can manage fine."

The golden tone of the autumn sun brightened the fine golden threads of
his beard.  He wore a black bowler hat and had an overcoat over his
suit of dog-tooth check.  Ned was beginning to dress more like a
gentleman when he was ashore, and Poppy felt shabby beside him,
conscious that her black coat which was a hand-me-down from Aunt Lizzie
was beginning to fray at the cuffs. She pulled nervously at a piece of
cotton which was hanging and was glad when he didn't contradict her.

They left the streets of Norwich behind and bowled along the open
Norfolk road, through villages which nestled by the river, their mills
and churches looking so pretty Poppy found her mind a little less on
her troubles for a brief time.  Ned left her alone with her thoughts
while he concentrated on driving, but at a particularly attractive bend
he stopped and parked beside the river.

173 "We need a walk."  He smiled at her and touched the cold hand
resting on the rug.

"Come on.  Poppy, let's enjoy the countryside while we've got the
chance.  It ain't a place we see every day."

"The only time I've ever been out in the country before was when they
took us in a brake to a farm for our Sunday school outings.  I always
remember it."

He helped her down and they walked along the riverbank.  The water was
so clear and so different from the sea, calmly reflecting the sky and
the clouds scudding across it.  The view beyond the far bank was
restricted by tall grasses.

"Come December menU start cutting the reeds," Ned said.

"They reckon it's as hard on the hands as haul inga net, but there
ain't nothing better for thatch inga roof."

"There's birds in the reeds.  I can hear them."

"Likely they're singing for you.  They don't often see anyone so
pretty."  He took off his hat.  The breeze ruffled his fair hair,
lifting it away from his forehead.  She liked him much better without
anything on his head.

"They say it floods badly in these parts.

That's what all those wind pumps are for, to drain the land.  "

The little windmills were dotted over the marshes, fluttering like
long-stemmed flowers as they were tossed round at intervals by currents
of air.  Poppy gazed across the flat landscape and the tranquillity of
it seeped into her soul.  How good Ned was to make her pause awhile.

"It's lovely.  It makes me think Fa ain't really gone, somehow.  I
can't explain.  I reckon he would've liked to live in the country."

"I know."

There was silence between them again as they strolled a little further
and her headache began to ease away.  She knew that Ned really did
understand, and it comforted her.  If it hadn't been for the slight
feeling of heaviness
in her stomach she might even have been able to enjoy this temporary
change, but it nagged away with a persistence that denied her any real
respite.

A curlew cried, its plaintive wail abruptly shattering the peace, and
Poppy began to weep.  At first the tears flowed silently and only the
movement of her shoulders told of the stress she had been suppressing
for days.  Then huge sobs shook her body and she couldn't stop them.

"I'm .  . . sorry.  Ned, I'm .  . . sorry."

He put his arms round her and drew her against his chest, attempting to
comfort her as her father might have done.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about.  You're the bravest girl I
know and I do admire you for it."

"How can you say that when none of this would have happened if it
hadn't been for me?"

He countered with a question of his own.

"How can you keep blaming yourself?"

"Everyone says as it was my fault.  I disobeyed Fa and went down to
take a last look at the Night Queen before it fell into the hands of
them Kerricks. And I was so mad with me Grandfer I wore a red ribbon in
me hat."

"Oh Poppy."  He murmured her name softly and gave a gentle chuckle.

"Was that so awful?"

"It were the red rag to a bull, weren't it."  She gulped back the sobs
and tried to smile, but her tears still flowed.  "Joshua says I led his
father on, but I didn't.  Honest I didn't, Ned.  I didn't even know he
was there until he attacked me, and it were to stop something like this
happening that I said nothing."

"And now you're taking on the burden for all the family when you're
already overburdened yourself.  They shouldn't be letting you see to
everything."

"There's no one else."

Ned's lips touched her forehead and he smoothed her hair, which was
dragged away from her face.  She had plaited it and pinned it up into a
severe knot so that she would look older and competent to deal with the
prison 175
authorities, but her temples throbbed where it was pulled back so
tightly. He took out some of the pins.

"There's me.  Poppy.  It's what I'm here for, ain't it?  I want to look
after you, yuh know that."

"You've been doing it an' all.  We owe you so much, but I'll start
paying you back right soon."  She drew away from the close contact.

"I

hope I've found me a good skipper in Morris Johnson.  "

She stood with her back to him, hoping he wouldn't know the reason why
she couldn't stay with his arms encircling hers.  That awful feeling of
panic had caught up with her once more, just as it had done when Dolph
Brecht got too near.

"All I want is for you to marry me."

Her hands went to her face and it was several seconds before she could
answer.

"I can't do that, Ned, though it's kind of you to say."

"Why not?  I'd be takin gall the worries from you."

"And taking them on yourself.  Have you forgotten I'd soon be foisting
someone else's child on you?"

"I'll bring it up as me own, I give you me word."  Ned took some more
pins from her hair and the heavy plait unfurled into a rope down her
back.

"Have you forgotten that I'll be foist inga child on you too?

There's Steven in need of a mother.  "

"You're a very good man, Ned Rain."

He caught hold of her shoulders and made her turn towards him again.

Made her look into his eyes which were a shade darker blue than
Dolph's.

"Mebbe not so good as you think.  I'm only trying to get what I want
most in the world, and that's you."

His hands supped down to her waist and he drew her to him more
intimately than before, his lips seeking hers.  She accepted the kiss
passively for a moment, but tension built up in her like a geyser
exerting pressure to break free, and when he tried to part her lips
with his she cried out.

"No!  Ned!"  She struggled out of his arms.

"I don't want you to touch me.  And I don't want to marry you."

He took a step back and his brows drew together, showing the hurt she
had done him.

"It's all right.  I understand."

He started walking back along the riverbank very slowly.  The curlew
called again.  Over on the far bank an old man came into view, an
eel-catcher with his nets, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. 
Poppy stood alone and watched Ned retreating from her.  Each slow step
he took was a pain catching at her heart, but it was not enough to make
her change her mind.

She didn't know how to tell him of the revulsion she felt when any man
touched her, yet she owed him an explanation.  She liked him so much. 
She had liked Dolph Brecht, but he too had scared her away.

When he had gone a few yards she gathered up her skirt and ran after
him, the dark serge whispering in the grass.

"It isn't only you, Ned."

When she caught up with him she linked her arm through his anxious to
make amends.  He looked down at her with a sad smile.

"I know that.  And I know why."

"I'm sorry."

"I reckon I could finish off the job Clan bungled.  Tom Kerrick doesn't
deserve to get better."

"You mustn't say that."

"Why not?  It's what I feel.  Your father took his own life for
nothing, and it was worth a lot more than that old devil's."  His
expression hardened and she felt the muscles in his arm grow tighter
beneath her hand.

"I'll make a bargain with you.  Poppy."

"Oh?"

"I'll pay all the expenses for yer father to be buried properly in
Fenstowe and not ask for a penny back on condition that you marry me
before the week's up."

177 She felt the air blowing colder against her face.

"That's not fair.

I've already told you I can't.  "

"Then we'd best be driving back to Norwich prison so I can tell them to
get in touch with the parish after all."

Poppy began to tremble, partly with anxiety and partly with annoyance
that Ned of all people should try resorting to emotional blackmail.

She hadn't expected it of him.

"You said me father was almost family and you thought a lot of him.

If it's true, you won't let him be put in a pauper's grave.  " The very
mention of it brought fresh tears to her eyes but she blinked them away
quickly.

"He's dead now.  It won't matter to Clan where he's buried."

"But it matters to Maw, and it matters to me."

"Then yuh'll marry me."

She tried to drag her arm free but he pinned it against his side with
his elbow and forced her to keep walking.  Her voice was shaking when
she accused him again.  "You're just not being fair."

"Nothing's fair in this world.  Poppy, love.  You should know that by
now." Ned's voice was still gentle and he was smiling persuasively.

"Don't worry.  I'll have patience and I won't ask anything of you until
after the baby's born."  He waited.  Then: "Is it a bargain?  I'm offer
inga respectable burial for yer father and a name for the child."

She really didn't have any option She was being offered salvation, a
chance to hold up her head and face the people of Fenstowe as a decent
married woman.  Maw wouldn't have to worry about her and there'd be no
struggling to find enough money to pay for the next meal.

Dolph Brecht came into her mind again.  Ever since she had watched him
climb the gangway of that German coaster she'd started to judge other
men by his standard.  He'd promised to return next regatta week and she
had been cherishing the thought, but that was before she knew she was
pregnant.  Now she would never have a chance with him even if he did
keep his promise.  Best
to put him out of her mind since memories wouldn't provide for the
child she was carrying, or ease the financial burden her father had
left behind.  If she refused Ned Rain she would be the greatest fool
living.

It was very damp along the path and the smell of rotting vegetation was
strong as Poppy took a quivering breath.

"I don't know what to say, Ned.  You must think me very ungrateful."

"I know I'm not the sort of man you pictured having for a husband, but
I'd never let you regret marrying me."

"You'd be kind, I know that."

Still she hesitated, but the look in his eyes lessened the chill in her
body and she was glad of his familiar presence.  She knew if Fa had
been alive it would have made him happy to know that this good man
wanted to take care of her.  He was no penniless youth.  He was a man
ten years her senior with a home already made and a business that was
expanding rapidly.

He was something else as well.  These days she reckoned he could be
called a gentleman.

Ned took hold of the hand that fluttered uncertainly against her throat
and imprisoned it in both of his.  There's one more thing I'm offering.
 Poppy, and that's my heart.  I've loved you this last year but I've
not found the courage to tell you.  "

He carried her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers tenderly, one
at a time, and then of her own accord she touched the beard which grew
so softly on his chin.  The silky feel of it was very pleasurable.

Ned had been a widower for long enough.  She didn't know much about his
marriage.  She remembered Meg Rain as a happy, laughing person who had
talked endlessly to Aunt Lizzie and Grandma Ludlow about the child she
longed for but was doomed never to see.  If he'd made his first wife so
contented Poppy hoped it was a sign that he would make a good husband
the second time round. He'd said he would be patient.

If that was so she would certainly 179 try to overcome her fears and
make him as good a wife as Meg had been.

She gave him the answer he wanted.

"All right, Ned, I will marry you."

Manor Road was pleasant in the autumn.  It had trees planted at
intervals along the pavement with little railings to stop dogs watering
them ill-advisedly, and when their leaves turned colour they shone like
sovereigns.  Morris Johnson thought it was a good omen as he strode
purposefully towards the Ludlow house with young Freddie dark as his
guide, the boy Clan had taken on as a cook when the Sarah Star had been
converted. He stopped at the gate of number twelve and pointed at the
door.

"This is it, Mr Morris.  This is where old Mrs Ludlow lives."

"And there is a Miss Ludlow?"

"Oh, aye, the daughter.  She ain't young though."

Morris smiled, knowing what a boy's idea of age might be.

"Many thanks, Freddie.  Guess you can cut along now."

"Righto, Mr Johnson."

Morris saw a shadow move behind the net and knew he had been observed. 
He went up the path and rang the bell.  The lady who came to the door
was certainly middle aged, but still very attractive, with greying hair
which was shot with reddish lights to show the colour it had been not
so long ago.  She was quite tall and had a neat waist, not an inch of
spare fat on her, which could be because she'd borne no children.

"Miss Ludlow?"

"Yes."

"My name's Morris Johnson."  He snatched off his cap.  "Your niece
signed me on to skipper the Sarah Star and I'm here to leave some money
with you seeing as she's not at home."

It wasn't strictly true.  He hadn't been round to Poppy's house to see
if she
was there, but he could always say he'd called at the wrong address if
it was ever questioned.  Miss Ludlow looked slightly flustered by his
accent and the deep masculine voice.

Colour crept up from her neck to her cheeks.

"Yuh'd better come in, Mr Johnson.  My niece told me about you."

She showed him into the parlour where a large aspidistra nourished in a
brass pot by the window, and offered him a seat at the table.

Straight away he took a drawstring bag from his pocket and tipped out
some money and a cheap notebook.  He wasted no time on pleasantries.

"Miss Ludlow, I've been a fisherman all my life but I've never come
across anything so complicated as your way of paying out here.  It
didn't seem right to discuss private affairs with other owners so
perhaps you can explain this share system to me so I know what I'm
doing."

Oh, dear.  "

"You mean you don't know either?"  He looked at her with a wry smile
which gradually softened.

"I guess a lady like yourself doesn't need to concern herself with such
things.  I should have known better."

She liked the oblique compliment, he could tell.  She gave a little
laugh.

"I've never understood it properly.  I'm afraid you'll have to ask
Poppy when she gets back.  She's gone to Norwich to see about
arrangements for her father to be brought home.  My brother .  . .

died, you know.  "

So Poppy was out.  *I heard.  I'm sorry.  " He showed no depth of
sympathy, not having known the man.  It wouldn't have done.

"Does that mean the little lady's in full charge of the boat now?"

"Yes, though I suppose it belongs to her Maw now Dan's gone."

"Then I hope they'll be pleased with the catch we brought back."

"I'm sure they will."  She was looking at him keenly, and 181 he
wished he had gone to a barber before calling.  He had the feeling
she'd be telling him his hair was too long and would get caught in the
molgogger when he was at sea, if she knew him well enough.

"I

remember my father saying the shares of a steam drifter are laid at
twenty-four.  The owner takes fifteen and nine are shared out among the
crew. There's all the expenses of the nets and the coal and everything
else to be paid for, and sometimes there ain't enough to pay the men
anything.  "

He put all the money back in the bag and stood up again.

"Phew.  I knew it was complicated.  Miss Ludlow, I leave it all to you.
 But let me tell you, while I'm skipper of the Sarah Star there'll be
enough money for the men after every voyage.  I aim to do the best I
can for two very brave ladies.  Now I'll bid you good day."

"Good day, Mr Johnson."

He crossed to the door, then turned, looking round appreciatively.

"You've got a very nice home.  After the YMCA it looks real cosy."

"The YMCA?  Is that where you're staying?"

"It surely is, ma'am.  But I'm looking for lodgings now I'm settled
here.  I guess something'll soon turn up."

He tried not to watch her reaction.  In fact he went into the hall as
if the words hadn't meant anything specific, but he was aware of the
casually planted idea taking root, and in the small mirror on the hat
stand he saw how she hesitated behind him.

"Mr Johnson."

"Yes, ma'am?"  He had reached the front door.

"Mr Johnson, I hope you don't think me too forward suggesting it, but
we've a spare room here since me father died.  Me mother and I have
been thinking for a while that this house is big enough to take in
lodgers.  Mebbe yuh'd be interested in taking the room, seeing as how
you're already working for the family."

"Why, Miss Ludlow, that's mighty kind of you.  I sure would like that
fine."
He twisted his cap round in his hands and smiled at her.

"I think you're a very warmhearted lady and I count myself lucky we've
become acquainted.  Perhaps we could discuss terms, and if the
arrangement's agreeable I can move in next time I'm ashore."

"I hope you don't drink?"  she asked anxiously.

"Never a drop.  I don't hold with it."  Which was true.

"Then yuh can rent the room straight away, and if yuh want to leave any
stuff here you can."

"I travel light.  Miss Ludlow.  Most of what I own is on the Sarah
right now and we'll be sailingagain before dark, but I'll give you
whatever rent you ask in advance so the room won't go to anyone else
before I get back."

"Oh, it won't go to anyone else, Mr Johnson."  When he proffered some
money she pushed it away.

"I'll get a rent book in the morning and put your name on it so as
everything's done properly.  I won't charge too much."

"I do thank you kindly."  He held out his hand and shook hers warmly.

It was a very capable hand.

"I'll really look forward to staying here.  Good day again, ma'am."

"Good day, Mr Johnson."

He could feel her watching from the window when he went back down the
road. The net curtain would be discreetly eased aside just far enough
for her to see him disappearing into the late autumn sunshine which had
the effect of blurring any harsh edges, and he sang a few snatches of
an American folk song to himself.

"She took me to the parlour, She cooled me with her fan, She swore that
I's the puniest thing In the shape of mortal man.

Git along home, Cindy, Cindy, Git along home, Cindy, Cindy, Git along
home, Cindy, Cindy, I'll marry you some time.  "

Morris was very pleased with himself.  He had a way with women and it
was easy to charm a maiden lady who'd long since been left on the
shelf.  It wasn't that he had any evil designs on her.  On the
contrary, he was quite taken with Miss Ludlow, who didn't look to be
short of a bob or two.  Perhaps he could even do her a good turn.  He
could see she'd been very fetching in her youth and he genuinely looked
forward to her company when he was ashore, though he hoped she would
thaw a bit.  He liked to be made comfortable for as long as he stayed
in any place.

He recalled the way her skin had coloured when he flattered her, and
would have bet his last dime no man had paid court to her in a long
time.  Her manner suggested caution, but it looked like he hadn't lost
his touch.

Lizzie Ludlow was not the only one who took in a lodger that week.

Times were hard for Clara Kerrick with Tom in hospital and no knowing
when he would be out.  No knowing where the money was going to come
from to pay the hospital bill, either.

Normally she was no more hard up than her neighbours, seeing as she had
three men at sea and a daughter earn inga bit of money as a beatster,
but there'd never been an expense like this to worry about before.  By
rights the Ludlows should be made to pay the bill since it was their
fault Tom was in hospital, but it was common knowledge they were in a
worse financial state than anybody now there was no man left in the
family to work for them.  Clan hadn't been much but she supposed he'd
been better than nothing.

Beside, she didn't want them shouting it about that her husband was to
blame for Poppy Ludlow's condition.  She was sure it was a downright
lie.  It was a wonder none of the neighbours had heard Clan Ludlow when
he'd come raging down Drago Street in such a fever with his accusations
that morning.  Seemed they hadn't, though.

Fanny next door would have been the first to mention it if she'd had
any inkling as to what the row had been about.

There'd been no chance to challenge Tom and make him tell her whether
it was true or not.  For days he'd lain half dead in his hospital bed,
and since he'd come round there was no getting any sense out of him.

Perhaps it was just as well.  He'd mardled on about Lizzie Ludlow once
or twice but that was going back into the past.  If she ever found out
that Clan had been in the right she would want to kill her old man
herself.  Best leave things to quieten down and try to raise the money
somehow.

Clara worked hard even though she was slovenly.  She'd been mending
nets at home to earn an extra bob or two ever since Joshua was born.

A beatster's hook was fixed up in the room at the side of the front
window and she would stand there for hours wield inga needle through
torn meshes, her hands flying and right elbow moving up and down like
the pump in the yard.  She had one shoulder higher than the other
through the constant movement.  Apart from that she took in washing.

There was only one other thing she could do to bring in a few shillings
more and that was to take in a gutting girl for the season.

Being home-fishing time there was always plenty of them in need of a
room.

A couple of days after she'd thought of the idea, and before she'd been
able to talk it over with the family, she put the word about that she
had a room, and a girl came round with all her things in wooden
boxes.

Ma name's Flora McLinhie.  " The girl stepped inside as soon as she was
asked and looked like she'd come to stay whether Clara approved or
not.

"I'm real pleased to meet you and I won't be causing you any bother,
mind."

"Yuh better not," said Clara.

She looked the girl over and decided she could have done worse.  Flora
McLinhie was tallish and on the plain side, though there was something
about her face that was attractive.  Her cheeks were red and her skin
rough from
185 constantly working out of doors, but likely she wouldn't be plain
if she took a bit of trouble.  Clara was not a very good judge since
she never took trouble with her own appearance.  What pleased her most
was that the girl was obviously well into her twenties, not some slip
of a thing who might bring men round to cause problems.

"Will I be taking ma things upstairs?"

"I've cleared everything out of the back bedroom for yuh."  She knew
other people who took in the Scottish girls.  You had to strip the room
because their domes got so mucky and fish scales got over everything. 
Not that there was much in the house to spoil, but Joshua would be sure
to complain if it got really bad.

"Yuh can sit on yer boxes."

"Aye, I'll do that.  I'm used to it."  Flora smiled and it lightened
her features, giving them a much more pleasant look.

"I'd like fine to buy ma own food if you don't mind.  I can get it
cheaper."

"But yuh'll want me to cook it for yuh?"

"Oh, aye."

"Then yuh'll have to pay extra."

"As long as it's not too much."

The accent was pretty, and Clara warmed to her.  She seemed like a
right sensible girl who was careful with money.  No doubt she was a
hard worker if she was keen to be earning, and that meant she wouldn't
be in the house too long.

"I'll take one of the boxes up for yuh then and we can talk about the
rent."

Flora looked round the room which contained nothing but a bed, and she
put one of the boxes beside it, the other near the window.  The
curtains had once been floral- patterned but the sun had faded and
rotted them.  They now hung in tatters, the flowered parts having
disintegrated first, leaving lace-like holes.  The floorboards had
never felt a scrub on them.  The girl opened one of the boxes and
brought out a rag mat which she put down between the bed and door.

This'll do fine," she said.

"I hope I shall't be turning anyone out."

"It's me daughter's room but she can move in with me till me husband's
out of the hospital.  Me sons sleep downstairs on the floor when
they're home anyway.  Most often they're at sea."

"I'm sorry about your husband.  He's not too ill, I hope."

Clara sat down on the edge of the bed.  It wasn't often she had someone
different to talk to and she prepared to tell Flora McLinhie the story
which everyone in Drago Street knew.  Her greying hair was scraped back
into a bun at the back of her head and her prematurely lined face
creased into its discontented furrows as she began to complain.

"It were all to do with them Ludlows.  Yuh see Tom was left a boat by
his father, who was a Ludlow, only he didn't know it was his father
until the old man died and left it to him.  Joshua, me oldest son, he's
having to sail it now since Clan Ludlow was so jealous he stuck a knife
in Tom."

It was doubtful whether Flora followed the garbled story which went on
a lot longer and became more confusing with the telling, but she nodded
her head and put in the odd word of commiseration, which was enough for
Clara.  Then she did some checking.

"Your husband owns his own boat then."

"I told yuh.  He was left it by old Bill Ludlow.  I reckon Joshua was
more pleased than him, though.  Always had ambitions did Joshua, even
when he was a little' un so likely he'll make something of it while his
Fa's in hospital."

"I'll be looking forward to meeting your family."

"Tom won't be up to much when he comes home.  Dear, oh dear, no.

Everyone thought as how he'd die.  " Clara went on talking and her
cheeks took on quite a glow.  It was so nice finding someone who would
listen.

"The boys won't let him down.  Neither of them's afraid of work.  Tom
was the same till he started taking too much drink.  He was full of
ambitions when we
first married but 187 somehow they didn't come to nothing.  Mebbe it's
my fault.  He needs someone behind him to give him a push and I was
never the one to do it.  Reckon he could have owned a few boats by now.
 I never thought about it over much until he was nearly taken from
me."

"Perhaps he'll be a changed man now, eh, Mrs Kerrick.  He might even
join the Temperance League."

The thought of it made Clara laugh so much her eyes watered.  When she
went downstairs she felt happier than she had done for days and she
congratulated herself on the decision to have a lodger.  She'd taken a
liking to Flora McLinhie straight away.

The next day Ned took Poppy to do some shopping.

When she got home Maw was about to clean the chimney with a squib from
the corner shop, and there was soot down the front other dress.

Violet, too, was black, her pinafore spotted with soot which was
falling into the grate where grey ash was all that remained of the
fire.  It was like a shower of black snow settling everywhere.

"Let me see to it for yuh.  Maw."  Poppy put down the parcels and took
off her coat.

Agnes sat back on her heels.

"Yer father always used to do this job.

I ought to be at Lizzie's by now to pick up Iris.  She's had her for
the afternoon.  " Her attention was diverted as she saw the parcels.

"What's that yuh've got?"

"Clothes for me wedding.  Ned's bought them for me.  Now give me that
squib and I'll set light to it.  The sooner the chimney's cleared the
sooner we'll have a fire goingagain."

"Ned's been buying you clothes!  Seems to me, miss, you're getting
everything too easy for a girl what's bought disgrace to this family." 
Maw stood up.

"I went to get a marrow bone this afternoon to boil up and make soup. 
Cissie Parsons as good as said she didn't want no more putting on the
slate now there's no man among us to bring in a wage.  Yet you bring in
new clothes! I'd say you're doing too well for yuhself while we all
struggle to survive."

"Ned insisted.  Maw."

"Oh, did he!  Well seeing as how he's marrying you in a few days' time
yuh'd better take them things up to his house before Daisy sees them.

She ain't done nothing wrong, yet she can't even have a new pair of
boots. I'll have to cut holes in the toes of her old ones else they'll
cripple her. "

"She can have mine.  I've got some shoes."

"Shoes!"  This was too much for Agnes.  Her lips curled.  "Yuh know
what you can do with them.  You can put them on your feet and walk out
of here.  You don't belong any more."

Th?  t ain't fair.  Maw.  It's not fair and you know it.  "

"What ain't?  You're going off up to Ned Rain's house to be a lady.

Seems to me you've got all you could wish for, and I hope it makes you
happy. "

Tears began to steam down Maw's thin cheeks, leaving white marks on the
sooty skin.  Poppy felt terribly sorry for her and wanted to cry with
her.  She might have done if she hadn't been so angry.

"You're wrong.  Maw.  I haven't got everything I wish for, not by a
long way. I don't want to marry Ned Rain for a start."

"What's that yuh say?  You ungrateful, wicked girl!"

"I don't want to marry him, but if I don't Fa's going to be buried in a
pauper's grave.  There now, I've said it."

Violet began to scream with fright at the raised voices and Maw opened
her mouth to give vent to her feelings some more, but for a moment no
sound came. She suddenly realized what Poppy meant and the words she
tried to litter became a jumbled sound more like a cry of pain.

Then: "You'll not refuse him, will yuh Poppy?  I couldn't bear it if
Clan didn't have a proper burial."  The anxiety in her eyes made them
seem to sink back into her head.

"I didn't think about the money.  And I never meant all I said.  I'm
real glad you're marrying Ned."

189 "I'm hardly likely to refuse him, am I, seeing as how he's giving
Tom Kerrick's bastard a name as well.  He's a real good roan."  She
took her mother into her arms and cradled her there for a minute.

"Now go and fetch Iris while I see to the chimney."

Agnes washed her face, put on her coat and took Violet with her for the
outing.  Poppy raked out the grate properly and lit wood and paper
ready to throw the squib in.  She felt heavier than ever in heart and
body.

Her whole life had changed, and one wretched man was responsible.

Just speaking of him made her so angry she felt like going round to the
hospital and dragging him out of the bed where he was so cosily
recovering. He was the one who ought to have been nailed down in a
coffin, not Fa.

There was a burst of flames which sucked straight up the chimney,
setting light to all the soot particles so that they sparked and danced
up into the darkness like fiery imps.  Poppy threw on the gunpowder
wrapped in its twist of paper the way she'd seen Fa do when the chimney
needed cleaning, then she slammed the fire door shut and ran back. 
There was an explosion which set the whole stove rattling and the door
was flung open again where she hadn't fastened it properly in her
haste.

When Agnes went out she had left the front door slightly ajar and a
gust of wind rushed through the house.  It fanned the flames, sent them
licking outwards instead of upwards, and smoke billowed into the room. 
Poppy's eyes began to run and she fell backwards, coughing violently.

The next sound she heard was someone in the scullery pumping water into
a bucket but her eyes were stinging so much she couldn't open them to
see who it was.  All she could do was back away from the heat and cover
her face while she made an effort to escape the smoke.  A moment later
there was a great sizzling as water was thrown on the fire, and she
collapsed against Fa's chair, gasping and choking at the fumes which
were no belter than the smoke.

 It's all right.  Poppy.  The fire's out.  "

The voice seemed to be coming from a long way away, but the hands which
went round her back and drew her against a hard, masculine chest were
so welcome they might have been made just to protect her.

Her heart was pounding and she was shaking from the shock, but one
gentle hand stroked the back of her head while the other caressed her
shoulder.  Her face was resting against a fresh smelling shirt, and
beneath it she could feel a heart that was beating as fast as her own. 
But when she moved she scratched her cheek on the clip of a pair of red
braces.

She struggled free.

Joshua Kerrick was on his knees beside her, his face only inches away,
and she stared at him for several seconds in astonishment.

"What are you doing here?  Get out of the house, d'yuh hear?"

"It was lucky I came.  You'd have had the house on fire."

"Get away from me, Joshua."  She got to her feet and stood over him,
looking down on his ink-black head.  From somewhere deep in her pelvis
a curious excitement curled and spiralled upwards, throbbing as though
her blood had become overheated and was pulsing at every nerve centre. 
His dark eyes, upturned to hers, were richly brown and glowing with a
fire of their own.  He reached out to grasp her waist but she wrenched
herself away, more frightened of him than she had been of the blaze the
squib had started.

"What have you come for?"

"I came yesterday but you weren't here.  All night I was at sea with
you on me mind and I've got just an hour before I've got to put to sea
again.  I want you to know there ain't nothing I wouldn't do to try and
put right what's happened to you."

"You can just keep out of my sight."

"I want to make it up to you for what me father's done.  He seems to
have gone off his head."

"What can you do, 'cept make more trouble?"

191 He stood up and reached out again to touch her but shi.  darted
into the shadows.

"I'm not a criminal.  Poppy."  He followed her and she escaped, running
round the small room with her boot heels making dents in the already
pitted linoleum.  He chased her, both of them angry.  "What's the
matter with you? What's the matter with me I'm not a brute or a leper. 
I'm not ugly."

"I hate you.  Josh Kerrick.  I've always hated you."

She scurried round the table, breathing faster than ever, and her skirt
caught round a cupboard door handle, ripping it as she jerked to a
stop.  He grabbed her and swung her round.

"Hate me, do you?  Well let's see how much."

He pulled her roughly into his arms and clamped her wrists together in
a grip as strong as handcuffs so that she couldn't put up a fight.

The only way he could avoid being kicked was to press her against him,
leaving no room for her booted feet to do any damage.  He sought her
mouth with his but she was tossing her head from side to side so that
all he could do was bury his face into the hollow between her ear and
shoulder, kissing the soft creamy skin in such a sensitive place she
squealed in anguish.  Her hair came un plaited

"Stop, Joshua.  Please stop."  She was begging him, but the words which
started out as a high-pitched cry gradually quietened.  Such
extraordinary emotions were flooding through her.  The touch of his
lips generated the most pleasurable ache she had ever known, sent
spasms of delicious heat coursing down her spine and through her
stomach to her very core, and made her legs so weak she could hardly
stand.  She succumbed to the pressure of his hand which forced her
against the most masculine part of him, and found herself straining to
be even closer.  When he loosened his hold of her wrists she pulled
them free and lifted her hands to his face without stopping to think
what she was doing.

His chin was coarse, his cheeks warm.  Her fingers kneaded his skin,
feeling the strength of bones in cheek and jaw while he searched her
eyes for one breathless moment, then he brought his mouth down on hers
and her hands slid round to clasp the back of his neck.  She felt the
softness of his hair, the hardness of his body, and when she closed her
eyes she was transported into a chasm were nothing mattered except her
passionate response to his touch.

His lips were gentle.  She had expected him to kiss her punishingly,
but there was no harshness, no cruel bruising or show of strength.

His mouth moved over hers with a slow, sensuous rhythm which made a
purr of delight escape her and she opened her lips to let his tongue
explore.  And all the while her hips moved in a rhythm of their own,
increasing the flow of excitement within her to a feverish pitch.  She
had never known such feelings existed.  The ecstasy of Joshua's body
tight against hers made mockery of all her fears, and it was as though
she had been waiting for this all her life.

He lifted his head.

"Marry me.  Poppy."

"I can't."  She came to her senses abruptly and sprang away while he
was unprepared.  Then she turned her back on him so that he shouldn't
see the misery and shame flooding back into her eyes.

"It's no use asking me."

He came behind her and slipped his arms round her waist, holding her
round the slight thickening of her stomach which was not yet
noticeable.

"I know about the baby.  I know it's me father's too, but we'll bring
it up as our own."  Fingers linked across the front of her.

"It's only right I marry you."

"Right?"  Against her she felt the hardness of that male appendage for
which she knew no name other than the crude ones she'd heard.  It was
pressing against her, and suddenly she was outraged.  She twisted away,
her hair swirling about her shoulders in a red cloud.

"Is it all you can say?  You feel it your duty to marry me, do you, for
the
sake of the family honour?  Hah!  Since when have the 193 Kerricks had
any honour?  I know what yuh think of me.  You told me plain enough
that day on the beach."

"You drove me to say things I didn't mean.  You made me jealous."

"And now you come round here thinking I'll have forgotten.  There's me
Fa lying dead, and I blame you as much as Tom Kerrick.  What makes you
think anything you do or say could make any difference?"

"You're proud and obstinate.  I want to make a decent woman of you."

"I am a decent woman."

He was standing in front other now, barring her way to the door, which
she couldn't even see from the breadth of his shoulders.  His height
made the room seem smaller than it had ever done and she didn't know
how she was going to get rid of him.

"You're a wonderful woman."  The tenor of his voice changed to a low
huskiness.

She felt herself swaying towards him, her body still aching with a
traitorous desire, but she managed to hold it in check.

"Don't touch me again, Joshua.  Please don't."  The plea wavered
between them, softly voiced and not even half meant.  Her eyes met his
and became a warm, liquid gold as they swam with tears.

"How can you refuse me when we both know you belong to me?"

"I don't.  I don't."

He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her once more, this time
without any gentleness at all.  His lips were hard and demanding,
arousing her anew, and she responded to the provocation with equal
madness.

"We belong together.  Poppy.  We always have."  He held her face
between his hands, caressing her temples.

"Marry me!"

"It's' too late."  She closed her eyes and bleakness engulfed her.

"I'm promised to Ned Rain.  He got a licence and we're to be married at
the Bethel on Saturday."

For a moment Joshua stared at her in disbelief.  Then his hands slipped
down to her shoulders and gripped them.  "Tell him you can't go through
with it."

"I must.  There's reasons."

"What reasons?"

"He's .  . . paying for things."

She could almost feel the rage mount up in him, rising through his body
like a storm breaking.  Then he thrust her away as though he had
suddenly discovered she was contaminated.

"You're marrying his bloody money!"  His tone rang ice cold with
disgust.

"I've got to, Joshua.  You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand.  He can give you a fine house and drive you round in
that fancy motor, but I'll show you he ain't the only one who can make
money. I'll make you regret you didn't have me."  Everything in the
room , seemed to vibrate with his anger.

"I'll make Ned Rain regret it too."

He left her standing amidst the ashes and acid smell of the burnt-out
fire and made for the door, pushing past the dark-haired girl who was
holding it open for him.

Neither had noticed Daisy come in, or knew how much she had heard.

195 A sea mist had developed after a spell of warm days and the first
feel of winter was in the November air.  Swirls of mist rolled in,
damping Joshua's clothes as he strode up the Fenstowe Road towards the
cliff.  He was wear inga pair of duffle trousers with a flap instead of
flies and legs which flared out at the bottom.  He'd borrowed them from
Hal because he had a bit of business to see to and he didn't want to
look as if he had just come ashore with the fish.

His hair was well brushed and he had bought a jacket to put over his
darned shirt, a luxury really because normally he saved every penny he
made.  The boots, too, were Hal's.  He'd polished them decently but
they had high heels which made him feel like a giant.

A tram loomed out of the mist and rattled down the hill, clanked over
the lines and disappeared again into the haziness like a strange square
ship. The pavement glistened beneath his feet and the houses lying back
became more imposing within mist shrouds.  Nathaniel Lea's was one of
them.  It occupied a prime position at the top of the cliff and had
shutters at the window to keep out the wind.  Joshua turned in at the
gate and went up to the door, pressing the bell for several seconds so
that no one would think he had come in any half-hearted way.

A servant came to the door.

"I'd like to see Mr Lea," Joshua said.

"I'm sorry, he's not in."  The woman was scrawny, with nothing to fill
out the front of her dress so it hung like a limp flag round a pole on
a windless day.

"D'yuh know when I can speak to him?"

"The master's in London.  He took the train this morning."

"How long will he be away?"

Before the servant could answer there came another voice from inside
the house and a young woman appeared.

"All right, Millie, I'll deal with it."  She came towards him, her step
graceful, her manner poised, and when the light fell on her face it
showed pale skin with a delicacy of porcelain.  Her hair was drawn over
her ears in a teased cloud from a centre parting, so fair and curly it
was almost like cream silk, and her eyebrows were so pale they seemed
not to exist.  She wore a light blue day gown with whalebone strips
supporting the neck frills beneath her pointed chin, and the taffeta
skirt lining rustled as she walked.

"I'm Caroline Lea.  Won't you come in?"

Joshua stepped into the hall and the servant shut the door behind them.
 He had never been in such a fine house and he looked around him with
appreciation as he went with the young woman he had only previously
seen at a distance.  There were pictures in heavy gilt frames, and
carpet which deadened the sound of his footsteps and made him feel a
touch insecure.  She led him into a parlour at the back of the house
where the paintwork was white and the walls were covered with green and
white paper in a scrolled pattern like waves gently rippling over a
tranquil sea.

"Please sit down."

She indicated a chair made of fret worked wood which looked beautiful
but insubstantial, and Joshua hesitated before daring to sit on the
green tapestry seat.  He felt over-large and quite out of place in such
luxurious surroundings.  Yet the feel of luxury appealed to him
strongly and he straightened his back, glad that he had had the
foresight to borrow Hal's new trousers so that he didn't look too out
of place.

197 "This is good of you.  Miss Lea."  He had the manners to indicate
that she should sit down first.  Then he lowered himself carefully into
the slender-armed chair.

"But it's yer father I must see.  I was hoping to put a proposition to
him."

"I can give him a message when he returns.  I might even be able to
help you. I manage my father's affairs and have some say in business
matters."

She had very clear eyes which were almost violet and they rested on him
with confidence and no sign of coquetry.  He tried to remember what she
had been like when she was younger but his recollections were blurred
and it seemed she had always been grown-up.  He recalled hearing that
she had been seventeen when her mother died and that must have been
about eight years ago. He was going to say that he would come back when
her father was home, but he hesitated, masculine vanity telling him
that he might have a better chance of makinga deal with Nathaniel Lea's
daughter.

He cleared his throat.

"Well, it's about me father's inheritance.  Yuh see, he was left the
Night Queen in old Bill Ludlow's will.  Likely you'll have heard."

Her eyes widened very slightly but otherwise her expression didn't
change. She had long white fingers which were clasped loosely in her
lap.

"I've heard a number of things, Mr Kerrick."  She paused just long
enough to give weight to her next remark.  "I heard about the .  . .

accident.  I hope your father has recovered enough to work again.  Is
that what you've come about?  "

"No, it's not what I've come about.  The fact is, me father's health
ain't all that good and he won't be wanting the responsibility of own
inga boat, so we thought as how it would be better if he could sell it.
 Mr Lea being me father's boss it seemed only right to give him first
chance."

After a moment she inclined her head and the violet eyes continued to
study
him.  He felt strange.  It was as if she were seeking something within
him which he didn't present clearly, and it made him uncomfortable.

"Indeed.  And what makes you think my father would have any use for a
sailing drifter?  The Night Queen, I believe, has only sails."

That's right.  But she's the best there is.  "

"You're not too young to have the responsibility of a drifter, Joshua. 
Why don't you sail it for your father?"

"I'm skipper inga steam drifter now.  We'd be better off with the
money."

He noted that she'd used his Christian name but didn't know if it was
an encouraging sign or not.  Likely she'd called him by it because she
thought him young.

"I hope you don't mean the Trafalgar Arms would be better off with the
money."  Her voice was as cool as her eyes.

Joshua got up and the chair teetered backwards momentarily before
settling down again on to its four spindly legs.

"You're makinga mistake.  Miss Lea.  I'm not like me father.  I rarely
drink."

,

"Then I apologize."  The apology was gracious, as if she had been
testing him and was pleased with his answer.  A brief smile touched her
lips.

"So may I ask why you are so anxious to make money with Tom Kerrick's
boat, and whether he knows you propose to sell it?"

"He knows.  I've explained it to him and he's agreed I should take
charge." She motioned to him to return to his chair, which he did.

"I

intend to buy a steam drifter.  There's one I've got me eye on and if I
can sell the Night Queen I can raise enough money to buy her.  "

"Tell me what you think the Night Queen is worth."

He named his price and she nodded though fully

"That sounds reasonable, but it won't buy you a steam drifter.  Where
do you expect to find the rest?"

"I've been going out with the Fisher Company boat whenever there's been
chance and I've saved every share I've had of salvage money.  I intend
to have a fleet of drifters before I'm much older."

199 His head was high and there was a fierce pride in his tone.  He
resented the prying yet he knew he had to comply with it if he wanted
to get what he had come for.  He saw that he was talking to a
businesswoman and he admired her for the keen brain he sensed was
behind those well- bred looks.

"Will you take some coffee with me, Joshua?"  She smiled a little more
and turned to give a gentle tug on an embroidered bell-pull.

"I think perhaps we have a lot more talking to do."

Millie brought in a tray with a bone-china coffee pot and matching cups
and saucers delicately sprigged with a rosebud design.  Joshua had
never tried coffee and he scarcely knew how to take hold of the
miniature cup in his large hand, but he acquitted himself well.

Though the dark, almost bitter liquid clung round his mouth he decided
it was a taste he could get used to.

Caroline went on questioning him all the while and most of his answers
seemed to please her.  She wanted to know for whom he was skippering,
how long he had had his ticket, how well he knew the fishing grounds. 
How could he tell if a boat was worth buying, and how did he know its
value?  All these questions and more.

"I'm not just being idly curious."  She dabbed her lips with a dainty
lace handkerchief after replacing her coffee cup on the tray.  Then she
leaned back in the chair and once again her violet eyes settled on
him.

"I'm thinking I may put a proposition to you."

He waited, enduring her scrutiny with difficulty.  He felt like a
herring being inspected for auction and couldn't yet be sure whether
she found him marketable, or whether she was going to throw him back.

No woman had ever judged him like this and he wouldn't have put up with
it from one of his own kind.  He just wished he knew what was going on
behind that smooth, wide forehead.

When her summing up was apparently complete she sat forward.

"Joshua, I'm going to give you the asking price for your boat myself. 
I've been thinking for some time that I need some investments of my own
and I've decided to invest in you.  If you're willing I think perhaps
we can help each other.  I'm impressed with your ambitions and I'm
acquainted with the industry enough to know you've studied it
thoroughly.  So providing you're agreeable I'd like to put up the rest
of the money to buy the steam drifter you assure me is sound."

Joshua straightened his shoulders and considered the amazing
proposition.

"You're saying you want to own the Night Queen and a percentage of the
new vessel as well.  Seems to me I'd then be working for you."

"You'd have an interest in the business."

"I'm afraid, ma'am, that's not enough."  If this woman thought he was
just an illiterate fisherman she would have to be put right.  He wasn't
someone she could manipulate, and she certainly wasn't going to trick
him into anything. He had to think quickly if he wanted to turn the
advantage in his direction. Excitement made the adrenalin flow through
his body and he knew instinctively it was not only his ambitions and
knowledge of the sea that impressed her. She seemed so completely in
control, yet a telltale pulse was beating fast in that swan-like
neck.

"I'd settle for nothing less than a partnership, seeing as a good
portion of the money involved would be mine.  You may be efficient at
handling yer father's business but I don't know enough about you to
risk letting you handle mine.  I like to see to me own money matters,
you understand."

"A partnership, you say?"

She was not quite so imperious.  He had come here with more bravado
than hope, merely intending to sell Fa's boat.  Now here he was discuss
inga partnership with this sophisticated woman and he was beginning to
see a chance to leap up into the same class as Ned Rain, if only he
could sustain his confidence.

"I'm suggesting perhaps we could form a company, properly drawn up, if
you've
really got faith in me.  Then 201 any vessels would be jointly owned. 
It's the only way I'd consider working with anyone.  Otherwise I'd
prefer to be on me own."

"I can see you meant it when you said you're going to become a
fleet-owner in a short time."  She put her hand over the fluttering
pulse.

"You've got the cheek of the devil, Joshua, but it's the kind that's
necessary to get on in this world.  I've got a feeling if we worked
together we could build up a very substantial business."

Mebbe.  He was too wise to jump into anything without going into it
thoroughly.  They talked at length and time ticked by on the French
clock on the mantelpiece beneath an ornate gilt-framed mirror.

His final question was more personal.

"Miss Lea, why do you trust me enough to talk big business when we've
never spoken before today?"

"We may not have spoken but I've been aware of you."  She stood up
gracefully and looked in the mirror to pat the teased curls of which
not a hair had moved since he had come into the room almost two hours
ago.

"I'd intended asking my father to sign you on.  You were wasted working
for the Ludlows."

Joshua didn't show his surprise.  When he stood beside her and glanced
in the mirror himself it was two very handsome people he saw reflected
there, and he lifted his chin with a touch of arrogance.  It was the
first self-assured gesture of a man about to take his place among the
more influential citizens of Fenstowe.

"Can I take it, then, you won't have second thoughts about all we've
discussed?"

"We'll meet again as soon as papers can be drawn up."

She held out her hand and he shook it firmly.  Her fingers were strong
and beautiful, but quite cold.

It was Daisy's sixteenth birthday three weeks after Poppy's wedding and
she'd been asked to go down to the Bethel with Maw and the little ones
for the
evening.  The weather had turned colder and she huddled into her only
decent coat as they reached the bottom of Cooper Street and met the
wind blowing through Tanners Row from the sea.  It was a dark night and
late for the children to be out but the Missionary had come specially
to invite them all to the hall for a bite to eat and a singsong.

"It's only because they feel sorry for us."  Daisy's eyes had lit up at
the mention of a party, but when she heard the rest of the family were
invited as well she'd been peeved.  At sixteen she thought she ought to
be allowed out on her own.

"Nobody bothered when Pa was alive."

"Hush yer mouth.  Daisy.  Yer father did a lot for the Bethel and it's
for his sake they're being kind, so just you be grateful."

The hall was beside the chapel and the door was open, a warm square of
light sheddinga welcoming glow on to the pavement.  Daisy went in
first, carrying Violet.  Mr Flowers, the Missionary, came forward to
greet them straight away.

"Daisy, all our little flock are here to wish you a happy birthday."

Daisy taught at Sunday school, and a group of children clustered
round.

"Come on in.  Take off your coat.  You too, Mrs Ludlow."

The hall looked quite festive with bunting from the regatta strung
between the beams, and a trestle table set out with a tempting array of
food.  Tears pricked Daisy's eyes.  She put Violet down among the other
children who were chanting.

"Happy birthday' and took Iris from Maw so that she could join in as
well.

"Oh, it's all lovely.  Thank you."

There were older girls there too.  Esme Cochran from the net-store, who
was becominga close friend of Daisy's, had been invited along with
several others of their age and it made her feel important to be the
centre of attention for the first time ever.  Someone had made jellies,
someone else biscuits, and there was a cake for her to cut.

"We've a wee present for you.  Daisy," Mr Flowers said 203 at the end
of a little speech.  He came from Scotland and rolled his Rs with a
lovely warm sound which made her smile.  His coat was buttoned high at
the neck and reached to his hips.  He wore dark trousers, and without
his tall beaver hat she could see how sparse his hair was, brushed in
strands across his head to make it look thicker, just as Fa's had been.
 The present was a hymm book other very own, inscribed with her name in
beautiful copperplate writing.

"Look, Maw, isn't it lovely?"  She was so pleased she wanted to keep on
looking at it.

Esme had another surprise for her.

"I've something for you an' all."

She brought a long, thin parcel from behind her back and when Daisy
unwrapped it she found it was a suck of Scarborough rock.  The brother
brought it back the last time he was there.  I hadn't eaten it so I
thought I'd give it to you.  "

"It's real kind of you."  Daisy gave her a hug.

"I don't know how to thank everybody."

It was while they were all singing some of the less bawdy music-hall
songs, accompanied by the Missionary's wife at the piano, that Daisy
saw the door at the side of the hall open and a man's head look round
to see what was going on.  Her heart did a kind of somersault.  It was
Joshua Kerrick.

"Will yuh excuse me a moment."  She made the apology as if she wanted
to slip out to the WE, but as soon as she was through the door she went
on into the chapel, hoping he hadn't already left.

The air was colder, and a chill stole through her.  She smoothed the
black serge skirt over her hips and touched the ruffle of lace at the
neck of the blouse Poppy had mended then discarded after that night
following Grandfer's funeral.  If only she'd been allowed to put her
hair up.  She looked round and fingered the bunch of black ringlets
tied with a black bow.

Joshua was talking to someone up near the altar but after a few
seconds they parted and he came down the side aisle towards her.  She
hid behind the door curtain until he was near enough to hear his
name.

"Joshua."  He stopped and she came far enough forward to him to see who
it was, but not so that she was visible to anyone else.

"I saw yuh just now in the hall."

"Hello Daisy."

She could tell he was not going to linger, so she caught his arm.

"It's me birthday today.  I'm sixteen.  That's what the party's for."

He looked different somehow.  He'd smartened himself up no end and
there was a real positive air about him, as though he'd taken on
responsibility.  She supposed he'd had to since it was said his father
was at home bedridden.

He gave her a patronizing smile, like she was still a child.

"Happy birthday.  I hope you got some nice presents."

"Oh yes, but you can give me the one I really want."  She tilted her
head coquettishly and the expression in her dark eyes was anything but
childish.

"Kiss me, Joshua."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Now why should I do that?"

"Because I could be much nicer to you than Poppy.  I reckon she was a
fool to turn you down, but then she always did have a hankering for the
kind of life Ned Rain can give her."

His brow darkened, the smile faded.

"You'd no business listening to what went on between Poppy and me.  And
she wouldn't be pleased if she knew the way you're behaving now."

"I don't care what she thinks.  I'm just glad she married Ned and left
you to find someone better."

One of the gas lamps was turned out in the chapel.  The rows of long
bench-like seats became shadowed ridges across the polished wooden
floorboards, and moonlight shone on the altar.

Joshua looked down at her, placed a hand beneath her 205 chin and
tipped her face towards him.  There was a constriction in her heart
which seemed to make it stop beating, then it raced away painfully. 
She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her the way he had done
Poppy, but her chin was jerked upwards instead and her lids flew open
again.

"Don't try to play grown-up games.  Daisy, or you'll find yourself in
the same kind of trouble as your sister.  Only in your case it'll be
because you asked for it."  The warning was given so strongly she
shivered.

"For your own good I suggest you don't act so forward with anyone
else."

"Oh, I won't.  Her chin was sore and her eyes were smarting.

"I don't want anyone else."

"You don't want me either."

Joshua went striding off towards the main door and Daisy had to go back
to the hall where the children were still singing.

Lizzie didn't know what to make of her feelings towards Morris Johnson.
 He was a man who brought brightness into the house and she welcomed
it, seeing as her mother had become difficult and complaining since Fa
had died.  The old lady kept to her room a lot and was no company, so
Lizzie sat alone in the kitchen most evenings, except when Morris was
ashore, and then he would sit in Fa's chair on the opposite side of the
fire as if he belonged there and smoke his clay pipe while he told her
of his life in Maine.

"It's not so different really except that we caught cod instead of
herrings. The wharfs were the same and there were great iron-roofed
sheds."  He went on some more, telling her in the rolling accent she
was beginning to get used to about the freight yards, the town where
he'd been born , and the countryside beyond where the smell of the
earth was so good after rain.

"I liked it there, but I guess it wasn't the same after Martha died."

She saw shadows collect in his eyes and let him draw some more on the
pipe.

"Martha was your wife?"

"She was.  And a good wife at that, though it saddened her we never
had children.  If there'd been any I don't suppose I'd have taken to
travelling."

He looked so sad Lizzie was prompted to say something reassuring.

"I'm glad yuh did."  Then in case it sounded too personal she hastily
added to the remark.

"I mean there'd have been no one to skipper the Sarah Star if you
hadn't come along.  It were right fortunate."

"I'd say it was more than that.  I've never been anywhere I felt more
at home, and it's all due to you, dear lady."

"Why Mr Johnson, what a nice thing to say."

"I'd like it fine if you could call me Morris."

"Oh."  Lizzie coloured becomingly.

She found it easy to use his first name, just as it was easy to listen
when he talked, but she rarely divulged anything about herself.  He was
a man of Tom's age, she reckoned, and there was quite a lot about him
that made her think of Tom.  If things had been different mebbe she
would have been sitting by the fire with Tom just like this, though not
in her father's house.

Tom's recovery had filled her with such great relief she had felt
light-headed for a while.  Of course he was still a sick man, but he
was alive and would soon improve if Clara treated him right.  Lizzie
hardly knew how to keep from going round there to see.  She ached to
see him, and because it was out of the question she had to occupy
herself fully so that he wasn't always in her thoughts.  Morris
Johnson, therefore, couldn't have come at a better time.

She began to see to Morris's washing and to take trouble with the meals
she cooked when she knew he would be home.

"That man's getting under yer skin," her mother said.  Maw didn't care
for him that much, but then she didn't care for anything these days,
and Lizzie didn't take any notice.

"Be careful, girl.  Once a man's got his feet under the table he can be
mighty hard to budge.  Likely he's after yer money."

207 "Since we ain't got any it wouldn't do him any good."  Lizzie
tried to be patient.

"I'm just warning you, that's all."

She didn't really need the warning.  After her father died she had
missed havinga man around to look after and she enjoyed having the
lodger for company, but she wouldn't let it go any further.  There'd
been a number of men wanting to walk out with her after Tom had let her
down but she'd never been able to take to anyone seriously, and she
certainly wasn't going to do so now, even if Morris did have any
intentions.

It turned out that he did.

"Lizzie, you're the finest woman I've met since I lost Martha, and
that's a fact."  He'd had his hair cut and he was smarter than he'd
been when he arrived.  Mebbe it was to do with the nicely ironed
shirts.  She'd always been good at ironing and it pleased her to make
the three well-worn shirts he owned look fresh and presentable.  On one
of them she had even turned the collar.

"You make me feel right at home."

"I'm glad you're comfortable."

"I am, and I thank you."  He came up behind her and spoke close to her
ear.

"I thank you very sincerely.  Lizzie."

She moved away, but she could hardly credit the way her heart was
fluttering. At her time of life it was hardly fitting to let a man get
so near.

"Likely I'll be putting up the rent to cover the cost of washing soap
one of these days," she said, as lightly as she could.

He made no further advances, but a day or two later he brought her a
present, an enamel brooch in the shape of a rose.  She was so taken
aback she could only gaze at it for a moment after he had put it in her
hand, and her cheeks flamed as brightly as the fired petals.

"There were no roses I could buy, and anyway I thought this one would
last longer," he said.

"Won't you pin it on your blouse?"

"Of course.  Thank you, it's lovely, but you shouldn't have bought
it."

"Why not?  It's just a token."

"A token?"

"Of what I feel for you."

"Oh."  Funny how he could take her breath away.

"I'd like it fine if you'd marry me, Lizzie.  Do you reckon you could
see your way to doing just that, or am I asking too soon?"

She turned cold suddenly.  After all these years she was havinga
proposal of marriage.  It scared her so much she wanted to run from it,
yet Morris was a kind man and quite presentable.

Then she thought of Tom.  She had vowed she would never marry after he
had hurt her so badly, but in those days she hadn't known they were
kin, and likely it had been at the back of her mind that he would turn
to her again if anything happened to Clara.  Now she had been alone too
long, and the thought of marriage was frightening.  Besides, her mother
would be very put out.

"Any time would be too soon I'm afraid, Morris," she said.

"I ain't planning on ever getting married, but thank you for asking."

He looked so disappointed she almost wished she could change her mind,
but that would be foolish.

"I own I'm real sad, he said.

"But I'll ask you again in a little while, when we know each other
better."

Lizzie gave him no encouragement, but whether it was foolish or not she
couldn't help feeling pleased.

It was not in Poppy's nature to mope over what might have been.  Time
was much better spent improving what she had already, so she didn't
allow herself to dwell too much on the extraordinary attraction she
could no longer deny existed between herself and Joshua Kerrick.  It
was a physical thing, admittedly pretty powerful, but as long as she
kept out of his way she could
keep it under control and 209 no one need know about it.  It wasn't as
if she even liked him, though she had grudgingly decided there must be
a better side to his nature since he had genuinely tried to make amends
for his father's sins.

After the wedding she and Ned had been invited back to Manor Road with
the family for a few fancy things to eat.  Then Ned took Poppy home to
his own house in Newlyn Walk, a narrow street leading up from Manor
Road to the Fenstowe Road.  It was the first time she had been inside
and she was eager to see what it was like, it being the place where she
would be living from now on.

She was surprised at how big it was, There was a room at the front like
Grandma Ludlow had, only there wasn't so much to see going by since the
house was in a side road.  Behind it there was a back sitting room, and
beyond still further was a fair-sized kitchen with a window looking out
on the garden where Ned had a smoke house.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a lavatory, the kind of luxury
Poppy hadn't visualized, and there was an attic with two more rooms
which Ned took extra pleasure in showing her.

"This is a family house.  Poppy, love, and the sooner we fill all the
rooms the happier I'll be."

Ned kissed his bride, but Poppy shivered.  She pictured her life
stretching into a future marked only by the yearly bearing of children,
and the prospect dulled her enthusiasm for the house.  It was not what
she wanted at all.

She looked grand in her new dress, a sleeveless pinafore gown made of
lined black silk ninon with a square neck showing the blouse
underneath.  The hat with a curling feather which Ned had chosen for
her looked fine too, now that her bright hair was pinned up as befitted
a married woman.

Their wedding night was an awkward experience, no better than Poppy had
expected, and she wished for Ned's sake that it could have been
different.
Once the bedroom door was closed and she was alone with him she
desperately wanted to run home.  She didn't want to undress in front of
him but there was nowhere to go, and it didn't occur to him to leave
her until she was safely hidden under the covers.  For several minutes
she stood there, uncertain what to do.

"You'll get cold, love.  Best get undressed and into bed."

Ned took off his clothes and she hurriedly did the same, slipping into
her nightgown as quickly as she could while his back was turned.

It felt very strange to be sharinga bed with a man instead of her
sister. She kept rigidly still, fearing he might touch her.  It was the
first time she had been grateful for the child inside her, since it
protected her from her new husband's attentions, but it was small
comfort seeing as how it was the only reason she was here anyway.

For a long time they lay awake in the darkness and she was conscious
that the strain he was under equalled her own, though for the opposite
reason, and she felt sorry for him.  Ned had presumably been without a
woman for a few years, and now, if he was to keep his promise, there
was no pleasure in store for him having this one in his bed.

After a while he turned towards her and stretched out his arm.

"Put your head on my shoulder.  Poppy.  There's no harm can come from
that."

Timidly she did so and gradually the tension eased, but she knew the
effort it cost him to deny his natural instincts, and wondered how long
he would be able to do it.

And she couldn't help wondering, too, how it would have been if she had
married Joshua.

As the days went by Poppy found one of the hardest things to cope with
was Ned's mother's obstinate refusal to accept her.  She wouldn't let
Poppy do anything for three-year old Steven, who reacted typically.  He
clung to his grandmother's skirts and resisted all Poppy's attempts to
win him over.  She
seemed to think the kitchen was her 211 own private domain, never
allowing her new daughter-in- law to help with the cooking, though she
was quick enough to pile all the menial tasks on to her, jobs such as
seeing to the fires and the washing and scrubbing of floors.  There was
so much to do that Poppy rarely had time to go out.

Ned was hardly ever at home to see how his mother was upsetting her.

She tried to discuss it with him on one of the few nights he was
there.

"Aunt Jessie resents me, Ned.  I wish she didn't.  I really want to fit
in with her but she won't let me."

"She'll come round.  She's had the house to herself since Meg died so
it's only natural she likes to carry on like she's always done."

"She won't let me get to know Steven better, either.  I think she's
afraid I'll take him from her."

Ned invited her to snuggle against his shoulder like she had done the
first night they had shared the big double bed.  He'd only been there
with her twice in the three weeks they had been married.  The rest of
time he had been away at sea.  Likely he found it too frustrating.

"You're imagining things.  Of course me mother doesn't think you'll
take Steven.  Why should she?  Anyway you'll have a little one of your
own soon."

His hand was resting lightly on her waist and she could feel the warmth
through her flannel nightgown.  She made the mistake of letting it stay
there.  After a moment exploring fingers reached up between the buttons
and he tried to fondle one of her full breasts.  She shrank from him, a
plaintive mewing sound escaping her as she rolled to the edge of the
bed and lay with her back to him.

Ned didn't understand how it was with her and his mother.  He could
only see that the house was perfectly in order and she knew it was
useless to try broaching the subject again.  He would think she was
complaining about nothing, so the only thing to do was tackle the
problem herself.

She chose a time when Steven was asleep so that they wouldn't be
disturbed. Jessie Rain was making pastry, her hands busy in an
earthenware bowl, and particles of flour drifted around her already
grey head.

"Aunt Jessie, why are you so against me?"  Since childhood Poppy had
called her Aunt.  The term had come naturally when Jessie spent so much
time at the Ludlow house.

"I thought you would be glad Ned's married me.  We're all sort of
family."

The older woman pursed her mouth and didn't look up from what she was
doing.

"I might've been glad once."

Then why not now?  I'll make him a good wife, if only yuh'll let me. 
"

"You tricked him into marriage, that's what you did."  Jessie slapped
her hands together to shake off the flour and poured some water from a
jug into the centre of the mixture.

"Tricked him.  Poppy Ludlow.

You're bring inga bastard into this house and Ned'll have to pay for
it.  "

Poppy flushed.  Aunt Lizzie would have told her about the baby even if
Ned hadn't done so, and she'd had enough children of her own to know
anyway that her daughter-in-law had been pregnant weeks before the
wedding.  Poppy realized it was the main reason for Jessie's ill
humour.

"It's no fault of mine I'm expecting.  Yuh know right well what
happened." Her back ached and she straightened up to ease it.

"Besides, Ned asked me to marry him a long time ago so there's no need
to think he just did it out of the kindness of his heart."

"It were no kindness on your part when you accepted him."

"He loves me, Aunt Jessie."

"And do you love him?"

She hoped her hesitation wasn't noticeable.

"Of course I do.  I've always been real fond of Ned."

"Well yuh'd better be good to him.  Yuh'd never find a better husband,
so think yourself very lucky, my girl."

213 "Oh, I know I'm lucky."  There was a noise behind her and Poppy
turned to see Steven in the doorway, carrying the piece of blanket that
he always clutched for comfort.  Poppy bent down to the little boy and
held her arms out.  "Hello.  Have you had a nice sleep?"

He advanced timidly and it seemed he was going to respond to her for
the first time, but Jessie intervened.

"Come on, my lovely.  Come and see if Grandma can find you an apple."

Steven ran past Poppy as though she were something to avoid and nestled
against his grandmother's apron where the flour no doubt had a warm,
homely smell.  Poppy stood up again, untied the twill apron covering
the front of her own skirt and hung it on the back of the door.

"I'm going to see Tilda at the net-store," she said.

"If Ned comes home mebbe he'd like to come and meet me."

The bad feeling upset her and she was beginning to hate the house in
Newlyn Walk.  It would never be her home, not while Aunt Jessie was
there, and she wasn't going to spend all her time where she wasn't
wanted.

It was late afternoon and the air had the feel of frost in it.  A week
or two more and the home fishing would be over.  The gutting girls
would be packing their belongings and taking the train back to
Scotland, and Ned might spend more time ashore in the lead-up to
Christmas.  She hoped he wouldn't say he was going to Plymouth like
some of them did.  It was the place for getting real big herrings this
time of year, the kind London buyers liked, but surely he wouldn't need
to go round there after them himself when he had nigh on a dozen good
skippers working for him.

The cool air refreshed her, cleared her head and restored her humour.

Maw had warned her there would be a clash of wills over who should be
mistress of Ned's home, but the battle was only just beginning.  As
soon as Poppy settled in properly Jessie would find her son's wife was
not going to be walked over.  It just required a little time.

Poppy needn't have gone near Drago Street.  She could have reached the
store in ten minutes another way but her head was full of troublesome
thoughts and without planning it she found herself going the long way
round.  There were boys playing Jump Back against a wall, a crowd of
them climbing on four boys' backs and shouting "Bug-bug-toe,
Eee-aye-oh' until the tower collapsed amidst shouts of laughter.

Suddenly she felt old as they moved out of the way to let her pass.

Drago Street was where she had lost the remains of her childhood when
Grandfer died.  It was beginning to seem like years.

She looked back when she got to the bottom of the road and saw a tall
man in a tan jersey turning the corner.  It might or might not have
been Joshua. She didn't wait to see.  Just the thought that it could be
him made her legs feel they didn't belong to her, and she scurried away
with a fast-beating heart, realizing that she had been too complacent
when she'd told herself she could keep her feelings for Joshua Kerrick
well under control.  He was as much a danger to her now as he had
always been, if not more so, and she despised herself for the weakness
which had taken her down Drago Street. There could be no doubt that
subconsciously she had hoped to see him.

A few days later Jessie Rain gave Steven a bag of marbles which had
belonged to Ned.  Poppy was dismayed when she saw them.

"Don't you think he's too young to have marbles yet?"  She faced Jessie
as she was tipping them on to a tray for the child.

"What if he puts one in his mouth?  He could swallow it."

"Of course he won't swallow one.  He's not such a baby now."  Jessie
ruffled her grandson's fair curls.  He had hair exactly like Ned's and
it was easy to see he would grow up to be like his father.

"Yuh'll like playing with them, won't yuh, me dariin'?"

Steven was already intrigued and Poppy could see it would be no use
protesting further.  He played with the 215 marbles all the morning,
hitting them against each other the way he had seen older children
doing, and he held them up to his eye to look at the lovely colours. 
At bedtime he refused to be parted from his new treasures and took them
upstairs tied up in the bag so that he could play with them again first
thing in the morning.  Jessie tucked him in and left the door ajar as
she always did.

The evenings were long for Poppy.  Quite often Ned was at home for a
few hours during the day but went off to sea again before it was dark,
so there was nothing for her to do except sit by the fire with his
mother doing mending.  They settled down as usual that particular
evening to repair a sheet which needed turning sides to middle.

"Yuh loolt tired, girl."  Jessie's tone was kinder than it had been
since the wedding.  Certainly it was kinder than Poppy would have
expected it to be since their disagreement over the marbles.

"Mebbe you should go to bed early."

Poppy's sewing had dropped into her lap and her eyes were half closed
from boredom.

"Mebbe I should at that."

"Ned'll be home tomorrow for the weekend.  Likely he'll take you out
for a while."

"I'd like that.  We could take Steven."

Poppy's spirits lifted.  For the first time it sounded as if Aunt
Jessie cared, and it was amazing the difference it made.  A little
affection was all she wanted, and things seemed rosier at once.  Even
the ugly wallpaper in the back sitting room looked wanner and more
bearable.

Jessie went to the kitchen door.

"I'll make us some cocoa, then yuh can be getting upstairs."

"That's real kind of you.  Aunt Jessie."

Twenty minutes later Poppy said goodnight.  The gas light on the
landing was usually kept on to reassure Steven if he should wake, but
this evening Aunt Jessie had forgotten to light it.  When Poppy shut
the sitting room door it was dark so she had to feel her way up the
stairs, holding the banister rail.
Just before she reached the top step her feet skidded on some round,
hard objects which hurt her feet like pebbles, and she knew she had
trodden on a collection of glass marbles as she went tumbling backwards
down every one of the stairs she had just climbed.

The next time she opened her eyes someone was holding hand and it was
daylight.  A wintry sun was coming through the bedroom window and it
glinted on the gold signet ring Ned always wore on the little finger of
his left hand, like so many skippers.  There was a terrible pain in her
back and neck, and she couldn't remember what had happened to make her
feel so ill.

She opened her eyes wider and saw that Ned was sitting on a cane chair
beside the bed.  He was still wearing his old duffle trousers which
smelt of fish, and his stout canvas jumper was slung over the end of
the bed.

"Ned?"

He leaned over instantly.

"I'm here.  Poppy, love.  You're going to be all right.  No bones
broken. Just a lot of bruises."

"What did I do?"

"You must have caught your foot in the stair rod, though I don't know
how you could've done it."

She lay quiet.  There was pain in her foot as though she had sprained
it and she supposed it had happened when she caught it in the rod, but
when she managed to move it she recollected the feeling of treading on
something slippery that had shifted beneath her shoes.

Ned's son was screaming downstairs.

"What's the matter with Steven?"

The mother's taken away whatever it was he was playing with yesterday,
that's all.  Don't fret about what's going on downstairs.  I just want
you to hurry up and get well again.  "

Her hand was white.  It rested in Ned's like a cold, bloodless thing
and she felt too weak to flex her fingers in answer to the reassuring
pressure from his.  Then she remembered something clearly and tried to
raise her head.

217 "Ned, what about the baby?"

He caressed her temple.

"I'm afraid you've lost it.  The doctor was here best part of the night
but there was nothing he could do.  The fall brought on a
miscarriage."

Poppy closed her eyes again and for a few minutes she drifted into a
dreamlike state where relief washed over her like a soothing balm.

The result of Tom Kerrick's defilement of her was gone.

Then the strongest emotion she had ever known rose up from the depth of
her soul like some fire-breathing monster.  It burnt inside her body
and turned to bitterness in her mouth as she struggled for words to
express the terrible truth.

"It's all been for nothing, Ned."  Tears filled her eyes and scalded
her cheeks as if they were from a hot spring.  "Everything that's
happened since Tom Kerrick raped me has all been for nothing!"

PART TWO

1913 1914 On the first Saturday of June 1913 there was a big wedding
at St Martha's Church, Fenstowe.  Caroline Lea, the only child of
fleet-owner Nathaniel Lea, was marrying Joshua Kerrick.

There was plenty of gossip among the inquisitive women waiting outside
the church.  They had come early to see the guests arrive and were
still there when the first cords of music signalled that the newly
married couple would be walking down the aisle.

"To think he used to be a Marsh Village kid with no shoes."

"Bit of a difference between Drago Street and the Leas' grand house.

Reckon he's done all right for himself, moving in up there.  "

The organ notes swelled as the church doors opened.  Wedding guests
spilled out behind the bride and groom, the ladies in dresses as bright
as scattered flower petals, the men in top hats and posh suits which
must have been hired. The photographer already had his camera in
position to record the moment and was rounding up everyone for the
group picture like a sheepdog barking at his flock.  Mrs Caroline
Kerrick took hold other husband's arm and set a good example by
standing exactly where she was told.

The murmuring gathered strength.

"Dun't she look lovely?  That dress must have cost a bob or two." 
The
bride's dress was of white silk net over chiffon, embroidered on the
bodice and hem with silver beads.  It was short enough at the front to
show an inch of white silk stocking, but the back was draped from the
shoulders to form a train.  She wore a Juliet cap over her silvery fair
hair which was like a cloud of spun glass and almost indistinguishable
from the veil billowing down her back.

Not all the comments were complimentary.  Some were unkind.

"She must be thirty if she's a day."

"And I don't reckon Joshua Kerrick married her for love."

"Course he didn't.  She's years older than him.  Shame really, him
being so handsome an' all."  A little sigh went round.

"I bet he never thought he'd be dressed up in a frock coat and top hat
for his wedding picture."

The clothes made Joshua look a gentleman.  A grey frock coat with silk
lapels was unbuttoned to show a double-breasted waistcoat in a slightly
darker shade.  The stiff white collar made him keep his chin high, and
the grey silk top hat was tilted elegantly.  His hair was well groomed,
tapering neatly to his coat collar, and he had grown side burns which
were like smooth black brushes beside his ears.

The photographer had his head under the cloth and was gesticulating
with his hands.  The wedding party moved in closer and Joshua was
sandwiched between his bride and the small dark girl who was walking
out with his brother Hal.

"That's one of the Ludlow girls next to him.  I bet the oldest one
ain't here, the one what married Ned Rain.  That were a strange do, her
getting married in such a hurry right after Tom Kerrick got stabbed by
her father."

"Wonder where Tom Kerrick is now?  Funny do too, wun't it, him taking
off with a Scotch gutting girl the minute he was well enough?  Mebbe
Joshua
didn't want him around once he'd got in with the Leas."  The scandal
was two years old but it still made good food for gossip and it was
talked over greedily for several minutes.

"Pity poor Clara ain't alive to see what her son's made of himself."

"Taken bad with pneumonia last winter weren't she?"

"Right after the daughter married a man from Devon and went off down
there to live."

One photographic plate was exposed and the wedding group fidgeted while
another was being fitted.  The bride's family separated from the
bridegroom's, but friends who gathered round to offer congratulations
made it less noticeable.  An older couple came forward to shake them by
the hand, the woman in a wide hat decorated with so many flowers she
looked top-heavy, the man carry inga bowler.

Anxious to identify everyone, the waiting women chattered on.

"That's Lizzie Johnson, Lizzie Ludlow that was.  Fancy them getting an
invite."  The Johnsons linked arms and moved out of sight again so that
the second plate could be exposed.

"She altered once her old mother died, I must say.  Upped and married
the lodger before the old girl was hardly cold.  Didn't do too bad for
herself though, even if he is a foreigner."

The sun shone down brightly that June day, warning the female guests
who clustered round in their flimsy dresses like pastel flowers.  It
touched upon the bride with equal intensity but the beauty it
illuminated glistened like an exquisite icicle which was out of place
among the summer blooms.

An open carriage drew up to take the bridal couple off to a reception
at the Royal Mariner, the largest hotel in Fenstowe and known only as
the Mariner until King Edward had stayed there for a night.  Caroline
put up a white silk parasol as they were driven away and she smiled at
the onlookers as if she were royalty herself.

Once they were away from the gate and bowling along towards the
promenade she turned to her husband.

"I've 223 had something on my mind to say to you, Joshua, and now
seems the best time."  Her violet eyes rested on him possessively.

"I'm the last of the Leas and when my father dies his fleet, the house
and everything else will be left to me, so I think it would be
appropriate if we keep his surname.  I should like to be known as Mrs
Kerrick-Lea."

Joshua took her white-gloved hand in his and carried it to his lips.

His smile was irresistible as he concentrated exclusively on his new
wife. His tone permitted no contradiction when he answered her.

"My dear Caroline, the name Kerrick has always been good enough for me,
so I'm afraid it will have to be good enough for you."

The room reserved for the wedding party at the Royal Mariner faced the
sea. It had arched windows opening on to a balcony and was so light it
gave the impression of a huge conservatory, especially as potted palms
graced every otherwise free space.  Tables covered with stiff white
linen cloths were set with initialled silver cutlery, bone china and
cut glass, and a five-piece orchestra played softly on a dais at the
back.

Lizzie Johnson took off her gloves and fingered the linen with
approval.  It was best quality, no doubt of it, and she hoped it
wouldn't get stained with wine.  She was longing for a cup of tea
herself and was glad to see there were cups and saucers as well as
glasses.

She was not quite sure where to go.  People were standing around
talking and no one was sitting at the tables yet.  Morris was across
the room holding the attention of a group of skippers and she wished,
not for the first time, that he was not quite so popular.  Everyone got
on well with Morris Johnson and she sometimes wondered whether he
forgot he had a wife.  He had struck up a particular friendship with
Nathaniel Lea, which was why they had been invited to the wedding.

"I wonder whether your husband would be so much in demand if he was
English instead of American, Mrs Johnson."  Lizzie turned to find Mr
Lea at her side.

"He makes fishing in the State of Maine sound like something from a
novel. Everyone enjoys listening to him."

"I'm sure it's just as hard for the women where he came from."

"You sound as if you've heard it all before."

"I have."  She gave a knowing smile but it didn't extend to her eyes.

"It was a lovely wedding, Mr Lea.  Yer daughter looks beautiful."

Nathaniel glanced over to the main table where the bride and groom were
holding court and his expression was too complicated to read.

"I always said she was too good for him, but he's turning out better
than I thought.  They're both ambitious, so I suppose I must be
grateful."

"They make a fine couple," Lizzie said.  She had to keep looking at
Joshua to convince herself he was really Tom Kerrick's son, and she
wondered what Nathaniel Lea would say if she told him the boy ought to
have been hers.

She thought it best to stay near the door and after a few minutes
Morris joined her.  She'd made him buy a new suit for the occasion and
he looked nice in it, quite slim against Nathaniel Lea who was on the
short side and portly with it.

An immaculate waitress in a black dress and starched white apron came
to them with a tray of sherry glasses.

"Bit different to our little wedding, I'd say."  Morris took two
glasses of sherry and handed one to Lizzie.  Even now she was
fascinated by his accent.

"But I'll bet Joshua's no more proud of his bride than I am of mine."

"After two years I'm hardly a bride."

"I love you.  Lizzie.  You'll always be my bride."

With a silver tongue like that how could he help making friends?  She
knew she was lucky and it gave her satisfaction to know that she was
envied.  No one had thought a spinster of her age could catch a man at
all, let alone one as presentable as Morris.

225 She was still standing by the door ten minutes later.  The sherry
had loosened tongues and there was so much noise in the room that no
one except Lizzie noticed when an uninvited guest arrived.  He came in
and moved furtively towards the shelter of the nearest potted palm,
hiding behind it as if he had at last found refuge.  Lizzie quivered
with apprehension and wondered how he had managed to get this far
without being stopped.  Then she looked at the figure in a worn jacket
and shabby duffle trousers and realized with a terrible shock that it
was Tom Kerrick.

He had altered greatly.  His face was gaunt, his body much thinner, and
his eyes had a hooded look they had never had before.  His thick hair
had turned completely white, at first glance making him look like a man
in his sixties rather than forty-eight but the whiteness was so
arresting it made him better-looking than he had ever been and she saw
that even the thinness suited him.

He was too busy staring between the palm leaves to care who was near.

Lizzie let him be for a minute and kept an eye out for anyone else
likely to see the dishevelled figure.  Her heart was racing and her
stomach felt as if it wouldn't cope with all the fancy food she'd been
so looking forward to. It was the first time she'd had a sight of him
since that day he'd been lying unconscious at the Victoria Hospital.

When the smell of him wafted over she decided it was time to let him
know she was there.

"What are you doing here, Tom?"

He turned his head sharply and it took a second or two for him to
recognize her.  The orchestra was playing pleasant music from one of
the new musical shows in London, lively enough to cover a surreptitious
conversation, and Tom grunted the way he had always done when anything
displeased him.

"A man's got a right to be at his son's wedding.  I couldn't believe
Joshua was marrying Nathaniel Lea's cold-hearted bitch of a daughter.

I had to come and see for me self "

"Well now you've seen I reckon we should go and find somewhere to
talk, eh, Tom?"  She took hold of his arm tentatively above the elbow
and was relieved to feel strong muscles still bulging beneath the
threadbare material.  He might be thinner but the muscles proved he
wasn't idle.

"I might ask you the same question.  Lizzie Ludlow.  What're you doing
here?"

The name's not Ludlow any more.  I'm Mrs Morris Johnson.  "

The hooded eyes seemed to sink back a little deeper but he didn't ask
when or why she had changed her status.  He shook her hand from his arm
and glanced round at the elaborate wedding party.

"Married money, that's what he's done.  Got himself tied up with a pile
of cash that'll fire his blood more than that woman'll ever do.  But he
ain't getting away with it all."

To Lizzie's horror Tom stepped out from his hiding place and elbowed
his way through the wedding guests, who stood aside hastily as soon as
they caught the stink of fish on his clothes.  He made straight for the
top table.  When he was level with the bridegroom he stopped, facing
him across pristine linen and costly glass.

"Ashamed to invite yer father to the wedding were you, Joshua?  Well
I've come anyway and I want to know what share I'm getting of the
marriage settlement since you wouldn't be standing there now like a
tailor's dummy if you hadn't pinched my boat to start lining yer
pockets."

The whole room became quiet.  It wasn't that Tom's voice had been extra
loud. On the contrary, the words had been delivered with a certain
dignity, but the feel of trouble spread outwards from the spot where he
had dropped a brick into the calm celebratory water.

Joshua didn't appear to lose any of his composure.  He took a sip of
sherry and placed his glass on the table.

"What a surprise, Fa.  If we'd known where you are living you would've
had an invitation the same as everyone else."

227 Hah!  "

"And as for any matter of settlements, I think that's something we
should talk about privately."

"Pinched me boat yuh did when I was too ill to know what was going on,
and sold it along with yer soul!"

Nathaniel Lea came and stood beside his daughter.  His face was very
red and his stiff collar appeared to be nearly choking him.

"Get out of here, Kerrick, before I call the authorities to have you
thrown out.  I'll have you reported for causinga disturbance like
this."

Someone else joined the group.  Lizzie had seen Hal Kerrick's look of
amazement when Tom appeared and she wondered what his reaction was
going to be.  She didn't have to wait long to find out that he didn't
share Joshua's leniency.  He was full of resentment as he faced the
older man, his features set in an expression which could have belonged
to Clara.

"What d'yuh mean by coming here, putting us to shame, Fa?  Yuh're
nothing to us.  Nothing."

"Wait!  You and Maw turned him out, Hal, I didn't."  Joshua beckoned a
waitress over.

"Please find a place for my father.  He's staying.  Have a sherry,
Fa?"

"I don't drink any more."

Caroline's gentle smile slipped and she stepped into the arena with
cool authority.

"Joshua, you can't do this."

"Oh, but I can," said Joshua.

"I'm not ashamed of my family."

"Tom Kerrick will not sit at this table," said Nathaniel.  "He's no
right to be here without an invitation from my daughter, and as I'm
paying for this reception I order him to leave."

Lizzie edged forward, not wanting to get involved but anxious not to
miss a single word.  She was pleased with the way Tom stood there, tall
and proud in spite of his clothes, and her feelings for him were as
strong as ever. Morris returned to her side but he seemed like a
stranger.

"He stays."  Joshua took hold of his wife's hand and drew her closer
to his side, effectively removing her from Nathaniel's influence, then
he addressed the assembled guests.

"My father's right.  Without his boat none of this would have been
possible, though I deny taking it under false pretences.  It was all
done legally and with his knowledge, whether he says so or not."  He
turned to Caroline and that smile which was like sunlight fell upon
her, warning the pale cheeks.

"Without me father's help I would never have won such a beautiful
bride, so I think he should be guest of honour, don't you, my love?"

Caroline was saved the embarrassment of answering.  Tom did it for
her.

"I won't be patronized.  Nor will I sit at yer table, boy.  But I'll
see I get what's due to me soon enough."

A path was cleared for him as he made for the exit and he strode away
without glancing either to right or left.

Lizzie wished she could go with him.  She was happy enough now that she
had the house in Manor Road and a husband who provided for her, but
there was a part other which would always secretly cry out for Tom. 
Yet presumably that other woman had stayed in his life, the
Scotsgutting girl he had disappeared with so suddenly not long after
he'd left hospital still weak from the stabbing.

Morris's hair was getting sparse these days now that the tangled grey
main had been cut and tamed.  He looked so different from the other men
in the room, and Lizzie had several misgivings.  Perhaps she should
have let him keep his individuality and not insisted that he conform to
Fenstowe standards when he married her.  For all her uppity manners and
intelligence Caroline Lea was never going to be able to fit her new
husband into a mould of her own making, any more than Tom would have
allowed his tastes, good or bad, to be altered by a woman.  No, Moms
was not the man she had thought he was when he first entered the house,
and she never minded him being away at sea.

"So that's Tom Kerrick, is it?"  Morris watched the 229 departing
figure though fully Lizzie had forgotten that the two men had never
met.

"That's right."  She straightened her hat and composed her face
carefully, then told him what he already knew.  He's me half-brother. 
"

Perhaps she stated the fact more as a reminder to herself that she must
never think of Tom in any other way.

The weather changed soon after the wedding party arrived at the Royal
Mariner and by early afternoon it was quite overcast, yet children
still played happily on the golden sands of the south beach.  The sea
had a way with children, canning them, amusing them, soothing them more
efficiently than the most devoted nanny, and no mother was anxious to
dispense with its services sooner than necessary.  Small boys in sailor
suits pulled model yachts along the edge of the water and small girls
showed their drawers as they hoisted up their skirts to keep them dry
while they paddled.  Some were on holiday and had never seen the sea
before, but others were luckier and took the sea for granted.

Poppy Rain was sitting with her children on a patch of sand not far
from the hotel that warm summer afternoon, but they had only part other
attention. She had told Aunt Jessie she was taking nineteen-month-old
Daniel down to see the longshore boats.  They were lined up at anchor
in shallow water, each dressed with bunting and weighed down with old
sea salts who were waiting to whistle greetings to the newly married
couple when they left the hotel.

Daniel loved the boats.  He wanted to toddle down to the water's edge,
and Poppy had a job to keep an eye on him.

It was foolish to have come.  The reason might have sounded all right
to Jessie, but Poppy couldn't delude herself.  She was sitting with her
back against the wheel of a bathing machine while Nancy, who was just
three
months, slept in the high perambulator beside her, and from there she
could see the main hotel entrance.  Curiosity was an aggravating thing.
 It had to be appeased and she couldn't have stayed at home on the day
Joshua Kerrick got married.  But neither could she have stood outside
the church where he might see her.  She scooped up a handful of fine
sand and it sifted through her fingers like dust, blowing away on the
breeze just as any sentiment that remained for Joshua should have
done.

She rarely saw him now.  When he wasn't away at sea he was busy adding
to his wealth, which Caroline managed very successfully.  The strange
partnership had caused tongues to wag around the harbour, but not for
long.  He'd soon earned respect.  With his father out of the way there
was no constant reminder of his background so he could be judged on his
own capabilities. Besides, Nathaniel Lea was influential and if he
approved of Joshua Kerrick, who would dare to speak against him?

There was only one raised voice.  Ned Rain had no time for him and was
not afraid to show it.

"I'd swear Josh Kerrick wants to get the better of me.  God knows
why."

Poppy had heard the complaint many times.  Her husband had lost out to
Joshua on several deals and was angry, but if he suspected it had
anything to do with the Ludlow connection he kept quiet about it.  She
had never told Ned that Joshua had once asked her to marry him.  She
hated the Kerrick name to be brought into any conversation.  There was
no room for it in her domestic routine and she tried to banish thoughts
of the past from her mind.  Today she had woken up feeling certain that
Joshua's marriage would at last rid her of any lingering fascination,
and she had come to the beach to see for herself that he now belonged
entirely to the Leas.

"Mama.  Boats."  Daniel tugged at her skirt and pointed towards the
gently rocking vessel so close inshore.  He had red hair.  With Ned's
approval she had named him after her father, but he bore no likeness to
Clan.  He was
sturdy 231 and strong-willed, showing an interest already in the sea
which gave his father a living, and Poppy idolized him.

She had fallen pregnant with Daniel so soon after her miscarriage it
had seemed almost like a continuation, and at the start it had been
difficult to think of the coming baby differently.  Being strong and
healthy her body had j seemed to recover quickly from the trauma of
losing one, and Ned had been impatient to claim his rights as a
husband.  It had taken all her courage to endure it, the spectre of Tom
Kerrick's brutality robbing her of the slightest chance of pleasure,
and she had held herself so rigid it was a wonder poor Ned had any
satisfaction at all.  When she had found out she was pregnant again
she'd cried for a whole night, sobbing into her pillow while Ned was at
sea.  It wasn't that she didn't want the child.  She would just have
liked a little time to elapse before it was conceived.

Maybe it was the lack of adjustment time which made the pregnancy so
difficult for her.  She hardly ever felt well while she was expecting
Daniel and when he was born at last she was too weak even to look at
him for a whole day.  She was conscious other mother and Aunt Jessie
talking in whispers but she hadn't had the strength to open her eyes
until Ned came home.

"Poppy, love, we've got the most beautiful boy you ever saw.  Take a
look at him.  He's just like you and I'm right proud."

Ned had talked to her quietly, holding the baby all the time, and she
had finally opened her eyes to see a reddish gold light against the
navy blue of his sleeve, and smiled as she realized their son had hair
the colour of her own.  From that moment love for the baby had flooded
through her, releasing emotions which had lain dormant since she had
first held her sister Violet.

Daniel was only seven months old when Nancy was conceived, and once
again Poppy cried into her pillow.  Her life was falling into just the
pattern she
had foreseen, and she wanted to rebel against it.  She was capable of
more than just bearing children.  She wanted to be an individual, a
woman more like Caroline Lea who could run a business.

Now Caroline Lea was married and would soon have Joshua's babies, no
doubt. Poppy forced back a stab of envy and concentrated on her own
two.  Nancy was decidedly Ned's child.  She was as fair as a cherub and
so contented she delighted everyone.  No use tormenting herself
wondering what Joshua's children would be like.

Poppy picked up Daniel and walked a few steps towards the boats.  He
bounced about with excitement and chattered in his unintelligible
fashion.

"When you're a big boy you'll go out in the boats with your Fa."  The
silky curls mingled with wisps of her own hair which escaped from the
knot on top of her head, and the colour was so similar it was almost
indistinguishable. She pressed her face against his.

"I reckon you'll make us real proud of you one of these days."

She turned to look at the perambulator, but instead she caught sight of
someone hurriedly leaving the Royal Mariner and though he was not
immediately familiar her heart gave a sudden lurch.  He was tall and
thin, with white hair, and he wasn't dressed for staying at the hotel. 
Poppy stared.  She saw the black fisherman's wrapper at his neck, the
big hands hanging from the worn sleeves, and though his appearance had
changed she knew he was the man who had once raped her.

Tom Kerrick was back.

While she watched he glared up at the windows with the fancy iron
balcony above the main entrance and he looked so angry she guessed he
must have been thrown out of the wedding reception.  She felt nausea
rising in a bitter tide through her body and in spite of the warm air
she was colder than on the worst day of winter.  It was the first time
she had set eyes on him since he had attacked her on board the Night
Queen, and the horror of it returned as if it had been yesterday.

233 There had been a woman standing around on the other side of the
road for twenty minutes or more.  Poppy had noticed her there every
time she glanced up.  She didn't recognize her as anyone who lived in
Fenstowe, but she wasn't dressed like a holiday maker either.  Her hat
was unfashionably large, even by Fenstowe standards, and her brown
serge coat had seen better days, but she held herself proudly, her
hands clenched at her sides with a hint of aggression, as if she had
given an order and was waiting to be obeyed.  Poppy had been intrigued
to know why she was waiting so patiently.  In another few seconds she
had the answer.

Tom Kerrick went straight up to the woman and took hold of her arm,
then they both set off towards the town at an angry pace.  So that was
the Scots girl he had taken for his mistress.  Poppy gasped at his
audacity.  She wished she'd been able to get a better look but what
she'd seen had been enough to show her that this woman was nothing like
Clara.

Daniel's little feet kicked her stomach and she was afraid she was
going to be sick, but the fear passed.  She cuddled the child closer
and kept talking to him to try to calm herself.  After all this time it
was ridiculous to get so upset, but she had never expected to see Tom
Kerrick again and the shock had drained her.

After a minute she began to feel better.  There was no one near the
hotel now and the entrance looked so innocent she told herself her
imagination had been playing tricks.  Perhaps it hadn't been Tom
Kerrick after all.  It was true the man hadn't looked quite the same as
she remembered him, but her reaction had been instinctive.

Whether he looked the same or not her inner sense had recognized him
and all the old feelings of revulsion had come flooding back.

The next thing that happened was almost as unnerving to Poppy.  The
french window on to the iron balcony opened and someone stepped out.

Joshua in a grey frock coat looked strikingly handsome, but no more so
than he did in a tan jersey.  His black hair showed up like a blot of
ink against the white wall and the set of his shoulders was
unmistakable as he went to the edge of the balcony and leaned over to
look along the promenade.

There could only be one person he was looking for, but he would be
unlucky. His father had disappeared again.

Poppy's eyes were riveted on him.  She saw the light glint on a new
gold ring on his left hand as he gripped the ironwork, and his wing
collar was a dazzling white against his weathered skin.  There was
nothing rough or boyish about Joshua now.  His self-confidence had
grown with maturity and he had acquired a new arrogance which showed
even in the way he moved his head.

As if sensing her scrutiny he turned to look in her direction and she
was trapped in a net of her own making, for now she couldn't escape
being seen. She was standing alone on the patch of sand, the boy in her
arms and no one else within yards.  He had caught her watching him and
the colour which had drained away from her face came flooding back in a
stain of crimson.  Across the distance she knew that his dark eyes were
on her and she couldn't move. The visual contact was too strong to
break and she swayed forward fractionally as if he were trying to pull
her towards him.

The clock was turned back.  She was transported to a moment when their
roles had been reversed and Joshua had stood in the net-store yard
looking up at her.  Even then he had been able to hold her captive with
his eyes.  She remembered how uncomfortable he had made her feel.

Daniel cried.  She was gripping him too hard and he wanted to get down
so she stooped to set him on his feet, but still she looked at the man
on the balcony.  He hadn't permitted her to do otherwise.  There was a
roaring in her ears which drowned every other sound except a hard
insistent voice reminding her of how she had once taunted him.

235 "Do I look like a nobody now.  Poppy Ludlow?"  It was as if he had
asked the question aloud.

At last he turned away and no hint of a smile had lightened the
tension.  She was left standing on the beach without any support and
she felt as weak as she had done when she first got out of bed after
Nancy was born.

Joshua Kerrick went back inside to join his bride.

When she looked round she couldn't see Daniel and she had to refocus
her eyes before she could scan the shore.  He was down by the water,
his little feet already wet as he started to wade towards one of the
longshore boats.  Poppy rushed after him.  She caught hold of his hand
and drew him back to safety, then stood a moment absorbing the familiar
sights until normality returned.

As far as she could see along the shore there were waves breaking,
brown-grey hummocks rolling incessantly and singing strange rasping
songs as they curled up and over in long tongues of foam to lick at the
pier's throat.

"Aaah," sang the sea, 'aaah, there's rain coming.  That'll dampen your
ardour.  "

"Joshua, where are you going?"

Caroline's voice rose in dismay as Joshua jumped down from the carriage
at the top of Cooper Street and left her sitting alone in her wedding
gown behind the driver.

"I've business to attend to before I come home with you.  It's best I
do it now."

"Joshua!"

She stood to try to stop him but the carriage moved off again and she
fell back in the seat next to his discarded top hat, her veil billowing
out in the rising wind like a beautiful sail.

Joshua gave a casual wave and set off down the street, his clothes
becoming more conspicuous the further he travelled.  It had been dry
for some time and a water sprinkler was at work to keep the dust down. 
He dodged round a cart
at the roadside so as not to get splashed and almost tripped over a
bicycle. Cooper Street was always busy.  The afternoon had merged into
evening and Tomkins, the butcher, was taking in meat carcasses that had
been hanging outside his shop.

"What's the hurry.  Josh?  Runningaway from yer bride already?"  The
butcher laughed as he shouldered a heavy carcass which added another
dark red stain to his striped apron.

"There's a little matter to see to that won't wait."

"Not a woman I hop el The laughter followed him as he dashed on, his
frock coat flying open and the wing collar coming loose.  There were
women coming out of the hardware store where buckets and brushes
cluttered the pavement and they looked at him in surprise.  So did the
man with the barrow who sharpened scissors.

He turned into Fleetwood Road where it was quieter, and made better
progress. There was only one place his father was going to be and that
was at home in Drago Street.

The old devil had sure got his timing right for creatinga scene.

Joshua's first instinct had been to laugh when he looked round and saw
Tom standing by the wedding cake with a kind of dishevelled dignity
which had to be admired even though it offended the guests.

It had required courage, or blatant cheek, to make an entrance like
that. But he wasn't going to get away with it.  Josh had defended him
in front of the Leas, who had banished the few Kerricks guests to a
table as far away from the main table as possible, but there had to be
a reckoning.  Having worked hard to better himself, Joshua was not
risking any interference from his errant father.  Not that any
contracts could be broken now.  He had secured his bond with the Leas
by marrying Caroline, but it would be just as well not to start married
life under the shadow of past indiscretions.  The thing to be most
thankful for was that Tom hadn't arrived yesterday.

237 By the time he reached the cobbled alley leading down to Drago
Street his pale grey trousers were coated with dust.  He ran down the
steps two at a time.  With a bride waiting for him he didn't want his
visit to take longer than necessary, and haste was important.  There
was washing strung out across the upper end of the street and he had to
dodge underneath a lineful of calico jumpers that would be wanted by
morning when the fleet left for the summer voyage to the Shetlands.

He was leaving with it himself, which was another reason why he wanted
everything straightened out.

Fanny Jarrett from the third house was coming up the street with cake
mix in a tin and tuppence in her hand to pay for the baker to cook it
for her, just as she did every Saturday evening, not having an oven
other own.  Joshua had sometimes taken it for her when he was a boy and
he remembered the smell of the fat skimmed off a marrow bone she used
to mix with flour and sugar and currants.  Caroline would have turned
her nose up at that.

Fanny's eyes opened wide when she saw him.

"Joshua, this ain't the place for you any more, specially in them fancy
clothes."  She balanced the cloth-covered tin against her ample bosom
and leaned forward confidentially.

"Yer father's back, and he ain't alone.  I reckon poor Clara's turning
in her grave."

"Thanks for telling me," said Joshua.  He lifted a corner of the cloth
and peeped at the mixture.

"Ought to have got you to make the wedding cake.  Fanny."

"Go on with you!"

Joshua walked into the house he had left that morning with the
intention of never returning.  He had stayed in it after Maw died
because it was convenient when he was ashore, and his sister Gwendolen
had done his washing. But now, with Gwen married, he'd been expecting
Hal to live there alone.

Tom Kerrick was eat inga plateful of red herring and swede.  The smell
of it
was heavy in the small, hot room and Joshua knew it would cling
unpleasantly to the fine cloth of his frock coat.  For the second time
that day the two men looked at each other across the table and the air
was charged with the tension of unfinished argument.

Tom put down his fork.

"Glad you've come, boy.  There's things to be said and no time like the
present for saying them.  Though I'm surprised yuh thought them more
important than yer bridal bed."

The gaunt look suited him.  There was no belly now to hang over the top
of his trousers and though the skin round his neck sagged a bit his
chin was firm.  He looked fit, Joshua decided, which was more than
Nathaniel Lea did with his excess weight and florid complexion.  Come
to that he looked happier, too.

"What made you suddenly think I cheated you, Fa?  Make it quick.  I
don't aim to stay longer than I can help."

"Well yuh did, didn't you?"

"You know that's not true."

There was a sound of a privy door slamming out in the yard and a young
woman came in through the back.  She wasn't any older than Caroline. 
It was more than two years since Joshua had seen her and he had to
admit she was not bad-looking now that she had smartened herself up. 
Her hair was brown and glossy, done in plaits which were coiled round
her head, and though she had the brown skin of someone who worked
outdoors it was still soft and unlined. Her full lips became
uncharitably firm when she saw Joshua.

Tom stood up.

"Flora, you remember me oldest son?"

"Aye, I do.  I remember him well.  Took advantage of you, did he
not?"

Her voice was soft with a rounded Scottish accent but there was no
mistaking the implacable undertone.  She put one of her big capable
hands on Tom's shoulder with affection, but her eyes were stone-hard as
they rested on Joshua.

"We've come to claim your father's share of the profits you've made
from the sale of his boat."

Joshua met her eyes full on so that she would know he'd 239 no
intention of being intimidated, then he questioned his father.

"Have you married her?"

"No."

"Then why let her speak for you?"

Tom pushed aside the half-finished plate of red herrings, and bones
scattered over the un scrubbed wooded table.

"She's only repeating what I've already said.  The Night Queen was mine
and you sold it when I was too ill to think straight.  Seems to me
you've done very nicely at my expense and now I want me share seeing as
how we're moving back here.  I want enough money to take Flora
somewhere better than Drago Street."

Now Josh knew what the change was in Tom.  With a strong woman behind
him he'd found confidence.  He'd stepped out of the shell of oppression
at long last, but that didn't mean he could play sly tricks.  Joshua
pulled out a chair which wobbled on uneven legs as he sat down.

"Fa, I made a deal with you.  What's more I had it put in writing after
you said I should take charge of everything.  The Night Queen was never
sold.  It went into the partnership I formed with Caroline, and you had
a sum of money we agreed upon, relinquishing your claim to it.  I never
asked what you did with the money but I imagine it paid for you to
leave Maw and go off to Scotland with Flora McLinhie.

Not too ill to do that, were you?  "

"You cheated me."

"It was all done fair."

"We can take the matter to court and have it proved that you made your
father sign papers when he was incapable of knowing what was involved."
 Flora threw out the challenge boldly.

"I won't be threatened.  And I won't discuss business with a gutting
girl. This is between my father and me, so keep out of it."

"Yuh'll not speak to Flora like that."

"I'll speak to her how I like since you're only living in sin.  If
you'd married her mebbe I'd show more respect."

It was a tense moment but Flora had some consideration after all, no
doubt knowing that nothing would be gained without a change of
attitude.

"I'll away upstairs and inspect the bed."  Her skirt brushed against
Joshua as she passed him to get to the stairs.

"Stick out for your rights though, Tom.

Alone now the two men faced each other warily, the two-year gap in
their knowledge of each other stretching between them like a chasm.

It was Joshua who decided to bridge it.

"I thought you would've come back when Maw died."

"I didn't know she was dead for months, but I wouldn't have come
anyway.  The bitch turned me out."

"Mebbe you deserved it."

"Mebbe I did.  She didn't know about the money from the Night Queen or
she wouldn't have been so hasty."

Flora's footsteps thudded across the floor above and it sounded as if
she was trying to open a window.  Joshua expected to hear the glass
fall out of the frame.

"I'll tell you what I'll do about the Night Queen."  He stood up and
leaned on the table.

"I'll have her made over to you again.  That'll more than settle any
debts and even the score.  Will that do?"

"Yuh've had nigh on three years' use out other and you ask if it'll
do!"

"And you had money out of me at the start.  She's been converted, same
as the Sarah Star was, and she's still a good vessel, one of the best. 
I'm sailing tomorrow but I'll sign a paper before I go saying the Night
Queen now belongs to you.  Shake on it Fa."

He extended his hand and after a moment his father took it.  He could
feel callouses like sandpaper against his palms.

"Aye, I'll shake on it then," said Tom, and there was an echo of
Flora's accent in his gruff tone.

"I'm being more than fair to you, you can't deny it."  Joshua began
buttoning
his coat as a sign the visit was 241 over.

"There's one more thing.  I don't want you coming near me, or my wife,
ever again.  I don't know what Hal intends to do but as far as I'm
concerned you never came back.  Understood?

He didn't wait long enough for further argument.  He walked away from
the house with the fervent hope that he would never have to set foot in
Drago Street again.

It was getting dark early and the clouds were weighted down with
moisture, so over-ripe with rain they had turned black.  When Joshua
finally arrived at the Lea house on the cliff, which was now to be his
home, he found the front door locked against him.  Millie, the
housemaid, let him in, her manner coldly polite as it always was when
she had to speak to him.

"The mistress has gone up to her room, and the master wants to see you
in the sitting room."

Joshua walked past her and went into the room where he had first met
his wife.  He heard a grunting sound, as if pigs were loose, and found
his new father-in-law stretched out on the sofa, sleeping off the
excess of champagne which had made his face as red as a cock's comb.

He stood over him a moment, waiting to see whether he was capable of
conversing, decided he was not, and turned away.  Nathaniel's hat was
on the floor.  He picked it up and laid it on his chest before leaving
the room and making for the staircase.

The upper part of the Lea house was new to him and he had no idea which
room he would be sharing with Caroline.  He looked up when he got to
the foot of the stairs and saw her waiting for him at the top, still in
her wedding dress but without the veil.  The bead embroidery glinted. 
There was a red-patterned paper like plush on the walls and the light
picked up the colour so that everything else was tinged with a crimson
glow.  It touched Caroline's hair and made it look red.

Joshua stared at her, caught up in a piece of innocent deception which
played
havoc with his emotions.  For one ecstatic moment he imagined she was
Poppy, and he bounded up the carpeted stairs towards her with
exceptional eagerness.

Caroline stood perfectly still, so composed she might have been one of
the Parian marble figures that graced the reception lounge of the Royal
Mariner Hotel.

"How dare you humiliate me like that, Joshua.  Leaving me to come home
alone straight after our wedding!  It was cruel."

"I had to see my father.  I had to, Caro.  I couldn't sail tomorrow
knowing he might come round here pestering you.  I've made sure now
that he won't."

"How?"

"I've given him back the Night Queen."

"Without my permission?  We'll talk about that later."

"Much later."  Joshua came up to her and touched her hair which was
like spun glass, slipping his fingers into the density of it and trying
to forget it had appeared to be red.  "Which is our room?"

Caroline moved her head to dislodge his hand and walked a few paces
along the landing to where two doors were facing.  She indicated the
one on the right which was slightly ajar.

"This is my room.  I've decided the one opposite will be yours. 
Goodnight, Joshua."

He spun her round before she could touch the door handle.  His dark
eyes suddenly blazed and he was in a high temper.

"Oh, no!  That's not the way it's going to be."  He swung her up into
his arms, ignoring her cry of protest, and kicked the door open with
his foot. Once inside he closed it similarly and strode over to the bed
with his reluctant bride, setting her down on it without any
gentleness.

"I'll show you what I expect on our wedding night."

He turned her over so that he could drag the buttons free of the loops
at the back of her dress and managed to get her out of it in spite of
her struggles. She didn't make another sound but a blow from her
flailing limbs made him
wince.  Having succeeded in partially undressing her he 243 then
peeled off his coat and shirt and threw himself beside her on the bed,
taking hold of her so forcefully she could no longer struggle.  He held
her face and brought his mouth on hers, kissing her for the very first
time.  Their courtship had been conducted along the same lines as their
business partnership and until now there had been no physical contact
at all.

She couldn't possibly avoid the pressure of his mouth.  He was kissing
her with all the ferocity that had exploded when she had threatened to
deny him his rights, and the feel of her body beneath his had an
instant effect.  He moved to undo his trousers, then stopped
abruptly.

What he was doing was wrong.  He was behaving just as his father had
once done, and he had condemned him for that without mercy.  Joshua had
been about to rape his wife.

He drew away from her, allowing her to roll free, and his face was as
white as the silk chemise and petticoats she wore.

"Caro, I'm sorry.  I'd no right to treat you like that.  I'll sleep
across the landing tonight if that's what you want and we'll start our
marriage afresh when I get back from the Shetlands.  We'll have that
honeymoon in London, I promise you."  She was lying on her back, her
silvery hair spread out across the lavender-scented white pillows.  Her
arms were pale, her hands fluttering now like white doves that didn't
know where to settle, and he thought she was afraid.

"You don't have to be frightened of me.  I won't make any demands.  Say
you forgive me."

"Forgive you!"  She lifted her head and the violet eyes were gradually
hidden beneath lids which had become heavy.  She slipped the straps of
her chemise off her shoulders until the silk rippled down towards her
waist and her breasts were bare, small, beautifully formed breasts with
tiny nipples as pretty as rosebuds.  He thought he must be dreaming.

"I wanted to punish you, Joshua, but I would have been punishing myself
as
well.  For weeks and months I've been longing for this night and it'll
be all the better for fighting beforehand.  Kiss me again."

She stretched out the pale hands and they touched his skin with such
unexpected strength he had no choice.  He did as she asked, then began
to remove the rest of her clothes, his amazement well hidden beneath
the response she induced.  She allowed him to draw the silk stockings
from her slender legs, pointing her toes voluptuously, and she arched
her back to make it easier for the petticoats to be peeled away.  When
she was lying there in only her white silk knickers which were more
daring than any he had ever visualized, he began to wonder if indeed
she were a virgin.

She was impatient.  Her fingernails raked through the black hair
covering his chest, dragging downwards to where it shadowed his
stomach, and she swiftly undid the buttons of his trousers so that she
could investigate further.  Her alabaster skin was no longer cool.

Joshua slipped the knickers down over her feet and saw how beautiful
she was naked.  Her body was perfectly proportioned from her graceful
neck down to her narrow feet, but even while he gazed upon it he
realized hers was not the kind of beauty which inflamed him.  There was
not enough flesh on her for his liking, and though the tiny nipples
rose beneath his exploring fingers he thought of them as being like
collar studs and for one dreadful moment he wanted to laugh.

But there was one part of her which was infinitely satisfactory.

Since their engagement he had sometimes looked at her and wondered
whether the hair on her body was as silvery as the curls frizzed out in
a cloud around her face.  Now he knew that it was not.  The hair which
grew in a V at the base of her pelvis was soft and golden, inviting him
to test the delights of the delicate valley it protected.  Her legs
parted as soon as he too was naked and she arched towards him with
complete abandon, begging to be taken without any more preliminaries. 
Joshua obliged.

245 He'd been convinced his wedding night was going to be something of
an ordeal, but it seemed he'd never been so wrong about anything
before.

There was no doubt that she was a virgin but her desire to be otherwise
made the transition easy.

Afterwards she drew the sheets over her and stared up at him with a
triumphant light in her eyes.

"I've wanted you, Joshua, since the moment you walked into the house. 
I couldn't have waited much longer."

There were no words of love.

Much later Joshua lay awake beside her, physically spent but in no way
abounding with any strong emotion, and all at once he knew why he had
never been able to win Poppy Ludlow.  He had never told her that he
loved her.

Poppy guessed Ned would hear that Tom Kerrick was back.  News like that
travelled round the fish dock quicker than gulls could fly.

After the children were tucked up for the night she folded away their
things which had been airing in front of the fire and waited for Aunt
Jessie to go to bed, wondering whether Ned would say anything.

There'd be no washing done tomorrow.  He was leaving with the fleet on
the Shetland voyage and there was a superstition that if you washed
your clothes the day your man went back to sea you might wash him away.
 Maw had never done any when Pa left.

When at last they were alone Ned lit his clay pipe and put his head
back against the cushion of his favourite chair.

"Stop working.

Poppy.  I'm not going to see you for nigh on ten weeks so we've got to
make the most of tonight.  "

"I've packed everything in your shirt-bag.  There's the new boot
stockings your mother knitted and flannel shirts in case it's cold off
Scotland.  I don't think I've forgotten anything."

"You're a good wife.  The best.  Now come and see me."

A smell of tobacco filled the kitchen as he drew on the pipe which had
been seasoned to a nice colour by long and careful smoking.  He had
broken off the stem and fitted a new mouthpiece with an ivory and
silver band.

"I'm glad I please you."  Poppy put away the wooden clothes horse.

"I love you.  Now will you do as you're told, woman."

"Not while you're smoking that pipe."

Ned outed it and stood up to put it on a special rack on the shelf
above the stove.

"I'll want to find it there ready for me when I get back."

"Where else would it be?"  A smile tilted her lips.

"I'm not likely to smoke it me self

"Oh, Poppy!"  He drew her into his arms and she nestled her head
against his shoulder, comforted as always by the warmth of him.  He
made her feel at peace.  But he sensed her mood.

"Something's wrong.

What is it?  "

She hesitated, not wanting to spoil the moment, and the chance to
mention Tom Kerrick was lost.

"I wish you wouldn't sail on a Sunday.

Fa never would.  "

"I'm not like your father.  He was a religious man.  That's not to say
I'm not but I don't think the Lord'11 think any worse of me for setting
sail on the sabbath.  I'll be at the fishing grounds a day earlier, and
mebbe back a day sooner."

"Why do you have to go, anyway?  You could take on another skipper."

"I'd be fretting.  You know I can't stay on shore for long."

She gave a sigh.

"I won't half miss you."

"You'll be busy with the children.  The time'll pass before you know
it."

"Aunt Jessie takes the children from me.  I believe she thinks I'm not
capable of looking after them properly, and now Steven goes to school I
get real bored just doing housework.  It was never what I liked
doing."

Ned had been stroking her hair but she knew when he 247 hesitated that
he was about to reproach her once again.

"I wish you got on better with Ma.  She may seem a bit difficult
sometimes but she cares about you."

"She resents me, Ned.  I'm not like Meg was and she doesn't like me."

She pulled herself away from him.  The only thing they ever disagreed
about was his mother's attitude.  He couldn't see that Jessie had never
accepted her, and often wondered what tales were spun for her Ned's
ears.  It would hurt him badly if Poppy ever voiced her dark suspicions
as to the part his mother had played in bringing about the loss of her
first baby.  For Ned's sake she had never breathed a word, but that
unvoiced suspicion always lurked just below the surface, as Aunt Jessie
very well knew.

"Don't let's argue, love.  Not tonight."  Ned sat down in the chair
again, caught hold other hand and drew her on to his knee.

She linked her hands round his neck and bent to kiss him
affectionately.

"I don't want you to go to the Shetlands."

"You've not minded so much before."

"Tom Kerrick wasn't around before."

Ned groaned and combed his fingers through his fine hair.

"So you've heard."

"I saw him this afternoon when I was down by the pier with the
children.  He had that woman with him."

Ned held her face between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

"He'll never touch you again.  He wouldn't dare.  You mustn't be
afraid."

"I'm not afraid.  I just hate him so much."

"If he so much as goes near you again I swear it'll be the last thing
he ever does.  I won't give him chance to recover a second time."

"Don't!  Please don't say things like that."

"I mean it."

The father nearly killed him and look what happened.  "

"Poppy, love, I told you just now, in no way am I like your father."

To emphasize the point he began unbuttoning her blouse but she stopped
him.

"If you're going to be doing that we'd better get up to bed."

It was not really an invitation.  It was a duty.  He kissed her soundly
then set her on her feet, but he didn't let her escape.  His arms
enfolded her again and he pressed her body close to his so that she
would know how right she was to insist on seeking their bed.

"D'you think you could tell me just once that you love me?"

She tried not to become tense as he moulded her to him but it required
all her willpower even though she kept reminding herself how much he
meant to her.  Never since their marriage had she been able to go to
him with any enjoyment.  Yet she could truthfully say the words he so
longed to hear.

"Of course I love you, Ned.  Would I have married you and borne your
children if I didn't?"

It was so warm in the kitchen the heat seemed to shimmer.  Ned drew in
his breath with a sigh of satisfaction and his grip on her tightened.

"Reckon not."  His lips touched lightly on her temple.  "Mebbe I will
make this the last long voyage."

It was a half promise but it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart
at the thought of him leaving in the morning.  She was ashamed of
herself.  She was the daughter of a fisherman, grand-daughter of a
fisherman, and now she was the wife of one.  No woman from her
background ever asked her man not to go to sea.

The threatened rain had come.  It was rattling against the window
panes, driven by a strong wind which gusted every few minutes and
caused a draught which made the gaslight hiss.

"I hope the wind dies down before morning."  She didn't want him to set
sail in bad weather.

249 The first time Joshua saw Ned Rain with the gutting girl was from
the wheelhouse of his boat the Norfolk Jane which was tied up in
harbour at Lerwick.  He had a watch in his hand and was timing the four
crewmen who were tanning nets in a tank on the quay side ramming them
in and pulling them out again exactly three minutes later, but the
sight of the man and the girl walking together diverted his attention
and the fourth one was in the tank over long.

It wasn't unusual for men to talk to the gutting girls.  They were
mostly a grand bunch and after you'd pushed two crans of herrings up
the hill on a bogie to where they were working you had to have a laugh
and a chat.  You got to know a few of them quite well.  But there was
something too familiar about the way Ned looked at the little dark girl
who resembled Daisy Ludlow.  It shouldn't have bothered Joshua, but it
did.

The net came up from the tank and was pulled up a chute to the
fore-side of the wheelhouse where it was left to drain for a while
before being stacked with the others along the side of the boat between
the hold and the gunwale. Once a fortnight they were done, and this was
the fourth week of the Shetland voyage.  Last night they'd been fishing
about ten miles off Sumburgh Head and the haul had been one of the
best.  In fact it looked like be inga record season, and Joshua was
already planning to invest in a new project when he got back.  He
wanted to become a merchant.  Seeing Ned Rain had reminded him
of it, but he was not interested in the small time.  He was going to
have large premises up by the green, and a yard of his own.

It took all day Saturday to get the nets tanned, which meant they would
have to lie idle all night drying.  There'd be no more fishing until
after midnight on Sunday since the Scots didn't allow it on the
sabbath.  Joshua fretted at the wasted time, even though the nets still
had to be sorted out. Some skippers did the tanning while they were at
sea but it was a risky business and the safety of his crew was more
important than a few extra cran offish, much as he would have liked to
haul them.  The previous weekend he'd fished from Saturday night till
Monday and gone down to Aberdeen with the catch where the market was a
sight better than Lerwick.

He saw Ned with the girl again on Saturday evening.

Usually there was little to do in Lerwick at the weekends, and often
the men would stay on board to drink or play cards.  Apart from that
there were the huts where many of the girls lived, and in the past
Joshua had not been against accepting invitations which often came his
way.  This trip it was different.  He was married now.  For the time
being at any rate he intended staying faithful to Caroline even if it
meant enduringa few dull evenings.

So he was in no hurry to go ashore that evening.  He let the youngest
of his crew be the first to wash.  At the back of the engine was a
platform for the pumps, and it was kept well scrubbed so that the men
could stand on it and get hot water from the boiler to wash in.  A
treat that was, much better than bringing up a bucket of sea water
which was all they could do when they were out fishing.  After they had
all done Joshua took his rum.  He stripped off his clothes, poured a
can of water over himself, and was just relishing the luxury when Stan
Bennett, the mate, called down from the galley.

"I hear there's going to be a knees-up at a hall somewhere off
Commercial Street, Josh.  Feel like coming?  I've got me mandolin and
Ted's got his squeeze box We could have a sing-song with the locals."

252 Joshua rubbed the soap over his torso and sluiced it away with
another can of water.

"Sounds like it might be all right.  I'll be with you."

A cold north-easterly was blowing down from the Arctic and it was
chopping the sea, sending spume like heads of beer up on to the stage
where the Nor folk Jane was tied.  It stayed light until very late in
the Shetlands, and the shadows had lengthened.  When the two men
stepped ashore Joshua was wear inga jacket of blue melton cloth and
boots with high heels.  His trouser legs were wide at the bottoms the
way Fenstowe men wore them and he walked with a swagger, knowing that
he looked good in his shore clothes.  If he'd wanted to find himself a
girl he could have done so within five minutes.

The atmosphere in the hall where all his crew had congregated was quite
cosmopolitan.  There were a few baggy-trousered Dutchmen sucking
peppermint lozenges, their clogs making it difficult to join in the
dancing.  There were flaxen-haired Norwegians who fished for whales.

"Mark my words," said Stan, 'it'll be no use coming up here for herring
in a year or two, not the way them whalers are working these waters. 
There ain't so many fish as there used to be and I reck en as it's
their fault.  "

But the Norwegians were good company, and the Shetlanders made everyone
welcome.  Seven men representing the seven Saints of Christendom danced
the Papa Stour sword dance, and Joshua joined in a reel to the tune
of

"The Merry Boys o' Greenland'.  He never missed an opportunity to
dance.

Time passed quickly and it was getting late when he realized that young
Bobby Blower, the boy cook on his boat, was no longer with them.  Bobby
was only fifteen, so Joshua felt responsible for him.  He was nowhere
to be seen.

"Anyone know where young Bob is?"

"Ain't he with you?"

"Would I ask if he was?"

A man from another boat overheard and put in a word.  "If it's George
Blower's boy yuh're looking for he went off with a girl.  Reckon yuh'll
find him in the hotel down by the harbour."

"And him only fifteen!  His father'd kill him."

Joshua strode off like an enraged parent himself, his coat flying open
as he met the brisk wind which made summer seem only a myth.  It
roughed up his hair and made him look more like the youth he'd been
before he threw in his lot with Caroline Lea.  He went down to the quay
where sailing drifters like great barges were tied up, their masts
arcing back and forth as they tossed on the swell.  Herring gulls took
off hurriedly, tucking up their pink legs as they flew from the path of
this big man who was in such a mood.

The hotel bar-room was crowded.  Smoke from shag- filled clay pipes
polluted the air like a stinging fog, and Joshua had to peer through
the haze.  He saw Bobby Blower by the window with a tankard in his hand
and a girl hanging on his words.  He approached him carefully, not
wanting to embarrass the boy. After all he did a man's work so he was
entitled to a man's freedom, but there were limits.  Joshua had gone up
to the huts with a girl himself when he was sixteen and he reckoned
that that was plenty soon enough.  Fifteen was a mile young.

Better to get him out of the way of temptation.

He touched the youngster on the shoulder.

"Get back over with the rest of the crew.  Bob.  Take your friend with
you ifyuh've a mind.

We're thinking of havinga singsong on board later.  "

"Aw, Skipper!"

"Away with you."

The boy went without any argument and Joshua was about to follow when
he heard a voice he recognized.  It came from the other side of a
wooden settle which formed a partition, turn inga small area of the
room into a cosy 254
corner where there was a bit more privacy.  He stepped out to see who
was there and it was then he saw Ned Rain for the second time with the
little dark girl.

He darted back quickly, not wanting to be caught spying, but the girl's
voice was high and he couldn't help overhearing.

"What'll I do when you're gone, Ned?"  She sounded melancholic
already.

Ned Rain tried to reassure her.

"There's a few more weeks yet.  Let's enjoy them.  You mustn't start
thinking about when I leave."

"I'll be down on the train to Fenstowe come October.  We'll meet again
then, won't we?  Please say yes."

"Mebbe we will."

It was too much for Joshua.  He visualized Poppy waiting with her
children, her lovely eyes turned northwards to watch for the boat that
would bring her husband home, the wind chafing her cheeks where the
freckles lay like a dusting of sand.  He knew she was capable of coping
with any situation but this deceit was going on without her knowing and
it would hurt her badly if she found out.

"And mebbe you won't."  Joshua made his presence known.  He was full of
anger on Poppy's behalf.

Ned stood up, quickly disentangling his hand from the girl's and
disquiet nickered in his blue eyes.

"I'll thank you to mind your own business, Kerrick."

"I don't care what you do with your time while you're here so long as
it doesn't affect Poppy.  But if you play around back home and hurt her
I'll break your neck."

"Poppy?  Who's Poppy?"  The girl fluttered like a butterfly caught in a
jar.

"I think we'd best go outside," Ned said, and pushed past Joshua.

"Stay there," he said to the girl.

The sea lay back at low ebb, watchful and slapping at the hulls of the
fishing boats like an impatient audience clapping for a performance to
start.
Both men stood with clenched fists, assessing each other with the
thoroughness of a couple of stags about to become tangled in combat.

"Now what's this about?"  Ned started in straight away.  "It ain't
nothing to do with you how I spend my time and I'd like an apology for
the way you spoke out of turn."

"With a wife like Poppy you ought to be satisfied and not be lifting up
another woman's skirt the minute you're from her."

"So it's Poppy is it?  And might I ask why you're so concerned about my
wife?"

We're kin.  "

"Seems to me you're a bit too interested in her welfare for it to be
kinship that's driving you, and I know she wouldn't thank you for your
interference. She's got no time for the Kerricks, not any of them." 
Ned's fine hair blew back from his face, making it appear harder.

"Look to your own wife and don't ever go near mine."

The sea roared in the distance, getting ready for the turn of the tide.
 It urged them on, crouching in anticipation as tempers rose.

Joshua's knuckles were as white as the foam that curled in through the
harbour mouth.

"Poppy married you for your money."

"She married me for my name."

"Mine would have been better," Joshua stopped, horrified at what he was
saying, but the damage was done and he had to go on.

"I would have married her but she wanted security.  She didn't believe
I'd make anything of myself but I've proved it already, and I've only
just started.  I reckon as how I could put you out of business, but I
won't unless I have to.  It's up to you."

Ned was the first to strike a blow.  He aimed straight for Joshua's
chin but the blow landed wide and caught his shoulder, making him
stagger.  It was a foolhardy thing to have done.  The Kerricks were
known for their strength. Joshua shook his head and came back in
retaliation, his bunched fist meeting
Ned's bearded jaw with a crack 256 which was heard inside the bar.  It
brought men crowding to the door.

Joshua stepped back,

"Let's leave it.  We both know what the score is and it won't help to
knock each other senseless."

"You'll be sorry."  Ned was nursing his chin and gave the impression he
was about to continue the fight, but hands reached out to detain him
and he was drawn back into the doorway.

"If anyone's put out of business it'll be you.  I'll show you."

Joshua straightened his coat and buttoned it across his chest, then he
turned into the wind and set off back the way he had come, having
discovered more than the boy he had originally sought.

Agnes Ludlow went round to Poppy's with a letter from Mr Dunwoody, the
solicitor, while Ned was still away in the Shetlands.  She was not used
to having mail addressed to her and the envelope had been roughly
opened.

"I don't understand it.  Poppy.  I don't understand it at all."  She
was in quite a state and had come hurrying round without even removing
her apron.

"Let me see it."  Poppy took the letter from Maw's trembling hand and
scanned it quickly, then reread slowly, scarcely believing her eyes.

Dear Mrs Ludlow, It has been brought to my notice that according to the
will of the late Mr William Ludlow who died on 18 August 1910, the two
vessels left to his sons Daniel Ludlow and Thomas Kerrick were
bequeathed on condition that they were passed from father to son.

Mr Kerrick is at present contesting, therefore, your ownership of the
drifter Sarah Star, there being no male heir to Daniel Ludlow when he
died in November 1910.  Mr Kerrick claims that in this case the said
vessel should rightfully be his and I am bound to look into the
matter.

I am arranginga meeting with the parties concerned and will be obliged
if you can come to my office on Friday next at 3 pm.

Yours respectfully, Ernest Dunwoody.

Poppy scowled at the paper and tapped it with her fingers as if the
words might re-arrange themselves, but the message remained the same.

There was a burning feeling in her throat, rising indignation.

She would have none of it.  The Sarah Star had become Maw's when Fa
died, though Ned had taken charge of the handling of it and made sure
that whatever money was made went directly to her.  It was a business
arrangement and everything to do with it was kept in Ned's office down
at the fish market.

She didn't need to ask who had put Tom Kerrick up to this.  She'd heard
from Aunt Lizzie about the way Joshua had welcomed his father back, and
it had filled her with disgust.  She'd been told, too, that Tom Kerrick
now owned the Night Queen again.  Joshua had a short memory.  The
things his father had done were unforgivable, and she wasn't only
thinking of her own suffering at his hands.  It was said he'd taken
that Scots girl right there in his own house while his wife worked
herself into an early grave looking after him. No one blamed the poor
woman for throwing them both out.

Well, the Kerricks weren't going to get away with this latest
outrage.

"What's that about?"  Aunt Jessie came in while Poppy still had the
letter in her hand.

Poppy gave it to her mother-in-law to read.  Jessie was slow taking it
in, re-reading the carefully penned sheet just as Poppy had done, then
she uttered a choice comment.  "That man's got the devil in him."

"He wouldn't have thought of it on his own."

258 Agnes's lined face suddenly looked very old.

"What am I going to do.

Poppy?  I can't go and argue with Mr Dunwoody about it by me self "

"I know.  I'll be coming with you."  Poppy put an arm round her
mother's thin shoulders.

"Right now you can stay here with Aunt Jessie and help look after the
children.  I need to go out."

"What d'you intend to do?"

"I don't know yet, but Tom Kerrick ain't going to get the better of us.
 I reckon as how Joshua told him to get on with this while Ned was
away, thinking we wouldn't be able to cope without him and we'd sign
anything.  My God, how wrong he was."

"Good for you, girl," Aunt Jessie was actually voicing approval

Poppy took off her apron, put on a clean blouse of flower-sprigged
cotton, and straightened her blue linen skirt.  She did everything with
an impantience born of temper.  It made her so mad that Tom Kerrick was
suddenly upsetting her mother like this.  Since Fa died Maw hadn't been
in the best of health and if it hadn't been for Daisy the house would
have got into a terrible mess.  It was as much as Maw could do to
manage Violet, who had become prone to screaming fits soon after Poppy
left home.

"Don't worry.  Maw, I'll sort it all out for you."  Poppy gave Agnes a
kiss. Then she slipped out of the house before Daniel realized she was
going anywhere

It wasn't much good looking for Aunt Lizzie.  She spent most of her
time at the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen these days while Morris was
away, and Poppy didn't want to go round there where there'd be too many
flapping ears. Besides, Aunt Lizzie couldn't be trusted when there was
anything to do with Tom Kerrick.  She was too fond of defending the
wretched man.  So Poppy went straight down to Ned's office on the fish
dock to see if she could find any papers relating to Maw and the Sarah
Star.

Old Walter Smith was still Ned's clerk.  He sat on a high stool at the
desk near the window with the account book open and columns of neat
figures covering the page to show his efficiency.  Papers were pinned
to the woodwork round the window, some yellowing with age, and flies
buzzed round an enamel dish where someone had left a pair of
mackerel.

"Them ledgers on the shelf over there are where you'll find anything to
do with the Sarah Star."  Mr Smith swivelled round on the stool.

"That blue one, ifyuh like to bring it over."

Poppy took the ledger to the desk and leafed through it carefully.

"There's nothing here to say she belongs legally to my mother."

There wouldn't be.  All I do is keep account of what the boat makes and
share out the money for her and the crew.  You'll have to see yer
father's will if that's what you're looking for.  "

"He didn't make one.  He died too sudden.  Maw automatically had
everything that had belonged to him."

"Then I don't know what yuh can do."

She closed the ledger and replaced it on the shelf, feeling
disappointed. Havingassured her mother that she could handle this new
situation she felt obliged to come up with some kind of proof to offer
the solicitor, but without Ned on hand to tell her where to find it she
was lost.

"Thank you anyway, Mr Smith."

"Sorry I couldn't be more help, Mrs Rain."

She left the office and made her way along the fish quay.  Most of the
boats were up north but there were still some in harbour including the
Night Queen. An involuntary shudder went through her as it always did
when she looked at it.

She hurried round the corner, not expect inga horse and cart to be
blocking her path, and bumped into one of the two men who were loading
nets.  Strong hands steadied her and she was about to apologize to the
man in an oilskin
dopper and cloth cap when to her horror she realized it was Tom
Kerrick.

"So you've come prying have you.  Poppy Ludlow?  <^m't keep away from
the dock, can yuh?"

She shrank back as if he were a rattlesnake and where his fingers had
touched her she felt she'd been marked with a fiery brand.

"Please let me pass."

"For sure.  You're bad news and I don't want you round me.  Worst thing
you ever did was set foot on my boat."  The horse shifted impatiently
and the other man went round to its head as Poppy tried to walk away.

"Don't yuh know it's right unlucky to let a woman on board?  Worse than
meet inga crowd of nuns, and that's bad enough."

"I hope you rot in hell."

"Dear, oh dear!  Is that all yuh can say when you nigh on ruined me?

Went babbling toyer father after you'd led me on.  Ain't a lot gone
right in me life since then and I blame it all on you.  "

"You're a wicked man, Tom Kerrick."

"Even this trip I've had to put back because me blasted nets got fouled
up. Lost half of them and had a frap-up with the others so it was
pointless going on."

"So by doing some meddling you think you're going to make up your
losses, is that it?"

"If you mean that matter of the Sarah Star it ain't no meddling."

Tve nothing more to say to you.  "

"Mebbe not.  But there's plenty'!!  be said on Friday in Mr Dunwoody's
office."

"You'll be wasting your time.  And right now you're wasting mine.  I've
no wish to talk to you.  Ever!"

Poppy was so shaken she walked back through Cooper Street like someone
blind. By the time she arrived home there was a stabbing pain in her
breasts and when she went to feed Nancy later the poor mite cried with
frustration at finding the milk temporarily in short supply.  Usually
it overflowed at the first touch other little mouth on the nipple.

261 Friday dawned fine but chilly.  Poppy put on a hat and gloves,
seeing as how there was important business to see to, and she tucked
her arm through Maw's as they walked down the Fenstowe Road to where Mr
Dunwoody resided.

There was the musty smell of old books and papers inside the office.

Ernest Dunwoody's clerk showed them in and Poppy's back stiffened when
she saw Tom Kerrick was already there with the woman beside him.

"Please be seated."  Mr Dunwoody peered at Agnes first over the top of
his gold-rimmed glasses and he gave a smile which was about as friendly
as a frost in July.  His black frock coat was dusty like his books and
there were no creases in his pinstriped trousers.  Maw shuffled on the
leather-covered seat and it squeaked.

"You too, Mrs Rain.  Take a seat."

Tom Kerrick's woman sat as straight as a ramrod, her hands clasped in
her lap and her feet together.  Her clothes were plain but serviceable,
as was her face.  Poppy thought.  Flora inclined her head in Agnes's
direction but ignored Poppy completely.  Tom was wear inga suit which
looked smart enough to have belonged quite recently to Joshua,
particularly as the effect was spoilt by the trouser legs be inga bit
on the long side.  He actually stood up when the two woman came in, but
there was no friendliness in the gesture.

Mr Dunwoody wasted no time.  He had papers ready on his desk and he
referred immediately to the top one which Poppy recognized as being
Grandfather Ludlow's will.  "Mrs Ludlow, I should like to draw your
attention particularly to the latter part of this document which was
drawn up by William Ludlow shortly before his death.  In the codicil
you will see that he stipulates his wish that the drifters, and I
emphasize the plural of the word, shall pass in turn from father to
son.  He obviously wished them to remain in the family."

"The Sarah Star's done that anyway."  Poppy spoke quickly before
anyone else could say anything.

"We're Fa's family."

Agnes fidgeted nervously and turned to her daughter.  "What does he
mean. Poppy?  Yer grandfer knew we had no sons and weren't likely to
have any."

"It's what the old man put that counts," said Tom.

"The Sarah Star should've been mine two and a half years ago."

"I'd say Mr Kerrick is owed compensation for money he's lost on it."

The Scotswoman's voice sounded strangely out of place.

"And I say it's all a misunderstanding.  Grandfer didn't mean any such
thing. He wouldn't."

Mr Dunwoody cleared his throat and put the back of his index finger
delicately against his Ups.

"I'm afraid, Mrs Rain, the legal case rests on a single word which
cannot be disputed.  A single letter in fact.  The word drifter has an
" s" added, the plural thus referring to both vessels, and we are bound
to abide by what is written."

"It must have been a slip of the pen."  Poppy was not convinced.  She
stood up and went over to the desk.

"It could even have been added.

May I see, please.  "

"My dear lady .  . ."  she turned the paper round and inspected it,
much to the solicitor's annoyance.

"I hope you are not casting aspersions upon the long-established firm
of Dunwoody and Son."

"No, but I don't trust Tom Kerrick an inch."

"Madam, I must ask you to restrain your comments."

Poppy would not be put off.  She turned to Tom.

"How did you come to discover all this?  Tell me."

"Joshua .  . ."

"Hah!  Joshua!"

"My son claimed he was in his rights to take the Night Queen when I was
near to death.  Recently I decided to check on me father's will."

The discussion grew more heated by the second and the book-lined walls
seemed to frown at the unaccustomed noise.  Poppy did all the talking
for her mother
and the wrangling went on for nearly half an hour.  Finally Mr
Dunwoody issued an ultimatum.

"If there can be no amicable agreement then I'm afraid this matter must
be taken to court."

The decision didn't please Poppy at all.

"Surely there's no need for that?"

"There's no need at all, Mrs Rain, provided your mother signs the
document I have prepared agreeing that the Sarah Star legally belongs
to Mr Kerrick."

"I'll do it.  Poppy."  Agnes was close to tears.

"You'll do no such thing.  Mr Dunwoody, we'll sign nothing until my
husband returns from the Shetlands to advise us."  Poppy then had to
speak to Tom with a degree of civility.

"Mr Kerrick, I trust you can wait another few weeks since you seem to
think you've already waited over two years for justice.  Though I'm
sure Ned will prove you're in the wrong."  She pulled on her gloves.

"Come, Maw, we'd best be going."

Tom's woman stood up as well.

"Surely you're not going to let her dictate to you, Tom."

"Aw, let her go."

"Good day to you, Mr Dunwoody," said Poppy.

"I'll let you know as soon as my husband's home, then you can arrange
another meeting."

She took Maw's arm and opened the door for her, leaving the solicitor
and his client with nothing more to say.  She was wise enough to know
that Tom Kerrick probably had discovered a legal right to the boat, but
she'd be damned if she'd let him have it without a fight, and she knew
Ned would back her all the way.

The next morning Poppy went to the net-store for a private word with
Daisy since there was nowhere at home they could talk without Maw
hearing.

She went in through the ransacker's room at the back where Walter Mew
should have been inspecting nets the girls had repaired.  There was one
undone and
pulled down through the store ready but the ransacker was sitting down
with a pipe going, something strictly forbidden, and when he saw her he
tried clumsily to out it.

"You'd not be smoking if my husband was here, Walter.  See that you
don't do it again while he's away."  It felt strange giving orders when
not so long ago she had been working here herself, but being married to
Ned made her responsible for what went on in his absence and though she
was unaware of it she had developed quite an air of authority.

"Sorry," said Walter.  He never seemed to know by what name he should
be calling her these days.

Her sister was train inga new apprentice, showing her how to mend a
spronk, a single strand of mesh that was split in one of the nets.

Daisy had been there the longest now as Tilda Jennings was married and
had a baby, which meant she had to mend nets at home.  It didn't seem
the same there without Tilda.

"I want a word with you.  Daisy."

"If it's about what happened at Mr Dunwoody's I already know.  Maw told
me everything that happened."

"No, that's not what it's about.  Come out on the balcony.  I'll make
it right with Mrs Wilson."  The two girls went outside to where they
could look down on the nets hanging on rails in the yard.  Poppy came
straight to the point.

"I want you to stop seeing Hal Kerrick."

"I'll do no such thing."  Daisy was immediately cross and her dark eyes
flashed.

"You've no right to suggest it."

"Mebbe I haven't but I'm asking you.  Ever since Grandfer died the
Kerricks have caused us trouble and if you married Hal it'd be like
them trying to take us over."

"Who said I was thinking of marrying Hal?"

"No one, but you've been walking out with him for months and never
looked at anyone else.  I've always hoped for Maw's sake you'd finish
with him, but I wouldn't have asked you if it hadn't been for this
latest affair."

A horse and cart trundled into the yard laden with more nets still wet
from a boat's decks.  Walter had gone down the back stairs.  He went to
help the man unload and make room for them to dry before they could be
hoisted up to the beatsters for mending.  A smell of tar and seaweed
drifted up on the humid air and steam shimmered over the coat of the
hot, sweating horse.

"I'll never marry Hal, though it's not for want of his asking me."

Poppy put her hand over Daisy's.

"I'm real glad to hear it.  You don't know how worried I've been.  But
why do you go on seeing him?"

Daisy waved to the man with the cart, her flirtatious eyes sparkling
now as she recognized him for one of her admirers.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not feeling sorry for Hal Kerrick or anything, but why do you walk
out with him if you don't want him?"

"Oh," said Daisy, still appearing preoccupied, 'it's the only way I can
be sure Joshua knows I'm around.  You see, he'll be needing someone now
he's married to that icy Miss Lea, and I intend to be waiting.  "

"Daisy!"  Poppy couldn't have been more shocked if the boards of the
balcony had collapsed under her feet.

"That's a sinful thing to say."

Her sister didn't spare her a glance but shouted to the men in the
yard,

"I'm coming down to lend a hand, Walter."  She lifted her skirt and
went to the outside stairs, then called over her shoulder to Poppy,

"So there's no need for you or Maw to be worrying about me and Hal."

Three nights running Joshua had fished east of Bard Head and he'd
brought in close on two hundred cran each time, but the rest of the
fleet had followed and the next night he decided to change course.  He
took the Norfolk Jane out of Lerwick by the north channel and settled
for shooting the nets when he was about thirty miles east of Score
Head.

Shooting was done with before dark, just as the herrings started to
rise.
The sea was leaden, not grey or brown but a dun colour chipped with
black grooves into which a vessel might sink from sight, but the
Norfolk Jane rode out the night on the deep swell, her carbide lights
dancing.  She was not alone.  A handful of other skippers were trying
the same ground and by the way the buffs were sinking as dawn broke it
looked like they'd all made a wise choice.

Joshua looked across the water and recognized Ned Rain's boat, the
Vesta by the numbers on her sail.  To his amusement he saw that Ned was
us inga thief net, a pole extended off the top of the wheelhouse which
let a net hang down alongside with a trap stick at the top to stop it
closing.  So Ned was after filling more boxes then anyone else.  He
laughed to himself.

"Never mind breakfast, Bobby, get on down to the rope room Best get
this lot in and put back with 'em before we're beaten to it."  The
smell of fish was a great temptation, but there were more important
things than food.

"Put the hatches on, Stan, we'll haul on deck.  I'll get the mast out
of the way."

A bearer was fixed across the middle of the hold and a scudding pole to
help get the herrings out of the nets was attached to the fore end of
the hatch and the front of the wheelhouse so the men could lean over it
while they hauled.  There were so many herrings in the net they only
needed to draw twice each time before shaking them into the kid from
where they'd slither away below.  Two cran to a net they were pulling
up, and the engineer came to give a hand.  The nets were stacking up
beside the hatch and had to be levelled off, then stacking began on the
other side while the buffs were thrown down into the fore-room.

The distance between the Vesta and the Norfolk Jane widened, but when
Joshua glanced across the sea he saw how low the other boat was in the
water.  He could guess at the weight offish in her hold, and his
amusement grew.  It wasn't at sea that he was after feuding with Ned
Rain.  It was who had the better head for business on shore that would
count.

267 The squall came up with hardly any warning just as the last of the
nets were being hauled in.  From out of a solid looking cloud bank came
a gale-force wind and driving rain which whipped the sea into a
cauldron of spitting foam in a moment.

"The wind's freshened, Skipper," Bobby called up from the rope-room
where he coiled with hands that were raw from the cold water brought in
by the warp. The understatement was worthy of a seasoned fisherman.

"Stay below, boy."

Joshua was in the wheelhouse, his legs astride to keep his balance as
he steered the boat into the wind.  Spray came fast over the decks and
the Norfolk Jane quivered.  He had a seaman's premonition of heavy
water about to explode over them and sure enough it burst across the
bows a second later, sweeping down from the stem to stern like a
powerful grey avalanche.

Stan Bennett rushed up to help Ray Worth, the cast off, who was still
removing the seizings as the last of the gear was being hauled up over
the rail.  Just as Stan got there the rope flew off the molgogger and
caught him, sending him up in the air and over the side before anyone
could do anything.

"My God!  Stan's gone over.  Help me to get him!"  Ray leaned over the
side, screaming to the rest of the crew who came running like drunken
men along the pitching deck.  Stan was floating on top of the water,
his oilskin keeping him buoyant.

Throw him a life belt Joshua yelled.  It was as much as he could do to
keep the vessel alongside.  His face was dripping with sweat, and the
effort to keep the wheel set straight tore at his arms as if a shark
had its teeth in them.

Another huge sea rushed savagely aboard.  It poured down the deck as
the boat threatened to turn broadside, and then they would all have
been done for. Ray threw the life belt and succeeded in getting it
round the mate so that they could drag him closer.

The Norfolk Jane's lee rail tipped into the boiling sea and Ray lost
his grip on the rope just as they had the oil skinned figure near
enough to grab hold of.  He fell backwards on the deck with a thud that
was echoed by the next onslaught of water which ripped him away from
the nearest handhold. Stan Bennett disappeared beneath the waves.

Mountainous seas lifted the boat up and then flung her into a ditch of
dark water.  Joshua had never experienced anything so terrifying and he
didn't feel the loss of the mate to any degree yet, since he expected
the rest of them would be joining him any minute.  Josh couldn't swim. 
Like many fishermen he knew that chances of survival were slim if you
went overboard in boots and oilskins.

There was an almighty crack and the mizzen mast went.  A minute later
the windows of the wheelhouse shattered and he was showered with glass
which cut his skin like a score of tiny knife blades.  Across the sea
great sprays of foam fanned upwards as if bursts of gunfire had
splattered the surface.  No other vessels were in sight.

Up and up went the bows again, seeming to meet the sky as the wild wind
continued.  The sea was winning.  Having disposed of the glass barrier
between itself and Joshua it proceeded to drench him with incessant
cascades of water which were so powerful the wheel was almost wrenched
from his hands. He hung on as never before, battling for survival.  A
fearsome wave slashed diagonally on to the deck and he was afraid his
strength was not enough to keep the boat straight, but after a moment
when she seemed suspended in a chasm she went buffeting into the gale
again with renewed vigour.

Gradually the squall subsided and the heavy water hitting the decks was
more easily shaken off.  Huge, rugged clouds pushed and shoved each
other away towards the south-west and allowed a patch of azure blue to
break through. The sea went off the boil.  It tossed sullenly, still
running high but no
longer demonstrating 269 its awesome temper.  For the time being it
had spared the Norfolk Jane.

Some of the men staggered towards the stricken mast to see what could
be salvaged.  Ray Worth went straight to the wheelhouse, tormented by
his inability to save the mate.

"It were all my fault.  Josh.  If that bloody rope hadn't spun off the
molgogger he'd be here now."

"Nobody's to blame," Joshua said.

"If isn't the first time it's happened, and it won't be the last."

His eyes scanned the sea which was still bursting into sheets of foam,
searching the empty waste for signs of another vessel.  The loss of
Stan Bennett was an enormous weight on him.  He'd never lost any of his
crew before and he was already dreading the thought of having to tell
Stan's family.

But there was an even bigger dread gnawing at him, as yet unvoiced.

He changed course and began circling round the area rather than heading
due south for the channel into Lerwick.

"Yuh won't find him, guy," one of the older hands said.  "Reckon he
sank straight off in them seas."

"It's not Stan I'm looking for."  The boat pitched into another trough
and Joshua held her steady, then he eased her round to eastward,
hampered by the loss of the mizzen sail.

"The Vesta was to starboard of us.  She's not Acre now."

"Oh, God," breathed Ray.

The rest of them were silent.

For an hour they combed the region, sighting other boats that had been
close all night, but each time their hopes were dashed.  Joshua's heart
became heavier by the minute.

Just as he was preparing to give up the search Ray saw a large object
floating in the water about half a mile distant and when they reached
it there could be no doubt that Joshua's worst fears were realized.

It was the wheelhouse of the Vesta which must have been torn clean off
in the gale.  A life belt with the name painted on it was still
attached.

He knew what had happened.  There was always a much greater risk of a
vessel foundering if she was weighted down with fish, and Ned Rain must
have filled his hold to capacity.

Joshua rested his head on his arms.  If he hadn't had the set-to with
Ned on shore mebbe it wouldn't have happened.  It seemed everything the
Kerricks did brought more trouble for Poppy, and the moaning of the
wind in the rigging echoed his misery.

He let Ray take the wheel and he leaned over with a rid to hook the
life belt free.  It would have to be taken to the Custom House when he
got back and he'd be obliged to make a statement.

The sea was quieter now.  It licked at his hand as he reached in the
water and he felt as though it mocked him.

For months he had been trying to get the better of Ned Rain, beating
him whenever he could and wishing he could drive him from the scene
altogether. He had watched jealously as Poppy's marriage strengthened
and he seemed to make her happy.  In the end Joshua had been forced to
admit that she would never belong to him and he had reluctantly
submitted to Caroline Lea's subtle hints that their partnership would
be strengthened by matrimony.

"Now I've set Poppy free," the sea taunted him, as he looked into the
grey, grey depths where likely Ned Rain's body was still gently
slipping downwards in company with the rest of the Vesta's crew and
poor Stan Bennett.

"I've set her free, Joshua Kerrick, but now you're tied up in a net
with meshes of steel."

271 By the third week in July Poppy was beginning to think about Ned
coming home.

She was surprised how much she missed him, far more than she had done
the two previous years while he was away on the Shetland voyage, and
she thought about him a lot.  This time she was actually counting the
days to his return, and part of the reason stemmed from Ned's last
night at home.

Having said that she loved him that night she had let him make love to
her with more willingness than she had ever done, no longer merely
enduring it but trying to take part, and it had amazed her when new,
exciting feelings had coursed through her body.  Not that she had been
able to let him know. She had been too embarrassed.  But when he came
home she was going to show him chat she no longer dreaded the marriage
bed.  He deserved a wife who shared in everything with him, in joy, in
sorrow, in pain, but most of all in love, and she wouldn't disappoint
him any more.

She would never have guessed when she agreed to marry him that he would
become so dear.  Liking had turned to love without her noticing the
change. Little things pleased her more than she would have thought
possible, such as walking arm in arm with him to the Bethel on a
Sunday, watching him put Nancy in the perambulator or playing on the
floor with Daniel.  She loved him for
his patience with Steven, and for his support when Aunt Jessie was
difficult, even though he didn't always agree that Poppy was right.  He
was a man who put loyalty to his wife above everything.

She appreciated, too, the way he credited her with more than average
intelligence.  She had shown Ned she was capable of using her brains
and he knew it was not enough for her to slip into the role of wife and
mother with nothing else to interest her.  He had paid her the
compliment of explaining the complexities of the share system when he
was working out how much to pay his crews, and she had learnt to do
some book-keeping at home.

"Old Walter Smith's getting too old for the job," Ned said.

"You're as good at it as he is.  Poppy, love.  Reckon as how I picked
myself a wife in a million."

Not everyone agreed that a fisherman's wife should take such an active
interest in money matters, but Poppy didn't care.  Aunt Lizzie and Aunt
Jessie both disapproved.  No doubt they talked of it when they were
together because their arguments were much the same when they accused
her of getting too big for her boots.

"It ain't right for a wife to know so much about her husband's
business," Aunt Jessie complained.

"Besides, there's more than enough work in the house to keep you
busy."

"You ought to be satisfied looking after three children," said Aunt
Lizzie.

"It ain't right you poking yer nose into Ned's books."

She felt like saying it was nothing to do with them but she held her
tongue. There was a lot of learning to do and she enjoyed it more than
anything.

This time while Ned was away she had been studying the cost of new
boats and the number of different types of engines that could be
fitted.  The two-cylinder engine that had been enough for the Sarah
Star when she was converted was now out of date and there was more
complex machinery with clever-sounding names like monkey-triples,
triple expansion and
compound-surface 273 condensing engines, all made by the marine
engineers upriver at Fenny Creek.  To Poppy it made the most
fascinating reading, and when Daisy came visiting with a new novel from
the library.  Poppy couldn't understand why her sister found such light
nonsense so absorbing.

If there was a small ulterior motive in all this studying Poppy didn't
acknowledge it.  In fact she would have been very indignant if anyone
had suggested that she was hoping one day to compete with Caroline
Kerrick. Uppermost in her mind was the intention to help Ned, and she
was longing to surprise him with her latest comprehension.

Meanwhile there were also plenty of jobs around the house to keep her
busy. The windows seemed to be forever caked with salt spray, and on
the morning Poppy decided to give the front ones another freshen-up she
was outside early with a bucket of water and a cloth before the sun got
round.  She climbed up on to a chair and made use of her reflection to
primp a little.  Her waistline was back to normal now and she was
singing to herself as she stretched up to reach the top pane, relishing
the return of her youthful energy.  She could see over the fence to the
end of Newlyn Walk.

The postman turned the corner, his brown canvas bag of letters bouncing
up and down on his paunch as he trod on the cobblestones.

Poppy smiled at him, not expecting that he would stop.

"Morning, Mrs Rain."  He leaned over the gate and Daniel came running
from the house with an excited squeal.

"Morning, boy.  Give these toyer Maw.  Two letters she's got today."

"Thank you," said Poppy.

She gathered up her skirt and got down off the chair, feeling strangely
giddy as she took the letters from Daniel's chubby little hands.  Ned
never wrote to her when he was away, and no one else was likely to do
so either.  The postmark on both of them was Lerwick.

"Mama?"  Daniel lifted his arms for her to pick him up but she didn't
even see.  After a moment he grabbed hold of her skirt and shook it to
attract her attention, but Poppy was still occupied with the letters in
her hand which she couldn't bring herself to open.  One was in a long
brown envelope.  The other was smaller and addressed to her in bold
writing which she had seen once before and remembered vividly.

Now why would Joshua Kerrick be sending her a letter?

A premonition of bad news made her sit on the chair.  She opened the
smaller envelope first and drew out a single sheet of paper.

Dear Poppy, I don't know how to begin writing this.  I can't wrap it up
so as it won't hurt, so I must tell you straight.  Ned's boat foundered
in a squall last Tuesday.  We were fishing close by and there was no
warning.  Of a sudden the wind struck and I lost the mizzen mast and my
mate Stan Bennett within minutes.  Time it stopped there was no sign of
the Vesta and an hour or so later we picked up her wheelhouse with the
life belt still hanging on it. Another boat picked up two bodies.  One
of them was Ned.  I saw to it he was properly buried in the churchyard
and I have his things to bring home, including the death certificate
which the authorities won't send by post and gave me seeing as I'm kin
to you.

What can I say?  I want to put down all I feel but the words inside me
won't find their way on to paper.  I'm that sorry, please believe me.

Joshua A moan escaped her and all the colour drained from her face. 
She couldn't move.  The sheet of paper fluttered in her hand as she sat
there with staring eyes and her lips parted, unable to take in the
news.

275 The second letter was from the police at Lerwick informing her,
with great regret, that the Vesta was officially listed as missing, but
that her husband's body had been recovered and identified.  A death
certificate had been issued to Mr Joshua Kerrick who had dealt with all
formalities on her behalf.

"Mama, love you," said Daniel, sensing something was wrong.  He climbed
on to her lap and she held his little body tight, crushing the letters
against her breast.  Someone over the road had started curing herrings
and the smell of woodsmoke stung her nose and made her eyes smart but
she continued to stare over Daniel's head without blinking.  The
roaring through her ears was like the sound of the gale which had
claimed Ned's life, and a seagull set up a wailing sound as it wheeled
overhead.

Somehow, deep down, she had known that he wasn't coming back.  She'd
had a strong premonition during that last night he was ashore, when she
had begged him not to sail with the fleet.  It was something she had
never experienced before and ever since then she had been trying to
banish it from her mind, but it had returned each night as she lay
alone in the big double bed waiting for him.

Now it had caught up with her.

Memories of him crowded into her head, tumbling over each other until
none were clear, and pain started at the back of her neck.  When her
father died she had thought nothing could ever be so bad again, yet
here she was with another tragedy to face and this time there was no
one like Ned to comfort her and tell her how to manage.  She closed her
eyes, shutting out the sun which he would never see again, and it
seemed as if the chair began to float in space with her on it.  For
several minutes she sat there, still clasping her son in her arms, and
she rocked back and forth while her eyes remained dry.

"Poppy?"  Aunt Jessie was calling from the upstairs window, leaning out
to
see what her daughter-in-law was doing.

"Is that all yuh've got to do?  Yer other baby's up here crying for her
breakfast.  I can't give it to her, else I would."

"I'm coming," Poppy said.

Nothing was any different to what it had been ten minutes ago.  The
postman was still whistling as he returned on the other side of Newlyn
Walk and he called out to her when she stood up.

"Heard from yer old man, have yuh?  Bet that's made yer day."

She couldn't answer.  She felt quite numb and knew she wouldn't feel
the full impact until other fishermen's wives were crowding the pier
with eyes strained to catch the first sight of familiar boats returning
home.  That would be the worst time, knowing Ned's boat wasn't going to
be among them. People would feel sorry for her because Ned had been
popular in Fenstowe, but they wouldn't say much.

It happened to so many.

Her head cleared a little and the roaring in her ears changed.  She
thought she heard his voice.

"You've always been strong.  Poppy, love.  Be strong now, for the sake
of the children."

Daniel's little hands were warm and sticky as he clung to her neck.

The reddish-gold curls brushed against her cheek like down.  She
couldn't stop the tears which suddenly flowed and made the baby's head
damp.  Her hold on him tightened until he cried out.

"Don't, Mama."

"Sorry, boy."

"Poppy!"  Her mother-in-law's voice took on a sharper tone.

"Coming, Aunt Jessie."

She went through the front hall with the two letters still crushed like
a terrible secret between her and her son, but they couldn't remain
there for long.  Somehow she had to find the right words to tell Ned's
mother the dreadful news.

277 Flora McLinhie was lonely while Tom Kerrick was away.  The people
of Marsh Village refused to accept her and the days were long without
anyone to talk to.  She scrubbed the house in Drago Street from top to
bottom and put a fresh coat of lime on the ceiling.  She scrubbed the
chairs and the table, washed the two rag mats and the threadbare
blankets, but when she tried soaking the net curtain to get it clean it
fell apart before she could hang it on the line in the yard.  There was
no money to buy another.  When there was nothing else to do she went
for long walks along the shore, wishing it was time for Tom's boat to
appear over the horizon.

He'd put back to sea with new nets more than a month ago but had been
forced to change his plans since the first time out.

"I've got them small-mesh nets this time so I reckon it'll be best to
work out of Shields," he told her.  "Double the crans I can haul with
'em.  Likely I'll do as well off Shields as anyone who's gone down
further."

"Well, mind you do.  I'll not be wanting you back without enough money
to pay off the bills."

Money was very important to Flora.  She was growing tired of sitting
around waiting for Tom to provide it, and there were too many weeks to
wait until the home fishing when she could get work gutting herrings.

It was on one of her long walks that she listened to the murmur of the
sea and found herself talking out loud to it.  "You're never still. 
Always on the move ye are.  Always busy."

The sea frothed on to the beach like the head on a glass of beer and it
coursed through the shingle with a sound like a throaty laugh.

She hated the sea.  Early in life it had robbed her of her father and
two brothers when they went down on a boat off Newhaven.  Her mother
had provided for seven younger children by selling fish from a creel on
her back, and
Flora being the eldest had gone round the streets with her from the
time she was fourteen.  She couldn't remember having seen her mother
wear anything except the traditional costume.  Newhaven women had seven
tucks in their serge skirts, and the 'top shore goon' was a bodice of
sprigged cotton, over which was a black knitted wait coat with pearl
buttons.  Ma had always worn a fringed shawl which she wrapped round
her head when the wind blew cold.  The wicker creel had been suspended
from her shoulders by wide canvas bands which were pipeclayed white,
and the weight of it had bowed her back until she seemed to lean
forward permanently.  Together they had bought fish when the market
opened at seven o'clock in the morning, then taken a train to trek
round the colliery towns selling it.

"Caller hen-in'.  Real Loch Feyne hen-in'.  Bonnie finnan baddies." 
The cries were indelibly printed on Flora's mind and she shouted them
now at the sea with bitterness until they were taken up by the gulls
and screeched across the grey water.

Each day had been long and hard, with the house to clean at the end of
it, and her feet automatically drew up inside her boots as she
remembered how they had pained before she put them in a mustard bath.

Finally the strain had proved too much for Margaret McLinhie and Flora
had been left with a brood of brothers and sisters to look after, and
no money with which to do it.  Two of the boys were old enough to go to
sea, but desperation had forced her to put the four youngest children
into an orphanage.  Flora had then bundled up pots and pans and
bedding, and had followed the fleet round the coast, possessing nothing
else except the gutting knife which earned her a living.  But it had
never earned her enough to escape from the only work she knew how to
do.

"I'm thinking perhaps I should get ma self a wee job that's different,"
she said.  The water swirled round her feet as a much bigger wave
rolled in unexpectedly, encircling her before she could jump clear. 
When it 279
receded she climbed further up the beach on to the soft sand above
high-water mark and she shook her fist at the sea.

"One day, when I've enough money, I'll be getting as far away from you
as I can, I swear I will."

A few days later she heard that the wife of the Rev.  John Clements was
need inga ski wy up at the vicarage.  She went along to see her one
warm morning.

"I'm no afraid of hard work, Mrs Clements.  If you just say the word
I'm ready to roll up ma sleeves this very instant."

The vicar's wife was small and on the nervous side, moving her head
with a bird-like jerkiness as she looked up at this forthright
Scotswoman who had no references.  Her chin receded into the grey
ruffles of a blouse which had seen service for many summers, judging by
the rings of sweat marks radiating from her armpits.

"Well, I don't know.  My husband said I was to employ a girl straight
from school."

"I can do twice the work of a girl from school, I promise you."

"But we can't pay much.  My husband only has his stipend."

"A fair wage is all I ask."

"I've always done everything myself but I haven't been too well and my
husband says I must have help in the house."

"There'll be nothing for you to do if I'm here."

"Well, I don't know."  The little woman was quivering with
indecision.

"I shall have to go and ask my husband."

She pattered from the room, leaving the door wide open while she went
in search of the man whose word was plainly so important to her.

Flora looked around, nodding her head appreciatively as she noted the
books and the horsehair sofa, the cosy rugs which had lost most of
their colour but were still soft underfoot, the brass fender at the
tiled fireplace, the fire irons and embroidered fire screen.  Heavy
pink curtains were looped back with
embroidered bands but there was crocheted lace across the window to
discourage passers-by from prying.  She could imagine Mrs Clements was
far more suited to sitting at her needlework than tackling menial
household chores.

The Rev.  John Clements had been writing his sermon and obviously
wasn't happy at having been disturbed.  He was shrugging himself into
his black jacket, appearances being essential to one of his calling
even when interview inga prospective skivvy, and his grey eyebrows
almost met in the middle with the depth of his frown.

"You're from the Village, Mrs McLinhie?"  His opening question and the
way he emphasized the word village immediately proved his
disinclination to employ her.

Flora was not put off.  She corrected him calmly.

"Miss McLinnie.  Aye, I'm from Marsh Village."

"But you're one of the Scots girls, are you not?  Why have you stayed
on here, and why do you want to do housework when surely you're of more
use in the fishing industry?"

"I keep house for Thomas Kerrick, and I'm tired of the smell of
fish."

Enlightenment made him lift the heavy eyebrows momentarily.

"I

remember.  You left town with Tom Kerrick some time ago while his poor
wife was alive.  Do you mean to say that you still live in the same
house as that man without being married to him.  "

Aye, I do.  "

"And do you intend to marry him."

"No.  There's no need.  I only see to his domestic affairs."

Mr Clements seemed nonplussed and his wife hovered at his side with the
look of someone who has stumbled upon a tale of loose living and
desires to hear more before condemning it.  Her little mouth opened and
shut with anticipation like a hen bird craving food.

The clergyman deliberated.  He asked more questions, his fingertips
pressed together as if in prayer until her answers seemed to satisfy
him.  Then he
came to a 281 decision.

"I'll give you a trial.  Miss McLinhie.  Scottish people being the
God-fearing people they are I'm inclined to think you may have been
driven by your conscience to seek employment in this house, so I feel
it my Christian duty to take you on.  My wife is on the frail side. 
I'll be well pleased if you can relieve her of all heavy work.  It will
please me more ill know that you are prepared to repent of your way of
life and attend church every Sunday."

He discussed what her hours would be and what else was expected of her.
Flora's sullen expression didn't change at all as she nodded her head
and agreed to the wage he offered.  It was more than she would have got
for mending nets on Clara's beatster's hook which was still by the
window in Tom's house.

"That's settled then," said Mr Clements.  You can start on Monday.  "

"I'd like that fine," said Flora.  But the terms didn't altogether suit
her and before leaving she spoke her mind.

"First there's something I'd like to make clear.  There's not just me
and Tom, you know.  I keep house for his son as well.  And as for me
running off with Tom Kerrick, well it's time people knew I did no such
thing.  Not the way they think, anyway.  He came out of hospital a very
sick man and he would have died if I hadn't been there, because his
wife had no love for him at all.  She did nothing.  I nursed him, that
was all, as any Christian woman would have done, but she invented lies.
 She said I'd been in his bed.  Now that poor man was not well enough
to eat his gruel without help, never mind have a woman in his bed.  I
stayed on till Christmas, then I packed ma boxes and when I came home
that last day I found Tom sitting on the doorstep in the cold.  She'd
turned him out, and he didn't have the strength to do anything about
it, so I took him with me back to Scotland along with the rest of ma
things.  I felt that sorry for him."  She turned to the door and was
aware of their route surprise.

"That's the way it was.  I just wanted to set the matter straight so
that you
won't judge me the same as everyone else.  I've made a man again of
Tom Kerrick.  I've given him back his confidence and his pride, and
what's more I've stopped him drinking, so I think I can safely say I've
done my Christian duty.  Good day to you, sir.  Good day to you, madam.
 I'll be seeing you on Monday."

She didn't know what Tom would say when he found out she was working at
the vicarage up by St Martha's Church.  She didn't really care.  The
work was not going to be over hard and she would enjoy havinga large
house to clean, which she would do very efficiently.  The trouble was
it would make her more dissatisfied with the one in Drago Street.

She didn't really know why she stayed with Tom.  He no longer needed
her help or pity and there was not much gentleness in the way he
treated her.  At first she had made allowances for this temper, knowing
how much he had gone through, but now he took her for granted and
treated her the same as he had done Clara.  He treated her, in fact,
like a wife.  It didn't occur to Flora that they had grown together in
this manner.

Sometimes she would watch him strip off his shirt at the scullery sink.
 His strong body had filled out again since his illness but there was
no spare flesh on him, just muscle and bone covered by a layer of
weather-hardened skin.  She often wondered if he turned to other women
when he was away.  If ever she discovered that he did she would leave
him.  Since he had always rejected any tentative advances she made
herself, she would be mortally offended if he sought such pleasures
with anyone else.  She was not a sexually motivated woman but there
were times when she felt intimacy might improve their relationship.  He
had never wanted her in that way at all.

She still wanted the best for Tom Kerrick, believing that life had been
unjustly hard on him, but lately she wanted to hold his head under the
pump until he came up with a bit more ambition.  He wouldn't have
started 283
proceedings about the Sarah Star if it hadn't been for her.  Tom was
going to have two boats before the autumn, even if she had to pursue
the matter herself.

She knew how to get round him.  All she had to do was threaten to leave
him and he was willing to do anything for her.  When they'd heard his
son was marrying into money she had made him return to Fenstowe even
though he had always vowed never to go back, and it had proved well
worth it.  He would never have repossessed the Night Queen otherwise,
and Flora didn't doubt that with a little effort there would be even
greater rewards once the Sarah Star was his as well.  She was not a
person to let opportunities slip by.

In spite of her brave resolution Poppy found it very difficult to be
strong. She grieved for Ned with an abandon she couldn't shake off for
three days and nights, shutting herself in her room away from everyone
to indulge in tears which just wouldn't be suppressed.  Her eyelids
swelled to a blue transparency and her face hollowed beneath the
cheekbones, giving her a delicate look which was emphasized still more
by her pallor.  She nursed her children and gave what comfort she could
to Aunt Jessie, but there was no one to give her real comfort in
return.  Her mother was too preoccupied with Violet, Aunt Lizzie was
too involved with the Mission, and though Daisy tried she was too
inexperienced to fully understand what it was like.

Jessie Rain kept a photograph of Ned on top of the harmonium in the
front parlour.  It had been taken about five years before and showed
Ned in his walking-out clothes.  The likeness was so good Poppy kept
looking at it, unable to believe she would never see his dear face
again, and she put flowers in a vase beside it.  On the fourth day it
was missing and she found that Aunt Jessie had taken it upstairs to her
own room.  This small, selfish
gesture roused Poppy to anger and the powerful new emotion gave her
strength to emerge from her initial grief.  She had always been
self-reliant, and since no one was going to help to ease the burden of
widowhood she would have to set about finding out for herself where she
stood.

There was the matter of money.  Everything needed Ned's signature and
she had no idea what to do when his other boats got back from the
Shetlands. Presumably men would have to be paid but she didn't know
whether the money came from the sale of the catch or whether she would
have to provide it from the bank.

She decided to visit the solicitor first.  The day was hot but she
walked the length of the Fenstowe Road rather than incur the extra
expense of the tram fare.  Ned had provided for the family's financial
needs while he was away, but there was no knowing now how long it would
be before there was any more money available, so she had to be careful.
 Frugality didn't come hard to her.  It was just a matter of returning
to the way things had been before she became Ned's wife.

The clerk opened the door of Mr Dunwoody's house to her.

"I should like to see Mr Dunwoody this afternoon, please.  I'm Mrs
Rain."

"Do you have an appointment, Mrs Rain?"

"No, but you will have heard perhaps that my husband was drowned."

"Ah, yes, indeed.  You have my deepest sympathy."

She was shown into the room where she had sat with her mother and Tom
Kerrick a few weeks earlier.  Ernest Dunwoody extended a bony hand to
her.

"My condolences, Mrs Rain."  The tone of his voice was no warmer than
the temperature in the room.

"And what can I do to help you?"

"I must know my financial position, Mr Dunwoody.  I want to know
whether my husband left a will and who will be managing his business
affairs from now on, seeing as his sons are not old enough."

285 He brought a snow-white handkerchief from his breast pocket,
removed his spectacles and began polishing each lens.  Without them his
stony eyes seemed smaller, and Poppy wondered whether they had ever
shed tears for anyone.

"Yes, Mr Rain deposited a new will with me a short time ago," he said,
'but I am not a liberty to open it and disclose the contents until you
can furnish me with a death certificate.  " The solicitor showed no
emotion whatever.  He opened a drawer and brought out some papers.

"I'm glad I've seen you, though.  May I remind you there is still the
matter of the boat Sarah Star to be settled?  It was brought to my
notice again only yesterday.  Perhaps you will be good enough to bring
in your mother to sign the papers soon."

His callousness struck Poppy like an icy wind.  She put both hands on
his polished desk and leaned forward, her amber eyes smouldering with
indignation at the effrontery.

"Mr Dunwoody, I have just lost my husband.  Have you no feelings?

Kindly save any other business until I feel able to deal with it.  "

He inclined his head.

"My apologies.  You are an unusually capable lady, obviously anxious to
get everything straight as you're already inquiring about your
husband's will. The world doesn't stop for bereavement, you know."

"There are men to pay.  It's going to be another six weeks at least
before the certificate's brought back.  I need to know what money there
is."

"You will know in good time."

He would tell her nothing, but the unsatisfactory exchange succeeded in
reviving Poppy's spirits and she left the dreary house a short time
later feeling goaded into makinga few investigations on her own.

It was good to feel the warmth of the sunshine again.  She crossed the
square
and turned the corner by Partridge's Department Store where Ned had
bought her dress for their wedding.  The memory brought easy tears to
the surface but she quickly thought of something else and forced them
away before they could fall.  Summer visitors in bright clothes
strolled towards the pier and along the promenade.  She walked proudly
among them, the shine of her hair and her black skirt and blouse making
her noticeable.  In a peculiar way she felt like a different person,
like a woman of some importance, and a quiet confidence gave her new
poise.  She was not going to be intimidated by the likes of Mr
Dunwoody.  Not by anyone, in fact.

If she couldn't find out who was to look after Ned's affairs she would
take charge of them herself.

She turned into Harbour Street and went through the fish-dock gates.

A lone fishing boat was coming in, bobbing like a bird on a pretty sea
which sparkled in the afternoon sun.  A couple of crewmen, looking like
Ned, stood in the bows and smoke from her funnel spread out behind them
like a streamer. Once again Poppy's eyes filled.  She blinked rapidly
and concentrated on where she was putting her feet.

Walter Smith was sitting like a gnome on the high stool in Ned's
office.  It seemed to be a part of him.  When Poppy went in he pressed
his hands against the desk until he could tilt his stool round on one
of its back legs.

"Mrs Rain."  His wispy eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"I didn't expect yuh down here.  Likely I would've been up to the house
with me condolences before the week's up.  It were a shock when I heard
about yer husband, I can tell yuh.  And what can I be doing for you?"

"I'll be needing to go through some of Ned's books," she said.

"There'll be the men to pay and expenses to see to when they get back
from the Shetlands."

"I can see to all that.  There's no need for you to bother yer lovely
head about those sort of things, especially at a time like this."

287 "I intend to take charge of Ned's affairs, Mr Smith, and if you
don't mind I'll look through some books today."

The old man's expression changed.  He had been sympathetic, but now he
was suspicious.

"I've kept them for him ever since he took over the fish merchant's
business and I ain't never had a complaint."

"I only want to know where I stand."

After an awkward silence the old man shuffled down off the stool.

There was an old cupboard at the back of the office, bare of paint or
varnish, and he pulled open one of the drawers.

"I don't know what yuh want but the accounts for the last five years
are in here.  Mebbe I shouldn't let you look, but I suppose you have a
right."

"Thank you, Mr Smith.  I do understand a bit about the business, you
know."

For the next hour Poppy sorted through papers, unearthing bills and
receipts which tallied with the books, and gradually she built up a
picture of the way Ned had run things.  She saw the way he had
expanded, where the money had come from and how he made it work for
him, but there seemed to be precious little to spare, and the most
surprising thing was that a lot had been invested in his brother
Charlie's boatyard.  The only luxury he had ever permitted himself was
the motor car, for which she found a receipt for one hundred and fifty
pounds and a manual explaining maintenance for the engine. The vehicle
was locked in a shed while Ned was away.

Time ticked by loudly on the big clock.  Walter left her alone to look
at what she liked, and the only other sound in the stuffy office was
the scratching of his nib on paper.

Now and again she was distracted by men outside who were voicing loud
objections to the number of German naval vessels they'd seen patrolling
the North Sea in recent months.  There was a lot of such talk lately. 
Ned had held strong views about the menace of that fast-growing fleet
and had talked
of danger in the installing of wireless telegraphy aboard German
trawlers. Until now Poppy hadn't taken much interest in the threat men
could see in the build-up of German power, but today she found talk of
it outside disturbing her to the point where she could no longer
concentrate on the accounts.

She was putting the books back in the cupboard when Charlie Rain came
in.  He didn't notice her immediately.

"Walter, you've got to help me."  His voice was charged with anxiety.

Poppy moved and Charlie's mouth dropped open.  He was thrown into
confusion at the sight of her and he snatched off his cap so quickly
the long strands of hair disguising his baldness flopped sideways on to
his collar.  His face was a fiery colour from walking fast in the heat,
the fair skin blotched and shiny.

"What're you doing down here, girl?  This ain't the place for a
woman."

"She insisted on seeing the books," said Walter.

Poppy didn't answer, his question.

"What help are you needing, Charlie?  Is it something I can do?"

Charlie hesitated.  He closed the door and leaned against it, as if
afraid of being heard by the men outside.

"It was between Ned and me.

And Walter.  Perhaps if you could leave us.  "

"Ned's affairs are now mine.  You can tell me and it won't go any
further."

"I'd rather not.  It ain't woman's business."

"If it's about the money Ned put into your yard it is my business."

She liked Charlie Rain.  Not that she saw him often.  Once or twice she
and Ned had taken the children up to his house to tea and she got on
well with his wife and family.

Charlie wiped his face with a large coloured handkerchief and slipped
his arms out of his jacket sleeves.

"It's hot in here," he said.

Then: "Yuh see, things haven't been going too well.  I need more funds
to keep the yard going seeing as how I've just got the first new order
in weeks.
If I don't get some money in the next fortnight I'll lose the 289
order since I can't supply the parts without paying for them."

"Does that mean your credit ain't good?"

His face flushed up again.

"I guess it does.  And the bank has said none of Ned's money can be
touched until after his affairs are settled.  If I go bankrupt.  Poppy,
Ned's estate won't be worth a lot.

He's been investing in the yard pretty heavily.  "

After a moment Poppy said: "A fortnight would do it, you say?"

Charlie nodded and she went to look over Walter's shoulder at the book
he had been writing in.  "There's enough money for me to use though,
ain't there, Mr Smith?  I'll not be short of a penny?"

"Yuh'll not."  Both men looked at her sharply, suspecting
selfishness.

"There was a bit of cash in the safe."

"That's all right then."  Poppy put on her black lace gloves and edged
past her brother-in-law whose stocky bulk made the office seem
overcrowded.

"Don't worry, Charlie, I'll do what I can.  I'll not let anything my
husband worked for slip through me fingers.  He'll want his sons
provided for if nothing else, so I'd best start making an effort."  She
opened the door, then turned back.  "I won't rest happy anyway unless I
see where they've buried Ned, so I'll be leaving for Lerwick early in
the morning and I'll bring the death certificate home with me by next
week."

Joshua was on the quay at Lerwick when the steamer SS Harold from Leith
tied up, and he saw Poppy Rain, who had never before been further than
Norwich, step a mite unsteadily off the gangway on to Victoria Pier. 
He thought he had never seen anyone so brave or so beautiful.  Her red
hair was flying free in the wind and she carried a grey hat with black
feathers along with a carpet bag.  Her black coat hung over her arm and
he saw grey stockings and black shoes beneath her black tunic dress.

Two days ago he had received a telegram from Charlie Rain, delivered
by the harbour master, to say that she would be arriving.  He'd laughed
when he first read it, thinking there must have been a mistake, but he
soon realized it was the sort of impulsive thing.  Poppy would do. 
Admiration coloured the pictures of her which were always vivid in his
mind, and he wondered how to contain his impatience until she
arrived.

In the summer there were three steamers a week from Leith and this was
the second he had met, having forfeited a night's fishing to be sure he
was there to meet her.  He feasted his eyes on her until she was lost
to view behind (he vast shed on the pier, then strode across the quay
and pushed his way through the throng of people disembarking until he
caught up with her.  She stopped.  A small smile hovered over her lips
and the amber eyes were clouded from recent weeping, but her chin was
held high and he recognized the same courage-which had seen her through
previous tragedy.

He took the carpet bag from her without a word being said and they
walked together along the quay with slow, matching steps.  There was
nothing he could say which would adequately convey his sorrow for her,
and the unbroken silence was more eloquent than words.  Her arm brushed
against his quite innocently.  In that moment she invaded his soul.  He
seemed to know her better than he knew himself, as if she were a part
of him, and his love for her was a cloak enveloping them both.  The
youthful days of lusting after her were over.  She meant so much more
to him than that.

It had been a long, tiring journey for her and he guessed she must be
feeling scared so far from home.

"Take a deep breath," he said, pausing to make her look at the harbour.
 She did as he suggested and filled her lungs with the same kind of
salt air she breathed at home, full of fish smells spiced with oil and
tar and soot.

"It's not so different here.  You've a lot of friends in this town
right now.

291 "I hope so."

"Did you have a good journey?"

"It was calm.  I couldn't sleep on the boat, though.  I must find
somewhere to stay tonight, then go back tomorrow."

"I've found somewhere for you.  A boarding house run by a lady called
Mrs Sinclair.  She'll look after you."

"Thank you."

They walked on again and took a side turning through to Commercial
Street. Poppy shivered.  The summer sun was deceptive in this northerly
town and a cool breeze whistled round corners.  Joshua took her coat
and put it over her shoulders.

"Why have you come?"

She draw the coat collar together and held it tightly round her slender
neck. The mouth he adored moved with the beginning of an answer, then
closed again and she stared straight ahead.  She swallowed.

"I want to see where you've buried him."

"It's a nice plot.  It gets the sun all day."

"And I need to take back the death certificate.  I can't touch his
money until the certificate's in Mr Dunwoody's hands."

Joshua felt as if a bucket of icy water had been tipped over him.  He
drew up sharply and a lock of black hair fell forward over his eyes,
which became granite hard.

"I don't believe it!  I don't believe anyone could be so
money-grabbing.  So bloody impatient to see how much they're worth."

She had walked on a few paces but she turned round abruptly, every
scrap of colour drained from her shocked face.  He went on,

"Couldn't you wait until I got home with it, or is it you didn't trust
me?"

"It's not that at all!  None of it.  You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand," Poppy Ludlow.  You're a greedy woman.  I regretted
saying you were going to marry Ned Rain for his money, but seems I
never spoke a truer word.  Now he's dead and you can't wait to make
sure it's all yours.  "

"Oh, Joshua, no."  Tears began coursing down her cheeks and the
freckles glistened on her translucent skin.  "Don't say things like
that."

He took hold of her arm in a painful grip and marched her along the
stone flags, past people who gaped and shops where customers peered out
with curiosity.  He was angry and sorely disillusioned.  All he wanted
was to deposit her with Mrs Sinclair and get back on board his boat so
that he could immerse himself in heavy work to take his mind off her.

"Joshua, will you listen to me!"

"I want nothing more to do with you.  You'll find Ned's things with Mrs
Sinclair, and the certificate you're so desperate to get your hands on
is here in my pocket.  I'll be glad to hand it over."

"Stop!"  Her voice rose to a shout and she shrugged herself free from
his grasp.

"I won't be spoken to like this, d'yuh hear?  Now just listen to me. 
The only personal reason I've come is to see my husband's grave.  The
reason I need the certificate is because without Ned's money his
brother Charlie's going to be out of business within another week and I
can't let that happen. If you think that makes me money-grabbing then
carry on thinking it, but don't say another word to me about it.  I'd
like to go to my lodgings now, if you please."

Her spirit shamed him and he calmed down a little.

"All right, so it's all for Charlie.  Though I don't know why you
should care so much about his tough luck.  Reckon there's more to it
than you're telling, but that's your business."

"You're right, it is."

Once again the strode along side by side, but there was no longer any
harmony between them.  Joshua's emotions were raw, reverting to the
primitive surge of passion which was more hate than love, and his fists
were clenched as he kept his arms close against his sides.  His mouth
was set in a fierce line and it took all his willpower to maintain an
appearance of resignation.  He
was not resigned to 293 anything.  Once again Poppy had shown herself
to be other than the lovely, acquiescent creature of his dreams, and he
felt cheated.

Mrs Sinclair's house was clean and plain, and with a lot of pictures on
the walls and tartan covers on the chairs.  She was a large woman who
wore a woollen hat even indoors and she was perpetually knitting.

"Come away in," she said when Joshua introduced her to Poppy.

"Poor wee girl, losing your husband so young, and brave, too, to come
all this way on your own.  I'll be taking you up to the Minister ma
self

He'll show you where your man was laid to rest.  "

Her needles clicked all the while she talked and it was miraculous how
the pattern grew when she never so much as glanced at the stitches. 
She was a motherly soul and Joshua knew she would take Poppy into her
heart as well as her house.  A short time ago he would have been
grateful for it.

"I'll wait while you check through Ned's things," he said.  He took a
brown envelope from his pocket and put it into Poppy's hand.

"You'll find the certificate in order and if you want to know anything
I'm sure the Minister'11 tell you where to go for information."

He watched her touch the pathetic bundle of clothes which was all that
was left of Ned Rain.  Her fingertips rested lightly on the guernsey
her husband had been wearing, and then curled back into her palms.  The
room was silent.

"I owe money for the funeral.  Who do I owe it to?"

"I don't want to hear that word money!"  The exclamation burst from
him, echoed round the four close walls and lingered in the mind long
after silence had settled.

"Oh, Joshua."  Poppy's shoulders shook and the tears filling her eyes
were hot and crystal clear, bringing redness to her lids.  She let them
flow, her lower lip drawn in with anguish.  Then she buried her face
against his chest.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, his hands moving at his sides with
indecision.  The feel of her against him was more than he could bear
without giving some sign of comfort.  Slowly his arms came up round her
and he cradled her gently, his cheek coming to rest on the top of her
bright head. ' "I'll away and brew us some tea," said Mrs Sinclair, and
discreetly retired.

They stood there for several minutes, their bodies instinctively
drawing together, and Joshua stroked her temple.  He caressed her cheek
and the side of her neck, feeling the pulse beneath her chin
fluttering, and his heart was heavier than an overloaded quarter-cran
basket.  He didn't understand her. Nor himself either, for that matter.
 Here he was holding her in spite of the disapproval he had voiced so
loudly, and the feelings she aroused in him were shameful, considering
how recently she had been widowed.

A horse and cart clattered by outside, and in the kitchen Mrs Sinclair
was singing quietly abut yon bonnie braes in sad tones which played on
their over-sensitive emotions.

Poppy pulled away from him and turned again to the pile of clothes on
the table.

"I'll pack these in a bag and take them with me.  Thank you for
arranging everything."

"Just take his personal things.  I'll take his clothes back on the boat
with me.  Save you carrying them."  He paused.  "That's if you trust
me."

"Of course I trust you.  There's no reason why I shouldn't."

Brown paper and string, which had been used to parcel Ned's belongings
together at the mortuary, were there on the table.  Joshua helped her
to wrap them up.

"Ned was a fine man," he said, and hoped she would never be
disillusioned.

"The best.  You must know how sorry I am he was taken."

"Yes, Joshua, I do.  And you're right, he was a good man.  Mebbe I
didn't deserve him."  She kept aside the few small possessions that had
been in
Ned's pockets his 295 knife, his wallet, a pipe and tobacco pouch, and
she held them cupped in her hands.  Her expression was thoughtful.

"His signet ring isn't here.  They must have buried him with it on. 
I'm glad they did."

Mrs Sinclair and the Minister went with Poppy to see the grave that
same day. They were kind people and no doubt thought she needed
support, having come so far to see where her husband was buried, but
she wanted to be alone with Ned, and was grateful when they moved
away.

She looked at the newly turned earth and the wooden cross with Ned's
name, but she couldn't cry.  She couldn't believe that he was there,
and though she knelt down to pray as her father would have wished her
to do, the words felt meaningless.  After a few minutes she sat back on
her heels with a sigh.

"I don't know where you are, Ned, but you ain't here.  Mebbe your
soul's already back home where you belong and I'll find you there."

The following morning there was just time for a second visit before the
ferry sailed, and she went up to the cemetery with her carpet bag and a
bunch of flowers from Mrs Sinclair's small back garden.  She was
looking at the ground, deep in thought, so she didn't notice the girl
standing beside Ned's grave until she was almost up to it.  She stopped
in surprise.

The girl was small and dark, and she was sobbing into a handkerchief.

Poppy was able to get close before she was aware of her.  In fact she
stood beside the girl for several seconds until she looked up.  Poppy
frowned and her mouth curved into the proud, disapproving line which
those who knew her would have seen as irritation.

"Who are you?"  she demanded.

The dark girl sniffed, and returned Poppy's stare.

"I || could ask you the same."

The sun was warmer today and it glinted on a gold ring which adorned
the
third finger of the girl's ungloved right hand.  She saw Poppy's eyes
go to it and hastily covered it with her other hand.

"That ring.  Where did you get it?"  Poppy couldn't hide a tremble in
her voice.  The trembling spread through her, from the crown of her
head to her toes curling against the soles of her black shoes.  She
knew it was Ned's ring, she had recognized it immediately, and the
girl's haste to cover it proclaimed that she was in possession of
something that didn't belong to her.

"It was given to me."

"Who by?"

"I'll no be telling you."

They continued to stare at each other coldly and Poppy's temper was
rising. She was quite unprepared for such an encounter and it was
upsetting her more every moment.

"That ring belonged to my husband and I want it back.  He couldn't have
given it to you."

"Your husband dye say?  Ned Rain was your husband?"

"He was.  And what was he to you?"

"Everything in ma life, but I swear I didna know he was married."

Poppy wished she had something to hold on to.  She felt faint and her
head ached so much the ground began to rock beneath her feet.  Her mind
refused to accept evidence of Ned's infidelity.  Ned, her Ned who had
given her two children and an abundance of love, couldn't have been
attracted to this slip of a girl.  She refused to believe it.

She closed her eyes with pain and the girl came to her, thinking no
doubt she was about to collapse, but Poppy shook off the hand which
offered help.  She may have taken Ned's love for granted and not given
him pleasure in return, but that hadn't given him the right to seek
other arms.

"Ned wouldn't have given you his signet ring."

The girl shuffled her feet.

"No, he didna give it."  She looked increasingly uncomfortable and blew
her
nose on 297 the wet handkerchief.

"Ma brother works for the undertaker.  I begged him to get it for me. 
I didna think anyone would miss it, as he's buried so far from his
home."  Her high voice rose to a pathetic cry of self-pity.

"I wanted it so badly."

Poppy looked at her with contempt and no pity at all.  She held out her
hand.

"The ring belongs to me.  I'd like it back, please."

The hussy put her hand behind her but Poppy dragged it back.  She
clasped the rough hand with callouses caused from gutting herrings, and
she pulled at Ned's signet ring.  It came off easily.

"I don't know your name.  I don't want to know it.  I just want to
forget you exist."

It was too early to feel any terrible anger or jealousy.  The shock was
too new.  If anyone had told her that Ned had a mistress in Lerwick she
would have said it was a lie, but she had found out for herself in the
cruel lest circumstances and she would have given anything for it to
have remained undiscovered.

Yet in a way it was almost a relief to find that he had not been quite
the perfect husband.  It was a salve to her conscience which had been
tormenting her sorely since yesterday when she had experienced the
utmost joy at having Joshua Kerrick's arms to comfort her.

She turned away without another word and made for the gate.

The girl called after her.

"I'll tend his grave."

Poppy didn't look round.  She clutched the ring tightly and it bit into
her palm as she coped with the carpet bag.  In her other hand she still
carried the bunch of flowers she had been going to place on the mound
of Scottish soil where Ned was buried.

13 It was the end of August before Joshua returned to Fenstowe.  He
had considered heading straight back home after he lost the mate,
having no heart for further fishing, but it was proving to be a boom
year.

There had never been so many fish caught, and it seemed a pity to miss
out when they were there for the taking.  He found a new mate in
Lerwick, a man who didn't mind leaving home to travel south, and once
Joshua had signed him on there was no desperate hurry to get back after
all.

When the herrings slackened off around the Shetlands he followed them
down to Frazerburgh and Aberdeen, but the voyage was still fraught with
incidents. He shot his nets at the mouth of the Moray Firth and they
came up full of jelly fish which stung the men's hands so badly they
had to be washed in paraffin to try to stop the itching.  There were so
many jellyfish that even the water around them caused stinging.  Then
there was the rotten job of ridding the nets of them the next day. 
Soon after that Ray Worth was so badly pricked on the wrist by a scad,
he had to have hot vinegar compresses on it to kill the poison.

He put into Scarborough in time for the Wake.  The harbour was so full
they had to weigh anchor a short distance out and row ashore, but the
crew were ready for some entertainment after the weeks at sea, and
Joshua didn't rush them to return.  He was not in any hurry himself.

He was too preoccupied with thoughts of Poppy Rain since that brief
encounter
in Lerwick and he didn't 299 know how he was going to react when next
he saw her.  The harsh words between them had stirred up fresh discord,
but the more conflict there was between them the more he wanted her. 
Such strength of character was stimulating, and disapproval of her
mercenary streak did nothing to change things.  He'd had no right to
criticize her anyway.  He was no different himself.

Which brought him face to face with the growing reluctance to return to
Caroline whom he had married, he had to admit, to better himself.

With Poppy seemingly beyond his reach it hadn't felt wrong to marry
Caroline. He respected her and they had grown close over the years
since she had invested in him.  He had seen their marriage as an
extension of their business partnership and hadn't expected any great
passion to develop.  Ever since the wedding he had tried to accustom
himself to the revelation of Caroline's sexual appetite, which had
amazed him, and he was not sure that he was in the right mood to
satisfy her hunger when he got back.  There was something not quite
respectable about a genteel woman having such cravings, and from the
level of Drago Street Joshua had believed that in higher society
coarseness was left behind.  She'd behaved more like a whore on their
wedding night, and though he had taken advantage of it, it had slightly
offended him. How his father would have scoffed.

Almost the first thing he saw when he finally put into Fenstowe harbour
late on that gusty day at the end of August was his father on the deck
of the Sarah Star, heading out to sea.  He double-checked to make sure
he hadn't imagined it, seeing as she and the Night Queen were very much
alike, but there was no mistake.  A tug was taking out a stringoffive
sailing smacks, like a duck with ducklings in its wake, and behind them
came the Sarah Star with Tom Kerrick in the wheelhouse wavinga friendly
salute.

"The devil!"  Joshua's exclamation burst from dry, salty lips, and he
shaded his eyes to follow the progress of the drifter.

"What the hell does he think he's doing."

He was filled with curiosity and suspicions of dirty business.  The
Sarah Star belonged to the Ludlows, but Ned Rain had seen to the
running of her. She had become part of his fleet.  Ned wouldn't have
taken on Tom as a skipper, not if he'd been the only man available, and
it was even more certain that Poppy wouldn't do so.  Nor did Tom need
to skipper another man's vessel when he had one of his own.

Something wasn't right.

Joshua made fast his own boat and supervised the unloading, then he
shouldered his shirt-bag and set off home, almost forgetting in the
absorption with his father's duplicity that home was now up on the
cliff.

He had no key yet to the house.  He had to ring the bell and wait for
Millie to let him in.  Caroline came out of the sitting room at the
sound of his voice, but her welcoming smile faded and a frown creased
her marble-smooth forehead when she saw the state of his clothes.

"Joshua, will you please use the back entrance when you come ashore.

My father always did.  I can't have you makinga mess of the carpets. 
"

She was wearing pearls around her pale neck, three stands of them which
dipped towards the lace edging at the tope of her dress of lavender
crepe. Her hair was teased more fully than ever and the evening sun
caught in it, framing her oval face in a bright light.

He looked at his salt-stained boots, his trousers and shirt smelling of
fish, and he knew she was right to reprimand him, but he was in no mood
to take it.

Til come in whichever bloody door I please.  I live here now.  "

"Yes, you do.  And you can have a little thought for others who live
here as well.  This isn't Marsh Village."

Her attitude inflamed him.

"I'll go back there then.  Mebbe I'll get a better welcome."

He swung round and had his hand on the door handle when she gave a cry
and came flying to his side.

"Joshua, I 301 am glad to see you.  I'm sorry.  Just take off your
boots and get changed quickly.  I've so much to tell you."

A faint colour tinted her face to the shade of pale pink rose petals
and her beauty captured him.  His memory had been playing tricks.  He
hadn't remembered how lovely she was, how ethereal, and now she was
near there was a waft of flowery perfume which filled him with
pleasure.  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, then
took himself upstairs.

It was good to feel really clean again and to be wearing fresh clothes.
 But while takin ga bath his mind had returned to the puzzle over his
father and the Sarah Star, and it was still uppermost when he joined
Caroline in the sitting room.

She was watching for him eagerly.

"Was it a good trip, Joshua?  Worth postponing our honeymoon for?"

"The best ever.  Everyone's saying there's never been such a good
year."

"So now we can go to London before the home fishing."

He didn't want to go to London.  He'd never been there and had no
hankering for it, but Caroline had set her heart on visiting the
capital.  It was the fashionable place to go on honeymoon and Nathaniel
Lea had said he would pay for it as a wedding present.

"It'll have to wait while I do a bit of investigating."

"But I don't want to wait.  I've waited long enough.  You promised we
would go away as soon as you got back and I want to go to London next
week at the latest."

"Can't it wait until the autumn?"

"No, Joshua."

"First I must find out why my father was taking out the Sarah Star.

That boat belongs to the Ludlows.  "

She pursed her lips and moved away.  A shadow clouded her violet eyes,
darkening them.

"It's always the Ludlows.  You can't do this, you can't do that, or you
must do this or you must do that because of the Ludlows.  They make me
sick.  Why do they bother you so much?"

The father's one of them.  That makes me tied up with them too.  "

"But you don't get on with any of them."

"Mebbe not, but I owe old Bill Ludlow a lot.  If he hadn't left my
father the Night Queen we wouldn't be married.  Would we?"

"Probably not."  Her smile was as warm but brief as a sunbeam between
spring showers.

"Now Tom Kerrick has both boats, I'm told.  Something to do with their
being no sons to inherit after Clan Ludlow died."

"You mean he took it from Poppy?  And her with enough problems to cope
with already."

"From the mother."

Joshua bristled.  His father's knack of causing trouble incensed him
and his mouth was taut with anger.

"Well he won't have it for long.

I'll see he gives it back.  "

"After we return from London."

"I can't go until it's settled."

Millie rang a bell in the hall, signalling that dinner was ready.  The
wonderful smell of home cooking reached Joshua's nose and soothed his
temper as he savoured the tang of onions.  This was somewhat different
to the way food was served up on board.  Or in Drago Street.

"Come on, wife, I'm ravenous."

"Wait."  Caroline touched his sleeve.

"You haven't given me a chance to tell you my news."  She paused long
enough to intrigue him and when she was sure of his full attention she
closed the door in case Millie was hovering nearby.

"If we don't go away now we won't be going away at all because I'll not
be able to travel.  I'm expecting our child in the spring."

Joshua opened his mouth to say something but words wouldn't come.  He
looked at his wife and felt strangely reluctant to rejoice.

"No, I'll not be selling the motor car."  Poppy was tired of people
telling
her what she should do and she was sharp 303 with her mother for
suggesting it.  Ned had been so proud of the vehicle and she intended
keeping it while she could.  "Mebbe I'll learn to drive it myself."

"Do you mean it.  Poppy?"  Daisy looked at her with admiration.

"When you've learnt will you teach me as well?"

"I'll see."

Agnes was not so keen.

"It's a wicked waste keeping the thing.  The likes of us don't need
it."

"I'm sorry.  Maw, but I'm not like you any more.  I've got ambitions,
and we're not desperate for the money.  Not yet.  I hope we never will
be."

"You could sell it and give me the money to make up for letting Tom
Kerrick take the Sarah Star."

Poppy didn't want to argue any more, particularly while her mother was
using the petulant tone that was becoming so tiring lately.

There'd been enough discussions in the weeks since she had returned
from Lerwick.  All the family had been trying to give her advice but
she wanted none of it, confident of her ability to handle things
herself.

Ned had left everything to her except the house, which he had willed to
his mother, the condition being that Aunt Jessie would never turn her
or the children out.  But he had stipulated that some of his money was
to be held in trust for Steven until he came of age, so there was not a
great deal to spare.  Much would depend on Poppy's capabilities, and
she spent a lot of time at Ned's office on the fish dock, which didn't
please Walter Smith.

"I've always been left alone to get on with me job.  None of this
interfering.  Ifyuh want me to work for yuh same as I did for Ned I'll
be happy to do it, but I'll not stay if you keep getting in me way."

"I'm sorry, Mr Smith."  Poppy tried her best to smooth things over,
knowing she had to win the old man over somehow.

"Ned relied on you, and so do I. I couldn't manage if you left, and
that's a
fact, so please will you put up with me and show me how things are
done, else we'll not have a business at all."

To her relief the flattery worked.

"All right, I suppose I will," he said grudgingly, 'but it ain't easy
working for a woman.  "

By October Poppy was buzzing around Fenstowe in the Austin Runabout,
having been taught to drive it by he man at the garage.  The thrill of
this achievement brought a new light to her eyes and she sat behind the
wheel with such confidence it caused a stir in the town for several
days.  She controlled the throttle by the pedal-accelerator, set the
minimum engine speed by the lever above the steering wheel, and away
she went, a natural-born driver.  She had never felt so exhilarated. 
When it was wet she was as cosy as could be, protected from the weather
by the hood over her head and patent-leather flaps between the
dashboard and the seat, which completely closed her in.

If it was hot she revelled in the feel of the wind blowing through to
cool her.

Most exciting of all was the expression on Joshua Kerrick's face when
he first saw her at the controls.  She took one hand off the steering
wheel long enough to wave to him, and the sight of his dropped jaw made
her laugh until she felt quite rejuvenated.  It amused her so much she
took an extra turn through Cooper Street with a bright smile on her
lips and her head tilted proudly.

Poppy used the car to visit Charlie Rain at the boatyard.  Money had
been injected into the business in time to save it, but progress was
slow and Charlie was still not happy.  She went over there towards the
end of the month to check on the way things were going and found him
steeped in depression.

"Come and look around."  The makeshift office in a partitioned-off
corner of a shed hadn't changed since the day Poppy had first visited
it.  The day Ned asked her to marry him.  Bodies of spiders, dry as
dust, still littered the window ledge, and wood shavings carpeted the
floor.  Poppy was glad Charlie wanted to go outside.

305 "We've two boats in for repair, but we've only had the one order
since the summer and now that's almost done.  There's nothing more,"

he told her.

"But why?  You're a good shipwright.  One of the best round here."

"Because Dawkins & Master's and Burkeman's yards can deliver the goods
much quicker.  Burkeman's took an order for a drifter to be done in ten
weeks and I'm damned if they didn't do it.  That's some going.7 " It
couldn't have been good workmanship.  "

"It were."  Charlie was always fair.

"I saw her and there weren't a thing I could fault."

"Then what have we got to do to keep up?"

"We need a bigger building berth, double the size of the one we've got,
so as lifeboats and other small boats can be worked on at the same
time.  We need our own horse so we don't have to keep hiring one, but
that means havinga stable.  And the crane by the sawmill needs
attention.  That's just a few things, but without orders we shall't get
them."  He took her past the steam kirn which was normally belching
steam and makinga hissing which deafened the ears.  It was silent.  No
plank man was in sight to operate it and the apprentices who should
have been driving bolts and nails into hot planks were using them to
fire at each other in friendly rivalry.  Charlie sighed.

"I could do with more men, but I can't afford to employ more until I
get orders to pay their wages.  It's a vicious circle."

"The yard isn't a good investment then, is it, Charlie?"

The worry lines across his forehead deepened and he looked at her with
increased anxiety.

"You won't be pulling out, will yuh?"

"I don't know."

"It'll be the end if yuh do."

"I've got my sons to think about.  Ned wanted them well provided for
and I've got to think what's best for them.  It's no good sending good
money after bad."

"Don't act too hasty.  Poppy, I beg you.  I reckon as how another
month or two might tip the balance.  Ned had faith in the yard.  He
wouldn't have put money in it at all otherwise."

"I'll have to let you know."  She felt uncomfortable with Charlie in
this humble mood, and didn't like the feeling that she was ultimately
responsible for his success or failure.

"I'll have to look at some figures before I can decide."

"Yuh can do that, of course."  Charlie rubbed his hands together.

"May I suggest you could sell that fancy motor car of Ned's and raise
some money?  Better got rid of than kept as a plaything."

It was the worst thing he could have said.  Poppy possessed a stubborn
streak which made her resist more firmly each plea that she should part
with the motor car.

"The motor is mine and I shall keep it until I'm ready to find a
buyer," she said, and left the office without permitting any more
discussion.

She needed advice, and she went to see Aunt Lizzie that same evening.

When she arrived at the house she interrupted an argument, and Morris
Johnson opened the door to her with bad grace.

"Oh, it's you.  Well you might as well come in seeing as how we've been
having words about you."

"Take no notice.  Poppy."  Aunt Lizzie was in the kitchen.

"Your aunt wants me out from under her feet," Morris said.

"I guess she's gotten tired of me."

"Morris Johnson, yuh know that's not true."

He appealed to Poppy.

"I keep telling her I'm not so young any more and I like my bed at
night. And she doesn't like it because I won't skipper for Tom Kerrick.
 Can't blame me, can you, after the way he cheated your mother out of
her inheritance?"

Poppy sat down at the table where Morris was finishing off his supper. 
She was never sure what to make of him, but she had to agree with what
he said on the last score.

307 "Don't be cross with him.  Aunt Lizzie.  I don't know what we'd
have done without him around."  / Lizzie grunted.

"He thinks more of you than he does of me."

"Ah, but I found him for you."

Morris pushed away his empty plate and stretched back in his chair, a
broad smile on his face.

"Nothing like having two beautiful women fighting over a man to make
him feel good."

Poppy had hoped he would be away at sea, but as he was not she was
going to have to talk over her problem in front of him.

"Sell Ned's interest in the yard, you say?"  He drew on his pipe and
puffed smoke into the air with little kissing movements of his mouth.

"I may be wrong but I think you should hang on to your shares in the
boatyard.  The way it looks to me there's going to be a lot of new
craft called for come next year.  I don't like it, but there's no
getting away from the fact the Germans are building up their fleets and
we're going to have to do the same.  Maybe the Royal Navy are doing it
already.  Heard tell they are.  So there's a chance Charlie Rain might
be doing good business sooner than he thinks."

"You don't mean there's going to be a war?"

"No.  I'm sure it won't come to that, but the Kaiser's creatinga naval
race with us.  He wants to be master of the North Sea, I guess, and
we've got to show him that's not on.  I'd have thought he had enough to
do helping his Austro-Hungarian allies against the Serbs making trouble
on their border, but I suppose he needs something else to |j amuse him
between times."

Morris always read the newspapers.  He knew a lot about world politics
and he paid Poppy the compliment of talking to her about them as Ned
had done.

"Well I don't like the sound of if, but if it's going to improve the
boat-building industry I suppose it can't be all bad.  I may have to
sell something else to keep the yard going, though."

"You do that.  Sell the fish merchant's business if you have to, but
keep your interest in the yard, that's my advice."

"Thank you, Morris.  That's what I wanted to know."

When she got home there was a day's ironing to do and she worked until
well past midnight clearing the basket of everything so that Aunt
Jessie would have no cause to complain that she was neglecting
household duties.  She was not over-tired.  Running Ned's business was
a great challenge and she was enjoying it.  It seemed to give her fresh
energy.

Meanwhile she was already one step ahead of Joshua's bride.  Poppy
owned, and could drive, her own motor car.

Caroline was waiting for Joshua when he came downstairs with the deeds
of the Sarah Star in his coat pocket.  Her hands were clasped and she
faced him with a glint in her violet eyes.

"Where are you going?"  It was early one November afternoon and he had
expected her to be resting.  She had been plagued with morning
sickness, but that had passed and now it was the afternoons she spent
in bed to conserve her energy.

"My father wants to see you.  And so do

I. "

"Can't it wait?"

"I think not.  Father's in the sitting room."

Joshua smothered his annoyance and accompanied her down the hall to the
green and white room which was too cool for his comfort now summer was
over. Nathaniel Lea's health was failing.  His blood pressure kept
rising to alarming levels and he spent much of the day sitting by the
window where he could see the sea.  His interest in the business had
waned considerably but he still liked to be kept informed and it was
obvious to Joshua that Caroline had been regaling the old man with
details of her current grievance, that being the controversial buying
of the Sarah Star.

"Sit down," Nathaniel said without so much as a 309 greeting. 
Cordiality between the two men had never developed to any degree.

"Caroline tells me you have paid money to Tom Kerrick for a boat which
is old and of little use to us.  She advised you against it.  Why did
you do it?"

Joshua didn't sit down.  He objected to being spoken to like an
incompetent deck-hand, but he held his tongue.  Age was making the old
man tetchy, the same as it had done old Bill Ludlow.  He stood between
father and daughter with legs astride, the size of him enough to
dominate the room.

"I don't intend to keep it.  The boat should never have been taken from
Agnes Ludlow and I'm returning it to her."

Caroline turned on him sharply.

"You'll do no such thing, Joshua."

"Indeed not."  Nathaniel's voice was equally sharp.  "Since you were
foolish enough to spend good money for it we shall have to keep the
vessel until we have recouped the paying price.  I didn't become a don
by investing unwisely, and I hope you'll soon learn to follow my
example."

"Indeed yes."  The two words mocked his father-in-law's tone.

"I

follow it all the time.  My wife sees to that.  In fact I've followed
it so well that I now have money of my own and you'll be relieved to
know the transaction with my father was a private one.  Now, if you'll
excuse me I have things to do.  "

He strode away, his black eyebrows drawn together over eyes which were
burning with wrath.  The Leas were beginning to think they owned him as
well. They tried to manipulate him and dictate their ways, but they
were finding out he was not malleable.  Nor would he ever be.  He left
the house feeling satisfied that at last he was showing some authority
and he intended them to know that he didn't live there by kind
permission of Nathaniel.  It was his rightful place as Caroline's
husband and he was going to have a fair say in
things, otherwise he would take her to live elsewhere and she wouldn't
like that.  He couldn't afford a good enough house for her yet.

Though he wouldn't admit it, part of his anger was with himself.  He
knew he ought not to have bought the Sarah Star from his father.  He
disapproved of the way it had been acquired, even though investigations
had shown that Tom was legally entitled to it if he was mean enough to
force the issue.  He had appealed to his better nature in an attempt to
get him to relinquish ownership, but Tom didn't have a better nature. 
Joshua had known that, but he'd hoped that Flora McLinhie might have
managed to change Tom, especially as she had succeeded in weaning him
off alcohol.

"I'm within me rights," Tom had said.

"The boat's mine and I need it more than the Ludlows."

A bit later Joshua had reluctantly made his first offer.

"I know I shouldn't be doing it, Fa, but I'm willing to pay money to
see that boat returned to Agnes Ludlow.  It should never have come to
you."

"It ain't Agnes Ludlow you're concerned about, boy.  Don't kid me.  I'm
too long in the tooth to be taken in.  It's Clan Ludlow's oldest girl
what interests you more than she should.  I've always known it.  Well
she don't need the Sarah.  She's got Ned Rain's fleet."

Nothing could persuade Tom Kerrick on that occasion.  The weeks passed.
October came in with a wintry blast which pleased the coal men if no
one else.  Nights were dark, the air damp, and cold winds penetrated
rotting window frames and ill-fitting doors.  It was the season when
soot blew back into rooms as fires were banked higher, and paraffin
lamps flickered in perpetual draughts.

Joshua was in Nathaniel's office on the fish dock when his father came
by one morning towards the end of November.

"Glad you're alone," Tom said.  He sat himself down.  "I've been
thinking
about yer offer.  Mebbe I was wrong 311 after all and the Sarah Star
ought to be returned to Agnes Ludlow.  I suppose it were mean of me to
take advantage, but Flora insisted.  So, if you're still of a mind to
make me an offer I'm willing to accept."

Joshua was in no hurry.

"If your conscience is suddenly troubling you mebbe you could return it
for nothing."

"Wish I could, boy.  I truly wish I could, but I need the money."

"Then why didn't you come straight with me instead of pretending you've
got a heart where that lump of stone is?"

"You're too hard on me."

"I know you too well."

Tom put the deeds on the desk and leaned forward to speak
confidentially.

"Fact is Flora's threatening to leave me if I don't buy her a better
house. She can't stomach Drago Street all winter, she says."

"You shouldn't let a woman threaten you.  Drago Street was good enough
for Maw and it should be good enough for Flora.  She's only a gutting
girl."

"I know that, but she has uppity ideas, specially since she's been
skiwying up at that vicarage."

"And you give in to her!  It ain't like you, Fa."  Joshua looked at his
father's big, work-worn hands which had laid into his mother on many
occasions when Clara had maddened him.

"I know it ain't, but I like to keep her happy."  He squinted, as if at
a picture he didn't want to see.

"I couldn't bear it if she left me.  That I couldn't, boy."

So Joshua had paid good money for a boat he didn't want in order to put
right another wrong Tom Kerrick had inflicted on the Ludlows.

There was no show of gratitude from Agnes Ludlow.  She accepted the
deeds calmly when he took them to her, as if she had been waiting for
them.

"It's nice to know someone has a conscience.  Poppy ain't got one,
that's for sure."

The third child.  Violet, stood beside her.  She was growing tall and
her hair was pretty, but she was dribbling and making strange keening
noises which would have depressed the most cheerful person.  He felt
sorry for Agnes.  Life had been hard on the woman, inflict inga child
like this on her and taking away her husband.  He was ever mindful of
the reason for her loss and the subsequent futility of it.

"My father had no moral right to take the boat from you, Mrs Ludlow.

I'm just trying to be fair.  "

Agnes's eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.

"You're a good man, Joshua.  Too good to have been spawned by Tom
Kerrick, but I suppose you must have been since you look a lot like
him."  She bent to wipe Violet's nose with a piece of rag from her
apron pocket.

"It were kind of you to do this.  I'm grateful, though I know it
weren't strictly for me.  I know you always had a hankering for our
Poppy."

He neither denied nor confirmed it.  The other small child came down
the narrow stairs, rubbing her eyes.  She had Poppy's colouring and an
air of confidence even at this early age, making her alert as soon as
she saw him. No clinging to skirts for this one.

"How is Poppy?"  he asked.  He hadn't meant to.  Since the Lerwick
episode he had tried to shut her from his mind, but of course it was
impossible.  As always he had been too quick to condemn.

"How is she coping?"

"She does too much."

"Is there need for it?"

"She's lonely.  She wouldn't have yuh think so, mind, but I know she
is. Time was when I didn't understand her, but she's looked after us
since she married Ned Rain.  No one can say she hasn't.  She's lonely,
though."

There was nothing he could say.  The thought of Poppy's loneliness cut
into him sharply and her mother's worry became his own, but there was
nothing he could do about it.

He left the house and lowered his head against a rising wind which
buffeted him.  It was going to be a rough night but he found he
relished it.  He needed a strong dose of physical exertion to rid
himself of sentimentality, and he looked like getting it.

Poppy was a hard, stubborn, ambitious girl who had never spared him a
gentle word, and he was a fool to waste his time caring about her.  He
pictured her driving around town in Ned's motor car, flaunting her
ability in that unnecessary status symbol, and he hardened his heart.

Life was not treating Morris Johnson so well as he had anticipated and
he decided he was getting tired of Fenstowe.  More truthfully he was
tired of his wife.

When Lizzie's mother died, leaving her the house in Manor Road, he had
thought there would be plenty of money to go with it, and on the
strength of the supposition he had quickly persuaded her to marry him. 
It had come as a shock to discover the house was mortgaged to the hilt
and there was no money at all.  Instead of being able to sit back
comfortably and enjoy living on his wife's wealth he found she was now
expecting him to keep her and was constantly pressuring him to save
enough to buy a boat of his own.

He had never wanted too much responsibility.  His natural charm had
secured him most of the pleasures he enjoyed and he relied on intuition
to tell him the right places to seek them.  With Lizzie it was the
first time his intuition had been at fault.  She had turned out to be a
difficult woman with an unhealthy interest in the affairs of her
half-brother Tom Kerrick whom he hated, and he daily regretted having
tied himself to her.

On the day that Flora finally persuaded Tom to take Joshua's money in
exchange for the Sarah Star, Morris met her coming out of the
greengrocer's with a bag of turnip tops and potatoes which she dropped
right in front of him.  He bent to help her pick them up and met her
eyes quite unexpectedly. She was a handsome woman, too good for Tom
Kerrick, and he had passed the time of day with her often over the past
weeks.

She thanked him.

"Ye can see it'll no be much we're having for dinner," she said.

"Turnip tops to go with a sheep's head!  But tomorrow it'll be
different." There was a shine to her face, a look of satisfaction as if
she were well pleased with something.

"Could it be you're coming into a fortune?  If so it couldn't happen to
a nicer lady."

"Not a fortune, but a tidy sum.  Tom's sold the Sarah Star back to his
son and we're going to buy a new house.  And about time too."

He took the bag of shopping into his arms and walked along with her.

"I envy you."  His smile fell on her and stayed until he saw her sallow
cheeks bloom with colour.  "But if I were Tom Kerrick and had come into
money I'd be taking you away from this town."

He talked of places he'd seen and people he had met on his travels,
making her eyes widen with interest, and he cultivated the new
friendship carefully, winning her confidence.  Then he let her talk.

He let her grumble about Tom and his lack of ambition, and about the
way the Rev.  Clements and his wife put upon her at the vicarage.

Their steps became slower and at the corner of Drago Street she stopped
altogether.

"You and I don't belong here," Morris said.

"We belong among warmer folk."

"That we do," she agreed.  She took the bag from him, and his hand
brushed against hers so casually it could have been accidental.

"It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Mr Johnson."

"My name's Morris.  In the States we're not so formal."  He
deliberately sought her eyes.

"It's been a privilege to walk along with you, and should you ever need
a friend I hope you'll look no further than yours truly.  We're
foreigners here.  Flora, and we must stick together."

"I'll remember that," she said.  She had flushed at the use other
Christian name.

"I hope we'll meet again soon."

"I hope so indeed."

315 He watched her disappear behind the lines of washing strung across
the street like nags, and he felt more cheerful than he'd done in a
long time. It had been easy to see that she was starved of affection
and he wondered how long it would be before he could offer her some.

The thought pleased him immensely.  He liked her, but he also liked the
idea of spoiling things for Tom Kerrick.

The opportunity to get the better of him was to come much sooner than
he would ever have credited.

Heavy rain fell from a zinc sky and slashed at a group of angry men in
oilskins who were waiting to be told whether or not they were to put to
sea in the Sarah Star that eventful November day.

"Who does the bloody boat belong to anyway?"  The spokesman was in his
twenties, a hawesman on the last voyage.

"Seems to me it's forever changing hands.  First it were the Ludlows',
then the Kerricks'.  Now I suppose it's part of Nathaniel Lea's
fleet."

The mate piped up.

"I don't mind working for the Leas as long as I know where me share's
coming from."

"Never thought Tom'd part with her again that easy, not once he'd got
his hands on her.  That's what comes of havinga wife what wants to
better herself.  He needed the money to buy her a new house, he said.

Did yuh ever hear the like!  "

The sea was galloping in through the outer harbour, charging at walls
enclosing the biggest concentration of fishing boats ever seen at
Fenstowe. Record catches continued to fill the nets.  No one wanted to
miss out and the Scots had come down in greater force than ever for the
home fishing season, which was now nearing its end.

"Well, do we take her out then, or don't we?"  The Sarah Star's crew
huddled together under the roof along the quay side but there was no
shelter.  The wind was blowing straight in off the sea.

"Tom said he'd be here an hour ago.  Where the hell's he got to?"

"He'll not come if the boat ain't his no more."  The oldest member of
the group slapped his arms across his chest to keep warm, and the
rhythmic thumping made the others draw back out of his way.

"Of course he won't."

"Well I need me share of a night's profits and I don't aim to hang
around here," said the hawesman.

"Too right.  Don't we all."

Huge waves thudded on to the quay, and spray drenched the unhappy men. 
The solid assembly of tall funnels was beginning to break rank as some
of the drifters cast off, and with them all getting up steam a pall of
smoke scudded round on the wind, becoming denser by the minute.  A
ragged procession of departing vessels was already clogging the harbour
mouth.

The sea heaved between the wooden hulls, jarring bow against bow in the
congestion.  The Sarah Star was moored well up and she tossed the more
easily without a hand on deck, shipping water over her rails with each
new thrust of the rising tide.  Fishermen anxious to put to sea before
the wind worsened scurried like ants among the bollards and baskets on
the dock.

"Reckon as how we should march on Tom Kerrick's house," said the
mate.

"No sense standing here getting pushed and shoved.  We should be doing
a bit of it ourselves.  I hate being mucked about."

He rallied the other men into a similar mood and with one accord they
pulled their sou'westers about their ears, and headed for Drago
Street.

Earlier that day Tom Kerrick had pocketed the money his son had given
him for the Sarah Star and made for home, keeping his hand over it and
a wary eye on everyone he passed.  He had never had so much money in
his possession.

He didn't feel guilty about taking it.  Joshua had plenty.  He'd felt a
mite bitter though at having to part with the Sarah so soon after
getting her, and
he hoped Flora would 317 appreciate what it had cost him to keep her
happy. Tonight he'd be taking the boat out for the last time and he
would have to go back to sharing the Night Queen with Hal, come
tomorrow.  Hal wasn't going to like that.  He had a young man's drive,
and since the home fishing started he'd hardly been ashore long enough
to grab a meal.  It was a good thing the season was nearly over.

Flora had made a sheep's-head stew with dumplings in it, the ones Clara
had called 'twenty-minute swimmers'.  She always came home from the
vicarage at midday and returned later in the afternoon to get a meal
for the Clements, her duties having extended to include cooking in
recent weeks.  The more time she spent there the better she seemed to
like it.

"Has Joshua paid you, then?"  Flora's obsession with money bothered Tom
but he knew he wouldn't change her.

"Aye, he's paid me."

She brought a battered tea tin down from the mantelpiece.  It had a
hinge missing but the lid fitted tight and she had to hold it against
her to ease it free.

"We'll keep it in here until it's wanted.  I'd like to know it's safe."
 She waited until Tom took the notes from his pocket and made him count
them. Then she took the bundle herself, deposited it in the tin and put
it in a drawer of the dresser.

"There."

"Yuh still don't trust me with money, do you?"

"I want to know where it is until we find a new house."

Tom half closed his eyes and saw the dull room through the haze of his
eyelashes.  Flora kept it cleaner than Clara had ever done and a fire
was drawing hard up the chimney, giving the place a homely warmth which
clung about him nostalgically.  A quarter of a century he'd lived here.
 His kids had been born here.  What did he want with moving?

"No good looking for anywhere else till after Christmas," he said,
settling himself for a quick nap after his dinner.

"We'll be looking tomorrow," said Flora.

His eyes snapped open again.

"It ain't the weather to be thinking of moving house.  Come the
spring'!!  be time enough."

"I'll no spend the winter in this hovel, Tom Kerrick, so don't be
thinking I will."

"Why not?  It's a solid roof over yer head."

"I want something better and I'll not give you any peace until I get
it."

Tom stood up.

"Are you threatening me, woman?"

"No.  I'm just saying ma mind."

"Then yuh'd better be careful.  I ain't a patient man."

"I know that.  I'm no patient women either and now you've got the money
I want somewhere else to live before the worst of the winter."

They were both strong-minded, neither given to compromise, and the
clash of wills was long overdue.

"We'll move when I say, and not before," said Tom.  Yesterday he'd been
prepared to do it as soon as the money was his, but suddenly he felt
bloody-minded.  He liked the feel of his wealth and wanted to hang on
to it for a while.

Flora was equally persistent.

"You'll not make me live here a week longer.  This place is no fit to
keep pigs in."

"What was that yuh said?"  His face turned white and his fists
clenched. Like all fishermen he was very superstitious and the mere
mention of pigs could cause untold bad luck.  He was not a religious
man but he knew that the Lord had made swine go over a cliff and drown
in the sea.  He was trembling.

"Yuh'll not use that word."

"Pigs!"  said Flora.

He slapped her.  It was the first time he had ever done it, yet he had
often struck his wife.  Flora recoiled and gave a cry of pain, holding
her face where a red weal began to show straight away.

"You'll be sorry you did that."  Her voice was quiet but full of
venom.

He showed no remorse.

"You were brought up among 319 fishermen.  Don't yuh know what yuh've
just done?  Likely yuh've put a curse on us."

He went down to the harbour to get the Sarah Star made ready for the
night's fishing, feeling wretched and full of anger.  A pile of his
nets had been drying on the green and he took a horse and cart and one
of his crewmen to collect them, grumbling all the while.  A new drum of
calcium carbide was needed for the acetylene lamps.  He chalked it up
on a slate at the chandler's so that Joshua would have to pay.  He
yelled at the mate because the gear hadn't been cleared properly after
last night's trip, and went for the boy cook because the stores were
still on deck.  Tom Kerrick was in a foul mood.

Fear had made him go for Flora like that.  Until this morning he had
been quite happy to fall in with her plans and had even looked forward
to moving up beyond the alleys into a better district, but the feel of
all that money in his pocket had done something to him.

It had made him feel miserly.

If only she hadn't mentioned pigs.

He regretted hitting her, and as the afternoon wore on he began to calm
down. He remembered how good she had been to him when Clara turned him
out, and how he had come to rely on her.  He remembered the grotty room
they had shared in Aberdeen while she nursed him back to health, and
the way they had talked then of living somewhere decent as soon as they
could afford it.  He ought not to have brought her back to Drago
Street.  He should have got the Night Queen back from Hal and then sold
that instead of hanging on to it. Flora hadn't wanted him to go back to
sea.  She'd wanted him to get a little shop somewhere in the country,
but the sea was in his blood and he couldn't leave it.

The wind tore through his white hair and made his head ache.  He took
his cap from his pocket and pulled it on hard, | settling the peak well
down over his forehead until the band caused pressure which seemed to
relieve the pain.

Anger had made him decide to put to sea without going home again, but
his conscience was unusually active and he knew he couldn't leave Flora
all night without telling her he was sorry.  It was a strong
north-easterly gale that was blowing.  There was a chance it would fine
down later, but he had to see Flora first, just in case anything
happened to him and he hadn't made his peace with her.

"I'll be back in an hour.  Jack," he yelled to the mate, then he sloped
off towards the fish-dock gate with his shoulders hunched.  He knew the
men weren't happy.  He'd told them about selling out to Joshua and it
hadn't gone down too well, but it wouldn't make a lot of difference to
them.

On the way home he stopped at Ma Brady's and bought Flora a penny bar
of chocolate.  He'd never done such a thing before.  She would be back
again from the vicarage by now and he was so anxious to see her he was
almost tripping over his feet.  The thought even came to him that he
ought to ask her to marry him, seeing as how they were going to be
moving up to a better area where respectability was a real important
matter.  Yes, he'd do it.

"Flora!"

He called her name as soon as he opened the door, but she was not
around. There was a charred smell in the room and he saw the stew pan
was still on the stove but the fire had gone out.

"Flora!"

He charged up the stairs.  The bedroom looked bare.  She had bought new
curtains as soon as she had saved enough money from her skiwying wages
but they were no longer at the window and the wind was whistling
through where the putty was weakest round the glass.  None of her
clothes were in the cupboard and her battered leather case was missing.
 She had left.

He went downstairs again more slowly than he had gone up, his chin
buried deep against the top of his chest.  She'd left him.  It wouldn't
sink in.

321 The few bits of brightly painted china which had belonged to her
mother were no longer on the dresser and her coat was not hanging
behind the door. There was nothing of Flora's to be seen anywhere.

Oh, she'd gone all right.

Tom sat down heavily, his bones aching, and all the life seemed to be
drained out of him.  He didn't know what he was going to do without
her, and he sat for several minutes without energy or inclination to
stir himself.  His mind was like a lump of clay.  Then he remembering
the money which had been the cause of it all and he went to the dresser
drawer, a leaping fear making his heart jerk.  The tea tin was not
there.  He pulled the drawer right out and tipped all the contents on
to the table, banging it until the wood splintered, though he could see
already that there was no tin box hidden away.  He did the same with
the other drawers.

Rage replaced his initial lethargy.  Now he tore about the house like a
bull, swearing loudly, but he knew he wouldn't find the money anywhere.
 She'd taken it with her.  The bitch!  The miserable, cheating cow!  It
was his money, all of it, and she didn't have the right to a penny.

Mebbe, just mebbe she'd retreated to the vicarage.  He slammed out of
the front door at a madman's pace, hurried the length of Drago Street
and climbed the steps up Dogger Alley so fast he had to stop at the top
to draw fresh breath.  There was a pain in his chest as if his ribs
were being pressed against his backbone.  Then on again.

The vicar came to the door.  His nostrils pinched in when he saw the
state of Tom Kerrick.

"Yes?  What can I do for you?"

"Flora McLinhie.  Is she here?"

"I'm afraid not.  She didn't return after lunch and my poor wife is
having to turn her hand to cooking.  I shall have a few words to say to
Miss McLinhie in the morning."

"I doubt yuh'll see her.  I doubt either of us will.  She's scarpered
with all me money, blast her."

"Oh, dear," said the Rev.  John Clements.

"I'd better go and see if anything of ours is missing."

Stupid, pompous man!  Tom retraced his steps, but now they were
dragging since there was no need for haste.  He guessed where Flora
would be.  She would be on a train to Edinburgh, already miles away,
and he knew he would never see her again.

There was still a little money in his pocket and he bought a bottle of
whisky with it.  When he got home he didn't wait to find a glass with
which to drink it.  He put the bottle to his lips and tipped the fiery
liquid down his throat in mighty gulps until his head was singing and
the wonderful, obliterating effects of alcohol drove out his anger.  It
was the first time he had touched a drop in over a year.

"Yuh can go to hell.  Flora McLinhie.  I don't need you.  I don't need
anybody.  I can take care ofmeselfand I'll stay right here in Drago
Street where I've always been.  It was good enough for Clara."  He shed
a few drunken tears.  "Why aren't yuh here, Clara?  I'd be good to yuh
now, I would."

By the time the crew of the Sarah Star reached the house and barged in
Tom Kerrick was sprawled half across the table in an alcoholic stupor,
with the empty bottle still clasped in one hand.  His face was smeared
with melted chocolate, and in the other hand were the remains of the
penny bar he had bought for Flora.

He had been right about her catching the train.  Flora was sitting in a
third-class carriage with Morris Johnson, heading for the West Country,
and the money was in the tapestry bag she was clutching against her
chest. Morris had said he would look after it for her but she preferred
to keep it close until they had decided on the best place to settle.

323 Poppy was glad when Christmas was over.  She missed Ned and tried
to forget there was a girl up in Scotland probably putt inga wreath on
his grave.  She told herself he hadn't been a philandering man and she
began to disbelieve what she had heard that day up there in the
Scottish mists, thinking mebbe the strangeness of everything had turned
her mind and she had imagined it all.

Aunt Lizzie hadn't brought any joy to Christmas either.  Morris going
off like that had made her bitter.  She didn't seem the least bit
heartbroken or unhappy about it, but her pride had suffered terribly,
making her more caustic- tongued than ever.

"I only married him so as no one could say things about us living under
the same roof after yer Grandma died," she said to Poppy.

"I

should have turned him out instead.  "

Poppy channelled her love into Ned's children so that they wouldn't be
unhappy without him there.  Nancy was too young to miss him, but Daniel
was still asking for his father and she was afraid of him becoming
pampered with so much female attention.  It was for Steven she felt the
greatest sorrow. The child had lost his mother, and now his father.

"I never had the rock Fa promised to bring me from Scarborough," he
said one day.

"I've no one to bring it for me now."

He rarely cried, but when the fleet returned from the Shetland
voyage,
perhaps boys at school had talked of things their fathers had brought
home. Poppy took him in her arms when he tried to hide his tears and
she cried with him.  From that day Steven had called her Maw and it was
like being given a precious gift.

"Would you like to go to Uncle Charlie's yard with me, Steven?  Mebbe
he'll show you how to make a little boat and then we can sail it next
summer down at the shore."

His face lit up.

"I'd like that fine.  Maw.  Mebbe I'll make boats me self instead of
going to sea when I'm grown up."

"That sounds like a real good idea."

The weeks slipped by.  January and February breathed cold and dampness
through the house, iced up the pipes and painted the windows with frost
patterns which delighted Nancy.  She scratched at them with baby
fingers and made holes big enough to look through.

Men fished round the coast of Ireland before Christmas and after,
bringing back tales of bad weather off Milford Haven and Dunmore that
made Poppy glad she was a woman and didn't have to endure it.  Some of
her boats stayed off Plymouth and though the herrings were good and
fetching high prices she had to count the cost of nets lost.  The
skippers complained, too, that they had to set a watch on board until
the catch was landed.  Couldn't leave it in the kid all night without
someone in the wheelhouse to keep an eye out.

"Them Plymouth blokes are right sharks," she heard them say.

"Ain't nothing for 'em to pinch bags of herring and make off before yuh
can catch 'em.  Come morning yuh can be a good few crans short if yuh
don't watch out."

She spent a lot of time working on her books and was gratified to find
there was a reasonably healthy balance, due partly to selling off the
fish-merchant business, but also due to the insurance money she had got
for the Vesta, which was much higher than she had expected.  To Charlie
Rain's relief she had reinvested the money in the boatyard and it
seemed to be paying off, especially since the record year for herrings
had prompted the placing of
orders for 325 new vessels, and Charlie had at last netted a few of
them. She had seen one new drifter launched already, and Charlie's
pride in his work had given him a lift which was evident in his
bearing.

The biggest surprise came in the new year when he told her he had taken
a firm order from Joshua Kerrick.

"Seems he wants a boat built in two months and if we can guarantee it
by the end of March he'll pay the top price.  I said we could do it."

"In two months?  Oh, Charlie, that's not long."  Poppy was worried.

"We're out to make Rain's Yard known, and if Nathaniel Lea's satisfied
the publicity'!!  be worth as much as the money."

"But you said it was Joshua placed the order."

"It's Lea's though, ain't it."

She was not so sure.  From what she'd heard Nathaniel Lea was a sick
man and had little say in anything.  It seemed Joshua had taken the
reins and even Caroline stayed in the background, though whether she
would continue to do so after the child was born was debatable.

Caroline Kerrick's pregnancy bothered Poppy more than it should have
done. The thought of Caroline carrying Joshua's child brought pain to
Poppy's own body, and she suffered them with a strange broodiness, as
if in doing so she could transfer the bearing of it to herself.

Caroline must have fallen for the baby on her wedding night.  Poppy
remembered the intimate exchange of glances she had shared with Joshua
the day he got married, and she felt as if he had betrayed her.  But
that was nonsense.  She could have been married to him now and her
children would have been his, but she had chosen Ned Rain instead.

She couldn't wait for work to start on the boat Charlie was to build
for Joshua, and she spent a lot of time at the yard.  There was always
the excuse that it was to keep Steven happy, but Aunt Jessie didn't
like it.

"Yuh're encouraging that child to turn his back on the sea.  His
father wouldn't have liked it."

"Ned wouldn't have minded.  Besides, Charlie is your son as well and he
never wanted to go to sea, so why is it so important for Steven?"

"Justdon't push him, girl."

Steven needed no pushing.  He couldn't wait to get to the yard as often
as Poppy would take him, and he was already showing himself handy with
a hammer and nails, which pleased Charlie no end since he had a family
of girls.

Poppy took a personal interest in Joshua's vessel from the moment she
saw the horse they now owned, which Steven had called Jumbo, drag in
the first tree chained to a two-wheeled gill.  The day was foggy and
the coat of the big, straining animal was steaming.

"I cycled out and chose the timber me self where it stood," Charlie
said.

"And I got the best.  The common oak what grows in hedgerows is what's
needed for shaping into frames.  Then durmast oak from woodlands is the
straight timber best for the keel and the kelson."

Seeingas how she had invested a lot more money in the firm, he liked to
explain things to her.

Charlie had a draughts man to draw out the plans and they were laid out
on the mould-loft floor which was like a huge blackboard on which
french-chalk lines appeared in a maze beneath his skilled fingers.

Soon the vastly extended building berth was ringing with encouraging
sounds and the steam kiln gushed with a new vigour.

The foreman had seven trees on which to start, three for the keel, two
for the centre kelson and two for the side kelsons.

"Thank goodness we can get port and starboard sides from the same piece
of timber," he said.

When the frame was completed the planking began.  The boat would have
fine lines to give it speed, not too much sharpness to the bows which
would make it a wet boat, but not too full either or there would be too
much pitching
and undue strain on the gear.  In record time the 327 hull was ready,
painted and tarred and waiting for the launching as soon as the full
moon brought a spring tide.  Groundways were laid down to the river,
forty-foot lengths of hollowed-out pitch pine and the crab winch was
brought down to the shore ready for use with the horse to pull the hull
out of the building shed.

On the February day when the launching was to take place a platform was
erected for the small crowd due to gather.  A pole was put up for a bur
gee with the boat's name on it, and shortly before midday the party
arrived, properly dressed for the occasion in suits and bowler hats,
the ladies well wrapped for the weather which was dry but cold.

Poppy was surprised to see Caroline Kerrick there.  Her condition was
carefully hidden beneath a fur coat and she looked healthier than she
had ever done.  She held Joshua's arm.  He walked slowly with her but
his eyes were on the new boat and he looked impatient for the ceremony
to be over so that work could start on the fitting out.

There were four children with Poppy that day, her own two, Steven, and
her little sister Iris who was now six and growing into a replica of
herself. They were all excited and jumping around like imps while Nancy
was balanced on Poppy's hip.  Joshua strolled over to them with his
wife still clinging, and as Poppy came face to face with Caroline
Kerrick she felt very much at a disadvantage.

"Congratulations, Poppy," Joshua said politely.  It was the first time
they had spoken since the summer.

"I must say I'm impressed with Rain's Yard."

"It's all Charlie's doing, not mine."

"But you had faith in him."

She didn't answer.  When she had tried to tell him about it in the
first place he had accused her of greed.

"You seem to manage quite well, Mrs Rain, in spite of your... er...
difficulties."  Caroline's tone was cool and condescending as she cast
a glance over the children.  The remark sounded insulting and Poppy
lifted her chin in defence.

"I manage because of my difficulties, as you call them, Mrs Kerrick.

If we don't work for our children then who is there to do it for?  "

The two women were much the same height and Poppy looked steadily into
the violet eyes of Joshua's wife until she had to lower her glance. 
Antipathy flowed between them like a poisoned stream, yet surely
Caroline knew nothing of the strong forces which simmered beneath the
surface whenever Poppy and Joshua met.  Poppy hoped it was impossible
to tell that it needed all her willpower to resist the temptation to
reach out and touch him.

"The boat looks fine," he said.

"I'll be taking her out me self as soon as she's done-her trials."

"And if there are any faults we shall expect them to be put right
immediately."  Caroline was obviously not happy.  "I can't think why my
husband chose to patronize a firm without any records to recommend it. 
I only hope the boat proves to be seaworthy."

"I assure you it will, Mrs Kerrick."

Joshua's eyes met Poppy's.  He winked.  The roguish gesture spoke
volumes and she had to turn away quickly before anyone noticed her
smile.  For a long time she had wondered whether he loved his wife, but
she had never seen them together and so had no means of knowing.

By the flicker of an eyelid she now had an answer.  He cared for
Caroline, that was plain, but a deep love would have exacted loyalty
even in small matters, and he would never have winked at her
imperiousness if she had had his complete devotion.  The thought filled
Poppy with joy.

"Come and watch.  Poppy."  Iris dragged her sister's hand as the group
gathered close to the hull.

There was an air of excitement in the yard.  Hal and Daisy were there
along with friends and relatives of the Leas and they were joined by
every man and boy who had worked on the boat.  The platform sagged a
little with the weight.  A bottle of wine was hanging over the bow on a
ribbon in readiness,
and on the shore the horse's trace 329 hook was fixed to the
crab-winch bar link, the guide splint already lashed to the winch and
bridle.  The ground ways were being well greased with a warm mixture of
horse fat, Russian tallow and some engine oil, and applied to the
hollows with a mop by one of the apprentices.  Everything was ready.

Caroline Kerrick was given the bottle of wine with which she was to
christen the latest addition to the Leas' fishing fleet.  Charlie had
allowed Steven to go on board with the handling crew, and he waved
excitedly.

"Remove the ladder," Charlie shouted.

"Stand by!  Right then, heave away!"

Caroline gave a little laugh.

"My husband enjoys a joke, as I'm sure you all know.  Lately I've had a
craving for a certain kind of sweetmeat and he thinks it might be
rather fun to remember it."  She lifted the bottle attached by a long
red ribbon and held it aloft a second.

"I name this ship Wild Ginger.  May God bless her and all who sail in
her."

The bottle smashed against the newly painted hull, the shores were
knocked away, the horse began to walk round the winch so that the
chains were wound down and the vessel began to move.  Slowly at
first.

Then as the downward slope became steeper she gained speed and moved on
her own, entering the water stern first with an enormous splash, There
were cheers from the crowd as the Wild Ginger, her bur gee now flying
from the main hatch coaming, was taken into the care of a Great Eastern
Railway paddle tug which had been standing by ready to tow her down
river to have her engine and boiler fitted.

Poppy's eyes flew once more to Joshua as soon as she heard what he was
calling his boat, and the hint of a smile touching his lips was enough
to confirm the suspicions which had brought immediate colour to her
cheeks. What a risk he had taken.  What a thing to do!  She pulled
Nancy closer to her until the pressure of her little body stopped the
fluttering, forbidden
agitation which threatened to make itself noticeable.  Sweetmeat
indeed! Nothing had been further from his mind when he had suggested
the name.

Not a word was said, but Poppy lifted the shawl from the neck of her
coat and quietly covered her mane of red hair just in case anyone
looked at her and put another interpretation on Joshua Kerrick's
choice.

The red-brick building in Harbour Street, almost opposite the fish dock
gates, was a haven for fishermen who came from other ports and for
those in need of help, be it long term or short.  Behind its arched
windows kindly souls voluntarily gave their time to listen to problems,
give advice, make up a bed for the night, or merely pour tea.  No one
was ever turned away.

When Lizzie Johnson walked towards the building early one morning
during the first week of March the gas lamp was still alight, hanging
like a flower on its ornate stem of wrought iron, and it shone on the
swinging sign outside the door which said Seamen's Institute.  Two
bicycles were propped up outside and a road sweeper was already busy
with his broom.  Sounds carried from the dock.  She heard pulleys
screeching and men shouting, a whole cacophony filling the air while
the street itself still seemed to slumber.  Lizzie pushed open the
green door of the Mission to Seamen and went inside.

"Ah, Mrs Johnson, I'm relieved to see you."  Skipper Parry, who was in
charge of the Mission, came out of his office.

"Would you mind coming in here a minute, please?"

Lizzie was puzzled.  She came two mornings a week to clean and make
beds, but Mr Parry did no more than pass the time of day at this early
hour.  She followed him into the office.

"Do sit down."  The skipper hovered in front of her, looking awkward

"This is a rather delicate subject, my dear lady, and I hardly know how
to broach it, but I must.  You are, I believe, related to the Kerrick
family?"

331 A feeling like pins and needles attacked her limbs and she shifted
her feet uneasily.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Then I feel you might be the best person to have a word with someone
upstairs who was too drunk last night to know where he lives.  We
thought the only thing was to give him a bed and let him sleep it off,
otherwise he would have been beading for a police cell, and it hardly
seemed Christian to send him in that direction.  He gave Mrs Parry a
sovereign for a cup of tea.  . .a sovereign mind.  . . and he refused
to take any change.  We've kept it for him."

"A Kerrick did you say?  Which one?  Tom gave up alcohol nigh on two
years ago."

"Then I regret to say he's taken to it again, for Tom Kerrick it is,
too befuddled to give his name, but him nevertheless."

"Oh, no."

Lizzie clutched the side of the chair, longing to say she didn't
believe him yet compelled to acknowledge that what he said was true.

Daisy had tried to tell her.

"Aunt Lizzie, there ain't no doubt about it, Tom Kerrick's hitting the
bottle again," Daisy had said.

"Hal should know.  Tom doesn't go down to the Trafalgar.  He hides
bottles indoors and then pretends he ain't well, but anyone can see
he's the worse for drink.  His house reeks of it."

"He wouldn't be such a fool, not after all this time."

Lizzie had defended Tom with all the loyalty born of her affection for
him, yet she had known there was no reason for Daisy to make up such a
thing. Poor Tom.  She couldn't blame him.  It was all the fault of that
woman who had walked out on him, and if she'd been a drinker herself
she might have joined him since she had lost her husband at the same
time, though in her case mebbe it would have been in celebration.  She
could honestly say she preferred living on her own.

"If you wouldn't mind talking to him in the room across the corridor
perhaps
you can make him see the folly of all this drinking," Skipper Parry
said.

"He might listen to you.  Perhaps you might even gel Tom to sign the
Pledge. That would be a great achievement."

"I'm sure he won't sign anything.  He's a very difficult man, Mr Parry,
but I'll see what I can do, of course."

Tm most grateful, Mrs Johnson.  "

About half an hour later Tom trundled down and Lizzie was waiting for
him. His feet dropped like lead weights on to each stair, making him
wince, and he clutched the banister rail with one hand while gripping
his forehead with the other.  She didn't say anything to him, but held
out her own hand for him to take as soon as he reached the bottom, then
she led him into the little private room.

"I don't know why you're here.  Lizzie, but if it's to give me a
lecture yuh can forget it.  I ain't listening to lectures from
anyone."

"Shall I get you some tea?"

"No.  I want nothing."  He was searching through his pockets.

"I

thought I had some money but it's gone.  Reckon I've been robbed.  "

Lizzie took the sovereign out of her apron pocket.

"Is this what you're looking for?  You insisted on paying for a cup of
tea with it last night."  She gave it to him and he sat down heavily in
one of the two armchairs.

"Tell me why you got so drunk?"

"I told yuh, I ain't putting up with no lectures."

She sat opposite him and leaned forward so that he had to give her some
attention.  This is me, Tom.  Lizzie.  When have I ever lectured you? 
There must have been a reason why you got in such a state and I want to
know so I can help.  "

He was truculent, deservedly suffering with a headache and feeling
sorry for himself, she supposed.  His eyes were red and his face was
unhealthily flushed.

"I was celebrating, that's what I was doing.  Celebrating.  Seems I got
me
first grandchild yesterday.  A girl.  A 333 wimpish girl that'll look
like that icy bitch Joshua married, I've no doubt."

"But that's wonderful."

"He'll think so."  She placed her hand over his and he turned it until
their palms were touching.

"I'm right glad you're here, Lizzie."

"But you're not happy about the baby.  Why?"

"Because Joshua gets every damn thing he wants."

"You should be pleased for him."

"Well I ain't.  It's all his fault Flora left me.  There he was with a
posh house, a wife and a fleet of boats, but he couldn't let me keep
what little was legally mine.  Oh, no.  He had to interfere and make me
give back the Sarah Star."

"He bought it back off you and gave it to Agnes."

"If he hadn't done it there wouldn't have been money in the house and
Flora wouldn't have gone off."

"Mebbe she would have gone anyway.  Mebbe Morris put the idea into her
head. I wouldn't put it past him."

"Aye, mebbe."  His head sank lower and the fire in him died down
again.

"I'm right sorry she took him from you, Lizzie.  Made it ten times
worse."

"I'm not.  It were good riddance.  I ought never to have married
him."

Lizzie touched the white hair which hadn't seen a comb that morning and
smoothed it away from his eyes.  Her fingers stayed over the spot at
his temple where she guessed the throbbing in his head might begin and
gently rotated her second finger to soothe it, all the while longing to
hold him in her arms as she did Poppy's children if they were hurt. 
Poor, dear Tom.

"Yuh've got to lead yer own life," she said.

"Forget about Joshua and Flora, stop drinking, and set about find inga
good woman to marry you.  That's what yuh've got to do."

There were castors underneath Lizzie's chair and it moved when Tom
dragged her hand against him.  They were so close their knees were
touching.

"I can't have you, so I'll not be marrying anyone

Her eyes filled with tears.

"You're always in me heart, Tom, and I pray for you.  Remember that
when you're tempted to open another bottle.  Promise me you'll give up
drinkingagain."

"It ain't easy."

"I'm not saying it is, but you must do it, for my sake."

Tom Kerrick solemnly vowed that he would never touch another drop, but
Lizzie was wise enough to know that it was an empty promise.  Hard
drinkers always sounded repentant and eager to please, until the next
time.

She had done her best.

^--,.

Joshua's interest in the development of his first boat was far greater
than the imminent birth of his first child.

Most of Nathaniel Lea's fleet was down at Newlyn fishing for mackerel
but the crew of the Norfolk Jane had been paid off.  The boat was laid
up for cleaning so that she would be ready for the early Scottish
voyage at the end of February, and she went into dry dock for a refit. 
Joshua had worked on board her while she was stripped down and he had
learnt a lot about engines in the process, but his preoccupation with
the Wild Ginger took him more often than was necessary to Rain's Yard
upriver.

If he hoped to see Poppy there he was unlucky.  Likely her only
interest in the yard was the money she had put into it and she wouldn't
want to spend time watching the men work.  He was not too disappointed.
 He was far too absorbed in following the progress Charlie's men were
making.

After launching, the paddle tug had taken the hull down to the
sheerlegs, a giant three-legged winch which belonged to the Great
Eastern Railway, and Joshua went to watch the boiler being lifted into
position.  He saw the triple expansion engine safely installed, then
the fore casing, the funnel and the after casing, and each time the
winch man hauled the wires tight ready to lower another piece Joshua's
exhilaration increased.  When the tug
came 335 alongside again to take the Wild Ginger back to the fitting-
out quay at Rain's Yard he longed to be on her deck just to get the
feel of her. He suffered with her while valves were fitted, when boring
started for the holding-down plates, and when bolts were tightened.

Each piece of work he saw done was like a birth pang and his impatience
to see the result of so much labour far outweighed everything else at
that moment.

While the engine room progressed the wheelhouse was being built in the
joiner's shop and Joshua was sure it was the best he had ever seen.  It
had a cambered roof with rounded corners, sliding windows with leather
straps to open them just like in a railway carriage, and a sill of
English oak.  The vessel's name was painted on varnished pitch pine
with scrolls and gold leaf, and he touched it lovingly, his fingers
lingering on each letter while he sensed that this was one of the most
important days of his life.

It had been a particularly busy day.  He'd left home at first light to
take the Norfolk Jane out of dry dock and when she was safely berthed
in the harbour it had taken the rest of the day to round up and sign on
another crew, includinga new skipper since he didn't intend to take her
out himself now his new boat was nearing completion.  Amidst the hustle
and noise of market workers, horses, carters, and shipwrights doing
on-the-spot repairs, he scarcely had time to think, but while it was
still daylight he once more made his way to the yard.

He got there just as the name plate was about to be fitted in the
centre of the fore top rail of the wheelhouse and it seemed as if his
boat had suddenly become a reality.

"I hope you're pleased with the way things are going.  She should be
ready by the date you said."

The low, quiet voice which always sent a wave of longing through him
was so unexpected he took a second to collect himself.  By then Poppy
Rain was
beside him, her hair puffed into a doughnut shape with curls fastened
into a knot in the centre.  She wore a green coat with a fur collar
which she was holding tight to her neck to keep out the frost-laden
wind.

"I'm very pleased.  Charlie deserves to get better known."

"He will, I'm sure, if you'll be kind enough to speak for him."

"Of course I will, providing the finished vessel is as good as she
promises to be."

"You can count on it."

Such commonplace conversation.  She went on to discuss the work with
him as if she had always been involved with a boatyard and he admired
the knowledge she had gained in such a short time, but the words they
spoke with their lips differed from those spoken with the eyes.  He was
glad of the hammering on the wheelhouse rail to cover the commotion
affecting his heart.

"You're keeping very busy," he said.  His eyes dwelt on her, absorbing
every fleck of colour dusting her cheeks and nose in the form of
freckles, watching her mobile mouth so that he would remember the way
it smiled or pouted, though he already knew.  Everythingabout her was
becoming more important to him as she grew in confidence.

"I enjoy it," said Poppy.

"There's so much more to life than housework and children."

They were separated by an arm's width.  Her eyes were the colour of
dark honey in the fading light and there was a glow to them which
warmed his own. He had only to reach out and she would meet him.  He
knew it for certain. Her hands were by her sides, almost as if she were
waiting for him to claim one, and indeed her right hand moved out a
little way as though drawn by a magnet, but he dare not touch her.

"I owe you an apology."  He moved a step or two away, pretending to
inspect the name plate now that it was fixed.  "That day in Lerwick I
was a bit hasty.  I knew it then but I did nothing to put things right.
 Forgive me."

337 She smiled.

"There's nothing to forgive."

"I'm no good at saying what I really mean, except when I'm angry."

"It was an unhappy day.  I understood."

"I thought mebbe you still had no time for me."

"Oh, no.  I'd like us to be friends."

They began to speak quickly, as if afraid the moment would slip away
before a new understanding could be established, but even then there
was disagreement.

"We can never be friends," he said.

"There's too much else between us for that.  Let's just say that we'll
never be enemies."

"That I'll promise you."  Poppy looked away as the joiner came ashore
within earshot.

"I'm pleased to have had a chat with you, Joshua.  The boat'll soon be
ready for her trials and then you can take delivery.

I'm sure you won't regret having faith in Rain's Yard.  Now I must
go.

Can I give you a lift in the motor?  "

He wanted to say that she could, but to sit so close beside her was
more than he dared to do when just talking had stirred him dangerously.
 A brisk walk to clear his head and ease his fevered body was what was
needed.

When he arrived home a little while later it was to find that his wife
had been safely delivered of a daughter.

Millie's hands were outstretched to take his coat as soon as he went to
the back door, a gesture quite unknown until this moment, and she
actually greeted him with a smile.

"Oh, Mr Kerrick, such wonderful news.  Let me take yer things so yuh
can go straight upstairs to the mistress.  The baby's arrived.  The
doctor just left but the midwife's still here.  I can't believe it."

It was the longest speech he had ever heard the woman make.  Joshua
pulled off his boots and tried to feel something of the same elation,
but his mind was still full of those moments with Poppy less than an
hour ago.  He felt nothing.  Nothing.  He didn't even inquire the
child's sex.

He climbed the stairs slowly, his nostrils drawing in at the
unfamiliar smell of disinfectant, and he heard sounds from the
bedroom.

"Yuh'll be able to nurse properly by tomorrow.  The milk'll come in as
soon as you put the baby to the breast."  The midwife's voice was
strident.

Joshua felt strangely repelled.  He looked at his hands and saw how
dirty they were.  Caroline wouldn't like it if he didn't wash and
change before he went in to see her.  He moved about quietly, and when
he was presentable he went again on to the landing.  Still he
hesitated.  There was a numbness in his mind, a complete lack of
pleasure at the thought of seeing his child for the first time.  He had
to overcome it.

Fixinga smile on his lips he opened the door of the room Caroline had
been using since the sixth month of her pregnancy, and went inside.

She was lying back on the pillows, her skin as white as the pristine
linen which must have been put on the bed since the delivery.  Her hair
was damp and clinging to her head so that she looked quite different,
but her eyes were so beautiful, so calm and full of joy that his
nervousness eased slightly.  The midwife, a buxom lady with two aprons
on, moved aside for him to come nearer the bed.

"Joshua, we've got a daughter," Caroline murmured.  There was a
tenderness in her voice which had never been there before.

"Isn't it the most marvelous thing that's ever happened?"

So it was a girl.  He went to his wife and took hold other hand, trying
to look suitably pleased.

"It's wonderful, Caro.  Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."  She tried to sit up, but sank back again wearily and
turned to the midwife.

"Mrs Barker, please bring the baby for my husband to hold."

Joshua waited with trepidation.  He'd never held a baby before and the
thought frightened him more than a night at sea in a gale.  The woman
came to him with a bundle of white blankets and he held out his hands. 
There was 339
hardly any weight to it.  The lightness scared him even more.  There
was a living thing inside the bundle which began to wriggle as prettily
as a flounder on a slab, and he moved the coverings aside cautiously to
look at his daughter.

Her eyes were wide open.  They were the colour of Caroline's, but she
had raven-black hair to abundance sucking up like a brush on her tiny
head.  Her lips were full like his own but sweetly curved, and her nose
was a delicate button.  She was the most exquisite thing he had ever
set eyes on.

Strong, new emotions affected Joshua.  There surged up in him a great
delight which was so unexpected he felt light-headed.  It left no nerve
untouched and robbed him of speech.  He was responsible for this small
miracle.  Over the months he had given little thought to the conception
that had occurred on his wedding night, leaving the worry of it to his
wife, but all the time she had been carrying something more precious
than the costliest jewel.

"Joshua?  You do like her, don't you?"  Caroline's question was full of
anxiety.

He lilted his eyes from the tiny creature, and they were misty.

"She's the best thing that ever happened to me."  His voice was husky
and he didn't know how to express the way he felt.

"She's like a beautiful flower."

The midwife left the room discreetly and Caroline patted the bed so
that he would sit on it beside her.

"I think so too.  That's why I'd like to call her Rose."

"Rose.  Yes, that's just the name for her."

He touched the miniature hand with his index finger and to his
amazement the baby fingers, smaller than peeled shrimps, curled round
it.  From that moment he was her slave.

Poppy heard about the birth of Rose Amelia Kerrick from Aunt Lizzie.

H

"So Caroline Kerrick's got a daughter, then," she said.

"Must be a disappointment for Nathaniel Lea.  He wanted a grandson."

The baby, it seemed, had arrived on the very afternoon that Poppy had
met Joshua at the boatyard, and she was confounded by her emotions.

Envy was uppermost.  She envied Caroline the right to bear his child,
but that was no new revelation.  Her other feelings were mixed.  She
was sad that the baby was a girl because she was sure that Joshua, too,
would be disappointed at not havinga son, and she wished she had the
courage to visit the house so that she could see the child for herself.
 She wished also that it hadn't entered the world at a moment when her
own feelings for Joshua were overwhelmingly strong.

It didn't seem quite right.

It made her feel more alone somehow than she had been since Ned was
drowned.

She wanted to tell Joshua that she was happy for him, which was true,
but there was no way she could be sure of seeing him.  Her only hope
was that he would come again to Charlie's yard around the same time,
and she took to visiting it every afternoon, always with the valid
excuse that Steven wanted to go after school.  Usually she would take
Nancy and Daniel as well if it was fine, but she didn't see Joshua, and
on the day that changed so many things she had only Steven with her.

It was very cold.  An icy wind was blowing down from the Arctic and a
few flakes of snow had been driven into corners, though the ground was
clear. The sky was clear too, shaded from blue and gold into a delicate
pink which touched the opposite bank of the river and shed a beautiful
light, peculiar to a fine winter afternoon, across the band of water.

"I want to play with my hammer.  Uncle Charlie," Steven said.  He was
jumping up and down and his face glowed from the cold and the
excitement of being in his favourite place.

"Can I go and see Jack?"

Charlie Rain patted his nephew's head.

"Don't get in the 341 way.  Work's started on another new drifter and
Jack'11 be busy."

"I won't."

The little boy darted across the yard to the joiner's shop, and Charlie
smilpd affectionately.

"Ned'd be proud of him."

Poppy nodded.

"I'm glad he's got you to keep an eye on him.  I'd rather bring him
here than let him get into mischief with boys from school."

"And you're a good mother to him.  Poppy.  Evelyn agrees with me, the
boy's been unlucky in some ways but lucky in others."  He pulled his
coat collar up round his ears.

"It's cold out here.  Come in the office.  Yuh can take a look at the
latest figures and I reckon yuh'll be pleased the way things are
going."

Thinking Steven was happily occupied Poppy spent around half an hour
talking over the steadily improving prospects of the yard with her
brother-in-law. When she left the office it was darkening, and she
hurried over to the joiner's shop to collect him, but he wasn't
there.

"Ain't seen him for nigh on twenty minutes," said Jack Forrester.

"I

thought he'd gone back to look for you.  "

Poppy turned colder than the ice in the wind.  She began calling
Steven's name, her normally mellow voice shrill with agitation, and she
looked across the boatyard in the hope of seeing his dark green coat
and the cap which was much too big for him because it had belonged to
his father.  There was no sign of him anywhere.

"Steven!"  She ran to Charlie's office.

"I can't find Steven, Charlie.

Nobody knows where he's gone.  "

"He can't have gone far."  Charlie's tone was reassuring but his brows
drew together.

"Likely he'll be playing in one of the sheds, though I've told him not
to. He could get hurt.  I'll get a lamp."

Poppy didn't wait for him to come back with it.  She hurried through
the gloom calling the boy's name repeatedly with fear clutching at her
like bony
fingers as she crossed the yard, making for the river's edge.  The
wind blew wood shavings and papers into the air and whirled them like
dervishes.  The river was black and spitting foam on to the shore in a
fit of fury even though the tide was low.

"Oh, God, where is he?"  Her prayer was said aloud as a terrible notion
took hold of her and wouldn't let go.  Mebbe the sea had snatched
Steven because Ned wanted him.  It was an absurd thought but it set
Poppy trembling and her feet crunched on the frosting earth as terror
clipped at her heels.  Thank goodness the sky was still fairly clear.

Until now she hadn't realized how much she had come to love Ned's son. 
He was as dear to her as her own two children and if anything had
happened to him she would be devastated once again.  He was so much
like Ned had been. The soft fair hair which was like silk to touch grew
from a peak on his forehead the way his father's had done, always
reminding her of him, and his blue eyes had the same gentle intensity. 
The possibility of never seeing him alive again made her blink away
scalding tears.  , Many of the men had gone home but those who had
still been working joined in the search.  Lamps appeared and other
voices called Steven's name, but Poppy was alone by the river.  She
trod on a wooden groin and jumped down on to the shingle so that she
could get nearer the water, forgetting that the river mud could be
dangerous.  It was still light enough to see that no small footprints
had been made there recently, but she walked along by the water's edge,
fearful of seeing anything that could mean Steven had fallen in while
playing nearby. Spray dampened her clothes and her feet were wet.

She continued along the shore, trying not to trip over huge pieces of
rotting wood, half-buried chains and old ropes, her skirt lifted almost
to her knees. Then the bank rose up a foot or more and she climbed on
to reclaimed land
which was rock hard where it edged a narrow channel 343 deep enough to
allow for the fitting-out quay.  In front of her now was the enormous
bulk of Joshua's new drifter, the Wild Ginger.

Wind-tossed water was hitting against the quay with thuds which made
the wooden jetty shudder, and the drifter rocked uneasily.  Poppy
stopped.  Low tide had brought the port-side rail of the boat level
with the edge of the quay and it would be quite possible for an
adventurous boy to climb aboard. Steven had taken great interest in the
new drifter, and yesterday he had begged Charlie to let him see the
boilers lit for the first time, throwing an unusual tantrum when his
uncle had refused.

"Ain't no place for you, boy.  Nor for anyone 'cept the fitters when
they start opening the main steam valve."  Charlie had said, and Steven
had had to be content with watching from a distance while the engine
gave a loud hiss and slowly started to turn.  Poppy remembered how
excited the boy had been when the all clear was given and the ship
began to vibrate with life.  She had kept her distance, and been glad
when her brother-in-law had taken a tight hold of Steven's hand.

Recalling the tantrum, she suddenly knew where Ned's son would be.  He
could be wilful at times, and having made up his mind to see the
boilers he would have slipped away at the first opportunity to do just
that.

"Steven, you come here this minute!"  The tone of Poppy's voice changed
to severity and she took purposeful steps along the jetty, intending to
board the drifter and fetch him off it by the scruff of his neck.  She
was about to step over the rail when she was seized by another
paralysing terror.  She hadn't been on board a differ since the night
Tom Kerrick had raped her, and the memory hounded her still.

"Steven!  I know you're there somewhere."

Mebbe he couldn't hear her if he was in the engine room.  She knew it
was the only place to look but she couldn't pluck up enough courage to
go and search
for him.  She leaned forward, straining her eyes and ears.  The new
boilers sent up a smell of burnt paint mixed with varnish and oil and
Stockholm tar. Wild Ginger had been due to go down to the dry dock
today under her own steam to have her bottom scrubbed, but there'd been
a slight hitch which had delayed it, and the fires had had to be banked
up for a second night.

The thought of those banked fires made Poppy forget everything else and
she stepped on board, dropping down on to the deck just as a man
appeared from the hood way carrying Steven Rain in his arms.

"Maw, I fell and hurt my ankle."  The child struggled to sit up when he
saw her.

"I couldn't move and I was frightened."

"Oh, Steven."  Relief flooded through her, taking away the nervous ache
which had gripped her stomach, and she wilted against the rail with an
enormous sigh.  She assumed the man holding him was someone Charlie
employed.  He was tall and had crisp fair hair, but in the poor light
she didn't recognize him. Then he spoke.

"It is very lucky I have such keen hearing, otherwise the boy might
have been there all night."  Her heart jerked and her jaw dropped with
surprise.  She knew that cultured voice at once, the careful use of
English which revealed that it was not his mother tongue, and the tone
reserved to flatter a woman. She knew it, yet couldn't believe in it. 
He seemed less surprised, but peered at her through the gloom with a
different incredulity.

"Poppy, my beautiful scarlet flower, this boy cannot possibly belong to
you."

Charlie and one of his men had also decided to make a search of the new
drifter.  They came up behind her, each hold inga lamp, and the light
fell on the very last person she had expected to see.

It was Dolph Brecht.

345 "I know you, don't I?"  Charlie held his lamp higher and spoke
before Poppy.  It shone on Dolph's face and he shaded his eyes with his
hands.

"You're the bloke what came here with that great German yacht I
repaired nigh on four summers ago.  Got yer arm broken by Joshua
Kerrick, I remember."

"Yes, that is who I am."  He stepped aside to escape the harsh light,
his gaze resting on the young woman with pale, freckled cheeks and
bright hair showing beneath the brim of a black felt hat.

"Have you nothing to say to me, Poppy, after all this time?"

"Steven's me stepson," she said.  A gust of wind tore at the hat and
almost dragged it free of the anchoring pins so that she had to clutch
it with both hands.

"After all this time I never thought to see you again, Dolph Brecht."

Charlie bristled with hostility.

"You're trespassing.  This boatyard ain't a public place.  Yuh'd better
tell me what you were doing here snooping around

"I was looking for Poppy."

"On a drifter?"

"Of course not.  I heard this child cry for help, that is why I came on
board the boat.  I am in the yard because I asked at Poppy's house
where I could find her and her mother told me it would be here."  He
paused with seeming embarrassment, and when Poppy took Steven from him
he looked at her with great pathos.

"She did not tell me that you are married.  I am heartbroken, but I
must
blame myself.  I should have known that such a beautiful girl would
not wait for me.  So many men must have wanted to marry you."

I. . . "

Toppy married me brother Ned," Charlie chimed in quickly, not letting
her give any explanations.

"She certainly wouldn't have waited around for a German.  Now yuh'd
better leave my yard, and don't ever let me find you here again."

She had never heard her brother-in-law speak so forcefully and the
authority in his voice obviously carried weight.  Dolph gave a formal
bow of acknowledgement, but offered no apology for the intrusion.

"I shall be staying at the Royal Mariner Hotel for the rest of the
week. Poppy, if you and your husband would care to dine with me one
evening."

"No, they wouldn't," said Charlie.

"Sir, you are extremely rude, but for Poppy's sake I am trying to keep
my temper."

"And I'm trying not to let me suspicions run away with me.  Seems
mighty strange that the first boat you boarded when yuh came back
belongs to the man who broke yer arm.  Mighty Suspicious.  So git
going."

"Charlie, don't speak to him like that."

Steven began to whimper.

"Maw.  I want to go home."

Several other men had joined the group and Dolph climbed on to the
jetty so that he was not at a disadvantage.  Poppy, still on the
drifter's deck, saw the aggression building up, and apprehension
chilled her bones.  Dolph was a strong man, but he was no match for the
collection of burly shipwrights and fitters who surrounded him, taking
their cue from Charlie.

"I resent your suspicions."  Dolph squared his shoulders and stood his
ground with courage.

"I came here in all innocence and find myself insulted beyond measure. 
You will apologize to me, please."

"Apologize to a German!  Never."

347 "I know you, don't I?"  Charlie held his lamp higher and spoke
before Poppy.  It shone on Dolph's face and he shaded his eyes with his
hands.

"You're the bloke what came here with that great German yacht I
repaired nigh on four summers ago.  Got yer arm broken by Joshua
Kerrick, I remember."

"Yes, that is who I am."  He stepped aside to escape the harsh light,
his gaze resting on the young woman with pale, freckled cheeks and
bright hair showing beneath the brim of a black felt hat.

"Have you nothing to say to me, Poppy?  ^er all this time?"

"Steven's me stepson," she said.  A gust of wind tore at the hat and
almost dragged it free of the anchoring pins so that she had to clutch
it with both hands.

"After all this time I never thought to see you again, Dolph Brecht."

Charlie bristled with hostility.

"You're trespassing.  This boatyard ain't a public place.  Yuh'd better
tell me what you were doing here snooping around

"I was looking for Poppy."

"On a drifter?"

"Of course not.  I heard this child cry for help, that is why I came on
board the boat.  I am in the yard because I asked at Poppy's house
where I could find her and her mother told me it would be here."  He
paused with seeming embarrassment, and when Poppy took Steven from him
he looked at her with great pathos.

"She did not tell me that you are married.  I am heartbroken, but I
must
blame myself.  I should have known that such a beautiful girl would
not wait for me.  So many men must have wanted to marry you."

"I.  . ."

"Poppy married me brother Ned," Charlie chimed in quickly, not letting
her give any explanations.

"She certainly wouldn't have waited around for a German.  Now yuh'd
better leave my yard, and don't ever let me find you here again."

She had never heard her brother-in-law speak so forcefully and the
authority in his voice obviously carried weight.  Dolph gave a formal
bow of acknowledgement, but offered no apology for the intrusion.

"I shall be staying at the Royal Mariner Hotel for the rest of the
week. Poppy, if you and your husband would care to dine with me one
evening."

"No, they wouldn't," said Charlie.

"Sir, you are extremely rude, but for Poppy's sake I am trying to keep
my temper."

"And I'm trying not to let me suspicions run away with me.  Seems
mighty strange that the first boat you boarded when yuh came back
belongs to the man who broke yer arm.  Mighty suspicious.  So git
going."

"Charlie, don't speak to him like that."

Steven began to whimper.

"Maw.  I want to go home."

Several other men had joined the group and Dolph climbed on to the
jetty so that he was not at a disadvantage.  Poppy, still on the
drifter's deck, saw the aggression building up, and apprehension
chilled her bones.  Dolph was a strong man, but he was no match for the
collection of burly shipwrights and fitters who surrounded him, taking
their cue from Charlie.

"I resent your suspicions."  Dolph squared his shoulders and stood his
ground with courage.

"I came here in all innocence and find myself insulted beyond measure. 
You will apologize to me, please."

"Apologize to a German!  Never."

347 "Charlie, stop it," Poppy begged, understanding his attitude in
general, but hating him for applying it to Dolph.

She needn't have feared that he would suffer intimidation.  He spoke up
in a voice which was no longer gracious.  "You do not have the manners
of your brother, Mr Rain.  Nor the sense.  Germany poses no threat to
your country. Since you were all so fearful of our supremacy we have
shown our goodwill by not increasing our naval power since 1912, so
there is no longer any rivalry. It would be wise if you were to keep up
with the times."

His bearing and his tone proclaimed the difference between Dolph Brecht
and the boat builders who were worrying at him like mongrels round a
thoroughbred.  The men started up a protest, steeped in propaganda and
sinister tales of gunboats endangering the fishing fleet.

"What about the way you lot hold training exercises in the North
sea?"

"I've a mate what got locked up for sixty days just for straying into
German waters."

"And a skipper I know came up before the court in Leipzig.  They
charged him with illegal fishing, but it weren't that.  Reckon they
were afraid he might have been spying."

Stories flew round, growing more preposterous with the telling, and
Dolph looked at the men with disdain.

"I pity you," he said.

"You are afraid of your own shadows.  Little men, all of you."

Poppy felt a surge of joy at the gentlemanly way he defended himself,
and felt a stirring of excitement.  She wanted to go and stand beside
Dolph to show Charlie that he was wrong, but with Steven in her arms
she daren't be part of the ugliness.

"You just git off my property," Charlie said with a snarl, and the men
closed in on Dolph as if an order had been issued.  They started to
manhandle him and he was about to be hustled towards the gate when
Poppy intervened.

"You're forgetting it's partly my property."  She raised her voice so
that there was no danger of them not hearing.  "Take your hands off him
and let him leave in peace.  He did us a kindness finding Steven, and
this is no way to repay it."

The effect was immediate.  Hands dropped from Dolph's immaculate suit
and he was allowed breathing space.  He shook himself, then stood
straighter than ever, surveying them all in turn with his pale eyes
which were colder than the ice beginning to form on the wet jetty.

"Thank you."  The equally cold words were meaningless.

He strode away, having lost nothing by restraining his temper, and they
were left feeling foolish.  Poppy watched him go, filled with
admiration for the way he had handled the situation, and she was
ashamed of Charlie.

The deck of the Wild Ginger was becoming slippery with frost.

"Take Steven please, Charlie, and will someone help me up on to the
jetty?" He did as she asked, and other hands supported her as she
climbed over the rail.  The group dispersed and she turned to Charlie,
whose face was still florid with temper.

"Now tell me why you behaved so badly.  And why did you let Dolph think
Ned was still alive?"

"Germans, pah!"  The shipwright spat the words out.  "Snooping, that's
what he was doing.  I don't care what excuse he had."

"He wouldn't do that.  What would be the reason?"

"Yuh can't trust Germans any more.  They could be spies these days and
I don't want anything to do with 'em.  And nor should you have, my
girl, if yuh know what's good for yuh.  Take my advice and don't you go
anywhere near him."  He looked at Steven who was grizzling in his
arms.

"Now let's go see what damage you've done toyer foot, boy."

Poppy followed him back to the office, her thoughts in turmoil.  Dolph
was
back in Fenstowe, and saying he had 349 come to look for her!  It was
so astounding she didn't know what to make of it, or what she would do.
 He had made a great impression on her when they first met.  Thinking
back, she wondered whether mebbe she would have fallen in love with him
if it hadn't been for the way Tom Kerrick had so recently abused her.

She waited while Charlie strapped up Steven's ankle, refusing to be
drawn into any more conversation about the young German's extraordinary
reappearance.  She might say things she would regret.

Since her emotions were running high she knew it was not the time to
decide whether to take Charlie's advice, though in her heart she had to
admit he was right.  She ought not to entertain thoughts of renewing
her brief and rather fraught acquaintance with Dolph Brecht.

Joshua was just about ready to put to sea in the Norfolk Jane for a
night's fishing out of Fenstowe.  Since her refit she'd been going out
on short trips, and though it was too early in the year for good
catches in the North Sea she had been bringing back enough mackerel to
make it worthwhile.  But the skipper he'd signed on had influenza, and
Joshua was taking over for him. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction
and relished the chance of getting back to sea, his feet itching to
feel the decks heave on a heavy swell again. Now that Caroline was
confined to bed with the baby he needed to escape.

A keen wind was whipping the water into fountainheads which surged up
against the harbour arms.  The sea beckoned him.  It knew he was not
happy being ashore for long, and sent strong irresistible salt and
iodine smells to fill his nostrils.  The noise along the quay was music
to his ears.  Goods wagons were shunting behind the sheds, and he had a
feeling in his bones that by morning he would have enough mackerel to
fill a couple of hundred boxes.

"It's been pretty fair all week," the mate said.  Took a look at that
brown,
hoss-pissy water and we knew there was mackerel there.  Me hands don't
half know it too.  I had blood running from me fingers this morning. 
"

His fingers were tied up with rags.  Mackerel had to be picked from the
nets, not scudded, and the easiest way to do it was to clip the gills,
but it was a painful job.

"I hope you washed them in disinfectant.  Likely you'll be off with
poisoning if not."

Joshua was about to go and check there was enough of it in the medicine
box when a horse and cart pulled round on to the quay close by. 
Charlie Rain called his name and jumped to the ground.

"Glad I caught you.  Josh.  Thought you ought to know I've had a bit of
trouble."

Joshua frowned.  The last of the rough nets had been stowed, the
furnace was stoked, and the tall smoke stack was billowing.  He wanted
to be away.

"At this stage?  I'm banking on Wild Ginger doing her trials by the end
of the week, then I'm taking her down to Newlyn with the rest of the
fleet."

"Nothing's wrong with the boat.  It's that German bloke what came here
with the Gretchen a few summers back.  Remember him?  Well he's here
again."

"What's it to do with me?"

He remembered the man well, and a strong feeling of disquiet invaded
his body.  He had a fleeting picture of Poppy Ludlow dancing round the
promenade with him, like a beautiful bird, and himself turn inga pasty
green with envy.

"I caught him aboard the Ginger."

The devil you did!  Now that needs some explaining.  "

"Says he came looking for Poppy, but I can't believe that."

Joshua could believe it.  The knowledge made him tense up inside and
the muscles corded in his arms beneath the thick guernsey as he
clenched his fists.  He'd not forgotten either that the wretch was
responsible for him having had to spend a night in gaol.

351 "The thing is, Ned's boy was missing and the German reckoned he
heard him calling out from the Ginger's engine room.  Mebbe it's true,
but suppose he'd been on board already, tinkering about I'm gettinga
man to check everything tomorrow before she goes to dry dock, just in
case.  Likely he wants to get even with you for breaking his arm.

Likelier still he's a spy.  "

Charlie's air of melodrama set Joshua laughing.  You've a good
imagination. I can't think there's anything top secret about a new
drifter and I don't reckon he's bent on revenge after all this time.

Anyway, he broke his arm falling against a lamp post.  " The hawesman
was waiting to cast off and the boy had come up on deck look inga
sickly colour, being new to the job and not yet acclimatized.  Joshua
couldn't talk about it now.  But nor could he dismiss the incident.

"You think he knew the boat was mine, then?"

"Reckon not."  Charlie scratched his head as he admitted it, and pulled
a wry face.

"He's staying at the Royal Mariner if you want a word with him."

"Don't worry about it.  I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie."

He was left with the unpleasant reminder that the German had said it
was Poppy he sought.  Damn him.

It was an in comfortable night, growing colder by the hour, and icicles
formed on the rigging.  The seas were high and with the mizzen sail up
Joshua set the wheel so that the Norfolk Jane could dodge along
steadily, but he didn't go below for even an hour's sleep.  He watched
the oblong corks bobbing along the length of the net-rope which kept
the mackerel nets near the surface for two miles or more, and his mind
was troubled.

By morning he had decided he would pay the German a visit, just to
satisfy himself there was no funny business going on.

The catch was not so good as he hoped for.  There were too many scads
which couldn't be eaten and nobody would want except farmers for
manure, and the
prickly spines of the mackerel jabbed his fingers when he helped to
pick them out.

About five cran went to buyers at the market and he sold a few for a
penny each to a couple of hawkers with baskets, but he didn't make
enough for the crew to be paid so the night's work had been a waste.

His mood suffered accordingly, but as it was so cold he doled out a
dram of whisky to each of the men before they went ashore.

The stoker had cleaned some fish in a pail and cooked them for
breakfast on board so Joshua was not hungry, but he went home to wash
and change before going to the Royal Mariner.  He spent a few minutes
with Caroline, cuddled his daughter, then took a tram into town and
made straight for the hotel, uncertain what he would say to Dolph
Brecht but determined to challenge him.

At this time of year there were not many visitors in Fenstowe and few
places kept open for them.  The Royal Mariner catered for upperclass
guests and Joshua snorted as he pushed through the revolving doors to
go in search of his quarry.  Two elderly ladies sitting on a red plush
sofa eyed him with curiosity, but there was no one else around.  He
touched the bell on the desk and waited.  A porter came.

"You have a German guest, I understand, by the name of Brecht.  I'd
like to see him, please."

The porter looked down the open page of the register.  "Room
fifteen."

Joshua climbed the stairs at a fair pace but went more slowly along the
corridor to look at room numbers.  A cleaning woman was busy with a
brush and duster, and the door of number fifteen stood open.  He rapped
on it sharply and waited, but no one came, and he glanced along the
corridor in both directions.  The cleaner was singing to herself in one
of the other rooms while a dustpan was propped in the doorway of Dolph
Brecht's, ready for use. Joshua went cautiously inside.

It was so tidy that for a moment he thought the man had 353 packed and
left, but a suitcase was still on a small mahogany table by the window
and a pair of black leather boots polished to mirror brightness stood
between the bed and the washstand.  Two ebony-backed hairbrushes with
the initials AB in silver were on the dressing table along with some
Brilliantine, a bottle ofHennessy brandy and a packet of something
labelled in German which looked like indigestion powders.  Serve him
right if he suffered with his stomach.

He glanced behind him anxiously.  The cleaner was still singing and
there was no sound of anyone coming.  He went across to the suitcase
and looked inside. There were neatly folded shins and underwear on top,
but when Joshua lifted them carefully he found some papers underneath
lying sandwiched between a flat newspaper.  There was no time to study
them in detail but his seaman's eye could tell immediately that he was
looking at charts of the waters around Fenstowe, the lighthouse and the
river and marshes beyond.

He didn't know what he had been expecting to find, but he was shaken by
the discovery he had made.  In all innocence he had believed the only
danger Dolph Brecht presented was through his association with Poppy. 
Now he knew different.

There were voices down the corridor.  He carefully but hastily put the
contents of the case back in order and fastened the catches, then
walked towards the doorway and stood there as nonchalantly as he could,
intending to look as if he had ventured no further.  The voices were
both female.  It was the two elderly woman who had been sitting
downstairs, and in view of their previous curiosity Joshua felt it
better if they didn't see him.  He stood back behind the door until
they had passed.

He was about to leave when the cleaning woman came bustling along the
corridor and turned into the room.  There was nothing for it but to
stay hidden behind the door and pray that she didn't come and close it.
 His heart
was beating unpleasantly hard at the thought of what Caroline would
say and what it would do to his reputation if he were caught like a
burglar in a hotel room.  The woman went straight to the dressing table
where the room behind her was mirrored.  He held his breath.  As luck
would have it she didn't look up, but began dusting the flowered china
tray on which the ebony brushes lay, giving him time to slip round the
door.  When the movement made her turn he was standing in the doorway
as if just about to knock.

"Good morning," Joshua said.

"I asked downstairs if I might see Mr Brecht.  Is he here?"

"Why no."  The woman stuffed the duster in her apron pocket.

"He went out about half an hour ago."

"Ah, pity.  Mebbe I'll leave a message with the porter, then."

He turned away quickly and went back downstairs, trying to look casual
as he left the hotel.  Thankfully there was no one around to recognize
him.  He felt as if he had disturbed a hornet's nest and had a swarm of
them blazinga conspicuous trail behind him.

Charlie Rain's spy theory had been no laughing matter after all.

Joshua didn't know what to do.  The logical thing would be to inform
the police, but that would mean explaining how he came to know that the
German had plans of Fenstowe in his case.  It was a tricky situation.

He got to the bridge just as it was swinging open to let a vessel
through, and he was faced with several minutes' wait.  The two halves
moved smoothly apart like the wings of some giant bird and the river
now flowed un spanned between Fenstowe's divided population.  Joshua
looked across at the people waiting on the other side and saw, to his
surprise, his father standing tall among them.  He hadn't seen him for
several weeks.  Since Flora McLinhie left the old man had gone to
pieces and when Joshua had tried to help his brother Hal to talk sense
into him he had met with so much abuse he'd washed his hands of his
father.  Even at a distance he looked rough.

355 Joshua turned away to watch the boat coming down river and
instantly forgot his father and everything else in the sudden burst of
pride which rushed through him.  Wild Ginger, shiny as a conker just
released from its husk, was steaming down to the dry dock in fine
style, every inch other a credit to the men who had built her.  She
passed through the narrow channel between the halved bridge and Joshua
yelled a greeting to the men on board, running over to the other side
of the road like a boy to follow the boat's progress as the men waved
back.  It was a long time since he felt so elated. The Ginger was going
to be the best drifter ever.  He could see it by the way her bows cut
through the water, and he wanted to shout to the world that the vessel
was his.

The moment passed and the bridge swung back together.  On the far side
Tom Kerrick stepped on to it, and father and son met in the middle.

"So that's yer new toy," Tom said,

"Reckon it means more to yuh than yer daughter, which I ain't been
invited to see yet."

"You'll be invited to the christening, so mind you smarten yourself
up."

Tom's cap was thick with grease and there was a three- corner tear in
the sleeve of his coat.  A covering of stubble whitened his chin.  The
sight of him sickened Joshua and he tried to push past without further
conversation, but Tom stopped him.

"Wait on, boy.  I'm real pleased to see you since there's things I want
to say.  It was a cruel thing yuh did to me, making me sell the Sarah
Star, and I blame you for the way Flora left me.  Aye, I do.  If there
hadn't been the money she'd be here now and I'd be skippering down off
the Devon coast same as I used to, with Flora waiting for me at home. 
Yuh've a lot to answer for, boy."

"I'm sorry, Fa.  She was a wrong 'un that's for sure, but you can't
blame me. I treated you fairer then you deserved when I gave you that
money, and you should have looked after it."

356 "You're sorry, yuh say?"

"I've told you so."

"Then show it by taking me on when you sign a crew for that new drifter
of yours."

Joshua's dark head shot up indignantly and he searched his father's
face for a sign that he was joking.  He saw the weary, red-rimmed eyes
pleading with him, but had no sympathy when there was a bottle bulging
out his coat pocket for everyone to see.

"You'll not set foot on the Ginger.  Leastways not until I know that
you've stopped drinking.  Think about it."

Tom began mouth inga few minor obscenities.

"Yuh're a patronizing snob, boy, but you ain't no better than me, so
don't kid yerselfyou are."

Joshua grinned and touched his shoulder with momentary affection.

"Just try staying sober.  Pa."

He left him still grumbling in the middle of the bridge like a
disgruntled tramp.

The meeting with his father had been an irksome interruption.  He had
intended going to the boatyard to talk over developments at the Royal
Mariner with Charlie Rain, but now a bit of time had elapsed he didn't
really feel like discussing it with anyone.  After all, what had he
found out?  A few drawings of the coast didn't amount to much.

He couldn't go to the police yet, not until he had talked to Dolph
Brecht and heard what he had to say.  He didn't want to make himself
look a fool by putting about a warmongering spy story with no
foundation.  Much better to pay the man another visit later on in the
day and tackle him with it before taking any action.  A few words might
clarify things.

He trod in the gutter and ice cracked beneath his feet.

Poppy spent a disturbed night.  Nancy was cutting teeth, which made her
fretful, and the only way to keep her quiet so that she wouldn't waken
Daniel was to take the child into her own bed.  She cradled the little
girl in her
arms, 357 her face against the soft, downy hair which was coming on as
pale as gossamer, and she stared at the ceiling while memories of Dolph
crowded her mind.

She would have to see him again, whatever Charlie might think.  She
hadn't thanked him for rescuing Steven, for one thing.  Nor had she
remarked on the nattering fact that he had come all the way from
Germany to see her, presuming it was true.  Certainly he had spoken the
truth about going round to Murdoch Street.  She had checked with her
mother.

Agnes had not been impressed.

"Oh, he came all right.  Wouldn't leave until he was told where you'd
be. Jessie was here with Nancy and she told him.  I wouldn't have. 
Never thought to see that bloke again."

It seemed everyone had been rude to him when he deserved a bit of
courtesy. And she was cross at the way Charlie had misled him into
thinking she was still married.  There was no reason at all why Dolph
Brecht shouldn't know that she was a widow, though she wasn't prepared
to think too deeply about why she wanted the matter put straight.  The
answer, of course, lay in the way her body grew hot under the
bedclothes when she remembered how he had kissed her one rainy
afternoon along the shore.

The next day, quite a while after Joshua had visited the hotel where
Dolph was staying.  Poppy did the same.  She couldn't settle to
anything until she had seen him privately.  She waited primly while a
messenger was sent upstairs to inform him she was there, and as the
minutes dragged by she sat on the red plush sofa, twisting her wedding
ring round and round like a nervous girl keep inga secret assignation. 
How silly.  She was a respectable widow whose conscience was troubling
her on an innocent matter.  Not liking bad manners, she was merely here
to apologize.  She smoothed her skin, then stood up again and took a
few steps to right and left, her full lower lip drawn between her
teeth.  If it was such an innocent matter, she asked
herself, why had she worn her best dark blue tunic skirt and blue
blouse which everyone said showed up her hair to the best advantage.

The messenger came back down the stairs but didn't approach her.  She
had wondered whether Dolph might refuse to see her after yesterday.

He believed her to be a married woman and she felt sure his morals were
as impeccable as his clothes.  A gentleman was likely to be wary of a
married woman who came alone to see him at a hotel, but she would
assure him at once that it was to be a very brief social call.

Whether it was wrong or not, she was looking forward to seeing him.

There was a fluttering in her chest which made her breathe quickly, a
feeling of excitement which was nothing like the painful ache she
experienced whenever Joshua Kerrick was near.

It was another five minutes before he came, and he looked so well
groomed she thought he must have spent them in front of a mirror.  He
wore a brown pinstriped lounge suit and fawn cloth spats over his brown
shoes.  The whiteness of his shirt vied with the intermittent
snowflakes falling outside. His crisp fair hair had been cropped very
short, showing the fine shape of his head, and when he smiled the
arrogant chin jutted the way she remembered it.

"What a marvelous surprise."  He came towards her with a hand extended
to take one of hers in a friendly clasp.

"I had not expected to see you alone."

She disengaged her hand as quickly as she could because the contact set
up a tingling which started in her palm and spread through her body
faster than she could blink her eyes.  It bewildered her.

"I came to thank you.  It was very rude of us not to have done so
yesterday when you found Steven.  I'm very sorry."

"It was nothing.  You would have found him yourself in a few minutes.

He was frightened more than hurt, I think.  How is he today?  "

359 "I sent him to school.  He's just limp inga bit."  She felt
conspicuous standing in the hotel foyer talking to such a handsome man,
but she couldn't leave without a few more words.

"I've got to apologize as well for my brother-in-law.  He wouldn't let
me say anything and since you've come all this way to see me it's only
fair you should know I'm a widow."

As soon as she had told him her face flushed to the colour of the plush
sofa. It sounded as if she craved his attention and couldn't wait to
inform him she was a free woman.  Thankfully Dolph appeared not to see
it that way.  His bright expression changed to shock.

"You mean my good friend Ned Rain is no longer alive?"

"He drowned off the Shetlands last summer."

"Oh, Poppy, I am sorry.  What can I say?"

She drew on her gloves.

"I just wanted you to know.  Now I must go.

Goodbye, Dolph.  It's been a real pleasure seeing you again.  "

She started to walk towards the revolving door, but with a stride he
caught up with her.

"You cannot leave without telling me how it happened.  Such dreadful
news.  I am devastated.  We must talk."

"I'd rather not.  I've me reputation to think of."  Her heart seemed to
be expanding painfully.

He touched her arm.

"We will talk in private.  There is another staircase leading to my
room. Would you perhaps come with me there?"

His voice was low but the porter was watching with the idle curiosity
of someone used to witnessing clandestine meetings.  Yet this was no
such thing.

"I give you my word that I respect you and it would only be to talk. 
Please say you will come.  I have a gift for you.  Poppy.  I have been
waiting so long to give it to you."

She couldn't do it.  It was unthinkable that she should go to a man's
room, and she resisted strongly.

"No, Dolph.  You shouldn't even ask me."

"Then can I visit you at your house?  Tell me when I may come."

She had a picture of him arriving while Aunt Jessie was around and
knew that too was out of the question.  She couldn't face the sour
looks and the disapproval if she allowed someone to call on her, no
matter how casually, when Ned had not yet been dead a year.  If she
wanted to speak to Dolph then here would be preferable.

Please/ Poppy He begged her again, and excitement was rising inside her
like bubbles in the glass of champagne she had drunk on her wedding
day.  She remembered how happy it had made her.

She trusted him.  She reminded herself he was a gentleman, and
gentlemen didn't go back on their word, so it would be perfectly
safe.

"All right," she said.

"Just for a few minutes.  But I'll not take off me gloves."

He laughed gently and took her through to the dining room, commenting
loudly as they passed the porter that he would order them tea.  Poppy
felt like a scarlet woman.

There were two doors in the dining room and they went over to the one
on the left which led to a dark corridor.  Judging by the smell they
were near the kitchen, but before they came to it there was a narrow
flight of stairs on the right which was obviously for the staff, and
Dolph went up it ahead of her, motioning that he would make sure no one
was about.  It crossed her mind to wonder how he had come to know of
the back staircase, and she wished she hadn't agreed to come.

Along the quiet first-floor corridor he stopped and unlocked the door
of his room, ushering her inside without a word.  Once the door was
closed behind them it seemed she was able to take the first breath
since leaving the foyer, and she looked around with great apprehension.
 It was a starkly furnished room which hardly looked as if it had been
occupied.  Dolph's hairbrushes with his initials in silver were on the
dressing table along with a pearl- studded tie ping a little black
jeweller's box, and some pomade for his hair.
His suitcase was on a small table by 361 the window.  But the thing
which eased her mind a little was the sight of a worn pair of slippers
under the cane- seated upright chair.

Slippers looked homely and reassuring somehow.

"Please sit down," Dolph said, indicating the chair.

"I wish to know all that has happened since I last saw you, and how Ned
met with such a tragedy."

It was two o'clock.  She talked quickly, telling him only about Ned and
the children, and how she now owned his- fishing fleet and part of
Charlie Rain's boatyard.  Dolph expressed envy, sorrow and admiration
in turn as he listened without interruption, his eyes never leaving her
face.

"I knew you had great courage.  That is partly why I fell in love with
you. The other reason is that you are so beautiful."

"Please don't say such things."

"I must because they are true.  You have been in my heart all the while
you were marrying with another man and producing his children."

He went to the dressing table and picked up the black box.

"To prove it is so I have had this gift made for you."

She took the box nervously, her eyes nickering upwards to look at him
before she removed the lid.  Inside was a pendant on a bed of velvet.

It was made of amber, so pure and clear she could see the weave of the
fabric magnified through it, and it hung like a golden drop from a fine
gold chain. There was amber to be found along Fenstowe beach.

When she was a child she had found nuggets of it, but nothing so lovely
as this.

"I can't possibly accept it," she said.

"Then who will have it?  I found the stone after you left me that
evening along the shore and I kept it because it is the colour of your
eyes.  When finally I could get leave to come and see you I had it made
into a jewel. You must accept it or I shall have a broken heart."

"I can't, Dolph.  What would I tell people?"

That I love you.  "

"No."  She stood up, put the pendant back in the box and handed it to
him.

"It's kind of you but I really don't want it.  I must go now."

"Poppy."  He spoke her name tenderly.

"You cannot leave so soon.  Take off your coat and I will show you how
right it looks on you."

She had turned away but he was behind her, his hands clasping her upper
arm, and she felt her coat sliding down off her shoulders.  The
nearness of him made her powerless to protest.  He urged her towards
the mirror as he placed the gold chain round her neck, but her blouse
was buttoned high and the effect was lost.  Very gently, he eased her
round to face him and undid the first three buttons so that there was
an expanse other neck showing.  Now the gem stone settled on her creamy
skin and glowed with deep golden colour. Dolph trailed his fingers down
from her chin to the cleft between her breasts, such soft, sensual
fingers which had none of the roughness of a fisherman's hands, and his
touch activated a score of sensations affecting every part other.  For
several seconds she endured it, then drew away, aware of the danger and
determined not to lose her self-control.  Such madness was definitely
to be discouraged.

"If I'm to keep the pendant I'll be wearing it outside me blouse,"

she said, and re-fastened the buttons with trembling fingers.

"It's very nice, Dolph.  Thank you.  Now I really must go."

"I am here for the rest of the week.  You must promise that I will see
you again."

"I don't know."

"But I do.  There is a powerful love between us which we cannot go on
denying."

"It ain't love.  I don't know what it is but I'm sure it ain't love."

"Oh, Poppy, why are you always so sensible?  Why can you not let go and
I
will show you how wonderfully we are 363 made for each other.  There
is no one to be hurt, so why waste the precious time we have
together?"

"You promised we'd only talk if I came to your room."

"Ah, yes, I did, dear Poppy.  I will keep my word of course."

His voice was a caress, and as she tilted her head he claimed her lips.
 She tried to escape, jerking her mouth away as if it had been seared
with a branding iron, but his arms were already round her and by moving
her head so" suddenly she had steered his mouth to the side other neck
where his feathery kisses drove her senses into a frenzy.

Such rapture flowed through her.  From the crown other head to her toes
she was made captive by the traitorous sensations his lips induced, and
her back began to arch as she stretched with feline ecstasy.

Yet while he kissed her she was still able to condemn what she was
allowing to happen.  She didn't recognize this side of herself.  This
was not how she had felt when Ned had made love to her, and there was
something distasteful about the way her body was responding to the
touch of a man she scarcely knew.  She wanted to put a stop to it, but
her physical needs, which had only once been truly satisfied in
marriage, were now dictating the tune.  Her gloved hands stole up round
Dolph's neck and she returned his kisses.

"You see."  He was murmuring against her mouth, his breath sweet, his
Ups persuasive.

"We are made for each other.  I adore you.  I want to make love to
you."

She went rigid, immediately rejecting the idea with all her moral
strength, and the passions which had fired her blood turned cold in an
instant.  He didn't attempt to stop her when she pulled away.

"I ain't ready for that," she said.

"And I should not have spoken of it so soon.  Forgive me."

Poppy reached for her coat.

"I'll not be coming here again.  I should never have come at all."

364 "I am so glad that you did."

She was too agitated even to say goodbye and left the room without any
caution, hurrying down the corridor to the main staircase, while Dolph
Brecht quietly closed the door behind her.

Poppy saw herself reflected unexpectedly in a mirror on the stair
landing. She paused in her flight, see inga girl with hairpins coming
loose and a coat wrongly buttoned, her cheeks suspiciously flushed.

This was not the way to depart.  She would be drawing attention to
herself and no one could be blamed for jumping to wrong conclusions.

She patted her hair quickly into place and put her coat right.  There
was nothing she could do about her high colour but she composed her
expression, lifted her chin and went down the remaining stairs with
dignity, hoping to leave unobserved.  The revolving doors were almost
within reach when her name was called.

"Poppy!  Come here this minute-!"

She froze.  Joshua Kerrick's deep voice was unmistakable.  The moment
seemed to hang there as if taken out of time and set apart so that she
could ponder over the unfairness of fate which had allowed him, of all
people, to be in this most unlikely place just when she wanted to be
unseen.  Two great tears of shame and embarrassment rolled down her
cheeks, but she checked them with her gloved fingers, and there was no
sign of them when she faced him.

"Were you speaking to me?"

"Who else?"  His dark brow was thunderous and his wide mouth was set in
an angry line.

"You've been to that German bastard's room.  Don't deny it."

She was feeling on the point of collapse, but her eyes flashed at the
accusation and she stiffened her back.

"It's no business of yours where I've been."

"I can't believe it!  You've sunk just about as low as you can go,
giving yourself to that spy."

"Oh!"  Her mouth rounded with the exclamation and she 365 blazed at
him.

"What a wicked thing to say.  And how typical!  You jump to conclusions
so fast I wonder you don't choke on them.  Let me inform you I have not
given myself to anybody, and you'd better not go around calling Dolph
Brecht a spy. That's a lie and it's slander."

She swung round to leave but Joshua caught her arm.  "Don't have
anything to do with him.  Poppy.  I'm warning you for your own good."

"I don't need your warnings, thank you.  Dolph and I are friends.

"Friends!  With a German?"  He made it sound criminal.

"He came here specially to see me and I don't need your permission to
visit him whenever I like."

"Go to hell then."  He shook her arm free so violently her fingers went
numb.

"I hate wasting my time, but that's what I've been doing the last few
years, thinking about you.  It won't happen again."

His large frame was rigid with fury as he thrust her away from him.

She tumbled but recovered her balance immediately and they faced each
other now across a barrier of enmity.  Somewhere in the hotel voices
were raised in innocuous repartee, but between this man and this woman
there was now the silence of bitter disillusion.  A hasty action, a
coincidental meeting, a few ill-chosen words and suddenly every bit of
pleasure they had found in each other was gone.

"You've a nasty mind, Joshua Kerrick, and I certainly don't want to be
on it for a single second.  I can take care of myself, so you can go to
hell too."

The passionate reversal of Poppy's feelings for him, whether temporary
or permanent, was an emotion with far greater depth than anything she
had experienced in the last sixty minutes.  The parting remark was
tossed at him with hurtful intent.

Snow was falling quite heavily.  Large flakes settled on her in rapid
succession as if they had been waiting for her to emerge, and coldness
struck
through her, prefacing the 366 arctic climate she soon realized she
would continue to live in without dreams of Joshua to warm her.

It was just three o'clock, and in the single hour since she had arrived
at the Royal Mariner her rashness had cost her dearly.  The
far-reaching effect of her actions was something she couldn't possibly
envisage, but already she deeply regretted coming.  " The spring snow
showers didn't amount to much. By late afternoon it became milder and
the ground dried up nicely.  Tom Kerrick had been brooding over what
Joshua had said, and since midday he had been at the Mission sitting
quietly by the fire while he probed his conscience, trying to fathom
out why everything in his life went wrong.  Just before four o'clock
Skipper Parry joined him.  Tom desperately needed to pour out all his
troubles and the skipper's sympathetic ear restored some of his faith
in mankind.

"Seems like all me life I've been fighting for recognition," Tom
said.

"Sometimes things start to go right, like when me real father left me
the Night Queen, and when I met Flora, then before you know it I'm back
in the gutter, as if someone's got a grudge and doesn't want me to get
on."

"Y'know, I think all you need is a bit of self-confidence."  Fred Parry
drew on his pipe and puffed rings over the woodsmoke curling up from
the grate.

"I don't mean the kind you get from a bottle.  That doesn't last.  What
you need to do is talk yourself into believing you're as good, if not
better than, the next man.  / believe you are, and Mrs Johnson always
talks of the good she sees in you."

"She does?"  Tom's spirits lifted a little.

"Of course.  She's your half-sister, isn't she?  If you have faith in
yourself you'll convince everyone else to have faith in you too.  Try
it, Tom, smarten yourself up and hold your head high.  I promise you
it'll work."

blazed at him.

"What a wicked thing to say.  And how typical!  You jump to conclusions
so fast I wonder you don't choke on them.  Let me inform you I have not
given myself to anybody, and you'd better not go around calling Dolph
Brecht a spy. That's a lie and it's slander."

She swung round to leave but Joshua caught her arm.  "Don't have
anything to do with him.  Poppy.  I'm warning you for your own good."

"I don't need your warnings, thank you.  Dolph and I are friends.

"Friends!  With a German?"  He made it sound criminal.

"He came here specially to see me and I don't need your permission to
visit him whenever I like."

"Go to hell then."  He shook her arm free so violently her fingers went
numb.

"I hate wasting my time, but that's what I've been doing the last few
years, thinking about you.  It won't happen again."

His large frame was rigid with fury as he thrust her away from him.

She tumbled but recovered her balance immediately and they faced each
other now across a barrier of enmity.  Somewhere in the hotel voices
were raised in innocuous repartee, but between this man and this woman
there was now the silence of bitter disillusion.  A hasty action, a
coincidental meeting, a few ill-chosen words and suddenly every bit of
pleasure they had found in each other was gone.

"You've a nasty mind, Joshua Kerrick, and I certainly don't want to be
on it for a single second.  I can take care of myself, so you can go to
hell too."

The passionate reversal of Poppy's feelings for him, whether temporary
or permanent, was an emotion with far greater depth than anything she
had experienced in the last sixty minutes.  The parting remark was
tossed at him with hurtful intent.

Snow was falling quite heavily.  Large flakes settled on her in rapid
succession as if they had been waiting for her to emerge, and coldness
struck
through her, prefacing the 366 arctic climate she soon realized she
would continue to live in without dreams of Joshua to warm her.

It was just three o'clock, and in the single hour since she had arrived
at the Royal Mariner her rashness had cost her dearly.  The
far-reaching effect of her actions was something she couldn't possibly
envisage, but already she deeply regretted coming.  " The spring snow
showers didn't amount to much. By late afternoon it became milder and
the ground dried up nicely.

Tom Kerrick had been brooding over what Joshua had said, and since
midday he had been at the Mission sitting quietly by the fire while he
probed his conscience, trying to fathom out why everything in his life
went wrong.  Just before four o'clock Skipper Parry joined him.

Tom desperately needed to pour out all his troubles and the skipper's
sympathetic ear restored some of his faith in mankind.

"Seems like all me life I've been fighting for recognition," Tom
said.

"Sometimes things start to go right, like when me real father left me
the Night Queen, and when I met Flora, then before you know it I'm back
in the gutter, as if someone's got a grudge and doesn't want me to get
on."

"Y'know, I think all you need is a bit of self-confidence."  Fred Parry
drew on his pipe and puffed rings over the woodsmoke curling up from
the grate.

"I don't mean the kind you get from a bottle.  That doesn't last.  What
you need to do is talk yourself into believing you're as good, if not
better than, the next man.  I believe you are, and Mrs Johnson always
talks of the good she sees in you."

"She does?"  Tom's spirits lifted a little.

"Of course.  She's your half-sister, isn't she?  If you have faith in
yourself you'll convince everyone else to have faith in you too.  Try
it, Tom, smarten yourself up and hold your head high.  I promise you
it'll work."

"You'll mean it's all in the mind?"

"A lot of it is."

Tom looked at the man with respect.

"Reckon you ought to know what you're talking about And I'm right glad
Lizzie's got faith in me, though I wouldn't blame her if she didn't
have, seeing as how Flora took her husband off."

"That wasn't your fault and I'm sure she'd never blame you for a
minute."

"She made me promise to stop drinking."

"And have you?"

"Reckon I'll have another go at it."

He'd been round to Newlyn with Hal on the Night Queen for over a month,
content to let his younger son take charge while he settled himself
into the mate's job, which didn't carry the same responsibility.  When
he left the Mission that afternoon to get his gear ready for a couple
of nights' fishing off the Dogger, he made up his mind to take Skipper
Parry's advice and show a bit more authority.  He was definitely going
to start believing in himself.

It was almost dark when he got down to the harbour.  He hadn't felt in
such good spirits for a long while, and there was a new spring in his
step.  Mebbe he was a bit late, but that was because he'd had a real
good wash and changed all his clothes so that now he looked fit to mix
with any company.  His shirt was clean, so were his trousers, and
beneath his oilskins he wore a new guernsey.  He strode along the quay
being civil to everyone, came to the Night Queen which was about ready
to sail, and threw his shirt- bag on deck.

"Yuh can take that bag off again.  You ain't part of this crew any
more." Hal came out of the wheelhouse, picked up the shirt-bag and
tossed it into a puddle on the quay.  "I've signed on a new mate, Fa.

We'd still be down off Newlyn if you'd pulled yer weight but yuh've
become a risk and I ain't letting the men sail with you any more.  "

Tom reeled.  His hand went to his freshly shaven chin as 368 though
Hal had dealt him a physical blow.

"Yuh can't do this.  It's my boat."

"I know it is, and yuh'll get yer share, but you ain't sailing in
her.

It's for yer own good, Fa, as well as ours.  When you pack up the
bottle and can stay sober I'll mebbe change me mind again.  "

"Blast you, I haven't had a drink all day.  I've changed me clothes an'
all."

Hal looked at his father and saw that he was speaking the truth.  For a
moment his expression softened and there was a sign of wavering, but
then he gave the order for the ropes to be cast off and the Night
Queen's timbers creaked against the adjacent drifter, anxious to leave
harbour while the tide was right.

"Stay like it till I get back then we'll talk things over.  Right now I
haven't time."

Tom hung around until he could no longer see the mizzen sail of his
boat colouring the moonlit horizon, and he was more miserable than he
had ever been, even in one of his drink-induced states of depression.

Then he picked.  up his bag and trundled across the railway lines.  It
was still cold enough to make his eyes run.

"First Joshua, now Hal."  He mumbled to himself as be reached the
fish-dock gates.

"Ain't a man entitled to a bit of support from his sons?"

He thought longingly of the Trafalgar Arms, then tried to ignore the
demons chasing round in his head and urging him to drown his sorrows.

Tears of self-pity pricked his eyelids and he had to keep rubbing them
away with his sleeve.  He didn't want to go home.  He didn't want to go
back to the Mission.

He left the fish dock and walked down Harbour Street, past the dry
dock, and he remembered how he had met Joshua that morning.  His boat
wasn't there now. The dock was empty, so the men must have scrubbed her
right fast and sent her back up to Rain's Yard.  As if following its
scent Tom found himself
crossing the square where gas lamps shed pools of light on to the
empty pavement.  Few people were about on this wintry evening.  He
stopped outside the Queen's Head pub and the warm, malty smell almost
enticed him inside, but he refused to be tempted even when two other
seamen pushed past him and opened up the door wide so that he could see
the companionable glow beckoning him in.  Instead he kept on going
until he came to Rain's Yard.

The main gate was shut but a pedestrian door leading through it was
ajar. Tom took a cautious look inside.  The night watchman's hut was
empty, though a brazier beside it was glowing with hot coals.  He
hastened towards the new drifter now berthed once more at the
fitting-out quay.  When he was beside it the tears he had been trying
hard to suppress gathered momentum and his shoulders heaved.

"So I ain't good enough to set foot on yer precious boat, boy, that's
what you said.  I ain't good enough, yet all you had to do to get it
was warm a woman's bed."  Through hazy eyes he looked at the shiny new
brass in the wheelhouse, the new woodwork and freshly painted funnel
with Nathaniel Lea's emblem on it.  And in the moonlight he saw the
name Wild Ginger done in fancy writing.  He sighed.

"Mebbe you haven't got everything yuh want, though."

He climbed on board.  Likely her trials were due in the next day or two
since a pile of coloured bunting was ready to be strung between the
masts, but he knew he wouldn't be invited to take part.  He looked all
round below deck, then stood in the stern picturing the kind of people
who would crowd on board to eat and drink while she covered the
measured mile between beacons off the green.  Nathaniel Lea's posh
friends, most of them would be, for sure.  He hoped there'd be enough
swell to make them all sick.

Well now he'd set foot on the Ginger before any of them, and he thumbed
his nose at Joshua.

Before leaving Tom took his clay pipe from his pocket 370 and pressed
some shag into the bowl.  The tobacco was damp and he had to strike
several matches before there was any draw to it, casting the spent ones
aside with a flick of his wrist to put them out.  Then he shouldered
his bag once more and climbed back on to the quay.

The night watchman had returned to the hut and Tom knew he wouldn't get
past unobserved.  He hid in the shadows wondering what to do, but luck
was on his side because the brazier had burnt down low and the watchman
took a coal bucket over to one' of the sheds.  It was Tom's chance and
he made a dash for the gate, managing to unbolt it, slip through and
close it again before the man reappeared.

A thin column of smoke started to rise from the stern of the Wild
Ginger, just where the pile of bunting was lying.  Within a few minutes
the cloth had caught fire and flames began to lick at the woodwork.  By
the time the night watchman noticed it and dashed in panic to raise the
alarm the flames were spreading fast and a bright red glow illuminated
the night sky.

Tom Kerrick didn't see it.  He had his back to Rain's Yard as he
plodded homeward.

16 There was no doubt in anyone's mind.  The fire on Joshua Kerrick's
new drifter had been a deliberate act of sabotage.  All the evidence
pointed to it.  The night watchman swore he had bolted the small door
after locking the main gate, but when he let the fire engine through
the door had swung open as if someone had left in a hurry.  Whoever it
was must have been hiding in the yard since before the men finished
work.  Then there were dead matches on the quay beside the vessel when
the police took a look, and experts said the fire had started in a pile
of flags left on deck.

The facts alone were suspicious enough, but added to them was Charlie
Rain's story of find inga stranger on board earlier, the stranger being
a German at that.  Immediately tongues passed the word around.

"A German it were what did it.  Makes you shiver, dun't it, knowing
we're all in danger."

"Yuh can't trust foreigners these days.  They're all spies."

From shops to pubs, from street to street, from house to house the tale
spread, growing more improbable as it went.

"There must have been secret things on board that boat.  Things the
enemy wanted destroyed."

"A secret wireless, I reckon.  The Germans have something called
wireless telegraph on their trawlers so they can talk to each other at
sea."

372 "Must have been something more secret than that for a spy to come
all the way over here.  Mebbe Charlie Rain's being paid by the
Admiralty to install some new kind of weapons on his boats."

The men talked technically.  The women were more down to earth.

"I only hope they catch him.  I'll never sleep comfortably in me bed at
night till he's behind bars."

"There's a foreign butcher up Cooper Street.  I won't go in his shop no
more. I reckon he puts poison in some of the things he sells.  I had a
bellyache for a week after eating one of his pies and I weren't the
only one."

"My old man reckons that German barber in Marsh Village is just waiting
to cut all our throats."

"I heard talk there's a foreign waiter at the Mariner.  Mebbe it was
him."

It was a relief to hear that Charlie Rain had the traitor's name and
knew where he was staying.  A toff he turned out to be, with the cheek
of the devil.  Fancy staying at the Royal Mariner like a respectable
visitor when all the time he'd been skulking around spying and planning
arson.  .

The police, of course, went straight to the hotel when Charlie gave
them the information.  It was late in the evening after the fire.

There was no chance for him to escape.

"You've an Adiophus Brecht staying here," the police officer said,
swinging the register round on the desk.

"Room fifteen."  The porter didn't need to look at the book.  He was a
mite tired of people asking for the gentleman, though his eyebrows
lifted in surprise seeing as how it was the law.

One policeman covered the back exit, another stayed in the foyer while
the spokesman climbed the stairs.  There were more outside.

Dolph Brecht answered the rap on his door at once.  His surprise at
seeing the policeman was far greater than that of the hall porter, and
he puffed smoke at him quite accidentally as he removed a fat,
expensive cigar from his mouth.

"Good evening.  How can I help you?"

"Adolphus Brecht?"  The policeman pronounced the name

"Bretch', and Dolph winced.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to accompany me down to the police station
for questioning on a matter of some urgency, sir.  And don't try to get
away.  I ain't alone."

"There must be some mistake.  What am I supposed to have done that you
wish to ask me questions?"

"Setting fire to drifters is a very serious business.  Yuh'd better put
a coat on.  It's cold out and it looks like be inga long night.

Oh, and you won't mind my sergeant takin ga little look round, will
you?  Just routine.  "

"I object very strongly."

Dolph's objections, which he raised heatedly for several minutes, were
to no avail.  He was driven away in a black maria and arrived at the
police station with a fur-collared overcoat over his dark suit,
arrogant and angry.  His glacial expression was chilling and his direct
gaze when denying all knowledge of the fire was very disconcerting.

"I have only left my hotel room twice since early afternoon," Dolph
said.

"Once when I went downstairs to meet a lady ... the same lady who is
the only reason for my return to Fenstowe, and again for my evening
meal."

"And what lady's that, sir?"

"Have you no respect?  It would be most indiscreet to mention her name.
However, I can produce a dozen other witnesses who will tell you that I
was having dinner at the time you are suggesting I committed the
outrage."

"We'll check with them all, sir."

"And when you have done so I shall demand an apology.  I am a German
citizen, the innocent victim of a fever which grips you British.  Spy
fever I have heard it called.  You are all afraid of shadows and seem
to think for some reason that the Fatherland is planning to make war.

That is not so, and never will be.  You are just making yourselves look
very foolish.  "

"That's as may be."  The officer who had arrested him 374 wanted no
political discussions.

"The fact is you was caught trespassing in Rain's Yard yesterday, and
today someone started a fire on that new drifter purposely.  There's no
man in Fenstowe would do that."

"Why then is it likely that I should want to do so?  Ned Rain was a
good friend to me.  Not knowing of his death, I was at the yard to
visit him."

"Did you think you'd find him in the Wild Ginger's boiler room?"

"I heard a child cry for help.  You may ask Mrs Rain."

"We'll do that too, sir.  I remember you was here before and got in a
fight with Joshua Kerrick.  I suggest you found out the boat was his
and wantd to get yer own back."

"I did not know to whom the boat belonged and nor would I stoop so low.
 I refuse to answer any further questions until I have the services of
a solicitor to represent me."

The inquisition went on a while longer, with Dolph continuing to deny
everything.  Witnesses were brought in to corroborate his story and
after an hour, with no charge on which they could hold him, the officer
was obliged to let Dolph Brecht return to the Royal Mariner, having
proved nothing.

"You can go, sir, for the moment," he said reluctantly.

Dolph was bristling with indignation, his pride severely wounded.

Never before had his word been doubted.

"I shall be seeking advice from the German Consul in London."

"By telephone only, sir.  I'm afraid I must insist you stay on at the
hotel and don't try to leave the town.  We may want to question you
again."

"This is an outrageous affair.  I am a visitor to your country and you
have treated me disgracefully.  Be sure I shall never come here
again."

When he was back in his hotel room he turned the key in the door and
investigated every inch.  His suitcase had been rifled through.  He
didn't
keep it locked.  A locked case invited suspicion and there was nothing
in it of interest to anyone, not now.

Dolph sat on the bed with his feet up and quietly smoked another cigar.
 Then he put out the light and pulled the curtains aside to let in the
moonlight. The window had a very low sill, opening on to the iron
balcony which stretched along the front of the hotel.  Silently he
climbed on to it and peered over the edge.  Beneath him a uniformed
policeman was keeping watch outside the front door.  With a smile Dolph
flattened himself against the wall and edged along to the next window
where the catch was released so that he could ease it open.  The room
was empty and he went inside.

He didn't need a light.  He could see enough to find his way to the
wardrobe and by standing on a chair he could retrieve a folded
newspaper with drawings inside it which some premonition had prompted
him to hide immediately after Poppy's visit that afternoon.

The morning was gloomy and there was no wind to dispel the smell of
wet, charred wood which hung in the air with stinging tenacity.  A
crowd gathered at Rain's Yard to see the fire-damaged drifter, but long
before they arrived Charlie had called the people with a vested
interest to a meeting in his office.

"Luckily the damage ain't so bad it can't be repaired," he told the
assembled company.

"I'm covered by insurance, but I can't put me men to work on her again
until the police have finished investigating."

Joshua stood by the window, his hands clenched with anger and
frustration as he looked at the Wild Ginger's charred superstructure.

Mebbe the hull was still sound but she'd never be the same again.  The
satiny woodwork he had touched with loving fingers would be replaced
and likely it would look exactly as it had before, but somehow he would
never feel the same about it.  The special feeling he had had for it
was gone.

376 He didn't join in the discussion.  He'd spoken his mind very
loudly as soon as he'd heard the news, and it had got him nowhere.

"I want that damn German arrested and charged.  Of course he's
guilty.

Guilty as hell.  " This was to the police officer.

"I don't know why he wanted to set fire to my boat but I do know he's
here spying.  There were maps and drawings in his room.  I saw them."

"I'm sorry, Mr Kerrick, but there was nothing there last night.  I had
one of my men check thoroughly."

Then check again.  "

"I can't do that, sir.  I've no authority.  Mr Brecht was cleared of
suspicion."  The policeman eyed him keenly.  "Seems to me you were
trespassing if you were in the man's room looking around while he
wasn't there."

"I've already told you, I wanted to know what he'd been doing when
Charlie Rain caught him on my boat the day before."

"Then mebbe you should have waited until he invited you up.  It's an
offence to take the law in toyer own hands..  And might I say that if
you found something suspicious it- would have been wise to report it at
the time."

"Well I hope you won't let him get away."

"The gentleman won't be leaving town yet, sir."

Joshua was far from satisfied but there was nothing else he could do
without causing trouble for himself, and now he listened only
half-heartedly to the discussion.

The men who had worked on the Ginger were grouped round, some leaning
against the wall, others shuffling uneasily.  Until it could be proved
who started the fire there was a shadow hanging over everyone.

The only person sitting down was Poppy.  She sat with her hands in her
lap, listening with great attention, but adding nothing.  Her green
coat was pushed back on her shoulders so that air could get to her
slender neck.  Her face was pale and her hair was hidden inside a large
green velvet beret with two feather sacking up from the front.

This morning he could see very little that was attractive about her,
which was just as well since he had spent hours fuming over her
behaviour yesterday and had decided he was finally free of his
obsession which for years had had bearing on most of the things he
did.

When he had seen her coming down from Dolph Brecht's room he had felt
like killing her.  He knew he couldn't question her right to associate
with other men.  She was a very young widow and he understood her need,
even though it hurt him to face it, but the fact that she had turned to
the German made the betrayal worse.  All night he had tormented himself
with visions other lying naked in the German's arms, and by morning he
bitterly regretted not having taken her as his own mistress weeks ago. 
He would have done so without any guilt at deceiving Caroline, if he
hadn't respected Poppy too much.  She would have come to him without
too much persuasion, he felt sure, and then she wouldn't have wanted
any other attention.  Now it was too late.

Once, not long ago, she had promised that they would never be enemies. 
What an empty promise it had turned out to be.  By running into those
German arms she had alienated herself from him for ever.

He didn't know how she could sit there so calmly.  In a way the boat
had been something they had created between them, and that was perhaps
why it had meant so much to him.  She seemed not to be concerned.  She
merely listened and took notes of financial details with no show of
regret that the Ginger which she knew he had named for her, was almost
a wreck.

His thoughts returned to the freshly drawn maps he had seen in Dolph
Brecht's room.  He certainly hadn't imagined them, and prick lings of
anger and apprehension attacked him.  They had been important enough
for the man to hide them somewhere, so to what use did he intend
putting them?  War rum ours were rife, and if ever they became more
than rum ours there would be plans of
378 Fenstowe in enemy hands.  The town would be in danger ^nd
civilians at risk.

He thought of Rose, and his anger became something much more positive. 
His baby daughter meant everything to him, and one day she was going to
be a very beautiful woman.  One day.  As yet she had only just entered
the world, and the uncertainty of what her future held was worrying. 
He couldn't bear the thought that she might be snatched away from him
before knowing what love she inspired.  For himself he feared nothing. 
For Rose he feared everything.

"So I'm afraid it means being patient for a few days until the police
have done their best to find out who's guilty of arson."  Charlies was
labouring the point, repeating himself because he needed the support of
both customers and employees if his business was to survive.  It had
just suffered a devastating blow.

"After that we can get back to work on the drifter and in no time it'll
be as good as it was before.

That's all I can say right now.  "

"Then I'd like to say something."  Joshua's tone was arresting.  7 know
who's guilty.  Mebbe that German was cleared by the police but there's
no doubt in my mind he's the fire-raiser, and I intend to make him pay
for it even if I have to do the job me self " He commanded attention as
he looked over the group of men.  His eyes blazed.  Then he walked to
the front, took Charlie Rain's place, and addressed them in a voice
which was strident and compelling.

"I'll do it me self I say, unless there's anyone here willing to come
to the hotel with me and make him confess."

"You can't do that.  It's intimidation."  Poppy was on her feet,
equally forthright.

"Dolph Brecht had nothing to do with what happened here.  There were
witnesses to prove " ' "And were you one of them?"

She lost none of her dignity.

"At the time your boat caught fire I was putting my children to bed, so
please don't try to blacken my name."

Then don't defend Brecht.  He's a spy.  "

"He's no such thing."

Charlie went over to his sister-in-law and put an arm round her
shoulder.

"Don't let him rile you.  Poppy."

"I repeat, the man's a spy.  I saw proof of it with my own eyes early
yesterday and I'm sick that I did nothing about it at the time.  I
actually saw plans he came here to draw of the area, so if ever there's
a war with the Germans they'll know every inch of this stretch of
coast.  They'll know where they can best land, where we're likely to
have gun emplacements, what lights there are offshore, what roads lead
out of town and a lot more besides."

The men became restless, their interest completely captured, moving
imperceptibly closer so that Joshua could feel that they were with
him.

"They reckon as how them new tennis courts up on the cliff at Hadley
Lodge could be used for guns."

"Heard they'd caught a spy not long back, upriver at Greenmarket.  He
was writing down about the railway."

Enthusiasm was building up.  Sparks seemed to flare.  Everyone started
at once and voices were rising as Joshua whipped up the growing
ferment.  His eyes flashed beneath the darkly scored brows and his
nostrils flared.

"We've got to stop this evil.  Our future's threatened and if no one
docs anything about it we'll find ourselves at the mercy of the
Kaiser."

"The bloke might have got away already."

"He can't have.  The harbour's being watched and so is the station.

But if the police have nothing on him they'll have to let him go soon. 
"

"It's a disgrace."

"They should have put him behind bars last night."

"Who's with me then?"  Joshua shouted to make himself heard above the
din.

A fever gripped them and a chorus of Ayes came from the men.

"I hope you're not makinga mistake," Charlie said.

380 "Poppy, you'd best be getting home.  Things are starting to get
ugly."

"They're making fools of themselves," said Poppy.

The men were in no mood to be dissuaded, especially not by a woman, and
when Joshua left the shed they followed him solidly.  Outside there
were a score of sightseers, mostly men who had been stood off for one
reason or another and had no work to do.

"We're going round to the Royal Mariner to get the German.  It were him
what did it."  The chant directed at them was inflammatory.

They gathered round and the story was told again, the case for taking
action gaining strength all the while, and Joshua savoured his first
taste of leadership.

"Let's get him."

"Let's lynch the devil."

"Kill him before he kills us."

He held these men in the palm of his hand and now he could direct them
which ever way he pleased.  It was a heady sensation and he recognized
the danger in such power.  The sun pierced the clouds and glinted on
the faces of men who' were spoiling for a fight, the cold morning
becoming heated with aroused passions, and having done the rousing he
now had to calm them down to a more sensible humour.

"Steady on.  There'll be no lynching or killing.  All we want is to
destroy the maps he's been making before they cross the North Sea, and
get a confession out of him that he set fire to the Ginger.

That's all.  Mebbe he'll need a bit of roughing up but there's to be no
violence.  No violence, d'yuh hear?  "

The small army set out from Rain's Yard in a noisy group, their caps
and wrappers, jackets and fish-stained trousers the uniform of men who
knew poverty, yet who would fight for what was theirs with every last
breath. Spymongering had lately become almost as much a part of
public-house conversation as the price of herrings, and feelings ran
high along the East Anglian coast.

Joshua led them down Dansom Road, striding along past warehouses and
the rope works, his head high and shoulders set back.  He felt strong
and righteous in his determination to drive out the foreigner who was
putting the future of this town in jeopardy.  What he was doing was for
his country.

By ill luck the bridge was swinging open just as they got to it, which
meant an impatient wait.  The sun was out properly now but the March
morning was cold and there was much stamping of feet.  By the time it
was possible to cross the river there was a great surge forward and
horse- drawn carts and motor vehicles were forced to hang back until
the men were over.  They passed the pier entrance and covered the few
yards to the Royal Mariner, chanting like rabble.

When they got to the main entrance they herded together on the
pavement, and Joshua went up the steps to address them.

I'm going in and I want just one of you with me.  We've got to do this
in an orderly fashion so there's no trouble.  " Several men came
forward, among them Jack Forrester who was Charlie Rain's joiner, a big
man with muscular arms.  Joshua took him by the shoulder.

"You'll do.  Jack.  Follow me.  The rest of you wait here."

They went in through the revolving doors and the crowd outside became
quiet.

Still intent on managing things correctly Joshua went up to the porter
behind the desk.

"Is Mr Brecht in this morning?"

The porter looked along a board of keys.

"Yes, he's in, sir.  Shall I send a messenger up to say you want to see
him?"

"No need.  I know the room."

He and Jack Forrester went up the main stairs without noticeable haste
and their footsteps were muffled by carpeting along the corridor. 
Joshua stopped at room fifteen and knocked authoritatively.

There was no sound from inside.  No movement of any kind.  He knocked
again
382 and put his ear against the door, and when there was still no
reply he turned the knob.  The door opened and they were confronted by
a deserted room, an unmade bed being the only sign that Dolph Brecht
had recently been in residence.

It was obvious that he was not coming back.  The suitcase in which
Joshua had seen the drawings was nowhere around.

While Joshua was engrossed in rabble-rousing.  Poppy slipped quietly
out of Charlie's yard, having promised him that she would go straight
home.  She got into her car and headed down Dansom Road, but she didn't
go left into the square which was the direction for Newlyn Walk. 
Instead she went right, tooting the horn to clear away between horses
and carts which were all in a hurry to cross the bridge before a
trawler coming down river necessitated the bridge being opened.  She
was more anxious than any of them to get across it, and succeeded with
minutes to spare.

At the Royal Mariner she hesitated.  It was no use leaving the car at
the front where Joshua would see it.  She saw a lane leading round to
the tradesman's entrance at the back, and took it without further
thought.  There was no time to lose.

An empty box was on the seat beside her and she picked it up, taking it
with her as she left the car and went to the door.  It stood open and
the smell of fried bacon and toast made her remember that she had come
out early on.  an empty stomach as soon as she heard what had happened
to the Wild Ginger.  She looked round cautiously, trying to appear as
if she had every right to use the back entrance, and when a man in a
white apron came into view she smiled at him with a confidence she was
far from feeling.

"I'm delivering some clean laundry for a friend.  Where shall I take
it?"

"The housekeeper's in the dining room.  She's the one you want."

Poppy thanked him and had the excuse she needed to turn into the
corridor where she knew she would find the back stairs.  No one was in
sight and she went up them quickly, her breathing laboured as she
reached the top and remembered that somehow she had to get down them
again unseen with Dolph.

She knocked on his door, repeating the knock almost at once as she
whispered close to the keyhole.

"Dolph, it's Poppy.  Let me in quickly."  He was there in an instant,
as if prepared for any eventuality, and she slipped inside with furtive
haste.

"You've got to leave, Dolph.  Now.  This minute.  Joshua Kerrick's
rounded up a crowd of men from the yard and they're coming here after
you.  He's made them believe you set fire to the drifter."

"How can I get away?"  As he spoke he was already fastening the locks
of his case, which must have been packed since last night.

"There's a policeman on duty outside."

"I've got my car at the back.  If we can get downstairs without being
seen I'll drive you out of town.  Hurry.  I've gained time because the
bridge was closing but it won't delay them long."

Nothing more was said.  Dolph Brecht put on his coat and picked up the
suitcase, then they left.  Poppy going first to make sure no one was
about. She went ahead of him down the stairs and motioned him to
flatten himself against the wall when two waitresses passed along the
bottom corridor.  The passage was dark but there was a dangerously
wide, well-lit stretch to be negotiated between it and the back door,
which thankfully still stood open. Poppy's heart was thudding.

Supposing she met the man with the apron again?  She listened, peeping
round the wall at the bottom of the stairs.  Voices came from the
kitchen, but the way seemed clear.  She looked back at Dolph and with a
nod bade him step down beside her, whereupon she took his arm and they
walked with apparent innocence towards the door.

384 She was trembling as she held back the patent-leather flap of the
motor car so that he could get in.  He put his case behind the seats.

"I know you're tall, but can you curl up somehow so that I can cover
you over?"

"I am used to being in very confined spaces when I am at sea," Dolph
said. He smiled unexpectedly.

"Though perhaps not so small as this."

He slid down to the floor by the passenger seat, his legs doubled under
him, and crouched with his head well down so that by the time Poppy had
replaced the flap he couldn't be seen at all.  She quickly got in
behind the wheel, fastened the flap at her side, and started the
ignition.  The lane continued on behind the hotel so she didn't need to
turn round.  She put the car into gear and set off, not a minute too
soon.  Impassioned voices could be heard along the promenade and it
would only be a short time before they discovered that Dolph was not
there.

The lane bore round to the left and she knew she would find herself
back on the promenade before having covered.  enough distance.  Her car
was known to many of the men and if Joshua saw it he would know exactly
what she was doing.  She stopped at the corner and was in luck.  A
brewer's dray was coming from the right and she waited until the horses
plodded past, even though it meant los inga couple of precious minutes.
 Then she pulled away while the dray was blocking the view of anyone
outside the hotel.  A few seconds more and she was confident of getting
Dolph safely out of town.

She took the road which Ned had used when he had driven her to Norwich.
 It was the first time she had attempted to drive anywhere other than
in Fenstowe, and her heart kept up its rapid beat.  Her hands felt
clammy on the wheel, and a cold wind was blowing through, making the
hood creak.  The houses dwindled and finally gave way to open country. 
Only then did she dare to stop beside a field gate.

"You can get up now.  I'm sure it's safe."

Poor Dolph.  She removed the flap and had to lean against the gate with
her hands over her mouth to stop herself laughing.  In his cramped
position he looked like a dishevelled dog crouching on all fours with
the fur collar of his coat pulled up over his head.  The suave,
aristocratic gentleman had temporarily disappeared.

"I think you will have to help me.  My foot is stuck."  By the time he
had uncurled and was able to stand she could no longer hide her
laughter, but Dolph Brecht saw nothing funny in the situation.

"I

think perhaps you are a little overwrought.  It has been an ordeal for
you to rescue me like this.  "

"We did it though, Dolph.  We got the better of Joshua Kerrick and, oh,
I'm so glad.  He has such a big opinion of himself.  He thinks he's
always right but this time I knew he wasn't.  You're not a spy.  How
could you be?"  She calmed down as she watched him brushing dust off
his clothes.

"What makes him think something so ridiculous?"

"He's sure of it.  He .  . ."  She was about to tell him that Joshua
claimed to have gone into his room yesterday and set eyes on private
papers which were nothing to do with him, but loyalty to Joshua had
become a habit and it didn't seem right to betray him, not even when he
had been so set on catching Dolph.

"It's because he's so upset about his drifter.  He's letting his
imagination run away with him."

Dolph came close.  to her and she saw the pupils of his pale blue eyes
dilate.  She expected to feel shivers of excitement begin to course
through her veins the way they always did when he was near, and she
braced herself ready.  This time they didn't happen.

"You must believe me.  Poppy, I did not set fire to that boat.  I swear
it by everything I hold dear, by my very life.  I would swear to it on
the Bible if I had one.  I have not been near the yard since we met
there."  He was so
earnest.  He 386 caught her shoulders and implored her,

"Say that you believe me."

"I do believe you, Dolph.  Though everyone says you could have done it
since you knew the boat was Joshua's and he had a fight with you
once."

"I did not do it and that is the end of the matter."  He looked so
stern that the delayed shivering commenced to affect her, but not in a
pleasant way.

"Now I must thank you for your courage and the way you acted so
promptly.  I shall never forget."

He put his arms round her and attempted a kiss, but Poppy drew away.

"I don't want thanks.  I just did what I thought was right.  And you're
not far enough away yet.  Reckon I shall have to drive you to Norwich
to catch a train."  > Poppy .  . . "

"We'd best be going before the weather changes."

They started away again with Dolph sitting beside her, and somehow
there was little to talk about even though the journey was tedious.

She needed to keep her mind on the road and her eyes peeled for road
signs.

At last she was on the platform seeing him off on the train to London,
and she was filled with strange emotions.  It wasn't like the last time
when she had seen him off on the Klondyke boat.  Then he had promised
to come back. This time he didn't.

"If I never see you again think well of me.  Poppy.  Everything I have
said to you is the truth and I love you dearly."  He kissed both her
cheeks, his lips lingering against the soft skin.

"Remember that."

"Oh, I will."

He leaned out of the carriage window.

"I did not even see your aunt, the very generous Miss Ludlow.  There
was so much I wanted to do."

"I'll tell her you're sorry."

The whistle sounded and the engine hissed.  Steam drifted under the
station
roof in a cloud, and moisture gathered on Poppy's face.  He caught her
hand and they both began to talk at once, trying to cram in words which
might not have been spoken if there had been more time.  There were so
many things to say now which had been suppressed by the urgency of
their night.

"I'll always treasure my pendant."  She showed him that she was wearing
it.  "

"I wanted to ask you for a photograph to carry with me."

"I've never had one taken."

"It doesn't matter.  The picture I have of you will always be in my
heart."

"You say too many flowery things."

"I mean them."

The train started and she walked along beside him until her steps
became a run as it gathered speed and he was forced to let go of her
hand.

"Goodbye, Poppy."

"Goodbye, Dolph."

She continued to wave until he was no more than a blur in the distance.
Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

For several minutes she stood watching the distant train until it
wormed its way round a bend, carrying him out of her life.  Then she
went to one of the iron seats and sat down feeling empty and lonely.

The silence following after the train's noisy departure was such an
anticlimax that it seemed to pull at her like retreating waves drawing
shingle down from the shore.

Her tears continued to flow.  She knew she would never see Dolph again,
and though the thought made her sad it was not heartbreaking.

She had never been with him long enough for any great attachment to
develop and these last few hours had convinced her that the feelings he
awakened in her were nothing more than a strong physical attraction
which wouldn't last.

What made her weep was the way they were not even allowed to be friends
because of his nationality.  Everything in the world was changing so
fast.  A
few months ago 388 Dolph Brecht would have been made welcome in
Fenstowe and no one would have voiced suspicion.  Now he had caused
unrest.

As she sat alone on the station platform Poppy was filled with an
overwhelming dread of what the future held.

FR1;PART THREE

19151919 17 Daisy Ludlow was sing inga carol as she entered the
surgical ward of Fenstowe's Victoria Hospital on the eve of Christmas,
1915.  Paper chains were strung across the ceiling, vases of holly had
been brought in, and amidst all the pain and anguish there was an air
of quiet joy which comes at no other season.

Daisy had a sprig of mistletoe in her hand.  Of all the nurses in the
hospital none was more appealing than this small Ludlow girl who had to
have three tucks in the bottom other grey cotton uniform dress.

The white apron wrapped round her so that the sides almost met at the
back, and her dark hair was pulled into a bun and hidden beneath a
starched white cap which gave her face a deceptive fragility.  She was
small but she had learnt how to lift grown men and she seemed to have
an endless supply of energy.  Her black-stockinged ankles were neat
enough to attract the eyes of all those in the ward who were fit enough
to be appreciative, and she had a word for all of them as she passed.

"You're on the mend I can see, Donald.  Hello, Frank, how's the knee?

Jack, you haven't had your exercise today.  And as for you, Francis
Blackman, you haven't given me a smile.  "

She murmured the last man's name and bent over his bed.  The young
soldier had lost his sight during the offensive at Loos and was only
now beginning to come to terms with it.  A lot of the credit for his
recovery had to go 393
to Daisy.  She had spent a great deal of time with him, even when not
on duty, and it was thanks to her that he had regained much of his
self-confidence.  At first it had seemed he had also lost the power of
speech, but gradually she'd coaxed him into talking, and had listened
all through one night as he poured out the horror of all that he had
been through.  As an infantryman it was a miracle he had survived the
near massacre often columns of men who had obeyed orders to advance
against German machine guns The British defeat had done nothing to help
the low morale at home.

"Give me your hand, Francis."  She guided his fingers to touch the pale
green sprig with berries like pearls.

"Now tell me what I'm holding."

His face, which was quite unmarked, creased into a gentle smile.

"Mistletoe.  By golly, the girl's got some mistletoe and I'm going to
be the first to use it, see if I'm not."

There was a chorus of light-hearted objections from the other beds and
Francis smiled all the more as he drew Daisy down to where he could
touch her face.  Then he took the mistletoe and held it aloft while his
lips found hers for the lightest of kisses.

"Ah," he said.

"Now that's the best present I'm likely to get this Christmas."

"Go on with you."  Daisy gave his ear a playful tweak, took back the
mistletoe and proceeded to treat the other men to a bit of teasing.

She was not prepared to be as generous to them all as she had been to
Francis Blackman.

The beds were all too close together and there were twice as many as
there should have been.  The hospital was vastly overcrowded and both
doctors and nurses were stretched to the limit, working longer hours
than was right for anyone, but Christmas, even in the middle of a war,
had a way of spreading feelings of goodwill which affected staff and
patients alike.  For Daisy, though, it was an extension of the way she
felt most days since she had been
394 allowed to start nursing as a VAD just over a year ago.  It was
what she had always wanted to do.  The strong antiseptic smell which
clung to her clothes even when she was off duty was infinitely
preferable to fish, and her hands suffered less with continually being
in water than they had done handling scaly drift nets.  She never
wanted to mend another net in her life.

A volunteer was coming round with a tea trolley and Daisy took a cup
for Francis.  She stayed with him until she was sure he could manage
without spilling it, as his right wrist had been broken, then she took
her mistletoe down to the end of the ward.

Her final stop was beside a man who was sitting up in bed with a wad of
bandages strapped around his chest.  It had been there since the
removal of shrapnel which had lodged dangerously near his lungs.

"Well, Joshua," Daisy said, 'there was a time when I would have made
straight for your bed with this, but them days are gone.  "

"I'm glad to hear it."

Joshua Kerrick grinned at her.  There was very little heating in the
ward but the overcrowding made for a certain amount of warmth and he
wasn't wear inga pyjama jacket.  The bandages acted as insulation as
well, and above them sprouted thick black hair which looked as if it
ought to have prevented anything penetrating that broad chest.  Daisy
was used now to seeing the male form unclothed, but there was something
very disturbing when the body she was looking at belonged to Joshua. 
She carefully kept her eyes on his face.

"Your wife is in with Matron.  She wants you home for Christmas but I
don't think the doctor'!!  allow it."

He sighed and lowered his eyes with disappointment.  "I'd hoped to see
Rose unwrap her presents."

"Well, you should've stayed in safer waters.  Fishingain't that
dangerous if you stay clear of where the U-boats are likely to be.

Seems to me you were asking for trouble if 395 you went too near the
Dogger. You've lost the Norfolk Jane and you could have lost yer whole
crew.  Lucky there was another boat nearby to pick you all up.  "

Daisy's tone was slightly scathing.  She had been nursing men with
terrible wounds who had seen things in battle which made them afraid to
close their eyes.  She regularly sat beside men who cried out and shook
as fevers made them toss in delirium.  She saw men without limbs who
could laugh at their misfortune and be thankful they were alive.

She had listened to harrowing tales from nurses who had been to the
front, and she herself had applied to be sent out to where the action
was so that she could be of more use.  But Joshua Kerrick had continued
to fish!

A great many of the Fenstowe fishing boats had been requisitioned for
use as minesweepers.  Hal had joined the Royal Naval Reserve and
patrolled regularly on one, so that Daisy hardly saw him any more.

North Sea men knew how to ride out the gales, and their intimate
knowledge of the grounds was invaluable.  Joshua, on the other hand,
took refuge in the excuse for exemption afforded him by the country's
need for food.  He had been given the protection of a gun, so it was
said, a six-pounder which was hidden on the fo'c's'le, but it hadn't
been enough to save the Norfolk Jane from destruction, and Daisy had no
sympathy.

"I'll take your advice next time I go out," Joshua said?  The wretched
man was laughing at her and she tensed indignantly.

"Since you've such a low opinion of men who help to see that you don't
starve I trust you'll not sit down to herrings for dinner."

"Catching fish should be left to the older men.  You're young enough to
be doing your bit."

"And you don't think providing food is serving my country?"

"I think there are better ways you could be doing it.  Like Hal, for
instance."

"I don't want to be a hero.  Daisy."

396 "Huh!"  die said.

"All you have to complain about is not being able to see your daughter
unwrap her Christmas presents.  Well, spare a thought for the thousands
of men who will never, see their families ever again."

She went back through the ward without glancing either right or left
and her small pointed chin was jutting belligerently.  For as long as
she could remember she had loved Joshua Kerrick and wanted him, but it
had taken a war to show her that he wasn't worth a minute other time. 
There was no comparison between him and Francis Blackman.

Thinking of Francis calmed her and melted her temporary anger.  She
turned to look again at the blind soldier.  He was becoming very dear
to her.  The light touch of his lips just now had produced the most
tender feelings and it had taken a lot of willpower not to let everyone
in the ward see that he was special.  When it was wanner she would walk
with him in the hospital grounds, her arm through his so that he
wouldn't stumble, and she hoped they would talk of personal things.

One afternoon in January Poppy walked with her children as far as the
cliff. They were in a boisterous mood which aggravated Aunt Jessie's
headaches, and exercise was called for to quieten them down, but it was
not easy to find a place where they could run these days.  Erected
along the sea wall were barricades of wire, making the shore
inaccessible, and the park had been spoilt by the digging of a network
of trenches.

"Wait, Maw."  Daniel stopped as they passed the last gas lamp before
the cliff.  She knew why.  On the wall nearby was a poster warning the
public to familiarize themselves with the shapes of German and British
aero planes and airships.  Daniel loved to look at the silhouetted
drawings and she had to tell him the names of each one, though he knew
many by heart.

"We saw one like that, didn't we, Maw?"  His chubby finger pointed to
the
large cigar shape at the top which he knew was a Zeppelin.

"It dropped a bomb, didn't it.  Maw?  Will we see one again?"

"Oh, Daniel, I hope not."  She took hold of his hand and urged him
away.

"Come on, let's walk a bit further."

"My legs ache," Nancy complained.  Fair curls escaped round the front
of her bonnet and her white socks were slipping down into her boots.

"Well I'm not carry inga big girl who's nearly three."

They ventured on to the cliff and looked down to the shore which was
intermittently cloaked in mist.  Volunteer recruits were being trained
on the beach and she lifted the children up in turn to see over the
breastworks. The voice of the drill sergeant drifted up to them in
muffled spasms and they watched the men move their feet awkwardly on
the wet sand.

Poppy rarely walked in this direction.  She didn't like looking across
that vast expanse of grey sea which had become so dangerous for all
those upon it. Nor did she like to be reminded that beyond the
mist-shrouded horizon lay an enemy which was not wholly a black,
crouching thing inspiring hatred and fear.  In her heart she carried
the memory of one German whom she tried to keep untarnished in her
thoughts in spite of the adverse criticism she had been subjected to
when it was suspected that she had spirited him away.  It wasn't
easy.

Her conscience troubled her greatly and she wished she knew why Joshua
had been so convinced that Dolph was spying.  Since that fateful day
they had scarcely seen each other.

It was growing colder and Poppy was about to return home when a man
appeared in the distance.  He came out of the mist like a giant,
magnified by the hazy conditions and a bulky navy-blue overcoat such as
servicemen wore.  With a shock she realized it was Joshua himself,
carrying his little girl on his shoulders.  For a second she wondered
if she had conjured him up, though she didn't know why it should
surprise her to see him when he lived up on the
cliff.  Childishly, she always averted her eyes when passing 398 the
Leas' house just in case he might be there and looking out of the
window.  Daisy had asked why she had never visited him when he was in
hospital.  Pride and embarrassment had kept her away, and the certainty
that he wouldn't have wanted to see her anyway.

Daisy's attitude towards him had changed too.

"He's a coward," she had said.

"He ought to be doing his bit more than he is."  These days she was
carried along on a wave of patriotism which left no room for any man
who was not in uniform.

Though Poppy might condemn him herself she couldn't permit anyone else
to do so.

"Don't be so quick to judge.  There are more ways of winning this war
than being seen to fight it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just think mebbe there's more to what Joshua Kerrick is doing than
he would have us believe.  I don't think he'd be too pleased if you
questioned him."

"I did and he was downright rude.  He told me I shouldn't eat herrings
if I objected to him spending time catching them."

Poppy remembered the conversation as Joshua came nearer.  His overcoat
was definitely naval supply and there was a difference in him, an
indefinable change which made her think he was no longer fishing merely
for herrings.

It was so long since she had seen him and the old familiar ache started
up, gnawing at her like hunger.  Her heart was quaking.

His steps slowed.  The child on his shoulders called out gleefully when
she saw the two other children.

"Please, Daddy, let me get down."  She wriggled dangerously.

"I want to play."

Joshua tightened his hold, keeping her where she was while he and Poppy
looked at each other without the glimmer of a smile between them.

She remembered how angry she had been when he had accused her of
intimacy
with Dolph Brecht, her anger at his inability to realize that she
would never have let another man make love to her when the only person
she wanted was himself.

"It's a cold day," he said.

"How are you?"  she asked.

Nancy and Daniel were on either side of her, quiet at last and pressing
against her legs.  They seemed to sense her need of moral support and
looked up at the man and the child with wide curious eyes.  Rose
Kerrick was the most beautiful little girl Poppy had ever seen, her
hair raven black and her eyes bluer than delphiniums.  She'd heard that
Joshua idolized her and she could easily see why.

"I'm fully recovered."  His head was bent as Rose pushed forward
against his neck.  The wound had taken weight off him.  His face was
thinner, hollows beneath his cheekbones fining down his features to a
new handsomeness.

"In fact I'm due back on duty next week."

"Duty?  Will you be taking the Ginger out again?"

It had never been proved who had set fire to the Wild Ginger.  She had
finally been completed just before the war started and Joshua was
presumed to have been out fishing with her regularly until a few weeks
prior to this Christmas.  Then she had mysteriously disappeared from
harbour and he had taken out the ill-fated Norfolk Jane instead.

She longed to ask him what he had been up to, but his expression
forbade it.

"She's still in for repairs."

Poppy showed her surprise.

"They're taking their time.  Why didn't you let our yard have her
back?"

"With Charlie away in the army I don't feel inclined to trust any of my
vessels to Rain's Yard."

"We've still got good workmen."

"With very little to do, I understand.  I'm sorry.  Poppy, but I can't
patronize a yard I've no faith in just to keep you in business.  Why
should I? Women have no place trying to do men's work."

400 She bristled.

"I don't run the yard.  Jack Forrester's taken over until Charlie gets
back, since he's too old to go in the services himself."  She picked up
Nancy, who was beginning to whine.

"Anyway, where did you send the Ginger?  She's not anywhere local."

"To Chatham."

She was silent a moment, her eyes lifting to seek his.  Then: "Oh,
Joshua!" Fear surged through her.  If the Admiralty was working on
Joshua's boat it meant she had been right to suppose he was so
dangerously involved in the war there must be no talk of it.  Without
doubt the Wild Ginger had become a Special Service vessel which would
act as a decoy to trap U-boats.  She'd heard of them from Jack but he'd
warned her to keep the knowledge strictly to herself.

Rose was almost slipping off his shoulders and he hoisted her back into
position as he moved away, passing Poppy by without another word.

"Next week you say you're going back to sea?"

"That's right."  He turned to go.

"Then God be with you, Joshua."  There were tears in her voice and
before he had gone a few yards she called to him again.

"Joshua."  He looked back reluctantly.

"Yes, what is it?"

She couldn't let him leave without clearing up the misunderstanding
between them.

"I know it doesn't matter to you but I want you to know you were wrong
about me and Dolph Brecht.  I only went to apologize for the bad way
everyone had treated him.  There was nothing else, I swear it.  He was
Ned's friend and he only came here because he'd promised to visit us
again."

Joshua's eyes remained hard, and still no smile touched his strong
mouth.  He allowed her outburst to settle a moment, then gave his
answer.

"You're right, it doesn't matter to me.  And I know what I saw."

Her eyes smarted.  He was going away to risk his life and taking his
distrust of her with him.

The men had finished drilling on the shore and she could hear their
boots now as they marched up the ravine towards the cliff.  She wanted
to hurry away before they came into view, but Daniel wanted to see
them.

"The soldiers are coming.  Maw.  Wait."

The soldiers marched past in ragged formation, and Poppy wondered
whether their chances of survival were any greater than Joshua's.

There was so much pain in her heart.  This war was worse than anything
ever imagined and there was no end in sight.  She was terrified for
Josh's safety. It was a special breed of men who volunteered for the
work he was doing.

After all this time he still couldn't forgive her for the Dolph Brecht
affair, but that didn't alter the way she felt.  She had worried about
him before.  It would be ten times worse now that she knew the
appalling danger he faced.

All men who fished off the east coast faced increasing dangers as the
war progressed.  It didn't matter whether they stayed in groups or
settled for a lone vigil, the outcome could be the same.  German
submarines operating from Belgian ports picked out the sailing smacks
one by one, ordered the crews to take to the boats, then shelled the
smacks and sent them to the bottom.  It became necessary to arm some of
the vessels with a gun to afford the men some protection.

The Admiralty requisitioned hundreds of drifters, among them
practically the whole of Nathaniel Lea's fleet, having discovered that
drifter men had a unique skill which could be put to very good use in
the fight against the enemy.  They could shoot a fleet of nets, and
when those nets were overlapped for mile after mile it was possible to
locate the perimeter of a minefield by gently combing through the
waters.  A barrage of them could make things
difficult for a U-boat if it became entangled, and ships' propellers
could get caught.  It was said that down south a dozen drifters had
actually blocked off the Straits of Dover.

In February there was a skirmish on the Dogger Bank, not as serious as
the battle which had taken place there the previous year when cruisers
and destroyers had been involved, but bad enough for a flotilla of
British minesweepers to be overwhelmed by the Germans.

Joshua Kerrick set sail one moonless night at the end of February as
Chief Skipper of a trawler bear inga false name, and headed towards
fishing grounds in the vicinity of the Dogger.  The ship appeared to be
tow inga trawl net and to all intents and purposes she continued to
fish peacefully in the grey, sullen sea for many hours, though the nets
were never taken in, which was not surprising.  Lying beneath the
surface was a C-class submarine which the trawler was pulling along by
a heavy wire attached to her nose.

The day was foggy.  Visibility was poor and when the man on watch
sighted a U-boat's periscope in the early afternoon of the next day it
was near enough to fill every man with fearful anticipation.  It had
come like a shark to the bait.

Joshua ordered his crew to action stations.  When the U-boat surfaced
the water broke over its black, sinister hull sending waves which made
the trawler rock, and without showing signs of actual panic the crew
acted as if they were the innocent fishermen they appeared to be. 
Immediately Joshua sent a message to the captain of the attached
submarine via a telephone line connecting the two vessels like an
umbilical cord.

"A U-boat has just surfaced fifteen hundred yards away on the starboard
beam, sir."

"Aye aye.  Skipper.  Let got the tow rope."

The submarine slipped the hawser and under her own steam moved into an
attacking position.  She unleashed a Whitehead torpedo which streaked
from
her bow tube and sped through the water towards the unsuspecting
U-boat, but it went wide.  The U-boat captain had led his gun's crew
out on deck, no doubt intending to put an end to the trawler with
shellfire, but without fir inga shot the sailors scuttled back inside
to safety as the torpedo whined past.  A second torpedo struck below
the water line and the Uboat dived at a steep angle, leaving no sign of
its fate so there could be no rejoicing.

"Likely she'll stay on the bottom in silence and lick her wounds,"

Joshua said.

"I don't reckon she was fatally damaged."

"Better luck next time, eh.  Skipper."

"I'll not be happy till I know we've sunk one good and proper."

The sea thudded against the trawler's bows and sent spray spattering
over him.  It lashed against his face with a sudden whip-like fury,
then became calmer again and the fog closed in even more thickly.  He
felt very dissatisfied.  Towinga submarine and letting it loose on the
enemy was a useful contribution to the fight against U-boats, but it
wasn't enough for Joshua.  He wanted to launch an attack himself and he
couldn't wait to take the Wild Ginger out on active service so that he
could go hunting on his own account.

Poppy was restless all that same day.  There was a flickering of
anxiety in her for which she couldn't account since nothing was
noticeably different, and Joshua was continually on her mind.  By the
evening she was feeling so unsettled she was glad it was her turn to
make tea at the Mission, where she was kept fully occupied.  When it
was time to go home she found Jack Forrester by her side.

"I'll walk you back," he said.  He was a widower in his fifties, and
since the extraordinary departure of Morris Johnson he had been keeping
a watchful eye on Aunt Lizzie, much to Poppy's secret amusement.

That's real kind of you.  Jack.  "

404 There was no moon and the unlit street, shrouded in the blackness
demanded by security, had a claustrophobic effect on her.  She wished
she could push the darkness away and make a space of light in which to
stand and breathe.  Black-curtained windows on either side of Cooper
Street were like hidden eyes and she could scarcely see the pavement. 
When a black cat slunk out of a shop doorway and brushed against her
legs she cried out and clung to Jack's arm.

"It's all right.  Only a cat."  Her nervousness surprised him.

"What's the matter, girl?  I know you're not afraid of the dark."

"No, it's not that."  She had great need of someone in whom to confide.
Daisy was too involved in her own affairs and though they loved each
other there had never been the closeness between them which invited
confidences. Her mother knew nothing of the kind of love she felt for
Joshua.  Only Aunt Lizzie might have understood.  Poppy always had the
feeling that there were hidden depths to Lizzie, but she was not a
particularly sympathetic person and was no more forthcoming than
Daisy.

Jack Forrester, on the other hand, was a man Poppy was turning to more
and more.  He was becominga sort of father figure since Charlie had
left him in charge of the yard, and she didn't know what she would do
without him.  He even gave her an opening now.

"It's Joshua Kerrick, isn't it?"

"I'm so afraid for him.  It's worse now I know for sure what he's
doing."

"Reckon he means a lot to you."

"He does."  She wasn't going to say anything else but she knew she
could trust him and it was such a relief to talk about Joshua to
someone.

"He asked me to marry him once.  I should have done it instead of
settling for what I thought would be an uncomplicated life with Ned. 
Oh, how I wish I had."

"Wishing won't change anything."

"I know.  Worrying won't either, but I can't stop doing it."  She
pressed his arm.

"You're a kind man.  Jack.  I'm real glad you're around."

"And you're quite something yourself.  Poppy Rain.  Anything I can do
for you makes me happy."

They were nearing Manor Road when both became aware of a distant
drumming noise.  At first Poppy thought it was a late tram over on the
Fenstowe Road, but when they stood still and listened the air seemed to
be pulsating with sound which was coming slowly nearer.  She turned icy
cold and started to tremble, the tenuous fear she had been suffering
from all day turning into a very definite terror.  That chunkety noise
had been heard over the town before, and she knew the German raiders
had returned.

Doors opened.  Police whistles sounded.  Dogs whined and barked.

A cry went up.

"It's Zeppelins!  A Zep's coming over."

There's a light showing.  For God's sake put it out!  " A man in
pyjamas hammered on his neighbour's door, and a woman with her hair in
curl rags ran out frantic with fear.

"Why don't they shoot it down?  Heaven preserve us, we'll all be
killed."

Poppy tugged at Jack.

"I've got to get home to the children."

The dark street was now alive with human shapes in varying degrees of
panic, and her own fears increased.  She started to run, the children's
safety ten times more important than her own, but Jack stopped her.

Take cover.  That damn thing's coming overhead.  "

He pulled her down behind a wall and when she dared to look she saw the
airship faintly just above them, a long, narrow shape like a silver
cigar. The throb of its engines beat upon her brain and made her shake,
but she watched it with terrible fascination.  The machine seemed to
hang there with menacing calm, its very lack of haste making it the
more deadly, and people disappeared like ants beneath stones.  It
seemed to hover there for ever, scarcely moving.

406 The drumming, as insistent as a native war signal, kept on and on,
more fearful than anything she had ever heard.

Searchlight beams suddenly split the sky with tangled threads of light
and caught it momentarily, throwing the vast black shape into relief,
then lost it again just as gunfire started.  Poppy covered her ears. 
When the bomb fell she had her head buried against Jack's chest.

A brilliant flash of light leapt upwards and she felt the explosion
rather than heard it.  A great rush of air hit her and threw her across
the path, bringing Jack down on top of her so that he was shielding her
body with his own.  Shrapnel rained down on a roof nearby and a large
piece missed them by inches.  She didn't think she was hurt but it was
impossible to move straight away, and as they lay there dust began to
fall on them like white powder. The bomb had fallen at the end of
Cooper Street where they had been walking only minutes before.

"Are you all right.  Poppy?"  Jack managed to get up and helped her to
sit.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine.  Are you?"

"I think so."

Her coat was covered in dust and when she rubbed her hands over her
face it seemed to have been dipped in a flour bag.  The worst pain was
in her ears which still throbbed so badly she thought her head would
burst, but it gradually subsided and she became aware that the droning
she could still hear was that terrifying machine heading out to sea.

"I think the bomb hit a warehouse," Jack said.

"With a bit of luck no one's been hurt."

People began to emerge again.  The man in pyjamas had thrown a coat
over his night attire and the woman with the curl rags had a shawl over
her head.  A crowd gathered, everyone looking down the street to where
Gibbon's timber store was damaged and burning with a furious red
glow.

"That's made up my mind," said Poppy.

"I'm sending the little ones to the country."

"You'll be going with them then?"

"Oh, no.  I've talked about it with Aunt Jessie and she'll take them to
her sister's farm at Greenmarket.  Maw'll go as well with Iris and
Violet.  I'll feel better if they're all safely away bomb-dodging."

"I must go and see if Lizzie's all right," Jack said.

Poppy's eyes were stinging.  Take me home first, please.  Jack.  I want
to hold my children.  "

A charabanc took several women and children out of Fenstowe at the
beginning of April and among them were Jessie Rain with Steven, Daniel
and Nancy, and Agnes Ludlow with her two youngest girls.  Not all of
them were going to Greenmarket to seek refuge from the bombs.

The charabanc was do inga round tour to deposit the families with
various relatives and friends, and Agnes hoped that Greenmarket would
be the last stop.  She hadn't enjoyed herself so much for a very long
time.

She loved the countryside.  April sunshine made the dykes glisten like
silver ribbon and it was so wonderful to breathe fresh air, untainted
by fish or tar.  She wanted to reach out and pick bunches of the pussy
willow which brushed against the bus, and her happiness would have been
complete if she had been able to gather posies of primroses.

Perhaps if she could put a primrose root in a pot she'd be able to take
it back and plant it in her window box so that next year she would be
able to remember how beautiful they looked growing wild.

Agnes's thin, sallow face was shining.

"Look, Iris.  Look at the flowers.  Aren't they lovely?"

"I s'pose they are," said Iris, who was being pressed against the
window by her mother in her anxiety not to miss anything.

"I'd rather be home with me friends, though."

Agnes kept tight hold of Violet and wished there was some way she could
communicate her happiness to the poor, forlorn child.  As the years
went by
Violet was 408 becoming more unlovely, but she was affectionate in her
drooling way and Agnes smiled, tightening her hold of her.

Much to her disappointment Greenmarket was not the last stop, though it
was well into the afternoon when she and Jessie Rain, with all the
children, were deposited on the edge of the little market town.  The
farm was close to the road and Jessie's sister, a fat, hearty woman
with untidy grey hair, came out at once to greet them.  Dogs barked at
her heels.  Behind her came her husband who was equally fat and had
weatherbeaten skin which was rosier than any fisherman's.

"My, but it's good to see yuh," the woman said, giving Jessie a warm
hug. The two were not in the least alike.  "Come on in.  Yuh'll be
hungry and there's plenty to eat."

Agnes had never seen anything like the food that was prepared in the
farm kitchen.  There was beef cut thicker than a cooked mackerel,
crunchy potatoes roasted in dripping, fresh cabbage and sweed mashed up
with real butter.  No wonder the farmer and his wife looked so fat and
healthy.  For afters there was suet pudding that had been cooked in a
cloth, and there was cider to drink.  Wartime economies were not known
here.  Agnes could feel her eyes drooping with tiredness before the
meal was over and her stomach had never felt so full.  She was just
thinking how marvellously things had turned out when Jessie's sister
spoilt it.

"There now, ifyuh've had enough, Agnes, I'll tell Dick to get the cart
ready and he'll take you over to the house where yuh'll be staying with
your girls."  Agnes's heart sank.  The corners of her lips reverted to
their usual droop and she seemed to shrivel a little.  It would be
Violet, of course. Everyone looked at the child and looked away
again.

"We would've had you here if there'd been room, but the house ain't all
that big and with Jessie bringing three children there ain't room for
no more, so we've arranged for you to stay nearer town with Connie
Adams and her old mother."

Agnes's luggage was piled in the cart and Iris and Violet were lifted
up on to the seat.  She wanted to protest, because two of the children
with Jessie were her grandchildren as well and she wanted to be near
them, but she'd no right to complain when everyone was trying to be
kind.  So off they went again, this time to a tall brick house in a
street full of tall brick houses. She couldn't speak for
disappointment.  It settled like a lump of clay in her throat which
wouldn't shift even when she was introduced to the next lot of
strangers.

"I'm Connie Adams."  A hand was outstretched in welcome.  This was a
good-looking woman with black hair which had lost none of its colour
though she must have been well into her forties, and dark eyes that
reminded Agnes of others she had seen.  The wide mouth, too, was
familiar but she couldn't think who it was the woman looked like.

While their luggage was being unloaded Agnes's glance travelled up the
height of the house to the attic window right at the top, and when the
cart departed she was reluctant to go inside.  The children weren't
eager either, especially Iris who had been grumbling all the way from
the farm at the unfairness of it.

"I want to stay with Steven," she had said very loudly.

"I want to see the animals."

They went through the hall and into a sitting room at the back.  It was
a nice house, much tidier than the farm, but Agnes knew she was going
to feel uncomfortable.  The furniture was highly polished and she would
be nervous all the time that Violet might dribble and spoil
something.

"You must meet me mother," said Mrs Adams.

"She's been looking forward to you coming.  It'll make a change for her
to have different company."

An old lady was sitting deep in the recess of a chintz- covered
armchair so that very little other was visible until Agnes was near.

She had been dozing, but her eyes shot open with the approach of a
stranger
and they were as 410 bright and knowing as a terrier's.  Her white
hair was drawn into a sparse bun and her cheeks were slightly sunken as
a result of back-tooth extractions, but she still had enough teeth left
to produce a pleasant smile.  Thin hands pressed on the arms of the
chairs and she got up, a diminutive figure with a rounded back.

"Maw, these are our lodgers."

Agnes stood with a child on each side of her, clinging hold of their
hands more for her own support than theirs.

"How d'yuh do," she said.

"We won't be no trouble to you."

The old lady nodded and smiled some more.

"What's yer name?"

"Agnes Ludlow.  And this is Iris and Violet."

"Agnes Ludlow!  Ludlow!"  Bright eyes flashed a glance at each of the
visitors in turn, then settled on Agnes.  "From Fenstowe?"

"Yes," Agnes said.

"What's the matter.  Maw?"  Connie Adams was faintly alarmed.

"Be you related to old Bill Ludlow?"

Agnes gathered the children closer and a chill stole over her.

"He were me father-in-law."

"So you must have been married to Clan Ludlow?"

I was.  "

"Well I never."  Connie's mother laughed as though it was the most
amusing thing she had heard in a long while, and it was possible to see
she must once have been a. very pretty girl.

"Likely yuh'll not have heard of me, but I knew Bill Ludlow.  Me name's
Lottie Kerrick and I've a son called Tom."

Poor Agnes.  The room seemed to tilt and she looked down crookedly at
this little old woman who had given birth to Bill Ludlow's illegitimate
son.  At her door could be laid the blame for all the pain Agnes had
suffered since the day of Bill Ludlow's funeral, and now she was going
to have to live in
the same house as her, mebbe until the end Tom Kerrick, at the age of
fifty, had the physique of a man twenty years younger.  His white hair,
thick as a snow drift, didn't age him unduly since his shoulders were
well set and his eyes, once red-rimmed, were now clear and sharp.  He
sat in the Admiralty office which in the last year had been opened in
the pavilion on the pier, and the size of him made the naval officer on
the opposite side of the desk seem a skinny specimen.  Two other
officers of high rank sat alongside and together they had grilled him
for the best part of an hour.

"Now let me remind you just what you're signing, Mr Kerrick," the thin
officer said.

"We're taking you into the Royal Naval Reserve on a temporary basis and
it's your own wish to be attached to the Special Service.  I've
explained the risk you'll be running, and I needn't tell you again that
secrecy is of the utmost importance."

"No, sir."

"The Admirality will pay you on a separate scale, danger money if you
like, since you could be shot if you're captured."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's absolutely vital that no one knows what work you're doing.  You
will not be able to write letters home and you will be reticent in all
conversation.  A loosened tongue could destroy one of our most
successful means of fighting the U-boat menace.  You say you don't
drink?"

"Not a drop for over two years, sir."

"Good.  Then you can put your signature right there."  The young naval
officer pointed to the bottom of Form T 124 and Tom wrote his name with
a flourish.  Then both men stood up and shook hands.  The other two
shook his hand in turn.

"Welcome to the elite branch of the Royal Navy, Mr Kerrick.  You are
now part of the Special Service, and if you are as efficient as your
son I know we shall all owe you a debt of gratitude before long."

"You know my son?"

"Of course.  He's doing sterling work.  I know you'll do the same." 
Tom was given some final instructions.  There was to be an intensive
course of training with firearms, he would be fitted with a uniform,
and prepared for the risks he would be taking.

"Goodbye, then, Mr Kerrick, and good luck."  > "Thank you, sir.  I'll
need it."  Tom left the office feeling proud of his decision.  It
wasn't just young men who were helping to fight this bloody war.  At
last he was about to do something worthwhile himself, and whatever
happened no one would be able to say he hadn't done his bit.

He tramped down to the bridge from where he could see the Wild Ginger
tied up innocently enough beside a quiet quay.  Now he knew for sure
what Joshua was doing.  He'd had his suspicions for a long time.  He
sometimes wondered whether Joshua had any idea that his father had been
on the Ginger before it caught fire.  He felt a mite guilty about it
and thanked his lucky stars there'd been a convenient German around to
blame.  He didn't even know for sure that it had been his fault but
he'd kept his mouth firmly shut, telling no one that he had been
anywhere near Rain's Yard that night, and eventually he had almost come
to believe it himself.

He turned away from the slate-coloured sea and was assailed by a sudden
loneliness, a great wave of self-pity which hit him like a body punch. 
No one would care if he was killed.  There wasn't a. soul in the world
who
would mourn him if he fell victim to a U-boat attack, except perhaps
Lizzie.

He had intended going back home to Drago Street but he found himself
heading for Manor Road.  As he came nearer Lizzie's house his steps
picked up and he walked briskly.  He'd never visited her before but
today he felt justified since he was about to go off to the war.

The coloured glass in the fanlight had been boarded over to protect it
if bombs fell near.  He rang the bell.  Lizzie came to the door, her
grey hair curling prettily round her face where it was escaping from
the knot pinned on top other head.  Her eyes widened and she rubbed her
hands on a large blue-striped pinafore which covered a neat grey
dress.

"What a surprise," she said.  For a moment she didn't seem to know what
to do, then she stood aside.

"Do you want to come in?"

"I just wanted to see you."

Well I'm here.  "

He followed her down to the kitchen and was glad she hadn't shown him
into the sitting room where he had first learnt of his parentage.  He
felt uncomfortable.

"I don't really know why I came."

"It's all right, Tom.  I'll make us some tea."

He watched her fuss with the kettle, and said nothing.  It was warm in
the kitchen.  The dark red of a chenille cloth showed through a
crocheted over-cover on the table and she set a tray on it with two
cups and saucers. Her figure had filled out with middle age, her once
neat waist was a little thicker, her hips a little broader, and the
firm breasts he had so admired when she was young had become full and
rounded.

"It's nice to see you," she said, coming back from the pantry with a
plate of scones which she halved and buttered sparingly.  She was tense
and distant, the way she had been since Morris Johnson left.

"I

don't get many visitors since Agnes and Jessie took the children bomb
dodging I never thought I'd miss 'em, but I do.  Then Poppy's always at
the yard since Charlie Rain joined up.  He said there wasn't enough
work on to keep him here and he ought to be serving his country.  But
fancy going in the army!  What would his father have said?  "

She continued to chat politely.  Tom put his elbows on the table and
thought how wonderful it must be to see her busy like this every day,
but right now he wanted her attention.  He didn't want to hear about
the rest of the family.  He wanted to feel a closeness with her which
would sustain him in the months ahead.  He wanted her sympathy and her
support.  More than that, he wanted the devotion she had shown him in
the past, even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

He drank his tea slowly.

"I've signed on with the RNR, Lizzie," he said, with a bit of pride.

"I'm not too old to serve me country, and it's time I did something
worthwhile."

Lizzie put down her cup.

"Oh, Tom."

"I'll be in the Special Service.  Does that mean anything to you?"

Every scrap of colour left her face and she came to his side.  He could
feel the warmth of her even through his guernsey and when her hand
rested on his shoulder he dared to put an arm round her waist.

Just to touch her brought immediate comfort, and he closed his eyes to
let the healing sensation invade his soul.  His head came to rest
against her breast which rose and fell erratically with each laboured
breath, and soon he was holding her, not caring whether it was wrong.

"I love you.  Lizzie.  I had to tell you just in case one time I don't
come back."

"Hush.  Don't speak like that."  She stroked his white hair as if he
were one of Poppy's children, and the light touch set his pulses
racing.

"I know they won't kill me easy, but it's got to be faced."

"Don't, Tom."

416 They stayed like that for several minutes, then he lifted his head
and stood up slowly, his arms still encircling her.  Their eyes met.

"All these years.  Lizzie, there's been no one who meant as much to me
as you.  Not Clara, nor Flora.  Not anybody."

"Yet you threw me over quick enough when me father made it worth your
while." Her bitterness was justified.  Men had given her a raw deal.

"I was young then and as it turned out it was a good thing, seeing as
we have the same blood.  But that can't stop me loving you as a man
should never love his sister."  He spoke the words clearly, coming
right out with the truth because he knew it was the same with her,
however hard she resisted it.

"I've done some bad things, but I don't reckon loving you is one of
them. And you've helped me.  Through the worst times you've helped me
when no one else wanted to know, so I reckon as how you must love me a
bit too."

She sighed before admitting it.

"More than a bit.  I've loved you all my life."

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her lips which quivered with
the shock of a lover's touch.  Gradually her arms crept up round his
neck and as the pressure of his mouth increased he held her tighter,
more urgently, compelling her to draw even closer in the way she had
done innocently in their youth.  Her body was soft and warm, yet so
strong, and he didn't think he was ever going to be able to let her go.
 No youthful love could have been more beautiful than this.

When at last their lips parted he still kept hold of her and he looked
into her eyes for signs of remorse.  He knew she had high principles. 
There was a sternness in her expression, but no condemnation.

"We're only half related," she said.

"Perhaps it doesn't count."

"In the eyes of the law it does."

She caressed his cheek and sighed again, this time resignedly.

"I'm so glad you came."

The touch on his skin produced shafts of frenzied feeling which left no
part of his body unaffected and he knew it was time to call a halt. 
Kissing was one thing.  Anything else with Lizzie would spoil something
indescribably precious and confound their relationship even more.

With great reluctance he put her from him.

"I must go."  He tilted her chin and held her face steady while he
brushed her lips with his again.

"I'm happier than I've ever been.  Don't feel what's between us is
wrong."

"I won't.  Reckon I'm happy too."

"I wish I could take care of you.  I'll not rest easy while I'm at sea,
knowing them Zeppelins might come over again."

Til be all right.  Don't worry.  "

The agony of parting made them draw together with every step they took
towards the front door, and before he left he pressed the palm other
hand to his lips while their eyes held fast.

"I'll not come round here again," he said.

"No.  Best not."  She let fluttering fingers comb through his hair.

"But I'm real glad you came today.  Take care, Tom."

He set off towards Drago Street with a strangely light head, and anyone
looking at him might have thought he had hit the bottle once again.  He
was intoxicated for sure, but this time the reason for it was sweeter
and more heady than any spirits that could be distilled.

Before facing the empty house he walked to the shore, taking in a few
gulps of fresh air to clear his head.  Then he trained his eyes on the
horizon and was filled with foreboding, though he didn't know why.  He
sniffed hard.  The smell was the same, salty and sea weedy but he
sensed something.  Close in there were a few trawlers and a couple of
smacks, and further out he could
see a cruiser and likely 418 a destroyer, but they were not an unusual
sight these days.  It was a strange restlessness about the sea that
bothered him, as if it were trying to direct his gaze to the limit of
his vision, yet he saw nothing different.  When a seaplane passed
overhead he followed its course.  It circled round the cruiser, then
travelled north to south before returning at the same pace, which
should have put Tom's mind at rest.  It didn't.

That Monday afternoon at the end of April, having unexpectedly loosened
the rein on his emotions, he was in an extra-sensitive state and he
couldn't get rid of the fear that beyond the horizon there lurked
imminent danger.

In the early hours of Tuesday morning Daisy reached for her cloak with
arms which ached so much she hardly knew how to lift them.  She had
been on duty for sixteen hours.  The previous day a minesweeper had
brought in three badly wounded seamen, rescued after a merchant vessel
had been sunk by a German torpedo, and emergency operations had
required all nursing staff to remain on call.  One man had died, but
the other two were now resting in the surgical ward and at 4 a. m.
Daisy was given permission to leave for a few hours' sleep herself.

But first she looked in on Francis who was due to be moved to a
convalescent home.  He was not sleeping.

"Daisy?"  he whispered, and she marvelled afresh at the way his sense
of hearing had become so acute.

"Are you all right?  I'm just going off duty."

"They work you too hard.  I worry about you."  He reached out to touch
her and she automatically put her hand in his.

"I'm being moved tomorrow.  My mother's coming down.  Say you'll be
here."

"Of course I'll be here."  She sat on the edge of his bed.  Francis's
mother was a city women with smart clothes and the kind of confidence
that went with being well to do.  Daisy had met her when Francis was
first admitted and the
woman had made Daisy feel countrified and uncomfortable.

"If things are quieter I may even be allowed to come with you to the
home. It's over on the other side of town."

"Promise you'll visit me there.  I'll want to see you."

She pressed her lips together to stifle a quick breath.  If he could
see her perhaps he would feel differently, though she hoped not.

"I'll come whenever I can.  Now you must go to sleep."

"Daisy?"

"Yes?"

"May I kiss you?"

The ward slumbered.  He was in an annexe where patients were well on
the way to recovery and the light was low.  She bent her head and let
her lips rest against his for a moment, but when his arms sought to
hold her she drew away for fear of discovery.

"Goodnight, Francis."

"Goodnight, Daisy."

She knew she ought not to let herself think too much of Francis
Blackman. Men fell in love with their nurses, particularly in wartime,
but it was a fleeting emotion.  Once he was home he would forget about
her and she might get hurt.  She tiptoed towards the door, but turned
for a final look at him, and tears pricked her lovely young eyes which
she would willingly have shared with him.  As she left the hospital she
had the feeling that it was too late for caution.

She kept a bicycle in a shed near the gate and she wheeled it out to
the road, hoisting her skirt as she went.  There were two posters stuck
on the hospital wall, both advertising shows in town.  One was for a
military drama at the King's Theatre called A Soldier and a Man, and
the other was for a review at the Pavilion called S'What's the Matter. 
Daisy smiled as she started along the Fenstowe Road.

"I'm in love with a soldier me self that's s'what's the matter.  A
soldier, and me a fisherman's daughter!  Whatever would Fa and Grandfer
have thought of it?"

420 It was getting light but there was no one about.  She had just
turned into Manor Road when the quietness of dawn was shattered by a
tremendous boom out to sea which made her wobble and almost fall off
the bicycle.  It was followed by a succession of ear-splitting
explosions all around.  The town was being shelled.

The suddenness of it and the violence were horrifying and Daisy had
never been so frightened in her life.  People appeared, then
disappeared as tiles, slates, masonry and bits of shrapnel began to fly
in all directions, but she bent over the handlebars and pedalled as
fast as she could to Poppy's house in Newlyn Walk.  When she reached
the door she hammered on it until her knuckles hurt and she heard Poppy
running down the hall.

"Hurry, Poppy!  For God's sake, let me in."

A moment later the sisters fell into each other's arms and staggered
inside together.

"Dear Lord, what's happening?"  Poppy gasped.  There was so much noise
it was impossible to tell.

"We're being bombarded from the sea.  I heard the first shell come
over.  Oh, Poppy, we're all going to be killed and I haven't told
Francis I love him."

The house in Newlyn Walk was big and lonely without the children and
Aunt Jessie around, and Poppy woke up at dawn every morning, unable to
sleep another wink.  She was fully dressed and staring out of the
window in Steven's attic bedroom at the time Daisy was leaving the
hospital that same early morning, and over the rooftops she could see
the sea.  She could make out several large ships on the horizon and
they made her uneasy, though she didn't know why they should when a
naval presence off the coast was a familiar sight these days.  Mebbe it
was the way they were lying abreast of the town in formation from north
to south, a whole squadron of them by the seem of things.

She was about to turn away when the first terrifying boom made her
reel and she saw flashes of brilliant light appear from the menacing
row of ships in the far distance.  She continued to watch, mesmerized,
until to her horror she realized she was witnessing the start of a
bombardment as shells came whistling and screeching over the town. 
When the first one landed with a deafening explosion somewhere fairly
close she cried out and covered her head with her arms.  She knew she
was in mortal danger if she stayed where she was, yet for a moment she
was too petrified to move.  It was then that Daisy knocked frantically
on the door, calling her name, and she flew down to let her in.

"We'd best shelter under the stairs in case anything hits the house,"

Poppy said.

"Thank God the children aren't here."

She dragged Daisy into the alcove and they huddled together, shaking
and deafened by the noise above and all around them.  Fear kept them
closely entwined as shells continued to scream over the town.  The
distant war which had come closer to home with the start of Zeppelin
raids was now an even more alarming reality, no longer a matter of food
shortages and waiting for news from the front, but complete
involvement.

"I think a lot of them are going straight over the town," Daisy said.

"Mebbe they'll land in fields."

For fifteen minutes the bombardment went on and they were the longest
minutes of Poppy's life.  In that time she thought her last hour had
come, that she would never see her children again.  Out there within
sight of the town, with guns blazing and hatred in their hearts, German
naval crews were actually attacking civilians and murdering them.  She
thought fleetingly of Dolph Brecht and wondered why she had ever
befriended him when his countrymen were now hell-bent on destroying
everything she held dear.  He, too, was part of this war, involved
somewhere in taking British lives, no doubt.  He was the
422 enemy.  All her bitterness cent red on that one German she knew,
and in that moment she wished him dead.

Then she heard a different kind of firing out at sea.  Gradually the
shells stopped.

"Reckon our ships are seeing them off."  She eased away from her sister
and lifted her head.  The house was safe.  The attack was almost over. 
She waited another few minutes then crept fearfully out of hiding, her
heart beating so loudly it was difficult to hear anything properly. 
"We've got to see if anyone needs help.  There must be a lot of
damage."

"I'll be needed back on duty.  I'll have to go.  Poppy."

"I'll come with you."

When they opened the door the air was full of dust and the smell of
explosives.  Daylight seemed to filter through it, yet there was no
sign of any damage nearby.  The two girls stood in the street listening
to gunfire across the water and a seaplane passed over, heading for the
battle area. They linked hands to reassure each other as people
reappeared.

Smoke was rising from the Fenstowe Road direction and Daisy pointed to
it as the clanging bells of a fire engine now rent the air.

Without speaking they ran from Newlyn Walk to Manor Road, then cut up
through to the main road.  A shop had been demolished.  The street was
littered with masonry and broken glass but it appeared no one had been
on the premises so there were no casualties.

"It's up further there's trouble," a man said.

"Direct hit on one of the cliff houses, they say."

Poppy went cold.  She pressed her fingers against her mouth and wasted
no more time staring at the debris of the shop but sped at once towards
the cliff, stumbling, tripping, gasping for breath in her haste.  Daisy
was immediately behind her.

"Pray God it's not the Leas' house," Poppy shouted over her shoulder.

But it was.

As soon as she rounded the bed the most dreadful sight met her eyes.

The front half of the house was reduced to a pile of rubble which spilt
over on to the road and prevented rescue vehicles getting near.

The roof was gone, leaving what was left of the upper rooms open to the
sky, and the floor hung crazily on its remaining support, still swaying
slightly. Poppy looked in horror.

A special constable was already climbing over the rubble.  She heard
him shouting to another man.

"Be careful.  If that beam falls on her she's a gonner."

Dust filled her eyes and mouth and she tore her skirt scrambling over
fallen masonry to join the rescuers who were bringing Caroline Kerrick
clear of the debris.

Daisy now issued orders.

"Don't move her more than you can help.  Just leave her lying flat
until the ambulance can get to her."

Poppy went to Caroline's side.  She was moaning with pain but her eyes
were open and she was trying to say something.

"My little girl."  The words were indistinct but Poppy understood.

"You must find Rose."

"We'll find her," she promised, and took Caroline's hand.  This was the
woman she had detested since Joshua had married her but all such
feelings were cast aside in the midst of disaster.  A new fear clutched
at Poppy's heart as she had a mental picture of the laughing child she
had last seen being carried high on Joshua's shoulders.

Looking round at the devastation it seemed a terribly empty promise,
and there was a sob in her voice as she repeated it.

"We'll find her."

Joshua saw the shelling from the desk of the Wild Ginger.  At first
light he was approaching the harbour, having spent three quiet nights
at sea in her at last, but though he looked ahead towards the town he
was uncomfortably aware of something not quite right astern.

"Heave to," he ordered, while the drifter was still outside 424 the
harbour arms.  The swell made her rock.

"Something's going on.  I don't know what but I don't like the feel of
it."

"It ain't U-boats this close in."

"There's a build-up of vessels just off the coast.  Wait on while we
see what's happening."

He had hardly finished speaking when that first enormous boom split the
air. It tore at their eardrums and the Wild Ginger seemed to shudder
from stem to stern.  A succession of flashes lit the pale sky followed
by a series of explosions on shore.

"My God, the bastards are bombarding the town!  The Kaiser's got a
squadron of destroyers out there."  He snatched the wheel from the mate
and swung it violently so that the drifter lurched round to face the
enemy, bringing instant protest from his men.

"We ain't equipped to tackle them giants."

"We can't engage 'em."

Joshua pointed to the south where little clouds of smoke were drawing
nearer.

"That's our cruisers coming.  We can show support if nothing else."

He steamed out to sea again.  The noise now was appalling and he
daren't let himself think what was happening ashore Rose was in danger,
and he fell his temper rising to boiling pitch.  The guns on board
Ginger might be like threaten inga lion with a pin, but he couldn't
scurry for shelter and not fire a shot.

For fifteen minutes the German surprise attack on Fenstowe went
unchallenged, then Joshua saw the big German vessels loose a storm of
shells in the direction of the approaching British ships, which didn't
attempt to return the fire until they were well within range.

"We'll all be blown out of the water," the mate shouted as Wild Ginger
came closer to the enemy.

Shells were screaming across the water, churning it into a foaming
cauldron as they fell in the sea all around.  British guns opened up
with a salvo at the German destroyers.  Flames leapt up from the funnel
of one.

Another was eve loped in steam and smoke.  The enemy was now being
routed and changed course, only to change back again for another
unsuccessful attempt to sink the British ships which had already taken
a battering.

Joshua looked for a chance to give assistance but there were no
openings for so small a vessel until a seaplane appeared in the
cloudless sky, flying on a course which would take it directly over the
Wild Ginger.  He waited, praying it wouldn't change direction too soon,
and his 6pounder anti-aircraft gun in the bows was ready.  The seaplane
banked to turn just as it was within range.

"Fire!"  Joshua commanded.  The shot which would have destroyed the
aircraft if it had stayed on course merely put one of its propellers
out of action. He knew the damage inflicted was insignificant, but at
least he had joined in the fight.

"That was for Rose," he yelled into the smoke-filled air, and a geyser
of water fountained upwards to starboard of him as a shell exploded in
the sea. The next shell came over with a shrill whistle and rush of
wind, so low that it tore through the mainmast and sent it crashing to
the deck, mercifully falling clear of the wheelhouse and not harming
any of the crew.  A few feet lower and the shell would have hit the
drifter amidships, finishing her for good.

As Joshua rallied his men another seaplane appeared from the north,
flying at a terrific rate to circle round the main German destroyer,
likely with a message.  Moments later the German squadron turned tail
and scattered, speeding east and north.  The bombardment was over.

It was seven o'clock when the Wild Ginger finally limped into harbour
and tied up at her berth, her damaged mast lying like a huge ramrod
across the camouflaged guns.  The men were desperate to get ashore and
make sure their families were safe, but before anyone could leave the
boat two naval officers in immaculate uniforms appeared, marching along
the quay side with an ominously heavy tread.

"Captain Kerrick."  The older of the two called Joshua's name in a
clipped accent and he knew he was in for trouble.

"Who gave you orders to take part in the engagement?"

Joshua's own uniform was folded away, and according to Special Service
rules he was wearing the garb of a fisherman.  He stood in the bows of
his ship, legs astride and eyes glinting.

"Sir, we were outnumbered by the enemy.  I felt it my duty to offer
what assistance I could.  We succeeded in diverting some of the fire
and managed to destroy a seaplane."

"Your report will have to be made at the Admiralty.  Heroics are all
very well.  Captain, but in the navy you obey orders.  Report to the
senior officer later today."  The spokesman relaxed his shoulders and
took a step forward, his expression changing.

"Right now, though, you have permission to leave your ship.  I'm afraid
your house was badly damaged this morning."

Joshua had not been consciously afraid while in action, but now fear
caught up with him in a single instant, spiralling through him like a
whirlwind.

"My family?  What about my wife and daughter?"

"Your wife's in hospital.  I've not had news of your daughter."  The
officer gave him a hand to jump ashore.  "I'm really sorry."

The mild April morning felt like mid winter to him as he left the
harbour on a borrowed bicycle to get to the hospital quicker.  It
wasn't possible to ride all the way.  The whole population seemed to be
out in the streets looking for bits of shrapnel to keep as souvenirs,
and at the lower end of the Fenstowe Road a tramway standard had been
smashed, bringing the trolley wires down like a barricade.

He kept murmuring Rose's name over and over, as if by doing so he could
ensure that she was safe, his beautiful, laughing child whom he adored.
 With every turn of the pedals he prayed that she was all right.

But it was not only for Rose he feared.  Poppy, too, had been in
danger, and he felt sick with worry.  She was proud, spirited, fiercely
independent, and he loved her as if she were a part of himself, yet he
had let her go on thinking he no longer cared for her.  He remembered
her face the last time they parted, when he had longed to hold her in
his arms.  If anything had happened to her his life would be empty.

The hospital resembled an ant's nest.  Nurses were hurrying hither and
thither, carrying things covered with white cloths, sticking plasters
on superficial wounds, helping people to limp away and make room for
others who needed attention.  Voices were loud and sharp with anxiety. 
Joshua stood in the reception hall which had been turned into a
makeshift clinic, and there seemed to be no one in charge.

Then he saw Poppy across the overcrowded room, a temporary white band
with a red cross tied round her sleeve, which apparently gave her the
right to bathe a cut on someone's forehead.  Her hair was pushed out of
sight beneath a scarf.  He looked at her and felt a surge of relief
like the sudden dropping of a gale, after which rage ripped through
him, a shocking red-hot fury which made him clench his hands until the
muscles of his arms were rock hard and his knuckles gleamed white.  The
reason for his anger with her over the last two years suddenly caught
up with him again.

He walked towards her, elbowing people aside, and caught hold of her
arm.

"Where's my child?"

She cried out with the pain of his grip.

"Joshua!"

He dragged her out into the corridor.

"There's only one person responsible for all that's happened here this
morning.  One person to blame for the death and destruction.  One
person. Poppy, and that's you."  His voice rose as he accused her. 
Luckily no one heard except the girl he held in a grip of iron, and she
made no sound.

"Dolph 428 Brecht was a spy.  I told you he was here spying but you
didn't listen.  You helped him to escape back to Germany with plans of
Fenstowe and now look to what use he's put them.  I hope your
conscience will destroy you as you've destroyed my child."

"No, Joshua!"

"She's dead, isn't she?  Rose is dead."

"No, she isn't.  She's in the ward suffering from shock and a few cuts
and bruises.  Your father-in-law died saving her.  He protected her
with his own body."

He closed his eyes and his hold on her slackened.  The.  drumming in
his head sent shafts of light shooting behind his eyelids and he had to
press his fingers against them to stop the pain.

"I'll take you to her," Poppy said softly.

"But it's your wife you should be worrying about She's in the operating
theatre fighting for her life.  Her back was broken."  She removed his
hand.

"We all do things which at the time seem right and later become a
terrible guilty burden.  Who's to say my guilt is any worse than
yours?"

At the end of the day Poppy left the hospital, her body aching with
tiredness.  Her hands were sore from the amount of time they had been
in water, her feet almost numb from standing, and her admiration for
Daisy was boundless.  Without having had any rest her sister had gone
straight back on duty and there she had stayed until a doctor had
insisted there was no more she could do.  Poppy's voluntary help had
been nothing compared with what Daisy had done, and she envied her her
dedication.

The April evening was filled with bird song ending the day on such a
different note from the one on which it had begun that Poppy began to
wonder whether God was mocking everyone.

This morning's encounter with Joshua had shaken her badly and it had
taken all her willpower to remain outwardly calm while he had accused
her.  There
was no denying that the German attack had been carried out with deadly
accuracy.  No denying either that she had set Dolph Brecht safely on
his way two years ago, mebbe to plot the destruction of a town where
previously he had been shown kindness.  In all innocence she had
allowed Dolph's flattery to make her deaf to criticism of him and she
had refused to give credence to Joshua's spy charges, believing them to
be concocted out of jealousy.  She still wanted to believe it.

"But supposing he was right," she murmured.

"Supposing I am to blame for the bombardment?"

She considered the matter seriously, but refused to be daunted.  There
had been no war on when she had helped Dolph, and no proof that he was
anything other than the friend he had professed to be.  Joshua had been
overwrought this morning.  He had needed to vent his feelings on
someone and she had been the nearest.  Well if it had helped him she
would try to be understanding.

It was not quite dark when she turned into Newlyn Walk.  Her curtains
were drawn and she remembered how she and Daisy had left home this
morning without even locking the door.  Everything was peaceful now,
but the memory of the shelling made her shiver, and she didn't relish
the thought of the kitchen grate with no fire burning ink.

She stepped inside the house, expecting darkness but to her surprise
saw a light in the kitchen.  Her heart began to race.  It had to be
Aunt Lizzie, of course.  There was warmth, too, coming from the
kitchen, which meant someone had got the fire going.  Her fear eased a
little, but she pushed open the door very cautiously.

Joshua Kerrick was asleep in Ned's chair.

After her initial surprise she padded softly across the floor so as not
to disturb him.  He slept deeply from exhaustion and she watched the
steady rise and fall of his chest.  Black hair fell untidily over his
forehead, his chin
was buried in the collar of his shirt, and his legs were 430 stretched
across the hearth rug She had never seen him so vulnerable and stood
there for several minutes just looking at him, her body growing hot
with the desire to touch him.  While he slept he was hers.

She wanted to fall on her knees beside him and lay her head against his
heart.

He was still wearing the same dirty, sweat-stained clothes he'd had on
this morning and she realized his others must be buried under the
debris of the house.  Likely he'd been at the hospital all day with
Caroline.  What sort of relationship did they have?  There'd been no
more children since Rose.  Did that mean they never made love?  Amidst
all the trauma of the day she had thought about Joshua's panic over his
child, and had tried not to read too much into the fact that he had not
shown the same concern over his wife.

Her own reaction when she had first seen the devastation of the Leas'
house was too shameful to be acknowledged, yet it was there in her mind
like a canker.  She had hoped, just for a moment, that mebbe Caroline
had been killed.  But then Joshua would have had even more reason to
hurl his accusations.

She supposed he had come here because there was nowhere else to go.

She doubted he would think of going to his father's house in Drago
Street. The firelight flickered over his face and she saw the dark
rings under his eyes, the hollows beneath his cheekbones which gave him
that gaunt handsomeness she couldn't resist.  His presence here was too
painful a pleasure to be endured and soon she took off her coat and
hat, no longer keeping quiet as she went to hang them up.

He stirred, and was alert immediately.  He got to his feet.

"So you're back," he said briskly, sounding critical of the time she
had returned.

"I got the fire going in case you were cold."

"Thank you."  To cover her agitation she busied herself lay inga tray
with cups and saucers.

"I expect you could do with some tea."

He followed her to the scullery when she went to fill the kettle and
stood in the doorway.

"I came to apologize.  I said things this morning I'd no business
saying and I hurt you.  I want you to know I'm sorry."

The look in his eyes was guarantee of his sincerity but she carried on
with what she was doing, giving no sign that she could be swayed by a
few words. He took the kettle from her and she could smell the
antiseptic odour of the hospital on his skin.

"Listen to me.  Poppy.  I've done a lot of thinking and it's time you
and I were honest with each other."

"You've always made yourself quite plain."

"I've done nothing of the kind.  Neither of us has been truthful.

There's been little enough opportunity.  But what happened today made
me see life is too short to waste, and you and I have no cause to be
enemies.  So say you'll forgive me.  "

She couldn't pass him.  He blocked the doorway and she would be
spending the night in the scullery if she didn't do as he asked.

There was a mighty stubborn streak in him at times.

"Reckon you had a right to say what you did," she said, with some
reluctance.

"No, I'd no right at all.  I knew you only helped Dolph Brecht for
Ned's sake, and it was no sin at the time.  But I've always hated the
man for being so free with you."

"Like I told you, he was a friend, nothing more.  Not even that really.
 I knew nothing much about him.  And since we're being truthful I
suppose I'd better admit it was mostly your fault I helped him.  You
were so mulish and I was determined to get even with you.  I knew he
hadn't set fire to your boat. He swore on oath."

"All right, I'll allow you that.  But I did see drawings in his
room."

"Then I'll allow you that and we'll forget the whole thing."  She
would have agreed with anything which would improve things between
them, and to her relief he seemed to accept the bargain.

Since Ned died she had not been short of men wanting to step into his
shoes. Three offers of marriage had come her way soon afterwards,
though she'd given no encouragement to any man.  She had married Ned
for convenience and she sometimes wondered how long she could have
endured it, her heart belonging to Joshua the way it did, though she
had done her best to deny it at the time.

He went through and put the kettle on the hob.

"We've all changed.

Poppy.  The war has seen to that.  At the start I pledged to serve my
country as best I could.  Now I'm prepared to give my life for it.  "

"Please don't talk like that."

"I must.  I'll act as decoy for every German submarine in the North Sea
if that's the best way to sink them.  That means doubling the risks
I've taken so far."

"You can't do it, Joshua."

"I can and I will, for my family's sake.  My father-in- law is dead.

Caroline will never walk again.  She's out of danger but she'll be in a
wheelchair for the rest of her life.  "

"And Rose?"  Poppy held her breath.

"Rose is recovering well, but don't you see it might have been her?

And that makes me capable of committing murder.  " His dark eyes held
intense pain and she wished she could given him comfort.

"Or it could have been you.  I don't know what I'd have done.  Poppy,
if anything had happened to you."  He took her by the shoulders and
held her against him roughly, as if afraid she might be snatched
away.

"You must know you mean more to me than anyone in the world?  We belong
together, you and me."

His hold on her, both physically and emotionally, was so strong she
didn't think it possible to contradict him, but she managed to draw
back.

"That's as may be.  Whether it's true or not we've no business
admitting it now."

He glared at her, his eyes ablaze with impatience that all you can
say?  " His mouth became hard again.

"A all these years you're still as prissy as the day grandfather died. 
Poppy Ludlow, but the truth can' questioned.  I should've taken you
then."

"Before yer father did, you mean."  They were both breathing fast and
the air quivered i heat.

Poppy's face felt taut, her neck and throat acl and she was leaning
forward to shout at him.  He clasher again and kissed her forcefully,
the way he had d once before in her mother's kitchen when their emot
had been equally as turbulent.

"Will you stop harping on about what me father < That was wicked and
sinful but I reckon he's t punished for it.  And I reckon we've done
enough talk Let's not waste any more time."

His lips parted over hers, moving possessively unti was sure she
wouldn't try to put up any more argum She ached for him, her body
awakening to the imj stoned message his mouth imparted, and she could
longer hold back her exhilaration.  She pressed against and returned
his kisses with sudden abandon.  "You win, Joshua."  She pulled at his
hair, at his shirt.  "We need each other."  He kissed her neck, tore at
buttons of her blouse.

"That's all that matters."  "Take me to bed,"

she breathed.  He lifted her off her feet and carried her up the su
fc^icking open the first bedroom door he came to which if^ie one she
had once shared with Ned.  The bed Unmade.  She had left in the early
hours before the shel ^s^started and the blankets were still as she had
turned them back.

_ Joshua laid her down roughly, kissing her all the while ^o^d she
clung to him until he had to release her arm Ulas^t he could undo the
rest of her buttons. He kissed nec3s<*' ^"s mouth Imgering momentarily
against " iro^-obbing
pulse before moving down over her shoul< where the creamy skin was
freckled like her nose and cheeks.  Caroline was forgotten.  Likewise
the bombardment, the war, everything.

He uncovered her firm, full breasts and kissed them in turn, his Ups
causing exquisite sensations to course through her body.  Then with
great urgency he stripped off the rest other clothes, helped by Poppy
who was as impatient as he to reach fulfilment.  When his own clothes
were in a pile on the floor with hers he took her without any further
preliminaries.  It was a fiercely passionate act, without any
gentleness or refinement, a frenzied rising in unison, and when the
climax shook them both with all the force of stars colliding it seemed
like the moment she had been waiting for all her life.

When it was over they lay in each other's arms.

"I love you more than I can tell you.  Poppy.  I'm not a man of
words."

*I know.  It's the way I love you too.  "

She wanted to stay like this for ever and she didn't think anything
could ever be so good again.  But what followed was infinitely
better.

Presently he raised himself up on one elbow and pushed away the covers
so that he could look on her nakedness.  His eyes were warm with love
and she was glad she had an attractive body to please him.

She would never have called herself beautiful, but he made her feel so
and there was no embarrassment in the way he studied every part of her.
 She looked upon him with equal pleasure.  He was so intensely male,
his bronzed skin gleaming in the pale light from the window, his limbs
so strong and powerful.  Black hair matted coarsely over his chest and
she trailed her fingers through it, takin ga path down over his
stomach.

They began to caress each other with no inhibitions and her spirits
soared with wonder.

You're more beautiful than I ever dreamed," he murmured.

When he entered her again he was a gentle, experienced lover and he
gave her time to enjoy each second of the gradual crescendo, leading
her slowly but with ever increasing rapture to the pinnacle of ecstasy
which claimed them simultaneously.  It was so different from the first
wild release that she moaned with joy and her back arched to give full
reign to the ecstatic spasm spinning through her body.

She was still breathing fast when he moved away from her, and she kept
her eyes closed to retain the magic as long as possible.  Her hair
spilled over the pillow like fire.

"Now say we don't belong together if you dare," he challenged.

She smiled dreamily.

"Reckon you're right for once, Joshua Kerrick.

We do belong.  "

They slept until morning, her head tucked into his shoulder, and when
Poppy stirred she felt the roughness of his chin against her forehead. 
For a while she kept perfectly still, savouring the joy of waking next
to him, and she let her hand rest softly against his heart so that the
rhythm was beating into her fingertips.

What they had done was wrong.  With the daylight she could see how
deeply they had sinned against Caroline, who must never know.  They had
made love impulsively at the end of a fraught and fearsome day, driven
to it by influences outside as well as inside themselves, and it had
seemed the most natural thing to do, but now guilt as heavy as a lead
weight began drawing her down into the depths of despair.

She got up quietly and found her dressing gown, thinking to slip away
before Joshua woke, but his eyes were already open and filled with the
same longing, the same loving warmth that had been there last night.

"Where do you think you're going?  Come back to bed.  I need you."

He reached out for her, pushing back the bedclothes so responded
instinctively, becoming hot with answering desire, but she kept at a
distance.

No more, Joshua.  We mustn't do it again.  "

"Don't say that.  Last night we .  . ."

"Last night we got carried away and we both forgot you've got a wife in
hospital who can't defend her rights.  What happened between us must
never happen again."

She tried to keep her voice level so that he wouldn't hear what it cost
her to reject him.  Beneath the dressing gown her legs were taut with
the effort to keep herself from running to the bed.

He leapt up, catching her before she could leave.

"I don't believe it.  You can't deny us happiness now, not when we've
waited so long to find it."

"We've no right to happiness at Caroline's expense.  You should
consider that more than me."

"I can't and I won't.  It's never been a happy marriage."

Then think of Rose.  "

She flung out of the room before he could weaken her resolve by a
single trouch, and she went downstairs to pull the curtains and let in
a new day.

A short time later he too came down, fully dressed in his crumpled
clothes and once again wearing the hard, bitter expression she knew
only too well.

"I'm going to find something decent to wear," he said.  "But I'll be
back."

He strode down the hall.

"It's no good, Joshua, I've made up my mind.  We can't be together.  We
both have families.  Joshua!"

She called his name beseechingly, but he opened the front door and left
so abruptly there was nothing she could do but stare after him with
tears falling faster than the spring shower which damped the path.

19 "If we don't get some more men it'll be the end of this yard," Jack
Forrester said.  It was four days after the bombardment and he had
called Poppy to the yard urgently so that she could see the situation
for herself. "We've still got a few men, and there's the repairs, but
there are no apprentices to do the donkey work.  I guess there won't be
anything for Charlie to come back to unless you can come up with some
answers."

Poppy walked round the yard, poking her head into the building berth
and the sawmill.

"I can't work miracles.  I wish I could."

There was one man whose skilled job made him exempt from the services,
and others who were too old to join up, but they all had the same
opinion.  There would be no boats built unless they could employ more
workers.  It was a sorry business.  There were rum ours that the loss
of so many fishing boats might mean official orders for more, but a
yard which couldn't guarantee delivery by a specified date wouldn't be
given the work.

One of the men tried to be encouraging.

"The government inspectors are a help.  I hear they're not so difficult
as they used to be."

"They pass timber that wouldn't have suited Charlie."  Jack Forrester
sniffed his disapproval.

"I don't like it.  I saw a boat up at Dawkins & Master's what the
inspector had passed, and as true I'm standing here there' was a stern
with long shakes that I could have put me fist into.

Disgraceful it were.  Imagine the boat driving head on into a gale
with timber like that.  "

"Well it won't do for us," said Poppy.

"We don't want that sort of reputation."

Back at the office she went through the books and saw the names that
had been crossed off the payroll since the beginning of the year.

Something would have to be done, but she didn't know what.

It was almost a relief to be presented with the problem.  There were so
many other things on her mind that plagued her incessantly, and she
welcomed a diversion.

Although Joshua had said he would be back after their night together he
had obviously given thought to what she had said when he left the house
and he hadn't returned.  She had sat by the fire listening for his
knock, telling herself that she wouldn't let him in if he did come, but
the hours passed, and then days, and he stayed away.  Yet she longed
for him.  She relived every moment of that night and knew it had been
destined.

Yesterday she had attended the funeral of Nathaniel Lea, a grand affair
to which all the town dignitaries had turned out, and there had been so
many people they hadn't all been able to get in the church.  Of course
there had been nowhere for people to be invited to afterwards so the
Mission had provided tea for lowlier folk, while the dignitaries had
retired to the Royal Mariner.  Poppy had not gone to either place.  She
couldn't bear the thought of Caroline Kerrick lying helpless in her
hospital bed while her father was buried, and she couldn't watch Joshua
making polite conversation.

Joshua had come to her side briefly.

"I have to leave tomorrow night."  His eyes met hers, love glowing
through the deep shadows for a precious moment and then hidden again as
he kept a decorous distance between them.

"We must talk when I come back."

"Take care," she said.  She touched his arm, as if in sympathy, but she
was
telling him he would take her heart wherever he sailed and she knew by
his quiet smile that he understood.

She wanted to visit Caroline but guilt made it impossible.  She felt
terribly sorry for her and asked Daisy every day for news, but she
couldn't look into the eyes of Joshua's wife.

She closed the book and tried not to be too disconsolate about the
yard.

"Don't worry.  Jack, we'll think of something-' She had walked to
Dansom Road.  The motor car was locked away with petrol so short, and
if necessary she used public transport.  This afternoon she got back to
the square and everywhere she looked there seemed to be men in uniform
heading towards the station, most shouldering kit bags while women
clung to their arms.  Poppy supposed a troop train must be about to
leave.  With so many local men at sea and others going in the army
there soon Wouldn't be any around to keep things going.

It was starting to rain and she decided a tram ride home Would be a
good idea.  To her astonishment, when she went to board it she saw that
it was being driven by a woman.  She stared almost open mouthed

"What's the matter?"  the woman asked irritably.

"There's a war on, you know.  Ain't yuh never seen a Woman do inga
man's work before?"

Poppy could have hugged her.

"Yes, I have, and I think it's marvelous.  You've just given me the
answer to my Problems."

She beamed at the tram driver, changed her mind about getting on and
headed back to the yard.

"I know what to do.  Jack.  I've got the answer."  She waltzed him
round the office, taking him so much by surprise he tripped over his
feet.

"We'll employ women, Jack.  It's the obvious answer."

"Women!  Women can't do heavy work like that."

"Of course they can.  Oh, I don't mean caning timber or actual
boat-building,
but if they can make shells and work in factories doing heavy work
then they can surely manage jobs the apprentices used to do."

"You've got a point there."

"Tomorrow I'll see what can be done."  She clapped her hands, delighted
with her resourcefulness.

"And I'll come me self to do some manual work.  I don't expect any
woman to tackle something I'm not prepared to do as well, and I reckon
I can drive in a few rivets."

The idea appealed to her.  She had time on her hands with the children
away and she missed them so much she needed to keep occupied.  "Now I
must go and see Aunt Lizzie.  I've had a letter from Maw at last."

"Give her my regards."

Poppy smiled.  Lizzie would only give a snort of disapproval.  Morris
Johnson had set her against all men, it seemed, except mebbe Tom
Kerrick.

Aunt Lizzie was stunned by one piece of Poppy's news.

"You'll never guess who they're staying with," Poppy said.

"Tom Kerrick's sister.  Just fancy that.  Seems Tom's old mother is
still alive and she's there too."

Lizzie turned pale.

"Fancy that indeed.  I don't suppose she ever thought her secrets would
be made public, but likely it hasn't affected her.  She'll be senile by
now."

"Oh, no she's not.  She asked to be remembered to all Grandfer's
family, and especially to you.  Wasn't that nice of her?"

"Nice!  After what she did to me!"

"What did she do to you.  Aunt Lizzie?"  Poppy believed in fairness and
it didn't seem quite right to blame Tom's mother for Lizzie's
unhappiness.  The old lady couldn't be held responsible for her son's
half-sister falling in love with him.

"She tricked me father, didn't she?  She made him pay for his mistake,
and on top of that I've been paying ever since.  I only hope I never
have to set eyes on her."

Poppy hadn't seen her so put out for a long time and wished she hadn't
passed
on the message.  It was six years now since Grandfer died and Poppy
had learnt to accept the turn of events his death had brought, though
she had never completely forgiven him, seeing as how it had cost her so
dear.  But it seemed Aunt Lizzie still felt bitterly about the
matter.

Caroline's hospital bed was as tidy as when it had been made several
hours earlier.  Not a crease marred the sheet, no movement disturbed
the blankets. Her hands lay limply on the coverlet, white and cool as
sculpted marble, and her hair had been brushed almost smooth.  Only her
eyes retained the flawless beauty which had made her so striking.

"I don't know when FU be back," Joshua said.

"We're sailing tonight and likely I'll be away a few weeks.  I'll have
to find us another house and full-time nurse to look after you when you
come out of hospital, but it's too soon to make plans."  He had dreaded
having to tell her he was leaving, but she seemed quite unperturbed. 
She rarely said much and it was difficult to make conversation.

"Are you in pain?"

"No.  I never feel anything."

He had been warned that nothing must upset her, and he had been careful
to choose his words.

"There's no need for you to worry about Rose," he said.

"When I left her at Millie's house this morning she was perfectly
happy. Millie idolizes her and she'll look after her until you're well
enough."

Tears gathered in Caroline's eyes and he bent to lift her hand,
sympathy choking his throat.  At this moment he felt more affection for
her than at any since they had met.  There had been no love in his
marriage, only a lusting for sexual' pleasure and his wife's
selfishness had increased with the years.  She had taken what she
wanted from him and given very little. But likely there were faults on
both sides, since he had married her knowing that he would never love
her.

442 Poppy was right.  They couldn't be together now that Caroline was
crippled.  Seeing her so helpless was a harrowing reminder that she
would never again be stirred to passion, and he couldn't seek happiness
for himself in such circumstances.  She was his responsibility.  There
was no one else to take care of her and he must be prepared to
sacrifice everything for her sake.  That meant he must not see Poppy if
he was not to become any more emotionally involved than he was already.
 Loving her the way he did it would be too easy to forget that Caroline
was his wife.

But keeping away from Poppy the last few days had been one of the
hardest things he had ever had to do.

In some ways it was a relief to be going back on duty.  With an enemy
to fight he could cleanse his system of the emotional upheaval which
had left him drained.

He boarded Wild Ginger well ahead of the time he was due to report and
the man on duty assured him everything was in order.

"I'll take over now," Joshua said.

"You've my permission to go ashore."

He wanted to check the boat over himself.  It wasn't that he didn't
trust his men to do it properly, but he trusted his own thoroughness
more.

There was to be a new mate this trip.  George Benson, who had been with
him since the Ginger was recruited for war service, had applied to join
the Royal Navy and he had been accepted.  It was a pity.

Joshua had relied on him, and they had worked well together.  He didn't
want a change in his team, not in times like these when he had to know
he could rely implicitly on every member of the crew.

He was down below going over the engine when he heard someone jump
aboard.  A moment later his name was shouted down the hood way

"Joshua!  I know you're there."

Joshua stood with his neck crooked while he wiped his hands on a rag.

The familiar voice caught him by surprise and he spent a moment
gathering his
thoughts, in which tfiiittcame down to the cabin and had the same
flAstiiding straight, since he was almost as tall.  Iripiwant, Fa?  "

Irptdliving quarters were dark and the lamp he U!  ilil8lli[liton his
father's thick white hair.  A kit bag Bitliiftilmd he was wear inga
clean pair of duffle '"Bliikilinto sea boots, a shirt with a frayed
collar ulliiljiitinsey which someone had recently washed.  htMbest
report for duty before the rest of the " iMjisllow I'm to be your new
mate," Tom said. 'hiiflliijffe say'll be private."  NiBiliiilied his
fists.  He thought he couldn't be lia(i(ll, 'h'lttki joking or you've
been drinking.  " Miik;, I don't drink, and I've got me papers for
;MaIfeiied it was time I did more for me country."  Ipm in order.  It
seemed the Admiralty had hNjiiiigTom Kerrick to the Wild Ginger would
MUrijiiitinore authentic since drifter crews were A Bin; if families. 
From now on Joshua would telsiiiilitis father whether he liked it or
not, and liwhmth objection.  Wttay in the matter.  "

h'hsiretched out his hand.

"Best start off right hittm,|)oy?  I'll not let you down."

Mtfilated disgust and aversion he had for his tAiiiiltiliiige gathering
of matter in a boil and it PriWtly Joshua thumped his fists against his
iMlMipied the hand of truce.  He couldn't Multitaitdto be dealt yet
another blow beneath ttl Jlihjht of meeting danger with his father in
'"" liliiiilThen he looked hard at Tom's angular fittlaiitistrength
there, a clear light in the eyes "BMlnBiout faltering, and he realized
he might 1" "" "" "Bsllis opinions.  Suddenly the boil burst, stility
which had poisoned their st six years.

"I've hated you, Fa, ever since you raped Poppy Ludlow."

"Don't think I've ever felt easy me self

"I hated the drink-sodden, gutless, filthy devil you'd become, but
mebbe I should have done something more than I did.  Mebbe I should've
tried to help you."

"Mebbe you should.  Mebbe you shouldn't.  I've raised me head again
without your help."

"I'm sorry, Fa."

"I'm sorry too, a damned sight more than you are."

The two men stooped beneath the beams of the cabin, their heads almost
touching, and the smell offish worked into their clothes the way it had
done all their lives.

"You'll not regret having me with you," Tom said.

"I ain't a coward, and I reckon with me mind to it I can handle a boat
better than any man you've got.  I've done some training with the RNR
and I know the odds.  Trust me, boy."

Joshua was not fully reconciled.  It was too soon to make any drastic
adjustments, but the sight of Tom prepared to throw in his lot with him
affected Joshua deeply after the gruelling events of the past week, and
for the first time in his adult life he put his arms round his
father.

Two days after Joshua sailed Poppy plucked up courage to visit Caroline
Kerrick in hospital.  She took a bunch of daffodils and some freshly
baked biscuits, but they were a paltry offering to brin ga sick woman
whose husband she had taken at the very time when he should have been
keeping watch by her bedside.  The sin was eating into Poppy.  She
couldn't sleep and she didn't know what to do to ease her conscience.

She had never liked Caroline, but when she saw her lying so still and
pale in the narrow bed her heart went out to her.  She approached
softly, thinking she was asleep, but the eyes the colour of viola
petals opened cautiously
and it was very disconcerting when Caroline stared at her visitor
without even the suggestion of a smile.

"Hello.  I'm Poppy Rain."

"I know who you are."

Of course she did.  They had met when the Wild Ginger was launched.

Nervousness was making her edgy and she would have to be careful what
she said.

"I thought you might like a visitor.  The days must be very long when
you can't do anything.  I can't say how sorry I am."

"I shall have to get used to it.  And I don't want sympathy."

"I'm sorry.  I just wondered if there was something I could do."

Caroline turned her head so that she was looking at the wall.

"I want to be left alone."

Poppy stayed awkwardly beside the bed for several more minutes trying
to make conversation, but there were no answers and the nurse who came
in shrugged her shoulders eloquently.

A few days later Poppy tried again.  She wanted to help Caroline for
Joshua's sake, but still had no success.  Caroline refused to
acknowledge that she was there.  It was only after several visits that
there was at last a glimmer of hope.  Instead of turning to the wall
Joshua's wife actually looked at Poppy.

"It's kind of you to come, even though I don't want to see you," she
said. Poppy had to hold back tears.  Kind?  If Caroline Kerrick knew
how kind she had been on the night following the bombardment there
would be the most unholy row.  Her next words brought more remorse.

"I'm fully aware that it's my husband you're thinking of, not me.  Why
should you trouble to do anything for me?"

Poppy swallowed hard.

"Joshua is sort of family.  It's only right we should do what we can to
help while he's away, especially with the nurses being so busy.  I've
asked 446
if I can push you outside in a spinal carriage as soon as you're fit
enough."

"Never!"  The violet eyes blazed.

"I'll never be pushed out in one of those things, not even if I have to
stay here for the rest of my life."

"Don't talk like that."

"I'll talk as I like.  It's my life that's been ruined."

The bitter exchange was fractionally better than being ignored, and
Poppy persevered, but she wished Joshua would come home so that she
could talk the situation over with him.  It was an added worry that
there was no word, and she spent most of her waking hours concentrating
on the reorganization of the yard so that she wouldn't keep dwelling on
the war at sea.

As the weeks went by Poppy was able to find women who would work at the
boatyard and once they were established in jobs they could physically
manage the increased output was encouraging.  She worked with them,
learning the same skills, and if her back and arms ached unbearably at
the end of the day she thought of the men who were fighting in the
trenches, suffering terrible danger in indescribable conditions.  Her
own discomfort was no cause for complaint but there was little for her
to rejoice about.  The improvement in one quarter was dampened by news
from another.  Ned's fishing fleet was becoming sadly depleted.  Since
the outbreak of war six of his drifters had been sunk, and it was Jack
who had to break the news to Poppy that the Sarah Star was the latest
to fall victim to German attack.

"She was fishing off Flamborough Head and hit a mine.  All hands went
down with her."  Poppy was overwhelmed with sorrow at the news and Jack
did his best to comfort her.

"It's a fact of war, girl, but I guess fishermen would rather die at
sea if it's their turn to go."

"I must visit their families," she said.

The Sarah Star had been part of her childhood, full of memories of
Grandfer
and her father.  She would have to tell her mother, and since she was
aching, too, to see her children she decided to use some precious
petrol and drive to Greenmarket.

She took the children with her from the farm when she went to see her
mother.

Agnes took the news philosophically.

"It had to happen.  I were never meant to have the boat after Clan
died."

"I'll make it up to you.  Maw.  I'll get Charlie to build another boat
you can call yours after the war."

"I'd not want that.-Reckon as how I'd rather settle in the country and
grow flowers."

Her mother looked fitter than she had ever done, her cheeks plumper and
the lines of strain no longer so deeply etched on her face.  She had
put on weight and even her hair was more softly styled.  Poppy was
amazed at the transformation and saw trouble ahead when it was time for
the family to return home.

"I don't want to go to Fenstowe," Steven said.

"Not ever.  I like it in the country and I reckon I want to be a farmer
when I grow up."

Thankfully Daniel was not quite so enthusiastic.

"I like the animals and things, but I reckon I like boats best.  I want
to go to sea one day."

And Nancy put her arms round Poppy's neck to kiss her hard.

"I miss you.  Mama.  I want to come home."

There had been no more Zeppelin raids over East Anglia since the
bombardment but Poppy was reluctant to let the children return home.

There was no knowing when raids might start again.

"Let 'em stay here.  I like kids around," Lottie Kerrick said.  She
stared at Poppy with an old person's disregard for manners.

"You're like Bill Ludlow's girl.  Lizzie, ain't you?  My Tom and Lizzie
hankered after each other at one time, till her father found out.  He
soon put a stop to that."  She gave a sigh and folded her hands in her
lap.

"Connie, you haven't brought me my tea."

On the way home Poppy pondered a lot over the tetchy 448 old woman. 
Lately she had been able to feel sorry for Aunt Lizzie, knowing herself
now what it was like to love someone without any hope of being able to
find happiness with them.  Few people, it seemed, were destined to
marry the people they really wanted.

The lie to that theory came a few days later.

Poppy was outside rubbing red tile polish into the front step when two
shadows fell across her busy hands.  She looked up over her shoulder
and saw Daisy holding on to the arm of a young man in the bright blue
uniform issued to wounded servicemen.  He wore dark glasses and carried
a suck which he tapped against the step as Daisy motioned him to
stop.

"Poppy, I've brought Francis to meet you."

It was the first time Poppy had seen her sister out of nurse's uniform
for a long time and she knew the visit was important.  Daisy was
wearing her best pink dress with lace and tucks on the bodice, and her
dark hair, which she had cut short, curled round the narrow,
flower-trimmed brim of a round straw hat.  She looked very pretty, and
Poppy thought what a pity it was the young man couldn't see the lovely
girl on his arm.

"Daisy's told me about you, Francis.  Come in and sit down."  The front
room was chilly but with Daisy dressed so fine it didn't seem right to
show them into the kitchen.  "The best chair's by the window but my
husband always used to face it into the room because he said it was
more friendly.  You sit in that and Daisy'll draw up another beside
you."

"You're very kind, Mrs Rain."

"Reckon he ought to use your first name.  Poppy," Daisy said.

"See, we came to tell you we're going to be married."

She exerted pressure on Francis's hand to communicate with him.  Both
had been trying to hide their excitement but the news came bubbling out
and it was not a complete surprise to Poppy, who knew her sister had
been visiting the blind soldier at the convalescent home.

"I'm real pleased for you," she said.  How could she be otherwise when
it was obvious they were in love?  There was something about him that
reminded her of Ned.  It might have been the colour of his hair or his
gentle manner, but whatever it was the likeness commended itself, and
though she was worried about his disability she knew Daisy would be
able to cope.

As if reading her thoughts Francis tried to reassure her.  "Don't be
afraid I won't be able to support a wife.  Daisy's already helping me
with braille, and I'm going on a rehabilitation course for the blind so
that I can get a job.  I want to teach."

Daisy the wife of a teacher!  How proud her father would have been.

"And we can live in Murdoch Street for a while," she said.

"Francis's mother wants us to live with her but we don't want to do
that, and I can't give up nursing altogether while the war's on."

They talked of the very quiet wedding Daisy wanted quite soon, and
Poppy envied them their plans.  They had no doubts about the future,
convinced that the strength of their love would see them through every
crisis.

It was just before they left that Daisy broached the subject of
Caroline Kerrick.

"By the way, isn't it sad about Joshua's wife."

"Sad?"  Poppy's heart jerked and she tried not to hurry the next
question.

"She isn't worse, is she?"

"Oh, no.  She's responding well and one of the nurses finally managed
to get her out in the spinal carriage, but we can't keep her at the
hospital.  Every bed is needed for the wounded, and the convalescent
home in town is full so they're sending her soon to a place in the
country where she can have private nursing.  That means she won't see
anyone she knows and the little girl won't be able to visit her.

Reckon it'll set her back a lot.  "

"Yes," said Poppy.

"I reckon it will."

It was this last piece of news that stayed with her long 450 after
Daisy and Francis had gone.  She wandered about the house, too
disturbed to settle to anything, and the loneliness oppressed her more
than it had done at any time since Aunt Jessie had left with the
children.  Her conscience, that painful, incurable condition of her
mind, forced her to dwell on Caroline's plight until she knew there
would be no peace for her until she had done something about it.

It was three months now since the bombardment and still there was no
news of Joshua.  Of course, he could be legitimately fishing off
Scotland, which meant it might be several more weeks yet before he
returned home, but since fishing was now only a cover for his other
activities the alternative didn't bear thinking about Her heart winged
across the water a hundred times a day, desperate to know that he was
safe, and she willed him to find a way to get in touch.

She needed him.  She loved him so much the only place where she could
find comfort was in the big double bed where they had lain together and
she kept the pillow he had rested his head on to hold against her every
lonely night.

She needed him to tell her what to do about Caroline.

The only thing Caroline Kerrick had to look forward to was Millie's
daily visit with Rose.  There was nothing else.  Oh, other people
came.

There were friends she had known when she was well, some of whom had
been quite close while the Leas prospered, but as the weeks passed it
was noticeable that they visited less often and had less to say.

Perhaps it was her.  own fault.  It tired her trying to make
conversation, and when from one day to the next she saw only the same
four walls, it gave her very little to talk about.  Boredom had
eventually made her agree to be pushed outside in the despised spinal
carriage, but that hadn't been much better since lying on her back
meant all she could really look at was the sky.

Only Poppy Rain kept coming without fail.  Twice a week she spent at
least an hour giving encouragement.  Sometimes it was so irritating
Caroline wanted to shout at her, but at others she found herself
responding and wondering whether if she made an effort she might be
able to help herself a little. The nurse massaged her legs if she had
the time, which wasn't very often, and there were excercises she was
supposed to do which Poppy said she would help her with, but it was all
too much trouble.  She hated the hospital.  Her room had once been the
sisters office, a box-like affair with only a wafer-thin partition
separating it from the ward, and at nights she lay awake listening to
men screaming with pain, wishing she could feel pain herself.  She
hated the smell.  Sometimes there was a stench of blood and urine.  She
heard men vomiting.  And almost worse was the coarse ribaldry that was
shouted across the ward by those who were recovering.  It was all quite
disgusting and she longed to leave, but when at last the matron came
with the good news that she was about to be moved her joy was short
lived.

"We're going to send you to Brantwell, Mrs Kerrick.

You 11 like it there.  It's quiet and you'll get more attention .  .
.

"I can't go to Brantwell," Caroline cried.

"It's miles away.  I shall't be able to see Rose."

I know my dear, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing else we can do.

You must understand .  . . "

"I don't want to understand.  And I won't go to Brantwell."

She was so upset a nurse had to give here a sedative, and the next day
she retired once more into her solitary world where it was preferable
to look at the wall if anyone tried to talk to her.  Rose came and
cried because her mother held her too tightly, and Millie had to take
her away.  That night Caroline cried herself, calling for her father to
come and take her ^k home to the house on the cliff.

When Poppy Rain came two days later Caroline tried to 452 pretend she
wasn't there, but Poppy was persistent.  She drew up a chair beside the
bed and stayed.

"Don't shut me out," Poppy said.

"I know you don't want to listen but I've got something important to
say, so mebbe you could just think about it.  I don't want an answer
today."

Caroline kept her head averted.

"Please go away."

"I will, and I'm going to take you with me.  Not right now of course,
but in a few days when I've learnt what I've got to do for you I'm
going to take you to my house.  There's only been me there since the
children went bomb-dodging so there's plenty of room until they come
back.  Even then we can manage because I'm going to turn the front room
into a bedroom for you."  There was a pause in which Caroline knew
Poppy would be sitting patiently in the chair while she waited for the
idea to sink in.  The wall was damp in places and the distemper was
coming off, leaving patterns which were so familiar she now saw them as
small, friendly creatures; a mouse with one ear, a frog, a walrus with
three tusks which she looked at with a kind of affection.  Poppy leaned
over.

"You can see Rose every day, Caroline, and she'll be able to stay as
long as you like."

She pictured the house in Newlyn Walk.  It would be small and squalid
after what she had been used to.  All she would see there would be
walls probably covered in hideously patterned paper, and brown
paintwork that fluff had stuck to before it was dry.  And how could she
possibily let Poppy Rain touch her?

There had to be a reason why the girl was doing all this.  Nobody
offered to take a stranger home and nurse them just out of the goodness
of their heart. It was something to do with Joshua, and there was more
to it than him being part of the family.  The Ludlows had been very put
out when it was discovered the Kerricks shared the same blood, and
there had been a lot of trouble, but Joshua would never hear a word
said against Poppy.  Caroline had never had
cause to suspect her husband of infidelity but she had once seen the
way he looked at the red-headed girl and it made her furious at the
time.  Surely, though, if there had been anything serious going on this
magnanimous offer was the last thing Poppy would make.  It was very
strange and needed careful consideration.

By the time she eventually turned her head Poppy had gone and the nurse
was there to change the wet sheet on which she was lying.  She had no
control over the workings of her body and hated the indelicacy of
having to rely on someone attending to such things.

"Mrs Rain wants to look after you," the nurse said.  "She's a real
angel and no mistake.  Pity there aren't more around like her."

Caroline showed no appreciation.

"It's quite out of the question.  I need full-time nursing."

"You need looking after which Mrs Rain is fully prepared to do.  She
says her aunt'll help.  There's nothing more we can do for you here, my
dear, so if you don't accept her very generous offer you'll be moved to
Brantwell at the end of the week."

Tears flooded Caroline's eyes.  Rose meant more to her than anyone and
if she couldn't see her every day, which she wouldn't do at Brantwell,
there would be no reason to live.  It looked as if she had no other
option but to accept Poppy Rain's offer, though how she would bear it
she just didn't know.

Before nightfall she decided that for Rose's sake she could put up with
anything.  The other incentive was that at Poppy's house she would be
able to keep her eye on Joshua when he came home.

Aunt Lizzie ought to have been a nurse.  Poppy decided.  She was so
capable. She seemed to know exactly how to lift Caroline, how to
massage her legs and keep her heels from getting sore, and how to keep
the bed fresh.  Food was short but she found recipes to tempt the
invalid, and it was Lizzie who
persuaded Caroline to try the exercises which 454 she had refused to
do in hospital.  After three weeks at Poppy's house there was a marked
improvement in her condition and with the doctor's permission she was
eased a little further up the bed each day, propped on pillows, so that
she could see around her.

Poppy had made the room look nice.  She had boiled the net curtains
until they were so white it seemed as if the sun was shining in even on
a dull day, and the heavy casement curtains were held back with wool
cords she had made. Jack Forrester had helped to brin ga bed
downstairs, and Aunt Jessie's sideboard had been moved to the back
sitting room which was now overcrowded with furniture, but it didn't
matter.  There was bound to be upheaval and Poppy was quite prepared to
put up with it.

Physically Caroline was cooperative, which made the task of looking
after her relatively easy.  The hardest part was trying to get her to
talk.  Every evening Poppy sat with her, searching for things to say,
but there seemed to be no level on which they could converse.  Each
attempt to find a subject which would interest her failed after the
opening sentences.  It was only through Rose she could kindle a spark
of enthusiasm.

"Rose is growing fast," Poppy said after one of the little girl's daily
visits.

"She'll soon need some new clothes.  Does Millie like sewing?"

"I don't think so.  I'll arrange for money to buy her some things."

"Shall I ask Partridge's to let us have some children's clothes brought
here for you to see?"

Caroline's mouth curved into a rare smile.

"That would be nice."

The arrangment was duly made and Rose spent a happy afternoon with her
mother, trying on dresses and pinafores until it was decided which ones
she would have.  Poppy left them to it.  She didn't want to intrude,
and she
found that every time she looked at the beautiful child who was so
much like Joshua her longing for him grew so intense she scarcely knew
how to hide it.

The next small success was when Poppy encouraged Caroline to take up
knitting.

"Our sailors need scarves and gloves and things.  It's up to us all to
have a go at making them."

"Well I can't."  Caroline was lying back against the pillows looking
very much like the girl Joshua had married.  She now brushed her hair
until it gleamed and the silky mass of tight waves framed her
heart-shaped faced like a silver cloud.

"I can't knit."

"It's never too late to learn.  I'll teach you."

At first Caroline resisted, but the monotony of her life was telling on
her and any deviation from reading and sleeping had to be an
improvement, so she learnt to knit.  Her first attempt was more like a
fishing net than a scarf but she actually managed to laugh about it and
within a week she had more or less mastered the craft.

August slipped into September and most of the drifters were home after
the Scottish voyage, but no one had news of the Wild Ginger.

Poppy tried to talk to Caroline about it, but most times the subject of
her husband was instinctively avoided, and no letters came.

The one thing Caroline absolutely refused to do was go out in a spinal
carriage.  Aunt Lizzie tried to coax her, as did Millie, but nothing
could persuade her.  In fact the very mention of it was enough to send
her into a fit of the sulks, which Poppy now recognized and mostly
ignored.  It was Lizzie who solved the problem when the doctor came one
day and commended the two women on the way Caroline was now able to sit
upright with the help of pillows.

"It just shows what loving care can do," he said.

"Mrs Kerrick wouldn't have made such good progress if she'd gone to
Brantwell."

"Do you think then, doctor, that she could manage to sit in a bath
chair?  I think she might agree to that."

456 "I think she very well might.  I'll arrange to have one sent round
for her to try and if she gets on well with it perhaps she can afford
to buy one."

"I'm sure she can."

Money was not a problem.  The doctor's bills and anything she needed
were paid for straight away.

The first time the basketwork bath chair was used was on the day of
Daisy's wedding to Francis Blackman.  After the ceremony there was to
be a small reception at the hall beside the Bethel for family and
friends, and Caroline was invited.  Her refusal was expected, but Daisy
persuaded her to reconsider.

"You've got to start livingagain, Caroline.  You've made real good
progress but you can't stay indoors for the rest of your life expecting
people to come to you.  Reckon you could learn from my Francis.  He's
blind but he's adapted to it marvellously."

"He doesn't have to rely on people to push him everywhere."

"No, but he still needs a guide.  He can't go out alone.  Please say
you'll come to the wedding.  It would make him feel more assured."

There was no doubt that Caroline Kerrick was about to take her place in
society again when she arrived at the Bethel.  She wore a powder blue
crepe-de-chi ne dress which had been rescued from the ruins of her
father's house along with a silver fox fur, and she looked beautiful. 
The sight of her in the bath chair brought people to her side
immediately and if Daisy hadn't been a generous person she might have
thought it unfair that another woman was claiming so much attention on
her own special day .

Poppy watched with fascination and found it hard not to give way to
tears, for her sister's dress had also been rescued from Caroline's
wardrobe.  It had been bought just before the war and was made of cream
silk, the bodice
havinga V-neck which unkind critics of the style had called a
pneumonia blouse when it first appeared.  The skirt had been too long
for Daisy and she had declined the offer to wear it, but Caroline had
seen her disappointment and had paid for it to be altered to fit.

"It can be my wedding present to you," she said.

The wedding went without a hitch.  Francis's home was in London, but
several of his family managed to travel to Fenstowe and as soon as
Poppy met them she was doubly convinced that Daisy had made a very wise
choice.  They were kind people, especially his mother who made it
obvious that she thoroughly approved of her new daughter-in-law.

"I don't know where Francis would have been without her," she said.

"Daisy has made all the difference to my son's recovery and we all love
her for it."

Preparation for the wedding had given Caroline more to think about, but
when it was over she lapsed back into periods of silence.  Poppy
realized she must be worrying about Joshua.  He was still the one
subject Poppy found difficult to broach, but sometimes she longed just
to speak his name.  She was so afraid for him that she had begun to
retreat into silences herself, her whole mind given over to terrible
fears which drained her of energy and made her lose weight.

Aunt Lizzie kept telling her she was doing too much and brought her a
tonic.

"You take this, d'yuh hear," she said, pouring out a spoonful of the
mixture which was supposed to cure everything.

"I can't be nursing you as well, but the way you're going I reckon it's
on the cards.

Ease up, girl, for goodness' sake.  I honestly don't know why you felt
you had to bring Caroline Kerrick here, though it were a real Christian
thing to do.  "

"You know why I did it.  Aunt Lizzie."  The two of them were in the
kitchen. Poppy ironing sheets while the older woman sat under the light
so that she could see to sew patches on one that had worn through.

"I did it for the same reason you come round here to help so
willingly."

458 Lizzie looked up sharply.

"And why would that be?"

"She's Joshua's wife and she's Tom Kerrick's daughter- in-law.  Mebbe
we both feel a bit obliged to make the effort."

For a moment neither said anything more, but Poppy felt as if the
weight on her mind had eased a little.  She hadn't meant to say as
much, but suddenly her bottled-up emotions could no longer be contained
and she had to speak to someone.

Lizzie put the sewing down.

"I hope she's got no idea you're in love with her husband."

"Reckon I'm as good at hiding me feelings as you are."

"Not from me you ain't."

"I know.  We're too much alike.  Everybody says so."  Poppy put the
flat-iron on the stove.

"I'm that worried about Joshua, Aunt Lizzie.

I can't put me mind to anything else and that's what's making me nearly
ill. There's not been a word since he left and it's nigh on five months
now.  You don't know what it's like to be so afraid for someone.  "

"Oh, but I do."  Lizzie stood up and came to Poppy, folding her in her
arms.

"Tom's with him."

The very next day a telegram came from the War Office informing
Caroline that Captain Joshua Kerrick was missing at sea.

20 Tom Kerrick feared for both his sons.  He'd never thought that he
would. In the days when Clara was alive he hadn't given them much
thought at all, but the war intensified emotions and he discovered that
his boys were now men to be proud of.  He couldn't take any credit for
it, of course, but he wished he could rectify his neglect.

He could be of no help at the moment to Hal, who had survived the
bloody battle at Jutland, but now that Tom was the mate on Joshua's
steam drifter he would give all his attention to the job.

Conditions were very cramped and uncomfortable on board the day Wild
Ginger sailed from Aberdeen with a double complement of men, but morale
was high and there was an air of excitement which contained no small
measure of suppressed fear.  There was a dangerous job to do, but it
was one that most men relished.

Just before noon on the second day of apparently innocent fishing the
look-out reported sight inga U-boat.

"Periscope to starboard.  Skipper.  Just appeared about a mile out."

Joshua looked through binoculars while Tom strained his eyes.  The sea
was choppy but sure enough a menacing periscope was visible like a
fearsome antenna between the troughs and a few minutes later the U-boat
surfaced.

"She's a long way off but she must have seen us."  Joshua issued orders
curtly.

"Cut the nets and alter course to southwards.

Panic-party, take your stations and get ready 460 to abandon ship with
your uniforms when I give the signal.  Firing party, man the gun but
keep well down behind the bulwarks.  "

The drifter turned away and started heading southwards with every
appearance of fleeing.  The U-boat submerged.  The skipper's place in
the wheelhouse was taken by another man in a guernsey and oilskins, and
Tom and the rest of the crew crouched unseen at stations Joshua had
previously appointed.  By the time the submarine surfaced again at
closer quarters, having taken the bait, a completely different crew was
in position and the original crew was out of sight.

Tom's nerves were taut.

The U-boat was now within a thousand yards of the fleeing Ginger.  It
followed on the surface at high speed until the gap closed to eight
hundred yards, and it signalled for the drifter to stop.  Joshua issued
the order to slow down.

"Your papers, please."  A megaphone amplified the guttural voice as
soon as they were within hailing distance.

A small boat was launched from Wild Ginger to take her papers over to
the submarine for inspection, the German High Command being too
sceptical to pay its men without definite proof of the victim's
tonnage.

The sea tossed the two vessels and from his hidden position Tom saw the
U-boat commander and several sailors now standing precariously on deck.
Another message came through the megaphone.

"We are going to sink your boat; Take to the lifeboat if you do not
wish to go down with it."

The panic-party obligingly abandoned ship, taking with them their
bundled naval uniforms in case of capture.

The gap between the two vessels narrowed even more.  The Wild Ginger
swung to port as if to give leeway for the lifeboat to be lowered, and
her hidden gun was now trained on the U-boat, which fired a shot,
causing some splintering
on the drifter's deck.  For effect Joshua put the smoke apparatus to
use. The remaining crew, now in uniform, were already at action
stations, maintaining absolute silence until the panic-party were a
safe enough distance away.  Neither the fires nor the engines were
touched.  Even a dropped shovel might have been heard on the
submarine's hydrophone and caused suspicion.  No one so much as
shivered in the cool June air and the Germans were lulled into thinking
they faced a deserted ship.

Six hundred yards.  Five hundred yards.  For three more long minutes
Joshua waited, then signalled the cook to hoist the White Ensign.  The
drifter shed her camouflage, her gun pruned ready as he gave the
all-important order.

Tire!  "

Tom was manning the gun.  The first shot put the submarine's foremost
gun out of action.  The second struck the conning tower and shattered
it, but neither strike had been sufficient to sink the U-boat and its
strength against the drifter was formidable.  Now German shots were
fired and caught Ginger's stern, causing her to break up and start
sinking.  Two crewmen were killed outright, and to his horror Tom saw
Joshua blown into the foaming sea.

There were only seconds left.  He knew if he jumped he might be picked
up by the U-boat and taken prisoner, though it was doubtful.  The
Germans had already strafed the panic-party's boat and it looked like
none of the crew would be saved.  If he stayed he could take one more
shot at the German.  His skin crawled with fear.  He was wet through
with it.

He thought of Lizzie, pictured her in that split second as she had been
the first time he saw her scrubbing her mother's step in Murdoch
Street.  So beautiful she had been.  But not nearly so beautiful as the
last time he had held her in his arms.  His eyes streamed with tears
which he had to dash away with the back of his hand so that his focus
was clear.

462 "I love you.  Lizzie."  He yelled the words into the wind as if
they could be carried across the slate-grey sea to warm her heart when
the cold ache of sorrow pained her.

"And I'll kill these bastards if it's the last thing I do."

A hail of shell splinters rattled down on the tilting deck as he took
aim for the last time and fired.

His shot hit the base of the U-boat's conning tower and smoke poured
from it. Oil covered the swell and bubbles erupted as the submarine
dived below the waves with water cascading through the shell hole.

The deck crew were sucked down into the vortex.  Silence again.  No
debris came to the surface but minutes later the U-boat rose up once
more, with a heavy list to port which caused her to roll over like a
sick whale before finally sinking out of sight.

At the same moment Wild Ginger slid down beneath the oily, pitching
water, taking with her the body of Tom Kerrick who had fallen at his
post, fatally wounded by a fragment of the shell which had destroyed
the vessel he had once almost destroyed himself.

Missing.  The word hissed at Poppy every waking minutes.  Missing.

Joshua was missing.

She didn't think she would ever be able to take an interest in anything
again and she envied Caroline the right to sink into a lethargy from
which no one seemed able to rouse her.  Without Joshua, Poppy's own
life had no meaning and she wanted to stay in her room hugging the
pillow for comfort, rocking with misery and despair which exceeded by
far the sorrow she had felt when Ned was drowned, but with Caroline to
look after there was no chance to indulge her grief.  In front of
Joshua's wife she had to pretend to cope easily with the news.  She
certainly couldn't let Caroline see the extent of her grieving.

It had been hard to love in secret.  It was doubly hard to mourn in
secret.

And then there was Aunt Lizzie with her secret love and secret
mourning. The only comfort the two women had was that they shared the
same burden.  Tom would have been with Joshua, Lizzie was certain. 
Naturally he'd not listed her as next of kin so there was no
notification, but she didn't need it to know that Tom was not coming
back.

"Likely we'll never know what happened," Lizzie said, wiping her eyes
in the privacy of the kitchen where she and Poppy could talk in peace
at the end of the day.

"What chance would they have had in a small boat like that?  Reckon the
Admiralty has something to answer for, expecting men to fight with
drifters. They ain't never been meant for anything except fishing."

"If they'd been soldiers it might not have sounded so final.  Soldiers
can be unaccounted for after a battle and then turn up as prisoners of
war, but I reckon there's not much hope of that for seamen."

Yet when she thought over her words later Poppy began to feel a flicker
of hope in spite of everything.  There were possibilities.  If Wild
Ginger had been sunk Joshua and the men could have take to a small boat
and been adrift somewhere.  They could have been picked up by an enemy
ship, or a neutral. Missing was a kindlier word then killed.  It left
room for hope because there was no proof of death, and while there was
no definite news Poppy determined to raise her spirits.  She would act
as if Joshua were coming back, and mebbe then she could carry on.

Rose came every day.

"Mama, read to me," she would say, sitting on her mother's bed with a
book.

"Read me some stories like you used to .  . ."

But the book was never opened unless Poppy found time to read to her
instead. She loved to take Joshua's child on her lap and feel the dark
curls brush against her face.  The little warm body wriggled
incessantly, for Rose was never still, but at rare moments she let
Poppy cuddle her and a bond began to develop between them.

"Why has Mama gone all funny again?"  Rose asked one day.

464 "Your Mama's tired.  Likely she'll soon be feeling better if we
keep trying to make her happy."

I do try.  "

"I know.  We've got to keep letting her know we love her, then she'll
start to smile again."

"I do love her."

"Of course you do, but you must keep telling her.  She needs you very
much. Rose."

"I want Daddy to come home."

Poppy held the child close, feeling the beat of that tiny heart against
her breast, and marvelled that Joshua's blood ran in her veins.

"He'll be back one day," she promised.

"That's why we've got to see that Mama gets really better."

Poppy watched Rose the next day as she climbed on Caroline's bed and
put her little arms round the pale neck, kissing that unresponsive face
which was like a mask.  She couldn't make out the whispered words but
they went on for a long time as Rose wriggled until at last her
mother's arms went round her. Then Caroline smiled.

Joshua struggled to remain conscious.  The blast from the explosion
when Wild Ginger was hit had flung him into the sea like some inanimate
object and he felt he would never again get enough air into his lungs
to breathe.  He gulped and spluttered, trying to swim but submerging
too often for safety.

He had to survive.  There was no other thought in his head.  The sea
slapped and sucked at him, urged him to feel the relief of sinking
below the troughs where nothing would ever trouble him again.

"Give in," the sea said, coaxing him.

"Think how wonderful it would be to see the shoals of herring you've
fished for all your life.  Give in, give in.  I'll take you down into
my beautiful depths and show you things more wonderful than you've ever
dreamed of."

But he resisted.

"I ain't ready yet to join the men in Davy Jones's locker."

His hand met up with a spar and he clung to it, hooking his arms over
to keep his head above water, and he looked towards the wreck of his
beloved drifter just as his father fired the shot which put paid to the
U-boat.  It was the bravest thing he had ever seen.  Minutes later he
was embroiled in the cauldron of oily, seething water into \which
submarine and drifter disappeared together, and for a while he knew
nothing more except the desperate need to keep holding on to the spar
which now lifted him Up and over grey hills of rolling water.

The lifeboat in which his panic-party had left the drifter was now the
only craft to be seen and it was only a few yards away.  He called, but
no answer came.  Surely they must have heard him.  They wouldn't leave
him struggling in the sea while they drifted away out of reach.  He
moved his legs frantically and as luck would have it a wave bore him
close to the boat. Only one man in it moved to help him, and that was
Bob Preston, who had doubled for the hawesman.  By the time Joshua had
managed to fall over into the well of the boat he could see that the
other occupants were slumped over in death with bullet holes in them
inflicted by German rifles.

"We've been through some bad moments.  Skipper, but I reckon this beats
the lot," Bob said, his voice breaking with the effort to speak.

Joshua lay there for several minutes, choking on the seawater which had
filled his eyes and nose and throat.  He had just seen his father
killed, and now there were shipmates to lever into the swell.  It
seemed no one else from the drifter was alive and he knew it was a
miracle that he himself had been blown clear.

There's a man in the water to starboard," Bob said.

"I reckon if we both pull on the oars we can reach him.  Can yuh give
us a hand?"

"I'm with you."

466 The wind was taking the lifeboat northwards, away from the
wreckage, but they managed to bring her within reach of the man who was
clinging to a piece of wood, his body floating up and down on the waves
as though he was not alive after all.

"It's a bloody German," Joshua said disgustedly.

"Leave him, then.  We don't want to rescue no Germans.  They wouldn't
have saved us."

Joshua leaned out of the boat and tugged at the wet jacket.  The man's
face was not submerged.  It was resting on the wood with water
splashing over it, and the jerking movement made him open his eyes and
cry out.  For a moment the two men's eyes met and to his amazement
Joshua recognized Dolph Brecht.

"My God!  I've caught me a fish I've wanted to land since before this
war started, damned if I haven't."

"I will not drown, Joshua."  Dolph reached for the side of the lifeboat
but Joshua slammed his fingers away and he slid back into the water.

"I have never wanted to harm you.  Help me!"

"You've crippled my wife, killed my father-in-law, and now you've
killed my father.  Why should I help you?"

"Leave him.  Skipper," Bob Preston urged.

Dolph disappeared beneath the next wave and when Joshua looked down he
could see the face he detested staring up at him like a white jelly
fish, distorted and gruesome.  For a moment he thought it was now too
late to do anything, but Dolph Brecht was a fighter.  He surfaced again
and Joshua knew he couldn't let another human being drown, no matter to
which race he belonged.

"He'll have to come with us," he said.

"If we're not picked up likely we'll all share the same fate anyway."

They hauled Dolph up and the weight of his wet uniform made it
difficult to get him into the lifeboat, but they managed it without
capsizing.  He lay in
the bottom with scarcely a sign of life and for a while Joshua didn't
look at him again, concentrating on getting away from the place where
Wild Ginger had gone down.

He studied the sky.

"Keep pulling to westwards.  We might meet up with a merchantman."

"D'yuh reckon we'll make Aberdeen by tonight?  I'm gasping for a pint
already."  Bob Preston had always been known for his wry sense of
humour. Aberdeen was nigh on a hundred miles north-west of them.

"We'd have made better time without our passenger."  He cast a glance
at Dolph.

"You reckon he's the devil we all chased after that day from Charlie
Rain's yard?"

"He's that sure enough."

"He'd tried to set fire to the Ginger then.  Well, he's done for her
good and proper now."

"He's got a lot to answer for."

"Then why the hell didn't yuh leave him like I said?"

Joshua couldn't tell Bob Preston that it was partly for Poppy's sake
he'd changed his mind.  Poppy would never have forgiven him if he'd let
Dolph Brecht down.

The wind dried their clothes and they drifted all through the summer
night, sometimes rowing, sometimes resting.  The stars shone in a clear
sky and Dolph moaned to the accompaniment of the wind, which died down
in the early hours but freshened again towards dawn.  There was an
emergency supply of food and water which kept them going, but it
wouldn't last long.

Dolph was feverish.  Sometimes he shouted in German and Joshua dreaded
he might hear Poppy's name on his lips, but the girl he had on his mind
was called Anna and he didn't seem too happy about her.  Joshua held
water to his lips and made a pillow for him with a bundled uniform
which had belonged to one of the ill-fated panic-party.

At other times Dolph was rational.

"I was never a spy," he said.

"I

was writ inga book before the war for people with yachts.  When I went
to visit Poppy I was making charts of the English east coast so that
other yachtsmen would not make the same mistake as that fat pig Baron
von 468
Meerbaum, but I had to hide them when fools like you thought every
German was a spy.  " He fell to ramblingagain.

"Poppies are so beautiful.  My favourite flowers.  Look at them all in
the corn fields

Spies, spies, spies, that's all I ever heard.  I would never harm
Poppy.  " Then he lapsed into German once more.

For two days and nights they drifted making hardly any progress at all,
and though Joshua had tied a piece of oilskin to an oar which might
possibly attract attention, there was no ship to sight them.

The sea had never seemed so vast and frightening.  The food ran out
first, then the water.  On the third day the sun shone down fiercely
and neither Joshua nor Bob had the strength to touch the oars.  Their
lips were dry and blistering, their skin burning with no protection
from the strong rays, and at any moment they expected Dolph to die, but
he lived on.

Joshua's eyes were closed and the boat was practically motionless,
becalmed in the middle of the North Sea.  When at last he saw a ship
silhouetted by the sinking sun he thought it was a hallucination.

"Bob."  He sat up slowly.

"There's a ship.  Help me lift the oar."

They held the oar aloft, the piece of oilskin sticking out from it like
a badly starched yellow flag, and to their relief the silhouette got
bigger.

"Reckon it's a cruiser," Bob said.

"I don't care what the hell it is as long as it gets us out of this."

Bob was right, it was a cruiser, but it seemed an eternity before it
was near enough to identify properly, and then they realized the worst
had happened. It was German.

They were hailed through a megaphone in loud, guttural phrases which
neither of them understood, and when Joshua answered in English two
sailors raised rifles and pointed them at the lifeboat.  Before a shot
was fired Dolph Brecht managed to sit up and he shouted as best he
could in his own language.
The rifles were lowered.  When the lifeboat was alongside he spoke to
the officer who had barked instructions, translating the reply for
Joshua's benefit.

They were going to shoot you.  I told them you saved my life and they
have agreed to make you prisoners of war.  " The three men were
transferred to the deck of the cruiser.

"It is for Poppy I did this,"

Dolph said as he was carried away for urgent medical attention.  for
Poppy, you understand.  Not for you.  "

470 / In the spring of 1917 the house in Newlyn Walk was bursting at
the seams.  It had been like that for the past six months, since the
fear of Zeppelin raids had eased, but with Aunt Jessie's help Poppy
managed to cope, and the children's laughter was the tonic they all
needed.  It was wonderful having them home again and she wondered how
she had ever let herself be parted from them.  When Millie had found it
too much to look after Rose, Poppy had made room for one more, four
children being no more difficult than three.  In fact Nancy, who was a
year older than Rose, revelled in mothering the smaller girl.

Much of Aunt Jessie's time these days was taken up queuing for food,
though Poppy took her turn.  Sugar was scarce, bread was precious, and
as last year's harvest had been so poor they were not easy to get.

Poppy would take a fish box down to the grocer's in Cooper Street early
on Saturday mornings and get what food she could to feed her large
family, and tensions ran high among the women similarly shopping.  She
got one of the men at the yard to collect up all the odd scraps of
wood, coal being in very short supply, and Steven and Daniel would take
a handcart down to bring it home for the fire.  The business of
day-to-day living was becominga trying occupation.

The yard was only just paying its way, the money coming in being all
for repairs, but it was said that the Admiralty was start inga new
building
programme.  Poppy talked it over with Caroline when she took her down
to the south beach with the children one fine afternoon.

"I heard they're wanting new drifters for harbour and coastal patrol
duties. That would free the larger vessels for more important work.

If we could just get an order it would put us back in business.  "

"Get down to the Admiralty offices as soon as possible," Caroline
said.

"My father always believed success comes to those who go out after
it."

There was still a patch of sand where children could play, and Daniel
was keeping the two little girls amused by seeing how many castles they
could make before he jumped on them.  There were shrieks of laughter. 
Behind them was the Royal Mariner Hotel, converted now into a hospital
for the duration of the war, and there were beds out on the balcony
where Poppy had watched Joshua on the day he and Caroline were married.
 She tried not to keep glancing over there.  Whenever she did she found
memories of him too poignant.  It was hard to keep hope alive when
there was still no news, and some day soon she would have to reconcile
herself to the truth that he was never coming back.

A mutual respect had developed between herself and Caroline.  Likely it
would never deepen to anything warmer, their natures being totally
different, but both were unusually adept at managing business matters,
which gave them a common meeting ground.  Both now owned drifters which
had come to them through bereavement, though the Admiralty had the use
of most of them, and Poppy valued Caroline's advice since she had been
involved with them for longer.

It wasn't easy, though, to know just what the other girl was thinking. 
She would never talk about Joshua, or about anything personal. 
Sometimes it seemed she took Poppy's generosity for granted, hardly
voicinga word of thanks, and Poppy had to remind herself to hold on to
her patience for
Joshua's sake.  Only occasionally did she see the stark 472 pain
Caroline suffered through her disability and her loss.  Then the
shadows under those beautiful clear eyes were so dark they were like
smudges of coal dust, and the telltale signs of weeping left their mark
on the pale skin.  It was impossible not to feel sorry for her.

The tide was falling, leaving patches of wet sand in which gulls were
reflected as they followed each retreating wave.  Often the shore was
strewn with wreckage from sunken ships after a high tide and it had
been known for bodies to be washed up, something Poppy dreaded finding,
especially if the children were with her, but today the sands were
innocently golden. Longshoremen still pulled their boats up on the
beach, selling fish to women eager to buy, and Poppy sent Daniel down
with sixpence.

"Get some mackerel, Clan, then we'd best be getting back to cook it."

Aunt Jessie was at the front door waiting for them.  It wasn't late and
Poppy felt a nagging impatience.  Her mother-in-law was still not an
easy woman to live with and she hadn't taken kindly to the way her
front room had been converted into a sickroom for someone who wasn't
even family.  Today, however, she was actually looking cheerful and as
soon as she saw them turn the corner she came running, waving something
white.

"Daisy brought this over while you was out.  It's for you, Caroline.

It was sent to the hospital and it's good news.  The best.  "

By the time she reached the bath chair Aunt Jessie was puffing and had
a high colour.  She handed Caroline a card which was stained and
dog-eared from much travelling through the post, and Poppy leaned over
Caroline's shoulder, full of impatience to know what it said.

On the front it was addressed to Mrs Caroline Kerrick, and at the
left-hand side was printed Joshua's name, number and rank in the RNR.

Below it said

"Prisoner of War', and gave an address in Germany.  He had written on
the other side of the card.

"My dear Caroline, I am a prisoner and I am being treated well, but
could you please send me a food parcel.  Yours, Joshua."

Caroline held the card steadily and her expression didn't change.

Mebbe she couldn't take it in.  All she said was: "So I'm not a widow
after all."

"Oh, Caroline!"  Poppy cried, tears of joy gathering immediately.  It
was the most wonderful, wonderful news.  "Oh, how absolutely marvelous.
 He's safe. Rose, my sweetheart, your daddy's safe.  One day he'll be
home again.  Oh, I knew he'd come back.  I just knew."

Poppy's happiness overflowed.  Her exuberance couldn't be held in check
and in that unguarded moment her love for Joshua must have been plain
for everyone to see.  If only she had been at home when Daisy had
brought the card she would have seen it first in private and been able
to moderate her joy, but it had caught her unawares and her relief was
spontaneous.

She leaned over and clasped Caroline in her arms right there in the
street, weeping with gladness.  After a few seconds Caroline responded
and the two girls cried together, Joshua's wife, and his lover.

The front door was open and the sun was pouring in.  It shone on the
neglected paintwork and minute red spiders scurrying over the cracks
caused by extremes of weather.  Caroline touched one of the flakes of
paint idly and crushed it to dust between her thumb and index finger.

"The first thing you can do when you get home, Joshua, is build me a
new house," she said aloud.

"I hate this one more every day."

She hated the brown woodwork and the shabby chairs, the dampness of
washing and ironing about the smell of cooking, especially when she
rarely felt hungry.  The children put sticky fingers everywhere, their
shoes had scuffed any patterns off the linoleum, and they seemed to
shout incessantly.  There
was no view to look out on and no garden to sit in.  She longed for
the quiet, well-ordered life she had been used to.

She was alone in the house.  It didn't often happen but today Poppy was
at the yard and Jessie Rain had taken a parcel of food to the railway
station from where it could be sent free to a prisoner in Germany.  The
children had wanted to push it in the perambulator and to Caroline's
relief Jessie had taken them all with her.  On fine days Millie often
came to take her out, but today she hadn't come and there was nothing
to do except sit in the doorway, the only place where she could get a
little fresh air, and fume inwardly over her dependence on this family
who had taken her in.

It depressed her to read the newspapers.  It wasn't so much the war
news that upset her, but rather the pages devoted to social gossip
about parties going on all night and the new dancing craze to tunes
they called ragtime.  There were girls nicknamed flappers who had
bobbed hair and skirts so short they were almost up to the knees.

Such styles were not likely to catch on in Fenstowe of course, but
reading about them made her all the more conscious that she would never
be able to imitate them if she wanted to.  The bath chair to which she
was confined became more intolerable every day.

Perhaps it would be different when the war was over and Joshua was
home.  She badly wanted him to come, if only to get her out of this
overcrowded pigsty. They would surely have enough money to rebuild her
father's house and she could run it from her chair if Millie lived in. 
Rose could go to a dame school, if there were still such things, and
learn to be a bit more ladylike. It wasn't good for her to be in the
rough company of boys, and the sooner she could start a respectable
education the better.

Yes, she longed for Joshua to come home.  She longed for him to be
lying naked with her, exciting her to heights of ecstasy which left her
breathless and gasping for more.

Her breasts tingled at the thought of it and her mouth became dry.

She didn't really love him.  She had married him because it hadn't
looked as if anyone more suitable would come along, and she had
admitted to herself long ago that it was only the physical side of
their union which brought her pleasure.  Joshua was not cultured.  He
wasn't always well-mannered, his language could be too colourful, and
she had only been able to bring about changes in him with the greatest
subtlety.  But he was a strong man physically.  He was handsome and
sexually very attractive.  From the moment he had walked into her house
she had wanted to be possessed by him and she hadn't regretted their
marriage.  Their lovemaking had been everything she had imagined it
would be, and more.

She hoped he wouldn't mind about her paralysis.  Some men had an
aversion to disability, but there was nothing unsightly in what had
happened to her.  She was merely immobile.  Every day she suffered the
exercises that Lizzie Johnson made her do just so that her legs
wouldn't become thin and wasted. She knew from the concern he had shown
when she was in hospital that Joshua would aways take care of her.  She
just had to keep him from looking elsewhere for his pleasures.  He was
so essentially masculine, but she was sure he wouldn't go looking as
long as she could satisfy his sexual appetite.

The greatest threat was Poppy.  Poppy Rain had always been afire for
Joshua, and given the chance Caroline was certain she would be only too
willing to oblige him.  Everyone could see the way she felt about him
when she put on that ridiculous display the day the card came from
Germany.

Oh, she had always seen through Poppy's trick.  Her generosity in
makinga home for Caroline when her own was destroyed was nowhere near
as great as it seemed and she didn't deserve the praise heaped on her
by people who thought
her so kindhearted.  Poppy Rain had seen this as a way of getting
Joshua's gratitude.  Well that was all she was to get.  She would know
as soon as Joshua came home that his wife and child came first.

That evening Poppy wheeled her round to Manor Road after the children
were in bed.

"Aunt Lizzie's invited Jack Forrester and two soldiers round to her
house for supper," she said.

"They're billeted in town and Jack got talking to them at the local. 
One plays the piano so Aunt Lizzie thought it would be nice for us all
to have a singsong."

The idea didn't appeal to Caroline but it would be a change of scenery.
Soldiers always sounded unattractive and she couldn't imagine them
having any refinement.  How wrong she was proved to be.

She wore a violet dress to accentuate her eyes and a gold chain round
her neck.  Never once had she gone out without trying to look her best.
 Her expression was aloof when Jack pushed her into the front room
where the men were.  Both soldiers stood up.  One was tall, the other
short.  The tall one was dark and handsome, with a neat black moustache
and an immaculate uniform with creases in the trousers as sharp as
cutting edges.  He had blue eyes and broad military shoulders held well
back.  Caroline looked up at him and caught her breath.  He was an
officer.  He was also the kind of man she had always dreamed of meeting
in the days before the war when Fenstowe bred only fishermen.

"I'm honoured to meet you, Mrs Kerrick," he said when Lizzie introduced
them. His name was Ralph Frobisher and he spoke with a cultured accent,
his voice low like music to her ears.  His smile was for her
exclusively.

"I had no idea we would be in such delightful company this evening."

She studied the uniform.

"Lieutenant Frobisher is it?"

Ralph, please.  "

"Is it you who plays the piano, Ralph?"

"No.  Our friend Max is the musician.  I'm afraid all I do is lend
weight to the choruses with a rather tuneless baritone."

Caroline returned his smile with cool but very provocative charm.

"I'm sure your voice could never be tuneless.  Please sit beside me. 
It's a long time since I've had anyone special to talk to and I'm sure
we can find plenty to discuss."

She scarcely looked at the other man who was presently persuaded to sit
at the yellowing keyboard of Lizzie Johnson's old upright piano.

Ralph never left her side.  He concentrated on her all the time,
drawing her bath chair as close as it would go to where he was sitting
in Grandfer Ludlow's chair with the horsehair stuffing, and he appeared
to be as enamoured with her as she was with him.  It was the first time
since her first meeting with Joshua that she had been immediately
attracted to someone. Even then it had not been like this.  Ralph had
exquisite manners and was well up in the art of conversation, two
attributes sadly lacking in her husband.

"Is there nothing that can be done to help you walk again?"  he
asked.

When he looked at her so intently she felt as if her heart were beating
out a drum roll.

"Nothing, I'm afraid.  The doctors never thought I would even sit up
after my back was broken."

"If I had the money I would take you to see the finest specialists in
the country.  Unfortunately the family are in queer street.  If it
hadn't been for the war I doubt I would have got my commission."  He
sat back a moment. "Extraordinary thing me telling you that.  Shows
what an effect you're having on me.  Making me truthful."

She told him about Joshua be inga prisoner of war, and keeping her
voice down she confided how she hated living in Newlyn Walk.

"You see, you're making me truthful too."

"Your husband is a very lucky man.  I envy him having you to come back
to."

Daisy and Francis had arrived and the musical evening was well under
way with Max bashing out popular songs for them all to sing.  There
seemed to be a competition to see who could sing the loudest, and under
cover of the noise Caroline continued to flirt with Ralph.

"I hope you'll be billeted in Fenstowe for a while," she said.  There
was a strange feeling in her throat.  The pulse in her neck fluttered
and she flexed her fingers elegantly.

"Alas, we move out the day after tomorrow, though I shouldn't really be
telling anyone He caught hold of one of the pale hands which had been
stretched with apparent innocence in the hope that he wouldn't be able
to resist touching her.

"You're a very beautiful woman, Caroline.  Brave too.  Not many people
could face disability with such courage.  You could teach a great many
soldiers a thing or two."

"But not you, I'm sure.  You, Ralph, would never run away from
anything."

"Certainly not from you."

That night, when she was in bed and the room was dark, Caroline relived
the events of the evening and began to put her confused thoughts into
some kind' of order.  She had enjoyed herself very much.

The novelty of having such a presentable man paying her compliments had
boosted her morale considerably, and she believed that it wouldn't take
much for her to fall in love with him.  It was a long time since her
heart had behaved so erratically and she was glad now to be alone to
indulge in more erode thoughts.

Ralph Frobisher would make a good lover.  He had a fine, lithe body
with slim hips and good calf muscles which curved against his khaki
trouser legs.  His stomach was flat, his chest broad, and he had nice
hands which would arouse her at the first touch.

He had touched her hand.  It had pleased her and she tried to remember
what sensations that brief preliminary play had produced, but she had
no memory of anything other than the fast beating of her heart.  There
had been no
plunging warmth igniting fire in her loins, no pulsating eagerness, no
pleasurable ache in the mysterious feminine regions.

There had been no sensations of any kind below her waist.

She touched her body and ran her hands over the smooth skin beneath her
nightdress the way a man might do, pretending Ralph was beside her.  A
year ago she could have created enough excitement that way to inflame
her to the limits.  Now there was nothing.

Every bit of joy left her and she turned cold with dread.  She was no
longer a woman, not in the way she most wanted to be.  She had lost the
ability to experience the thrill of making love and she could never
again be a proper wife to Joshua.

For a while she lay there stunned, hating the lower part of her body
which was now quite useless in every respect.  Then she pushed back the
covers and began beating her hips and thighs with clenched fists until
there were red marks which would turn into bruises by the morning, but
still there were no feelings.  After that she cried bitterly into her
pillow.

She was very quiet the next day, having little to say to anyone, even
Rose, and refusing to be washed except for rinsing her face and hands
in the enamel bowl of water Jessie Rain brought her.  When Millie came
to take her out in the sunshine she asked to be pushed up to St
Martha's Church.

"It's a fair old walk up there," Millie complained.

"I don't mind though if it's what you want.  Reckon it might do us both
good to take our troubles up to the Lord."

"It isn't really far."

"No, it's the hill that's the trouble.  Me leg's ain't getting any
younger, but I suppose it'll be easy coming back."

Caroline closed her eyes and tried not to listen to Millie's chatter.

She didn't want to hear about the battles in Europe, the casualty
lists, the food shortages.  The war had put an end to everything that
was good and it might as well have taken her life completely, for what
use it was.

480 At the lych gate she managed to lean forward and lift the catch
and Millie began to puff as she negotiated the incline.  Their progress
became slower and slower, and before they reached the top of the hill
Caroline knew she ought not have asked the older woman to bring her.

"Leave me here, Millie," she said.

"You go on up to the church, and say a prayer for me while you're
there."

I don't like to .  . . "

"I'll be all right.  Stay as long as you like."

Millie parked the bath chair beside a tall headstone.

"I'll come back for you as soon as I get my breath back."

Caroline watched her go reluctantly into the church, and then she sat
back against her cushions and prayed to the God she had never before
acknowledged.

I'll walk, or I'll die," she vowed.

She willed the life to come back into her legs, concentrating so
powerfully she almost lost track of time and place.  Then she threw off
the cover and believed a miracle would happen, but her lower limbs
remained quite useless.

The failure was more than she could bear.  She was motionless, feeling
sick with despair, but a moment later she began to swing the upper part
of her body back and forth.  The movement rocked the bath chair.

It edged away from the headstone and on to the path, the wheels turned
as they met the slope, and she did nothing to stop it rolling backwards
down the hill.  It quickly gathered momentum until it was careering at
speed. Caroline stared at the church spire and felt the breeze stirring
her pale hair.  The speed was exhilarating and she began to laugh. 
Then the bath chair crashed into the iron railings beside the lych . 
gate and the last thing she ever heard was Millie screaming her name.

The whole town was shocked by the terrible accident that had befallen
Caroline Kerrick.  She was laid to rest beside her father in the
churchyard and once again the church was full of mourners who praised
the Lord and cursed the Hun.  It could all be blamed on the war.

481 the^ py ^ ^roken.  She couldn't believe it.  All devoting" she had
nursed Caroline un stintingly and h^nT and patience to " ^"" B
Caroline's health, Sen ma^ care had been well rewarded.  Caroline had
was left to D^^688' but now she was dead and POPPy Millie ooonS-? 
^1'the docking, ^c happening.

shehadleft^el'1^0' was inconsolable- she swore that into rhp h kain
chair positioned safely while she went move Then and couldn't think how
it had come to build nn " und was ^" y and there were ^ew marks to
haveinanoSvrSk11111 the P08^^that caroline "" e111 Deoole twino fie
chair herself was not ruled out, some and^rr.  "^ " Pinion that her
mind was disturbed sow-^k^ ^"" d life too much to cope with, Ae SS o? 
her IS would be confined to the wheelchair for hankercErfTff' Mmie ^d
at the .  inquest'.  dabbinga deaf vnn cL t nose and sy^ continually.

"I'm a nute had iSrhav?^^11" scream or B0^,1" running back' mebbe been
m ume to ^P the chalr Kem0)5?1^" 10111 raised the question as to
whether Mrs the lack nf^T111^ at all' but no one could ^ and for
recorded ellce a verdict of accidental death was wo^LT*8 left -the i015
of temng Rose Aat her mother Sn^ ^? "18 lia(:k'but it wasn't as
difficult as she She had iL^h be Caroline had never been maternal.

, ^^uKvX:1111; T1 taken pride in h^ No doubt good education ^^h1 her up
strictly, with an eye to a Sgction SSe'^ she had never ^T V^ Rose had
already S^ ^not the way Joshua ^'^ arrangement^tS^?  10^^01'? 
61'1"0111^-1116 now accepted as Sri^fSS17 e was The A.^0!- pas&<^<l and
the summer days
lengthened.  The Americans entered the fight.  In April President 482
Wilson had announced a change of policy to Congress, saying it was a
fearful thing to lead a great, peaceful people into war, the most
terrible and disastrous of all wars, but right was more precious than
peace.  The news had heartened Britain, and it was a vast relief in
June to know the United States Navy was helping to convoy Allied
ships.

"It'll take a while to get men conscripted and trained," Poppy said.

"We can't expect to notice much difference yet, but it's good for the
morale."

"Hah!  Americans!"  said Aunt Lizzie.

"Let's hope they're not all like Morris."

Poppy found her days increasingly occupied so there was no time to
dwell on how the news of Caroline's accident was to be broken to Joshua
when he came home.  The rumour of Admiralty orders for drifters had
proved to be right, and a hundred and fifteen had been contracted at
yards along the coast. Rain's Yard secured two of the contracts, and
there had been great rejoicing.

"I only hope we can manage without Charlie."  "Poppy was suddenly
anxious.

"Of course we can manage."  Jack Forrester had been in the boat
building trade since he left school and ought to have had a yard of his
own.

"The Admiralty want them built to a standard design and we've still got
a few craftsmen as can do it.  They may be getting on in years, but
that'll not stop them getting the orders done on schedule.  If you can
see to the paper work I can see to the supervising and building.  Don't
worry, girl, we'll do it."

By autumn the hull of the first wooden drifter was completed, but no
machinery was delivered and it was forced to lie idle.  The second one
reached the same stage of completion by the start of 1918, and it, too,
had to be left.  It was galling to see the work they had struggled so
hard to get done lying in wait for boilers and engines which failed to
arrive, especially as there was no payment until the contracts were
completed, and the yard was
falling heavily into debt.  When Poppy pursued the matter she was told
that the scheduled delivery date was officially the first of May and
everything would be in order by then.

On the day that payment finally came through it was the beginning of
another spring and she was so thankful she stopped at the Bethel on her
way home from the yard.  She needed to sit quietly for a minute or two
and remind herself of the things she had to be glad about, for like
everyone eke she was in danger of being swamped by gloomy war news.

She went and sat on one of the long seats with iron legs, her eyes
raised to the wooden altar in front of the plain glass windows.  No
frills here.  No worldly riches in this fishermen's Bethel, but riches
aplenty of the spiritual variety.  She remembered how she had come here
with her father and knelt beside him in this very spot while he had
given thanks for catches he'd hauled in with the Sarah Star's nets. 
She longed for the war to end so that men could fish peacefully again. 
Lately there were so many different permits it took her a time to sort
them out even though she now had only two boats left.

She fell on her knees and clasped her hands in front of her, closing
her eyes to retain the memory of better times.  She must have stayed
like that for quite five minutes, hearing vague noises behind her but
pushing them away while she sought the peacefulness which could not be
found elsewhere.  She didn't want anyone to intrude.  Her head was
bowed.

Presently soft footsteps paused behind her but she refused to be
disturbed and her eyes remained closed when the seat gave a slight
creak to indicate someone had sat down.  Whoever it was could see that
now was not the time to speak to her.  Moments passed.  The feeling of
tranquillity which had deserted her gradually returned and the peace
she had been seeking seemed to settle upon her more surely.  When a
stong, masculine hand covered hers and clasped them gently she was not
even surprised.

484 "Poppy."

Her name was uttered so softly it might have been in a dream.  Her
heart skipped a beat or two, and now she dare not open her eyes for
fear of disappointment.  Only one voice wpuld say her name with such
feeling.  She looked through her lashes without raising her head and
saw a pair of navy-blue uniform trousers, then a jacket with gold
buttons and braid. Finally she was gazing into Joshua's eyes, too
overcome to speak.  She raised his hand and held it against her lips,
then against her cheek, her eyes fixed upon him all the while, as his
were upon her.  The last rays of the afternoon sun sent a shaft of
light through the window behind the altar and it fell upon them with
unexpected brightness.

"Tell me you're real," Poppy said at last.

He bent and touched her mouth with his in the softest of kisses.

"Can you doubt it?"

"No.  It's true."  She got up from her knees and sat on the long seat
beside him.

"It's a miracle, Joshua, that's what it is.  How did you get back?"

"I escaped.  It's a long story.  I managed to get to a village on the
French coast and took a small boat in the night.  There was a fair
wind, a sail and some oars.  They saw me across the Channel."

She slotted her arm through his and pressed against his side.  Their
voices were muted.

"And are you well?"  she asked anxiously.  His face was gaunt and grey,
his dark eyes seemed to sink back into his skull, and there were
premature ageing lines defining the sides of his mouth.  She could see
that he was painfully thin.  The uniform hung on his big, bony frame.

"I was in hospital for a while at Dover.  Seems I was in a bad way when
I got there, but I'm fine now.  The Admiralty fixed me up with a
uniform, then packed me off home as soon as I was fit to travel.  I
wanted to surprise you."

485 "You did that all right."  She kissed his hand again.  How he had
known where to find her was unimportant.

"I still can't believe it."

There were pennants from old Fenstowe drifters hanging against the
chapel walls, some threadbare with age, others still bright so that the
name and number of the boat on which that had flown could be plainly
seen.  Joshua's eyes travelled over them.

"I'd like the Wild Ginger to be remembered here.  She was a heroine.

Poppy.  You'd have been proud of her.  " He ran his fingers through his
black hair which was as thick as ever but had a sprinkling of grey at
the temples.

"And I'm so proud of my father.  He died fighting.  One day I'll tell
you what he did.  Reckon he ought to have had a medal."

In the quietness Poppy was jolted back to reality and perspiration
gathered in the palm of her hand which he still held.  There was no end
to the cruelty of war, for now he had to be told about his wife.

She turned to face him.

"Joshua, there's some thing > " It's all right, love, I know about
Caroline. I heard through the Red Cross while I was in hospital at
Dover.  Being my next of kin they'd tried to let her know where I was. 
They had to break it to me.  "

A stab of pain shot through her, cramping her stomach with sudden
tension.

"Why didn't you ask them to inform me?"

"Because, my dear Poppy, knowing you, you would have come baring down
to Dover without stopping to think, and I didn't want you to see me the
way I was then."

"Oh, Joshua, I love you so much."

She let her head rest against his chest and the roughness of the
service jacket chafed her skin.  Her arms crept round his waist and
they held each other in silence for ten minutes or more while the sun
disappeared and shadows cloaked the altar.

There was so much to tell him but the Bethel was not the place for
discussions, and anyway she didn't know where to begin.  She didn't
know what he would say about the way she had taken Caroline into her
home.  He might think it had been interfering and wrong.  He might
blame her for the accident and say that Caroline would still be alive
if the hospital had been allowed to go on caring for her.  Such
frightening thoughts whirled in her head but they would have to wait to
be voiced.  Instead she cupped his face in her hands and kissed his
lips.

"Come.  I'll take you to see Rose.  She's living with us."

The spring evening had turned misty and Harbour Street rang with
familiar noises from the fish dock.  Joshua stood a moment and
listened, his head tilted to catch the sounds, but they were not so
numerous as they had been. A handful of drifters prepared to leave for
another dangerous night's fishing.  Poppy watched his expression and
her heart ached for him.

"You'll come and stay with us too, won't you, Joshua?  We can make
room."

He walked beside-her, his sleeve brushing against hers.  Having lost
such a lot of weight he seemed even taller, and when he shouldered his
kit bag it looked so heavy for him she wanted to cry for his lost
strengh.  It was a difficult homecoming.

He said: "Tomorrow I'll come and see Rose.  Right now I'm going back to
Drago Street."

She was horrified.

"You can't do that.  The house hasn't been lived in for ages.  It'll be
damp and filthy."

"But it's where I belong."  He turned towards Marsh Village and took a
deep breath, like a fox scenting its lair.  "I certainly never belonged
up on the cliff."

"It's not where you belong.  I love you, Joshua.  I'll make a home for
you with me."

He was walking faster now and she had to quicken her steps to keep up
with him.  It was a busy hour of the day and in Cooper Street the
pavement was
crowded with people.  A few looked at him twice, mebbe thinking they
recognized him, but no one spoke.

"I need time.  Poppy.  I can't come to any decision or make any
plans.

I don't even know what I feel about anything, and until I do I've got
to go back to my roots.  "

"Then let me come with you.  Aunt Jessie'11 look after the children for
a little while."

"No, I don't want that."

"Let me at least clean the house for you and make it comfortable."

"I said no.  Don't you understand?  I don't want you near me."  He
stopped so suddenly she was steps ahead of him before she could check
her pace, and when she turned back her face was stricken.  He touched
it with the back of his fingers, tracing her jawline.

"I'm sorry.

Poppy.  I don't mean to hurt you but I've got to be alone.  I'm not
good company and it's better I stay in Drago Street until I can come to
terms with myself.  "

"No, I don't understand."  She became angry.

"I nursed your wife, and now I look after your child.  Is this all the
thanks I get?"

"I didn't ask you to do it?"

"Someone had to."  It was stupid to stand in the middle of the street
arguing but the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly had made her
overwrought.

"I did it for you.  For us.  I love you."

"And I'm grateful.  Of course I am, but it makes no difference to the
way I feel right now.  Leave me alone, Poppy.  When I'm ready mebbe I
can make it up to you."

"And mebbe I won't be waiting."

She hurled the threat after him as he turned away and set off towards
Marsh Village.  She hurt so much she wanted to sob but she remained dry
eyed and watched until he was out of sight.

He had come back so changed.  Her joy at his safe return was in no way
diminished but she felt bewildered, and for once she didn't quite know
how to
cope.  In the Bethel he 488 had held her close to his heart.  She knew
he loved her, so why was he rejecting her?  Soldiers back from the
battlefields often had wounds which only time could heal.  Likely,
seamen were no less affected and those who held them dear were going to
need patience, but she didn't know how she was going to find it when
she wanted so desperately to help him.

His reunion with Rose was touching to see.  Poppy hadn't told her that
her father was coming and her little face lit up with incredible joy
when he swung her up into his arms.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"  She kept repeating his name and touching him to
make sure he was real.

"Auntie Poppy promised me you'd come, so I knew you would."

The other children looked on, a little envious perhaps that this big,
tall man was her father.  None of them except Steven could remember
their own.

"You're lucky to have Auntie Poppy," Joshua said.

"I hope you behave yourself and help her."

"Course I do.  I love her."

Joshua looked over the top of Rose's head and met Poppy's misty eyes.

"I'm glad," he said.

She made him stay for dinner.  Made him promise to come every day for a
meal, and this he did, but he never stayed long.  Sometimes he would
take Rose out with him.  Sometimes he took Poppy's family as well, but
never once did he stay until the children were all in bed so that they
could be together, and after the first rebuff she dare not suggest it
again.  It seemed as if he was afraid she might ask questions he didn't
want to answer, or expect too much from him.  When she talked of
Caroline he listened quietly, but he didn't ask questions, and he never
talked again of his father, though he went to see Aunt Lizzie and mebbe
talked to her about him.  Wisely Poppy waited until he was ready,
having to be content with just watching his physical strengh return.

Soon she heard that he was spending most of his time at 489 On 11
November the bells of St Martha's Church rang out in great and glorious
peals, the like of which had not been heard for over four long years,
and Fenstowe, like every other town and city in the land, was
celebrating the Armistice which a few hours earlier had brought an end
to Hi the war.  Ships' sirens blared incessantly in the harbour like a
discordant symphony, but every one of them was sounding the same joyful
message.  There would be no more fighting.  The war was over and there
had never been a more welcome announcement.

Poppy and Aunt Jessie called for Agnes Ludlow, then met up with Aunt
Lizzie to take the children into town.  They walked down the centre of
the Fenstowe Road amidst the crowds of revellers waving banners and
throwing streamers, blocking the way to traffic which hooted
good-humouredly.  Steven had brought a tray from home and he banged it
like a drum, even though he'd been a bit grumpy at the start.

"I knew it wouldn't last till I was old enough to join up.  I just knew
it. I wanted to be a soldier like Uncle Charlie."

"You'd want five more years of war!"  Poppy had cried.  "Heaven
forbid!

Steven Rain, what a terrible thought.  And poor Uncle Charlie hasn't
come out of it very well, what with losing an arm and being shell
shocked.  You should be grateful you were too young.  "

Daniel rattled a tin can full of stones, making enough noise to be
heard
above the rest of the cacophony, and it gave them a right of way
through the throng.  Flags were already flying from upstairs windows of
the houses on either side, and in the square people were dancing to the
Boy's Brigade band.

Nancy and Rose were forbidden to let go of Poppy's hands and all three
were laughing as they joined in the screams of excitement.

"I want to dance too," Nancy cried.

Poppy grabbed hold of Iris and the four of them joined hands to form a
circle with a group of girls wearing Union Jacks as aprons.  They
pranced round until Poppy's hair came loose and she hardly looked any
older then her youngest sister.

"Steven, watch Daniel doesn't get lost.  Keep him with you."

Just by the bridge a fish seller was dancing on her barrow, her skirts
hoisted up to show wrinkled stockings and a pair of winter drawers.  A
man swigging beer from a bottle jumped up beside her and tilted the
barrow so that they both collapsed on it like a heap of writhing rags,
shrieking with laughter while an audience clapped.

Jack Forrester found them all by accident, practically bumping into
Poppy as he made his way slowly through the crowd near the fish-dock
gate.  His iron-grey hair was sticking up round a cap with a flag stuck
in it.  Poppy hugged him spontaneously.

"Is your aunt with you?"  he asked, shouting to make himself heard.

Poppy looked round She was a minute ago.  "

Aunt Lizzie was wearing black.  It was not noticeable as being mourning
since practically everyone had been wearing black or grey for the past
year, but Lizzie had only taken to it after Joshua brought the news
that Tom had been killed, and Poppy knew it was significant.  She had
been celebrating like the rest, singing and helping Agnes with Violet,
but now there was no sign of her
and Poppy thought she must have slipped away at the corner of 492
Harbour Street, likely to join with those who preferred to pray in the
Bethel for the dead.

"I heard some news today," Jack said.

"News that'll please her.  I reckon.  Tom Kerrick's been mentioned in
the honours list of Fenstowe men what lost their lives.  Likely if he'd
lived he'd have won a medal.  She was mighty fond of that half-brother
of hers."

The sirens were still sounding and the crowd was chanting now.

Streamers tangled in Poppy's hair and the children tugged at her hands,
urging her to dance again, but she had suddenly lost her inclination.

So Tom Kerrick was a war hero, one of the dead that the town would
honour. Some of the jubilation left her.  What made a man like Tom
Kerrick do something heroic when all his life he had been a drunkard
and a waster?

She thought of the day they had all found out that he was Grandfer's
son, and how it had changed the course of her life.  There was the
raping, so long ago now but still so vivid that she sometimes had
nightmares about it.  She wouldn't have become pre gant Fa wouldn't
have died, and she wouldn't have married Ned.  She often wondered what
direction her life might otherwise have taken.  She might still have
been a beatster, and mebbe she would have married Joshua eventually. 
It was certain he wouldn't have married Caroline, but then, what would
he have become without the Lea's money?  Everything that had happened
over the last eight years stemmed from the revelation of Tom Kerrick's
parentage.

The only good thing the man had done as far as Poppy was concerned was
to father Joshua.

And now she didn't know where Joshua was.  He had gone back to the war
on board a merchant ship which carried supplies across the Altantic,
his fishing days over, and there had been no news of him since.  She
fretted about it continually, but all she could do was wait and hope
that he would soon be
home.  Hearing nothing was worse than 493 waiting for him to be
released from the prison camp where at least she had known he was
alive.

Jessie Rain had never been in such good spirts, but high blood pressure
was plaguing her and Poppy could see that she was tired.

"Reckon we ought to find somewhere for you to sit down," Poppy said.

Best not to think of Joshua.  Nor Tom Kerrick either.

"Daniel, go and look for a seat for grandma."

"You'll never find one, boy."  Jessie looked along the promenade and
even the sea wall was packed with people.  Her face was very red and
perspiration was collecting on her forehead,

"Mebbe I'll just go and see Charlie for a bit.  Evelyn'11 make me a cup
of tea."

Poppy looked at her mother-in-law anxiously and knew it wasn't safe to
let her go alone, not with the crowds about.  She took her arm.

"I'll take you.  Maw and Iris can see to the children for a few
minutes."

Charlie's house was at the far end of Dansom Road, within easy reach of
the boatyard, and not too far for Jessie to walk.  They took it slowly,
and once they had left the centre of town it was quieter.

Charlie had been home now for several weeks after spending months in
hospital, and Poppy had never seen anyone so changed.  He sat in a
chair all day with the curtains half drawn and no one could persuade
him to take an interest in anything.

"I'm glad you've come," Evelyn said.

"Charlie's real low today.  I think he's got something on his mind."

It was a dismal house which faced north, and Poppy had never liked it. 
She felt she wanted to open a window, especially today when everyone
else was out celebrating, but Charlie was huddled close to the fire,
staring vacantly at the flames which were the only source of light in
the curtain-shrouded room. No wonder he was depressed.

He looked up when Poppy went in, and he managed a smile but it was
nothing like the warm grin she remembered.  The empty right sleeve of
his jacket was tucked into his pocket.

"How are you feeling, Charlie?"  she asked.

"It's time you came to the yard, you know.  Jack and I can't go running
it for ever."

He hadn't been near the yard since his return and didn't even want to
talk about it.

"Glad you came.  I wanted to see you," he said.

"Come and sit here while Maw and Evelyn are in the kitchen."  The air
was foetid and she wished she could hold a handkerchief to her nose. 
She felt sorry for him.  He had always been well built, but now he was
unhealthily fat and the smell of sweat clung to him.  Poppy sat on the
opposite side of the fire and watched the flickering light shine on his
bald head.

"I can't work any more, not like I used to."  He grasped the empty
sleeve and crumpled it with his left hand.

"I ain't no good for anything."

Don't talk like that.  "

"Will yuh listen to me, girl?  I ain't no good, and that's that.  So
I'm selling me share of the yard."  He held up his hand when she
started to protest.

"I've talked it over with Evelyn and we both reckon it'll be best if we
have the money and move inland somewhere, so I'm looking for a
buyer."

"Well it ain't no good looking at me.  I haven't got the money to buy
you out."

"Then it'll have to be a stranger.  I'd like fine if it was still
called Rain's Yard seeing as how me brother Ned's boy looks like being
interested in it, but someone will have to take over from me.

Thought I'd best warn you.  " He patted Poppy's hand.

"Yuh've been a right good woman.  Poppy.  Ned couldn't have had a
better wife, nor widow, and I'm sorry to be letting you down, but I'd
only be a burden to the yard if I stayed."

She didn't know what to say.  This was the last thing she had expected
and she was shaken.

"Wait a bit, Charlie.  Don't make hasty decisions.  Mebbe you'll feel
different about it in a week or two."

Weak tears filled his eyes.

"I'll not be changing me mind.  I can't wield a hammer or lift
anything, so what good am I as a boat builder

"There's plenty you can do that's not manual."

"With me brain not working properly?  No, girl, I've got to move away
else I'll fret me self into the grave."

He wouldn't listen to a single argument and when Poppy left there was a
fierce pain in her head as if she had been banging it against something
solid.  She and Jack had been keeping the yard going for Charlie
through the most difficult time ever, and now he was selling up.  It
was heartbreaking. It wasn't fair.  She had no idea whether she could
carry on herself in the circumstances.  Likely she would have to sell
her share too, and the thought of failure made her footsteps drag.

Back in town people were jostling around more than ever and the
celebrations looked set to gather momentum.  She had to get back to Maw
and the children, but first she walked to the bridge and looked
upriver.  A mass of small boats had taken to the water and were rocking
precariously.  Larger vessels moored to buoys had become party venues
and voices carried, no doubt well lubricated with alcohol.  No one else
seemed to have a problem to solve today.

She could just see the yard in the distance.  Her yard since most of
Ned's money had gone into it.  Damn it, she would keep a hold on what
belonged to her if she had to fight for it, and no stranger was going
to take over the business.  Mebbe some new money had to be ploughed in,
but it wouldn't be a take-over, she'd see to that.  Mebbe the yard
wasn't all that good a paying proposition at the moment but it was
better than having to rely on the proceeds of two drifters when no one
knew how soon the fishing trade would pick up again.  A lot would
depend on how soon new boats could be built, and they couldn't be built
without yards.

496 Poppy filled her lungs with good sea air, tilted her hat over one
eye and held her shoulders back as she set off in search other family. 
It was a great day, the best in years.  It certainly wasn't the day for
a British woman to give in to anything, and she was determined that
this latest blow would somehow be turned to her advantage.

A street vendor was selling penny whistles and she bought one each for
the children, then bought another for herself, trilling it all the way
down to the pier entrance where they were waiting for her.

The German submarines were delivered into the hands of Admiral Tyrwhitt
at Harwich nine days after the Armistice was signed, a procession of
them filing between the British ships towards internment like a school
of ugly whales.

Poppy heard about it and wondered whether Dolph Brecht might be among
the surrendering crews, but she had no wish to find out for sure.

Joshua had told her briefly about his fateful encounter with Dolph at
sea. It seemed each man owed the other his life.  Hopefully that was
the end of it.  She would never know for certain whether or not he had
been a spy, and now it didn't matter, so she could put him right out of
her mind.

The following day seventy ships of the German High Seas Fleet
surrendered to Admiral Sir David Beatty, and the people of Fenstowe,
like all those in fishing communities along the coast whose livelihoods
depended upon the sea, could at last breathe freely.  They could go
fishingagain, those that had survived, but it was a sorry business
counting the men who had been lost.

"It's going to be a hard winter," Jack said.

"I guess everyone thought the Armistice was like wavinga magic wand and
things would be back again just like before the war, but that can never
be."

Poppy saw he was right.  She didn't know how she was going to find
enough
money to pay the two beatsiers still 497 working for her at the
net-store, or the ransacker, but she didn't want to stand them off. 
Her two drifters would have to keep fishing all through the year.

"If you ask me Charlie Rain's sensible selling his share in the
boatyard, and if you're wise you'll do the same," her mother said.

Agnes never liked taking risks.

"That way you'll raise a bit of money to keep going until fishing gets
properly under way again, if it ever does.  Reckon if you had some
money we could all go and live in the country."

"Agnes could be right."  For once Aunt Lizzie was in agreement with her
sister-in-law.

"It never was much of a yard and it never will be without someone with
ambitions to get it going."

"I'll not part with it.  And I certainly won't go and live in the
country. It won't be long before Steven can start an apprenticeship and
I owe it to Ned to see the boy has something to inherit.  Besides, I'd
die of boredom in the country."  When they tried to argue with her she
remained ad ament

"I'm not going back to be inga beatster either, not for anyone.  I'll
hang on to what I've got for as long as I can, and it'll pay, you'll
see."

"You're a fool then," Lizzie said.

Just before Christmas Charlie Rain sent word to say that he had sold
his share and asked Poppy to meet him in the office early one winter
afternoon so that he could introduce her new co-owner.

"Best smarten up a bit," Charlie said in his note,

"The man's coming down from London and he sounds real businesslike, so
if you want to keep in with him likely you'd better make a good
impression.  Not that you don't always, but I thought I'd warn you."

"Hmmm!"  Poppy read the note and showed it to Aunt Jessie.

"A Londoner indeed!  And just what does he think he knows about fishing
boats."

"Mebbe he's just looking for something to put his money into.  If so he
must think it worthwhile."  Jessie Rain smiled at Poppy with real
affection.

"Yuh know I never 498 thought I'd say it but you're a good woman. 
Poppy, and I wish Ned had lived to see how well you've done.  He'd be
proud.  Mebbe we ain't rich, but you've held this family together right
well and I couldn't have had a better daughter-in-law."

"Get away with you.  Aunt Jessie!"  Poppy laughed with embarrassment.

"You're having me on."

"I ain't at all.  If Charlie's wife had half the guts you've got the
whole yard would be staying in the family.  As it is I almost pity the
city gent coming up against you.  Reckon yuh'll be telling him a thing
or two about business.  I've got faith in you, girl."

Poppy leaned over and kissed her, then hugged her warmly.

"Thank you," she said.

"Reckon I couldn't have done much without you to look after the
children though, so I'm not takin gall the credit."

She left the house with renewed confidence, grateful to Jessie for her
support, and full of optimism.  She felt she could impress a stranger. 
If the buyer had been someone in Fenstowe who had known her all her
life she would have felt diffident about claiming much knowledge of the
boat building business.

She was wearing her green coat with the big collar, not having had
anything new since the war.  It suited her.  She liked to draw the
collar up so that her neck looked long and slender against it, and she
could hold her chin high.  For once her head was bare, even though the
wind was cold.  Her hair was piled up like a. crown and seemed to give
her more height, more elegance certainly than her old- fashioned hats
which were older than the coat and made her feel dowdy.  She wished she
still had the motor car so that she could drive down to Dansom Road and
sail in through the gate as if she had the wealth to go with her part
ownership of the yard, but that had finally gone to help meet expenses
when the drifters were being built for the Admiralty.

The yard was quiet, and it be inga Saturday afternoon 499 the few
people still employed there had now gone home.  There was no sign of
Charlie.

The shed was locked and she had to use her key to get into the office
where the shadows were gathering.  There was a lamp on the desk and she
lit it, a feeling of uneasiness taking hold other.  Something was
wrong.  She couldn't think why Charlie had arranged an official meeting
at this hour on a Saturday when it got dark so early and there was no
one else around.  And she wished he had been here waiting.  | She
looked at her watch, checked with the note that she hadn't got the
appointment time wrong, and after a few minutes sat down on the rickety
chair which had been there since she had visited the office with Pa all
those years ago.  She would wait a quarter of an hour, and no more.

Five minutes had passed when she heard someone approaching with
purposeful steps.  Someone alone, and it wasn't Charlie, who had
developed a shuffle these days.  Poppy drew in her breath and stood up.
 This was not going to be the kind of meeting she had envisaged and she
was angry that she had been let in for it.  Without Charlie there she
couldn't say the things she had planned and it was going to take all
her courage to face a man from London whom she knew nothing about Damn
Charlie.

She had left the shed door open and when the man stood framed in it his
back was against the light.  He was tall and broad, and his silhouette
was very familiar.  She looked at him and all the colour left her
face.

"Joshua," she breathed.  She grasped the edge of the desk and the lamp
nickered, send inga glow to soften her pallor.  Then: "Joshua Kerrick,
what are vow doing here?"

He came towards her and her legs began to tremble.  If this was some
sort of joke she didn't appreciate it.

"I've come to join my business partner."  He produced a bottle of wine
from behind his back and held it aloft.

"I thought we would have a celebratory drink together in our office
before retiring to somewhere more comfortable.  I hope that's all right
with you."

She couldn't answer him.  Her mouth was too dry and she didn't trust
herself to say anything.

"Well come on," he said.

"Don't just stand there, woman.  Find us a glass."

Her lips parted.

"I don't understand.  Charlie said a man from London was coming.  Would
you mind explaining this to me, please."

"With pleasure.  I've been in London since my ship docked, and today I
came down on the train."  He put the bottle down on the desk and leaned
so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.  In the lamp glow she
could see that his face had filled out again and he looked very fit. 
"I've bought Charlie Rain's share of the boatyard.  Poppy.

The Leas' money came to me and I couldn't have it lying idle.  "

She felt bewildered, the news was so surprising she needed time to
absorb it, and she had to try to curb the excitement which was rising
inside her like a powerful bird.  Mebbe he was just teasing.

"You could have bought some new drifters," she said.

"I'd rather build them.  Ever since I watched them working on Wild
Ginger I've wanted to learn to be a shipwright.  Reckon I'm a bit old
to be an apprentice, but I'll get Jack Forrester to teach me."  He took
her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

"I've had enough of going to sea.  I want to work alongside you and
we'll build up a business to rival the best yards north of the Wash. 
We'll dp it for Ned, and for Caroline.  Mebbe we'll build with steel
later on, not just drifters but trawlers as well, and in a year or two
when people settle down we could sound out the market for pleasure
boats, you know, yachts and skiffs.  We can do it.  Poppy."

The light of ambition was shining in his eyes and she felt the pull of
it firing her own.

"You reckon we could?"

"I'm sure of it.  There's nothing we can't do, you and me together."

She let him hold her for a moment, savouring the wonder of being so
unexpectedly in his arms, and was half afraid it was a dream from which
she would awake to find herself alone, rocking on the rickety chair. 
She had never been less prepared for anything than this new development
and she mustn't let herself be swayed by her emotions.

She drew back.

"Supposing I don't agree?  I've been real anxious about who would be
buying in."

"You mean you'd rather it were amalgamated with one of the bigger yards
down river?  That's what it would mean if you turned me down.

You'd go under.  No one else is interested the way things are right
now, and you couldn't keep going on your own.  "

"No, I couldn't."

"Then let's celebrate a partnership, like I said."  He found two cups
on a shelf, dusted them with a clean handkerchief and laughed as he
poured wine into each.

"A real partnership.  Poppy, for life.  We'll get married right
away."

Poppy looked at him and felt as if her heart was bursting.  He was so
strong again and sure of everything, just as he had been four years
ago, and she was breathless with longing for him.

"Does this mean you've found what you were looking for when you went
back to Drago Street?  You didn't want me then."

"I've never stopped wanting you."  He became serious again and cupped
her face in tender hands, gazing down at her with a great hunger.

"I

went to Drago Street because I loved you so much I daren't be near you.
 "

"But why?  You knew I loved you too."

He brushed her lips with his and then touched them with his finger to
stop her saying anything else.

"Poppy, I knew I had to go back to sea and there was no sign then of
the war ending.  I couldn't marry you and run the risk of you becoming
a widow again, mebbe burdened with another child."

502 "No child of yours will ever be a burden."

"Not now.  We'll both be here to look after them."  He kissed her more
thoroughly until her lips were burning.

"I can't wait for us to share that big bed again.  Do you think Jessie
Rain'11 mind?"

"No," said Poppy.

"I don't reckon she will, as long as we're respectably married."

"It'll only be until I can build a new house for you."

"Up on the cliff?"

He grinned.

"I was thinking of Marsh Village."

She reached up and put her arms round his neck, pressing her cheek
against his rough one and moulding her body closer.

"I don't mind where it is as long as we're together."

"So you'll take me for a partner?"

"Reckon I will, for better or for worse."

She held up the cracked cup and waited for him to raise the other to
tip against hers, then she took a sip.  One day they might be able to
toast each other with champagne in crystal glasses but it would never
taste quite as good as this.

"Here's to Rain Kerrick's, best boat builders on the east coast,"

Joshua said.

She looked round the dusty office in the corner of the shed, and
pictured it full of light.  There would be chairs for customers to sit
on while they discussed designs and contracts, a tidy desk where plans
could be spread out, a proper door to keep out draughts, and clean
windows.  Later on, when the business was thriving, they would build a
separate office with the name in big letters over the front.

Poppy smiled and tensed with excitement, "Yes, here's to Rain
Kerrick's," she echoed.

Early in 1919, on a day when the sun was shining but the ground was
crisp with frost, the Bethel Chapel in Harbour Street was full of
people gathered
together for a memorial 503 service to honour the late Tom Kerrick and
the crew of Wild Ginger whose lives had been lost along with his. 
Joshua had arranged it with Skipper Parry, and there was to be a small
plaque unveiled to commemorate his father's bravery.

After hymns had been sung and prayers said Skipper Parry gave a long
address, during which the children present shuffled impatiently, but no
one stirred when he came to the dedication.

| "Thomas Kerrick was a native of this town, a fisherman I and a family
man who lost his life when the steam drifter Wild Ginger went down
during confrontation with a U- boat.  Though injured, he managed to use
his gun against the enemy vessel, causing it to sink without trace, and
for this we are here today to honour him, along with other members of
the crew who lost their lives.  May God rest their souls."

"God rest their souls.  Amen."

There followed a detailed list of the other men, whose families were
present, and the places they had held in the community.  There was
hardly a dry eye. Poppy was sitting near Joshua, with Rose between
them, and she glanced at the rugged profile of this dear man she had
married three days before Christmas, leaning over to touch his hand in
sympathy.

The first two pews were taken up with Tom's family.  Hal was home on
leave, proudly wearing his sailor's uniform and Gwendolen had come from
Devon with her husband and five children.  Lottie Kerrick sat at the
end with her daughter Connie, dressed in black and missing nothing. 
Her old eyes were as sharp as needles and she appeared to be enjoying
every moment of the reflected glory.  She hadn't seen her son for so
many years it was doubtful whether she had mourned him with great
sincerity but she shed tears like everyone else.

In the pew behind sat the Ludlows, Lizzie with Agnes Ludlow, Iris, and
Daisy
who was expect inga child in the spring.  Francis was at St Dunstan's
and she was missing him dreadfully, but when he was rehabilitated they
would make a home wherever he was able to get a teaching job.  Violet
was being looked after by a neighbour.

It was a long service, and at the end of it Lottie Kerrick was invited
to unveil the plaque which Joshua had had very simply inscribed. 
Afterwards family groups gathered outside in the frosty air to walk
along the path to the church rooms where tea was to be served.  The
Kerricks and the Ludlows stayed together, except for Lizzie who kept a
little way behind.

Her mind went back to the day of her father's funeral when they had all
walked down the path from St Martha's Church, unaware that ahead of
them lay the most shattering revelation.  The sun had been shining
then.  She remembered the hat she had been wearing and how Tom had been
behind her when it caught on a tree.  She had wanted him to catch up
and walk alongside, but he stayed in the background with his sons.

She hadn't known why he was at the funeral, but she had been so
achingly aware of him it had made her stumble.  Now it seemed he was
still with her in spirit and she lingered a little while longer.

Trestle tables were set out in the hall and the Kerricks and Ludlows
sat down at one of them, still divided but showing signs of coming
together at least for the meal.  Agnes had become friendly with Connie
Adams since sharing her house during the bomb-dodging, and the two
women saw that old Lottie was given pride of place at the head of the
table where she sat like a wizened matriarch surveying the assembled
company.  Lizzie took a place as far from her as possible.

She was glad that Poppy and Joshua were married at last.  They looked
right happy, and so they should.  She had the feeling things were going
to work out well for them, and she tried not to be envious.

They deserved their happiness after all they had been through.  At
least that
old woman who was holding forth at the end of the table 505 hadn't
been able to spoil their lives the way she had done hers and Tom's. 
Oh, she blamed Lottie Kerrick for everything.  Lottie, and her
father.

The hall was still decorated with flags put up for the Armistice party
nearly three months ago and the white tablecloths had red and blue
ribbon stiched across them which ought to have been removed before
laundering because the colours had run, givinga stippled effect at the
edges.  Lizzie took a scone when it was offered and spread it with jam,
but she was not hungry.  Of all the people here she knew herself to be
the only one who truly mourned Tom. The others had thrown off the
sombre mood of the service and were now prepared to eat and drink as
much as they could, seeing as it was free, especially Gwendolen's brood
who had very few manners.

Lore Kerrick was quite garrulous.

"Who would have thought we'd all be here because of my Tom?  Seems as
though he ought to be with us, don't it, seeing as how the party's for
him.  I always knew he'd turn out right."

"He was a good brother when we was little."  Connie Adams went on to
sing his praises, acknowledging the dead hero though she had wanted
nothing to do with him when he was alive.  It made Lizzie sick.

When second cups of tea had been poured Joshua stood up.

"I'd like to propose a toast."  he said.

"I know my father wouldn't have thought much of being toasted in tea,
but I reckon if he's watching it'll make him laugh.  He wasn't a
drinker anyway the last two years of his life.  Mebbe he wasn't a
saint, nowhere near, but he had guts, and for what he did at the end I
hope each one of us can forgive him his sins."  He looked carefully at
Poppy whose eyes were lowered, and Lizzie wondered what her niece was
thinking.  Joshua raised his cup.

"To Tom Kerrick."

"Tom Ludlow," said Lizzie quietly.

How curious that words not meant to be heard somehow catch every ear
even when murmured.

"What was that?"  asked Lottie.

There was an awkward silence, then Connie repeated what Lizzie had
said, her face colouring.

"She called him Tom Ludlow, Maw."

"Hah!"  Lottie stared down the table at Lizzie, her old eyes
glinting.

Then she began to laugh.

"That's where you're wrong.  He weren't a Ludlow.  Not my Tom.  Oh, I
let Bill Ludlow think it were his child when he told me he was going to
marry Sarah Waddington.  Served him right for wanting her, not me.  But
I knew it was Alf Kerrick's, knew it without any doubt at all.  I'd
been going out with 'em both, see, though neither suspected."  She
preened herself, as if she were still young.

"Bill was right worried, I can tell you.  He didn't want to spoil his
chances with Sarah, so he gave me money to keep quiet.  I took it, and
married Alf." She paused again, long enough for the startled faces
around her to lean closer, like sea plants being drawn by the tide. 
Her voice dropped.

"I didn't think it had meant much to Bill Ludlow.  He'd paid the price
and got rid of me, but then he went and left Tom that boat in his will.
 Fair shook me it did when I heard, but there was no sense telling the
truth then, not after all those years.  Besides, it did me good to
think of the Ludlows having to share with my Tom.  It did me real
good."

Lizzie turned as white as the cloth and fainted.

When she came round Joshua had carried her outside and Poppy was
holding smelling salts to her nose, while Jack Forrester brought out a
chair.

She smiled weakly.

"It must have been warm in there.  I'm sorry.  Don't know how I could
have been so silly.  I've never fainted before."

"It's all right.  Aunt Lizzie."  Poppy found a handkerchief which had
been sprinkled liberally with lavender water and gave it to her.

"Reckon we all understand."

They were looking at her so sympathetically she felt tears welling up,
but she forced them away.

"I think I'd like to go home."

507