Catherine of Deepdale Page 2

  ‘That’s not fair, you should have told me.’

  ‘Well, you could have asked.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought I needed to.’ Cigarette finished, Catherine threw it away. From the bay came the soft swish of restless water and now and again the plop of a breaking wave. From somewhere on the hill behind them the bleat of a sheep was answered by another. And there was that smell again. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed.

  ‘What is that smell?’ she said, ‘I smelt it in Lerwick, in your mother’s kitchen and now here.’

  ‘It’s peat reek, smoke to you.’

  ‘Hmm. So you burn peat. There’s no electric, no piped water, telephone or car. It’s a wonder you aren’t still dressed in animal skins and living in caves.’

  Robbie ignored this remark and for a while there was silence between them. ‘Please don’t leave me, Catherine,’ he said at last, ‘I couldn’t bear it if you did. I can’t think of life without you. I thought if I told you – well – you’re right, I thought you wouldn’t marry me.’ He paused. ‘I had to hope … I didn’t want to lose you; it would have broken my heart.’ He reached for her, took hold of her arm and turned her to face him. ‘Please be patient. I’ll do anything for you, anything at all, only please … please give me a second chance.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  ‘I’ll make sure you never regret it. Things are going to change; it won’t always be like it is now.’

  ‘Hah, that’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘Believe me, I’ll make them change.’

  ‘And your mother? If I stay, living with her will be hell.’

  ‘No it won’t, you’ll just have to learn how to deal with her. Surely if you love me at all you can do that for me, can’t you? It won’t be forever. There is somewhere for us, I promise.’

  ‘I’ve got to think about it,’ said Catherine and began to walk away.

  Utterly dejected Robbie said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  Catherine gave a sardonic little chuckle. ‘I can hardly get on a bus and go home, can I? I’ll have to grin and bear it, I suppose …,’ she turned on him, ‘but only until I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘Please don’t leave me, give me a chance,’ pleaded Robbie. ‘Can’t you see I had to get you here and hope you’d forgive me for not telling you everything? I had to believe you’d accept my way of life, after all, I lost count of the times you said you loved me enough to go anywhere in the world with me.’

  ‘All the same, I wish you’d told me instead of letting me find out like this. If this is the worst … it is, isn’t it? It has to get better.’ She paused and waited for him to speak; when he didn’t and while she waited the little seed of doubt that had taken root began to grow. ‘You’re saying nothing so there’s bound to be more,’ she said. ‘You’d better tell me what’s coming next. First of all tell me where we’re going to sleep. I take it you do have beds.’

  ‘Ah …’

  ‘Oh no.’ Seizing Robbie by the arms she shook him. ‘What is it now? Tell me.’

  ‘I think it’s better if I show you.

  TWO

  ‘WHAT’S THE MATTER wi’ you?’ said John Jameson.

  ‘Nothin’ wrong wi’ me,’ snapped Jannie as she opened the stove, pushed a couple of slabs of peat in and clanged the door shut. ‘Nothin’ wrong wi’ me.’

  ‘There’s got to be, you’re fussin’ about like an old hen.’

  Jannie stood arms akimbo, ‘Well,’ she huffed, ‘here’s the boy home from the war, brought a wife with him and never told us.’ She shook her head. ‘He said he wrote, but there’s been no letter here.’

  ‘It’s maybe gone astray.’

  ‘No, no, he never was good at writin’. How many did we get from him while he was away?’ Jannie picked up the cat that was sitting on her chair. ‘Now, Puss,’ she cooed as she put it on the floor, ‘I need to sit there.’ She sat down, picked up her knitting and began to knit.

  John took a pipe and a tin of tobacco from the mantelpiece. ‘The lad was at sea, he likely never had much time to write. There’s no reason for you to take on so, it’s been a bit of a shock, that’s all. You’ll maybe get to like the lass in time.’

  ‘I would not have been upset if he’d married a Shetland lass, one who knows what croftin’s about.’ Jannie’s mood transferred itself to her fingers, they flew furiously back and forth and the steel needles in her hands flashed in the lamplight. ‘No, he’s got a soft one from south; she’ll be no use.’

  John struck a match, put it to the pipe and drew on it till the tobacco glowed red. As he puffed a small cloud of aromatic smoke rose to hover above his head. ‘He’s made his choice,’ he said. ‘It’s up to him.’

  Jannie grunted. ‘And what’s she doin’ out there now? Likely she’s makin’ a fuss, cryin’ because she’s left her mam and wantin’ Robbie to hold her hand. She’s not the sort of wife he needs. I can’t think why he married her.’

  John puffed at his pipe. ‘Poor lass,’ he said. ‘She must be very tired; maybe you would be weepin’ if you’d travelled as far as she has. You should be kind to her.’

  ‘I can’t do wi’ a weepin’ wife and it’s not you that’ll have to put up wi’ her, you’ll be away to your work; it’s me that’ll have her round me skirts.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to get along wi’ it.’

  ‘Get along wi’ it you say; she’ll not want to dirty her hands …’

  Taking his pipe from his mouth John Jameson said, ‘That’ll do now. Leave it be.’ He had not raised his voice but it was enough to leave Jannie in no doubt that she was to take note of what he said. He had silenced her just in time for the door opened and Robbie and Catherine came in.

  ‘I take it we’re sleeping in the end room,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Ay,’ grunted his mother her eyes still on her work.

  Robbie’s duffel bag and Catherine’s overnight bag were still where they had been put down. Picking up her bag Catherine followed Robbie through a door, along a short passageway and into another room. To her surprise there was no sign of a bed. Furniture consisted of an armchair on either side of a fireplace, a marble-topped chest with a large china bowl on it, a solitary wooden chair and another piece of furniture like the one Catherine had puzzled over.

  ‘Where’s the bed then, or are we sleeping on the floor?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s here.’ Robbie pulled back a curtain on the odd-looking cupboard.

  Catherine looked from it to Robbie. ‘You’re joking,’ she said.

  Robbie shook his head. ‘No, it’s not a joke.’

  ‘It’s got to be.’ Catherine, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, went to look and saw pillows and a quilt inside. Was there to be no end to the surprises Robbie was going to throw at her? ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ she said then, slowly and deliberately, emphasizing every word, ‘You really cannot expect me to sleep in a box.’

  ‘Why not? Lots of people do.’

  ‘It’s archaic for a start.’ A nerve at the side of Catherine’s mouth began to twitch. She put up a hand to try to stop it. ‘What do I do if I need to spend a penny?’ Then she gasped. ‘Oh …’ A crooked smile twisted her lips. She giggled. ‘I’ve got to sleep in a box and pee in a pot.’ The giggle turned into a laugh, the laugh became uncontrollable.

  ‘Hush,’ said Robbie as he tried to take her in his arms.

  ‘Get away,’ she cried, beating at him with her hands, ‘why have you done this to me?’

  Trapping her flailing fists he crushed her to him, ‘Hush now,’ he soothed.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ cried Catherine as she struggled to escape, but he held her tight and abruptly she dissolved into a flood of tears. All energy spent, she gave in, clung to him and wept for the hurt, deceit and disappointment she had suffered, wept for her inability to walk away.

  When at last her sobs lessened Robbie loosed his hold on her but still held her. ‘I’m so sorry, Catherine,’ he said, ‘I’m a stupid i
diot and I’ve done it all wrong. I should have brought you here before we got married and given you the chance to change your mind.’ Tenderly he wiped the tears from her face. ‘But I love you so much and I was afraid I’d lose you. Please forgive me; my life would be as barren as the hills if you left me.’

  ‘I don’t care, I don’t care,’ hiccuped Catherine. ‘I am so tired.’ Closing her eyes she laid her head on his chest. ‘I am so very tired.’

  ‘Oh, darling, I’ll get some water so you can have a wash, you’ll feel better.’

  While he was gone Catherine looked again at her surroundings. The chairs that stood either side of the fireplace were upholstered; there was a rug on the floor in front of it while on the wall above hung a framed bible text. Floral curtains hung at the window. This must be the sitting room. Was it ever used as such? She looked again at the bed. Stared at it and hated it, thought of her own bed at home, of her family and her mother. Oh Mum, she sobbed, what have I done? There was no getting away from it though, like it or not she was going to have to sleep in the box. Her body ached with exhaustion her head throbbed and her eyes felt gritty and sore. Against her will her eyelids drooped then closed and her body began to drift, soften and relax. I’ve got to go to bed, she thought. Starting up she shook herself. Her body felt like lead. She ought to move … but there was no hurry, she would just sit a while … once again she let her eyes close.

  The sea was rough, the boat pitched and tossed and her body, following its motion, moved incessantly in her bunk. All the time through the mattress and pillows the ever present hum and throb of the engines droned on in her head. If only she could sleep. But then she was slipping, sliding, falling. She reached out a hand to save herself. With a cry she started up and opened her eyes …

  And there in front of her was … the box and Robbie coming back with a jug of water and a towel. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had a wash,’ he said as he poured water in the bowl. ‘I know it’s only an old box bed, but it’ll be warm and I’ll be beside you.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Don’t let the water get cold.’

  Catherine got up, peeled off her clothes and threw them on the chair. The water in the bowl had cooled slightly, but she rinsed her tears away along with the dust and grime of travelling. She took her nightdress from her bag, put it on and crawled into bed.

  THREE

  KAY BURNETT WAS tidying her sitting room, wiping virtually non-existent dust from ornaments and photo-frames. At the windowsill, resting place for more ornaments, she did the same. Then, as was her habit, she looked out of the window at sea and sky to judge the state of the weather. Beyond the bay and above the headlands clouds rolled and chased one another, the sky was in a hurry. Beneath it the water of the North Sea tossed and turned, but in driving through the headlands it lost much of its power and only small waves rolled in to lap the shore.

  Expecting to see neither man nor beast Kay gasped, put her hands on the sill and leaned forward. ‘Now who can that be?’ she murmured.

  The hunched figure of a young woman, hair blowing in the wind, was sitting on the rocks by the beach. As Kay watched, the figure got up and head bent began to walk slowly back and forth. Not a happy person, thought Kay, and, wondering who it could be she could do nothing but stand and stare. If there had been visitors in the valley she would have known for comings and goings were common knowledge. Enthralled though she was she turned away and took her cleaning things through to her living room to put away. She put a slab of peat on the fire then picked up the empty bucket to refill it. When she stepped out of her door the person from the beach was walking toward her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘did I see you on the beach, are you on holiday?’

  ‘No.’ The voice was flat and uninterested. ‘I’ve come to live here.’

  ‘Live here! Where?’

  ‘We’re at Robbie’s mother’s house for now. I’m Robbie’s wife.’

  ‘Is he home then?’

  ‘We came yesterday.’

  For a new bride, and she must be, thought Kay, her eyes should sparkle, not look dull. It didn’t take long to guess the reason for it was Jannie.

  ‘Have you come far?’

  ‘From Southampton.’

  ‘Oh, two if not three days travelling.’ Kay took peat from the stack to fill her bucket. ‘Poor girl, you must be exhausted.’ Bucket of peat in hand and about to open her door Kay stood with her hand on the latch. She turned to look at the girl. ‘Are you expected somewhere or do you have time to kill?’

  ‘I am at a bit of a loose end.’

  ‘I was about to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?’

  A brief smile lit the girl’s face. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘I’m Kay Burnett,’ said Kay as she put cups and saucers on the table. ‘And your name is?’

  ‘I’m Catherine.’

  ‘So you’ve come from the south. I’m an incomer, like you,’ said Kay. ‘I came from Derby.’

  ‘Did you know much about Shetland before you came?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Then what made you stay?’

  Kay laughed. ‘I married a Shetland man.’

  ‘Well, so have I, but that doesn’t mean …’ Catherine stopped and turned her head away. Suddenly, her voice sharp, she said, ‘Robbie wrote to tell her we were getting married, but she said there was no letter.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ So Jannie didn’t know.

  Catherine shook her head. ‘There was one, I posted it, but if she didn’t get it she couldn’t have known.’

  ‘It must have been a shock for her then.’

  ‘But that was no reason …’ there was a long pause before Catherine spoke again, ‘I’m sorry; I shouldn’t offload my troubles on you.’

  ‘I gather Jannie didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms,’ said Kay. ‘Is that what’s making you unhappy?’

  ‘Well I did expect …’ Catherine made a face and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I had to go outside to the toilet and sleep in a box. Have you got a proper bed?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ said Kay, ‘But Jannie’s old fashioned, never throws anything away. She can be a tyrant but you must stand up to her, not let her be boss.’

  ‘That’s if I stay …’

  ‘My dear, don’t say that.’

  ‘Well, I’m a square peg in a round hole. I don’t fit.’

  ‘But if you were to stay I’m sure Shetland would round off the corners.’

  ‘I wonder if it would. Robbie didn’t tell me what his home was like because he thought I wouldn’t marry him if he did. But I would still have come.’ Catherine looked at Kay and her lips lifted in semblance of a smile. ‘I love him, you see.’ Turning her head away she looked at the fire, at the peat glowing in the grate. ‘It was the shock of seeing the squat little house,’ she went on, ‘I was expecting a bungalow and I thought his parents had a farm. I was wrong.’

  Kay studied her, a pretty girl, too thin perhaps, but rationing could account for that. Would she stay and settle to life on a croft? Had Robbie Jameson chosen wisely? Leaning forward she took Catherine’s hands in hers.

  ‘Robbie grew up in this valley. He was an only child among adults. He would never have had to explain himself or his surroundings to anyone because it was the way we all lived.’ Kay smiled and squeezed the hands in hers. ‘Don’t be too hard on him.’

  Catherine didn’t answer but slid her hands out Kay’s and cradled them in her lap. Quietly as if speaking only to herself she said. ‘He should have told me. I would have known what to expect if he had.’

  ‘I have a nephew,’ said Kay, ‘who helps me out with things I can’t cope with, but you’ve got Robbie; he’ll take care of you, you’ll be all right.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Catherine, ‘but I’d better be going or he’ll wonder where I am. Thank you for the tea.’

  ‘Come and see me any time,’ said Kay. ‘My door will always be open and don’t give up on us.’ As she was about to put her hand on the latch the door opened
and Robbie was there.

  ‘Hello, Kay,’ he said, ‘have you seen … ah, I see you’ve met.’

  ‘We have,’ said Kay.

  ‘And now I’m going to take her away.’ He turned to Catherine. ‘Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.’

  FOUR

  ‘WHERE ARE YOU taking me?’ asked Catherine when instead of turning toward his home Robbie led her in the opposite direction.

  ‘To look at this,’ He pointed to the last house in the valley, ‘it’s mine.’

  ‘Yours?’

  To Catherine the house was a ruin. Grass was growing on the roof and springing up between the paving stones outside the door. The woodwork of windows and door was practically devoid of paint.

  ‘Shall we go in?’

  Why? thought Catherine, but said, ‘Why not?’

  The door creaked and groaned on rusty hinges as Robbie pushed it open. ‘Take care where you step,’ he said, ‘the roof’s been leaking.’

  Catherine looked up. The ceiling, like a huge shelf, stretched only half-way across the room. The rest was open to the rafters. Tiny pinpricks of light shone like stars in the darkness of the roof.

  ‘What happened to the ceiling?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing, it’s where the fishing nets were stored in winter, they have to be kept dry or they’ll rot.’

  Cobwebs festooned dirty windows, faded curtains hung limp. A shaft of light from a small window in the open roof space added feebly to that filtering through the curtains. A wooden chair, and others by a table on which crockery had been left, were covered in dust. A kettle stood on top of a stove like the one in Jannie’s house. Pictures that dampness had buckled and blurred hung on the walls and there, skulking in the corner, was a box-bed.

  ‘There are two more rooms here,’ said Robbie as he disappeared through a doorway. Following him Catherine looked into a small room that was completely bare then walked into a bigger one. The only furniture here was a pair of wooden chairs. The ceiling was complete; there was a fireplace and one small window.