Page 6

Chapter Six

Fisherrow November 1723

W hen Spencer returned, another month had slipped by and winter had set in, but even a Firth of Forth gale could not make me shudder or grit my teeth.

Even Da, embittered by the storms, with the waters unassailable, could not upset me with his temper. For my body still sparked and fizzed from that kiss on the hand. London was calling, and Spencer and I would go.

It had been an agonizing wait, but I had known he would come back. And he did, with three larger parcels this time, straight to our cottage. On this occasion he walked in with no mischief about him, but an air of certainty. It was a Friday. Ma and Da were home, and Da was asleep in his chair. Ma was on one side of the table, having a dram, and Joan and me were playing dominoes at the other – a lazy game, if I am honest, and I was letting her win, for it was always easier; she hummed gently as she played, fishing-folk songs that she had learned at choir, and whenever I tried to join in with the songs, Joan glared at me and stopped singing and said, ‘No, Maggie, your voice is flat and you drone.’

There was a sharp rap at the door, and I knew it was Spencer. As I have said before, there were often folk coming and going from our house with parcels and the like, but there was a confidence in that rap. Tap-tap, a gentleman caller.

He came in and, when he took off his hat, I could see shadows under his eyes from all the travelling. But I did not mind that, for my heart was thumping so hard in my chest that I thought it might burst out. Joan was blushing again and tidied up the dominoes, and Ma put away the takings. They sat around the table where the rush-light was best. I was sent to fetch the whisky.

‘I’ve a drouth you wouldn’t believe after all my travels,’ Spencer said, winking at me, and I nearly died because of course Joan noticed and frowned.

‘I see you have even more stash for me to store,’ said Da, clearing his throat. ‘There’ll be thrice the price on that lot, I’m afeared, sir.’

‘Happy to pay it, my good friend,’ replied Spencer. ‘For I would like to ask your permission to take your delightful daughter Maggie here out for Sunday lunch with me this weekend, if she would like to come with me.’

I studied my hands on my lap, for I could not bear to see the stares, but they were still on everyone’s faces when I looked back up. Da was glowering and his jaw was set in a harrumph. Joan looked like she had been stung by a wasp.

‘Maggie is too busy to be spared for Sunday lunch,’ Ma said.

‘I can do my chores before kirk,’ I offered, trying not to sound overly keen.

‘Where would you be taking her?’ asked Da.

‘I’ll book us into the parlour at the Mussel Inn,’ Spencer answered, casting a knowing look in my direction. ‘There’s one with mighty fine views across the coast.’

‘Maggie can’t go gallivanting out like that,’ said Ma firmly, folding her arms across her bosom. ‘Not to a public parlour. There’s salted beef in the pantry and plenty to go round. You shall come here for Sunday lunch, Patrick Spencer, and we can all get to know you first, before you haul my delightful daughter out to inns.’

‘I declare I haven’t had a home-cooked meal for weeks. I shall bring a bottle of rum that I picked up on my travels,’ Spencer replied.

And with that, Ma poured him a very large dram. Joan spent the entire time gawping at him and me.

That night in bed, Joan poked me in the back as soon as Ma and Da had begun to snore. Her sharp little finger felt like a knife.

‘Are you sweet on Patrick Spencer?’ she whispered.

‘Of course not,’ I lied, edging away from her as far as I could. ‘I’ve no idea why he asked me out for Sunday lunch.’

‘He only fancies you because you’re older,’ she said. ‘If I was your age, he’d fancy me. It’s not fair. You’re nowhere near as bonnie as me and you are certainly not delightful. Your hair’s got nice and shiny recently, but your face is square-shaped and one of your eyebrows is higher than the other.’

Neither of these was true, but Joan was jealous, and I understood that. For I had always been jealous of her. Ma and Da liked her more, anyone could tell that. Ma often made jellies, even though I hated them, just because she knew Joan would eat jelly, whatever the flavour. Spiced jelly. Lemon jelly. Oh, they would make my stomach turn, but Joan slurped them down. And whenever she said she was tired of putting bait on lines, she got to go off and do whatever she pleased.

But there was no jelly in sight that Sunday, thank goodness, when Spencer came a-calling again and we all sat down to a slice of salted beef each, with boiled turnips on the side, and we all tried a finger of rum, which was foreign fire in the belly. The room was thick with turnip-steam and pipe fumes as Spencer gamely handled questions from Ma, such as where he was from and who were his folks, and the like.

‘Well over the Scottish border,’ he said. ‘Near a town in the Middle of England. My folks are in farming, but that’s not the life for me.’

Oh, it was all quite exotic, a man from the Middle of England taking an interest in me. I wanted to ask which town and see if I had noticed it on my map, but I felt embarrassed to ask anything like that in front of my family.

Little Paws miaowed at our feet and took a piece of beef from my fingers. Her tongue scratched and I suddenly wondered what Spencer’s tongue would feel like. He poured us all another taste of rum and, when he got to my cup, he glanced at me and bit his lip and I wondered if he’d had the same kind of thoughts, and when I drank that rum the fire in my belly surged.

‘We have never left Fisherrow,’ Ma said. ‘We can trace our line back years and years. All the fishergirls married fisherboys. That’s how it’s always been done, you see. It’s in the blood.’

Spencer nodded, understanding that Ma was not exactly warning him off, but letting him know that our entertaining him like this was unorthodox and she was doing him a favour; and mibbie if she let him do it again, she’d be doing him another favour. Ma collected favours like a beachcomber does treasures. I knew he wouldn’t care, though. He was quite taken with me. Why else would he have come all the way back?

Ma asked nothing about what was in those parcels and if Spencer would get me and him into trouble with it all.

Da said little but sat in quiet thought. He was not used to there being another man at the table. I liked the fact that Spencer made Da quiet. It made me feel safe. Da did not make his usual complaints that the turnips were stringy or the beef gristly. Mibbie he was wondering if this turn of events might be favourable and what Spencer’s connections were, but he didn’t ask.

Joan said precisely nothing. She chewed her beef and stared at her plate and would not laugh at Spencer’s jokes, and she left the table as soon as she could. I felt guilty. But it wasn’t my fault he liked me.

When it was time for him to go, I stood up and walked him to the door. When it was just the two of us – me on the doorstep, and Spencer on the street – he looked serious and reached for my hand.

‘It was important for me to get to know your folks, Maggie. I hope I did all right.’

‘Shall we see each other again soon?’ I could not help but blurt it out.

‘As soon as I am back,’ he promised. He squeezed my hand and leaned into me. Our bodies met. He kissed me, on the lips this time, and it was the most magical experience I’d ever had.

Joan went sourer still in the days that followed.

Spencer was off, but he had left something behind. Parcels, for there were always parcels, but this time he also left an atmosphere. Joan withdrew from me as much as she could, with us all living under the same roof. She became diligent, doing chores without being asked, and would take herself off for walks and to choir practice and come back looking miserable.

Ma and Da saw how Joan was behaving, for how could they not? Ma took me to one side as we washed the pots together one night.

‘It’s time you were married,’ she said in a low voice, for the other two were only a few feet away. ‘Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. But is there no local lad who’s ever caught your eye?’

I shook my head and felt my fingers wrinkle in the cold, greasy pot water. I had never had my head turned by a local lad. Not by one of the fishing boys at any rate.

‘Mibbie this Patrick Spencer might be a good bet for you, even if he’s not from around here. He seems to be doing well, with whatever his line of business is,’ Ma pondered.

‘Joan’s jealous,’ I said. ‘She should like to be married to a nice gent and never have to lift a finger again, and have maids all around her.’

‘Her turn will come,’ replied Ma. ‘She will have her pick of boys. Do not let her spoil this for you.’

That was one of the nicest things my ma had ever said to me.

I spent the time waiting for Spencer, growing more and more aware of how unfair things were at home. Da never raised his hand to me after that Sunday-lunch visit, and Ma ceased her threats of the workhouse at Eskmills. I think they were waiting too, to see if he would propose. But the air of their discontent hung over us. I suspect they would have been all too happy to give up their fishing life, despite their claims that it was all we knew. The only other life they knew was criminal, and they were feared to get more involved in that. Occasionally there’d be hushed talk of tax officers and port officers and sheriffs and jails between Ma and Da, and these tales drew Ma’s lips into a thin line for hours afterwards.

Spencer came straight to the house a couple of weeks later, as soon as he was back. November had slipped into December. It was late one evening when we were all dozing by the fire, but I knew Spencer’s rap at the door and rushed to see if it was him.

It was, stubbled and wind-beaten and grinning from ear to ear. I leapt into his arms. I couldn’t help it.

‘I told you I’d be back, he whispered into my ear. ‘I don’t need my parcel yet, but I needed to see you, Maggie.’ He smelled of the sea and his particular magical perfume scent. I breathed him in and pressed my lips to his neck. ‘Come and meet me tomorrow at the Mussel Inn.’

We drank coffee again in the upstairs parlour, thick and humming like a witch’s brew. He talked of Gothenburg and London again and I listened, agog. After the coffee he asked me to his room, on the pretext of showing me more of his perfumes.

‘My chamber’s only up one more flight of stairs.’ He tipped his head towards the door. ‘We could nip up, if you like. I’m not sharing with anyone this time. Got the room all to myself. And I want to ask you something in private.’

I was shocked. After the gentle kisses on the doorstep, this was another turn altogether.

‘If you want that kind of visit, there are lassies downstairs in the lushery who might join you for a few pennies,’ I retorted.

He laughed gently.

‘I knew you would refuse me,’ he said. ‘Truth be told, I am not interested in those types of girls.’ He wiped his hand across his chin, it was cleanly shaved, and I guessed he had likely visited the barber first thing, on my account. I wanted to touch it, to kiss him, but I dared not, for I knew that if I did I would want to go to his room. ‘In fact I was going to ask you a certain question,’ he went on. ‘See, I have something here that I should like you to have.’

With the flourish of a conjurer he produced, as if from nowhere, a golden ring set with twinkly gems that looked just like diamonds.

I gasped and took it and put it on my finger, and it fitted an absolute treat. Spencer watched, chuckling as I turned it in the light.

‘Are they real gems?’ I asked, for it did look a sparkler but I couldn’t imagine he could have afforded diamonds that size, not even with all the perfume he sold.

‘Real enough,’ he replied. ‘I got it for a song, as I was in a rush to put something on your finger. But that’s another story for another day. When we are in London I shall take you to a jeweller and get you a proper ring with a real diamond – how does that sound?’

It sounded marvellous.

‘So we are engaged to be married now, Maggie Dickson. Let’s set up home here in town for a while, then get ourselves off to London when I’ve saved us enough money. What do you say? I’ll need a base here in Musselburgh for another year or so, whilst I establish myself, and it’s the best location for my line of work. One day I’ll have trusted men in my employ, who can do all the hard work. We’ll set up a perfume shop of our own in London, and you can serve the ladies and I can serve the gents. Does that suit you?’

It didn’t just suit me, it was the most thrilling thing ever. It was an unexpected turn. It was a rush of love. It was my ticket out of town. How many times had I dreamed of London; pored over my map and imagined being a London girl? Well, now I could be.

I went home to announce my engagement, my head a-whirr with coffee and promises.