Sea Gem (2 page)

She might have drifted along in this state of quiet limbo indefinitely when suddenly Duret’s troop was given a short embarkation leave. They were to sail to France within a week.

‘Marry me,’ he pleaded one evening, holding her hands in the frosty air, looking down at her with pleading eyes, eloquent and soul searching.

‘I can’t!’ Mary gasped.

‘Why not? Don’t you care for me at all?’

‘Oh Duret! It’s not like that! I do like you. I like you very much but I don’t want to tie myself down to anyone yet. I don’t feel as I have lived,’ had been her
soft cry of protest.

His hands had held hers while his lips clamped down, suddenly surprisingly possessive and not wholly unwelcome. Her instinct had been to struggle, when she realised how fit and strong he
was.

‘I love you,’ he had whispered urgently. ‘I can make you feel the same for me too. Please, Mary?’

‘No, Duret!’

She had twisted free, backed a step and stood with one hand to her mouth when a thought crossed her mind. England offered her nothing. Guernsey could not be worse and, with luck, it might even
be better. There might be potential for her there, though what this could be she had no idea. Once on Duret’s precious island might not a whole new world open for her?

‘I’ll go to Guernsey, if you like,’ she extemporised, then waited with a thumping heart, aghast at what she had thought and said.

Duret considered, his head tilted a little to one side. ‘You could stay with my grandmother,’ he stated slowly. ‘The house is big enough and when I do come home
finally—’ he had let the sentence hang questioningly in the air. ‘I want you for my wife. I’ve never met anyone like you,’ he had murmured, one hand stroking her pink
cheek.

This had made Mary give a nervous gulp. With awesome clarity she thought of past casualty lists. Were all soldiers incapable of considering they too might die? What if she did go to the island
and Duret never returned? Her blood chilled and she could not meet his eyes.

‘I’ll write to grandmother,’ Duret had continued with a brisk rush as if the matter were decided. ‘I’ll pay your fare. I’ve plenty of money. I’ve spent
nothing much here and it will be wonderful for me to know you are on my island waiting for me.’

Mary blushed. ‘Duret,’ she began slowly, ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch. You might come back from the war thinking differently. I might not like your
island. Your grandmother might detest me.’

‘Never!’ he had vowed firmly and, grabbing her quickly, had kissed her with a demand that made her cheeks flare scarlet. ‘At least, wear my ring.’

‘No, Duret!’ she had repeated, feeling he was going much too quickly. She had to be honest with him. ‘I like you, Duret, but I don’t love you.’

He was not at all deflated. ‘That will come,’ he replied confidently.

Mary had bitten her lip and thought rapidly. A ring was a token but only that and also, her practical mind pointed out, it could provide the necessary excuse to leave her job even though she was
still a minor at law. She took a deep breath. ‘All right then. I’ll wear your ring but let’s just try and be good friends with no firm commitment on either side,’ she had
begged as a sudden flash of panic removed all thrill. What if she hated his island?

He went two days later and she begged time off to watch the embarkation, her fingers touching the unaccustomed ring of one diamond which Duret had slid on her left hand. It was only when the
troopship had receded to a slim, dark blur that she understood what she had done. Duret did indeed love her with a quiet intensity that, suddenly, appalled her. He would write from the trenches and
no doubt weave beautiful dreams of their future life together. He had certainly given her the escape she wanted but at what cost?

Mrs Bateson had talked to her long and seriously, as had the mistress. Even Henson had been sufficiently concerned to point out the unknown hazards in a strange place among foreigners.

‘But they are British like us,’ Mary had cried, suddenly finding it necessary to defend these unknown islanders. ‘They’re no more foreign than—Yorkshire
people.’

For a week they tried to make her see sense but the deep, obdurate vein in her character had stood unflinchingly against them. Go she would. What happened afterwards was in the lap of the
gods.

Events had moved with an astonishing speed. Duret had given instructions, paid her passage and written to his awesome grandmother until, quite suddenly, Mary had found herself sailing on the
packet for St Peter Port.

* * *

Mary turned and walked slowly towards the bows, then gasped. While she had been daydreaming, the town had appeared, its houses climbing high, the whole place not at all what she
had expected. By craning her neck, she could see great activity on the quayside in preparation for the packet’s docking. Many heads bobbed around and there were carts everywhere.

Mary felt a cold, little finger touch her heart. Duret’s grandmother would be there to meet her and this initial meeting was crucial to their future relationship. What if she resented this
English girl foisted upon her?

She watched the docking process critically. It had not occurred to her this little capital would be such a bustling place. She stood to one side to allow other passengers to disembark first
while she looked down nervously. She was suddenly aware she cut a poor figure. Her dark blue skirt hovered just above black ankle boots. It was the best she had and, she had thought, most
attractive and suitable for this first, important meeting. One look around at other passengers had shown her the drab poverty of her clothing. Even her little blue coat was thin and totally
unsuitable for the brisk wind that knifed across the harbour. She pulled her black shawl more tightly around her shoulders and gripped a small canvas bag. In it were her worldly possessions and, in
a side pocket, her purse which contained the sum of three pounds and ten shillings. All saved painfully over the years.

Finally, she knew she could not put off the evil moment any longer. She walked carefully down the gangplank, moved aside a few paces and halted uncertainly; the only girl among a milling crowd
of men moving in organised chaos to unload the packet’s goods before taking aboard island produce for shipment to England.

‘You girl!’ a voice said sharply, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Are you the English girl, Mary Hinton?’

Mary spun on her heel and looked at the older woman who stood a few paces to her left. Brown eyes regarded her steadily from an impassive face.

‘Yes, mum,’ Mary managed to get out as her heart sank. In a clairvoyant flash she knew she faced implacable hostility from a forceful character. The old woman stood with back ramrod
straight, head up, eyes narrowed, dressed in a dark, almost funereal long skirt and coat.

The brown eyes, so like those of Duret, swept her from shawl to boots and Mary felt herself flush with embarrassment but she held the other’s gaze. Mary was well versed in the art of
holding eye contact. When young she had been so bullied and browbeaten she had vowed the day would come when she lowered her eyes to no one. She had quickly learned that those who stand up for
themselves are the ones whom others respect.

Louise Noyen did not miss this. She was well aware that her strong personality was more than capable of dominating even the most recalcitrant of females but this one’s head was held high.
Duret had given few details which was typical of him. He had always been a dreamer, expecting everyone to understand even when they lacked his information. The old woman noted a firm jaw, perhaps
just a little too square, unblinking, deep blue eyes and realised this Mary Hinton was no simpering faint-heart.

Louise had instantly leaped to the wrong conclusion after Duret’s letter but one snap glance at the girl’s abdomen hopefully put that problem to rest. This girl’s stance and
stare did not equate with what she knew about orphanage products. Had Duret seen in this chit something she had yet to discover? It was an interesting question and she let herself relax a fraction.
She would have the girl to herself for quite a time before Duret came home to play the lovesick swain.

‘I am Duret’s grandmère,’ she announced stiffly. ‘You will live with me until Duret comes home. I have my trap over there,’ she pointed. ‘There is a
tram but it’s always full when the steamer docks. If that bag is all your luggage, follow me, girl.’

Mary was taken aback when the old woman spun on her heel and strode off with the energy of someone in her thirties. She clutched her bag tightly and broke into a trot to keep up as the straight
back ploughed ahead like a ship under full steam. The old woman made no allowances for others around and men hastily scattered aside as she marched forward, only stopping at a trap drawn by a bay
cob whose head was tied to a lamp standard in a businesslike manner.

Louise Noyen stepped into the trap, which rocked. ‘Place your bag behind and untie the cob’s head, girl!’ she ordered briskly. ‘Well, come on! I don’t have all day
to waste.’

Mary swiftly untied the cob, then scrambled up to sit beside the old woman as she drove off. Already the evening was almost upon them and it was bitterly cold. The wind blasted from the open sea
and she shivered as much from its chill as rising apprehension and nerves.

‘The tram runs to St Sampson but I don’t live there now. I moved over to the west of the island. Did Duret tell you?’

‘No, mum!’ Mary replied, flashing a look at the wrinkled, proud face set in a stiff mask.

The old woman sniffed to herself. It was possible Duret had even forgotten himself. She had disapproved when he joined the Militia until the thought occurred to her that perhaps military life
and training might liven her grandson up a bit. Much as she loved him, there were times when he exasperated her almost beyond endurance. She had been casting around for a suitable local girl with
strength enough to push some backbone into Duret and this quiet girl at her side seemed, initially, more than capable. But who was she and from where did she come? That stiff jaw and unblinking
eyes were signals only a fool ignored, so who had made the running? She or Duret? Did this chit of a girl think coming to the island was some kind of escape route or that the family had wealth? Her
lips tightened into a narrow band.

She eased the cob back into a walk and turned left up the steep hill by the Candy Gardens while her mind worked briskly.

‘Duret never told me your age,’ she said in a more gentle tone.

Mary paused only a moment. She was shrewd enough to feel the natural antagonism from her companion but also sensitive enough to understand the other’s suspicion.

‘I’m eighteen. I don’t know my exact birth date though the orphanage thought it was somewhere around the end of February.’

‘I see,’ Louise murmured thoughtfully. A little younger than Duret. ‘You know nothing about your parentage?’

‘Only a little,’ Mary replied quietly. An intuitive stab warned her that matters of breeding were important to such a matriarch. ‘My mother was in service in the big house and
my father was the youngest son. It was the old story. My mother was dismissed when she started to show while my father was sent on a tour of Europe. He died in a boating accident. My mother never
recovered from my birth, so I’ve been told, and that’s how I was reared by charity as an orphan.’

‘So you went into service?’ Louise prodded.

Mary flashed her a look. ‘I did after a while. I taught the young girls first, then I insisted upon breaking free. Actually, it wasn’t too bad in service after the first two months
but—’

‘But what?’

‘I want to make something of my life, mum. At least the orphanage gave me a good education and in my last place, the butler always let me read the papers when upstairs and himself had
finished with them. He and Cook even clubbed together to buy me a dictionary.’

Louise was surprised at what she heard and frowned uneasily. Surely there was something odd here? From what Mary had said, she was almost too good for Duret. Louise was under no illusions that
Duret’s soft, almost gentle nature, would never have prodded
him
into such action. Her grandson’s sole act of independence had been to join the Guernsey Militia behind her back
and that had probably been done more for devilment than anything else.

Mary didn’t miss her tight lips and bleak expression. The old woman was displaying the same hostility as she had shown on the quayside.

‘Why don’t you like me?’ Mary blurted out suddenly. How awful it would be to live in a house with this hostile matriarch breathing down her neck. Better to have it all out now
before they drove too far from town.

Louise pulled on the reins and the cob was quite happy to stop, bend his head and start to graze on the lane’s verge.

‘And what,’ the old woman started, ‘is that supposed to mean?’

Mary took a deep breath and faced her squarely. ‘Well, you don’t, do you?’ she challenged. ‘I felt it as soon as we met. I don’t have to live with you if I
don’t want to.’

‘So where do you think you would go?’ Louise asked tartly, head tilted to one side.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Mary said slowly, then her jaw stiffened, ‘But I’d find somewhere. I’ll not live where I’m not wanted.’

‘Hoity-toity, miss!’

‘Practical more like!’ Mary retorted sharply. She knew she was being extremely rude to an older person but, suddenly, she no longer cared.

Louise was as much amused as annoyed. It was a long time since anyone had dared to stand up to her like this. Her eyebrows arched imperiously then her lips twitched as she took in the
girl’s pugnacious stance. She felt sudden sympathy for what the orphanage must have had to contend with in the past. At the same time, respect lifted its head an inch.

‘Well, girl,’ she said slowly, ‘you’ve spirit! I’ll hand you that but then I suppose life has taught you to stand up for yourself?’

This made Mary hesitate uncertainly as she eyed Louise dubiously. A brilliantly cutting remark died behind her lips as she saw the twinkle in the brown eyes. How like Duret’s they were.
She felt tension dissolve in a sharp rush as she smiled back wanly.