‘You’ll get used to it,’ Isla told her with a grin as she saw the look on Amber’s face and Amber managed a weak smile in return. The cooper had already told her off for not getting the right size fish in the right barrels and she was nowhere near as fast as Isla and Bridget, who were gutting at least twice as many fish as she was. ‘An’ you’ll get faster,’ the girl said encouragingly, but Amber doubted she would ever be as quick as they were. Already her hands were blistered and covered in small cuts from the knife and she wasn’t sure she would ever want to eat fish again for as long as she lived. She was still sore down below and her breasts were heavy and swollen with milk, which didn’t help her mood.
By the time the girls stopped to eat lunch, Amber felt ready to drop but she was determined to carry on and sat quietly nibbling the hunk of bread and cheese she had hastily wrapped before leaving home. The trouble was, even that stank of raw fish now and after a while she laid it aside as her stomach revolted.
Things got worse in the afternoon when the wind picked up and it started to rain, and soon she was drenched to the skin, cold and shivering. And yet the Scottish girls continued to laugh and joke as they worked on and Amber could only admire them. They certainly were a hardy lot. By four o’clock in the afternoon the brightness had gone from the day but still they worked on, determined to finish their task. At last, all the fish were gutted and packed and the girls began to disperse to their lodgings to prepare for the next day.
‘Be here fer seven in the mornin’,’ Bridget told her with a cheery smile.
Too tired to even reply, Amber nodded and turned towards home, so weary she could barely put one foot in front of the other.
‘Good heavens above, look at the state o’ you, lass,’ Alice cried when Amber stumbled through the doorway. Her two older brothers and her father were still at sea and expected home the next day and the younger two were away working on the railways now, so once again it would be just her and her mother that evening. Amber had been pleased when her mother had written to her a couple of months before to tell her that Will and Ted were leaving the shipyard. At least that was two of her family who would no longer be reliant on Barnaby Greenwood for an income!
Amber collapsed into the chair at the side of the fire and as her clothes began to steam, the rank smell of fish became overpowering.
‘Phew, you’d best get out into the yard an’ take them off,’ her mother ordered, wrinkling her nose. ‘Then we’ll get you into somethin’ dry afore you catch your death o’ cold.’
Amber did as she was told and after washing in a bucket of warm water her mother had ready for her, she sat at the side of the fire wrapped in a blanket, shivering as she started to peel the rags from her hands. A lot of skin came off with them and her mother was horrified as she stared at the raw, bleeding flesh.
‘Aw, me poor lass.’ She shook her head as she bustled away to fetch more warm water to bathe them.
‘Isla, that’s one of the girls I’m working with, said it would help if I soaked ’em in the urine in me chamber pot,’ Amber said weakly, although the thought of doing anything so disgusting didn’t appeal to her at all. ‘It hardens ’em up, apparently. They’ve gone soft cos I ain’t been workin’ fer awhile.’
‘Well, I don’t think you should go back tomorrow,’ her mother muttered as she gently bathed her hands.
‘They’ll be gone within a couple o’ weeks. Anyway, there ain’t so many herrin’s bein’ caught now so the girls will be movin’ on. I might as well try an’ stick it out for that long at least.’
‘An’ then what do you intend to do?’ Her mother raised an eyebrow. ‘I hope you ain’t thinkin’ o’ goin’ with ’em?’
‘I ain’t decided yet.’ Amber snuggled further down into the blanket and by the time her mother had tipped away the dirty water she had already fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Amber had been working with the herring girls for almost a week. It was a cold, drizzly late September day with a biting wind blowing in off the sea. Despite all her mother’s pleas to end the job, Amber had struggled on, although that morning, she had been secretly relieved to hear that the girls would be moving on the following week. Both Isla and Bridget had asked her to move on with them but as much as she had enjoyed their company she wasn’t so sure this was a life she would want to live for very long.
Every night when she got back to the cottage in Argument’s Yard, she would find her top drenched in milk and she was still bleeding heavily, but at least while she was busy, she didn’t have time to think of the child she had given away. And she flatly refused to talk to her mother about it. It was only at night when she lay in bed listening to the wind in the rafters of the cottage that she allowed her tears to fall. Her biggest regret now was not allowing herself to see the baby, and she constantly wondered what she looked like. Did she favour Barnaby Greenwood with his blue eyes and fair hair, or did she look like herself with strawberry-blonde hair and tawny eyes? She would never know now but deep down the sensible side of her told her that it was perhaps for the best.
She was just dropping a fish into a barrel when she became aware of horse’s hooves on the cobbles of the harbour and when she looked up what little colour she had in her pale cheeks drained away and she quickly looked down again. It was Barnaby Greenwood. He was the owner of the fishing trawler that had come in that morning so he was no doubt there to ensure that all was well. She just prayed that he wouldn’t spot her.
Her prayers went unanswered, however, when a short time later she became aware of someone standing close by, and glancing down and to the side she saw a fine pair of soft leather riding boots. With a sigh she slowly looked up and met Barnaby’s eyes.
‘Amber?.?.?. Miss Ainsley, I thought it was you,’ he said, obviously feeling very awkward. ‘What are you doing here?’
She was aware that Isla and Bridget were listening intently and felt herself flush.
‘What does it look like? I’m gibbing the fish,’ she answered shortly. He was no longer her employer so she saw no reason why she should speak to him respectfully.
‘I see.’ He looked guilty as he gently smacked his riding crop against the side of his leg. Amber looked terribly ill. She had lost weight and her eyes, which had dark smudges beneath them, seemed to have sunk into her face. As for her poor hands, they were a mass of blisters and cuts, and he couldn’t help but feel that this was all his fault. ‘But you do know that your job is still open at Greenacres?’ His voice was kindly, almost imploring, but it cut no ice with her. This was the man who had ruined her life as far as she was concerned.
‘I’ve no wish to come back to Greenacres,’ she answered coldly, her eyes flashing as she met his gaze. She desperately wanted to ask him how her baby was and if she had settled with the family he had found for her? But of course, she couldn’t.
‘But you do know that the herring girls will be moving on next week?’ he went on persistently. ‘I trust you are not thinking of going with them?’
She wondered why he should care? After all, he hadn’t cared when he had turned his back on her.
‘I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet.’ She slit another fish open and deftly threw the intestines into the offal bin.
‘Well?.?.?. if you should decide you wish to come back do come and see me.’ He bowed then, as if he was speaking to someone of his own class, and turning about, he strode back to his horse.
Isla and Bridget started to titter. ‘So who were that then, lass?’ Isla asked enviously. ‘Weren’t that the owner o’ the trawler?’
