Free The Fisher Lass by Margaret Dickinson Page B

let’s,’ Grace agreed.
    And enjoy themselves they did. They had dinner in a fancy restaurant and George took them round the shops and insisted on buying each one of them a new winter coat.
    ‘Och no,’ Jeannie resisted. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
    ‘Go on, hen.’ Nell nudged her and winked. ‘Our Tom’ll be home soon and I know he wants to take you out. You’d look lovely in that dark green coat with your pretty
hair.’
    Jeannie felt a lump come into her throat.
    Spending lavishly after a good trip, George Lawrence reminded Jeannie even more of her father. Thinking of him, she felt the familiar ache in her chest. The only difference was when he spoke,
for George’s Lincolnshire dialect was nothing like the brogue of Angus Buchanan. But for today, she could imagine she had her father back with her, so she lifted her chin, smiled and thanked
the big, generous man.
    ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Flora said. ‘There he is.’
    ‘Who?’ Jeannie looked up, her gutting knife still for a few seconds.
    ‘Francis Hayes-Gorton.’ Mary nudged her from behind. ‘Look, over there. Oh, but he’s handsome. Just look at his fine clothes.’
    Jeannie’s eyes narrowed as she studied the man. He was, as Flora had predicted, strolling about on the edge of the area where the girls worked, idly swinging his cane, his thumb hooked
into the pocket of his waistcoat.
    ‘I wouldna trust that one,’ Flora put in. ‘Now, if you’d told me that he was the one who had attacked Grace Lawrence, I’d have believed it.’ She shook her
head. ‘But, you know, I still canna believe it was the other one. Robert.’
    ‘He was there.’ Jeannie nodded her head towards Francis.
    ‘Was he trying to stop what was going on then?’ Flora probed.
    ‘Well . . .’ Jeannie hesitated. ‘I think it was him who was the ringleader but, to be truthful, I dinna ken. I just waded in. I didna wait to see who was doing what
exactly.’ She grinned ruefully. ‘Me and my temper.’
    ‘There,’ Flora said triumphantly. ‘I didna think it would be Mr Robert. I’ve always thought he was rather nice. Though I’m not,’ she added sharply and, with
her knife, indicated the girl behind them, ‘as smitten as Mary.’
    Jeannie was thoughtful for a moment before she said, slowly, ‘There was one of them who tried to be, well, helpful.’ She gave a sniff of derision. ‘But only afterwards, when
I’d broken it up.’
    ‘Who was that?’
    ‘I’m not sure.’ She paused again, dredging back through the fleeting images and voices of that night. Then she asked, ‘Is there another brother?’
    ‘Yes, we told you. Edwin. He’s the youngest.’
    Jeannie nodded. ‘I think it was him, then.’
    ‘I still dinna think it was their fault. Not any of ’em.’ Mary was still determined to defend all the brothers. ‘She led ’em on, if you ask me.’
    Jeannie half-turned and opened her mouth to make a sharp retort in Grace’s defence when her attention was caught once more by Francis Hayes-Gorton. He was standing by the corner of a
building, talking to a girl. His head was tilted to one side and he was looking down at her, a sideways, slightly sardonic smile on his thin mouth. Then he reached out and touched the girl’s
cheek with his fingers.
    Jeannie drew breath sharply and then clamped her mouth together to stop the words she had been about to utter.
    ‘There,’ came Mary’s triumphant voice from behind her. ‘What did I tell you? See that?’
    The girl, looking up into Francis’s face and blushing prettily, was Grace Lawrence.
    When the work was finished for the day, Jeannie went in search of Grace. As she moved amongst the throng of girls making their weary way home, she felt a touch on her arm and
turned to look down upon Billy McBride.
    ‘A word with you, lassie.’ His face was serious and for one moment Jeannie’s heart leapt in her breast. He had news. News of her father.
    ‘Jeannie, I’m sorry, but there’s not enough work