Chapter 2
Next morning, the beach hidden by high tide, the girls were very keen to take the ferry across the inlet. As Belinda pointed out, “We can go for a walk on the other side, Mummy, and tomorrow the water may be rough, and then it wouldn’t be much fun.”
“My ayah says I was seasick all the way from India, when we came to England,” Deva said anxiously.
Daisy had crossed the Atlantic midst October storms with nary a qualm, but remembering Alec’s misery she didn’t want to subject Deva to even a few minutes on rough seas.
They walked along the track to the village’s quay and out onto the stone jetty where the ferry docked.
It was just coming in, rowed by two stout fellows in blue jackets.
The disembarking passengers had to climb a couple of narrow, slimy steps up the side of the jetty, with a rusty chain to hold onto on one side and nothing on the other.
“Careful,” Daisy warned as their turn came to embark and the girls dashed forward. “Hang onto that chain. We don’t want any ricked ankles.”
“It’s dirty,” Deva objected.
“It’s only rust,” said Belinda. “It’ll wash off. You didn’t mind getting all covered with sand yesterday.”
They all reached the boat safely. The girls went to kneel in the
bows and leant over to dangle their hands in the water. Daisy paid the fares and sat down where she could grab an ankle if they leant too far, but a few minutes later they disembarked without incident on the floating dock at the far side.
When they returned to the landing-stage after a long ramble through woods and farmland, the tide had fallen considerably, leaving an expanse of sandy mud on either side of the inlet.
They had just missed the ferry. The noontide sun shone down fiercely.
The girls were hot and tired and hungry, and inclined to be squabblesome.
Daisy sent them to opposite ends of the small beach to hunt for shells and pretty stones, resolving to fill her pockets with chocolate bars before they next went on a long walk.
Hot, tired and hungry herself, she sat down on a rough wooden bench to wait for the ferry’s return.
A man came down the hill, a hiker on a walking tour to judge by his knapsack, Norfolk jacket, ex-Army khaki trousers, sturdy boots and stout staff.
He sat on a rock and filled a pipe. The smoke drifted over to Daisy’s nostrils, reminding her of Alec and making her wish he could join them before next Saturday.
Next to arrive was a farm cart pulled by a pair of draught-horses with shaggy fetlocks.
The elderly driver and the boy with him started to unload heavy, knobbly sacks and pile them near the landing-stage.
Daisy watched with dismay, hoping the sacks were not to cross on the ferry alongside—or under—the passengers.
A middle-aged woman carrying a large basket had descended the hill behind the cart.
Her brown linen frock, polka-dotted with yellow, had long sleeves and white cuffs and collar.
It reached nearly to her ankles to reveal a scant four inches of thick lisle stockings and brown laced shoes.
Daisy thought she must be dying of heat, but the face beneath the outdated flat-crowned, broad-brimmed hat looked more indignant than exhausted.
She stopped by the old man and snapped, “I hope you’re not intending to send those potatoes over in the ferry along wi’ fare-paying passengers, John Ashton!”
“Nay, Mrs. Hammett,” he said in a placatory tone, taking off his floppy felt hat and wiping his forehead. “The lad’s going over to hire a boat to fetch the taters.”
“I should hope so!”
Mrs. Hammett set her basket carefully on the ground and plunked herself on the far end of the bench just as Belinda ran up to Daisy. “Mummy, may I go and talk to the horses? Aren’t they beautiful? Will you look after my shells? Be careful, one has a hermit crab in it.”
Daisy eyed the shells nervously. She didn’t like to display her ignorance.
She had never been to the seaside before, having spent the summers of her childhood on her father’s estate in Worcestershire.
What was a hermit crab and did it bite? At least it must be quite small if it could hide among the shells.
She did know horses, however, and had been bitten once by a skittish gelding. “Ask the man if it’s all right to talk to them. They look quite placid but you never can tell. And if he says yes, keep well away from their hooves. You’d be sorry if one of those accidentally stamped on your foot.”
Mrs. Hammett looked on with a disapproving frown as Bel went over to speak to the farm labourer and then reached up to stroke the horses’ noses.
Daisy guessed she objected to girls wearing shorts, as did both her own mother and Alec’s.
Even Deva’s mother, Sakari Prasad, had been doubtful when Daisy had suggested buying a couple of pairs for Deva for the holiday.
But they were so practical and comfortable for the country, Daisy wished she were brave enough to wear them herself.
Or maybe the woman didn’t like sharing the bench with a hermit crab, in which case Daisy could sympathize.
Deva came over with her hankie full of shells and stood in front of Daisy showing her little yellow snails and bits of mother-of-pearl. From the corner of her eye, Daisy saw that Mrs. Hammett had turned her frown on the Indian girl. Shorts again? Her dark skin?
Disapproval of the latter was all too common, but fortunately Deva didn’t seem to notice.
“Are those Belinda’s shells, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes. She said she found a hermit crab.”
Deva had been about to sit down but she changed her mind in a hurry. “Ugh! Is it alive?”
“I think so. Go and ask her.”
“Those horses are awfully big.”
“You needn’t go near them. Fetch her, will you, please. Here comes the ferry.”
Belinda scurried back to collect up her shells, and they boarded the ferry. Mrs. Hammett followed. Her basket appeared to be filled with hay but was obviously heavy. She handed it to the boatman before stepping down, and he set it down on the bilge planks with a thump, turning to give her a hand.
“Dolt!” she cried. “Don’t you know a basket of eggs when you see one, Bill Watson? Haven’t I been bringing a basket o’ my brother’s eggs across this ferry once a week for more years ’an I care to count? If any’s cracked I’ll want payment!”
“Nay, then, Mrs. Hammett, been’t they well packed as allus?” Bill Watson’s appeasing tone was just like John Ashton’s.
She picked up the basket, placed it carefully on the seat, and sat beside it with a steadying hand on the rim. The hiker and the farm lad took places as far from her as possible. Several more people arrived just in time to catch the ferry, and then the rowers pushed off.
“Look, Mummy.” On her outstretched palm Bel displayed a curlicued shell. “Watch. It’ll come out in a minute.”
“It’s not likely to bite you, is it, darling?”
“Oh no, it’ll just tickle when it walks. Granny would never let me have one but I’ve seen boys holding them. Watch!”
Deva peered around Daisy, on whose other side she had prudently placed herself. The hiker leant forward. Even Mrs. Hammett was looking, though she tried to pretend she wasn’t.
Two minute claws poked out. Belinda twitched involuntarily and they pulled back, but a moment later they reappeared, followed by a pair of antennae that tested the air.
Eyestalks came next, with black dots on the end for eyes.
Daisy thought the poor thing looked rather alarmed, but it put out two legs on each side and started to scuttle across Bel’s hand, dragging the shell behind it.
Again Bel twitched, and the tiny creature disappeared into its refuge.
“One of the Paguridae,” said the hiker knowledgeably. “It won’t live long away from the water, you know.”
“Oh, I don’t want it to die. Should I throw it in?”
“Well, it would prefer a rock pool, or even the beach.”
“We’ll take it to the rocks by the beach, won’t we, Deva?”
“As long as I don’t have to touch it,” said Deva.
The young man grinned at Daisy, who smiled back. “Thanks for the warning,” she said.
“I remember all too well my sister weeping for an hour over a dead hermit crab.”
Mrs. Hammett stared at Daisy and muttered all too audibly, “Talking to strange men—I don’t know what the world’s coming to!”
The rest of the short trip was accomplished in uncomfortable silence.
The ebbing tide had exposed a whole flight of the slimy, seaweedy steps.
Mrs. Hammett was the first to disembark.
Standing on the lowest step, she half turned and reached back to take the basket of eggs from the boatman.
One foot slipped slightly. In her effort to keep her balance, she missed the basket handle just as the boatman let go.
Only Daisy’s quick reaction saved the eggs.
With a wink, the boatman took the basket from Daisy and handed it back to Mrs. Hammett. Red-faced, her lips tight, she continued up the steps.
Belinda and Deva were equally red-faced, from suppressed giggles. The hiker’s grin was broader than ever. “Go ahead,” he said to Daisy. “I’ll come behind and see that your girls don’t fall.”
At the top, Daisy found Mrs. Hammett waiting for her. “Thank you for saving my eggs,” she said ungraciously. “They ought to keep those steps scrubbed. It’s a disgrace. I shall complain.”
“They are rather slippery. I’m glad you didn’t fall.” If only because you would have fallen on me, Daisy added to herself.
“A death-trap. Are you staying in the town?”
“Yes, we’re on holiday.”
Belinda came up the steps, followed by Deva. Seeing Daisy occupied, they moved aside to wait, whispering.
“I thought they didn’t allow girls that age to be servants these days,” said Mrs. Hammett, “but I suppose her being a native—”
“Deva is my daughter’s school friend,” Daisy said sharply. “Her father is an important official at India House.”