The House at Mermaid's Cove(48)
Chapter 14
When we got back to Cornwall, I slept for nearly twenty-four hours. I had no idea what time it was when I woke up—I must have knocked the little alarm clock onto the floor when I fell, exhausted, into bed. I jumped up, my heart pounding, unable to work out where I was. The boathouse was pitch dark. The only clue that I was on dry land, not in the belly of La Coquille or the motor launch, was the lack of movement. Not fully conscious, I stumbled out of bed and felt my way along the wall. I knocked over a row of fishing rods, which clattered like dominoes to the floor. “Mary, Mother of God,” I muttered. “Just tell me where I am!”
My hand found the doorknob, and below it the large metal key. When I opened the door, I saw that the sky was gray with clouds and the tide was a long way out. I couldn’t work out what time of day it was. I gazed at the shoreline, where the crisscrossed poles of the sea defense lay exposed like the skeleton of a monstrous fish. It added to the air of unreality, to the dreamlike memories that swam into my head as I stood, motionless, in the doorway. Had I really been to France? Had I imagined those men and that desperate escape in the dinghy? I ran my fingers up and down my arms. The ache in my shoulders from pulling on the oars told me that I hadn’t dreamed it.
A glimmer of orange sunlight touched the western edge of the estuary, dying away as the clouds scudded across the sky. Afternoon, then, not morning. As I watched the seabirds digging their bills into the wet sand on the tide line, my stomach grumbled for food. The tame robin that always appeared when I opened the door came hopping along the sand, eyeing me expectantly. I couldn’t remember what, if anything, there was to eat. I opened the shutters, then went back inside to see what I could find.
Minutes later I heard someone knocking. I expected it to be Jack, out for his customary walk with Brock. But it was Merle.
“He’s gone to London,” she said, as I put the kettle on to boil. “He would have been taking the men you picked up, but that’ll have to wait until they’re well enough to travel.” She sat down on one of the apple boxes. “He’ll have to report back on what happened, though. It’ll help the SOE to plan your next mission.”
I nodded. In the euphoria of getting back to my little sanctuary alive, I’d forgotten that I’d be going to France again when the moon had waxed and waned.
She asked me what it had been like, rowing a boatload of wounded men out to sea.
“If I’d known about it in advance, I don’t think I could have done it,” I said. “But there wasn’t time to think. That was a blessing, really.”
“Well, you were incredibly plucky.” She took an envelope from her jacket pocket. “This is for you.”
I stared at the name—Ariel—in bold black type. “What is it?”
“Your wages,” she replied. “They don’t expect you to do this kind of work for nothing.” She smiled as I tore open the flap. “I thought we might go shopping in Falmouth together when the children are back at school. There’s not much to spend your money on—but we might be able to buy some dress fabric. There’s a sewing machine up at the house.”
I emptied the contents of the envelope into my hand. It felt so strange to have money. I turned the coins over. They had the image of King George on one side and pictures of a ship, a bird, and a flower on the other. The notes were the same color as my skirt: mauve with a thread of silver running through them. The idea of going into a shop, of choosing cloth to make into a dress, was intoxicating. But the thought of it set off a tidal wave of guilt.
“What’s the matter?” Merle asked. “You don’t look very pleased.”
How could I explain the feeling? It would be difficult for anyone outside the religious life to comprehend—that adjusting to life in the material world was something like shaking off an addiction. “I’m just trying to get used to the idea of having money of my own,” I said. “I’m a bit afraid of it, to be honest.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry—I’ll be there to make sure you don’t blow it all in one go! Shall we go on Friday?”
Before I could answer, Ned and Louis burst through the door. Merle had sent them to play on the beach while she came in to see me. Ned was covered in sand. Even his hair had sand in it.
“Oh, Ned!” Merle stood up. “What on earth have you been doing?”
“I be dead.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, blinking as more sand fell from his eyebrows. “Louis says.”
“Louis! Did you bury him? Is that why he’s in such a mess?”
Louis hung his head. “He was being naughty, Mum. He said he didn’t want to live with us anymore—he wants to live here with Miss Alice.”
Merle’s eyes went to the ceiling. “He does, does he? And I suppose he came out with that all on his own—nothing to do with you teasing him?”
“It was his fault,” Louis muttered. “He threw a dead crab at me. I threw it back, and he started to cry, the big baby. Look—he’s crying again: because he knows it’s true!”
Merle cast an exasperated look at me. “What a pair! What would you do with them?”
“Let me clean Ned up,” I said. “He can stay here for his tea, too, if that’ll help. I can bring him back later, when they’ve both had a chance to cool down.”