The Sea Shell Girl (7 page)

The formidable Miss Brown sniffed as she took in Merry's hatless head.

‘Name?' she asked.

‘Miss Dyer,' Merry answered, trying not to grin as the woman slowly ran her finger down a column in the diary. She stared at the shelves groaning under the weight of
ganseys, most in the navy blue but some in fawn, and wondered again where they were all destined.

‘I said Mr Fairbright is waiting.' Merry stared at the woman. If the agent was waiting for her what had all that performance of checking the diary been about? ‘Follow me,' the woman instructed, walking over and knocking on the office door. ‘Miss Dyer, sir,' she announced.

‘Come in, my dear,' Mr Fairbright said, smiling as he got to his feet.

‘I do hope I haven't kept you waiting,' Merry began.

‘Not in the least,' he said, taking out his pocket watch. ‘Right on time. I do like punctuality,' he smiled. ‘Tidy mind and all that. Some refreshment, if you please, Miss Brown. With two decent-sized pieces of your excellent pound cake,' he added as the woman wrinkled her nose.

‘I don't wish to hold you up, sir,' Merry began, although her stomach was growling. It had been a long morning and Nicco hadn't stopped for a picnic this time, no doubt thinking she'd then be starving come supper time.

‘Actually, I wish to discuss an aspect of your work,' Mr Fairbright said, unwrapping her parcel. Carefully he spread her frocks over his desk. ‘Oh, no,' he groaned, frowning over his glasses.

‘Is there something wrong?' she whispered, staring down at the knits her mother had inspected before she packed them.

‘I see there are only eleven here and I commissioned you to bring me twelve. I've already promised them to an important customer as well,' Mr Fairbright frowned.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Fairbright. I was about to explain that my grandmother has been ill and although we worked long nights trying to make up her quota, we didn't quite make it.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that. She is quite recovered?'

‘Yes, thank you,' Merry answered, beginning to worry, for the man was still frowning. ‘But there's nothing wrong with our actual knitting?'

‘On the contrary, it's the quantity that might pose a problem. Oh well, it can't be helped. I do need your assurance this won't happen again or …' He shrugged and left the sentence hanging in the air.

Merry nodded. ‘I promise you will have the full quota next time.'

‘Good. As I suspected, your shell design has proved particularly popular. However …' he was interrupted by Miss Brown arriving with their refreshment.

‘Just leave the tray there, please,' he instructed, nodding towards the table in the corner. ‘Thank you, Miss
Brown,' he said pointedly as the woman hovered. There was a sniff and then the door shut loudly behind her. Mr Fairbright didn't seem to notice as he resumed his inspection of Merry's work.

‘Exemplary,' he pronounced. ‘Though, of course, I can only pay you for the eleven.'

‘I wouldn't expect anything else,' Merry said, suppressing a sigh of relief. Mr Fairbright wrote something on a slip of paper, then handed it to her.

‘Show that to Miss Brown when you leave. She will make the payment and provide you with sufficient wool for next time,' he said. ‘I assume you still have the yarn for the one your grandmother has yet to make?'

‘Yes, of course.'

He nodded. ‘Now let's have our elevenses, as my mother insists on calling them,' he said, grinning as he passed her a delicate china plate on which nestled a huge wedge of pound cake. ‘Miss Brown seems to have got the message,' he winked. ‘It's quite a trek from Porthsallos, isn't it?'

‘Oh, I don't mind,' Merry said quickly, fearful in case he should cancel his order.

He watched her over his glasses as he sipped his drink. ‘I have been asked if I can provide good-quality plain knit frocks with pockets for men's watches. Would that be possible?'

‘Goodness me, yes,' Merry cried. ‘Does that mean you want more of the plain ones then?'

‘It does. Eight of them by next month, in fact, plus four with that unique shell design. It's a shame you can't provide more, but keeping the numbers low will create
demand. There's nothing like letting people think they can't have something for them to decide they must have it,' he chuckled.

Merry frowned. ‘You'll need less of the fancies, then?'

‘For the time being. I'll see how things work out. In the meantime, I shall pay you the same rate for the plain ones with pockets as I do the fancies. Is that acceptable, Miss Dyer?' he asked.

‘Yes indeed, Mr Fairbright.'

‘Now, if you've finished your refreshment, please ask Miss Brown to make an appointment for the same time next month. I'm trusting you will have the full consignment then. Good day, Miss Dyer,' he said, getting to his feet.

‘Good day, Mr Fairbright, and thank you.'

Miss Brown all but snatched the chit from her hand before slapping a parcel of wool on the counter. Then Merry watched as she began counting out the money.

‘Miss Brown, I fear you have made a mistake,' Merry said, looking down at the coins on the counter.

‘How dare you make such an accusation? I can assure you I never make mistakes. Take your money and go before I have you up for slander,' Miss Brown ordered shrilly, pointing to the door.

‘But you don't understand …' Merry began.

‘Ladies, please!' Mr Fairbright protested, appearing beside them. ‘What seems to be the problem?'

‘This knitter girl here had the audacity to accuse me of short-changing her!' Miss Brown cried, her cheeks as red as the spots on his kerchief. ‘As you are well aware, I never make mistakes and …' She stuttered to a halt as the agent held up his hand.

‘Miss Dyer, perhaps you can explain?'

‘I was trying to, sir. Miss Brown has paid me for twelve frocks and given me enough yarn for twelve more …'

‘Which is what your order was for,' the woman spat.

‘Did you not look at the chit I issued, Miss Brown?' Mr Fairbright asked.

The woman smiled superciliously. ‘As you know I pride myself on knowing what you expect from each of your customers and …'

‘And you didn't think it necessary to check my authorization?' Mr Fairbright's voice was low and measured.

‘Well, there was no need, was there?'

‘Clearly there was, Miss Brown,' he said, turning to Merry. ‘I think I can see the problem. You were explaining you had only provided me with eleven?'

Merry nodded. ‘I couldn't possibly accept payment or replacement yarn for more than I provided.'

‘Your honesty is commendable, Miss Dyer, and I am truly grateful. Miss Brown, please issue payment in accordance with the instructions on my chit and then come to my office. I apologize for the mistake and hope you have a pleasant journey home, Miss Dyer.'

‘You'll pay for that,' Miss Brown hissed as the agent's door closed behind him.

‘I only want paying what I'm owed, thank you,' Merry replied. The woman glowered then took her time reading the chit. Finally she slapped the correct amount down on the counter and snatched the extra wool from her parcel.

‘Thank you, Miss Brown,' Merry said sweetly.

Outside, she leaned against the wall and breathed in deeply. What a nasty woman that Miss Brown was.
Everything had taken longer than she'd anticipated and she hoped she still had time to go to the market. Then she saw Nicco waiting in his cart and cursed. This really wasn't her day.

‘You look flustered,' he said, as she climbed up beside him. ‘What's wrong?'

She shook her head.

‘Well, something's ruffled your pretty feathers.'

‘It was just a misunderstanding about payment,' she shrugged, lapsing into silence as he steered the donkey confidently through the busy traffic. Then a carriage swept past them, throwing dirt up in its wake.

‘I shall insist Father lends me his pony and trap next time,' Nicco spluttered, but Merry hardly noticed for she'd seen Lady Sutherland, the lady from the granite house, in the carriage that had overtaken them. Her elegant outfit and coiffure only served to remind Merry that her purpose had been thwarted. She stared sadly down at her Sunday best, noting how cheap and unfashionable it looked.

‘I said next time we shall travel here by pony and trap,' Nicco repeated.

‘Next time?' she asked, her heart sinking. She really would have to think of some way of avoiding him. Perhaps there was another way to get here? She'd ask Kelys. Then she felt a jab in her side.

‘Not going to sleep again, I hope. I expect some company in return for the time I invest in these journeys, you know.' Invest? He made it sound as if she was some kind of project or enterprise. As his voice droned on, she sighed inwardly. ‘Now what was it you said about being short-changed? I hope you stood your ground.'

Why does everyone jump to the wrong conclusion? Merry wondered.

‘I didn't have to, Nicco. Miss Brown tried to pay me for twelve knit frocks and when I pointed out that I'd only delivered eleven …'

‘You mean you actually told them they were giving you too much?' he asked, staring at her in amazement.

‘Well, yes.'

‘Good grief, girl, you should have taken the money and ran,' he spluttered.

‘I couldn't have done that. It would have been dishonest,' she protested.

He shook his head. ‘Well, it was their mistake. Honestly, Merry, you're as green as seaweed. Nobody else would admit they'd been paid too much.'

‘You mean you wouldn't have said anything?' she asked.

He laughed and shook his head. ‘I'm not daft.'

‘And I'm not dishonest,' she retorted. Glory, this was going to be a long journey home, she thought, sitting back in her seat and trying to memorize the route.

She recognized the approach to the docks but as they boarded the ferry, Nicco began waving furiously.

‘Hey, Otto,' he called, throwing Merry the reins as he jumped down from the cart.

She watched as he hurried over to the sandy-haired fellow wearing a brown jerkin, who was leaning against the rail, a battered knapsack at his feet. He looked to be in his mid-twenties – older than Nicco – but by the way they slapped each other on the back and began talking in earnest, Nicco knew him quite well. Grateful for the breathing space, Merry stared out over the water. The chains started clanking
but she hardly noticed all the activity as the ferry began moving towards the other side of the Tamar and Cornwall.

What a day it had been. After the upset of the last month, she'd really been looking forward to this day, but her visit to the town hadn't turned out the way she'd hoped. Still, at least Mr Fairbright had been pleased with the work and given her another order … She yawned. It had been a long day and she was ready for her bed. Then, she remembered what Nicco had said about stopping for supper and her heart dropped.

It was only as the ferry bumped to a halt that Nicco headed back towards the cart, followed by the man he'd been chatting to.

‘Otto here's coming back to Porthsallos with us, Merry,' he announced.

‘If that is agreeable with you, Miss Merry?' the man asked.

‘Of course it is, hop up,' Nicco cut in.

However, the man continued staring at Merry with his clear grey eyes as he waited for her to answer. She smiled and nodded.

‘Hope you don't mind the intrusion?' he asked, clambering into the back of the cart.

‘Oh, I'm much smaller, so let me,' she said, nimbly clambering over the seat and squatting down on her parcel of yarn.

‘Are you sure?' Otto asked.

‘Oh, Merry doesn't mind,' Nicco answered, urging the donkey off the ferry and onto the bank. Charming, she thought, holding onto the side of the cart as it clattered over the ruts and onto the track.

‘You have had a busy day?' Otto asked, turning round and indicating her parcel.

‘I have indeed and I secured another order for our knit frocks,' she began.

‘Otto doesn't want to hear about domestic matters,' Nicco said dismissively.

‘Oh, but I do. My mother made ganseys. Many's the evening I spent hands wide apart whilst she wound her yarn. A dab hand with the lighthouse design, she was. What pattern do you make?'

‘Grandmother makes plain frocks whilst Mother does the snake cable and sometimes the seeds and bars when that's required.'

‘And what about you?'

‘I've devised this shell pattern and …'

‘Really, Merry, do you have to bore Otto so?' Nicco snapped.

‘Sorry. What do you do, sir?' she asked quickly.

‘Otto, please. I'm a cooper, Miss Merry. I make barrels and …' he began.

‘And we have important business to discuss, Merry,' Nicco interrupted. ‘The pilchards are coming in thick and fast now so how long do you think it will take to make my barrels?'

As the men discussed timescales, Merry closed her eyes. It would have been nice if Nicco had been a gentleman and insisted she keep her seat but at least she was spared listening to any more of his lectures. The voices droned on and her thoughts returned to her most pressing matter. How could she visit Plymouth and the market by herself? Carrying twelve knit frocks on her back as well as walking
all that way in her pattins would be no easy feat. If the weather stayed dry, though, she could probably get away with wearing just her hobbies …

She was no nearer solving her problem by the time the cart rattled to a halt at the top of the hill that led down into Porthsallos.

‘Otto and I have decided to eat in the tavern, Merry. I know we were going to dine together but, if you don't mind, we'll do so another time.'

‘I don't want to intrude, Nicco. I can always meet you later, pal,' Otto said quickly.

‘No, that's fine,' Merry said, trying not to grin as relief flooded through her. Hastily she jumped down and picked up her parcel. ‘Thanks for the lift, Nicco. Good night, Otto.'

Although it was still light, Merry was surprised to see a group of women gathered outside the building by the mill. Usually they'd be indoors at this time, putting their children to bed or clearing away after their evening meal. Some were looking despondent, others angry, and although they had their knitting with them, the pins lay idle.