Still in draft form just now. My Writing Circle prompt this month was "A helping hand" and this is what has come into my head. We've missed two monthly Writing Circle meetings so far in lockdown and I am delighted that we are having a Zoom meeting this Friday.
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| picture from Macy's website |
A helping hand
As Alice stood, she felt the boat wobble beneath her. It had been a wonderful trip out for a picnic on the island in the bay. She steadied herself, grasping her parasol
firmly and lifting her skirts with her other hand. The sea shone into the distance, dancing with
sunlight. The boat-hand who had rowed them across stood confidently with one
foot on the polished side of the boat and the other on the rough and faded beams
of the pontoon. He was holding out a hand
to her. It was rough and calloused. She brushed past it rudely and stepped up on
to the side of the boat. It lurched
ridiculously and she nearly fell but caught her weight with her parasol on the
pontoon and quickly stepped across, a flush filling her dainty features. She quickly mounted the steps and once on the
stone wharf looked back down to watch the others stepping from the boat. She smiled as she saw that Lady Everleigh
needed two men to keep her steady while another subtly moved to the other
side of the boat to counterbalance her kind and bustling bulk. Mr Barclay and Mr Morton stepped easily across. Simpering Miss Perry was frightened and held
tightly to the hand that was offered.
Eliza’s eye wandered to the boat-hand.
He intrigued her. His tanned face
perfectly set off those deep brown eyes and his ready smile seemed so natural,
so unforced when compared to the company on the boat with their formal
niceties.
In the tearoom, the gentle clink of bone china rattled
rather than soothed her. The tea was hot,
the cakes to dry and the inane wittering of Miss Perry and Mr Morton was
driving her to distraction. She stood,
“Please excuse me. I’m
just going to take a walk along the wharf.”
They nodded acknowledgement and she was glad nobody proposed to join
her.
On the wharf she watched fishermen
arranging their creels, the smell of fish assailing her nostrils from this
distance. The tide was going out and the
noxious seaweed detracted from the sun-sparkled sea. She roamed up one of the steep, narrow lanes,
small fishing cottages tightly packed on each side, storerooms below and steps
up to front doors. Small children in
faded poplin sat on the steps and gazed at her.
She smiled reassuringly at them, but they scampered up and into the
house to peer out around the door after she had passed. She wandered still further, choosing to
continue up the hill or to take a flatter route as her energy level
plateaued. Her mind wandered,
considering the options she had before her.
Lady Everleigh had assured her mother that this trip to the coast would
help her get over her illness and that she would have her engaged by the time
she returned to Hertford. Alice was perfectly
aware of Mr Barclay’s attentions, and Lady Everleigh’s intentions for the pair,
and he was certainly an eligible partner – not bereft of sense or manners. What was the issue then? She sighed.
It was… just… there was no common understanding or affection…
A noise behind her startled her out of her reverie and she
realised that she had strayed into an unkempt narrow street. The whitewash on these cottages was closer to
grey and there were no children. Just
three men, staring at her with hostile eyes.
They were slowly stepping closer.
Alice looked around behind her but there was nowhere to go. An air of menace permeated the air. Alice could hardly breathe, her eyes wide and
frightened. Suddenly, they were on her,
pushing her up against a wall and pawing at her clothing, pulling laces
undone. At last she found her voice and
screamed, before a dirty hand covered her mouth and she was pushed to the floor.
A roar of rage filled the air and the hands holding her down were loosened as a newcomer started hauling the men from her. They turned to fight but soon scattered at his determined assault. Alice didn’t dare breathe, just attempted to cover herself with her torn
clothes. A rough and calloused hand was
held out to help her up. She followed
the arm up to the deep brown eyes, full of concern and recognised the boat-hand. She took the
hand this time, and he helped her to her feet and wrapped her in his woollen
coat.
“Can I take you to my sister’s to get cleaned up, Ma’am?”
“Please, call me Alice.
Thank-you, that would be lovely.”
He continued to support her as they walked along, and before long they
were chatting like old friends.
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