beneath the door and brushed her feet, wearing only the odd shoe from the night before, one foot still bare.
“He’s big enough to look after himself, Mum.”
“And I suppose you are big enough too, are you? You plan to go and admit it all now, do you? Expect Elizabeth’s father to offer you his daughter’s hand?” An incredulous look passed across her eyes, as if Tom had suggested he might fly there. “You think he’ll let the likes of you marry his daughter?”
“Not now, but eventually. I love her.”
Elizabeth felt his hand clench tight around hers. It wasn’t possessive like James’s touch often was. It was reassuring, unifying. It was a touch she would never forget.
“I feared as much,” said Mrs. Hale. Her fingers worked hard to stub out her unfinished cigarette, then she stood up. “We’ve all been in love,” she said, like it was a disease or something equally distasteful. “Even Edward Davenport has been in love, Tommy, but look where that got me.”
And just then they heard the door opening, footsteps on the other side. Cool air rushed in, the smell of seaweed sweeping through the house, quickly followed by Tom’s father. His hair was all rough in a ratty plait that ran down the length of his back and that looked not to have been washed in a good long while. Goose bumps rippled across Elizabeth’s skin as his eyes skipped over the two lovers. They all watched him as he sat down, not a word spoken, yet a thousand looks passed between Tom and his mother.
“Where have you been?” his mother finally asked. Elizabeth felt Tom’s hand pull tight against hers, and when he edged her toward the door, she followed his lead.
“Out where I shouldn’t have,” he said, looking up at Tom, then Elizabeth. “Aren’t you that Davenport girl?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Two Davenports this early on a Sunday,” he said. “I am a blessed man. What’s she doing here?”
“Nothing,” said Mrs. Hale. “She was just leaving, wasn’t she, Tommy?”
Tom pulled her closer to the door and opened it.
“If you’re looking for her father, you’ll find him down at the harbor.”
Tom and Elizabeth turned to look at each other. Dr. Davenport was out looking for her, they both knew it. If she’d had her sketch pad she could have made something up, but if he was already looking for her there was every possibility that he knew her bed hadn’t been slept in.
“I told you,” said his mother. “I told you both. This is a bad idea. You know why, Tommy.”
Mr. Hale picked up some toast, shoveled it into his mouth. Then slowly, after glancing at his wife, he met Elizabeth’s gaze. His eyes were the same blue as Tom’s, and quite striking, if she was honest, but with age they were ringed red, and framed with wrinkles. He could have been handsome once, but now his skin seemed loose on the bones, his teeth all brown and crooked, like the gravestones in Saint Sennen’s cemetery.
“Dr. Davenport didn’t see me,” Mr. Hale continued. “But I saw him all right. It rained last night, so I’d crawled under one of the upturned boats, made myself a shelter.” That at least explained the sand on his sleeves and the wetness of his attire. “I’d say he wasn’t looking for you, that’s for sure,” he said, turning to Elizabeth.
Tom stepped back into the room. “So, what was he doing?”
Mr. Hale wiped his hands on a napkin and stood up from the table. He was taller than Elizabeth anticipated when he closed the space between them. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, and it would seem neither did Tom, because when his father got too close, he pulled Elizabeth away. The scent of stale alcohol filled the air, made Elizabeth feel queasy.
“Pat, would you just tell the poor girl what you saw,” said Tom’s mother.
He took one more look at Elizabeth, his face giving nothing away, before he turned his attention to his son. “You want to be careful of this one. When a Davenport sweeps you up in their plans, folks get hurt. Isn’t that right, Martha?”
Martha Hale said nothing, turned away from the scene, and set about clearing the plates. Silence descended over them, and moments later Tom pulled Elizabeth through the door and quickly away from the house.
* * *
“I still think it best I go alone.”
They were in the roundhouse, the old capstan wheel redundant beneath