A Safe Harbour by Benita Brown

to think they were a better sort of person than a mere fishwife. Kate wondered if she would ever be able to deal with people like this and voiced her doubts to her aunt as they walked on.  
    ‘Remember, Kate, hinny,’ her aunt told her, ‘you can’t let your pride stand in the way of business. You hev to act respectful.’  
    ‘That must be hard sometimes.’  
    ‘No, it isn’t.’ Aunt Meg laughed when she saw Kate’s doubtful expression. ‘Oh, some of them put on airs and graces and look down their noses at you because they think they’re superior. But that’s not the reason you’re being polite to them.’  
    ‘Then what is?’  
    ‘The reason is that in spite of being a fish lass you are a lady, you and me both, and we would never demean ourselves by behaving like some of those who think they’re ladies – whether mistress or servant – but don’t act like such.’  
    Soon they had done with that part of town and were going door to door in the terraced rows that led down to the river. The wives of the working men greeted Meg with smiles and gossip just like the country women, although the humour was sharper and the attitude not quite so easy-going.  
    Soon Meg’s money pouch hung heavily and clinked as she walked. Both baskets were nearly empty and this made the going easier, but even so Kate’s arms were protesting so much that she felt they might drop off. Her aunt seemed to have the lifting power of a packhorse. She didn’t appear to be tired but her face was bright red. Unfortunately this wasn’t caused only by hard work.  
    Every now and then Meg had stopped to take a sip from her flask. The first time she did it she had glanced at Kate awkwardly and muttered something about needing fortifying. Kate had kept quiet. She had no idea what she could have said, and after that her aunt had been quite open about it.  
    The drinking didn’t seem to affect her behaviour. It was true her gait was a little unsteady as they walked back to meet Mr Brunton, but, unless you knew she had been drinking, this could have been put down to weariness. Kate was pleased to see the timber merchant waiting by the milestone. She was glad that her aunt would not have the opportunity to return to the Plough and ‘hev a gill’.  
    Mr Brunton was happy. He told them he’d had a good day. The colliery had taken all the pit props and he’d had no trouble selling the bags of logs. Prudent folk, it seemed, never thought it too soon to stock up for the winter. He hoisted Aunt Meg up on to the cart, grinning at Kate as he did so. Kate flushed and looked away. It was obvious that he knew that her aunt was the worse for drink and he thought nothing of it. Kate tried to fight down a surge of embarrassment. She loved her aunt and didn’t want anyone to think the less of her.  
    They hadn’t gone more than half a mile on the journey home when the older woman collapsed on to a pile of empty sacks and fell asleep. She began to snore, but Kate didn’t think Mr Brunton could hear her because of the noise of the horse’s hoofs and the clatter of the wheels. She hoped not. Without its load of wood the cart jolted wildly on the uneven and rutted surface of the tracks, but even when the wheels left the road altogether Aunt Meg did not wake up.  
    Kate found herself clinging on to the sides of the cart for dear life. She began to feel sick and the bile rose hot and sour into the back of her throat. The sound of her heartbeat seemed to pound in her head to the same rhythm the horse’s hoofs made as they struck the road. She knew she was tired and she knew that these days of sickness would not last. If she felt wretched now it was only to be expected. But she would not complain to Aunt Meg. She had assured her aunt that she would not be a burden to her and she was determined to keep her promise.  
    When the cart finally pulled in to the timber yard Meg smiled and opened her eyes. Amazingly she looked none the worse for wear.