The Loving Spirit by Daphne du Maurier Page B

leave Plyn behind him, and all the stuffy ill-natured folk who would not let him do as he wished. He was not afraid of roughing it in a cramped barquentine, of being treated possibly worse than a dog, of being soaked to the skin for hours on end, little enough to eat and a few wretched hours of sleep; this was a man’s life, and in spite of having to obey orders from morning till night, it was a free life. He laughed at Herbert and Samuel, who seemed content and proud of themselves after a day’s work down at the yard.What did they know of real work? Icy gales and shaking sea-drenched canvas, slippery decks in the darkness, hard ropes that tore your fingers, the waves and the wind fighting in unison against your life, the cries and oaths of roughmen. None of his family envied him, save one, Janet, his mother. At forty-two she was unchanged; the years had not left their mark upon her.There were no lines beneath Janet’s eyes, no grey threads in her hair.
    Her figure was still that of a young woman, for all the six children she had borne. Her eyes were bold and fearless like her son’s, and her chin was perhaps more determined than ever. She alone envied Joseph. There was nothing she desired more than to be at his side on his first ship, and to share his discomforts and his dangers.
    Before he came to her, before he was born, she had always known that the sea would claim him, as it would have claimed her had she been a man.
    She was proud that Joseph was to be a sailor, but her heart was sick and cold at the anguish of parting. She despised herself for her weakness, she who had no fears of death nor danger. Her reason told her to be still and unmoved, she would follow Joseph in the spirit; but her body claimed his body, she could not bear that his eyes would no longer light upon hers, nor his voice whisper in her ear, nor his arms hold her close. She must fight against this weakness, fight with all the strength that was in her, and conquer herself.
    She made no attempt to hide her pain from Joseph; they had never hidden anything from each other.
    They said little during these last days. They pretended to busy themselves with Joseph’s new clothes. Joseph was never still for a moment. He ran wild about the countryside to prevent himself from thinking, he fought the farmer’s son over to Polmear Farm, and was chased by the labourers, he made love to three girls in Plyn on the same day and forgot them a moment afterwards. He disturbed his brother and his father who were working on a new boat down at the yard. He spoilt Mary’s cakes that she had baked so carefully for supper, he hid Lizzie’s doll behind the harmonium where she could not reach it, he took Philip’s books and chucked them down the dried-up disused well at the bottom of the garden.
    His spirits were wilder and higher than they had ever been in his life, he sang and shouted at the top of his voice, he broke a chair in the parlour, the house shook with his noise and his clatter.
    ‘There won’t be no peace till you’m gone,’ cried Mary indignantly.
    ‘Hurrah - hurrah - only one more day now,’ shouted Joe, his eyes shining, his hair falling over his face.
    Only Janet understood that this was a blind, a last defiance, a pretence of strength, and every now and then his eyes would meet hers across the room, savage, miserable - ‘I love you - love you - love you.’
    He saw her lower her head, and the colour drain from her face, leaving it white and pitiful. She clenched her hands, and turned away, looking into the fire. ‘Careful - now, Mary, with the hot plates,’ she said in a steady voice.
    He could bear it no longer. He ran from the room and left the house, climbing the steep hill to the cliff like a madman, the angry futile tears brushing his cheek, blaspheming God aloud. The trees tossed in the wind, the hedges moved, the sheep cried sorrowfully from beyond the fields. He saw none of them, he saw only Janet’s face and her dark eyes looking up