(02-14-2021, 09:14 PM)Pearl Carrington Wrote: She had walked to the train station on her own from the market, basket slung over her arm. She wouldn't spend too much time away from Tilly, but she wanted to return Mister Blacke's handkerchief to him. After she had laundered it, she had taken the time to embroider his initials onto one corner of the cloth. "J.B." in elegant cursive cross stitch, the floss was white to match the cloth. She also carried a mince pie with her that she had baked for Mister Blacke as an excuse to talk to him further.

Pearl glanced about her, looking for him now.

Joe couldn’t see Pearl Carrington right away as he was occupied loading a fish car with crates of smoked herring.  Swimming freely in the North Sea a few weeks ago, they were now destined for dinner plates in points south via Scarborough Central Station.  It was heavy and unpleasant work; he was down to his shirt and braces.

“Hey Joe, look over yon..” A fellow porter named Dudley was pointing.  Dudley was about 40 years Joe’s senior with grey sunken features, partially hidden with a mangy beard.  The man was content to allow the youth to do the heavy lifting while he leant on diminishing stacks of crates.

“Now there’s a catch of the day,” Dudley continued.  Dudley liked to stare longer than was proper: gentle-women, fisher-women, girls... didn’t matter to Dudley.  He liked ‘em all, the younger the better, and had proudly told Joe as much before.  What poor soul was that old fish staring at now?  Joe looked.

Pearl Carrington!

Joe’s gaze instantly shot to Dudley, who looked like a dog slathering at a juicy bone that was out of reach.

“Stop starin' you dirty ‘o bugger.”  Joe commanded.  “Anyway, there’s crates to be loaded, and you've done bloody nowt.  I’ll be back.”

“Hey!” The old creep shouted in protest behind him, but Joe wasn’t listening.

Joe trotted off in Pearl’s direction as fast as he could to steer her away from the unpleasant stares of men like Dudley.