Lovers Meeting

by Irene Carr

  Tom was smiling at the girl fondly. Now he explained, ‘This is Mrs Miller. She’s come to apply to be nurse to Charlotte. William advertised in the Echo.’

  ‘I see.’ The smile widened again and the girl dismissed Josie as just a servant, ignored her as she went on, ‘Mother’s busy making plans for the wedding and I came over to tell you because I have to go away tomorrow for a few days.’

  Tom’s admiring smile had faded. He began, ‘Felicity, I have some bad—’

  Josie decided she did not like the name either. Felicity was pulling off her gloves and a diamond winked from the third finger of her left hand as she went on, ‘Is darling William about?’

  Tom said, ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’ And as Felicity stared, face frozen, he explained how he and Josie had found the body. Felicity shuddered. Tom went on, ‘I was just going for the doctor, but someone will have to stay with Charlotte while I’m away, have to stay the night with her because I don’t know what I may be called upon to do—’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ said Felicity quickly. ‘My reputation – if I stayed in the house alone with you – and that horrible child is always difficult – and we are leaving early tomorrow morning for Scotland. Surely this … Mrs Miller?’ She glanced interrogatively at Josie.

  Who would not admit her deception and true identity in front of this girl and so replied, ‘That’s right, miss.’

  Felicity went on, ‘She can see to the child.’ She glanced at the clock in the hall, then at the door of the dining room and shuddered again. ‘I really must go now.’ Tom followed her to the door but she paused then and smiled. ‘It’s very sad, but at least Langley’s yard will be in good hands now. In fact, as James is dead, then it will all come to you.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Tom was plainly startled by this. ‘William has already given me more than I deserve.’

  ‘But who else is there? Everybody says you are as good as another son to him.’ Felicity kissed him again then ran down the steps to the motor car where the chauffeur held the door open for her. She ducked into the rear and the chauffeur slid into his seat. The car rolled away into the coiling fog, the light from its carbide lamps blurring then fading from sight.

  Tom closed the door and turned back into the hall, frowning. Then he remembered the girl waiting patiently and apologised. ‘I’m sorry. Can you stay and care for the child? What about your husband?’

  ‘I’m a widow and quite alone, Captain Collingwood.’ Josie had thought it odd that there had only been one maid in a house of this size. She would have expected at least a butler or housekeeper, a footman and two or more maids. But then she recalled the notices of foreclosure. Was the house mortgaged up to the hilt? And the absence of staff due to a lack of money? But that was by the way. What mattered now was that she was Charlotte’s cousin and the child’s only relative, for practical purposes. Her mother’s family were on the other side of the world. It was her duty to care for Charlotte. At the same time …

  Josie said, ‘If I teach the child her lessons can I be treated as governess? In return I’m prepared to act also as housekeeper until you can make other arrangements.’ That meant: until you know what staff the house can afford.

  Tom appreciated that, was surprised at her appreciation and delicacy, taken aback by her request. There was an important point of protocol involved. A governess was usually the daughter of impoverished gentlefolk and as such treated as one of the family and sat at table with them. Josie was asking for a promotion already.

  Tom said curtly, ‘A month’s trial at twenty pounds a year.’

  ‘That will be satisfactory, Captain Collingwood. Thank you.’ Josie turned to the stairs.

  Tom halted her. ‘Just a moment, Mrs Miller.’ He coughed. ‘There is the question of your reputation. After I have had the doctor and the police here I will seek lodgings.’

  Josie looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Your fiancée did not see any impropriety in my staying the night.’

  ‘Miss Blakemore meant no slight on you.’ He was angry now. ‘I’ll thank you not to presume to criticise.’ Josie met his eyes but held her tongue and he went on, ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then you must have some supper. You’ll find something in the kitchen.’ He showed her the way, along the hall and past the stairs leading upward. They passed a side passage on the left but she could not see where it led. Then came a sitting room with a large, round central table just visible in the gloom, and close-set chairs and armchairs crowding the floor space. Josie found later that it looked out on a small walled garden. Finally, at the end of a dark passage, they came to the kitchen door.

  Josie entered once more the room she had remembered from childhood. Little had changed. A rack for drying clothes hung from the ceiling alongside the gas lamp which Tom lit with a match. The big black range, its fire banked up for the night, still emitted heat but needed cleaning. The sink held a stack of dirty pans and dishes. In the centre of the floor stood a big table. Josie considered that its wooden surface should have been scrubbed white, but it was not. There was a smell of burnt food. Josie recalled that Tom had said Rhoda was ‘acting dissatisfied’.

  In the corner was the door that opened on to the stairs leading down into the cellar. Its darkness had always frightened her; she had wondered what horrors that black hole hid.

  Tom yanked open cupboard doors. ‘There you are. Just help yourself. I’ll go for the doctor.’ He paused in the doorway, still puzzled by this girl who had come out of the night, who had a proud lift to her head and talked to him as to an equal. ‘You’ll be all right on your own?’

  ‘Of course.’ Josie’s reply was cool and he shrugged and left. She heard the tramp of his boots along the hall and then the slam of the front door. She listened to the ensuing silence, alone in the house save for the sleeping child and the old man who would never wake. Then she shook herself, opened a window to clear the air and found the wherewithal for a pot of tea. As she sipped a cup she carried out an inventory of the kitchen, eyes skating past the door to the cellar, mentally listing what she needed in the way of provisions and what had to be done. At the end of it she wryly told herself that she would have her hands full here – and Tom Collingwood did not realise what she had taken on. That triggered a thought, and she busied herself in the kitchen until she heard the front door open again and voices in the hall.

  Josie checked that a pan was simmering on the stove as it should, then walked through to the hall. Tom Collingwood stood there, and he glanced her way when he heard the light tap of her heels. The door to the dining room was open and the deep murmur of voices came from inside. Tom said, ‘The doctor and a police sergeant are in there.’

  Josie looked up at him and saw now that his eyes were red and shadowed. She asked, ‘Have you had a difficult voyage, Captain Collingwood?’

  He grimaced. ‘We plugged up the east coast last night and all day and there was a lot of fog. I stayed on the bridge all through until we berthed in the river here a couple of hours ago.’

  Josie nodded. ‘You’re tired.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve gone forty-eight hours and more on the bridge afore now. Last night and today were nothing much. But I’ll sleep – when I can get down to it.’

  They were silent, listening to the rumbling conversation in the next room. Then it stopped and a moment later a man came out into the hall. He looked to be forty years old and was tall, though still three or four inches shorter than Tom, with a barrel body on thick legs, all encased in blue serge. He wore three chevrons on his sleeve and carried his helmet under his arm. He said, ‘There’s no sign of foul play, sir.’

  Tom introduced him: ‘This is Sergeant Normanby. Sergeant, this is the lady I told you about, the … the child’s governess.’

  Josie noted his acceptance of the title. The sergeant’s round, red face was mildly surprised as he looked at Josie. She smiled at him. ‘Aren’t I as you expected, Sergeant?’

  ‘Er – yes
. Well, no—’ Normanby cleared his throat, embarrassed. ‘That is, I more or less thought you would be an older lady.’

  Because of Tom’s description? Had Normanby got an impression of a greying widow of good family come down in the world? Josie shot a glance at Tom but he only looked puzzled. She decided he had probably given that impression of her by accident; he was not a drawing-room diplomat. She smiled at Normanby again. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.’

  He grinned back at her, relieved, but now Tom intervened brusquely, first addressing Josie: ‘The doctor is in the dining room, examining … the body. I’ve told the sergeant all I know.’ And now he turned to Normanby. ‘Would you like to hear Mrs Miller’s account?’

  Normanby unbuttoned his breast pocket and took out a notebook and pencil. ‘If you could give me a few details, ma’am. You are Mrs Josephine Miller …’

  Josie said, ‘That’s right. But come through to the kitchen. We’ll be more comfortable there.’

  She led the way, settled the sergeant at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and told her story. Tom did not follow them. Part way through the sergeant’s slow questioning there came the sounds of more boots treading in the hall and low voices. Josie rose to her feet but Normanby said quietly, ‘That’ll be the men from the morgue, ma’am.’ Josie sat down and they went on.

  When Normanby closed his notebook, his questioning finished, Josie went with him to the hall. There they met Tom Collingwood, coming out of a door opposite the dining room. Josie glimpsed behind him a desk set under a window and concluded that the room was an office.

  Tom said, ‘The doctor has gone.’

  Normanby asked, ‘And the body, sir?’ He glanced at the closed door to the dining room. When Tom nodded the sergeant took his helmet from under his arm. ‘Then I think I’ll be on my way, too.’

  Tom demanded, ‘What about the man who was here tonight? And Rhoda Wilks?’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘We’ll be having a word with Rhoda – and him. You mentioned Packer drew up those notices of foreclosure so he’ll be able to point out our man. Mind you, sir, there’s no evidence that they’ve committed any crime – unless the coroner finds something.’

  Tom said harshly, ‘Whoever gave William those notices murdered him as sure as if they’d shot him.’

  Normanby pursed his lips. ‘I must advise you not to repeat that, sir. It can’t be proved and so is slanderous.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn,’ said Tom flatly. ‘That’s the truth and you know it as well as I do.’

  Normanby did not answer that but said, ‘Goodnight, sir – ma’am.’ He put on his helmet as he walked down the steps and set off round the square.

  Tom stared after him, broodingly, but Josie stepped past him and shut the front door, turned and started back towards the kitchen. She called over her shoulder as she went, ‘Come and have supper, Captain.’

  He questioned, surprised, ‘Supper?’

  ‘Cold beef, boiled potatoes and cabbage. It’s not much but at least you’ll have something inside you.’

  He joined her in the kitchen, sat at the scrubbed table and ate hungrily. Josie kept him company but only picked at her food. The events of the day had taken away her appetite. They spoke little during the meal, but afterwards, as they sat over cups of tea, Josie said softly, ‘You were fond of him.’

  Tom nodded. He hesitated, but then, mellowed by the food and relaxing in the warmth of the kitchen, he answered, ‘He took me in off the street, an orphan, when I was eight years old. He brought me up, had me educated, found me an apprenticeship when I wanted to go to sea. Whenever I needed help he was there.’

  He was silent, staring down into his mug. Josie sat quiet. Then he shrugged, as if trying to shake off the mood. ‘I’m sorry. You have had troubles of your own. Have you been widowed long?’

  ‘A year. My husband was in the navy. He was drowned. And I had a fall and lost the child I was carrying.’ She would be as honest as she could to make up for the lie she was acting out. She wondered how Tom would take this admission; miscarriage was not usually talked about, certainly not between a governess and her male employer.

  He said uncomfortably, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘I understand. You were only extending your sympathy. I didn’t want to shock you with an indelicate subject but I thought you should know the full story. But if you will excuse me now—’ Josie had had enough of questioning and pretending. ‘I must see to these dishes.’

  ‘And I must look through more of William’s papers.’ Tom was frowning now. ‘I must try to find out how serious the situation is.’

  So Josie washed up the crockery, pots and pans, glanced around the kitchen to see that all was as she wanted it – for tonight at least; there was work to be done on the morrow – and turned off the gas to leave it in darkness but for the glow from the banked-up fire.

  In the hall she tapped at the door of the office, then opened it and put her head around it. Tom sat at the desk under the window and was half turned towards her now. Josie said, ‘You mustn’t think of leaving to seek a bed tonight. I saw a bedroom adjoining that of the child. I will make that mine and if the door does not lock I will find some way to secure it. Then both our reputations will remain intact.’

  Tom glared at her, outraged. ‘That will not be necessary!’

  Josie grinned at him. ‘I was joking with you, Captain Collingwood. I think we both need cheering.’ Tom’s glare faded. He was not sure whether to allow this … impertinence, if that’s what it was. But Josie went on, ‘Sleep in your own room. I will be perfectly safe with Charlotte.’

  Tom was about to argue but looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was past two in the morning. He answered stiffly, ‘Very well. Thank you.’

  ‘Goodnight, Captain Collingwood.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Miller.’ He watched the door close, then turned back to his papers, but not to read. He thought that there was something not quite right with Mrs Miller. Her looks? The straight way she talked back? Her smile? He did not know, it was just some instinct … Then he told himself that was nonsense. He was lucky this young woman had turned up to take care of Charlotte – and the house – so he did not have to worry about them. He decided to put the thought from him and concentrated on his papers. But still, with a part of his mind, he wondered about Mrs Miller …

  Josie was in bed in the room next to Charlotte’s. She had found the bed unmade, drawers pulled out and empty, a carpet kicked up and not replaced – all signs of a hurried departure and a lackadaisical occupant. This had been Rhoda’s room. Josie tidied it, found clean sheets in a cupboard on the landing and remade the bed. She had looked in on the child and found her sleeping peacefully. The door between the two rooms was open and now Josie lay awake, watching the shadows on the walls cast by the faint glow from the nursery fire. The house was silent except for the creaks and groans of any old house.

  She knew Tom Collingwood suspected her of not being all she seemed. She had seen his doubts and she was an impostor. If she confessed to him now that she was Josie Langley he would think that she had heard of James’s death and come seeking a fortune, like a vulture. So she would have to keep up the pretence for the time being. She had a duty here – and she would not abandon it to this Felicity.

  Josie became conscious of a new sound in the night, a quiet tread on the stairs. Then the soft creak! creak! approached along the passage, passed her door and went on, faded into silence. She found she was holding her breath, remembered her words … Fine words! She had not locked her door. That did not matter. She was safe here.

  Josie closed her eyes and, almost at once, she slept.

  An hour later she started up in bed, trembling. She had thought to lay the ghost that had haunted her for twenty years but now there was another. A man walked in mist that hid his face but she could still hear his cruel laughter and she knew he was coming for her.

  12

  ‘Who are you?’ T
he child had woken early, of course, as they do. She stood up in the cot in her long nightdress, her dark hair hanging loose and with the rag doll dangling from one hand. She looked at Josie out of big eyes and asked again, ‘Who are you?’

  Josie smiled at her. ‘I’m Mrs Miller. I’ve come to look after you.’

  After this was digested: ‘Where’s Rhoda?’

  Josie explained, ‘Rhoda has gone away.’

  ‘Is she coming back?’

  Josie doubted it. ‘I don’t think so.’ The child’s mouth drooped. She was ready to cry and, to get away from Rhoda, Josie asked, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Charlotte Langley,’ the child replied. ‘I’m four.’ She lifted the doll: ‘And this is Amelia.’

  ‘She’s lovely.’ Josie climbed out of bed and pulled her coat about her. From this upstairs window she could see out across the square to the tall cranes of the shipyards ranked along the riverbank. Rain was driving in from the sea and making runnels on the windows. Josie shivered and knelt to stir up the nursery fire while Charlotte introduced her to the toys in the room, the doll’s house, the pram, the rocking horse: ‘His name is Matin Bell. Granddad said Matin Bell won the Northumberland Plate and he backed it.’ She was still not far from tears.

  Granddad. Josie sat back on her heels, the events of the night before flooding back – the dead man seated at the table, the harsh laughter in the darkness, Tom Collingwood standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at her … She rose to her feet, mentally shaking herself, and replaced the guard around the fire.

  Charlotte said, ‘Can I go down and see Granddad now?’