by Irene Carr
Josie had known she would have to deal with this before long but was still unprepared. ‘Your grandfather has gone away,’ she said lamely.
‘Like Rhoda?’
‘No.’ And forced into a corner: ‘He died. I’m sorry, Charlotte.’ She expected a bland response but Charlotte burst into tears. Josie was quick to lift her out of the cot, cuddle and comfort her, and surprised, because the child was obviously fond of old William Langley.
Through her sobs Charlotte said, ‘He won’t come back. Mam and Dad died and they didn’t come back. Uncle Tom went away and promised to come back but he didn’t.’
Josie bit her lip. Charlotte’s world was disintegrating around her. It was no wonder she was fearful and insecure. Josie queried, ‘Uncle Tom?’ Could it be—? ‘Do you mean Captain Collingwood?’
‘Yes!’ wailed Charlotte. ‘He went away on a ship.’
Josie hugged her and kissed her wet cheeks. She knew Charlotte was going to need a lot of this. ‘Well, he came home last night and you’ll see him later.’ She set about drying the child’s eyes. Charlotte needed someone and clung to her because Josie was there. ‘Time for your bath.’ And Josie headed for the bathroom with Charlotte in her arms.
A half-hour later they descended the stairs together. Josie saw that there was another sitting room behind the office. This room looked out on another walled garden at the side of the house. She was uneasily aware of the task facing her in ‘keeping’ this house. There was the ground floor, with the office and a sitting room on one side, the dining room and another sitting room on the other. On the floor above were four bedrooms and a bathroom, with attic rooms above them on yet another floor. She would have her work cut out.
Josie saw that the door to the office was ajar, and as they reached the hall Tom Collingwood emerged. He was freshly clean shaven now, dressed for the street and business in a tweed lounge suit with a double-breasted reefer jacket, starched collar and a tie. Charlotte shrieked, ‘Uncle Tom!’ and threw herself at him. He caught her under the arms and swung her around, laughing. Josie looked on, surprised but smiling. This was a different Tom Collingwood.
Josie greeted him: ‘Good morning, Captain Collingwood. You’re early abroad.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Miller.’ He cradled Charlotte in his arms. ‘I woke before it was light and went down to the ship. There were matters I had to attend to, orders to give. So I am finished with her now and can devote my time to affairs here.’ This came easily as he bounced Charlotte, laughing, in his arms. But then he stumbled on uncomfortably, ‘No one saw me leave but several were about in the square when I returned. I will find some lodgings for tonight.’
Josie thought, Still thinking of my reputation. Her lips twitched. Bless the man! ‘I will serve your breakfast shortly, Captain Collingwood.’
He glanced at the clock in the hall. ‘Thank you.’ And he found a smile for her this morning. Or was that for Charlotte? she wondered. She looked back as she came to the kitchen door and saw him down on all fours, Charlotte seated on his back. Was this the austere Captain Collingwood with whom she had argued last night?
Josie served his breakfast in the dining room and he entered with Charlotte holding his hand. She appealed, ‘Can I have toast with you, Uncle Tom?’
Josie said, ‘I think it would be better if you had your breakfast with me in the kitchen, Charlotte. Your chair is in there.’
Charlotte wheedled, ‘Please, Uncle Tom?’
Josie opened her mouth to be firm but Tom said, ‘Well, you must behave. I’ll fetch your chair.’
Josie’s lips tightened at being overruled in this way and she knew the child had outmanoeuvred her, but she saw the delight on Charlotte’s face and could not spoil her pleasure for the sake of making a disciplinary point. ‘I’ll bring your breakfast.’
Tom had seen Josie’s anger at her orders being countermanded. Now he tried to make amends and, remembering Mrs Miller’s status as governess, he said stiffly, ‘Well, as there are just the three of us, there seems little sense in eating apart. Why don’t you join us, Mrs Miller?’
Josie wondered, Was this an olive branch? ‘Thank you.’
So they ate in the dining room, gloomy and lit by the gas chandelier because the curtains were drawn across the windows out of respect for the death in the house. Tom sat at the head of the table with Charlotte on his left, while Josie was on Charlotte’s left, ready to render assistance when it was needed by the child. Conversation was mainly between Tom and Charlotte; he and Josie exchanged only a few polite words over the child’s head.
His breakfast done, he pushed back his chair and rose from the table. ‘I have a great deal to do today. I’ll find some lunch in the town.’
‘What time do you wish dinner, Captain?’ And Josie added, ‘I would not like Charlotte to be kept up too late.’ She saw his brows come down momentarily at her mild warning.
Tom thought this girl was quick to lay down the law. He enquired curtly, ‘Will seven be convenient for you?’
‘It is not a matter of my convenience,’ Josie replied evenly, refusing to be provoked. ‘The child is fond of you and I thought you would wish to have her join you at dinner.’
Tom decided his judgment had been hasty. ‘An excellent idea.’ He kissed Charlotte. ‘Good day, Mrs Miller.’
So Tom strode out into the rain and Josie was left with Charlotte. She cleared away the breakfast dishes then made the beds and began on a planned clean of the entire house, starting with the kitchen. Rhoda had not been ‘satisfactory’. Wasn’t that how Tom had said James’s wife, Maria, had put it?
But first there was the outward face of the house. Josie searched in the kitchen and found a whitening stone, scrubbing brush and cloth. She filled a bucket with hot water and walked through to the front door. The steps leading up from the street were muddy where a succession of boots had trodden them the previous day. Josie washed the steps then whitened them with the stone, aware all the time that other women around the square were at their front doors and engaged in the same occupation. Inevitably, one called, ‘Have you just come, pet?’
Josie stood and wrung out her cloth. ‘I’ve been taken on to care for Charlotte and look after the house.’
Another chimed in: ‘By, lass, you’ll have your hands full there.’
Josie had already come to that conclusion and laughed. ‘Yes, I will.’
A third voice questioned, ‘You’re from down South, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Ah, well.’ But then, charitably accepting that it was not Josie’s fault: ‘Now, hinny, if you want owt, or a bit o’ crack, you just come round.’
That was echoed by a half-dozen voices: ‘Aye!’
‘Thank you,’ said Josie, grateful for this gesture of kindness. Then she carried her bucket into the house to start there.
Charlotte trotted along after Josie, chattering or playing with her doll as Josie dusted, swept and scrubbed. There was an exciting – for Charlotte – interval when they took a cab to Monkwearmouth station and brought back Josie’s portmanteau. Charlotte had to help unpack it, of course. Then afterwards the work went on.
But Josie was uneasy about the cellar. She worked around it until she had to admit that the kitchen was as clean as she could make it failing a complete decoration. So she finally faced the cellar. She opened the door and stared down into the darkness below. Charlotte said, ‘That’s the lamp.’ She pointed to an oil lamp standing on a small shelf on the wall inside the cellar door. A box of matches lay beside the lamp.
Josie lit it and asked, ‘Are you coming with me?’ Charlotte shook her head firmly, nervously eyeing the black void. Josie said with forced cheer, ‘There’s nothing to harm you.’ But she knew very well how the child felt. So she looked to see that the guard was around the kitchen fire, the door to the back yard was bolted and that leading to the front of the house was latched so Charlotte could not get through. Then she set her foot on the stone steps that led down.
&nb
sp; There were twelve of them, running to form an ‘L’, down one wall to a landing then down another. When she stood at their foot she found that the cellar was some twelve feet square – and almost empty. There were some shelves on the wall by the foot of the steps, with bottles lying in racks or standing upright. There was room for the lamp and Josie set it down there for a while. She could see from marks in the dust that the lamp had stood there before, and more than once. In the middle of the floor a baulk of timber some six inches in diameter stood between floor and ceiling as a support for the floor above. Josie walked around it, not because there was anything to see but just to prove she was not afraid. The stone floor under her feet was thickly laid with dust.
Then Charlotte called tremulously from above, ‘Mrs Miller?’
Josie seized on the excuse: ‘Coming!’ She paused just long enough to cast a glance over the bottles. She saw that some held beer and took one with her as she ran up the stairs, telling herself that she would clean out the cellar at a later date.
The rain had eased to a fine drizzle by the end of the morning, so after a light lunch Josie took Charlotte for a walk. First they went to the shops in Dundas Street and bought meat and vegetables, five pennies’ worth of soap and a packet of soda. Then they turned back towards the river. For most of the time they meandered through streets that were strange to Josie, but now and again they would turn a corner and open up a vista that stirred a memory somewhere deep within her. At one of these Charlotte said, ‘That’s the yard.’
The big gates stood open but Josie could see the name: William Langley & Sons. Josie noted the use of the plural with surprise. So William had not changed the name of the yard when he turned his back on his elder son. Beneath the newer paint could still be discerned the older: Hector Langley & Son. Hector had been William’s father, her great-grandfather. Josie peered in as they passed the gates. There were men working, but lackadaisically, as if filling in their time. No ship was being built on the stocks, nor lying at the quay to be fitted out. There was an atmosphere of gloom about the place, reflected in the sombre faces of the men. Josie remembered that they would have heard of William’s death and must be wondering what that would mean to them.
The rain began to fall again and they hurried back to the house. As they approached, Josie looked up at its face. There were the windows of the office on one side of the door and of the dining room on the other, the curtains drawn across them. But beyond the latter there were more, the curtains also drawn, indicating a part of the house she had not known existed. Josie’s curiosity was aroused. She hung up her coat behind the door in the kitchen, as a servant should, and set out to satisfy her curiosity.
‘Where are we going, Mrs Miller?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Exploring,’ replied Josie. She took Charlotte’s hand and they walked down the side passage, between dining room and sitting room, that Josie had noted that first evening. At its end was a locked door, but the key was in the lock and she turned it. The door opened on to another hall. Two doors led to a dining-room and sitting room respectively. A third disclosed a small kitchen. A broad flight of stairs climbed to the upper floor. Josie and Charlotte climbed it, with the inevitable Amelia dragged at the end of Charlotte’s arm. On the floor above there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. And on yet another floor, attic bedrooms for servants.
Josie wondered: Why? This was virtually another house built alongside the main one. All it lacked was a front door. The rooms were empty of any furniture except for the curtains at the windows and the floors were bare and echoed under their feet. But while there was dust there was no dirt, showing that the rooms had been cleaned before they were shut up.
Josie found another door on the upstairs landing but this one was locked with the key on the other side. When she returned to the main house she looked for that door and found it, turned the key and opened it on to the landing of the house they had just explored. Josie locked it again and left the key in the lock as she had found it.
Once again, Josie felt daunted. The main house was big enough but then there was this extra residence built on the side. How could she, alone, possibly care for all of it? She knew she could not and would need help, but also knew she could not ask for it because this house could not afford it. The notices of foreclosure and the single servant had pointed to that. Later, she wondered vaguely if the house itself could be put to some use.
Tom returned shortly before seven, striding long-legged round the square through the rain. He hung up his coat and sat down with Josie and Charlotte to a dinner of vegetable soup and a roast leg of lamb. As they neared the end of the meal, Charlotte said, ‘We went exploring.’
‘Oh?’ Tom looked at Josie, suspicious again.
She explained, ‘I saw the windows at the side when we came back from our walk today. I was curious so I took Charlotte to look. I hope you don’t mind, Captain?’
‘No,’ said Tom, indifferent now. ‘But you’ll have found it a waste of time. There’s nothing in there.’
‘True, but it’s strange. Why should another house be built on like that?’
‘Hector Langley built it,’ explained Tom. ‘William’s father. He built it for William and his wife when they married. Apparently William’s wife wanted a place of her own. Then William was going to give it to David – his elder son – when he married, but I gather they had a hell of a row and David walked out. Then soon afterwards he was lost at sea with his wife and daughter. They were on their way to America and their ship went down.’
He was not looking at Josie and she gave thanks for that. She rose quickly from the table with her mind in a whirl. She muttered some excuse about ‘bringing the pudding’ and hurried out to the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table until she felt able to return. She had thought William had known how her father had died, that he had known Josie and her mother were making a life for themselves but he had made no move to find them. Now she knew that was not the case and he had thought all of them dead. She recalled that her father had taken her and her mother off the ship just before she sailed. So presumably their names had not been struck from the passenger list and they were thought to have gone down with the ship. But what had happened to the letter her mother had written? She could only conclude it had been lost in the post. And there was another conclusion, that old William might not have been so heartless as she had believed.
Josie returned to the dining room with the dessert and Tom greeted her with: ‘Charlotte tells me you passed the Langley yard.’
‘Yes, she pointed it out to me.’ Josie smiled. Then she added, ‘They didn’t appear to be building a ship.’
‘They’re not,’ Tom said bitterly. ‘The whole river is in depression. Langley’s hasn’t built a ship for a long time and doesn’t have an order now. That’s why William was borrowing money. He was trying to keep his men on when he didn’t have work for them.’ He stopped then. Josie waited for him to continue but he did not and she did not care to press him. It was a family matter and Mrs Miller was not family.
Reuben Garbutt had arrived at his home that morning after travelling through the night. He was accompanied by a shocked, jaded and bewildered Rhoda Wilks. She gaped at his substantial house, standing in its own spacious grounds in St John’s Wood. As they got down from the cab, Rhoda whispered, ‘Is this a hotel?’
‘No. Don’t be damned stupid.’ Garbutt tossed two half-crowns to the cabbie and told the footman who came hurrying from the house, ‘Get our bags.’
‘Yes, Mr Garbutt, sir.’
In the hall they were greeted by the butler. ‘It’s good to see you home again, sir.’ He held a silver salver with a few envelopes stacked neatly on it. ‘This mail has been awaiting you, sir.’
Reuben picked up the envelopes and fanned through them as he walked on. ‘Prepare a room for Miss Wilks. Let us know when it’s ready. We’ll be in the study.’
In the big, book-lined room he sat at his desk and began opening his mail while Rhoda stood in the middle of the
floor. He glanced up at her and said impatiently, ‘Sit down!’
As she sank slowly into a chair she said, ‘That chap called you Mr Garbutt.’
He nodded without looking up from the letter he was reading. ‘That’s my name.’
There was silence for a time as Garbutt scanned letter after letter – and Rhoda screwed up her courage. Finally she moistened her lips: ‘You said you were Reuben Graham.’
‘Because it suited me. What’s the difference?’ Now Garbutt put down the last sheet and looked at her. He had given some thought to Rhoda as they travelled south. He could not simply abandon her, because she might talk. He could shut her up, of course, but on the other hand she was a devoted slave who would comply with his every wish for little more than her keep. She could be useful, and not just in his bed.
He smiled at her. ‘You’ve finished with that skivvying. In a minute you’ll have your own room and a bath. Tomorrow we’ll go into town and buy you some new clothes. You won’t need any tonight.’
That night in the Langley house, when Charlotte was in bed, Josie watched the sleeping child and wondered if she was any better than a pauper. Then she swore: If she could help it Charlotte would be.
13
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’ They buried William Langley three days after his death. It was a day of bright sunshine, but the vicar’s voice droned mournfully through the burial service. Josie Langley was in mourning today, her dress and coat of unrelieved black out of respect for her grandfather, though he was known to the world as her employer. She should have stood on the fringe of the crowd around the grave because to them she was just an employee, and an outsider come lately at that. The only ostensible members of family were Tom Collingwood and little Charlotte. But Josie was there to hold Charlotte.
There were many mourners, friends or business acquaintances of old William Langley, because he had been well respected. The men were in dark suits and black ties, top hats, bowlers or Homburgs in their hands. Their wives were all in black, skirts lifted decorously with one hand to keep them clear of the clay around the grave. The other hand steadied the high black hats pinned to their piled tresses.
