by Irene Carr
And there was Felicity Blakemore, newly returned from Scotland and standing at Tom Collingwood’s shoulder. She was in expensive black with a veil, and dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. Her father’s big motor car waited outside the cemetery gates with her maid, who had accompanied her to put rubber galoshes on Felicity’s shoes before she ventured into the grass and soil of the graveyard.
Josie was watching Tom Collingwood. He stood a head taller than the rest, bareheaded in a dark suit with a reefer jacket, his cap in his hand. She had sat beside him at the inquest, Charlotte on her knee. It had been held in the Albion Hotel in Dock Street on the afternoon following William’s death. The coroner had delivered a verdict of death by natural causes – in fact, heart failure. Tom had been broodingly angry rather than grieving, stiff-backed, his black brows drawn down.
Josie had given Charlotte to Tom to hold on his knee while she gave her evidence, told how she found the body. When she reclaimed the child, Charlotte had whispered, ‘Why is Uncle Tom so cross?’
Josie whispered back, ‘He’s unhappy because your grandfather is dead.’
‘Oh.’ Charlotte nodded, vaguely, the concept of death still strange to her. ‘Like Mam and Dad?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you going to die?’ Now Charlotte was concerned.
Josie reassured her, ‘No.’
Charlotte had been content with that but she was uneasy now, having seen the coffin lowered into the grave and knowing her grandfather was in it. Josie picked her up and held her close so the child could see the wheeling gulls blown in on the wind from the sea. That distracted her and she quietened again.
Josie wished she could comfort Tom Collingwood in some way. He was grieving now, his head down and tears in his eyes. Felicity was intent on her own seeming grief. But then the vicar’s drone came to an end, the men put on their hats and the crowd began to drift away after murmuring their condolences to Tom. As it thinned, Josie saw Sergeant Normanby standing apart, and she eased away from Tom’s side and went over to the policeman. ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant.’
‘Afternoon, ma’am.’ Normanby put a thick finger to his helmet in salute. ‘A fine day but a sad one.’ He shook his head. ‘So soon after—’ He stopped.
Josie said, ‘Would you like to see the horses, Charlotte?’ The carriages that had brought the mourners stood outside the gates of the cemetery.
Charlotte, bored, answered quickly, ‘Yes, please.’
Josie set her down. ‘Just go as far as the gate. Not outside, mind. I’ll be watching you.’ And her gaze followed Charlotte as she trotted away, to halt by the gate and peer through the railings.
Josie turned to the sergeant. ‘Captain Collingwood told me how Charlotte’s parents died. I understand they were run down.’
Normanby scowled. ‘It was some chap who was mad or drunk or both. They were walking down to the yard like they did every morning and this feller stole a lorry loaded with coal from outside a pub around the corner. He drove down the road, swerved off the kerb and smashed into them, crushed them against the wall. He got out and ran off. A few people saw him but not really close. Their descriptions varied. About all you could say for sure was that he was tall and well set up, with a moustache. We never found him.’
Josie said, ‘Could it have been an accident?’
Normanby pursed his lips. ‘The verdict of the inquest was manslaughter.’
Josie suggested, ‘But surely, nobody would deliberately kill two innocent people like that. Why should they?’
‘That’s what I asked myself. Why? And I couldn’t find a reason.’ But Normanby did not sound convinced. He turned to go, lifting a hand again in salute.
Josie saw that Charlotte was edging towards the road and she started to move herself. ‘Then you’re sure it was deliberate?’
The sergeant paused. ‘Well, he managed to start that lorry, drive it around a corner and then down the road without any trouble. So why should he turn off his course, summat like forty-five degrees, and run into them?’ And he went on his way.
Josie stared after him for a moment then hurried to catch Charlotte and take her back to their carriage. She caught the child’s arm at the gate. Just outside was the Blakemore car, huge and shining. The uniformed chauffeur stood some yards away, talking with a little knot of carriage drivers. Felicity’s maid, a slim girl in a grey overcoat, stood by the car door. She waited, bored, for her mistress to return. Josie asked Charlotte, ‘Would you like to see the motor car now?’
‘Yes, please.’
So Josie let her wander along its length, peering at her distorted reflection in the gleaming brass headlamps. Josie smiled at the maid. ‘I’m Josie Miller. I just started at the Langleys’ a week back, looking after Charlotte here.’
The maid brightened at having someone to talk to. ‘Susie Evans.’
Josie asked, ‘What’s her ladyship like?’ And she jerked her head to indicate Felicity, now the centre of a group of wives, and grinned at Susie, ‘all girls together’.
Susie grinned back. ‘The job’s all right and I can put up with her for the money. She’s an only child and old Blakemore’s got pots o’ money, big house just outside the town and another one in London.’ Then she grimaced. ‘Here she comes now. I’ll have to take her bloody galoshes off for her.’
Josie said sympathetically, ‘Mucky job. Anyway, I expect I’ll see you again.’ She reached for Charlotte’s hand.
As Charlotte reluctantly turned away from the car she saw Felicity coming out of the gates and said clearly, ‘I don’t want to ride with her.’
‘Sssh!’ Josie hushed her. ‘Any more of that and—’ She did not finish but Charlotte received the message and was silent.
Felicity smiled thinly at her and swept past. ‘Susie! My shoes!’ The chauffeur had come trotting up to open the rear door. Felicity seated herself inside and Susie knelt to pull off the muddy galoshes.
Josie and Charlotte were joined by Tom and they were driven back to the Langley house. Josie led the child inside while Tom sent the cab driver on his way. The curtains had been drawn across the windows since the night of William’s death, but now Josie drew them back with a breath of relief to let in the sunlight. This cheered Charlotte, too, and she ran laughing up and down the hall and Josie pretended to chase her. After a minute Tom came in, leaving the front door open, and rapped, ‘I would like a little more respect for the dead, please, Mrs Miller.’
Josie, flushed and laughing, halted in the game but gave him back: ‘The funeral is over. Charlotte is only a child and she has mourned enough. Do you wish to see her with a permanently miserable face, Captain Collingwood?’
Tom looked at Charlotte, now peeping from behind Josie’s skirts. She laughed up at him and he admitted, ‘No, but—’
‘Very well, then. Is that all?’
He took a breath. ‘No, Mrs Miller, it is not all. While you are the child’s nurse, I am her guardian because I’m the nearest she has to any family now, at least until I can get in touch with her mother’s people in Argentina. Is that understood?’
Josie nodded gravely. ‘It is. And while you are her guardian when you are here, I am her nurse for twenty-four hours a day and I will continue to carry out my duty as I see it. Is that understood?’ They both stood very straight, he glaring down at her, she looking up at him defiantly.
Felicity’s arrival broke the deadlock. She bustled into the hall, pulling off her gloves, and smiled at Tom. ‘Here we are, darling. Arkenstall has just arrived.’ Josie laid a warning hand on Charlotte’s shoulder as Felicity went on, ‘And we don’t need that child. You – what’s your name? Mrs Miller? Take her away, please.’
Ezra Arkenstall entered then, a middle-aged man with a pointed beard and stooped from sitting over a desk. He peered at Tom and Josie through wire-rimmed spectacles. Josie recognised the solicitor from a previous visit in the past week. He said, ‘I am quite ready now.’
Tom turned his head to say, ‘Yes. We will
be there in just a moment.’ Arkenstall opened the office door for Felicity and followed her in.
Charlotte sidled from under Josie’s hand and gripped Tom’s instead. She whispered pleadingly, mouth drooping, ‘I want to stay with you, Uncle Tom.’
Tom looked down at her. ‘I don’t think you’ll like a lot of legal talk.’
The corners of the mouth slipped further and a lip quivered. ‘Please?’
Tom softened. ‘All right, but you must be quiet.’
‘I will.’ Charlotte smiled sunnily and tugged at Josie’s skirts with her free hand. ‘Come on, Mrs Miller.’ And before either could protest, ‘I want Mrs Miller. I’ll sit with her and be quiet.’
Josie made a mental note to deal with this behaviour in the future. But not now. She stood silent and Tom agreed, ‘Oh, very well.’ And to Josie, ‘Arkenstall is waiting to read the will. Normally only family or those with an interest would be present but your presence will serve a purpose: you will see what my position is in law and that it is my right and responsibility to order how the child should be brought up.’
Josie had made her point and was prepared to settle for that. ‘Thank you, Captain Collingwood.’
Tom began to caution her. ‘You will understand that anything said in that room—’
Josie was quick to assure him, ‘I will not repeat a word.’
‘Thank you.’ Then Tom added, muttering, ‘Though I expect the state of affairs will soon be evident to everyone.’
Tom opened the door of the office and stood back. Josie took Charlotte’s hand and sailed in. Arkenstall stood at the desk with its swivel chair. There was only one other chair, a leather armchair by the fireside, the grate of which was empty in this summer weather. Felicity was seated there, smiling graciously. The smile froze when she saw Charlotte and she snapped, ‘What is that child doing here? Mrs Miller, I instructed you—’
‘I want them here, Felicity,’ Tom cut her off as he entered, carrying a chair from the hall. He set it down behind Josie, saying, ‘Please be seated, Mrs Miller.’
‘Thank you.’ Josie sat down demurely and secured Charlotte on her knee.
Tom went on, ‘Charlotte won’t be any trouble and this will concern her as much as anyone. Mrs Miller will look after her and I have her word that she will not divulge anything she hears.’ Felicity realised this was an explanation, not a justification, and not to be debated. The smile was switched on again.
Tom went to stand before the fireplace and addressed Arkenstall where he sat in the swivel chair: ‘This is Mrs Miller, the governess engaged to care for Charlotte. I would like her to hear the terms of the will.’
Arkenstall raised his eyebrows but ducked his head in a little bow to Josie. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’ He picked up the will from the desk and read, ‘This is the last will and testament of William Langley, shipbuilder—’ He broke off to glance up at Tom. ‘He went on to name his executors, James and yourself, but then he reverted to the wording of the previous will wherein he left the shipyard and this house to his eldest son, David, and the remainder of his estate to James. At the time I said that this was pointless as David and his entire family had perished. William replied that he was determined to have it that way. He said, “God forgive me, I tried to cut the boy out of my life. I will not disown him now.” So that is how the will stands.’
He followed Tom’s gaze as it strayed to Charlotte and Tom said, ‘So Charlotte inherits all.’
‘Not quite. There is just one other bequest—’ Arkenstall read from the will again: ‘To my protégé and staunch friend these last twenty years, Thomas Collingwood, I leave my yacht Celia. May she bring good fortune to him.’
Josie looked up to see Tom’s lips working. He said huskily, ‘He loved that cutter.’ Then he cleared his throat. ‘But having said that, the rest comes to Charlotte.’
Arkenstall nodded. ‘That is correct, as she is the sole surviving relative.’ Then he put the will aside and picked up another document. ‘This is James’s will. As you will recollect – you were at sea when it was read but I informed you by post of the relevant passages …’ He paused, brows raised in enquiry, and Tom nodded. The lawyer went on, ‘You will remember that James left everything to his widow and as she died intestate then it passed to his daughter. He also said – and this was possibly prompted by the untimely deaths of his brother and his family – that in the event of his daughter being orphaned then William and yourself would act as guardians and trustees.’
Tom nodded. ‘I remember. God knows I never expected to act.’
‘But you will, of course?’ Arkenstall said this with confidence, obviously with faith in his man.
Tom confirmed it: ‘I will. I gave my word and I will not break it. William taught me that.’
‘Good.’ Arkenstall smiled at the child. ‘You will like having Captain Collingwood looking after you?’
Charlotte’s gaze shifted from him to Tom and back again. She asked, ‘And Mrs Miller?’
Arkenstall blinked at her and Tom said soothingly, ‘Yes, Mrs Miller will be looking after you.’
Charlotte said, ‘Good.’
Felicity was tight-lipped and complained to Tom: ‘You will carry out the onerous duties and only Charlotte will benefit.’
He answered shortly, ‘The duties are not onerous and it is right that Charlotte should inherit.’
Felicity sighed. ‘Really, Tom, you’re too generous. As a friend of twenty years you deserve better. The Celia is something, though I think it an expensive toy and you will not find me aboard a small craft of that kind.’ She stood up, shaking out her skirts and pulling on her gloves.
Tom replied soothingly, ‘Sailing is not a lady’s pastime. But she is a lovely little craft.’
Felicity made for the door. ‘Well, I have a luncheon appointment. Good day, Mr Arkenstall.’
Tom crossed to the door, opened it for her and followed her into the hall. Felicity’s voice came clearly: ‘You must instil some discipline into that child, Tom. See that … that Mrs Miller does it …’ Her voice faded as she left the house and the engine of the car throbbed into life. Josie stayed in her seat, wondering if she should leave now. But it seemed that Arkenstall had not finished; he sat with his papers spread across the desk still, plainly waiting.
The car slid past the window and Tom came back into the office, took up his stand before the fireplace again. Arkenstall said, ‘There is one final item—’ He went back to William’s will and detached a sealed envelope from it. ‘This is addressed: “To my son, James, to be read after my death.” I think it now comes to you.’ He handed it to Tom.
Tom read it, silently, then passed a hand over his eyes. He looked at Arkenstall. ‘He just said how much he regretted breaking with David, says he was wrong and realised too late. He finished: “Pray to God to forgive me.”’ He turned away to lean on the mantelpiece, his face in his hands.
Arkenstall shuffled his papers together and Josie stood up quickly and seized Charlotte’s hand. She addressed Arkenstall and Tom equally with false brightness: ‘If that is all you require of Charlotte and myself, sirs?’
Arkenstall answered, smiling, ‘Why, yes, Mrs Miller. I think so.’ Tom nodded, not turning.
Josie led Charlotte from the room and out to the kitchen. There she began preparing lunch while the little girl chattered around her legs and helped with the work, kneading the pastry for a pie and rolling it out with her fat little fists struggling with the rolling pin.
Josie was able to think with a part of her mind. The old man’s letter left to his son had affected her, though not so deeply as it had Tom Collingwood. Her heart softened towards her grandfather, who had so bitterly regretted his treatment of her father and mother – and herself for that matter. She had come north to lay a ghost. The ghost had been laid but now – if he had lived she could have found it in her heart to pity him.
‘Me! Me!’ Charlotte demanded, and Josie gave her the fork so she could make the holes in the piecrust. It
came to her then – though she admitted she should have realised it when the will was read – that she, as the daughter of David, the elder son, should inherit this house and the shipyard while Charlotte would have only the rest of the estate.
And if she disclosed her identity now?
Tom Collingwood would see her as an impostor and fortune-hunter who had somehow heard of James’s death, though that fortune now consisted solely of this house.
A week later, on a morning when the wind blew in cold from off the river bringing a spit of rain, Josie walked home in a more cheerful mood. She was returning from the shops in Dundas Street, Charlotte trotting by her side. The little girl carried her own small basket with the rag doll, Amelia, cradled in her other arm. As they turned into the square, Josie saw the big house spread across the end of it. She also saw a number of her neighbours in white pinnies, shawls around their shoulders, gossiping at their doors despite the rain and the cold. Josie knew them all now. Ever since that first morning when they had called out a welcome to her.
They greeted her now: ‘Hello, hinny!’
‘Good morning,’ Josie replied.
‘“Mornin”,’ chimed in Charlotte.
One asked, ‘How are you managing in that big house?’
Josie paused to answer, ‘Just about coping, thank you.’
Another called, ‘And how are you getting on wi’ that Tom Collingwood?’
Before Josie could construct a careful answer to this yet another put in, ‘I see he goes back to lodgings every night.’
He did. Josie tactfully answered so and let the previous question go. ‘Yes, he does.’
Still another, mock solemn: ‘It seems a shame wi’ that big house and a dozen rooms in it. Surely he could fit in there.’
Josie’s head kept turning, because there was still one more to call. ‘I’d find room in the house for that big lad!’ And now they all laughed. So did Josie but she hurried on, feeling the blood in her face. Then she heard them chorusing behind her: ‘Hello, Captain Collingwood!’
