Lovers Meeting

by Irene Carr

  And his deep reply: ‘Good morning.’

  He caught up with her at the foot of the steps leading up to the front door. ‘Good morning. What were they laughing about?’

  Josie told a white lie. ‘I don’t know. It must have been something I didn’t catch.’ She wondered if he would accept this.

  He did, because he was preoccupied and said only, ‘They won’t be so cheerful later.’ Josie saw that he was serious. As they passed through the doorway into the hall, he paused, considering her, then said, ‘You’d better know. Everyone else will, soon. And as your employment as governess, nurse, housekeeper—’ He smiled wryly over the multiplicity of titles – and duties. Then he continued, ‘You would be justified in wondering what truth might lie behind the talk you will hear. So will you come in here for a few minutes, please?’

  He dropped his cap on the small table in the hall, ushered Josie into the office and gestured to her to take the leather armchair Felicity had occupied at the reading of the will. He sat at the desk and took a thick sheaf of papers from an inside pocket. ‘I’ve been busy this last week and the result is here.’ He waved the papers, then tossed them on to the desk. ‘It would take me most of the day to read all that’s written there but it can be summed up very briefly: William had a large amount of insurance and that covered most of the outstanding debts. I’ve been able to clear them so I’ve managed to save the yard for Charlotte.’

  They both glanced at the child, playing with her doll on the floor near Josie’s feet, oblivious to the conversation. Josie had been listening carefully and over the past few days had been thinking and learning. She had decided she could not always pose as the servant answering in monosyllables. She had to speak her mind sometimes and risk his displeasure if it meant she might gain some respect. Now she questioned boldly, ‘You said the insurance covered most of the debts. What covered the rest?’

  Tom straightened in his chair and set hands on his knees to glare at her. ‘That is none of your business, Mrs Miller.’

  Josie went on as if she had not heard, ‘I know you sold the Celia. People talk. Two gentlemen were strolling ahead of me just the day before yesterday, discussing the sale. It was bought by a Mr Billy Fredericks for—’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Tom cut in, exasperated. ‘Yes, the sale of the Celia helped.’

  Josie remembered how he had received the news that he had inherited the cutter and knew he would not have let her go unless he had to. She ventured again, ‘And your own capital?’

  Tom opened his mouth to rebuke her again but then sighed and admitted, ‘That’s about the size of it. You may as well know that as well. Oh, you don’t need to worry, I can find the money for your wages, but—’

  ‘That was not my concern, Captain Collingwood!’ Now Josie sat very straight and glared, outraged. ‘I have not asked for money. My concern is for the child’s welfare.’ She would have worked for nothing. But then she remembered the part she was playing and amended: ‘Of course, I am only an employee, not a member of the family, but I do care for Charlotte. And if my salary is … delayed or postponed, I will still carry out my duties.’

  Tom ran his hands through his hair and growled, exasperated, ‘I was only trying to reassure you, Mrs Miller. You understand, I know nothing of your personal circumstances, whether there is a child of your own, or some elderly relative, dependent on you and your earnings. That is not uncommon.’

  Josie relaxed and bent her head in acknowledgment. ‘Perhaps we may go on again. Have you more to tell me?’

  ‘I said they would not be so cheerful later on.’ Tom waved a hand at the window and looked out. Josie, too, could see through the lace curtains to the square outside. In passing she thought wryly that she had given those curtains a much-needed washing and ironing but, of course, Tom had not noticed. But she could see the life of the square and the women at their doors. Tom said, ‘There isn’t money to pay the men and no sign of an order. I’m closing the yard and laying off every man.’

  Josie stared at him, appalled. ‘Oh, T—’ She corrected herself hastily: ‘—Captain Collingwood! That’s awful!’ From comments heard as she passed the women at their doors she knew that almost every woman in the square had a man working at Langley’s, some of them with a husband and sons. ‘Do they know?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Not yet. I’ve sent for Harry Varley, the manager. I’ll inform him of the situation first, then go down to the yard and tell the men. Harry’s a married man with three small children. And there’s all the rest.’ He shook his head miserably.

  Josie asked, ‘Can’t the banks help?’

  ‘No.’ Tom sighed. ‘When he couldn’t get an order to build a ship William kept the yard going on repair work and loans. But the repair work has dried up and we’ll get no more loans without an order to build.’ And now he held Josie’s gaze, his dark eyes staring into her as he said, ‘You ask some shrewd questions for—’ He paused to choose his words, not wanting to patronise.

  Josie thought, For a servant. And she forestalled him, ‘I was fortunate enough to receive an education with the Urquharts.’

  ‘Um.’ Tom’s answer was non-committal and he was still watching her. But then there came the jangle-jangle! heard faintly from the kitchen, caused by someone yanking on the front-door bell-pull. Tom rose from his chair. ‘That will be Harry Varley now. Will you excuse us?’ He opened the door and Josie led Charlotte out into the hall. There she gathered up her shopping basket and Charlotte’s and delayed long enough to see the man admitted by Tom.

  Harry Varley was short and wiry, energetic. Josie learnt later that he had grown his beard to make him look older. It served now to hide any anxiety of expression, but that anxiety was in his voice when he said, ‘You sent for me, Captain Collingwood.’

  ‘Aye, Harry. Come on in.’ And Tom set an arm round his shoulders and took him into the office.

  Josie took the shopping along to the kitchen, hung up her coat and that of the little girl, then unpacked her purchases and put them away. Charlotte was absorbed in some game with Amelia, chattering away to the doll. Josie took advantage of this and sat down at the kitchen table to consider. The house was safe – so far. But the Langley yard was to close and God only knew if it would ever open again. That would take an order and money – a lot of it. Josie was the real heiress, not Charlotte, who was just a child. So Josie had inherited the responsibility that went with any estate. It was her duty to try to put the Langleys back on a sound footing. She could not hope to start up the yard but she could try to keep this house going. She was on a month’s trial. How could she persuade Tom Collingwood to keep her on?

  Josie chewed on the problem for some minutes but did not find a solution.

  She need not have bothered.

  She walked back to the hall again when she heard voices there. Harry Varley had lost all his energy and his shoulders slumped. Tom was picking up his cap and when he saw Josie he said sombrely, ‘I’m just going down to the yard with Harry.’

  Josie replied, ‘I’ll have lunch ready when you get back, Captain Collingwood.’

  She had made a hotpot, having already found out that it was a favourite of his, but the effort was wasted. They sat down to lunch in the dining room, Tom at the head of the table with Charlotte between him and Josie. He ate abstractedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Josie knew he was upset by the closure of the yard and its effect on the employees. He finally pushed his plate away with the meal only half eaten and declined dessert. He rose from the table, saying, ‘Sergeant Normanby left a message at the yard: he’s coming to see us this afternoon. I’ll be in the office.’ He strode away across the hall.

  Josie looked at her own picked-at plate and sighed. Charlotte said proudly, ‘I ate all mine.’

  Josie replied mechanically, ‘Yes, you’re a good girl.’ She wondered what Normanby wanted with them.

  Josie answered the knock on the front door with Charlotte trotting along at her heels. Normanby, helmet under his arm, apologised, ‘
Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.’

  ‘Not at all, Sergeant. Come in, please.’

  Tom appeared in the doorway of the office, repeated the invitation and included Josie: ‘You, too, Mrs Miller. You were a witness.’ He stood before the fireplace and nodded to Normanby to take the armchair. This time Josie sat in the swivel chair at the desk. The door of the office was open and she could see Charlotte playing in the hall. An open letter lay on the desk and the name ‘Mrs Josephine Miller’ leapt out at her, but she resisted the temptation to peep and tore her eyes away.

  ‘I asked to see you, Captain, Mrs Miller, because we have now completed our enquiries,’ Normanby said, apologetically. ‘I could have told you one or two bits of news at the inquest or the funeral but I thought it would be better to do it at one go and somewhere like this.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Very well.’

  Normanby took out his notebook. ‘I talked to Packer, the solicitor. He informed me that the man who delivered the notices of foreclosure, and the man behind Shipbuilders’ Finance Ltd, was a Reuben Garbutt.’

  Tom interrupted, frowning, ‘A local man?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Normanby, ‘not now, but he was born around here. I remember his father, Elisha, that used to be manager at the Langley yard. Old Mr Langley dismissed him and the Garbutt family moved away. But that must be all of twenty years ago.’

  Josie did not remember the name Garbutt, had been only four years old when she last heard it.

  Tom was glaring at Normanby: ‘Then this man Garbutt was acting out of spite!’

  Normanby agreed equably, ‘It could be. But he says it was only a matter of business.’

  Tom asked, ‘You’ve talked to him?’

  ‘I have, sir.’

  Normanby had sat in Reuben’s office in the City of London, with its atmosphere of solid respectability, and asked, ‘How was Mr William Langley when you left him that evening, sir?’

  Garbutt shrugged. ‘A bit down in the mouth. But what would you expect? I’d called in some loans and he was going to have trouble finding the money, but that’s business.’

  ‘He wasn’t having a heart attack or a stroke?’

  ‘I’m not a doctor but I wouldn’t say he was having either of those. As I said, he was sitting at the table a bit fed up.’

  ‘A witness reports seeing a man of your description leaving the house with a young woman believed to be a Miss Rhoda Wilks, employed as a housemaid and nurse by the late William Langley. This witness claims Rhoda said, “You’ve killed him.” Were you that man and was that woman Rhoda Wilks?’

  ‘I was and she was. You know how the world wags, Sergeant. Rhoda and I had an understanding. I’d agreed to take her away that night. She was excited – and hysterical when she saw old Langley looking so miserable. That’s all.’

  Normanby said, ‘The witness reports you as saying, “Shut your mouth! You’re finished with him and that’s what you wanted.”’

  Garbutt nodded. ‘Exactly. I told you, she wanted to get away and I’d promised to take her. I told her to shut up because I was annoyed. Langley had been insulting over what was a quite legitimate business matter.’

  ‘Where can I find Miss Wilks?’

  Garbutt shook his head, smiling, and lied: ‘Sorry. I haven’t seen her since that night. I paid her what I had promised and that was the end of it so far as I was concerned. I don’t know where she is.’

  Normanby asked one final question because Garbutt fitted the description of the man who had driven the coal lorry, though that description could have been applied to thousands of other men. The sergeant was unlucky in that Garbutt was yawning and rubbing his face in his hands so his expression could not be seen. For a second it might have given him away when the sergeant asked, ‘Where were you on Tuesday, 8 September?’ This was the day on which James Langley and his wife, Maria, had been killed.

  Garbutt answered, ‘I was here, in London. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just following up another enquiry I’m making, sir. Can anyone confirm your statement?’

  ‘I was at home most of that day. You could ask my valet or my chauffeur.’

  ‘Where will I find them, sir?’

  Garbutt told him. And as the door closed behind him, Garbutt reached for the telephone and spoke to his valet.

  Now Normanby looked up from his notebook at Tom and Josie. ‘I spoke to them and they confirmed he had been about the house that day.’

  Josie asked, ‘Couldn’t they be lying?’

  ‘They could,’ Normanby agreed, ‘but we can’t prove it. And really there is no evidence that this Garbutt was connected with the death of Mr and Mrs James Langley. Nor that he committed any crime in delivering those notices of foreclosure. That might be vindictive but it wasn’t criminal.’

  Tom demanded, ‘So what now?’

  Normanby put away his notebook and stood up. ‘All we can do is to keep looking for further evidence relating to these deaths. But you’ll appreciate, sir, as time goes by we’re less an’ less likely to find any.’

  Tom said bitterly, ‘It’s a dirty, bloody business.’

  Normanby agreed. ‘Yes, sir.’ Tom opened the front door for him and he trudged away round the square, clapping his helmet on his head.

  Josie had come out into the hall but Tom stopped her there. ‘A moment, please.’ So she led the way into the office again, wondering if he was about to find fault with her again, bracing herself for the confrontation. But he stood by the desk, staring out of the window, brows down and lips tight. Finally he took a deep breath and shrugged as if to cast a weight from his shoulders. He turned towards Josie, saying, ‘It still seems murder to me, but no doubt Normanby has the right of it and the law can’t touch Garbutt. I must be content that I’ve foiled his plans to take the yard.’

  Now he took the letter from the desk and asked, ‘Are you prepared to serve here for the foreseeable future?’

  Josie breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘Yes, Captain.’

  Tom handed her the letter. He had foreseen this decision a week ago, knew he had to leave and someone had to see to the house and care for Charlotte. He still suspected that Mrs Miller was not quite what she seemed, but she had proved competent and fond of the child. Even more importantly, the same instinct that made him suspect Mrs Miller also, strangely, told him he could trust her. Now he said, ‘That is a letter of authority, identifying you and authorising you to draw funds from the bank each week while I am away. I have written another letter to the bank confirming this arrangement. If you will be good enough to post it?’ He handed the second letter to her, this one sealed and stamped.

  Josie looked up at him, taken aback. ‘You’re going away?’

  Tom was still angry, deep inside, at William’s death and the manner of it. Also, he wanted to stay ashore and keep an eye on affairs but knew he could not. Out of frustration and anger he answered irritably, as if explaining the obvious, ‘I must. I don’t know what I can do about the yard in the long term but in the meanwhile Charlotte depends on me and there is this house to maintain. I’ve got a ship, the Highgrange, and she sails this evening.’

  Josie noted his irascible tone but ignored it. ‘So soon?’

  ‘She’s ready so we must sail.’ Tom glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Do you think we could have a meal about half past five?’

  Josie answered, ‘Of course,’ and cursed, because it gave her less than an hour. ‘You’ve packed?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve cleared my clothes out of my lodgings, but all my sea-going kit is upstairs.’ Tom waved a hand at the desk and the papers still lying on it. ‘I have some loose ends to tie up, then I’ll do it.’

  Josie took the hint. ‘I have work to do.’ And she left him to it.

  In the kitchen she worked rapidly but still maintained a running conversation with Charlotte at her side and ‘helping’. Despite this help Josie cooked the meal in time. At five she heard the hooters that signalled the end of the working day in the shipyards. She st
opped what she was doing and tiptoed along the hall with Charlotte, silencing the child with a finger to her lips. She passed the closed door of the office where Tom still worked and peered out of the narrow window by the front door. Usually she could hear the buzz of the men’s chatter as they came home from work, hurrying past the square or entering it, but today they were silent.

  Josie sighed and went back to the kitchen. She left the door to the hall open and so heard when Tom finished in the office and climbed the stairs to pack. He did this in short order, and she heard him when he descended again soon after. She peeped out and saw him drop his big kitbag in the hall. He was dressed in the old reefer jacket he had worn when she first saw him. So she whisked plates and dishes from the oven and on to a tray, then carried them through to the dining room where she had already set the table. As she passed Tom she said brightly, ‘Dinner is served.’

  She gave him broth – her stockpot was to thank for that – a grilled steak and sautéed potatoes and vegetables, with an apple pie for dessert. This time he ate steadily and with enjoyment through the courses and drank the bottle of beer Josie had opened for him. But he did not linger. His meal completed, he glanced at his watch and rose from the table. ‘If you will excuse me.’

  Josie went with him. She had eaten little but put that down to the cooking in haste having taken away her appetite. Tom stood in the hall with his cap in his hand. He said gravely, ‘I leave Charlotte in your hands.’

  Josie smiled down at her where she stood against her legs. ‘I’ll care for her. When do you sail?’

  ‘Within the hour.’ Tom looked around the hall as if to be sure he was handing it over in good order. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

  Josie thought wryly that it was the first time he had given it thought. She replied, ‘I think we will do very well, Captain.’

  Tom crouched before Charlotte and kissed her. ‘Be a good girl and I’ll fetch you back a present.’

  Charlotte giggled. ‘A monkey?’

  He tweaked her cheek. ‘One monkey in the house is enough.’ Then he straightened and they heard the murmuring engine then the squeak of brakes as the Blakemore car stopped outside. Josie saw it through the lace curtains at the narrow windows on each side of the front door. She thought that Felicity had known he was leaving, had come to take him to his ship. Well, she was his fiancée.