Lovers Meeting

by Irene Carr

  Packer knew he was dismissed, set down his glass and got up. Garbutt said, ‘You did right to tell me. Here—’ He dug a hand in his pocket, pulled out a roll of banknotes and slapped them in Packer’s hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ Packer backed to the door. He thought of pointing out to Garbutt that a true gentleman did not carry cash except to tip, charging everything to an account. He decided against it. Garbutt would not pay for the information; far worse, he might feel slighted and Packer would not risk that. He promised, ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

  Garbutt was left staring into the fire and wondering. Who was this Mrs Miller? Why was she meddling? She was no more than a servant! He had thought he had finished the Langleys but the house and the shipyard still belonged to the brat. Surely in time the name of Langley would wither and fade away into obscurity. But if it did not, or if this woman continued her meddling, he would have to … deal with them.

  When she arrived in London, Josie found cheap lodgings in a house near the station. The next morning, a cold, clear day, she set out on an open-topped omnibus headed for Wapping. She dressed for the weather in a long ‘Russian’ coat with a decorated hem and a belt emphasising her slim waist. It had been a gift from one of the Urquhart daughters, altered to fit her by Josie herself and cherished for years.

  Josie had been given an address by Dougie Bickerstaffe, but when she got down from the bus she had to ask her way several times before she eventually reached the right street and the right door. It was in a long row of narrow little terraced houses, the living-room doors opening directly on to the street. Lace curtains covered the windows and Josie could just make out the dark green spread of an aspidistra within.

  She knocked at the door and while she waited looked round and smiled at the dozen or so ragged and grubby children who had gathered, curious, behind her. The street swarmed with others at their games.

  The door was opened by a stout woman with a full, sensuous mouth and little eyes that stared coldly at Josie – and then suspiciously when she took in the coat that had cost the Urquhart girl all of thirty-five shillings. There were men in the street bringing up families on twenty shillings a week.

  Josie asked, ‘Does Iris Taylor live here?’

  The woman challenged: ‘What if she does?’

  Josie smiled, ‘I’d like to talk to her.’

  ‘What about?’

  Josie kept the smile in place with an effort. ‘I just want to talk.’

  ‘She’s not here.’ The door slammed in Josie’s face.

  She wondered, What now? She started back along the street, the children trailing behind her. Then one pigtailed girl said, ‘She’s in the shop.’

  Josie halted. ‘Where is that?’

  They showed her. It stood on the corner of the next street, its window filled with stacked vegetables, fruit in banked pyramids or boxes outside on the pavement. A tubby man in his forties hustled about between the shop and the nether regions and a woman, seemingly his wife, sat at a cash desk in a corner. A girl wearing a long sackcloth apron was serving the customers queueing at the counter.

  Iris Taylor was slight, light-footed and her smile was genuine. Dougie Bickerstaffe had said she was nineteen but Josie thought she looked younger than that. Josie took her place in the queue, asked for a bag of apples when it was her turn and said softly when the girl was close, ‘Iris Taylor?’ And when the girl stared in surprise but nodded, Josie said, ‘I know a friend of yours, Dougie Bickerstaffe. Can I talk to you? When do you get off?’

  For answer, Iris turned to the man. ‘Can I nip out for a few minutes, Joe?’

  ‘’Course you can. You go on, gal, but not all day, mind.’

  ‘Ta, Joe.’

  They talked on the pavement a few yards away. Josie explained how Dougie lodged at the Langley house and sailed in the Macbeth, then said: ‘He talks about you all the time. He wants you to go up North. He said it would be no good for the pair of you down here.’

  Iris said bitterly, her smile gone, ‘He’s right there. Hilda wouldn’t give us no peace. Wherever we went around here, she’d find us.’

  Josie asked, ‘Hilda? Your stepmother?’

  Iris nodded. ‘She comes up here and gets my wages off Joe. I never lay my hands on a penny except what she gives me and that’s precious little. I do all the work around the house and her and Dad go out boozing. Anytime I stick up for myself I get a bloody good hiding off the pair o’ them.’

  Josie, appalled, asked, ‘Why don’t you walk out?’

  ‘I daren’t. I’ve got nothing saved and nowhere to go. Nobody to go to, either. Hilda told me, “You go to the police,” she says, “and I’ll tell ’em you fell down the stairs. It’d be your word against ours and I’ll settle wi’ you afterwards.”’

  Josie started, ‘Suppose I—’

  But Iris hadn’t done. ‘I’m only telling you this because you’ll be off as soon as we’ve finished. I wouldn’t dare tell anybody around here in case it got back to Hilda.’

  Josie tried again: ‘Dougie—’

  ‘I know what Dougie wants.’ Iris’s smile returned briefly, fondly. ‘I can read him like a book, I think. But – there’s never been anybody else, you know? And I’m frightened to trust him. Sailors – I’d see him for a day or two, or maybe a week or just a few hours, then he’d be off to sea again.’

  Iris paused and Josie finally got in: ‘You needn’t be frightened. I’ll give you the fare to come up North, find you lodgings and a job.’

  ‘What?’ Iris stared in disbelief.

  Josie repeated what she had said and they talked for a few minutes more. Then Iris said, ‘Oh, Lor’! I’d better get back.’

  Josie fished in her bag and pressed coppers and silver into the girl’s hand. ‘That will pay your fare to King’s Cross station and you’ll find me there. I’m catching the ten o’clock train tomorrow morning.’

  Iris looked dazed but the smile was back for good now. ‘All right. Ta. Tomorrow.’ Then she ran back to the shop.

  Josie was at the station before ten the next day and Iris arrived there only minutes later, nervous but excited. She wore a shabby coat and dress and carried a handbag but had no luggage at all. ‘I couldn’t get nothing out o’ the house except a few little bits me mum left me and they’re in me bag.’ So they went shopping – hurriedly – and when they boarded the train the guard was blowing his whistle, but Iris carried a suitcase of her own filled with clothes. Josie was eager and happy.

  They arrived at the Langley house in the dusk of a bitterly cold day. As their cab slowed to turn into the square, Josie saw another already at the front door. She called quickly, ‘Stop, cabbie!’

  He reined in the horse. ‘What is it, missus?’

  Tom Collingwood stood on the steps of the house in conversation with two gentlemen, marked out by their top hats. They were obviously on the point of leaving but Josie decided it might not be tactful to break in on their farewells. She called, ‘Turn around!’

  So she and Iris got down at the back door of the house and walked into the kitchen. Annie and Kitty had their backs to the door, singing as they worked, and its opening went unnoticed. Little Charlotte stood by Annie’s legs, her chubby hand wrapped in Annie’s skirts. Josie remembered that she herself had stood just so in this kitchen twenty years ago. Then she saw the child’s face change.

  Josie looked up and her heart lurched as she saw the giant in the doorway, cut black against the light behind him. Then she realised it was Tom Collingwood, come from the front of the house, and her heart missed another beat.

  He crossed the kitchen to her in a second, long-striding, to grasp her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, and stooped to peer into her face. ‘For a moment you looked as if you’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Josie answered breathlessly. Thinking quickly, she made the excuse, ‘I think it was coming into the warm kitchen from the cold outside.’ And to distract him and give her a breathing space: ‘This is Iris Taylor. She’s going
to run our shop in Dame Dorothy Street.’

  Tom grinned at Iris. ‘Welcome.’ And to Josie, ‘So this was your “family business”.’

  ‘Yes.’ Josie felt a blush rising under Tom’s stare. But then Charlotte was pulling at her while Annie and Kitty were both talking at once, taking coats, putting on the kettle. Tom retreated to the door and Josie was aware of him there, no longer a threat from her past. She was laughing happily. He nodded, smiling, and strode away along the hall. It was good to be home again.

  Later that evening, just the two of them sat at supper at the long table in the dining room. Prompted by Josie, Tom talked business throughout the meal, telling how he was about to make another voyage in the Macbeth to deliver coal to Davy at the Fishermen’s Rest. ‘All goes well there.’ Tom had also found another cargo to carry down to Hull. ‘And I’ve arranged for more.’ He went into details yet again. Josie listened, smiling.

  But at the end of the meal he said, ‘That shop you rented before you went to London is doing a roaring trade.’

  Josie replied happily, ‘Yes. And now we have Iris to run it, instead of Annie and Kitty having to fit it in with their other work. They’ve been marvellous.’

  Tom’s gaze was fixed on her face. ‘So have you.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve of my efforts.’ Josie’s eyes fell before his.

  Tom saw her embarrassment, wondered at it but changed the subject. ‘I had visitors earlier this evening.’

  Josie hurried to his assistance. ‘Yes, I saw them as they left, so I told my cabbie to take us round to the kitchen entrance. I thought it would be better if we did not disturb you.’

  ‘We’d done talking, but I appreciate your consideration.’ Then Tom said ruefully, ‘They’d come to offer me a plum command, a ship bound for the Far East. It would be quite a big step up.’

  Josie smiled, pleased for him. ‘That’s wonderful!’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I turned it down. I feel my duty lies closer to home. Besides, I already have a command in the Macbeth. She needs a captain.’

  Josie stared at him, open-mouthed. Then: ‘But that is a wonderful opportunity! It is a great compliment to your ability that they should seek you out and offer this command to you! You must take it!’

  ‘I can’t. I—’

  Josie cut in on his protests. ‘Did they come to you because there is a great shortage of captains?’

  Tom grinned wryly. ‘No. There are plenty of good men with master’s tickets looking for a berth.’

  ‘Then engage one for the Macbeth.’

  ‘There are still matters here that I—’

  ‘Would you expect to run this household and care for Charlotte while I was here?’

  ‘No, of course not, but the business—’

  Josie, flushed with excitement now and with that proud lift to her head, pressed him. ‘You approved of my efforts in business matters so far. Trust me. Please. I know you want this ship and that you are sacrificing your career because you believe that is your duty – but it isn’t necessary.’ And now Josie begged him, ‘Trust me. I will never fail you, or Charlotte, or this house. Believe me.’

  Tom saw that the girl was on the verge of tears but it did not influence his answer. ‘I believe you.’

  He accepted the command the next day and found another captain for the Macbeth. Felicity Blakemore called and was delighted at the news: ‘I’m glad you’ve taken my advice and given up that dirty little tramp.’

  Tom protested, ‘She’s not dirty!’

  Felicity did not listen. ‘When you return we must fix a day for the wedding …’ She sat in the armchair in the office – Josie’s chair – and chatted of her plans while Josie brought tea. ‘And we are invited to a dance at the Pendletons’ this evening.’

  Tom did not return from the dance until long after midnight. Josie, lying wakeful, heard the clattering hooves of his cab and the jingle of the harness, his tread as he passed her door. Hours later she stood at the front door in the dawn as he climbed into another cab, this one headed for the station, to catch an early train bound for London. Annie and Kitty stood beside her and Charlotte danced on the steps with excitement. Felicity was not present because of the dance the previous night.

  Dan Elkington and Dougie Bickerstaffe swung Tom’s big sea chest up on to the roof of the cab. He had said, ‘A lot more to carry, dress uniforms to dine with the passengers, tropical kit …’

  Tom lifted Charlotte high in the air then kissed her. He smiled at them all as the cab pulled away and they all waved and called their ‘goodbyes’. Except Josie, who only tried to smile.

  He would be gone for half a year.

  19

  December 1908

  ‘Good morning, everyone.’ Josie had slept poorly for several nights after Tom’s departure but had striven to exhibit a forced brightness. She smiled around the kitchen now as she entered with Charlotte by her side. Kitty and Annie replied in chorus as they started the work of the day.

  Josie joined them, trying to keep up her end in the singing and the chatter. ‘How are you, Annie?’ She covertly eyed the girl.

  ‘I’m fine, ma’am.’

  Josie nodded, satisfied. She had – gently but firmly – relieved Annie of any heavy work because of the child she was expecting. That work had simply been transferred to Dan Elkington and he had taken on the added burden cheerfully. That reminded Josie: ‘Dan!’ she called him as he entered the kitchen by the back door. ‘I’ll need you down at the quay later on, then at the shop.’

  ‘Right y’are, ma’am.’

  ‘I’ll tell you when.’ Iris Taylor had taken over at the shop and this day they were expecting another delivery of produce from the Macbeth.

  ‘There’s the postman.’ Josie heard the clack! of the letterbox. She swept the kitchen with one swift glance and saw that all was now ready to serve the breakfast to her boarders. ‘I’ll leave you to finish off. Charlotte! Mind you do as you are told.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Miller,’ Charlotte replied as she fed a crust of bread to Amelia, her doll.

  Josie picked up the letters from where they lay inside the front door, carried them into the office and flicked through them quickly. There was one addressed to her in Tom Collingwood’s neat hand. She dropped the others on the desk and opened that one. The two sheets inside began: ‘Dear Mrs Miller …’ They were businesslike, almost curt, describing his doings since he had left, his ship and her crew. Josie smiled and shook her head. ‘Bless the man.’ They closed: ‘We sail within the hour. I trust you and all there are well.’ There was that word. He trusted her. And he had found time to write to her when he was on the point of sailing and must have been very busy. Josie slid the letter inside her dress to read again later.

  The other letters were also businesslike. Josie kept the accounts and handled the affairs of the Macbeth and the lodging house. She banked any income and paid out wages and other expenditures. This besides bringing up Charlotte and running the house. Josie worked at the desk for half an hour, replying to letters when necessary, entering items in her accounts. As she put away her books she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and nodded with satisfaction. There would be plenty of time to visit the Langley shipyard on her way back from the bank. ‘Charlotte!’

  Soon afterwards she was walking briskly out of the square with Charlotte skipping by her side, both of them wrapped in warm winter coats against the cold wind. Josie knew it would be colder still by the river. At the bank in Bridge Street she drew out the money she needed and put it in the capacious bag she carried for the purpose. Then she and Charlotte went on to the Langley yard.

  As they approached the yard, Charlotte asked, ‘What are those men doing?’ A horse and cart stood outside one of the end houses in a long terrace. Two men in overalls were lifting a wardrobe on to the cart which was already loaded with cheap, old furniture. A third man in a suit shiny with age was inside the house, fixing a crudely lettered sign to the window: ‘To Let.’

  Josie said,
‘The people who live there are moving.’ She thought it was a pity she had not seen the house some weeks earlier. It would easily convert into a shop and was much larger than the premises Iris Taylor worked in. But would it be too large? Josie decided to think about it and walked on.

  The big gates of the yard were shut, as they had been for months, but a door at the side opened on a passage that led past the timekeeper’s office and the watchman’s little hutch and so into the yard. The watchman, old Sammy Allnutt, came out to greet her, touching his cap with a thick, broken-nailed finger. ‘Aye, aye, Mrs Miller.’

  ‘Good morning, Sammy.’ Josie did not remember him from twenty years ago but she had been visiting the yard for some weeks now. She found it depressing – the melancholy aura of abandonment and desolation, the grass and weeds growing up between the rusting sheets of steel, the stacks of timber turning green with age. But something always drew her back again. She wondered if it was the Langley blood in her.

  Sammy limped around the yard with Josie and Charlotte, glad of ‘a bit of crack’. Talking to Josie relieved the boredom of his long, solitary hours. He told her of old times as old men do, of when he was young and the yard was busy. He had a wealth of stories about the Langleys, William in particular, and Josie encouraged him to tell them. She was hungry for anything she could learn about these relatives of hers.

  Now Sammy was saying, ‘Aye, he was a good man, auld Billy Langley, a man’s man. Fair, straight as a die. Mind, he could be hard when he thought it was needed.’ Josie knew that, remembered the day he had turned away her father. Sammy went on, ‘He had his ideas of what was right or wrong and he’d stick to them come hell or high water. Like when he caught Garbutt takin’ the money out o’ his pocket.’