Lovers Meeting

by Irene Carr

  Garbutt returned to Packer’s office and entered, as before, by the back yard. He drank some of the whisky as he searched the office, but took care to leave everything tidy; he did not want to arouse the suspicions of Packer’s secretary. He found nothing relating to him, but some cash in a locked box in a drawer. He forced the lock with ease and pocketed the money. The only other thing he took, and that with just a vague idea that it might be useful, was a length of thin chain and a padlock, such as might be used to chain a briefcase to a man’s wrist.

  He left with his suitcase, crossed the river by the ferry to Monkwearmouth and found lodgings in Dock Street, only minutes from the Langley house. He ate the supper of bread and cheese that his landlady set out for him then went to bed and slept peacefully.

  Packer’s body, his pockets weighted with stones, lay under a jetty, unlikely to be found for weeks or months.

  Kitty had said that morning, ‘A party? What does he want a party for?’

  ‘To celebrate the opening of the yard,’ answered Josie.

  ‘Well, I’m not stopping out till all hours.’

  ‘You’ll have to stay there for a reasonable time as representing the owners of the ship they’ll be building,’ Josie pointed out. ‘It would be a discourtesy if you left too soon.’

  They were working in the kitchen of the Langley house with Annie, already baking for the party. Now Kitty cackled, and admitted, ‘There was a time I’d ha’ stayed all night. I must be getting old.’

  ‘Never,’ chorused Josie and Annie, and they all laughed. Then the front doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Josie wiped her hands, took off her apron and hurried along the passage, wondering who it might be. As she opened the door she realised there was a cab outside. Then she recognised the man on the steps, in frock-coat and with top hat in hand, as the manager of the bank with whom she and Tom had been dealing these past weeks. He looked surprised to see her, and Josie realised he had been expecting a maid to open the door.

  But he recovered and smiled. ‘Ah, Mrs Miller. I came to see a member of the Langley Shipping Company. I have an invitation for all of you, to dine at my house this Thursday. It’s to celebrate the reopening of the Langley yard and also for you to meet some people who are eager to meet you – businessmen hoping to do business with you. Can we look forward to seeing you?’

  Celebrate. There was that word again. Josie replied, ‘Captain Collingwood is away at present but I think I can answer for him, and, of course, I will be delighted. I’ll consult Mrs Duggan and let you know her decision as soon as I can.’

  ‘Excellent! Until Thursday, then.’ He smiled, put on his top hat and the cab took him away around the square.

  Josie closed the door slowly. This was Tuesday. That left plenty of time to prepare for the dinner. She had to go, of course, told herself she could not let Tom go alone as the sole representative of the Langley Shipping Company.

  She returned to the kitchen and told Kitty, ‘We’ve been invited to dinner with the bank manager on Thursday – you, Captain Collingwood and myself.’

  ‘Not me,’ Kitty replied flatly. ‘I never was one for them fancy dinners and nowadays I don’t eat much anyway.’

  ‘Then I’ll write and tell him that you’re otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Ha!’ Kitty snorted.

  Annie giggled. ‘With a bottle o’ stout.’ Because that was the extent of Kitty’s drinking now, a glass of stout sipped before the fire in the evening.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ agreed Kitty.

  The mention of stout reminded Josie of something else she had to do. She opened the door to the cellar and lit the oil lamp on the shelf just inside the door with the box of matches that lay there. She descended the steps, with a slight shiver at the dank chillness, and stood the lamp on the shelf at the bottom in its usual place. Its light left shadows in the corner of the empty, stone-floored cellar. The six-inch-thick timber support standing in the middle of the floor cast another black bar of shadow, but shadows and cellar did not frighten Josie – with Annie and Kitty chattering just above her head. She found a bottle of beer for Tom’s dinner that evening, dusted it off and retraced her steps.

  Later, in the office, Josie wrote the note confirming Tom’s and her acceptance of the dinner invitation, and made Kitty’s excuses. Then she sat on at the desk, nibbling at the pen, in frowning thought. What should she wear? She had two frocks that might serve as evening wear. And she did not want to dress up too much to go out with Tom, did not want to invite more trouble. The dark grey would have to do. But she hoped he would like her in it, just the same.

  Tom Collingwood returned that evening in time to drink the beer poured for him and to eat dinner with Josie. It was then that he broke the news: ‘We’re sailing on Friday night.’

  Josie’s appetite left her. ‘So soon?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Josie smiled brightly. ‘Well, we must make sure all your kit is ready in time.’ Then: ‘This means you’ll miss the party at the yard on Saturday – and it was your idea.’

  Tom pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry. I would have liked to have been there.’

  They were silent for a moment while Josie took in the news and its implications, pushed the food about her plate. Then Tom said softly, ‘You’ve been a great help here, Mrs Miller. I will miss you while I’m away.’

  ‘Thank you.’ And Josie escaped from the room as soon as the meal was finished, to take refuge in the kitchen. Then, when her heart had stopped thumping, she decided that the grey dress would no longer do. No.

  The next day Josie left Charlotte in the care of Annie and Kitty and took a tram across the bridge into the town. First she called in at the bank and drew all the money from an account she had opened when she first came to Sunderland. The savings from her small wage had been considerably augmented by her share of the profits from the boarding house and the Langley Shipping Company. Then she made for the shops with her full purse. She spent recklessly, dressed herself from the skin out. A hansom cab was needed because of the number of her packages. She was proud to be going out to dinner with Tom Collingwood and wanted him to remember her with pride.

  Josie took care to return to the Langley house in the late afternoon, when she knew Tom would be down at the yard, checking on progress. She left her packages in her room and went to the kitchen. Taking off her hat and unbuttoning her coat, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘No bother,’ Kitty assured her. ‘But there’s a feller come looking for lodgings, a sailorman called Barty Kavanagh, and he’s waiting for a ship. He’s in next door. I said he’d have to wait till you came back but he looks a decent enough lad to me.’

  Josie found him in the boarders’ common room and immediately agreed with Kitty’s evaluation of this cheerful, patently honest sailor. She smiled. ‘I hear you want to board with us. Did Kitty tell you the terms and the rules?’ And she reeled them off, finishing: ‘— no drinking in here and you don’t come home drunk. Can you keep to them?’

  ‘Oh, aye, ma’am.’

  ‘Then I hope you’ll be comfortable here.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Satisfied, Josie went on her way. She spent a happy hour laying out her purchases on her bed, determinedly not looking too far ahead, pleased and excited. She would make the most of this.

  That Wednesday evening she spent a long time in her room, writing a short letter. Then on Thursday morning she handed it to Dougie Bickerstaffe as he ate breakfast. He was to take a train to London that morning to join the Dorothy Snow with the rest of her crew. Only Tom Collingwood, her captain, would join on the Friday. Josie said, ‘Will you give this to him on Saturday? And keep this a secret between us? Please.’

  ‘Aye, Mrs Miller. Don’t you worry.’

  Now she was ready.

  ‘My dear! You look charming!’ The banker’s wife was at once admiring, startled and envious, emotions shared by the other women at her dinner party. They were well aware that t
he men were staring at this Mrs Miller. Granted, she was a partner in the Langley Shipping Company, but only weeks ago she had been no more than a nurse and governess.

  ‘Thank you.’ Josie was well aware of how they were scrutinising her evening gown of sky-blue silk, simple and sheer, which was cut very low over her breasts and moulded itself to her body. ‘You’re very kind.’

  Tom stood by her side, tall and handsome in his dinner jacket, face dark above the starched white shirt. He smiled but was wryly bemused. He had always believed there were hidden depths to this girl and now he was seeing another side to her. But he was proud.

  They talked, laughed, ate, drank and were toasted: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the health of Mrs Miller and Captain Thomas Collingwood of the Langley Shipping Company and the Langley Shipbuilding Company. Long life and success to them.’ And a cab took them home at midnight.

  When it set off they were laughing, happy and relaxed, but as the horse trotted on they fell silent and an electricity crackled between them. They got down from the cab outside the house and Josie drew her stole about her and shivered, tried to joke: ‘Someone walking over my grave.’ And knew she had failed. The narrow windows by the front door threw out long fingers of light. Annie and Kitty, long abed, had left the gaslights on in the hall. Tom’s suitcases were there, his kit ready for his departure the next day.

  He said, his voice a low rumble, ‘I don’t want this evening to end so soon.’

  Josie knew he was tempted, as she was, but also believed she had gone too far already, in an affaire that should never have started, was doomed from the outset. And it was all her own fault. Now she lied again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m tired.’

  And she was close to him and he didn’t care that she was his servant living in his house or what anyone thought. He reached up to turn out the gaslight in the hall and they climbed the stairs. At the door to her room she turned to him. ‘Goodnight, Captain Collingwood.’

  He stretched an arm over her to set it against the wall. He leaned over her and said deeply, ‘Tom.’

  ‘Goodnight, Tom.’ She breathed it, lips parted and eyes bright as he loomed above her. Then he bent his head to kiss her gently, but she held him off, her hands against his chest, fighting her instinct again. ‘No! Please!’ Because she would not seduce this man. He was to be married; another letter from Felicity had arrived only that morning. If Josie took him to her bed now it would be little short of adultery. She would not spoil what they had.

  ‘Goodnight.’ And she closed the door on him.

  Tom turned away. He thought he knew why she had resisted: because he was not a free man. But the waiting was becoming intolerable.

  Josie heard his firm tread recede along the passage. She stood in the darkness of her room, her back against the door and tears on her face. She whispered, ‘Goodbye, my love.’

  25

  Josie slept little and heard Tom go down in the early morning. He was leaving her.

  In the kitchen Tom whistled softly as he made a pot of coffee and drank two cups of it. He breakfasted on cold meat and bread, sitting at the scrubbed table. When he walked through to the hall he found the post lying on the mat by the front door. He picked it up and dropped it on the small table, but then saw the letter from France. He took it into his office, frowning, and ripped it open.

  Felicity’s scrawl was jagged with rage and hate. She had read the report in The Times of the salving of the Northern Queen. ‘Now I know why you sailed on that dirty little ship! Because of Mrs Miller!’ This was heavily underlined. ‘The harlot you called a cook. That is what you were up to behind my back when you were engaged to me! Everyone will be sniggering at me! But I won’t set you free. I’ll take you through the courts for breach of promise! I’ll ruin you and that trollop!’

  Tom read it with rapidly mounting anger. Then he became aware of the horse standing outside the window, the cab waiting at the door. He thrust the letter into a drawer of the desk and hurried out. He told himself he must try to put this poison out of his mind. What needed to be done had to be done coolly. But it would be hard to keep his temper now.

  In the house behind him, Josie wiped her eyes. She heard movement again, this time on the far side of the door to the nursery, and knew that Charlotte would be calling her soon. Josie slid out of the bed, bathed and dressed listlessly. She had to put on a show again but it would be for just this one more day.

  ‘Mrs Miller!’ Charlotte called.

  ‘Coming!’ Josie replied, and went to her.

  Charlotte greeted her excitedly, jumping up and down on her bed – she had been promoted out of her cot some months ago. ‘This is the day of the party!’

  Josie smiled. ‘No, it isn’t. That’s tomorrow.’ Charlotte pouted in disappointment but giggled when Josie tickled her.

  In the kitchen they talked of the party and planned for it as they cooked breakfast for the seamen boarders. Kitty said, ‘I’ll be coming home at ten o’clock. I’ll be ready for me bed by then.’

  Josie warned, ‘I don’t think you should leave before because Captain Collingwood won’t be there and I must bring Charlotte home at eight – or soon after.’

  Charlotte, sharp of hearing, demanded, ‘Is that early?’

  ‘No, it’s late,’ Josie assured her, straight-faced, as Annie grinned.

  Kitty told Annie, ‘I’ll bring your little ’un home, if you like. That’ll give you and Dan a chance to enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Kitty,’ said Annie. ‘Thank you.’

  Josie chanced to look around and found one of the seamen boarders standing at the door from the hall. He held his empty mug in his hand and grinned at her. ‘Any chance of a drop more tea, ma’am?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Josie remembered his name now: Barty Kavanagh. ‘Let me have your mug.’ She gave him his tea and he went away.

  Dan rose from his seat at the table, his breakfast finished. ‘I’m looking forward to this do. It’s a long time since I did any dancing.’ He planted a kiss on Annie’s cheek and she squeaked and blushed. Then Dan looked at Josie and asked, ‘Is it all right if I wash down the yard now? Then I’ll get along to the chandler’s.’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ replied Josie.

  Dan got out the long hosepipe, connected one end to the tap over the kitchen sink and ran the other end out to the back yard. Soon the splash of water from the hose, and the scrubbing of the bass broom in Dan’s hands, made a rhythmic background to the chatter in the kitchen.

  In the evening, Josie went into the office to make up her books as she did every day. She found it hard to concentrate and worked slowly, with long periods spent staring wearily ahead of her. When she found she needed more ink for her pen she searched for another bottle. In the second drawer she came on a letter written in a jagged scrawl. A name leapt out at her, heavily underlined: ‘Mrs Miller!’ The letter was brief, barely a note; she took in its contents at a glance before thinking, I was not meant to read this. But she had read it, and felt sick.

  Josie closed the drawer. This only confirmed her decision. She would not be the cause of Tom Collingwood being maligned in court. The crew of the Macbeth would testify that he and Josie had not misbehaved, but she would not be there. If she went to court her identity would be disclosed. How credible would her testimony be when she had practised a deception for almost a year? Tom, and others, would think she had posed as ‘Mrs Miller’ to worm her way into the house, pursuing some dark scheme of her own.

  No. What she felt for Tom – and he for her? But she knew there was no question mark there – what they shared, she would not have that soiled.

  Josie laid her head on her hands and wept.

  That evening, Barty Kavanagh met Reuben Garbutt in the little pub down by the ferry. They talked in low tones and Barty said, ‘There’s not much to tell you. I don’t know if any o’ them are going anywhere today.’ Then as Garbutt glared, Barty pleaded, ‘Give us a chance. I can’t hang about that kitchen all day. They would wonder
what I was up to.’

  Garbutt growled, ‘Then what do you know?’

  ‘Just that tomorrow night, they’re all going to this party – but we’ve known that for days, they’ve been talking of nowt else. The only difference now is that she’s bringing the bairn home early, at eight o’clock, and the old woman is coming back a coupla hours after. She’s bringing the babby o’ that Annie so the lass can stop on till the finish, like all the rest.’

  ‘What do you mean, “all the rest”? Everyone in the house, boarders as well?’ Garbutt’s glare was fixed now.

  ‘Aye,’ Barty answered. ‘Everybody has been invited and not just them in the house. All them living in the square are going. Well, what d’ye expect? Free grub and beer, a band and dancing, o’ course they’ll be there. I will.’

  Garbutt was silent. He had hoped at best to be able to catch Mrs Miller walking alone one night, but this! He smiled and Barty did not like it, remembered the knife and said uneasily, ‘Look, I told you, I can’t hang about—’

  ‘Never mind.’ Garbutt cut him off and passed him a sovereign. ‘You’ve done your best. Meet me here tomorrow, same time.’ He left the pub and Barty tucked the sovereign away, but wondered if he should return the next day. The money was good but this bearded stranger was scaring him.

  Garbutt did not intend to return. He expected to finish his business the following night.

  When Tom boarded the Dorothy Snow where she lay in the Pool of London, he found the ship’s agent waiting for him, and apologetic: ‘I’m afraid a large item of your cargo has been delayed; it won’t be ready for another two days. I’ve notified the passengers due to board this evening, by telegram, that they will be boarding two days hence.’

  ‘Very good.’ Tom nodded and told his steward, ‘See my kit gets stowed in my cabin. I’m going ashore for an hour or so. I have some business to attend to.’ He strode off, grim-faced.