Lovers Meeting
Page 29
The steward, who knew him, muttered, ‘I wouldn’t like to be the business he’s going to deal with!’
Tom took a cab to the Blakemore town house in Mayfair. A butler answered the door and informed him, ‘The family do not return until late this evening, sir. Might I suggest you call again tomorrow?’ Then he flinched under Tom’s glower.
‘I see.’ Tom wanted this settled but now his ship was not sailing for another two days. He conceded grudgingly, ‘Very well. Please tell Mr Blakemore, and Miss Felicity, that I will call on them at ten tomorrow morning.’
The butler was quick to agree. ‘Certainly, Captain Collingwood.’
So Tom returned to the ship and unpacked his kit. He had a sleeping cabin with bathroom and a separate day cabin. The latter was spacious, designed so that he could entertain a few chosen passengers in there. It held a large desk gleaming with polish and several comfortable leather armchairs. The desk was empty save for a blotter. Tom took from his case the framed photograph of Josie and Charlotte and stood it on the desk. He had obtained this privily from the photographer the day after Josie had shown him the original. Then he sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and looked at the photograph until his steward called that his dinner was served.
He returned to the Blakemore house at five minutes to ten the next morning. He wore his best uniform, brushed and pressed by his steward, the buttons and gold braid gleaming. He had come to tell Felicity that he would not marry her and she could sue and be damned. He had made his decision – or had it thrust upon him – when he and Josie had steered the Northern Queen into the River Wear and the port of Sunderland.
The butler took his cap as he entered. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Felicity is not here. However, Mr Blakemore is waiting to see you in the drawing room.’ Tom thought, She’s keeping out of my way. But he followed the butler.
The drawing room was over-furnished with small tables and ornaments, as if the room and its contents were there to display Mr Blakemore’s wealth. He stood at the window, a florid, portly man in checked tweeds with a thick gold watch chain looped across his paunch. ‘Ah! Captain Collingwood. Be seated, please.’ His tone was hushed, his manner mournful, yet Tom felt the man was acting.
But no matter. This business could wait no longer and Tom would start now. ‘I’ve come to—’
‘To see Felicity, of course.’ Blakemore coughed, embarrassed. ‘She told me about the letter she had written, but only after she had posted it. I can assure you, sir, I would have stopped it if I could.’ Tom believed him. Blakemore would not want the family name blazoned in the newspapers. Now Blakemore went on, ‘And I’m afraid my daughter isn’t here. I must tell you – it has come as a terrible shock – that Felicity has run off with Major St Clair. We were staying at his place in Biarritz but we – Mrs Blakemore and I – we suspected nothing. Nothing! Then yesterday we woke to find them gone and just a note saying they were to be married in Paris. My wife is prostrate, of course. She was making plans for the wedding in October.’
Tom stared at him, incredulous, for a moment, then he asked drily, ‘Has he money?’
Blakemore shrugged as if that did not matter, but admitted: ‘He’s very wealthy as it happens. His uncle, the Vicomte, died barely a month ago and left him a fortune. And the title, of course.’ He could not keep the satisfaction out of his voice as he said this last.
Tom grinned to himself, but said thoughtfully, ‘I still don’t see why she eloped. Why not come back to London for a spring wedding?’ Because that was much more Felicity’s style. Blakemore shook his head and Tom thought again that the man was acting – and uneasy.
The butler handed Tom his cap and let him out. As he strode away he almost collided with a girl who stepped out of an alley leading to the rear of the house. ‘I beg your pardon.’ Tom put one hand to his cap in salute and steadied the girl with the other as she staggered.
‘’S all right.’ She smiled at Tom. ‘I was watching for you. Ventris – that’s the butler – he said you were calling this morning and I saw you come in. Captain Collingwood, isn’t it?’ And when he nodded, she went on, ‘I saw you up in Sunderland a few times. I’m Susie Evans. I was on the quay when you brought that ship in what was sinking. I was Miss Felicity’s maid.’ Tom remembered her, and the last time he had seen her, with the Blakemore car while the chauffeur was delivering Felicity’s note. But Susie was going on, with a jerk of her head towards the house, ‘Did they tell you about her running off?’
Tom nodded. ‘Yes.’ He now realised the girl had been drinking. Some of her words were slurred and there had been that initial unsteadiness.
She said solemnly, ‘I’m sorry for you, sir.’
Tom grinned at her. ‘I’m not.’
‘Oh?’ Susie brightened. ‘That’s good. ’Cause I came to give you a tip, see.’
Tom recalled something said earlier. ‘You say you “were” her maid?’
Susie pulled a face. ‘She sacked me a week back. Just happened to catch me wearing one of her outfits. Wouldn’t care, but the bloody dress won’t fit her in a month or two, anyway. I came back yesterday with old Blakemore and his missus.’ Now she giggled. ‘They were putting it on that they were all upset over her running off with that Major St Clair as he called himself. But what I wanted to tell you, because I like that Josie Miller and you, was why she run off with him. You’re well off out o’ that. I could tell you some tales.’ She winked at Tom. ‘Anyway, I heard the three o’ them talking, Blakemore and his missus and Miss Felicity—’
Susie stopped then, to peer about, making sure she was not overheard. But there was only a scissor grinder with his wheel some ten yards away, sparks flying as he sharpened a knife. Reassured, Susie lowered her voice and said, ‘This was a month back. Her ma was saying she had to get rid of it and Felicity was bawling her eyes out wi’ fright. That’s why she eloped. She’s expecting and she can’t wait till next October to be married, never mind next spring. But the major was courting her heavy so – I reckon – she told him old Blakemore wouldn’t have him for a son-in-law but she would run off with him. An’ they did.’
Tom took a breath, then said, ‘Well, it seems Felicity has fallen on her feet.’ He could be magnanimous now. ‘But what about you?’
‘Oh, I can get another job easy.’ Susie flapped a hand impatiently, then used it to grab Tom as she staggered again, off balance. ‘Whoops! I had a drop of old Blakemore’s sherry this morning, just to wish them all luck. Fallen on her feet? More like on her arse.’ Susie laughed outright this time, then, shaking Tom’s arm, she told him, ‘Afore I got this “place” I worked for an old girl called Smurthwaite. Only stopped there a week ’cause I heard her son was coming home and the girls there told me how he mauled ’em. But I saw Hubert afore I left and that’s him: Major St Clair as he calls himself now. I would ha’ told them if they’d treated me proper, but they didn’t.’
Tom blinked at her, taking this in. Susie sniffed. ‘Serves ’em right, I say. And that Hubert, I’ll lay he thinks Blakemore will buy him off, but he’s got another think coming. The old feller loves his money and he won’t part with it. Hubert will finish up in a jail in France or Italy.’
Susie would be proved right. Major St Clair had only leased the villa in Biarritz with its staff for the summer and the owner’s agents were seeking him for the unpaid rent. Inside a month he would be torn from the arms of his wailing young bride. Before the year was out Major St Clair, alias Commander Sackville RN, who had defrauded a Frenchwoman, alias Hubert Smurthwaite, would hear the cell door of a French prison slam behind him.
Tom had never heard of Hubert Smurthwaite. He disengaged his arm from Susie’s grip and pressed a sovereign into her hand. ‘That will help tide you over.’
Susie called after him, ‘Gawd bless you, Captain, you and that Josie!’
‘Thank you!’ Tom returned to his ship, whistling happily, and sat down at his desk to smile at the photograph of Josie. Then he started to write to her.
‘I remember Mr Harvey.’ Tom nodded. ‘Show him in and bring us some sherry, please. He can have lunch with me.’
‘Captain Collingwood!’ Harvey greeted him warmly, hand outstretched. And as Tom shook it: ‘Delighted you have been appointed to command her. I’m proud to say that I wrote to the directors months ago, after I came over with you the last time, saying how much you had impressed me. A lot of the other chaps who make regular crossings did the same.’
Tom grinned. ‘Thank you. I’m grateful.’
They chatted as they sipped the sherries poured by the steward, and afterwards as they ate lunch in the saloon. They returned to Tom’s day cabin for coffee and Harvey glanced around, taking in the space and comfort. Then he leaned forward to look more closely at the photograph on Tom’s desk. ‘You know Josie?’ he asked, mildly surprised.
Tom said, ‘Mrs Miller?’
Harvey blinked. ‘I didn’t know she was married.’
‘Widowed,’ Tom explained.
‘Oh dear,’ and Harvey shook his head sadly. ‘I haven’t seen her for six or seven years. That was when I went to her mother’s funeral. She was Josie Langley then.’
Tom stared disbelievingly, then said, ‘The child in the photograph is my ward, Charlotte Langley.’
Harvey asked innocently, ‘Any relation?’ Then added, before Tom could answer, ‘I’ve known Josie since she was about that age.’ He peered at Charlotte, then said with a bashful grin, ‘I tell you, I proposed to Josie’s mother but she wouldn’t have me.’ Then he told Tom the history of Josie Langley as told to him by her mother. How she and David Langley had meant to sail for America but had to bring the ailing Josie ashore at the last moment, then David’s sudden death and her letter to old William Langley informing him of this.
Tom exclaimed, ‘But he received no letter! He went to his grave believing David and his family were lost with that emigrant ship!’
‘Good God!’ Harvey sucked in a breath. Then he went on, telling how Josie had grown up in the Urquhart house and service. Tom listened intently, at the same time trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts.
Harvey had barely finished when Tom’s steward put his head around the door to say, apologetically, ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Seaman Bickerstaffe would like to see you; says it’s urgent.’
Tom answered absently, ‘Yes, I’ll see him.’
Dougie Bickerstaffe edged into the cabin cautiously, cap in hand, unused to this splendour. He laid the letter on the desk. ‘Sorry, sir. Mrs Miller said I was to give this to you today but I’ve just remembered.’
The letter was no more than a single sheet and began simply: ‘My Dear’. It went on to tell how Josie had used the name ‘Mrs Miller’ because of fear of her grandfather, and had stayed on to care for Charlotte. How she had put off telling the truth because she was afraid she would be thought guilty of trying to take Charlotte’s inheritance. And finished, ‘I can no longer maintain a pretence I should never have begun. I send you this letter because I cannot tell you the truth and face your doubt and distrust. You have all my love and I wish you well. Goodbye, Josie Langley.’
Tom looked at his watch then ran from the cabin, leaving Albert Harvey and Dougie Bickerstaffe staring.
Josie was at the party that evening from its beginning, of course. It was held in a big shed in the Langley yard, and with the other women she laid out the food she had helped prepare. She organised the children’s games and later led off the dancing, to a fiddle and piano, with Dan Elkington. Kitty muttered, ‘Pity that Tom Collingwood isn’t here.’ Josie managed to smile. Kitty was enjoying herself, and had obviously changed her mind about deserting the party early. If challenged she would doubtless claim that she had to ‘show the flag’ as a partner in the Langley Shipping Company, but she would stay until ten, no doubt of that. And equally she would return to the Langley house then, because she had promised Annie. She was rocking the baby’s pram now.
Josie finally left at twenty minutes past eight, after a long succession of farewells that almost reduced her to tears, but she had to put a brave face on it and held them back. She walked back to the Langley house, leading a reluctant but yawning Charlotte by the hand. The last hours of forced gaiety had exhausted Josie, but she still had to chatter brightly to jolly the child along. She told herself she had done some good with Charlotte. When Josie had first met her she had been grief-racked and insecure after losing her parents, her grandfather, even Rhoda, who had been a substitute for them, albeit a poor one. Now she was happy and confident after a year of loving. Josie would miss Charlotte and the child would miss her, but Charlotte was fond of Annie, Kitty and Tom. In time she would get over Josie’s leaving. But Josie?
Darkness had swept in from the sea and when they entered the square it was deserted under the few gaslights, one set at each corner. It was quiet, the riveting hammers in the shipyards stilled. The tall cranes loomed unmoving, cut in black silhouette like gallows in the night. The house stretched across the back of the square, dark and silent. As she led the sleepy Charlotte around the square there was not a soul to be seen, not a sound from any of the houses; everyone had gone to the party.
Josie had no need to plan any longer because it was all done. Her suitcase was packed and waiting in the hall. She had been the last to leave the house to go to the party and had brought the case down then. She had ordered a cab for ten o’clock. When Kitty returned Charlotte would be asleep and Josie would leave her in the old woman’s care. She would tell Kitty that she had to go away on family business. It was the excuse she had used before, but it would have to do. She was too tired to invent another. Kitty would suspect it was only an excuse but that didn’t matter because Josie would be gone. She had posed as Mrs Miller, acting out a lie, day in and day out, for almost a year now. She could go on no longer. And she had come here and found the man she loved, but too late.
There was a train leaving Monkwearmouth at 10.38 p.m. and Josie would be on it. She could afford an emigrant’s passage to America and would try to make a fresh start there. Tom Collingwood would be at sea by now and would have read her letter. He would know that she had deceived him from the beginning. Probably he would tear up the letter and forget Mrs Miller.
She used her key to open the front door and passed through with Charlotte clinging to her hand in the darkness. As Josie groped for the matches on the side table she thought that the darkness was somehow not total, that there might be some light from the square outside filtering in through the front door which still stood ajar. She scraped the match and held its flame to the gas mantle above her and in that instant realised that a faint radiance came from the direction of the kitchen. Then the gas lit with a soft plop! The front door slammed shut behind her, a hand clamped over her mouth and a knife was laid across her throat.
‘Keep still and keep quiet!’ The voice came in her ear, his breath stirring the soft auburn hair on her neck. Josie could not keep still, her body shuddering from his touch and that of the knife. Out of the corner of her eye, looking down, she could see Charlotte, frightened and beginning to cry, her hand still gripped by Josie. Then the knife was whipped from her throat and laid against Charlotte’s back. The voice said, ‘Hold on to her and do as I say, for her sake.’
Josie knew it was not just a voice, knew who it was, who it had to be: Reuben Garbutt, who had tried to murder her before. But he was supposed to be in hiding on the Continent, not in this country, this house, with his hands on her body. She quailed and then Garbutt said, ‘In the kitchen.’ He urged her forward and she obeyed on shaking legs, leading Charlotte along by the hand. The child did not attempt to run, only clung more fiercely to Josie’s hand in her terror.
Now Garbutt turned her towards the cellar. ‘Down there.’ Josie instinctively revolted for a moment, tried to halt, but then she saw a twitch of the knife set the blade to winking in the light from the cellar. Garbutt had said, ‘Do as I say, for her sake.’ Josie gave in, passed through the door and started down the steps to the cellar. As she went she found the hose lying beside her faltering feet, and sometimes it slid dank and cold against her ankle like a snake. She heard Garbutt close the door behind them.
Before she reached the foot of the stairs she found the water. The light came from the oil lamp that had been brought down from the top of the stairs and stood on a shelf at eye level. It reflected from the water that lay across the floor of the cellar. There was no sound of it running because the end of the hose lay below its surface. Josie stepped down into it, her skirts lifting as it rose above her knees. Charlotte whimpered and Garbutt hesitated, for a moment uncertain what to do about her. Then he said, ‘Let go of her. Tell her to sit down here. Don’t bother shouting because nobody will hear you down here.’ He switched the knife to Josie’s throat and took his hand from her mouth.
Tongue thick in her mouth, she said, ‘Sit there, Charlotte, please, there’s a good girl.’ Charlotte obeyed, unhappily, and sat on the steps above the water with tears in her eyes.