Emma: There's No Turning Back

by Linda Mitchelmore

  Beattie had shaken her head at that, and she’d tried to say something, but only frothy mucus came out and sat in the corners of her lips until Emma wiped it away with a corner of the coverlet because nothing else was to hand and she didn’t want to stop the flow of her words – the cleansing of her soul – to go and find something.

  Beattie’s eyelids fluttered and she kept closing her eyes then opening them a fraction, just slits really, before closing them again as Emma spoke.

  ‘It might be better if I could have a baby with Seth,’ Emma whispered, although in her heart she doubted it.

  Oh, what was she going to do? She’d never expected to be feeling this and she told Beattie so. On and on she talked until her throat was sore from it. She laid her head gently on Beattie’s hands. Beattie seemed to be breathing fast and shallow and Emma found her words coming out to the same rhythm. Then the rhythm changed and Beattie breathed in just as shallowly, but it seemed an age before she breathed out again.

  And then the rhythm stopped. And Emma knew. Beattie had simply stopped breathing and taken Emma’s secret with her, a smile on her face.

  Emma yowled then. Loud and piercing like an animal’s cry in the night. Her mouth opened wider and she screamed and screamed and didn’t know how to stop.

  A nurse rushed over and put an arm round Emma’s shoulders and gently smoothed her hair, and her kindness overwhelmed Emma so that her screams turned to sobs.

  ‘Isn’t it what everyone wants? To die with someone they love, and to have someone who loves them beside them?’ the nurse said.

  I don’t know, Emma wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her papa had died, and her mama and Johnnie, and no one had been with them. The very thought of how dreadful that must have been for them, if what the nurse was saying was true, only served for Emma to cry even harder.

  The nurse took the glass Beattie had drunk from only minutes earlier and refilled it. She handed it to Emma. ‘Drink. Water’s as good for shock as brandy is.’

  Emma did as she was told and found it was impossible to drink and cry at the same time. The crying stopped. But not the deep sadness inside her that the last thing Beattie had heard was Emma sounding very disloyal to Seth, whom Beattie had adored. Would she ever forgive herself for that? She hadn’t even told Beattie that she loved her. And she had. She’d loved her very, very much.

  ‘You’re not to blame yourself, Mrs Jago,’ the nurse said. She pulled Emma from the chair, put an arm on her shoulder, and began to lead her from the ward. ‘Mrs Drew’s heart was weak from her illness and the operation had weakened it further. It’s a blessing she went now, and so quietly.’

  Beattie was laid to rest in the cemetery at St Mary’s on December 4th. Although Emma and Seth had vowed never to step into St Mary’s ever again, they both swallowed their scruples and went along to pay their respects to their old friend. They’d never have forgiven themselves if they hadn’t. And had anyone – Olly for example – asked why they weren’t at the funeral they could hardly have said because the Reverend Thomson had refused to marry them, could they?

  There had been sleet in the air when the mourners stood around Beattie’s grave as she was lowered into it. The sleet turned to hailstones that hit Emma’s cheeks like bullets, but she bore the pain without swiping them away – punishment for her selfish act at Beattie’s bedside. Regardless of what the nurse had said, Emma knew she’d carry the guilt of that with her to the end of her days.

  Seth paid for Beattie’s funeral. All Beattie’s children and her grandchildren were there and the speed with which they left again to go to eat the funeral tea Seth had paid for at the Burton Arms, made Emma realise that perhaps it had been a good thing that it had been her, and not them, who had been with Beattie in her last moments. Only Edward was mourning his mother’s loss. But for Emma, losing Beattie was like losing her parents and her brother, Johnnie, all over again.

  Soon after the funeral, Edward went to live with one of his sisters so that once again Shingle Cottage was empty. It was days before Emma could bring herself to walk past it when she walked down the hill into town.

  Christmas 1912 came and went and it was a subdued event in the Jago household. Oh, they put on a show of happiness with candles on a Christmas tree and lots of brightly wrapped parcels for Fleur, of course they did – how could they not?

  But it wasn’t the Christmas Emma had been hoping to have, one in which her order book for bûche de Noël was overflowing, because she’d lost heart in making them.

  ‘It has to be my fault, Seth, don’t you see?’ Emma whispered in the darkness. ‘There’s something wrong with me, there must be.’

  Something wrong with her? Did she never look in the mirror? She was perfect in his eyes. He had a portrait of her almost finished and he was going to give it to her for a Valentine’s gift. A surprise.

  ‘Wrong? Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve fathered a child so it can’t be you, can it? The number of times we’ve made love I should have become pregnant by now, but I haven’t. I saw Dr Shaw about this in October. And it’ll be February soon.’

  ‘You’ve had lots of stress, sweetheart,’ Seth said.

  ‘And I suppose the likes of the Phipps family, and the Evanses who seem to be popping out babies faster than rabbits breed, don’t have stresses?’ Emma had raised her voice, sounded irritated even, and Seth put a hand over her lips gently to quieten her. Best not to wake Fleur, she’d taken ages to get to sleep.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Forgiven,’ Seth said.

  He chose not to go through the whole ‘whose fault was it?’ thing again. Instead he kissed Emma behind her ear. It hadn’t taken him long to work out that Emma liked him to kiss her there almost more than she liked being kissed anywhere else. Always she groaned and turned into him.

  She groaned now.

  Another kiss.

  Another low groan of desire from Emma.

  She nibbled on his fingertips, ran her tongue on the insides of his palm. He was a lucky man, and he knew it, with a wife who so readily gave of herself. Even when she was tired and broken by other people’s demands, and events, she always gave herself to him freely.

  Seth ran a hand, gently, up the outside of Emma’s left thigh, let it slide around to the inside. Emma curled into him and kissed the side of his neck.

  ‘We could try again?’ Seth said. ‘To make a baby, I mean. Now?’

  ‘When have I ever said no?’ Emma whispered, as she nibbled seductively on Seth’s ear lobe.

  When? Emma said no all the time whenever Seth mentioned Canada and giving up his job with Olly. Olly hadn’t liked it much when he had declined to buy the business from him, but he’d understood. Canada would have to wait a little while longer now, for crossing the Atlantic at this time of year was a fool’s game.

  ‘Never,’ Seth lied, giving in to his physical desires.

  But he wasn’t giving up. Emma would come around to his way of thinking sooner or later, he was sure of it. June. He’d set his sights on June for the crossing. Why, he might even go into Tapper’s Travel soon and request the cost.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Mr Smythe?’ Emma couldn’t believe who she was seeing.

  Rupert Smythe, who had ordered her from his hotel, and banned Seth from entering it, was standing on her doorstep. He looked unsure of himself – goodness, whatever had happened to make him look like that? He was getting married in a fortnight’s time and should be looking happier than he was, shouldn’t he?

  Emma hadn’t seen him since the night she’d left Nase Head House dressed in a dance frock and with only her money and a few possessions. And now here he was.

  And then it struck her that something might have happened to Ruby. She began to shiver almost uncontrollably. Her parents and Johnnie. Beattie. All gone.

  ‘Please, Mr Smythe, don’t tell me something terrible ha
s happened to Ruby.’

  ‘May I come in?’

  Emma breathed in hard and sharp. Something had happened, she was sure of it. ‘Not before you answer my question.’

  Mr Smythe smiled the wry smile she remembered so well, almost as though he was laughing at her. ‘Very well. Ruby is in perfect health. Now may I come in?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You see, my husband isn’t here. He might not like it.’

  ‘I’d rather not talk business on his doorstep,’ Rupert Smythe said.

  Ah, so it was something of a business nature he wanted to talk to her about. Nothing terrible had happened to Ruby.

  Emma exhaled and all her fright went with it. ‘Just inside the hallway, then,’ she said.

  She opened the door wider and Rupert Smythe stepped inside.

  ‘He what?’ Seth said.

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing? Rupert Smythe had called and Emma had let him into the house. Only into the hall, so she’d said, but that was one step too far in as far as he was concerned. Seth had, he knew, no reason to be quite so outraged, since he himself had marched into Nase Head House uninvited to see Ruby about the letters Caunter had sent to Emma. But Smythe had been scheming to get Emma to marry him once. And at the back of Seth’s mind, as always, was the fact that he and Emma weren’t married in the eyes of the law.

  ‘He asked me if I would do the food for the evening reception. After his wedding. The one the staff will go to. And lesser friends – that’s how he put it, lesser friends. I think he means ones with less money than he and the Gillets have got. At least, I hope that’s what he means. A buffet. For fifty people or so. He’s not sure of the numbers yet. He wants crab tarts and any other sort of tart I think people will like. And a dessert. I suggested the bûche de Noël, even though it isn’t Christmas, because I’ve got that as near to the taste I remember Papa making now and—’

  ‘No, Emma!’ Seth shouted. He’d never raised his voice to Emma but he was raising it now, although it wasn’t really to her – it was about the situation. It was untenable. ‘I forbid it. Besides, he has a chef. Why can’t he do it?’

  ‘The chef’s upped and left over something. Yesterday. Thank goodness he’d refused guest bookings in the run-up to the wedding, so there aren’t hotel guests to worry about. The commis chef, so Mr Smythe said, can cook for the family and the few staff that have been retained. I didn’t know he had a commis chef, Ruby never said.’

  ‘This is all a foreign language to me, Emma.’

  But not to her, he realised, with the fancy French names for what went on in a hotel kitchen.

  ‘I’ll explain it if you want me to. About what commis means.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Just tell me what else Smythe had to say.’

  ‘All right,’ Emma said with a sigh. ‘Although I know you don’t want to hear it really. Mr Smythe said the Gillet family are laying on the wedding breakfast at Mayfield Manor, but he’d agreed the evening reception would be at Nase Head House. But now he needs someone to make the food. So he’s asked me.’

  ‘Then he can disagree,’ Seth said. ‘He can go somewhere else. Ask someone else.’

  ‘He didn’t say exactly,’ Emma carried on, as though he hadn’t spoken, ‘but I’ve got a feeling Joanna Gillet’s got something to do with the chef leaving. Ruby’s told me more than a few tales about her. How she’s not very nice to the children, and how she throws her weight about with all the staff, even though she’s not married to Mr Smythe yet. That’s what Ruby said.’

  ‘I don’t know that you can believe everything Ruby says.’

  ‘How dare you say that? Ruby is a good and loyal friend. To us both. She …’

  Emma’s mouth went wide and round. They both knew what she was going to say. Ruby had been trustworthy and loyal over the letters Caunter had been writing to Emma, so why wouldn’t he believe anything Ruby told her?

  The last thought he needed in his head at this moment was Caunter, but there he was, between them in the room. Seth wasn’t going to mention his name and he knew Emma wouldn’t either.

  Emma seemed to have run out of things to say now and while Seth had lots of questions, he wasn’t going to ask them because he didn’t want to hear the answers. Emma had agreed to do as Smythe had asked, hadn’t she? Behind his back. Without asking.

  Neither of them spoke.

  They were at stalemate.

  ‘I said I’d do it,’ Emma said at last, confirming all Seth’s fears. ‘This could be just what I need to get my business up and running again after all the setbacks, and Beattie’s death. I’m sure there have been hotels and cafés that have declined to give me business because they’re friends of Mr Smythe’s and, well, they were being loyal to him when he said bad things about us, I suppose. But now all that’s changing. I said I’d do it on one condition.’

  ‘Which is?’ Seth didn’t want her doing it on any conditions. He didn’t want her business up and running again if it would mean she’d have a reason not to go to Canada. He’d been as understanding as he could be over Beattie’s death and given her a period of mourning, but, all the same …

  ‘That he issues both of us with an official invitation. And that once the food is laid out for the buffet, we join the wedding party. You and me. Mr and Mrs Seth Jago, formally announced. Dressed up in all our finery. That should stop a few tongues wagging, shouldn’t it?’

  Emma ran across the room and snatched a card off the mantelpiece.

  A fait accompli. Smythe had known what Emma would say and had come prepared – invitation to hand. He’d tricked her, and she’d fallen for it.

  Damn and damn, and damn and blast the man!

  But Seth knew that to try and stop Emma doing this would be like trying to stop a runaway horse with your arms tied behind your back.

  ‘You don’t ’ave to do this, Emma,’ Ruby said, although Emma had to smile because Ruby wasn’t trying very hard to stop her. ‘I’m only supposed to be keeping an eye on Belle and the boys for the first ’our of the dance. Belle wanted to dress up, and who can blame ’er? My cream crêpe will do well enough.’

  ‘No it won’t. You should be dressed appropriately,’ Emma said. ‘Mr Smythe told me he’s getting temporary staff in for all the kitchen work and the waiting so the usual hotel staff can join in. I don’t see why you can’t be dressed up even if it’s only for an hour. Come on.’

  Emma still couldn’t quite believe how easy it had been to get Seth to agree to her doing the catering for Mr Smythe’s wedding buffet and dance. It was the embossed invitation that had clinched it, she was sure of it, even though Emma knew Mr Smythe had exercised cunning in bringing it with him.

  ‘Bossy boots,’ Ruby said. She grinned and poked her tongue out playfully at Emma.

  ‘I know, and I don’t mean to be. But it’s the nursemaid’s first day and I don’t want to leave Fleur with her for too long the first time.’

  And that was another surprise. Seth had agreed readily enough to hiring a nursemaid. Emma had interviewed four girls and how odd that had seemed. There were days when Emma felt little more than a schoolgirl herself, so to be interviewing someone for the same position she’d had when she’d lived and worked at Nase Head House for Mr Smythe was almost unbelievable. So much had happened in the past three years. She’d grown up quickly – she’d had to.

  Dared she hope that Seth was giving up on the idea of going to Canada? Dared she?

  ‘You never asked me,’ Ruby said, with something that looked like a childish pout. ‘I could ’ave done that for you, Em, really I could. Things is going to change at the ’otel once Miss ’Oorseface Gillet is Mrs ’Orseface Smythe, you mark my words if they don’t.’

  ‘Stop it, Ruby. That’s not a nice thing to say. And in public, too. It’s not as if your voice is quiet either.’

  Ruby shrugged, obviously not at all put out by the telling off.

  ‘Well, sure as eggs is bleedin’ eggs, things is goin’ to change, but ’er face ain’t one of ’em
.’

  ‘Ruuubbby,’ Emma said, but she couldn’t help laughing as she said it.

  ‘Well, just so you know, I’m put out you didn’t ask. Only not put out enough not to come out with you buying frocks.’ Ruby giggled and gave Emma’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘Anyhows, I’d ’ave liked nothing better’n lookin’ after Fleur. Just so’s you know. In case this nursemaid turns out to be a witch.’

  ‘She won’t. And I didn’t ask you because I wouldn’t have wanted you to. I don’t want you to go from being my friend to being in my employ. I know I asked you to work for me once, but I’m older and wiser now and I can see it would have been the wrong thing to do.’

  ‘Lawks a mercy, ’ark at you! Bein’ in your employ indeed!’

  ‘That’s what it would amount to, Ruby,’ Emma said.

  No, far better that Lily Richardson had been taken on as nursemaid.

  ‘Well, all I can say is, if Mrs Drew had gone and died after this bloomin’ wedding, then … oh gawd, me and me big blabbermouth again. Sorry, Em.’

  Emma nodded, accepting the apology. The mention of Beattie’s name had made Emma’s heart miss a beat. It was still a shock to remember that she’d never see Beattie again, never hear her call her ‘lovie’ with such warmth in her voice.

  ‘Come on! We’re wasting time. Who knows what might happen to any of us in the future? It’s frock-buying time for you now!’

  Emma took Ruby’s hand and pulled her up the carpeted stairs in Bobby’s. How soft it was under her feet after the long walk from Torquay railway station on hard pavements and over cobbles, and after that the hard wooden floors of all the other shops they’d been in, where there had been nothing suitable either in colour or style or in price for either Ruby or Emma.

  And time was running out for Emma. She’d have to get back to Fleur soon.

  Emma had offered to drive Ruby over in the car, but Ruby had turned up her nose at the idea. She’d never been on a train, she said, and didn’t she hear enough about it from Mr Smythe’s twins and all the holidaymakers who came to Nase Head House.