To Turn Full Circle

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘Is it true that Mr Jago smuggles things?’

  Matthew stilled his spoon on its way to his mouth. ‘Smuggle? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, just something someone said,’ Emma said with a shrug.

  ‘But you’re not going to tell me who that someone was?’

  ‘No.’

  Matthew allowed his spoonful of soup to continue its journey. Laid the spoon back in the bowl. He wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Emma Le Goff – didn’t you tell me yourself your pa said your tongue would hang you? I’m going to tell you the same thing. I can read you like a book. Seth Jago told you that, didn’t he? And in confidence, if it was him.’

  ‘I’m not saying. And I only mentioned it because if you’re going to be in with the smuggling then I don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘Very commendable,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m going to ask you something and I want an honest answer. Has Seth Jago ever given you something you suspect was smuggled goods?’

  ‘Chocolate. Seth gave me some chocolate once. He said he’d bought it off his brother, Miles. It’s got a French wrapper. I haven’t eaten it yet.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘The French writing reminds me of my papa – makes me feel close to him. I don’t want to spoil the perfectness of it by opening it. And another is that I don’t want to be a party to smuggling which I would be if I ate it – if Miles Jago got it by that route before he sold it to Seth. I know my papa would never have been party to smuggling. He only ever brought home a crab or some dabs from the boats. And things he bought for Mama in Roscoff when they landed a catch there, which they had to do sometimes if the sea got rough in the Channel and they couldn’t make it back to Devon. I remember my mama complaining she had to buy brandy for the Christmas puddings and why couldn’t she have some like other fishermen’s wives did? So, does Mr Jago smuggle things in, and …’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You don’t listen to a word of advice. All I’ll say on the matter is that there’s barely a fisherman who doesn’t come off a boat with a bit of something they covet – like your papa with the crabs and dabs. What do you miss most, Emma, of the things your father brought home off the boats?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ Emma said. ‘Coffee. French coffee. Even though he didn’t bring it very often I’ve never forgotten the taste.’

  ‘So,’ Matthew said, ‘if I were to be anywhere near Roscoff and could get my hands on some French coffee, would you like some?’

  Emma inhaled deeply – her memory was playing tricks on her. She could smell the coffee her mama used to make with the beans her papa had brought home, grinding them up with a pestle and mortar. The aroma was in her nostrils now. Oh, how she’d love to drink a cup of it again.

  ‘Only if it’s honestly come by.’

  ‘It will be. But it comes with a deal on your part, too. Some coffee in exchange for that delicious crab tart you made for me last week, times six.’

  ‘Six?’

  ‘Same as the one you made me, but multiplied by six. You can do multiplication?’

  Matthew smiled widely at her. Winked. Emma was getting used to that wink. She wondered if he did it to win the favours of the lady – or ladies – he was seeing who was satisfying his needs. She knew what needs meant. Knew the facts of life. But there was no way she wanted to apply that knowledge to her own body just yet. She didn’t want to get with child as more than a few in the year or two above her at school had done. She didn’t want to know what making love did to her body in case she liked it and she couldn’t get enough of it and ended up dead in a back alley like Sophie Ellison had done.

  ‘Times tables, Emma – you do know them?’ Matthew teased her when she was slow to reply.

  ‘Of course I do. And I can say them in French.’

  ‘French? Can you write in French, too?’

  ‘And read it.’

  ‘Well, well – what a dark little filly you are. Even better.’

  ‘Even better what?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea. But first I will need those six crab tarts. Obviously I’ll supply the crabs and I’ll give you the money to get more tins to bake them in. And whatever other ingredients you’ll need for the tarts. Eggs?’

  ‘Of course, eggs. But why do you want six? They’ll go off.’

  ‘Not if they’re eaten right away they won’t.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  Matthew took a sovereign from his back pocket and handed it to Emma. ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Buy yourself something – ribbons perhaps for that beautiful hair of yours – with the change. But now I’ve got the night tide to catch.’

  He patted Emma on the top of the head. ‘If I ever have a daughter, I’d want her to be like you,’ he said.

  Which very neatly puts me in my place, Emma thought, on the off chance I might be harbouring romantic notions about him.

  ‘And as the saying “Time and tide waits for no man” has more than a grain of truth in it, I’ll be off.’

  Emma had no idea when Matthew would be back. She’d forgotten to ask and he hadn’t said. He’d seemed in a terrible hurry. And what was all that talk about making six crab tarts? They’d hardly fit in the oven. She wouldn’t be able to buy the eggs and the cream for tarts just yet, but she could buy the tins in readiness.

  She pushed open the door of Annings, the ironmongers.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re closed.’

  Mrs Anning stood behind the counter, arms folded.

  ‘Thirza, dear …’ her husband began, but Mrs Anning put up a hand to stop him.

  ‘Closed. You do understand the word, Miss Le Goff. Fermé in French, in case you don’t.’

  Emma replied in a torrent of French – calling Mrs Anning a bigoted old goat – praying she wouldn’t understand.

  Her puzzled expression told Emma that she didn’t.

  ‘I understand what fermé means, Mrs Anning. And I also understand you are a retail outlet,’ Emma said. ‘Which means you sell things. To the public. I’m here on an errand for a friend.’

  ‘Doesn’t go by the name of Caunter, does he, by any chance?’ Mrs Anning said. She tucked her hands underneath her armpits, squashing her very substantial bosom in the process. Emma wanted to laugh – it looked as though she’d put too much suet pastry on top of a pie and in the steaming it had pushed up everywhere it shouldn’t.

  ‘I won’t ask you the names of your friends, Mrs Anning,’ Emma said, ‘as long as you don’t ask me the names of mine.’

  ‘Well!’ Mrs Anning’s multiple chins wobbled.

  Emma heard Mr Anning begin to laugh, then to clear his throat. A strangled sort of choking sound came out. Mrs Anning looked at her husband in alarm. And Emma took advantage of the diversion.

  ‘I’ve been asked to purchase five baking tins. With narrow edges. Round ones.’

  Emma took the sovereign that Matthew had given her from her purse and slapped it on the counter in front of Mrs Anning.

  As always, money talked. The shopkeeper scurried off to find the tins.

  ‘Why are you avoiding me, Seth?’

  Emma stopped – some dog roses she’d gathered for her parents’ graves in her hands – on the path between the rows of headstones.

  Seth had just straightened up after laying pale yellow tulips on his mother’s grave.

  Slowly he turned to face her. ‘You’re another man’s now.’

  ‘Who told you that? I’m nothing of the sort. I’m Mr Caunter’s housekeeper. Nothing more than that.’

  ‘That’s not what my pa said.’

  ‘Then your pa’s a liar. And he’s broken his agreement with Mr Caunter. He agreed he would let everyone – everyone Seth, know that
’s all I am.’

  ‘Ssh, Emma. This is a consecrated place. It’s not the place for arguments.’

  Emma lowered her voice. ‘You could have asked me,’ she said and fingered the two posies of flowers she’d made. Her mama had taught her how to pull a few strands of hair from her own head and plait them to make a sort of rope to hold the flower stems tight. Emma had pulled six long hairs, plaited three together for each posy.

  ‘I should have asked you, Emma. I’m sorry now I didn’t.’

  ‘But you believe me? About being Mr Caunter’s housekeeper and nothing more.’

  ‘I do now.’

  Even though part of her was cross with Seth for being so weak as to take notice of anything his father said, she could understand his reason for it – Reuben Jago was not a man to be crossed. Emma had often wondered why Seth’s pa didn’t make him go to sea, especially if one of his boats was a crewman short as they sometimes were if there was an epidemic of the influenza – her papa had often complained he was doing three men’s work at such times. Perhaps Seth had had a near-drowning and was fearful of it happening again? How little I know about him really, Emma thought. Well, if she didn’t ask, she’d never know, would she?

  ‘Can I ask you something, Seth?’ Emma said. ‘Something that’s been on my mind?’

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘What’s the real reason you don’t go to sea?’

  ‘I get seasick, if you want to know. Every time.’ He didn’t meet Emma’s eye.

  ‘Seasick?’ she said. ‘Or is there something going on, on your pa’s boats, you don’t want to see?’

  Seth shrugged again.

  ‘Things like brandy being fished up instead of mackerel? And French chocolate?’

  ‘Forget you’ve even thought that, Emma. But this isn’t the place to talk about things like that. My ma …’ Seth kissed the tips of his fingers then touched his mother’s name on her headstone – his back to Emma. ‘Sorry, Ma.’

  ‘How did your ma die, Seth?’

  Seth wheeled round then, eyes wide with surprise – shocked she’d asked, no doubt. Emma wanted to bite back the insensitive words, but it was too late now.

  ‘I shouldn’t have asked, but …’

  ‘She fell down the cellar steps late one night. My father said the candles were burning low and for her to get more …’

  ‘Why didn’t he go?’

  ‘He and my brothers had had a skinful, as usual.’

  ‘Oh. So she fell?’

  ‘That’s what I was told. Being the youngest, I’d been sent to bed earlier. I was asleep. It was two whole days before I was told Ma had died. And then it was left to the maid to tell me.’ There were tears in Seth’s eyes as he spoke.

  ‘Oh, Seth, I’m sorry,’ Emma said. She laid a hand on Seth’s arm. Squeezed.

  ‘No one talks about her any more.’

  ‘You can talk to me.’

  Emma knew how lonely it felt not having anyone to talk to about times past – happy times, funny times. And sad times too, because everyone had those.

  ‘Not here,’ Seth said.

  ‘Where then?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to …’

  ‘Mr Caunter’s at sea as you well know. He didn’t say when he’d be back. But let’s not talk about Matthew Caunter,’ Emma said. ‘We could go down to Crystal Cove. It’ll be quiet there. You can talk. And if you get upset it won’t matter. There’ll only be me and a few oyster catchers as witness.’

  ‘Men aren’t supposed to show their feelings, but I can’t help it sometimes.’

  ‘I don’t see why they shouldn’t. My papa used to cry. When Mama lost her babies, he cried after every one.’

  Emma swallowed hard – tears were threatening again like they did whenever she let her mind dwell too long on her parents.

  ‘I think we both need to talk,’ Seth said.

  Emma nodded.

  ‘So, if you’re sure Mr Caunter won’t mind, we could …’

  ‘Why would he mind? I’m his housekeeper. For the moment. Until I’m older and can fend for myself better. And,’ Emma said, embarrassed to even be mentioning it, but she had to set the record straight, ‘Mr Caunter doesn’t think of me in that sort of way. He sees me as a daughter.’

  ‘I’m glad of that,’ Seth said. He laid his hands on Emma’s shoulders and leant in to kiss her cheek.

  A bubble of pure joy bubbled up inside her. A new feeling. A good feeling. A feeling that had no place in a cemetery.

  ‘I’d better lay these flowers,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll do it together,’ Seth said.

  But as they approached her mama’s and Johnnie’s grave, Emma could see something was wrong. The grass had been torn up and there was a pile of horse droppings where the grass had been. And sticking out of the droppings was a sailor doll with the head ripped off – the head lying face down in the mud.

  Who could have done such a thing? And why? Poor, innocent little Johnnie. And her beautiful, gentle mother who’d never said a bad word about anyone.

  Emma felt her blood cool in her veins – turn to ice almost. She went rigid with shock. And anger. A cold, hard anger.

  ‘Someone still thinks my mama was a suicide. My mama didn’t jump, Seth,’ she said. She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, and didn’t resist when he pulled her close to him. ‘I’m sure she didn’t. She’d never have willingly left me.’

  ‘And neither did my mother fall down those cellar steps.’ Seth gently held her away from him. ‘Now come on. I’ll help you get this mess put to rights.’

  ‘So you don’t think it was an accident,’ Emma said. ‘That your ma fell down the steps. If the candle had gone out …’ Emma let her words trail away when she saw the pain in Seth’s eyes as he remembered his mother and what might have happened to her.

  She sat beside him on the sand, her hands clasped over her knees. It was warm in the shelter of the cliff, and Emma had removed the jacket Matthew had brought back for her. He said he’d found it on a bench in the park, but Emma had suspected otherwise. She didn’t have many clothes and Matthew had noticed that and bought it for her, hadn’t he? Or it had been a cast-off from one of his lady friends. Oh well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. And it was a nice jacket – fine wool, the colour of heather.

  For quite a while neither Emma nor Seth had had much to say beyond what a beautiful day it was for May and was summer going to be hot this year, and how busy the oyster catchers were. Then Emma reverted to their interrupted conversation.

  ‘I’m almost certain she was pushed,’ Seth said now, in response to her comment. ‘I remember there were often arguments between my parents late at night. I remember hearing doors slam. And there were many mornings when my ma didn’t get up for breakfast, and when I asked the maid where she was I was told that Ma was “indisposed”.’

  ‘Do you think your pa might have hit your ma?’ Emma asked. Although her own papa had never been anything less than gentle and kind to her mama she knew that there were plenty in the cottages around theirs who used their wives as punchbags after a bellyful of ale – and those wives had the bruises on their faces for weeks sometimes to prove it.

  ‘Did your pa knock your ma about?’

  ‘No,’ Emma said. ‘Never. And I wouldn’t stand for it, either.’

  ‘I think my ma was trapped because of me being so much younger than my brothers,’ Seth said. ‘Where would she have gone if she’d left? She could have gone to my Uncle Silas in Canada, I suppose, but she’d never have left me and my brothers. Never.’

  Where indeed? Emma thought. She was finding it hard enough herself to keep a roof over her head and she didn’t have the responsibility of a child as well, did she? She gulped back tears – tears that were for herself and also for Seth in his sorrow
over his ma.

  Seth reached for Emma’s hand and she placed hers in it. How good it felt – the touch. The caring. The mutual understanding.

  ‘It’s as if we can’t let the deaths of our mothers be an end of them, isn’t it?’ Emma said. ‘We can’t get on with our lives – not really – because we’ve both got unanswered questions.’

  Seth lifted Emma’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

  ‘It’s all I can offer you for now, Emma. Beautiful Emma.’ Seth lifted her hand and kissed it again. ‘A chaste kiss. You know that. And besides, you’re so recently bereaved.’

  ‘And you’re still grieving for your ma,’ Emma said.

  She hugged that Seth had called her beautiful to her the way she hugged her copy of Persuasion to her as she fell asleep each night, knowing her mama had bought it for her, touched it.

  They fell silent then, both with their own memories.

  But then, because all sorts of thoughts were rushing through her mind the way a March wind rushes through the trees and under doors and in the cracks of windows, she said, ‘Do you know if the police have found anyone for Sophie Ellison’s murder yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. They’ve questioned Pa and Carter because they weren’t at sea that night, although Miles was. Pa laughed them off the premises – said it was more than likely a passing chancer. Someone Sophie didn’t want to offer her favours to the way she offered them to my brothers. And me, I might add.’

  Emma’s mouth seemed to go wide and round of its own volition. ‘You? Did you …’

  ‘Of course not! I thought you knew me better than that.’

  ‘I do. But … did all that go on in the room I slept in? Did your brothers visit her there?’

  ‘I can’t say with conviction that Sophie let them into her room. But others did. Yes. Some resisted, but they soon left after Carter and Miles accused them, falsely, of some misdeed. It’s why I told you to put the back of the chair under the door handle.’

  ‘I know that’s why. I might be young but I’m not ignorant of the ways of men like your brothers and your pa.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ Seth smiled at her and Emma leaned in to his shoulder.