The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  ‘I am afraid not,’ she said, eyeing him sheepishly. ‘He is more likely to throw them out of the window – aye, and me after them, as like as not. No, Mr Berkeley – it will not do. Keep your jewels. I appreciate the thought but I really cannot accept them. But please,’ she continued, seeing that he was about to argue with her once again, and taking his hand shyly for a moment as she placed the little box back into it, ‘please don’t feel affronted by this. I should feel most sorry – grieved, in fact – were this to place a barrier between us. I know you meant well, and I should love to have been able to accept the gift. The jewels are most delightful and would look very pretty with an emerald gown of mine. But it is quite impossible for me to accept them, much as I might like to do so. Come – say you will still be friends with me and that you will accompany me into the garden to find Bob – I’m sure that he will not be too nice to accept a gift, even if I cannot say the same for his mama.’

  Seeing that she was determined, though still not fully agreeing with her, Mr Berkeley decided to make the best of a bad job and seek out his young friend in the rather windswept garden instead. ‘Garden’ is perhaps too fine a word for the grounds surrounding Sandsford House – rather, the house was totally surrounded on three sides by some rough hummocky grassland, save for a small area of cultivation by a sunny south-facing wall, with the gravel pull-in from the trackway forming its western edge. It was here that they immediately found Bob, who was in the process of trying to persuade Mr Berkeley’s tiger to allow him to try out the curricle’s credentials for himself.

  Mr Berkeley immediately swept him off his feet and threw him into the passenger seat.

  ‘Come on then, Master Bob,’ he bellowed, the delight on the young lad’s face providing a sharp contrast to the regret on his mama’s. Mr Berkeley leapt up into the curricle beside him. ‘Let’s go for a drive, shall we?’ – and, much to Bob’s evident immense delight, in a single flick of the long whip the horses set off at a sharp trot, with Mr Berkeley shouting to Kathryn that they should only be gone for a moment, and that he would be sure to take care and not drive too quickly.

  Kathryn could not help but smile, despite her annoyance with him. She had been right about him remaining a child himself. He had certainly not yet grown up sufficiently to know what would do, and what would not. In a contrary sort of a way it was this child-like naivety that she was finding so compelling about him. He was spontaneous, warm, generous, unfettered, doing whatever happened to come into his head at the time. It certainly had the effect of drawing her unconsciously towards him and, perhaps not for the first time, she realised that it could also make him a very dangerous gentleman for her to befriend.

  But at least he was true to his word, for within the space of a very few minutes he was back, laughingly lifting Bob from the carriage and setting him down on the gravel at the front door once again.

  ‘Now, you go inside and see your mama,’ he urged him. ‘She may have something for you. You go on and ask her. Tell her that Uncle Andrew has put you up to it.’

  Bob ran inside, delighted with the ride and full of anticipation as to what it was that his mama might have for him. Mr Berkeley followed him at a slight distance. Kathryn had retreated to the kitchen, where a kettle of water was coming to the boil. He followed Bob inside.

  ‘Uncle Andrew says that you have something for me, mama,’ shrieked Bob, running up to her in his excitement and pulling at her apron strings. ‘He says he wants to get you up for it.’

  Kathryn shot him a shocked look. Even Mr Berkeley looked somewhat embarrassed.

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘Not quite the message, Bob. I said that I had put you up to it – asking for your present, you understand.’

  This was such a relief for Kathryn that she omitted to censure her son for calling him his uncle. Instead, she laughingly handed him the parcel and suggested that he might open it on the table. Mr Berkeley came and stood close by her to watch. Bob tore at the paper impatiently and it was gone in an instant. The little boy’s excitement and delight when he discovered the nature of this wonderful new toy was a joy to behold. There was no way in which Kathryn’s annoyance with Mr Berkeley could survive such an onslaught as this. The pleasure of her son instantly transformed it into gratitude and he was rewarded with a heartfelt smile that truly lit up her face.

  ‘Can we go and sail it right away?’ demanded Bob. ‘I want to see how fast it’ll go. I bet it’ll go as quick as your carriage, Uncle Andrew.’

  ‘It is quickly, Bob – not fast, and not quick – quickly is the word you need, both times,’ corrected Kathryn, mechanically. ‘And I do not think that Mr Berkeley will like you calling him Uncle Andrew.’

  ‘Yes he would,’ said Bob, stoutly, ‘wouldn’t you, Uncle Andrew? You told me so yourself and I don’t have any real uncles anyway – just an aunt, and she’s really old and boring...’

  ‘Humph,’ put in Andrew quickly, before Kathryn could get on her high horse again. ‘Yes, I want you to call me uncle – I have no more nephews than you have real uncles, after all, and I desperately want to have one - though I’m sure your mama would not want you calling your aunt old and boring and I’m sure she’s no such thing. I think you’ll have to ask her really nicely if you want to give the boat a trial. I have a suspicion that she is not too happy with either of us this afternoon.’

  Kathryn did not have the heart to scold them any more and when they both looked at her so pleadingly, with the same doleful eyes, what more could she do but grant her reluctant permission and tell them not to be too long. So off they went together, full of glee, racing each other up the trackway to the village with Mr Berkeley, as usual, seeming to get the worse of any encounter that happened along the way.

  A couple of days later Kathryn had need to go into Weymouth to visit Aunt Shepherd and undertake a few small transactions in the town centre. Although she was fond of her aunt, and knew that she was always delighted to see her, Kathryn was ashamed to admit to herself that she always felt just a tinge of reluctance to visit her. She had to force herself to do so each fortnight by rewarding herself afterwards with the treat of a cup of coffee at Harvey’s library on Weymouth Esplanade. Although she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had to agree with her son that her aunt could – well – just occasionally – be ever such a little bit boring. She was quite elderly, after all, and her interests were not the same as a younger person’s would be, centred, as they were, almost exclusively upon illnesses and their remedies. But more than that, Kathryn could never go to see her without a feeling that it was all her fault that the poor woman was spending the final years of her life in the utmost penury, forced to eke out a meagre existence by making and mending curtains, sheets, blankets and visitors’ spoiled clothes, when she had been used, until only a very few months ago, to living if not exactly in luxury then at least in security and some semblance of comfort.

  Kathryn, however, was never one to shirk what she saw as her duty so she took her usual route down the trackway from Preston towards the Esplanade – a route which formed one of her favourite walks. It took her first down a small valley and then up the other side, from the summit of which she could stand and take in the magnificent, shimmering view of Weymouth as it gently curved its way ahead of her. It then took her past the streams and grazing marshlands of Lod Moor, bounded on one side by spectacular wooded hills just starting to reveal their first faint tinge of green, and on the other the pebbles that marked the start of a beach which grew more and more sandy the closer in to Weymouth that she went. Weymouth had expanded greatly in recent years, with the King’s visits to the town, and though there was still building work going on, creating unwonted noise and dust, the symmetrical, elegant terraces with their black ironwork balconies looking out to sea, the brightly painted bathing machines lined up en masse on the sandy part of the beach, and the stately, impressive shrubbery adjoining Gloster Lodge – the King’s own holiday home – never failed to fill her with delight. Bearing away from
the sea-front at last she duly arrived at her aunt’s one-roomed apartment. This was at the rear of a narrow passageway off a road known as Maiden Street (an unexceptionable situation, to be sure, apart from its inconvenient proximity to the fish quay, which duly infused the apartment with its own inimitable odour whenever the wind was blowing in the wrong direction). The bell from the nearby church was just ringing out noon as she pushed open the front door and mounted the stairs to the apartment at the back.

  Her aunt, as usual, was at home and greeted Kathryn most tenderly as she poked her head around the door. She was scarcely ever not at home, except when collecting or delivering her sewing. This afternoon the apartment felt more constrained, and smelt fishier, than ever. Ignoring the smell, Kathryn shared her nuncheon with her – a rather delicious-looking, albeit somewhat small, fidget pie from the pastry cook’s across the way – as they settled down to a bit of companionable sewing together.

  Aunt Shepherd had not heard any of the news – of Giles’ sudden disappearance, Mr Berkeley’s equally sudden appearance, and Kathryn’s new acquaintance with Mrs Wright. So once the usual exchange of health and welfare issues had been made (during which Kathryn learned of her aunt’s revived chilblains, brought on, no doubt, by the effects of the cold easterly winds which had buffeted the coastline of late, and of her no-less painful arthritis in the knee) the visit passed somewhat more entertainingly than usual. Although she was a little old, Miss Shepherd was definitely no dullard. She picked up on the significance of all these events immediately - indeed, perhaps even more perceptively than Kathryn herself had done. She expressed the hope that Giles would soon return from Town (whilst secretly wishing that he might go to the devil) and that her acquaintance with Mr Berkeley might prove beneficial to her (whilst wondering whether it might turn out to be exactly the opposite). She was certainly pleased that little Bob was experiencing some joy for a change.

  ‘Oh, he is indeed, Aunt – I have never known him to be so happy. Mr Berkeley has taken quite a shine to him, I think and – indeed – to tell you the truth I think he takes as much pleasure in their games as Bob does himself. You should have seen them together on the beach. All the children from the cottages were there as well. They were all having a whale of a time. And Bob’s pleasure when he opened his present. His little face lit up so much – I could have cried.’

  ‘And what about you, Kathryn,’ asked her aunt, perceptively. ‘Did Mr Berkeley offer you a gift as well?’

  Kathryn looked up at her. She was feeling a little guilty, although she felt that she had no reason to do so.

  ‘Yes. He brought me some jewellery. I refused it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said her aunt. ‘Yes, I see.’

  Kathryn wriggled a little. She was annoyed with herself. She had no reason at all to feel uncomfortable. She had not encouraged the man in any way and she had immediately rejected his gift. But still, she did feel uncomfortable. She knew that she enjoyed Mr Berkeley’s company far more than she ought to do. She knew that she found herself attracted to him far more than it was wise to do. She knew that she already felt so much more at ease, so much more at one with Mr Berkeley than ever she could hope to do with Giles. She knew that her life would feel so much more fulfilled, so much more complete, so much more joyous with someone like Andrew at her side than ever it would be with Giles. But it was not her fault that such thoughts and such feelings kept imposing themselves on her mind. She was not asking them to do so after all. She persuaded herself that she could only really be blameworthy were ever she to drop her guard, were ever she to allow him the freedom that she suspected they both would wish for – and she knew, too, that a more awful retribution would occur should this ever happen, and should Giles ever have so much as a suspicion that this had been the case.

  ‘I will be on my guard, Aunt Shepherd. I will have to be on my guard.’

  Aunt Shepherd had said none of the things that had flashed through Kathryn’s mind, but she appeared to know instantly what had led up to this, and was content. She allowed herself the luxury of a further moment of regret for the sadness that her niece had brought upon herself by marrying Giles and then determined on changing the subject a little, by asking whether Kathryn intended to call on Mrs Wright whilst she was in town.

  Kathryn thought for a moment. It was a decisive moment. She knew that Mrs Wright would be in regular contact with her brother. She expected that brother and sister would exchange visits several times a week, at the least. She knew that if she were to continue her acquaintance with Mrs Wright it was more than possible that she should stumble across him at her house in High Street – or elsewhere in the little town – at one time or another, and that this might not be a very wise thing to do. So, should she continue with the acquaintance and risk becoming embroiled still further with a family – with a man - who could prove so dangerous to her, or should she go straight home to Sandsford and try to forget about him instead? And what would that decision tell her about her own faith in herself? Could she trust herself to behave as she ought, or should she hide herself away and never visit Weymouth again? And then she realised that the whole idea was a nonsense. Of course she could trust herself. Of course she had to come to Weymouth. It was simply not practical to hide herself away. She had to come to Weymouth and she had to be prepared to come across him at some time or another. Rather than hiding away, rather than trying to avoid seeing him at all, she should simply have to face up to her feelings and put her trust in God that she would behave in the way that she ought.

  ‘It had certainly crossed my mind,’ she said eventually. ‘We seemed to take an instant liking to one other.’

  ‘Then I should do so without delay,’ said Aunt Shepherd, firmly. ‘You are too much on your own at Sandsford House. It will do you good to have some nice acquaintance here in town.’

  Her aunt’s approbation was sufficient to seal her fate.

  ‘If you think that I should, then I will,’ she said. ‘Let me just complete this final stretch of hemming for you and I will leave you to get on with the rest in peace. Is there anything more that you would like me to do for you whilst I’m here in town?’

  Aunt Shepherd smiled at her. She loved Kathryn dearly and wanted the best for her. So she sacrificed her own pleasure for that of her niece. Asking only that Kathryn should bring some firewood back with her when she had completed her visit, for which she provided her with a little wicker basket, she chivvied her out of the door almost before Kathryn was ready. So by half after three Kathryn found herself making her way along the quayside on her way to High Street, side stepping the remains of gutted fish in the roadway, enjoying the noise and bustle that surrounded her as she went. There were dockers with one-wheeled barrows piled high with goods, draymen delivering ale to the riotous public houses which lined the quay, officers and crewmen from square rigged merchantmen with masts so tall that they dwarfed the buildings that stood opposite them, moored two abreast at the water’s edge. There were small boys crabbing, fishermen standing gossiping next to their boats and shouting abuse at scavenging dogs, while all around her was the stink of the fish and the screams of mewing gulls, chasing each other at terrific speed above the green water, skirmishing for scraps. She noticed it all as she hurried on. Then she crossed the river via the town bridge before repeating her journey on the opposite side of the harbour. She counted the houses carefully, eventually knocking, a little cautiously, on the door of a somewhat narrow but neat little property which stood just a few yards back from the nearest edge of the quay.

  It was obviously the correct house, for Mrs Wright herself opened the door and expressed her great delight in seeing Kathryn standing on the step.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Miller, this is most kind of you – most kind of you indeed,’ she said, ushering her into the neat little parlour that led directly through the door from the street. ‘Let me take your cloak, do, and take a seat whilst I ask Becky to make us both some tea.’

  Kathryn sat down and looked around the room. It was qu
ite small – about twelve feet square – with a large bow window overlooking the quay and a stone fireplace in the centre of one of the walls. The walls themselves were brightly painted in a warm yellow which gave the room a friendly glow. The furniture, though old, was comfortable. It was certainly not too grand. Kathryn felt instantly at home.

  Mrs Wright returned from her mission and sat down opposite her guest.

  ‘Andrew has told me a little more about the circumstance of his arrival at Preston beach,’ she said, starting with the subject of greatest interest to both of them – although Kathryn felt that she would rather have avoided his name if she could. ‘I cannot imagine why there was no search instigated for him when he went missing from the boat. I am very angry about it, although Andrew, being Andrew, simply laughs it all off. From what he tells me, though, he is very fortunate in still being alive.’

  ‘I think so,’ replied Kathryn. ‘Certainly the doctor intimated that he was unlikely to have lasted many more hours on the beach. Mr Berkeley was extremely cold, and being totally immersed for so long he was in very grave danger of dying from exposure. I was never so pleased in my life to find him alive. I am used to finding bodies on the beach. I have never found a live man before.’

  ‘The sea will certainly take no prisoners as a rule,’ agreed Mrs Wright. ‘It is fortunate that Andrew is so strong. My husband is a mariner, you know, but even so he does not swim. He has been in the navy since he was fourteen years old. He achieved his Lieutenancy only last year after nearly seven years as a midshipman and is second-in-command of a third rate ship of the line. He is hoping for his own command at some stage, of course. It would make some difference to us, for then he should earn a larger share of the prize money. It is not easy to manage on a lieutenant’s wage – although luckily, together with my mother’s money, it did enable us to marry.’

  ‘But perhaps you may live quite cheaply here, Mrs Wright. It is a very pretty little house, and most convenient for the quay.’