The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  ‘But what of you? Do you not resent the thefts as well’

  Kathryn smiled.

  ‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘I must admit that I am quite partial to raspberries and I think it a shame that he should eat them just before they are ripe, but his singing gives me such great pleasure that it would be ungrateful of me, to say the least, to begrudge him his annual treat.’

  Mr Berkeley emitted a somewhat rueful chuckle.

  ‘It is no less that I should have expected,’ he acknowledged.

  Kathryn felt a little nonplussed.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I mean, is there never a time when your own wishes can come before those of others? I have never in my life met so selfless, so loving an individual as you. My dear Mrs Miller, I do so hope that your husband appreciates just what a treasure he has in you, when even a blackbird’s pleasure must come before your own.’

  They had reached the exit by this time and Mr Berkeley suggested that they should go into the house and partake of some tea. He opened the door to allow her through and she stepped out onto the threshold and into a blaze of brilliant sunshine. Unfortunately, being distracted somewhat by the beauty of the view, and perhaps a little shaken by what he had just said to her, Kathryn failed to notice a small step immediately in front of her. She missed her footing, twisted her ankle awkwardly, and stumbled headlong to the ground.

  Mr Berkeley was at her side, on his knees, in an instant. Kathryn had landed a little heavily on the rough gravelled pathway, falling on her hand and scraping it badly as she did so. For a couple of seconds she sat there, just a little stunned, a couple of wayward tears pricking her eyes. Then she found that Mr Berkeley had put an arm around her shoulder, had taken the hand in his, and was gently brushing some tiny grains of gravel from it with the other. She looked round at his face, which was so close to hers that they were almost touching. He raised his eyes to hers and then, very, very tenderly, he kissed her softly on the lips.

  ‘Oh God,’ was all she could think, as a shiver resonated throughout her body. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’

  Andrew still held her in his arms and for another moment or two she felt completely unable to move away. It felt so natural for him to be holding her like that and the wave of overwhelming love for him that had suddenly swept over her had left her helpless in its wake. But then she closed her eyes resolutely and started to struggle to her feet. Andrew was quick to assist her. A tremendous pain shot through her ankle as she put some weight on it. It almost caused her to stumble again. He caught her once more and lifted her into his arms. He had no difficulty in carrying her the few yards to the front steps, nor up the steps themselves, nor the next few yards into the refuge of the calm saloon, where he deposited her most carefully onto a comfortable sofa overlooking a window.

  They had exchanged no word throughout the whole episode, but now that they were safely inside this omission was more than adequately filled by the concern of Mrs Wright, who had spotted the somewhat unusual method by which her brother was conveying her friend into his house, from the very same window in the saloon.

  ‘Oh, my dear Mrs Miller – are you all right?’ (A somewhat spurious question, really. It was patently obvious that Mrs Miller was not all right.) ‘Whatever happened? Will you allow me to fetch some help?’

  Kathryn, still shocked that she had allowed her love for him to take her by surprise and overpower her, assured Mrs Wright a little shakily that she would be perfectly able to manage without any more assistance, while Mr Berkeley briefly explained the circumstance of her inability to walk into the room. Neither brother nor sister felt convinced that Kathryn would be able to manage without further help but they were somewhat at a loss as to know what to do. Then Mrs Wright had a good idea. Sarah, the old family nursemaid, lived on in Belvoir House still, mending bits of linen, fashioning things for the local children and generally making herself useful. She would surely be able to take a look at the ankle and ensure that nothing more was needed to be done. Mr Berkeley thought this a splendid plan and immediately rang the bell to ask that Sarah might be found. Down she came, wheezing a little but only too delighted to put her skills to the test. She shooed both Mrs Wright and her brother away (much to Kathryn’s great relief) while she unveiled the sorely swollen ankle and felt at it gently. Kathryn could have cried out with the pain but managed to restrain herself, a little concerned that Mr Berkeley might rush straight back in should he hear her distress. Luckily the nursemaid was quickly done. She recommended maintaining the ankle on a low footstool for the remainder of the afternoon after which, she felt certain, the pain and swelling would have eased.

  Kathryn felt sorry that Mr Berkeley’s dinner plans should be disrupted, but he himself had no such worries. As dinner was now ready he arranged for it to be brought on trays into the saloon and seemed just as happy to have his meal on his knee as he would have been in eating off his most expensive Chippendale in the formal dining room. Kathryn, to be sure, felt disinclined to eat but she managed to force some morsels down, more for the sake of her companions than herself, and surprised herself by feeling able to accept a second portion of a particularly delicious crumble when the final course was served.

  Time was now drawing on and Mr Berkeley, regretfully looking at the clock, went into the stables to arrange for his curricle to be harnessed in order to drive her home. Kathryn was acutely aware of the inadvisability of taking a curricle ride alone with him but she could think of no other option for getting back to Sandsford. So she expressed her gratitude with as much good grace as she could muster and when, a few minutes later, she heard the crunch of the carriage wheels on the gravel, she submitted meekly to his insistence that she allow him to assist her into it. She parted with Mrs Wright most kindly and allowed Mr Berkeley to tuck a blanket around her legs. Then she settled down to make the best of a bad job and enjoy the novelty of the drive. She had never been driven in a curricle before.

  Now that she had the perfect opportunity, Kathryn knew that she should tell Mr Berkeley in the strongest possible terms that it had been most ungentlemanly of him to kiss her when she was at her most vulnerable – nay, indeed, ever to kiss her at all, vulnerable or not. Nor should he have put his arms around her in quite so affectionate a manner. She was a married woman after all and she could quite understand that a husband would not be altogether delighted at the thought of another young gentleman playing free and easy with his wife. She also knew that the longer she allowed herself to enjoy the intimacy which had naturally sprung up between them the more difficult it would get for her to tear herself away. It had become nigh on impossible already and she was extremely annoyed with herself for allowing it to creep up on her in the way that it had. But even so she struggled to find the words. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that this was simply due to her own disinclination to endanger the relationship she had already established with him. Rather, she persuaded herself that she didn’t wish to inflate the importance of the incident by making a big issue of it. He had lived much on the continent, after all, and she had heard that foreign ladies and gentlemen enjoyed a good deal more freedom together than did English ones. Why, they had even been known to dance in each other’s arms at balls. She therefore wondered whether it might be better to let sleeping dogs lie. And while she wrestled with what best to do, what best to say, Mr Berkeley was chatting to her quite inconsequentially about his pleasure in showing her his grounds, his sadness at her accident and his expressed hope that, as soon as her ankle would stand it, she would return to Belvoir to take a tour of his house.

  It was beginning to get dark when they arrived at Sandsford and Kathryn thoroughly expected Mr Berkeley just to drop her off and get on his way home again. Mr Berkeley was made of sterner stuff than this, however. He threw the reins to his tiger, leapt down from the curricle and made his way round to Kathryn’s side in order to assist her to dismount. Although her ankle was a little better she found that it was still extremely pai
nful and so, whether she wanted to or not, she was obliged to make use of Mr Berkeley’s ready arm in order to get herself into the hall. Even then Mr Berkeley showed no sign of wishing to leave and the thought struck her that he might be hoping for an invitation to stay. This she resolutely refused even to consider, and, as if to emphasise the point, allowed Bob only a very few minutes in which to renew his acquaintance with his friend before insisting most firmly that he get Sally to put him to bed. Indeed, both Bob and Mr Berkeley looked inclined to argue against the need for such an early bed time but both could see that she was in no mood for any opposition and so, probably wisely, they managed to restrain themselves to a mere token protest rather than an all-out attack.

  Kathryn took a deep breath and made a determined effort as soon as her son had vacated the room.

  ‘I would like to thank you, Mr Berkeley, for a most enjoyable afternoon. I liked your gardens immensely and I am only sorry that I was unable to do your delicious dinner more justice. But I must ask you to leave me now. Your horses will be getting cold and I myself am in need of an early night. And please, Mr Berkeley,’ there, she was managing to say it at last. ‘Please remember in future that I am a married woman. I know not what you meant, if anything, by your behaviour towards me this afternoon – but it cannot be allowed to continue. It cannot be allowed to happen again. It is not fair to my husband and it is not fair to me.’

  She looked at him a little despairingly as she finished. He looked back at her for a second. He appeared to be struggling with himself.

  ‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘I know it, and I am very sorry. It was not a gentlemanly thing to do. It felt so natural. I forget that we...I cannot abide the thought that we...It took me quite by surprise, you see.’

  And then, confusing both her and himself about what he was saying and what he actually wanted to say, he turned tail on her, and fled.

  Chapter 6

  Almost a month went by before Kathryn saw anything more of Mr Berkeley, or Mrs Wright. Determining to get a grip on herself and finding that her earlier strategy had not worked she decided to deny herself any further fortnightly calls at High Street and focus all her attention on her aunt instead. Indeed, her aunt was truly in need of her attention for she appeared to have developed a rather worrying little wheeze. Although, fortunately, it did not prevent her from undertaking her sewing it did make it more difficult for her to undertake her collections and deliveries. So on the Friday after Easter, her ankle now fully recovered, Kathryn decided to take Bob with her on her next trip into Weymouth. Bob could make himself useful by carrying some of the linen about – although probably, thought his mama wryly, it might be best for him to stick to the pre-mended work, just in case – and despite his professed dislike of his great aunt she could give him a little treat afterwards by allowing him some time to watch the Punch and Judy on the beach.

  It appeared that Aunt Shepherd had been quite unable to do her usual rounds that week, for no sooner had Kathryn and Bob appeared at her door than she heaved a great sigh of relief and intimated that there was an awful lot to do. This necessarily took some time and the church bell was striking half after four by the time that Kathryn and Bob had completed their rounds. Kathryn was very aware that Bob had been a good boy that afternoon, hardly complaining at all, and she was particularly keen to allow him the treat that she had promised him. But it was quite apparent from the state of her aunt’s health and the size of the pile now collected in her apartment that she would need some assistance in order to get it all done. In the end she determined on taking her son down to the seafront, giving him his farthing, and – with strict instructions not to move from the spot until she returned to collect him – left him with the other small children to enjoy the final show of the afternoon.

  Kathryn returned to her aunt’s apartment and made a start on some of the work. Her aunt, though expressing her gratitude, was scarcely able to utter another word and Kathryn was seriously concerned. For the first time in her life she thought of the horror of being on one’s own – of feeling ill and lonely – of maybe dying alone, without anyone other than the landlady to break up the miserable days. She really wished that she could do more to help her. Perhaps she could remove her to Sandsford for a while? But then, she had no idea if – or when – Giles would ever return. She had no expectations of him sending any notice. She couldn’t put either her aunt or herself in the unenviable position of him suddenly returning to discover the lady whom he had expressly banned from the house, back in residence there. She didn’t want to think what his reaction might be to that. And anyway, the sheer logistics of getting her aunt to Sandsford – of having to pay for a carriage, having to transport her work to and fro all the time – really, the whole scheme would cause just as many problems as it might solve.

  So in the end all she felt able to do was to offer what practical help she could, undertake some of the mending, and promise to return again to see her very soon. It was almost half after five before she got away.

  Kathryn hurried across to the beach to collect her son. The clouds had started to draw together and she could feel some drizzle on her face. She was already tired from the long walk to Weymouth, the endless collections and deliveries, taking Bob to the beach and now returning for him, and she was not looking forward to the long trek home. But her tiredness instantly evaporated the moment she returned to the front, for instead of a happy little boy sitting waiting for her as expected she found, to her horror, that the whole beach was utterly deserted. Not a child, not a soul to be seen except for a couple of urchins messing about at the water’s edge, a couple of indeterminate-looking canines at their side.

  She looked up and down the beach desperately, her heart racing. Where was he? She had specifically told him to stay where he was – and what had he done? He had only gone and wandered off somewhere. She should have known. He was only five years old, and certainly too young to be trusted. But where could he have got to? She didn’t know where to look.

  She started to make her way towards the stone steps that led down to the beach. She had the despairing hope that the urchins might know where he had gone. But just as she did so a loud, deep shout of ‘There she is’ and a rather muffled shriek of ‘Mama’ from the roadway made her swing round in a trice. Accompanied by Mr Berkeley, who held him by the hand, Bob was happily munching on what looked to be a sweet pastry, with his companion being similarly endowed, and busily engaged in negotiating the busy street in order to reach her on the other side of the road.

  Kathryn felt a surge of relief flow right through her as she crouched down to enfold her little son in her arms. She was almost in tears. Mr Berkeley regarded her anxiously.

  ‘I spotted him wandering about on his own in the middle of East Street,’ he explained, helpfully. ‘I think he was trying to find you.’

  ‘Oh Bob – what did I tell you? On no account to move from the beach. Didn’t I? You should have known that your mama would come to find you.’

  ‘But look at what Uncle Andrew has bought me,’ Bob had much more important things on his mind than any instructions of his mama. He waved the remaining morsel in front of his mother’s nose. ‘It’s very tasty.’

  She looked up at his deliverer gratefully. He was looking particularly dashing that afternoon in his exquisitely tailored blue tailcoat and snow white cravat.

  ‘What can I say, Mr Berkeley? Thank you so much. I cannot tell you how worried I was. I was nigh on in a state of panic.’

  ‘I can see that you were. I’m only too pleased to have been able to assist. I’m not quite sure where the scamp would have ended up if I hadn’t happened to pass his way.’

  Having got down to her knees to enfold her son, Kathryn now realised that she was so tired as to make it almost impossible for her to get up again. Her struggle eventually succeeded, but not before Mr Berkeley had noticed. He looked at her with some concern.

  ‘I can see that you are quite worn out,’ he said, ‘and becoming a little damp in
to the bargain. I wonder whether a short rest in the Royal Hotel might be in order? In fact,’ looking down at Bob with a sudden smile, ‘what would you say to a tasty supper overlooking the sea?’

  Bob’s face lit up at this suggestion, leaving his mama with little choice but to accept. They crossed over the road again and made their way up the cream-coloured stone steps at the front of the Royal Hotel. They turned into a large dining area at the front of the building, resplendent in shades of crimson and gold, with tall windows and high ceiling with intricate chandeliers which must surely sparkle gloriously in the dark. Mr Berkeley found them a table by the window and sat down on a well-padded chair between Bob and his mama. The drizzle had cleared away and a weak sun was slanting down from the south west, over the beach and out onto the waves. Kathryn had never dined at the Royal before. It all seemed very grand.

  It was soon apparent that the same could not be said of Mr Berkeley, for not only was he on first name terms with the two waiters who instantly appeared to serve them but it turned out that the chef was equally well acquainted with him and turned up in a moment to make his personal recommendations for their meal.

  Bob was full of his afternoon out and was regaling Mr Berkeley with an account of the way in which, single handed, he had personally rescued a small girl’s sand castle from the danger of imminent collapse.

  ‘Most impressive, Bob,’ Mr Berkeley assured him. ‘I am in that line of business myself, you know – or, at least, I was until I had the good fortune to return to England. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll succeed me in the profession?’

  Bob was quite uncertain as to the need for a gentleman to have any profession at all but he thought that if this were indeed a necessity then perhaps something along Uncle Andrew’s line of work might certainly serve the purpose.