The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  Mr Berkeley watched her, musingly, for a moment. Then he slipped out, returning almost immediately with a tray of tea and pastries from his friend Monsieur Almond. What a strange little tea party they had, Mr Berkeley perched somewhat precariously on the table edge, Kathryn trying desperately not to get the sticky jam on her linen as she sewed, and both of them becoming increasingly happy and light hearted as the afternoon progressed. They laughed together about the rather generous sizing of some of her customers’ clothing which – sorry to say – Mr Berkeley held up against himself and declared there to be plenty room for her inside as well as he. They giggled at a rather vacant old gentleman who, apparently mistaking the route up to his room, tried manfully to persuade them to vacate his property at once until Andrew was obliged to show him the way to go. They even picked up on a song which was drifting its way through to them from the public bar nearby and sang it themselves, Kathryn’s gentle soprano blending with Andrew’s rich baritone in perfect harmony together. It is probably fair to say that had either of them been given the chance to have their tea in luxury in the lounge upstairs, but apart, they would not have swapped their funny little cupboard together for anything.

  It so happened that when Kathryn next had cause to make her way to the Royal the steward led her, not to the little cupboard as expected, but into a more comfortable meeting room with a larger window and a padded arm chair upstairs. The cupboard was required for something else, he explained. From now on she was to have the use of the better room instead. Similarly, after an hour or so of work, he reappeared with a little tray of tea and pastries – less sticky ones this time – which he insisted were part of their deal. Kathryn had her suspicions but she did not voice them. Instead, finding that she had earned a few pennies more than she had expected, she slipped over to High Street and handed them over to Mrs Wright, who instantly knew what they were for.

  Giles was so far busy with his own concerns – centring mainly around socialising at the ‘Smugglers’ or regular trips into town – that he never noticed Kathryn’s own pattern of visits in the Weymouth direction. Every so often he would regale her with stories of his own achievements – it appeared that he had a regular card appointment at ‘The Ship Inn’ on Weymouth quay at which, very occasionally, he was able to win enough to cover his losses – luckily the stakes were never very high - and every so often he would enthuse about Miss Brewer and swear what a damned lucky cove old Berkeley was to get her attentions so entirely to himself. From what he told her it was apparent to Kathryn that Mr Brewer was generous in his invitations to dinner at his house, which appeared to provide a little needed opportunity for a group of men to finish an afternoon of drinking and gambling at ‘The Ship’ with an evening of drinking and gambling in his front study, and that of this group her husband, Mr Berkeley and Mr Cutlass Chard appeared to be the leading participants.

  Chapter 13

  Towards the middle of June Giles received a visit at Sandsford from his good friend and business partner, Mr Cutlass Chard. Since the debacle with the Revenue men the good Mr Chard – in common with Giles himself and, doubtless, several other of their acquaintance – had been particularly quiet in terms of evening activities but from his unexpected appearance in Preston it was apparent that he had a new scheme up his sleeve.

  Kathryn, of course, was left entirely in the dark about the nature of Mr Chard’s business dealings with her husband but she was soon appraised of at least some part of the deal by the sudden appearance of a little rowing boat hauled up on the rocks at Preston beach. The rowing boat, it transpired, was for Giles’ use and what ever the advantages expected from its official purpose, it also served to occupy Giles in a marginally more useful activity than was his wont by encouraging him onto the water most days, fishing rod in hand.

  Bob, learning of the boat’s existence by the simple means of coming across it on his occasional visits to the beach with his mama, was sufficiently able to overcome his dislike of his new papa to express a desire to have a trip out with him one day. His papa, however, glared at him from over the top of the newspaper that he was reading and told him that he would only get in his way.

  Bob sighed.

  ‘I wish Uncle Andrew would come back,’ he said. ‘Uncle Andrew would always play with me. He was always so much fun.’

  Kathryn and Sally, who were just then preparing some vegetables for their meal, stopped chopping in unison and stood there together, knives in the air. Giles flicked the newspaper away in annoyance.

  ‘And who the hell is this Uncle Andrew?’ he demanded.

  Sally knocked the chopping board onto the floor and gave a little shriek which diverted Bob’s attention sufficiently to prevent him from supplying an answer.

  ‘Oh dear,’ cried Sally. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller. Bob – Bob, my dear – would you just nip out and see if you can find Tom for me. I need him to get some water while I pick these veges up.’

  Bob slipped down off his stool and let himself out of the back door.

  ‘Bob seems to feel the lack of a real uncle quite deeply, Giles. He appears to have acquired a pretend one of his own,’ said Kathryn, crawling round with Sally to retrieve the peas and beans from their bolt holes on the floor. ‘He is always talking about what they do together.’

  ‘An imaginary friend, you mean? That boy is too much of a dreamer by far. You need to toughen him up a little.’

  ‘Oh, he’s all right, Giles – he is still only a baby really. I’m sure he’ll grow up quickly enough.’

  She exchanged a look with Sally as they retrieved the last few beans from under Giles’ chair. She would have to warn Bob not to mention Mr Berkeley in front of his papa again. Papas did not like to hear about such things. It only made them cross.

  The holiday season was beginning in earnest in Weymouth and Kathryn was confronted with such a mass of sewing when she next went in to town that she was fully occupied until much later in the afternoon than she had been used to. The little tea trays had continued to appear each visit, for which she was extremely grateful, varied occasionally by the appearance of a meat pie or piece of sweet cake, and on most occasions she had managed to earn so much that an extra few pennies had found their way into the little tin box at the house in High Street. The summer was proving to be an unusually wet one but today, for a change, the sun had shone for most of the afternoon and Kathryn was carrying her shawl in her sewing bag as she made her way along the Esplanade at about half after seven that night. She was singing softly to herself as she looked out over the brilliant blue water. The gently lapping waves had deposited thin rows of seaweed in snake-like patterns on the beach and there were several cutters and square riggers in full sail heading slowly into port, pennants fluttering in the gentle breeze. They looked breathtakingly beautiful. She stopped by a post for a moment the better to admire them. Unbeknown to her, she had stopped right opposite Mr Brewer’s house in Gloster Row. Even more unbeknown to her, looking at her out of the front room window were Mr Brewer, Mr Chard, Mr Berkeley and Giles.

  ‘Pretty young mort that, eh?’ Mr Brewer was saying, appreciatively. ‘That thin dress – phaw – shows that figure of hers off to perfection.’

  ‘Hey – that’s your wife, ain’t it, Miller?’ put in Mr Chard, scrutinising her carefully. ‘What are you doing, letting her wander about Weymouth on her own at night?’

  Giles slid open the window and shouted across the road.

  ‘Hey – Kathryn – come over here.’

  Kathryn gave a start and looked around her. The unseen watchers gave out a laugh.

  ‘Over here – in Brewer’s house.’

  Kathryn turned her attention to the row of houses behind her. She could see her husband standing at a window. This was not what she wanted to see at all but she had no choice but to go over to him and give a little curtsy to the shadowy figures that she could see were standing beside him.

  ‘Ask her in, Miller. Ask her in. I’m sure my wife will want to be introduced – and I certain
ly do.’

  Giles, probably flattered that his wife should receive such approbation, turned back to the window.

  ‘Come up to the door,’ he shouted. ‘Brewer will let you in.’

  Kathryn reluctantly mounted the steps and waited at the door. In a couple of seconds a large, balding gentleman of about five and forty opened it and invited her inside. Giles appeared behind him in the hallway.

  ‘Kathryn – meet Mr Brewer,’ he said. ‘Mr Brewer has been admiring you from across the road. He wants you to meet his wife.’

  Kathryn was a little flummoxed by all the attention but she was quickly ushered up the stairs and into an elegant reception room on the first floor of the building which she found to be occupied by two grown up ladies – soon introduced as Mrs and Miss Brewer – and divers smaller boys and girls.

  ‘Thought Mrs Miller might like a cold drink before she gets on home,’ suggested her host, helpfully. ‘After all, it’s been a monstrous hot day and it’s a long way back to Preston.’

  Mrs Brewer, to be sure, did not look at all pleased to have a strange young lady foisted on her without so much as a ‘by your leave’ but she directed her daughter – whom Kathryn quickly surmised to be the beautiful Sophie – albeit reluctantly, to ring the bell for some drinks. Kathryn looked at the girl surreptitiously. Giles had been right to say that she was something in Kathryn’s own style – slim but shapely, a little taller than Kathryn, and with a mass of dark curls, a little longer than hers, which cascaded down her neck and rested becomingly upon a flawless back. Even worse, Sophie appeared to have a ready (if somewhat insincere) smile, in which she revealed a flawless set of pure white teeth, and pronounced her words with an ever-so slight little lisp, which Kathryn felt convinced would send a gentleman like Mr Berkeley into a state of absolute rapture.

  Mrs Brewer asked Kathryn, a little coldly, how she had enjoyed the day’s sunshine. Kathryn gave her a suitable reply. Kathryn asked Sophie whether she was enjoying her new-found freedom away from school. Sophie responded by saying that she was finding Weymouth a perfectly odious place – the theatre boring, the library dull – and not on any account to be compared to the delights of London, or even Bath. One of the smaller children – a girl of about five or six – wandered over towards her. Kathryn invited her onto her knee. She told the child about her own little boy who was much of an age with her. The child replied that she was not at all fond of boys, and wriggled herself free once more. The oldest boy – a lad of about twelve or fourteen – heard what she had said and asked whether she had any older children. No, she replied. No, only little Bob.

  They all sat and looked at each other, somewhat at a loss. Kathryn could see that Miss Brewer was eyeing her up and down in a somewhat snide manner. She was probably totting up the value of her garments and comparing them to her own. The comparison was a happy one for Miss Brewer. Kathryn’s gown was nothing at all like hers. Not only was hers brand new and styled by a top modiste in the first style of fashion, it had probably cost her papa ten times more than Kathryn’s whole home-made wardrobe put together and it did an even better job than Kathryn’s did of showing off her figure to perfection. Not perhaps realising (or caring) that Kathryn was looking right at her at the time, Sophie pulled a face at her mama as if to question why her papa had felt it necessary to bring so shabby an individual to their attention at all. Kathryn was less than impressed. Having been given the benefit of some of the best schooling in the county, even such a young and thoughtless girl as Sophie should have been more than capable of behaving politely to a visitor, irrespective of the garments in which that visitor might be garbed.

  Feeling more than a little out of place, Kathryn wondered whether she might now decently make her escape or whether she was expected to wait for Giles. She decided that she should make up her own mind – and, her mind already being made up, she had just arisen to take her leave when Mr Brewer returned to the drawing room in the company of his three companions, and Kathryn was obliged to sit herself down once more.

  Kathryn had noticed that there had been other people with Giles as he had stood at the window but she had not been able to see them clearly enough to identify them. She was therefore a little taken aback to find, not only Giles, but Cutlass Chard and Mr Berkeley accompanying their host into the drawing room. Unfortunately they all appeared to be a trifle above par. Mrs Brewer, apparently concerned for the moral welfare of her children, immediately got up to usher her brood up the stairs to bed, and took the opportunity to suggest that Sophie might like to give her a hand. Indeed, the lovely Sophie, apparently less concerned than her mama about the possibility of moral contagion from the gentlemen, seemed more than a little reluctant to oblige but it was obvious from the somewhat steely look in her mama’s eye that she had no option but to comply. So she rose elegantly from the sofa, directed what Kathryn could only describe as a coquettish little smile at Mr Berkeley, ignored Kathryn altogether and followed her siblings out of the room.

  This left Kathryn in an even more invidious situation, for instead of finding herself in a group of hostile women and children she now found herself amidst a group of somewhat bosky gentlemen who appeared intent on making her the prime focus of their entertainment for a while.

  ‘My friend Brewer thinks you a prime article, Kitty,’ swaggered Giles, flinging himself down next to her on the sofa and giving her a kiss. ‘He thinks you look very pretty in that thin little gown of yours. I wager he’d like to do what I’ve just done to you – aye, and a lot more, too. Wouldn’t you, Brewer? I bet you’d like to have my wife to yourself for half an hour, wouldn’t you?’

  Giles kissed her again and belched noisily in her face. Kathryn, disgusted, reddened and turned away.

  ‘I bet you’d let me and all, Miller,’ replied the banker. ‘You’re a rum cove and no mistaking it.’

  ‘Well, you own everything else of mine, Brewer. You may as well have my wife as well.’

  Mr Brewer looked half tempted by Giles’ proposition. Mr Berkeley was standing near to the door. He was looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

  ‘Come on now, Miller,’ he said. ‘Leave the poor woman alone.’

  Giles shot him a cold look.

  ‘Since when have you had any say in what I do with my wife?’ he demanded. ‘I warrant you’d be in line for a strum with her and all. In fact, old Cutlass here was saying only the other day that he fancied a go with her on the beach at Osmington Mills. Why don’t you all have a go? Perhaps I should auction her off for the night?’

  Mr Brewer looked as if he was more than open to such a suggestion. Mr Chard laughed, a little nervously. Mr Berkeley looked far from impressed.

  ‘But you’re ruining the game,’ he pointed out. ‘I thought you wanted the chance to recover your losses. You can’t stop playing just yet.’

  He opened the door as wide as it would go and ushered Cutlass out. Mr Brewer, perhaps realising that his own front room, with his wife nearby, might not be the most suitable venue for an amorous adventure, soon followed suit. Giles, seeing that he was in imminent danger of being left behind, gave his wife a playful tweak on the ear and followed his colleagues out of the room. Mr Berkeley exchanged a glance with her. ‘Run home now,’ he whispered, and then followed her husband down the stairs and back into the study, banging the door behind him as he did so.

  Chapter 14

  The incident at Mr Brewer’s house appeared to settle Giles for the next few weeks. The miserable wet summer continued, with the occasional brighter day interspersing the rainy ones to awaken some hope of better things to come.

  The first week in August was particularly pleasant, however, and Giles was in good spirits from having sold a few barrels of rum entirely under the noses of Mr Barnabus and his fellow revenue men. In fact, the presence of money in his pocket made him feel quite sunny again and on the Wednesday afternoon he kissed Kathryn on the cheek and suggested a jaunt into Weymouth.

  ‘And perhaps Bob might like to come with us as well,’ he s
uggested, rather unexpectedly. ‘I will take you to the camera obscura and buy you some tea at the Royal.’

  Kathryn, in truth, would have preferred to save the money for the next rainy day (which she privately considered would most likely be not too many days away) but the thought of providing a much needed treat for her darling little boy was sufficient for her to acquiesce to her husband’s plan without any protest. Bob’s pleasure, though somewhat muted because his papa was involved, nevertheless was sufficient to make Giles throw him into the air and catch him again, and by about two o’clock they were rambling along the coast, enjoying the sunshine, apparently without a care in the world. The hillsides were replete with insects – droning, buzzing – making up for all the time they had lost whilst sheltering from the rain. Bob ran backwards and forwards, spotting a dancing butterfly here and an intriguing beetle there, bringing fossils and shells to show his mama, then meekly holding her hand once they reached the noise and traffic of Weymouth town itself. The town was particularly busy just now, as a Royal party had recently arrived, attended by a mass of hangers-on. Parades of troops were taking place in the gardens by the beach, resplendent in their red uniforms. German officers, brought over by the King, were wandering about, entertaining the public with their stirring music and odd language. Smart gigs, landaus, chaises and phaetons mingled unceremoniously with the more modest equipages of farmers and traders, which mingled again with innumerable people on foot. There were Union flags and banners everywhere. Kathryn, Giles and Bob stopped for a while to watch the pleasure craft sailing elegantly across the bay, and a smart naval sloop taking up anchor further out. The bathing machines stood empty and idle at the rear of the beach, their work apparently over for the day. Some children were building a sand castle at the water’s edge. Bob eyed them enviously.