The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  And even then, had the lady he had chosen actually merited his favour – had she been superior in mind and elegant in spirit – even though it would still have been an agony for her to think of it, at least she could have been reasonably assured of the likelihood of his own happiness, if not her own. But to fix upon Miss Brewer. Miss Brewer, of all people! Yes, there was no denying that she was pretty and she had all the distinct attractions of youth. But to someone as superior as Andrew – for someone with so many positive qualities – such thoughtfulness, such exuberance, such a love for life as Andrew – to shackle himself to a mere shallow chit of a girl, straight from school, with no understanding of the important things in life, no empathy, no promise. Well, she could only mourn – both for Andrew and for herself.

  She was still thinking of this when Giles returned to her. He had brought her a drink and a small piece of pie and he sat with her while she consumed it. He looked out of the window, fidgeting. The breeze was picking up a little but it was still a glorious day.

  ‘It’s Bob’s birthday, isn’t it, Kitty?’ he asked her. ‘Poor little lad. He’s sitting there in the garden looking so downcast. Shall I take him fishing with me, do you think?’

  Kathryn felt a shiver of fear run through her but Giles looked quite calm – serene even – today and she wondered whether he was, actually, genuinely contrite.

  ‘It may be a treat for him,’ she said, cagily. ‘If you think you can put up with him for an hour or so.’

  ‘Well, I want to do my best for the lad. I ought to make it up to him somehow. We’ll just row out into the bay here – not too far. We’ll be back again before you know it.’

  He kissed her gently on the forehead and let himself out into the garden. She could hear the shed door bang. Giles would be getting his rods. She could hear Bob’s little feet as he ran into the kitchen to get something. Then nothing. They had gone. Now there was only the sound of the curtains flapping gently in the light afternoon breeze and Kathryn fell into a light, repairing doze.

  It was almost dark by the time she awoke again. The slamming of her window woke her with a start. She opened her eyes to see who had come in. There was no-one there. The force of the wind must have caught it and caused it to slip right down. She wondered how long she had been asleep. She could hear nothing of Giles or Bob. Surely they couldn’t still be out at sea?

  Another half hour ticked by. The darkness grew thicker and the wind began to howl. A curtain of rain spat against the windows. Kathryn rang the bell for Sally. Had they come back yet? No. Sally had seen no sign of them.

  Kathryn grew seriously alarmed.

  ‘I must go out to find them, Sally,’ she said. ‘Something is wrong. I know it.’

  She threw on some clothing as quickly as her sore, swollen limbs would allow and crept painfully down the stairs, one by one. She made her way through the kitchen and out into the garden at the back. The shed was empty of rods and there was no sign that Giles had been back at all. She could feel a sense of panic enveloping her. She turned to fetch an oil lamp from the kitchen but before she could take another step a figure suddenly loomed up before her in the dark. It was Giles. He was alone, and dripping from head to toe.

  ‘What is it, Giles? What has happened? Where is Bob?’

  Giles looked at her. She could see that he looked gaunt.

  ‘He...he’s gone, Kitty. He’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘he’s gone’? Where has he gone?’

  The note of panic in her voice was unmistakable.

  ‘He fell out of the boat. He was messing around. He kept clambering onto the gunwales. I told him to stop and I got up to pull him back down again. The damned thing capsized. We both fell in the water. I couldn’t see him. I don’t even know where he went. I tried to dive underneath it to find him but the water was so murky I couldn’t do it. He must have hit his head - I never even heard him splashing, or anything. He was there one moment and then the next he was gone. I don’t know what to say to you. I’m so sorry, Kitty. So sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen at all. I only wanted to make it up to you and now it’s all gone wrong.’

  ‘So you have left him out there somewhere. Left him alone in the sea?’

  ‘The child has drowned, you stupid woman. He has gone. Dead. Have you not listened to a word I’ve just said?’

  Kathryn felt nothing, absolutely nothing. She could not, would not, comprehend what Giles had just said to her. She only heard the words ‘Bob’ and ‘gone’. Bob was gone. Her darling little boy, the one remaining light in her miserable existence. Giles had taken everything else and now he had taken him too. She did not care whether he had meant to do it. She did not care what his motivation had been. All she knew was the end itself. And the end itself was darkness and emptiness and despair.

  She stared at him blindly through the damp darkness.

  ‘Go away, Giles,’ she said. ‘Just go away.’

  Without another word, Giles went over, saddled his horse, and rode off into the night.

  Kathryn turned silently down the trackway, past the cottages, and felt her way painfully and carefully through the darkness down the steep hillside towards the rocky beach below.

  Sally, coming into Kathryn’s room at eight the next morning, found that her mistress was not there. She looked about her. The bedclothes were just as she had left them the previous evening. The curtains had not been drawn. It appeared that Kathryn had not returned that night. She went into Bob’s room. Not a soul. She listened outside the master’s door. Not a sound. The master was not there. She went down to the kitchen to consult with Tom. Tom had been eating his breakfast as usual but he set it aside straight away.

  ‘I’d best be setting out then,’ he said, wolfing the final mouthfuls as he rose from the table. He grabbed a coat from the peg by the back door and made his way down the trackway towards the sea. He called in at the cottages on the way. No, neither Gabriel nor Arthur had seen anything of Kathryn, or of Bob. They grabbed their hats and went with Tom over the hummocky grassland on the way to the water’s edge. They didn’t have to search for long. Sitting just a few yards in front of them, the cool water lapping all around her, sat a desolate figure, knees drawn under her, staring bleakly out to sea. They scrambled down to go to her.

  ‘Mrs Miller, ma’am – Mrs Miller. You can’t sit there in the water like that. You’ll be catching your death o’cold.’

  Kathryn appeared neither to see nor to hear them. The three men looked at one another, irresolute.

  ‘We can’t leave ‘er in the water like that. But she’ll non budge, the state she’s in.’

  ‘Do you think she’d let us carry ‘er up the beach a little?’

  Tom looked at her again.

  ‘I doubt she’d even know we was doing it,’ he said. ‘P’rhaps we should give it a go.’

  So the three men stepped tentatively towards her and, very respectfully, fished about in the water in an endeavour to pick her up. Tom and Gabriel, as the most senior of the three, took it upon themselves to take a side each. Arthur steadied her at her back and they half hauled, half carried her up the rocks a few yards until she was completely free of the water. As Tom had suspected, she seemed totally unaware of their presence despite their somewhat inept manhandling. She remained, inert, still, staring glassily out to sea. They looked at each other again. Tom, remembering that he was wearing a coat, stripped it off himself and placed it gently around her shoulders. And then, as a man, and with no further word between them, they trooped silently together back towards the rocky ledges and made their way back home.

  Sally herself went down to the beach at midday. She had made a portion of Kathryn’s favourite thin soup and she carried it carefully in an oversize bowl, hoping that it would not spill. She found her mistress sitting in exactly the same place, and in exactly the same position, as Tom had described to her. It was as if she hadn’t moved at all. Sally went up to her and placed the bowl by her side.

  ‘Mrs Miller,’ sh
e whispered, gently. ‘Mrs Miller – I’ve brought you a drop of soup. It’s your favourite. You can drink it here. You don’t have to move. Here. Try a little. It’ll do you a lot of good.’

  It was as if Kathryn could not hear her. The glassy look, the desolate posture – neither altered an inch. Sally tried again. She took a tiny morsel of the soup onto the spoon and held it to Kathryn’s lips. The lips parted a fraction and the spoon slipped inside. Kathryn swallowed. Sally tried again. Her mistress took a half dozen droplets. Then the lips stayed shut and Kathryn responded no more.

  Sally sat with her for a while and gazed out to sea. She wondered whether that vast angry mass of water would take pity on her grieving mistress and release its gruesome catch. Bodies were not always recovered from the sea. Families could not always grieve. She sighed deeply. The sea would not bring the little lad back alive. She could only hope that, if he did reappear, it would not take too long.

  She made her way slowly back to Sandsford House and shook her head at Tom. The tide would be turning any time now and the wind appeared to be shifting. They agreed to leave things for another couple of hours and then go back together to see whether anything had changed.

  So at about half after three Tom and Sally made the long trek back down the hillside to see what could be done. The wind felt softer now. It had shifted south. They looked to where Kathryn had been. She was not there. They scrambled down onto the beach and looked about them. The water had come up higher and was lapping at the bottom of the rocks. From behind a sharp promontory a scrap of material could just be seen, floating in and out with the gently lapping wavelets. They scrambled over to it. Kathryn was sitting, head bowed, nestled between the rocks, with Bob’s little body encircled by her arms.

  ‘Mrs Miller, Mrs Miller.’ Tom called her but she didn’t move. ‘Mrs Miller.’

  ‘Let us help you a little, Mrs M. Let us take little Bob and get you back to the house.’

  Kathryn did not move an inch. She sat there, still as a statue, clutching her little son.

  Sally looked at her mistress and looked again at Tom.

  ‘Fetch Mr Berkeley,’ she said to him, and Tom immediately went on his way.

  Chapter 19

  Managing to hitch a lift on a farmer’s wagon, Tom reached Weymouth within an hour of setting out and half ran, half lumbered his way across the river and up to Belvoir House. Panting, and with aching limbs, he made his way up the grand stone steps and rang at the clanking bell with as much energy as he could muster.

  A neat-looking servant answered it. No, Mr Berkeley was not at home. No, she was not quite sure when he’d be back but she would be happy to enquire for him if he could wait a moment in the hall.

  Tom paced up and down impatiently as he awaited a reply. A matronly woman appeared from below stairs and looked him up and down before edging closer towards him.

  ‘What do you want of him?’ she asked him, a little suspiciously.

  ‘It’s Mrs Miller,’ he replied. ‘Her little boy is drowned. We thought he’d want to come.’

  The woman’s eyes widened. She knew, as only servants could, what Mrs Miller and her little boy meant to Mr Berkeley.

  ‘He has gone to the boxing club, I think,’ she said at once. ‘And then he was going to drop in on his sister. He’s been gone some time. I’d call in at High Street, if I was you. And if you miss him I’ll be sure to let him know as soon as he returns.’

  Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement and let himself out of the door. He jogged down towards High Street, thankful that it was all down hill this time, and made his way towards Mrs Wright’s house – the house to which he had taken Mr Berkeley’s first message all those months before. This time he was in luck. Mr Berkeley was just arriving, on his horse, turning the corner at the top of the road. He saw Tom as the old man hurried towards him and immediately saw that something terrible had happened. He jumped off the horse and ran to meet him.

  ‘What’s happened, Tom?’

  ‘It’s Mrs Miller. ‘er ‘usband’s beat ‘er up and then drowned Bob. She’s found ‘im on the beach.’

  For a long second Andrew’s whole universe cracked around him. His thoughts left him. His breath refused to come. He stared, unseeing, at the elderly man before him. Tom was looking at him anxiously, expectantly, hoping for a positive response.

  ‘She needs you, Mr Berkeley, sir. We cannot get ‘er to move.’

  Andrew finally remembered himself and took a deep breath.

  ‘Right. Get up here with me and we’ll go immediately.’

  Tom shook his head.

  ‘No, sir. You go on yer own. I’d slow yer down too much. I’ll follow on behind on foot.’

  Andrew nodded. Tom gave him a hitch onto the horse and he cantered uncertainly along the cobbles towards the bridge. He hardly knew what he was doing, although the horse appeared to know exactly where to go. He automatically took his master along the Esplanade and past Mr Brewer’s grand house on their left. He knew that there was nothing to do there that afternoon. He cantered as swiftly as he dare along the busy sea front and turned off along the ancient trackway towards the cottages. Before Andrew was fully aware of what he was doing and where he was the horse was slowing down. Then he began to regain some control. He dismounted as the rocks came into view and led the horse a little gingerly towards them. Then, letting him go, Andrew made the final few yards alone and on foot. The tide was still lapping the base of the lowest ledges and he stepped into the water to search for Kathryn. He looked through all the gaps and crevices, trying to find her. And then, suddenly, he saw Sally. She had stayed with her mistress, and spotted Andrew at just the same moment as he spotted her.

  ‘She’s over ‘ere, sir,’ she called, standing up and splashing into the water to meet him. ‘She’s over ‘ere and in desperate straits. Dear God you’ll be able to do something for ‘er.’

  Andrew squeezed his way into the niche that Kathryn and Bob had made their home and pushed his way gently just behind and to one side of them. He bent his head to hers and cradled her in his arms. They said nothing, but Kathryn shifted a tiny amount in order to nestle still closer to him. And there they sat, Andrew, Kathryn and Bob blended all together in the cool evening breeze, part of the landscape, with Sally still watching silently by their side.

  They sat like this for another hour or so, before the wheezing Tom finally stumbled along the rocky edge to meet them. The tide had turned by this time and the waters were slowly receding. Andrew raised his head when he heard the new arrival and then whispered softly to Kathryn, still nestled in his arms.

  ‘We need to get you back home, lieveling,’ he whispered. ‘We’ve got to get you inside. Let Tom take...take little Bob. I will carry you there myself.’

  Mutely, Kathryn nodded and Andrew struggled to his feet. He called for Tom to come over.

  ‘Take the lad, Tom,’ he said, gently releasing the grey little body from his mother’s unresisting arms. ‘You take Bob and I’ll take his mama.’

  And so it was that a sorry little procession – Andrew, carrying an inert and dripping Kathryn, Tom, carrying an equally inert and sodden Bob, and Sally, silently bringing up the rear, passed Sandsford Cottages on their way up to the house. Gabriel and Arthur spotted them as they passed by the window and came out of their door, tugging their forelocks in respect. The family next door similarly came out and stood silently as the sad little party made its way up the hill. Sally hurried past the others as they reached the garden gate and opened it for them. Then she went to the house door and opened that. Andrew and Tom passed through it and into the kitchen, where a fire burned every day even in summer, for the cooking. Andrew placed Kathryn carefully into Sally’s rocking chair next to the fire and indicated to Tom to lay Bob’s body on the kitchen table. Andrew could hardly bring himself to look at it. Sally covered it over with a cloth.

  ‘I’ll get the doctor,’ said Andrew. ‘I don’t know what to do for the best here.’

  ‘No. You stay here
, Mr Berkeley. Mrs Miller needs you with her. Let Tom, or me, go for the doctor.’

  Poor Tom, already totally exhausted by his unwonted exertions, nevertheless backed Sally in her demands that he be sent in Andrew’s stead. In the end, neither of them had to go. Mr Gabriel, having seen the almost lifeless form of Mrs Miller as Andrew had carried her up the hill, had taken it upon himself to fetch him, sending Mr Arthur up to Sandsford House to tell them so. Tom and Sally, both secretly relieved that this new demand should not be placed upon them, (after all, neither was as young as they would have liked and they had scrambled up and down hillsides of one sort or another for most of the day) busied themselves with the practical things that they knew the best. Sally sent Mr Berkeley to fetch Kathryn’s bed clothes, and Tom to milk the cow, whilst she herself warmed the kitchen towels by the fire. When Andrew returned she shooed him out to help Tom for a while, while she herself stripped her mistress, washed her with hot water, dried her with the warm, if somewhat rough, towels, and then brushed her hair carefully and dressed her in her night clothes. Then she put the kettle on for some tea. Tom stripped Mr Berkeley of his wet shoes and stockings as he knelt by the chair with Kathryn in his arms, and placed them by the fire to dry. By the time the doctor arrived the kitchen appeared relatively normal, save for the somewhat lumpy bundle upon the wooden table, and Mr Berkeley, bare legged, still holding a senseless Kathryn in one hand as she half sat, half lay, in the chair in front of the fire, and trying to get her to sip some tea, with the other.