The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  Kathryn gave him a grateful smile. What a thoughtful friend he had proved himself to be. Of course she would be happy for him to speak to them. There was nothing she would like more than for him to speak to them. It would be another weight off her mind. Indeed, she felt that she would have been more than happy to work for him herself.

  Sally was still in the wash-house and Tom would doubtless be nearby. She let him out through the back door and then turned to face her husband, who had picked up his guns from the dresser behind him, where he had left them the previous day, and was polishing them morosely, muttering to himself.

  She looked at him mutely.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he snapped. ‘You are looking reproachful. I do not like it. It is not warranted.’

  Kathryn let out a deep sigh. She was not in the mood for this today.

  ‘What has happened this time, Giles?’ she asked him. ‘What has gone wrong for you now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that you are upset about something. I know you well enough by now. You always get like this when something has gone wrong.’

  ‘Get like what?’

  ‘Like you are now – jumpy, angry, morose. It frightens me, Giles. It only makes things worse.’

  ‘Worse? What do you know about making things worse? It is only you that ever makes things worse.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can say that, Giles. It seems to me that I only ever try to make things better.’

  ‘And you think that I do not? You think that I take pleasure in seeing things fall apart? You think that I am happy that I have lost all my money yet again? Happy that Brewer’s a thieving, cheating bastard and has conned me out of the lot? It’s when I try to make things better that things go wrong. And I only ever try to make things better for your sake. So it has to be your fault. If it wasn’t for you none of this would have happened in the first place.’

  The last thing that Kathryn wanted was yet another fight with him. So she watched him silently for a moment as he grumbled incoherently about the filthy state of his guns.

  ‘Well I shouldn‘t worry too much about them if I were you, Giles,’ she said, after a while. ‘I am sure that Mr Brewer will not expect them to look perfect after all.’

  Giles cast her a puzzled look.

  ‘Brewer? What on earth has Brewer got to do with it?’

  ‘Mr Brewer has included them in his purchase, Giles. They will belong to him on Monday – indeed, strictly speaking, they belong to him already. I shouldn’t worry too much about polishing them if I were you. There are more important things to be done at any rate.’

  ‘But a man needs his guns. What gentleman does not possess a gun? You are talking nonsense as usual, Kitty. I shall not be leaving my guns.’

  ‘But you will have no say in the matter, Giles. The guns are on the inventory, I am certain of it, along with almost everything else that we owned. And anyway, there would not be room in the apartment for them. It is quite compact, you know.’

  As she said this the back door opened and Sally entered the kitchen with an arm full of washing, closely followed by Mr Berkeley, who was similarly endowed. They proceeded to hang it up in front of the fire on a string which had already been slung there for the purpose.

  ‘The apartment? What apartment?’

  ‘The room I have taken in Weymouth.’ Kathryn was starting to feel just a little exasperated with him. He appeared to have forgotten all about the need for their removal.

  ‘But we are not going to Weymouth. I had told you already that I did not like that room. It smells. I have arranged it all myself. We are going to Osmington Mills. We shall be sharing Mr Chard’s house for a while.’

  Kathryn was aghast.

  ‘Osmington Mills? But I do not wish to go to Osmington Mills, Giles. Osmington Mills is a good three miles further on. I need to be in Weymouth. It will take me far too long to walk to Weymouth from Osmington Mills. Osmington Mills will not suit the purpose at all.’

  ‘You do not wish to go? And since when have your wishes been of any consideration whatsoever?’

  ‘Well perhaps it is about time that you did consider them, Mr Miller,’ put in Andrew, from the fireplace, apparently quite unable to maintain his silence any longer. ‘After all, your wife is the innocent party in all of this. It is not her fault that you have robbed her of her home. I would have thought it the least you could do, to consider her wishes for a change.’

  Giles glared penetratingly at the man who was making free with his washing by the fire.

  ‘And since when have my wife’s wishes been anything at all to do with you?’ he asked in a loud voice. ‘In fact, now I think of it, what gives you the right to stand here in my kitchen at all, listening to my private conversations and butting in all the time?’

  ‘I need to be in Weymouth for my work, Giles,’ said Kathryn, softly. ‘We will need an income, after all. I will need to take on as much work as I can find. I cannot possibly do that if we hide ourselves away at Osmington Mills.’

  Giles leapt out of his chair, which fell backwards with a crash, threw his gun down onto the table, strode over to her and grabbed her shoulders.

  ‘Work? What work?’ he yelled, giving her a shake. ‘Since when did you do a day’s work in your life, you stupid bitch? You have never done anything for me – not one thing since I met you. It has all been left to me. Who is the one who works for a living in this household? Eh? I am. Who is the one who risks death every day playing cat and mouse with the blasted Revenue? Eh? I am. Who is the one who goes shooting for rabbits and birds to put some meat on your miserable table? Oh, I am again. How strange. And all you do is to swan ab...’

  ’That’s enough, Miller. Can you not see that you are hurting her?’

  Giles, indeed, was shaking his wife so hard that Andrew was afraid that he should shake her off her chair.

  ‘Do you know something, Berkeley,’ (Andrew was a little relieved that he had managed to divert Giles’ attention away from Kathryn for a moment.) ‘I am getting just a little fed up with all your interference. Will you shut up, or would you like me to close your mouth for you?’

  Andrew took a step in his direction. Giles leapt back, glaring. His thigh hit the muzzle of his pistol. He spun around and fingered it.

  Kathryn was starting to quake. She sensed that things were getting out of hand.

  ‘Giles. Giles, please sit down, my love,’ she pleaded. ‘There is nothing to get angry about. Andrew was kind enough to bring you home, after all.’

  ‘Andrew? Oh, so it’s Andrew now, is it? Andrew, indeed. And what does he call you, this Andrew, my dear innocent wife? Kathryn? Kitty, maybe? Or something altogether more personal? Eh? Eh? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you smug little self-satisfied bitch. Andrew indeed. And do you know, now I think of it I always thought that that bastard of a brat of yours was onto something. I knew...’

  ‘Stop right there, Miller. You have insulted your wife quite enough. She is as innocent as a little child and I can tell you that for nothing. She has not once done anything to be ashamed of – not one thing – aye, and I have urged her often enough to do so I can tell you, you ignorant, pathetic little worm. I will not have you saying anything against her – not one word, do you hear? It is you who should be ashamed. It is you who should hang your head and beg her forgiveness. God only knows that she deserves it.’

  ‘Me? Ashamed? What the devil should I feel ashamed about? I am her husband, Berkeley, in case you should forget. I am the bitch’s husband, the devil curse her, and I can do with her whatever I want to do.’

  ‘Her husband? Her husband? And what right does being her husband give you to abuse her so violently – eh? What right does being her husband give you to rob her of everything she ever had, everything she ever cared for – eh? Why, have you forgotten the vows you made when you married her? She has not forgotten her vows to you – nay, not even once. You promised to support her, did you not? You promised to give her e
verything that was yours. You promised to love her as she loved you, and all you have done is to spurn her, abuse her, neglect her at every turn. She has spent her marriage running after you, doing your bidding, subordinating her every wish to yours. She has suffered your abuse without rancour. You have insulted her in front of your friends and laughed in her face. She has seen her dear aunt thrown out of her home and into poverty and death – a poverty that she faces herself now, because of you. She has seen you take her darling little son – a shining light, the light of her life - to his death. You have beaten her, ridiculed her, degraded her. You have given her months of heartache, months of fear, months of desperation. You have lost her respect and you have lost her love. Look at your wife, Miller. Look her in the eye and then tell me that it is not so.’

  Giles was still fingering his gun. He was taking quick, sharp little breaths. His shoulders were heaving convulsively. He looked at Kathryn. He looked fearful and cowed.

  ‘It is not true. Tell him, Kitty. I love you so much, I could not possibly do those horrible things to you. He is lying. He wants you for himself. Tell him it is not so.’

  Kathryn was still quaking but she shook her head very slightly. She was not prepared to lie to him, not prepared to pretend for him any more. Giles had finally lost his tenuous grip on reality and she would not, could not follow him into the abyss. She would have to tell him the truth at long last and be prepared to take the consequences of what she had to say.

  ‘It is all true, Giles,’ she said, quietly. ‘Every word of it is true. I loved you once. I loved you so much that it hurt. And since that time you have systematically destroyed that love. With every insult, with every blow you have dismantled it, piece by piece, and torn it from me until there is nothing left to take. I loved you once, Giles Miller, but while I will honour my pledges to you and to God – I will stand by you and support you faithfully as I promised to do in church - I can never, ever show any love for you again.’

  Giles was staring at her wildly.

  ‘But I need your love, Kitty. You cannot take it from me just like that – you cannot take it from me and give it to him instead. I will not let you. I will not let you love him. You are my wife. You owe it all to me.’

  Giles was silent for a second, awaiting an answer that did not come. Then he looked down at his gun. Kathryn could tell what he was thinking.

  ‘Aye – point that gun at me, Giles Miller,’ she said. ‘Stretch out your arm, take your aim and fire it. I care not any more. Shoot me if you wish to. Shoot me, Giles, and take my life. There is nothing more of me for you to take.’

  He looked up at her desperately for one last time.

  ‘So that is it, is it? You will not renounce him. You have taken your love away from me and given it to him. You will not give it back? You will not love me ever again? Then I’m sorry, Kitty,’ he said at last. ‘I’m so very, very sorry. I cannot let that happen. If I cannot have your love then no-one can have it.’

  And then, very slowly and very deliberately, he took the pistol into his hand. Andrew leapt forward to snatch it from him but he was a second too late. In the moment it took him to cross to the table from the fire Giles had raised the pistol, aimed it at her, pulled the trigger and shot her point blank in the neck.

  Chapter 23

  For a few long moments Giles just stared at the crumpled figure before him. Andrew and Sally stared at it too. Tom, hearing the shot from the garden, rushed inside and, seeing the body, gave out a monstrous wail of distress. Andrew’s tiger, hanging about at the front door, found his way into the garden and gaped at what he saw through the open kitchen door.

  For several seconds Andrew felt totally unaware of anything. The shock had numbed him. His ears were still ringing from the deafening blast. His breath was coming in great gulps, tainted by the plume of acrid smoke that still drifted about the table, suspended in time. Yes, the shock had numbed him, but it did not numb him for long. A few seconds more and then reality hit him. Perhaps he should have felt hatred for the quivering wreck of a man that cowered next to the body on the floor, perhaps he should have felt horror at what he had just that minute witnessed. Certainly nobody could have blamed him had he done so. But he felt none of these things. Just one sensation was foremost in his mind. One sensation overpowered all of the others. This was simply an overwhelming feeling of despair - a despair that the love of his life, a love that he knew could never be equalled, had in that one moment of utter madness been taken away from him for ever.

  Giles got up and looked wildly about him. Nobody was taking any notice of him – they were all too shocked, too absorbed in trying to take in and understand what had just been enacted in front of them. He went over to the kitchen door and walked out through it, heading off towards the clifftops. Tom made as if to stop him. Andrew shook his head. No. Let him go.

  A few moments more and Andrew found himself quivering uncontrollably. Kathryn was lying in a great pool of blood on the floor. The blast had knocked her off her chair and onto the hard flagstones beneath. Shivering, and whimpering compulsively, he went and crouched at her side, holding her head to his chest, rocking her gently, despairingly, mindless of the blood. But then, suddenly, through all his grief and anguish, he heard her give a faint and feeble moan.

  In a moment he was up.

  ‘Quickly, quickly – she is not yet dead,’ he shouted, desperately trying to pull her from the floor. ‘Tom – help me to get her onto the table. We must find some way of stemming the blood.’

  Tom leapt forward and assisted Andrew in getting Kathryn onto the table, while Sally tore at the towels which were hanging up by the side of the fire. They eased Kathryn’s gown away from her neck. The bullet had ended up in the muscle of her shoulder, which was bleeding profusely. There was another great gash in the back of her head, which must have been sustained in her sudden crash onto the flagstone floor. Andrew took the strips of towel and pressed them gently over the areas that were bleeding. He was still shivering but as he gazed down fearfully at her his hopes were lifted yet again to hear another little moan and see her eyelids flicker just a fraction.

  ‘Tom – Tom, we need to get a surgeon. Go into Weymouth and fetch one. Get Jack to drive you in the curricle.’

  Tom nodded and left immediately with Andrew’s tiger. Andrew looked down at Kathryn’s wounds once again.

  ‘I think the bleeding is slowing just a little, Sally,’ he said, not perfectly convinced. ‘Do you think?’

  Sally nodded, although she was no better a judge than Andrew was himself. Nevertheless, by the time the surgeon arrived almost an hour later Andrew had managed to stem the blood and carry Kathryn into her bedroom and place her tenderly in her bed. He was sitting on it himself, holding her hand as if he would never let it go, staring down at her, oblivious to anything else in the room.

  The surgeon having advised him to leave whilst he went about his gruesome task, Andrew went down to the kitchen, where Sally was bustling around, sorting things out. She had cleaned the kitchen as best she could, though an ominous great shadow remained on the floor, and when she saw Andrew she stripped him of his bloodied shirt and threw it at once into the fire. Andrew went out into the yard and cleaned himself under the pump. By the time he got back, towelling himself vigorously, Sally had found an old shirt of Tom’s – neither of them wanted to have anything to do with anything of Giles’ – and she slipped it over his head and onto his broad chest as she would have done for a baby.

  The day had turned cold and gloomy. Spots of sleet spattered on the window. The surgeon was not hopeful. The wounds were severe. Either one of them could kill her. He thought it unlikely that Kathryn would survive the night. Indeed, had Giles not been so drunk, and so hurried by Andrew’s intervention, that his shot had been marginally off target she would not have been with them even then. He advised them to prepare for the worst. But Andrew knew otherwise. He loved this woman, loved her with a passion that gnawed at his very soul. He knew that she could not die just y
et. He knew that she was destined to survive for him.

  Andrew spent all afternoon and all that night at the bedside, staring down at her white face, trying to sense her spirit in the darkness, continually searching for some sign that she was pulling through, that the danger had passed. It was a stormy night. The wind and driving rain battered the house relentlessly from the east. For hour upon hour he listened as it lashed the building, screaming round the corners, drumming on the panes. But at first light the next morning the wind abated and the rain drifted away. Andrew got up, stretched his weary body, and kissed her on the forehead. He put on his coat and made his way downstairs and out through the kitchen into the cold greyness that was the dawn of a new day.

  It was then that Andrew spied the body on the beach. He had taken the track past the cottages down the hill to Preston cove, there to feel his spirits soothed by the rhythmic lapping of the now quietened waves. It was as he stood at the head of the rocks, staring out to sea, that he suddenly spotted it only a very few yards away from him. The mass of seagulls, mewing excitedly overhead, drew his attention to it. He could see in an instant that it was Giles. He slipped cautiously down the rocks to take a closer look. It looked as though Giles had either fallen or jumped off the clifftop and then drowned in the angry sea. Andrew gazed down unfeelingly at the pitiful sight, cold and grey in the half light. And then, turning to clamber back up the rocks, he returned to Sandsford, there to renew his vigil until he should finally know her fate.

  Chapter 24

  The late August sunshine was streaming through the crack between Kathryn’s curtains as she lay comfortably in her bed in the best chamber that Belvoir House had to offer, luxuriating in the coolness of a gentle, early morning breeze. She was thanking God, not for the first time, that young Miss Brewer had finally lost patience with her errant lover and told him in no uncertain terms that he should take himself elsewhere. Maybe she had divined that there would always be a third party in her marriage. Maybe it had been the irresistible attractions of another, much more enticing partner in the shape of a particularly devastating Privateer, with silver ear-rings, dark, seductive eyes and plenty of prize money and adventure. Or perhaps – and, sorry to say, the most likely - she had finally learned from her papa that Andrew’s fortune, tied up as it was for several long years to come, would be quite insufficient to support her in the glamorous and exciting lifestyle that she had always had in mind for herself – that there would be no smart town house in London, no expensive round of visits and entertainment to satisfy her vanity and lust for excitement, no investing in innumerable new gowns and jewellery to show off to her friends. What ever the reason, call off the wedding she had, and the day upon which Andrew had raced up to the apartment at the rear of Maiden Street with the news of his unexpected freedom had been the happiest day of Kathryn’s life so far.