Lovers Meeting (16 page)

Josie returned to the dining room with the dessert and Tom greeted her with: ‘Charlotte tells me you passed the Langley yard.’

‘Yes, she pointed it out to me.’ Josie smiled. Then she added, ‘They didn’t appear to be building a ship.’

‘They’re not,’ Tom said bitterly. ‘The whole river is in depression. Langley’s hasn’t built a ship for a long time and doesn’t have an order now. That’s why William was borrowing money. He was trying to keep his men on when he didn’t have work for them.’ He stopped then. Josie waited for him to continue but he did not and she did not care to press him. It was a family matter and Mrs Miller was not family.

Reuben Garbutt had arrived at his home that morning after travelling through the night. He was accompanied by a shocked, jaded and bewildered Rhoda Wilks. She gaped at his substantial house, standing in its own spacious grounds in St John’s Wood. As they got down from the cab, Rhoda whispered, ‘Is this a hotel?’

‘No. Don’t be damned stupid.’ Garbutt tossed two half-crowns to the cabbie and told the footman who came hurrying from the house, ‘Get our bags.’

‘Yes, Mr Garbutt, sir.’

In the hall they were greeted by the butler. ‘It’s good to see you home again, sir.’ He held a silver salver with a few envelopes stacked neatly on it. ‘This mail has been awaiting you, sir.’

Reuben picked up the envelopes and fanned through them as he walked on. ‘Prepare a room for Miss Wilks. Let us know when it’s ready. We’ll be in the study.’

In the big, book-lined room he sat at his desk and began opening his mail while Rhoda stood in the middle of the floor. He glanced up at her and said impatiently, ‘Sit down!’

As she sank slowly into a chair she said, ‘That chap called you Mr Garbutt.’

He nodded without looking up from the letter he was reading. ‘That’s my name.’

There was silence for a time as Garbutt scanned letter after letter – and Rhoda screwed up her courage. Finally she moistened her lips: ‘You said you were Reuben Graham.’

‘Because it suited me. What’s the difference?’ Now Garbutt put down the last sheet and looked at her. He had given some thought to Rhoda as they travelled south. He could not simply abandon her, because she might talk. He could shut her up, of course, but on the other hand she was a devoted slave who would comply with his every wish for little more than her keep. She could be useful, and not just in his bed.

He smiled at her. ‘You’ve finished with that skivvying. In a minute you’ll have your own room and a bath. Tomorrow we’ll go into town and buy you some new clothes. You won’t need any tonight.’

That night in the Langley house, when Charlotte was in bed, Josie watched the sleeping child and wondered if she was any better than a pauper. Then she swore: If she could help it Charlotte would be.

13

‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’ They buried William Langley three days after his death. It was a day of bright sunshine, but the vicar’s voice droned mournfully through the burial service. Josie Langley was in mourning today, her dress and coat of unrelieved black out of respect for her grandfather, though he was known to the world as her employer. She should have stood on the fringe of the crowd around the grave because to them she was just an employee, and an outsider come lately at that. The only ostensible members of family were Tom Collingwood and little Charlotte. But Josie was there to hold Charlotte.

There were many mourners, friends or business acquaintances of old William Langley, because he had been well respected. The men were in dark suits and black ties, top hats, bowlers or Homburgs in their hands. Their wives were all in black, skirts lifted decorously with one hand to keep them clear of the clay around the grave. The other hand steadied the high black hats pinned to their piled tresses.

And there was Felicity Blakemore, newly returned from Scotland and standing at Tom Collingwood’s shoulder. She was in expensive black with a veil, and dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of handkerchief. Her father’s big motor car waited outside the cemetery gates with her maid, who had accompanied her to put rubber galoshes on Felicity’s shoes before she ventured into the grass and soil of the graveyard.

Josie was watching Tom Collingwood. He stood a head taller than the rest, bareheaded in a dark suit with a reefer jacket, his cap in his hand. She had sat beside him at the inquest, Charlotte on her knee. It had been held in the Albion Hotel in Dock Street on the afternoon following William’s death. The coroner had delivered a verdict of death by natural causes – in fact, heart failure. Tom had been broodingly angry rather than grieving, stiff-backed, his black brows drawn down.

Josie had given Charlotte to Tom to hold on his knee while she gave her evidence, told how she found the body. When she reclaimed the child, Charlotte had whispered, ‘Why is Uncle Tom so cross?’

Josie whispered back, ‘He’s unhappy because your grandfather is dead.’

‘Oh.’ Charlotte nodded, vaguely, the concept of death still strange to her. ‘Like Mam and Dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to die?’ Now Charlotte was concerned.

Josie reassured her, ‘No.’

Charlotte had been content with that but she was uneasy now, having seen the coffin lowered into the grave and knowing her grandfather was in it. Josie picked her up and held her close so the child could see the wheeling gulls blown in on the wind from the sea. That distracted her and she quietened again.

Josie wished she could comfort Tom Collingwood in some way. He was grieving now, his head down and tears in his eyes. Felicity was intent on her own seeming grief. But then the vicar’s drone came to an end, the men put on their hats and the crowd began to drift away after murmuring their condolences to Tom. As it thinned, Josie saw Sergeant Normanby standing apart, and she eased away from Tom’s side and went over to the policeman. ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant.’

‘Afternoon, ma’am.’ Normanby put a thick finger to his helmet in salute. ‘A fine day but a sad one.’ He shook his head. ‘So soon after—’ He stopped.

Josie said, ‘Would you like to see the horses, Charlotte?’ The carriages that had brought the mourners stood outside the gates of the cemetery.

Charlotte, bored, answered quickly, ‘Yes, please.’

Josie set her down. ‘Just go as far as the gate. Not outside, mind. I’ll be watching you.’ And her gaze followed Charlotte as she trotted away, to halt by the gate and peer through the railings.

Josie turned to the sergeant. ‘Captain Collingwood told me how Charlotte’s parents died. I understand they were run down.’

Normanby scowled. ‘It was some chap who was mad or drunk or both. They were walking down to the yard like they did every morning and this feller stole a lorry loaded with coal from outside a pub around the corner. He drove down the road, swerved off the kerb and smashed into them, crushed them against the wall. He got out and ran off. A few people saw him but not really close. Their descriptions varied. About all you could say for sure was that he was tall and well set up, with a moustache. We never found him.’

Josie said, ‘Could it have been an accident?’

Normanby pursed his lips. ‘The verdict of the inquest was manslaughter.’

Josie suggested, ‘But surely, nobody would deliberately kill two innocent people like that. Why should they?’

‘That’s what I asked myself. Why? And I couldn’t find a reason.’ But Normanby did not sound convinced. He turned to go, lifting a hand again in salute.

Josie saw that Charlotte was edging towards the road and she started to move herself. ‘Then you’re sure it was deliberate?’

The sergeant paused. ‘Well, he managed to start that lorry, drive it around a corner and then down the road without any trouble. So why should he turn off his course, summat like forty-five degrees, and run into them?’ And he went on his way.

Josie stared after him for a moment then hurried to catch Charlotte and take her back to their carriage. She caught the child’s arm at the gate. Just outside was the Blakemore car, huge and shining. The uniformed chauffeur stood some yards away, talking with a little knot of carriage drivers. Felicity’s maid, a slim girl in a grey overcoat, stood by the car door. She waited, bored, for her mistress to return. Josie asked Charlotte, ‘Would you like to see the motor car now?’

‘Yes, please.’

So Josie let her wander along its length, peering at her distorted reflection in the gleaming brass headlamps. Josie smiled at the maid. ‘I’m Josie Miller. I just started at the Langleys’ a week back, looking after Charlotte here.’

The maid brightened at having someone to talk to. ‘Susie Evans.’

Josie asked, ‘What’s her ladyship like?’ And she jerked her head to indicate Felicity, now the centre of a group of wives, and grinned at Susie, ‘all girls together’.

Susie grinned back. ‘The job’s all right and I can put up with her for the money. She’s an only child and old Blakemore’s got pots o’ money, big house just outside the town and another one in London.’ Then she grimaced. ‘Here she comes now. I’ll have to take her bloody galoshes off for her.’

Josie said sympathetically, ‘Mucky job. Anyway, I expect I’ll see you again.’ She reached for Charlotte’s hand.

As Charlotte reluctantly turned away from the car she saw Felicity coming out of the gates and said clearly, ‘I don’t want to ride with her.’

‘Sssh!’ Josie hushed her. ‘Any more of that and—’ She did not finish but Charlotte received the message and was silent.

Felicity smiled thinly at her and swept past. ‘Susie! My shoes!’ The chauffeur had come trotting up to open the rear door. Felicity seated herself inside and Susie knelt to pull off the muddy galoshes.

Josie and Charlotte were joined by Tom and they were driven back to the Langley house. Josie led the child inside while Tom sent the cab driver on his way. The curtains had been drawn across the windows since the night of William’s death, but now Josie drew them back with a breath of relief to let in the sunlight. This cheered Charlotte, too, and she ran laughing up and down the hall and Josie pretended to chase her. After a minute Tom came in, leaving the front door open, and rapped, ‘I would like a little more respect for the dead, please, Mrs Miller.’

Josie, flushed and laughing, halted in the game but gave him back: ‘The funeral is over. Charlotte is only a child and she has mourned enough. Do you wish to see her with a permanently miserable face, Captain Collingwood?’

Tom looked at Charlotte, now peeping from behind Josie’s skirts. She laughed up at him and he admitted, ‘No, but—’

‘Very well, then. Is that all?’

He took a breath. ‘No, Mrs Miller, it is not all. While you are the child’s nurse, I am her guardian because I’m the nearest she has to any family now, at least until I can get in touch with her mother’s people in Argentina. Is that understood?’

Josie nodded gravely. ‘It is. And while you are her guardian when you are here, I am her nurse for twenty-four hours a day and I will continue to carry out my duty as I see it. Is that understood?’ They both stood very straight, he glaring down at her, she looking up at him defiantly.

Felicity’s arrival broke the deadlock. She bustled into the hall, pulling off her gloves, and smiled at Tom. ‘Here we are, darling. Arkenstall has just arrived.’ Josie laid a warning hand on Charlotte’s shoulder as Felicity went on, ‘And we don’t need that child. You – what’s your name? Mrs Miller? Take her away, please.’

Ezra Arkenstall entered then, a middle-aged man with a pointed beard and stooped from sitting over a desk. He peered at Tom and Josie through wire-rimmed spectacles. Josie recognised the solicitor from a previous visit in the past week. He said, ‘I am quite ready now.’

Tom turned his head to say, ‘Yes. We will be there in just a moment.’ Arkenstall opened the office door for Felicity and followed her in.

Charlotte sidled from under Josie’s hand and gripped Tom’s instead. She whispered pleadingly, mouth drooping, ‘I want to stay with you, Uncle Tom.’

Tom looked down at her. ‘I don’t think you’ll like a lot of legal talk.’

The corners of the mouth slipped further and a lip quivered. ‘Please?’

Tom softened. ‘All right, but you must be quiet.’

‘I will.’ Charlotte smiled sunnily and tugged at Josie’s skirts with her free hand. ‘Come on, Mrs Miller.’ And before either could protest, ‘I want Mrs Miller. I’ll sit with her and be quiet.’

Josie made a mental note to deal with this behaviour in the future. But not now. She stood silent and Tom agreed, ‘Oh, very well.’ And to Josie, ‘Arkenstall is waiting to read the will. Normally only family or those with an interest would be present but your presence will serve a purpose: you will see what my position is in law and that it is my right and responsibility to order how the child should be brought up.’

Josie had made her point and was prepared to settle for that. ‘Thank you, Captain Collingwood.’

Tom began to caution her. ‘You will understand that anything said in that room—’

Josie was quick to assure him, ‘I will not repeat a word.’

‘Thank you.’ Then Tom added, muttering, ‘Though I expect the state of affairs will soon be evident to everyone.’

Tom opened the door of the office and stood back. Josie took Charlotte’s hand and sailed in. Arkenstall stood at the desk with its swivel chair. There was only one other chair, a leather armchair by the fireside, the grate of which was empty in this summer weather. Felicity was seated there, smiling graciously. The smile froze when she saw Charlotte and she snapped, ‘What is that child doing here? Mrs Miller, I instructed you—’

‘I want them here, Felicity,’ Tom cut her off as he entered, carrying a chair from the hall. He set it down behind Josie, saying, ‘Please be seated, Mrs Miller.’

‘Thank you.’ Josie sat down demurely and secured Charlotte on her knee.

Tom went on, ‘Charlotte won’t be any trouble and this will concern her as much as anyone. Mrs Miller will look after her and I have her word that she will not divulge anything she hears.’ Felicity realised this was an explanation, not a justification, and not to be debated. The smile was switched on again.

Tom went to stand before the fireplace and addressed Arkenstall where he sat in the swivel chair: ‘This is Mrs Miller, the governess engaged to care for Charlotte. I would like her to hear the terms of the will.’