Lovers Meeting (34 page)

‘Aye, all right. As long as we’re back in time to get the dinner ready. Dan will be round and he has to get back to the chandler’s afterwards.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Josie told her. ‘We’ll see to the dinner in good time.’

They strolled gently, taking their time from Charlotte’s toddling pace. Josie asked, ‘When are you and Dan going to get engaged?’

Annie said unhappily, ‘Not for months or years. Dan doesn’t want to get engaged; he wants to be married and I can’t see that happening. I want somewhere decent to live to bring up my bairn.’

‘Can’t you find anywhere?’

‘Dan says there’s no need and we can live over the chandler’s. That might be all right for him, that only wants a bed and a gas ring to make a cup o’ tea, but it’s not a home. That flat above is just full o’ boots, oilskins and all kinds o’ kit for sailors. And I sometimes wonder if he’s settled. He says he is, but he was a soldier and if he hadn’t been wounded he would still be a soldier. I wonder if he’s just a roamer and he’ll throw up the job here and move on some day.’ She stopped, then said: ‘Why, there it is.’

Annie had not noticed that they had wound their way through the streets to the chandler’s. It stood on a corner near the Langley yard. As they approached, Annie’s eyes were fixed on the door, but Dan did not appear. Josie pushed the door open and the bell jangled above it, announcing the entry of a customer. It was not needed on this occasion because Dan Elkington was behind the counter serving two sailors who were looking at oilskins and long, woollen stockings for sea boots. The boy who assisted Dan set aside the broom he was using to sweep the floor and asked, ‘Can I get you anything, Mrs Miller?’

‘No, thank you,’ replied Josie. ‘I’ll just have a word with Mr Elkington in a minute.’ And when the two sailors had tramped out she asked, ‘Will you come outside a minute or two, Dan?’ It was easier than sending the boy on some errand.

Dan smiled at Annie. ‘Why, hello!’ He stooped over the pram. ‘Is he asleep?’

‘Aye, and you leave him like that,’ ordered Annie. ‘You can give him his dinner later on but let him alone now.’

As Dan straightened, content with this, Josie asked Annie, ‘If Dan took all of his stock out of the flat could you make it fit to live in?’

Annie, taken by surprise, said, ‘I don’t know. Well, I suppose so—’

‘Would you help?’ Josie put the question to Dan.

‘Aye, I would, but—’

‘You could put the stock in a shed in the yard at the back of the shop.’

Dan asked, puzzled, ‘What shed?’

‘You could buy one. The bank statements show there’s plenty of cash in the shop’s account. And the books are showing a handsome profit.’

Dan thought he understood now. ‘You mean you’ll lend us the money out o’ what the shop’s making?’

‘No, I don’t mean that.’ And as they both stared at her, Josie explained, ‘I’m turning the shop over to you, Mr and Mrs Dan Elkington, if you want it.’

‘Want it?’ Dan asked incredulously.

‘And want each other,’ Josie reminded him.

‘I’ve made no secret of what I want,’ said Dan straightly. ‘With or without the shop.’ And he was talking to Annie now. ‘But we could make a good life for ourselves here.’

Josie questioned, ‘And no yearning to wander?’

‘I’m a bit older than Dougie Bickerstaffe,’ said Dan drily. ‘He still wants to go to sea wi’ Captain Collingwood, but I’ve done my wandering.’

This was an unwelcome reminder that Tom might get another ship, but Josie tried to put it out of her mind. She said, ‘There’s one condition, that you keep this to yourselves for a while. I’ll tell you when you can talk about it. That will’ – and she invented – ‘save me some embarrassment. Now, can I have your promise, both of you?’

‘I’ll keep my mouth shut,’ said Dan.

Annie nodded, bewildered, then went on, ‘But I don’t want to leave you, don’t want to let you down, after you’ve been so good to me, ever since that first night you found me.’

Josie laid this worry to rest. ‘I’d be grateful if you would still work at the house, coming in daily and bringing the baby with you.’ She put her arm around the girl. ‘So now all you want is a ring.’

Annie nodded, and Dan said, ‘I’ve got one. Had it for weeks, only waiting for you to say the word.’ But Annie could not speak, just reached out to hold his hand.

Josie said, ‘You’d better take Annie in and make her a cup of tea on that gas ring of yours. And you can make a start on planning what to do with the flat.’

Dan helped Annie lift the pram into the shop and Josie left them. As she strolled past Langley’s yard with the dawdling Charlotte she paused to glance in through the open gates at the men of the maintenance gang at work.

Charlotte demanded, ‘Can we go and see Sammy?’

‘Mr Allnutt,’ Josie corrected again, patiently, then went on, ‘Not today. Another time.’ Tom Collingwood was in the yard. She walked on.

She had taken another step.

Josie collected the photographs that afternoon. That of Charlotte on her own was as good as Josie had expected but no more than that, a solemn little girl nervous of the camera. In the other she held a hand on Josie’s knee for support and courage, while Josie herself … She blinked at the picture of the young woman that stared back at her, a smile almost suppressed on her lips but crinkling the corners of her eyes. She had the look of her mother but also of the Langleys, that straight nose and proud lift of the head, the carriage of the body. And there was an aura of life, a bloom on this girl.

Josie showed the photograph of Charlotte to Tom Collingwood that evening as they sat at dinner. He grinned his approval at the child, allowed to stay down because of the photograph. ‘Very nice, Charlotte.’

She beamed at him and said, ‘Can we see the other one, Mrs Miller?’

Tom looked at Josie. ‘The other one?’

She explained, ‘Charlotte would only be photographed if I had one taken with her.’ She left it there but Tom held out his hand. Josie gave him the photograph and he looked at in silence, then turned it over to read the photographer’s name and address on the back before handing it over. ‘It’s a very good likeness.’

Josie busied herself with putting the photographs away.

It was on a Saturday morning a week later that Tom Collingwood burst out of the office in the Langley house and strode along the passage to the kitchen. Josie, Annie and Kitty swung around as he entered, waving a letter in one hand. He said jubilantly, ‘I’ve got the command! They’ve confirmed me as master of the
Dorothy Snow
! She’ll be sailing out of the Port of London to New York, a regular run. So I’ll be home for a few days every month.’

Josie clapped her hands. ‘Congratulations! It’s no more than you deserve. I’m so glad for you.’

‘Thank you.’ His eyes had never left her, but now—

‘When d’you go?’ asked Kitty.

‘Not for a week or two yet. I’ll probably be here for the opening of the yard, but the board want me to go down to London to look her over’ – and he glanced at the letter – ‘on Monday. So I’ll have to travel down tomorrow.’

So on the Sunday morning Josie stood in the hall with Charlotte as the cab swayed around the square, pulled by its trotting horse. Tom appeared in tweeds, an overnight bag in one hand, his cap in the other. Josie expected the parting to be brief but Charlotte cried, ‘Can I go to the station?’

‘Of course you can.’ Tom jammed his cap on his head and scooped her up. ‘But you’ve got to behave properly.’ He grinned at Josie. ‘Come on, Mrs Miller. I don’t want to miss this train.’

So Josie, biting her lip, had to run for her coat and Charlotte’s, then sit in the cab opposite Tom while he carried Charlotte on his knee. The horse ambled over the bridge across the River Wear, crowded with shipping. They caught a brief glimpse of Langley’s yard and Tom said, ‘The yard officially opens tomorrow.’ A maintenance squad had been working there for two weeks to prepare it for opening. He went on, ‘What about a party next Saturday – in the yard – to celebrate?’

Josie agreed. ‘That sounds like a good idea.’ And thought, Celebrate?

Tom set the child down only when they were on the platform of Sunderland station. His train was due, which Josie thought was a blessing. Charlotte prattled happily but Josie and Tom stood in silence. Then his train pulled in with a hiss of steam. Tom climbed into a first-class carriage, tossed his cap and bag on to the rack and leaned out of the window. He said, ‘Well, goodbye. It won’t be for long. I expect to be back the day after tomorrow.’ And: ‘Give me a kiss.’

This last was said to Charlotte as the guard waved his flag. Josie lifted her and Charlotte put up her face to be kissed. Tom said, ‘Take care, Mrs Miller.’

They looked at each other across the gap, he smiling and sure, she forcing a smile and miserably certain of what she had to do. Then Josie said, ‘I will.’

The train pulled out and Tom disappeared. Josie and Charlotte made for the exit and as they climbed the stairs Charlotte said clearly, ‘I did behave properly, didn’t I?’

‘Yes,’ replied Josie, ‘we all behaved properly.’

There was a report of the salvaging of the
Northern Queen
in
The Times
. It mentioned Captain Thomas Collingwood and First Officer Cuthbert Daniels – this amused a number of sailors and enraged Bucko. The report also described the cook of the lost
Macbeth
: Mrs Miller.

Reuben Garbutt read the report sitting in the apartment he rented in Paris. He read it again and again, so that when he finally crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it into the fire he could almost recite the report word for word. He could also guess what it might mean, that now there would be the money to reopen the Langley shipyard.

Mrs Miller. Again. She had foiled him and sent him running for his life. But now the hunt for him would have died down. Now she would no longer be on her guard.

Now he could destroy her.

When he got down from the train in Rotterdam he looked for a ship sailing to England, but not the cross-Channel packet. Down by the harbour he entered a bar and asked the shifty-eyed man cleaning glasses with a cloth, ‘Do you speak English?’ When the man didn’t answer, Garbutt spread a banknote on the bar.

It was whisked up. ‘I speak English,
ja
.’

Garbutt said, ‘I want to talk to a skipper sailing for England who isn’t too particular about the law. Understand?’ He held up another note.

The bartender thought for a moment that he might haggle or cheat this man, but then he caught the mad glare in Garbutt’s eyes and changed his mind. ‘I know a man.’

Garbutt boarded the ship he wanted when darkness had fallen. It sailed at midnight.

24

‘I like her. She’s a lovely ship and the work on her has been handsomely done.’ Tom Collingwood had looked over the
Dorothy Snow
privately from masthead to keel, and then in a more sedate tour of her in company with his board of directors. Now he gave his verdict: ‘It will be a privilege to command her.’ He smiled around at them, standing almost a head taller than any of the frock-coated and top-hatted directors. He was similarly dressed but only for this formal occasion, while this was their normal dress for the working day. He stood out like an eagle among peacocks.

The chairman patted his shoulder. ‘We’re glad to have got you. We’d made our decision before we heard about your remarkable salving of the
Northern Queen
. That only confirmed it. Now, let’s have some champagne to celebrate.’

So they fêted him in the dining saloon with its long tables gleaming with polish, the glasses sparkling in the sunlight that streamed through the scuttles. They congratulated him and drank his health. And one asked, ‘And what about this lady who was with you throughout? A hard case, eh?’

‘No.’ Tom set down his glass carefully. ‘No, she isn’t. She is a lady in every sense of the word. Brave, competent, loyal. I will not hear a word said against her.’ He turned away. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have some urgent private business to attend to.’ And he left them. He told himself that it was not good policy to walk out on one’s employers, but nor was it likely to cement the relationship if he dumped one of them over the side into the Thames.

The ship from Rotterdam berthed in the Wear that afternoon. Her boat took Garbutt and a half-dozen sailors ashore that evening and he made his way to Packer’s office. He entered by the back door as before, but this time carrying a cheap, cardboard suitcase. The cadaverous solicitor started up from his chair and demanded, ‘Who the hell are you? What d’you mean by sneaking in here—’ but he stopped then. For a moment he had not recognised Garbutt, who had grown his moustache again and also a beard. But now he whispered, ‘Good God! What are you doing here? The police are still looking for you on a murder charge!’

‘Get rid of that slut outside,’ Garbutt told him. He saw a tray on a side table holding a decanter of whisky and glasses, and helped himself.

Packer snapped, fear lending him courage, ‘She went long ago. I’m working late; it’s nearly seven.’ He again upbraided Garbutt: ‘That disguise might work on people who have nothing but a police sketch to go on, but it won’t fool anyone who knows you – like that Miller woman, for instance. Have you gone mad?’

But then Garbutt turned on him and he fell silent before his glare. Garbutt said, ‘That’s why I’m here. I’m going to settle with her and the Langleys, once and for all. I want you to put me up for a day or two. And I need somebody to keep me informed of that woman’s doings, someone boarding in that house.’

Packer did not want to put Garbutt up, wanted no more to do with him, but was afraid to refuse. He agreed, reluctantly. ‘Just once more. I’ll take you there tonight, in a cab.’

Garbutt had noted his reluctance. He said, ‘Never mind. I’ll find some lodgings.’ Then he pressed, ‘And the man? Who did you have following her?’

Packer shook his head. ‘He was just a clerk. No, if you want somebody in the house then the best man will be Barty Kavanagh. I’ve had him do odd jobs for me where I needed some chap that would keep his mouth shut. He’s a sailor sometimes, and the rest of the time looks for easy money. You’ll find him in the Fleece or the Shipwright’s Arms. He’s a big feller, tattooed, red-faced, always smiling. He looks like your honest Jack Tar but he isn’t.’