Meet Me at the Pier Head (42 page)

Richard offered no reply. He had lost everything. None of his daughters wanted to know him, and the future of the Bellamy dynasty was under threat. The Bellamys had never been as successful as
Isadora’s lot, but they’d been classical actors, dependable, hardworking and worthy. What had Isadora produced? One teacher, one drummer and one nurse.

‘Are you with us, Mr Bellamy?’ the sergeant asked.

Again, Richard made no effort no reply.

‘Well, you’ll have a small room here until morning, when you must answer to magistrates. Putting a doctor in a hospital bed was never a good idea.’

The hero of many of Shakespeare’s tragedies and histories sat in a holding cell, his prime emotion self-pity. Isadora held the purse strings, and Bartle Hall was falling apart. Prison
beckoned. His temper had got the better of him twice in recent days. Didn’t people realize what he was going through? Here he was, stuck in the north of England in prison, in despair and in a
mess. His reputation had been dragged across acres of newsprint, reporters were dashing about to interview some of his lovers, and there was no hope for him, none at all.

Isadora took Juliet’s necessities to the hospital while Joan waved her magic wand over bits of chicken. While she pursued her rescue mission, Joan pondered on the
afternoon’s events. Simon would probably be fine, but what about poor Sadie Tunstall? No matter what she had been, what she had done, she did not deserve to be in that terrible state. At the
age of twenty-five or so, she had been parked like a mouldy old book on a shelf, hidden where few people would see her. It was all the woman’s own work, but she had been driven towards
suicide because she had lost control over her own life. ‘And from such situations children like Rosie emerge,’ she whispered to herself.

Isadora returned. ‘Sorry I’m late. I sat with Sadie Tunstall for a while. Simon’s cracking some embarrassingly feeble jokes, so we needn’t worry about him. Sadie’s
another matter. She can’t be left there. According to the ward sister, all she wants is food. When she’s finished her own, she wanders about stealing from the older ladies in there.
What can be done, Joan?’

Joan had no idea, and she said so.

‘Let’s eat,’ Izzy suggested, ‘because sometimes, the ordinary things keep us sane.’

‘Jeez,’ Theo breathed. There was nothing ordinary about his new beloved’s old childhood home. He had already Jeezed his way past cottages, through woods,
around ponds and across gardens. He’d met almost tame deer, some noisy geese, a pregnant pony and a mallard with a flotilla of babies. ‘Portia? Is this a stately home?’

She grinned broadly. ‘No, my love. It’s a home in a state, a state of advanced decay. It belonged early on in its long life to a Catholic family who hid priests in it. Henry VIII
stayed here while on a hunt and well before he decided to fire the pope. Charles II also spent some time upstairs on his way back to reclaim the throne – the family was staunch Catholic.
There’s a secret chapel where they celebrated Mass, benedictions, baptisms and weddings. It’s in the roof, actually. Ma calls it the thinking room, because it’s so
peaceful.’

They entered the mansion via a door that meant business – solid oak pinned together by huge studs, with a heavy knocker in the shape of a sword through the heart of a dragon, huge,
complaining hinges and a letterbox large enough to take the most cumbersome of envelopes. Inside, Theo ground to a halt. ‘Holy Moses,’ he said.

‘No, he never slept here, Teddy.’

He awarded her a dirty look.

Tia grinned at him. She’d known all along that he would fall in love with Bartle Hall.

‘But it’s a room, not an entrance hall. It’s amazing. I was raised in lodgings and trailers about one twentieth of this size.’

She began his education, telling him that the long table under a decorative arch was placed there for visiting dignitaries and for the master. Court sessions were held here, as were meetings
regarding tithes, crops and the allocation of cottages and land. He ran his fingers over lathe and lime plaster walls until Tia told him that horse droppings were sometimes in the mix.

Theo looked upward. The black-and-white ornate patterns continued all the way across the ceiling. ‘It needs some work,’ he said. ‘This must be restored and
preserved.’

‘In houses like this one, the hall was, in effect, a living room,’ she told him. ‘They would eat in here before sitting round the fire to tell tales or listen to musicians.
Those who had over-indulged in mead or barley wine slept where they dropped. Minstrels played for them, and King Henry probably brought his jester.’

Mickle, clearly unimpressed by the monarchy, sat and scratched an ear before following them through living rooms and the great ballroom. By the time they started the exploration of upstairs, the
dog had begun to lag behind. Her owners were strange; they wandered about a great deal. Outside was all right, but this place smelled odd.

Theo and Tia sat side by side on Delia’s four-poster. ‘What the hell are you gonna do with this place?’ he asked her. ‘Eighteen bedrooms, bits added on at the back
downstairs – I’m so glad they left the front alone. But it’s too big to be home for one family.’

‘I know.’

He studied her face. ‘What do you know, Tia? You’ve a face so honest that it betrays your secrets. Come on, out with it.’

She paused for a few moments. ‘OK. Pa owns it and can’t afford to keep it. Ma owns the cottages and a lot of the land. She has some sort of plan to buy the hall from Pa and get it
repaired before turning it into a home and school for underprivileged and damaged children. Like Rosie. Rosie cut right through Ma’s steel armour and reached the twenty-four-carat core. My
mother arranged the appointment for Thursday. On Friday, Rosie will be examined for historic physical and psychological damage. Isadora is a woman of principle, and she intends to put her money
where her social conscience lies.’

Theo blinked a couple of times. ‘It’ll cost thousands to get this place into shape,’ he said.

‘Ma’s wealthy, Ted. I think Delia, Juliet and I would prefer her to use her money this way.’ She glanced sideways at him. ‘My plan goes further. You and I might run it,
especially the education side, while Juliet could be Matron. I know she’ll marry Simon, so the Heilberg practice would be in charge of any serious medical problems.’ She sighed.
‘We’d have to leave Liverpool, of course.’

‘Not immediately, surely?’

Tia shook her head. ‘It will take years to make Bartle Hall habitable and suitable for children. Ma will work on permissions and some government funding, but she won’t find it easy.
Neither will she fail, because she never does, and she works hard for the NSPCC. It’s just an idea she had. I’m embroidering it, so don’t make me lose my thread again.’

He stretched out on the bed. The estate was beautiful. Cleaned up and restored, it would make an enchanting haven in which to grow up. ‘What about Thursday?’ he asked.

‘I’ll let you know, Sir. Come along, and I’ll show you the long gallery. Any valuable items have been removed by Ma, but it still manages to be spectacular. A great space for
children to play marbles.’

They walked hand in hand along a stretch of corridor made just to show off paintings. ‘Families who lived in the hall hung their portraits here. Look at the ceiling. All those beams will
look lovely once restored, as long as someone manages to kill the woodworm. This house must be used, Teddy. That’s why I wanted you to see it. Shortly, we’ll go to the kitchen and steal
food. Mrs Melia will be staying in her cottage while the hall is empty.’ She paused. ‘Let’s hope it stays empty; if Pa arrives, I might just find my gun and deal with
him.’

Theo chuckled. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘I know. But I can dream, can’t I?’ She stared hard at him. ‘Yes, we’ll keep that appointment with officialdom on Thursday; it will be the first step towards
Rosie’s safety. Let’s sit here on the windowsill for a little while.’ She clung to his hand when they were seated. ‘There’s something you should know, Mr Teddy Bear.
Don’t get upset now.’

‘Why the hell would I get—’

‘Shush.’ She placed her free hand on his lips. ‘Listen to me, beautiful boy. We can’t count on Sadie or Maggie.’

He frowned.

‘Teddy, Maggie is dying. The only people who know are Maggie, myself, my mother and Joan – and now you. That’s why our friends are in Broadstairs, because I wanted Rosie to
have wonderful memories of her nana. Tom and Nancy have no idea, but they’ll notice and summon help if Maggie gets worse. She has months at best. Don’t cry, Teddy; don’t set me
off.’

‘Dying?’

‘Yes. They’re making progress with the treatment of leukaemia, but there’s little they can do for Maggie. All she wants is to be with Rosie until – well, for as long as
possible.’ She wiped his tears with her hand. ‘Maggie signed herself out of hospital care before you collected her, sweetheart. She didn’t need to sit or lie there like a specimen
while they studied her death.’

Theo turned his head and looked out on a world distorted by tears and by imperfections in leaded glass. When he spoke, the words were fractured. ‘Poor little Rosie. Poor Maggie.’

‘Yes.’

He looked at her. ‘How do you manage to be so strong?’

‘It’s not strength; it’s loyalty. Remember my namesake in
The Merchant of Venice
? She was honourable rather than strong, and I try hard to deserve her title. I was
given two tasks. The first was to tell you about Maggie’s condition when the time seemed right, and the second is to do my best for Rosie. My mother will help with Rosie. She could charm the
devil, let alone the welfare people, if she put her mind to it. So yes, Thursday’s event will happen, because it’s our first step. Wear a suit and a smile, as we shall be meeting
strangers. Come on, let’s find the dog.’ She whistled and Mickle arrived within seconds.

Daphne Melia was in the kitchen, an area big enough to cater for dozens. ‘I’m making you a casserole and a fruit cake,’ she told them after her introduction to Theo.
‘I’ve had no calls from Broadstairs either here or in Lilac Cottage. But Mrs Bellamy contacted me. Your father’s been arrested for hitting someone, so you should be left in peace
while you’re here.’

‘Arrested?’ Tia’s eyebrows moved north.

The cook/housekeeper nodded. ‘The magistrates may pass him on to Crown Court because he’s done this twice. That’s what your mother said, anyway. She told me you were at Rose
Cottage and asked me to look after you.’ She frowned. ‘I’m due to retire, and I’d like to know you’re all safe and settled before I do. But your father seems to have
lost the plot.’

Tia sat at the vast, scrubbed table. ‘I’ll visit you when I can, Mrs Melia.’

‘And my sister will be living with me – our Ethel. You know Ethel, because she used to have the post office near the green. But I’ll miss this daft house.’

Theo smiled. ‘It must be difficult to clean.’

‘It is, Mr Quinn. I had help from the village, of course. Are you American?’

‘I sure am,’ he said, smiling at the large, sweet woman.

‘They were here in the war. I remember dances in the ballroom. They brought us stockings and chocolate and tinned fruit. Cheerful, they were. Tia, Delia and Juliet used to run up and down
the stairs just to look at the Americans and talk to them.’

‘We got bubble gum,’ Tia said. ‘And they gave us sweets. My father didn’t approve of foreigners, but he said little because they were huge men and they were helping win
our war for us. Pa wasn’t allowed to serve abroad because of his eyesight, and he was probably too old. He did a desk job in London, so we got some peace during the war. That sounds odd,
doesn’t it?’

The dog wandered in. She’d had enough of the dusty, sneeze-making atmosphere and was glad to find the bright, clean kitchen. Wearing the expression of deep sadness common to most large
breeds, she sighed heavily and glanced at Mrs Melia. Mrs Melia, for whom this was love at first sight, found the ‘good doggie’ a nice slice of tongue and some chicken breast.

‘Right,’ Theo said, ‘time to go before she eats everything you have, Mrs Melia.’ They left, followed by a reluctant Mickle, who seemed to have resolved to take a degree
in begging for food.

With three whole days to enjoy each other’s company, Theo and Tia returned to play house in Rose Cottage. Like a pair of teenagers, they larked about in fields and forests, made love,
cleaned their kitchen, made love, drove through one of the most beautiful counties in England, made love, and got ready for Thursday, when the first steps towards a decent future for Rosie would be
taken.

Every day, food was brought to the cottage by Mrs Melia, a soul of discretion who entered and left by the kitchen door. She never forgot to bring titbits for Mickle, who came to expect treats
every evening. They were a happy family, man, woman and dog, content in their precious cottage. But all too soon it was Wednesday evening, and the pretend honeymoon was over.

They sat on the small sofa with Mickle stretched out at their feet. Reality peeped over the horizon. Theo, in an effort to find a diversion, flicked through a magazine.
‘It says here that Faversham was once the explosive capital of Kent, because six factories produced gunpowder. So it wasn’t all hop fields and oast houses.’ He glanced at his
companion. ‘Portia?’

She sighed. ‘Poor Maggie. Poor Rosie.’

‘Baby, we can only do what we can do.’

‘I feel useless,’ she said.

‘Isadora would never produce a useless daughter.’

‘Teddy, what chance do we have of saving Rosie from being sent away?’

‘We have your mother. Your mother is big guns.’

Tia managed a weak smile. ‘You’re my big gun.’

He chuckled. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetie. Let’s go to bed.’

Joan was cleaning Theo’s flat when the doorbell sounded. She put down the duster, patted her hair, removed her apron and answered the door. ‘Yes? May I help
you?’ A very well-groomed young woman lingered under the porch.

Emily Garner blinked. ‘Is Mr Quinn available?’

‘Er . . . no. He’s still away.’