The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) (11 page)

It was beginning to get dark when
they arrived at Sandsford
and Kathryn thoroughly expected Mr Berkeley just to drop her off and get on his way home again. Mr Berkeley was made of sterner stuff than this, however. He threw the reins to his tiger, leapt down from the curricle and made his way round to Kathryn’s side in order to assist her to dismount. Although her ankle was a little better she found that it was still extremely painful and so, whether she wanted to or not, she was obliged to make use of Mr Berkeley’s ready arm in order to get herself into the hall. Even then Mr Berkeley showed no sign of wishing to leave and the thought struck her that he might be hoping for an invitation to stay. This she resolutely refused even to consider, and, as if to emphasise the point, allowed Bob only a very few minutes in which to renew his acquaintance with his friend before insisting most firmly that he get Sally to put him to bed. Indeed, both Bob and Mr Berkeley looked inclined to argue against the need for such an early bed time but both could see that she was in no mood for any opposition and so, probably wisely, they managed to restrain themselves to a mere token protest rather than an all-out attack.

Kathryn took a deep breath and made a determined effort as soon as her son
had
vacated the room.

‘I would like to thank you, Mr Berkeley, for a most enjoyable afternoon. I liked your gardens immensely and I am only sorry that I was unable to do your delicious dinner more justice. But
I must ask
you
to
leave me now. Your horses will be getting cold and I myself am in need of an early night. And please, Mr Berkeley,’ there, she was managing to say it at last. ‘Please remember in future that I am a married woman. I know not what you meant, if anything, by your behaviour towards me this afternoon – but it cannot be allowed to continue. It cannot be allowed to happen again. It is not fair to my husband and it is not fair to me.’

She looked at him a little despairingly as she finished. He looked back at her for a second. He appeared to be struggling with himself.

‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘I know it, and I am very sorry. It was not a gentlemanly thing to do. It felt so natural. I forget that we...I cannot abide the thought that we...It took me quite by surprise, you see.’

And then, confusing both her and himself about what he was saying and what he actually wanted to say, he turned tail on her
,
and fled
.

Almost a month went by before Kathryn saw anything more of Mr Berkeley, or Mrs Wright. Determining to get a grip on herself
and finding that her earlier strategy had not worked
she decided to
deny herself
any further fortnightly calls at
High Street
and focus all her attention on her aunt instead
. Indeed, h
er aunt
was truly in need of her attention for she
appeared to have developed a rather worrying little wheeze. Although, fortunately, it did not prevent her from undertaking her sewing it did make it more difficult for her to undertake her collections and deliveries. So on the Friday after Easter, her ankle now fully recovered, Kathryn decided to take Bob with her on her next trip into Weymouth. Bob could make himself useful
by
carrying some of the linen about – although probably, thought his mama
wryly
, it mig
ht be best for him to stick to
the pre-mended work, just in case – and despite his professed dislike of his great aunt she could give him a little treat afterwards by allowing him some time to watch the Punch a
nd Judy on the
beach.

It appeared that Aunt Shepherd had been quite unable to do her usual rounds that week, for no sooner had Kathryn and Bob appeared at her door than she heaved a great sigh of relief and intimated that there was an awful lot to do. This necessarily took some time and the church bell was striking half after four by the time that Kathryn and Bob had completed their rounds. Kathryn was very aware that Bob had been a good boy that afternoon, hardly complaining at all, and she was particularly keen to allow him the treat that she had promised him. But it was quite apparent from the state of her aunt’s health and the size of the pile now collected in her apartment that she would need some assistance in order to get it all done. In the
end she determined on taking her son
down to the seafront, giving him his farthing, and – with strict instructions not to move from the spot until she returned to collect him – left him with the other small children to enjoy the final show of the afternoon.

Kathryn returned to her aunt’s apartment and made a start on some of the work. Her aunt, though expressing her gratitude, was scarcely able to utter another word and Kathryn was seriou
sly concerned
.  For the first time in her life she thought of the horror of being on one’s own – of feeling ill and lonely – of maybe dying alone, without anyone other than the lan
dlady to break up the miserable
days. She really wished that she could do more to help her. Perhaps she could remove her to Sandsford for a while? But then, she had no idea if – or when – Giles would ever return. She had no expectations of hi
m sending any notice. She could
n
’
t put either her aunt or herself in
the unenviable posi
tion of him suddenly returning to discover the lady whom he had expressly banned from the house, b
ack in residence there. She did
n
’
t want to think what his reaction might be to that. And anyway, the sheer logistics of getting her aunt to Sandsford – of having to pay for a carriage, having to transport her work to and fro all the time – really, the whole scheme would cause just as many problems as it might solve.

So in the end all she felt able to do was to offer what practical help she could, undertake some of the mending, and promise to return again
to see her
very
soon
. It was almost half after five before she got away.

Kathryn hurried across to the beach to collect her son. The clouds had started to draw together and she could feel some drizzle on her face. She was already tired from the long walk to Weymouth, the endless collections and deliveries, taking Bob to the beach and now returning for him, and she was not looking forward to the long trek home. But her t
iredness instantly evaporated
the moment she returned to the front, for instead of a happy little boy sitting waiting for her as expected she found, to her horror, that the whole beach was utterly deserted. Not a child, not a soul to be seen except for a couple of urchins messing about at the water’s edge, a couple of indeterminate
-looking
canines at their side.

She looked up and down the beach
desperately
, her heart racing. Where was he? She had specifically told him to stay where he was – and what had he done? He had only gone and wandered off somewhere. She should have known. He was only five years old, and certainly too young to be trusted. But where could he have got to? She didn’t know where to look.

She
started to make her way towards the stone steps that led down to
the beach
. She had the despairing hope that
the urchins might know where he had gone
. But just as she did so
a loud, deep shout of ‘There she is’ and a rather muffled shriek of ‘Ma
ma’ from the roadway
made her swing round in a trice. Accompanied by Mr Berkeley, who held him by the hand, Bob was happily munching on what looked to be a sweet pastry, with his companion being similarly endowed, and busily engaged in negotiating the busy street in order to reach her on the other side of the road.

Kathryn felt a surge of r
elief flow right through her as she
crouched down to enfold her little son in her arms. She was almost in tears. Mr Berkeley regarded her anxiously.

‘I spotted him wandering about on his own in the middle of East Street,’ he explained, helpfully. ‘I think he was trying to find you.’

‘Oh Bob – what did I tell you? On no account to move from the beach. Didn’t I? You should have known that your mama would come to find you.’

‘But look at what Uncle Andrew has bought me,’ Bob had much more important things on his mind than any instructions of his mama. He waved the remaining morsel in front of his mother’s nose. ‘It’s very tasty.’

She looked up at his deliverer gratefully. He was looking particularly dashing that afternoon in his exquisitely tailored blue tailcoat and snow white cravat.

‘What can I say, Mr Berkeley? Thank you so much. I cannot te
ll you how worried I was
. I was nigh on in a state of panic.’

‘I can see that you were. I’m only too pleased to have been able to assist. I’m not quite sure where the
scamp would have ended up if I ha
dn
’
t happened to pass his way.’

Having  got down to her knees to enfold her son, Kathryn now realised that she was so tired as to make it almost impossible for her to get up again. Her struggle eventually succeeded, but not before Mr Berkeley had noticed. He looked at her with some concern
.

‘I can see that you are quite worn out,’ he said, ‘and becoming a little damp
into the bargain
. I wonder whether a short rest in the Royal Hotel might be in order? In fact,’ looking down at Bob with a sudden smile, ‘what would you say to a tasty supper overlooking the sea?’

Bob’s face lit up at this suggestion, leaving his mama with little choice but to accept. They crossed over the road again and made their way up the cream-coloured stone steps at the front of the Royal Hotel. They turned into a large dining area at the front of the building, resplendent in shades of crimson and
gold, with tall windows and high
ceiling with intricate chandeliers which must surely sparkle gloriously in the dark. Mr Berkeley found them a table by the window and sat down on a well-padded chair between Bob and his mama. The drizzle had cleared away and a weak sun was slanting down from the south west, over the beach and out onto the waves. Kathryn had never dined at the Royal before. It all seemed very grand.

It was soon apparent that the same could not be said of Mr Berkeley, for not only was he on first name terms with the two waiters who instantly appeared to serve them but it turned out that the chef was equally well acquainted with him and turned up in
a moment
to make his personal recommendations for their meal.

Bob was full of his afternoon out and was regaling Mr Berkeley with an account of the way in which, single handed, he had personally rescued a small girl’s sand castle from the danger of imminent collapse.

‘Most impressive, Bob,’ Mr Berkeley assured him. ‘I am in that line of business myself, you know – or, at least, I was until I had the good fortune to return to England. Who knows? Maybe one day you
’
ll succeed me in the profession?’

Bob was quite uncertain as
to
the need for a gentleman to have a
ny
profession
at all
but he thought that if this were indeed a necessity then perhaps something along Uncle Andrew’s line of work might certainly serve the purpose.

‘But what of the Punch and Judy, Bob?’ asked his mama. ‘You have told us nothing about that at all.’

Bob fell silent for a moment.

‘I was not very fond of the Punch and Judy,’ he admitted, eventually. ‘I did not like the way in which Mr Punch kept hitting the baby’s mama. It made me think of papa.’

Kathryn flushed. She could tell that Mr Berkeley had shot her a horrified glance.

‘Well, that is very kind of you, to be sure, Bob,’ she mumbled, staring down at the table. ‘It is only a game, however. H
e would not really hurt her, I’
m sure of it.’

Bob appeared inclined to argue the point, but fortunately the appearance of the first course diverted his attention and encouraged him to take up his knife and spoon instead.

Kathryn could not help but be impressed with the meal,
in spite
of her
embarrassment
, and she had to admit that the cooking was superb. While they awaited the second course Mr Berkeley excused himself for a few minutes and returned soon after, looking well pleased with himself. Kathryn looked at him enquiringly but he simply grinned at her and said nothing. It was not until the meal was finished and he and Kathryn were just completing the last of their coffee that she found out what he had gone to do. Immediately underneath the window she could see a dark green curricle drawing up, with Mr Berkeley’s tiger at the reins. She looked at him, bemused. Mr Berkeley threw back his head and roared with laughter.

‘Well,’
he said, reasonably. ‘I could
n
’
t allow you both to drag all that way back by yourselves. You are both worn out already – look, little Bob can scarcely keep his eyes open.’ (It was true. Even as he spoke Bob’s head was nodding and he seemed in imminent danger of tumbling from his seat). ‘Well, then – I sent a message to Belvoir for Jack to bring the curricle around. You can hold Bob on your lap, I daresay.’