Where Seagulls Soar (27 page)

Feeling a fool at having lost control, Barnard dusted himself down, mopped the sweat from his forehead and sucked in a few deep breaths to steady himself before going upstairs to change into dry
trousers and linens.

He took his place at the dinner table and allowed the manservant to ladle soup into his bowl. He started to eat. The soup had no taste.

Bile rose to his throat and he threw his spoon into the bowl. Liquid splashed on to his clothing. He rubbed at it with his napkin and it came away red with her blood. He’d got some of it
on him. ‘Oh God!’ he said out loud.

The servant stared at him, puzzled.

‘What are you looking at? Where’s Mrs Charsford? Go and find her.’

The door crashed open against the wall and she stood there, swaying. Ashen faced, her eyes were wide and accusing as she stared at him. Blood trickled from under her hair.

Barnard could have screamed with the relief he felt, and had the wits to say for the servant’s benefit, ‘Constance, my dear, what has happened to you?’

She passed a shaking hand over her brow. ‘I don’t know. I think I fell and hit my head.’

Jubilation filled him. She couldn’t remember. He was on his feet in an instant, his arm around her. ‘Help me get her upstairs, man, then fetch Dr Phelps. He lives five houses along,
so you can’t get lost in the fog.’

He helped his wife into bed, then rang for her maid and hovered – the embodiment of the solicitous husband – while Constance was undressed and put to bed.

He watched as the maid gently washed the blood away from the wound on her head. There was a purple bruise on his wife’s arm, where she’d tried to defend herself from him, another on
her shoulder. They could be explained by the fall, he just hoped the doctor wouldn’t look at her buttocks, thighs and back.

He crossed to Constance when the maid went to empty the bloodied water from the bowl and, hearing the heavy tread of the doctor on the stairs, whispered, ‘Are you sure you don’t
remember how you hurt yourself ?’

She gazed at him directly then, her mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘Of course I remember. I want to see my sons, Barnard.’

He recoiled from the hate in her eyes, saying to Phelps as he came in, ‘Mrs Charsford has fallen and hurt herself. Her mind is wandering a little, I’m afraid. I was thinking of
sending her to the country to make a full recovery.’

Constance smiled at him. ‘I’ll be pleased to reacquaint myself with our sons . . . unless they’re being kept prisoner too.’ Her words began to slur and tears rolled down
her face. ‘I doubt if I’ll come back.’

Dr Phelps nodded. ‘It does sound as though Mrs Charsford’s mind is wandering a little. Her brain might be concussed. Now, perhaps you’d prefer to go outside while I examine my
patient in private. Don’t look so anxious, man. Things could be worse. At least your wife is alive and conscious.’

Now Barnard had got over his fright, he began to wish she wasn’t, for she’d ruined a perfectly good dinner.

Seth’s card was presented to Lord Durrington.

‘His lordship is too busy to see you at present,’ Bisley told him with an oily smile. ‘But he’s holding a small dinner party tomorrow evening in honour of his house
guest, and has asked me to extend an invitation for you to attend.’

‘A m I to take it that Mrs Morcant is that house guest?’

‘Mrs Morcant came to us last night, looking for her lost son. She seemed to be under the impression he was here, and was quite beside herself. His lordship couldn’t send her away in
her distraught condition, especially since the fog was so thick. Fortunately I was able to calm her down and she has accepted the earl’s invitation to remain here as his guest.’

‘I’d be obliged if you would allow me to speak to Mrs Morcant, since up until yesterday she was my house guest, and I’ve received no instruction from her that she no longer
wishes to take advantage of my hospitality.’

Bisley merely smiled. ‘May I suggest it was a poor sort of hospitality, since Mrs Morcant arrived here in an exhausted and hysterical state. She’s still asleep, and I’d prefer
not to wake her. You may see her at dinner tomorrow.’

Inwardly, Seth gave a sigh. The man was playing games with him and he wasn’t going to bite – not yet. Nodding, he made his retreat and marched over to James Stark’s office,
then the pair headed towards the
Joanna Rose
to inform Edward Staines of the new development.

‘Do you think you can get her out?’ Edward asked him.

‘They’ll be using her son like a carrot under a donkey’s nose. If there’s the slightest whiff of them leading Joanna to Toby I doubt if she’ll listen to
anyone’s counsel but her own.’

Edward rocked on his heels. ‘If only we could get our hands on the boy first.’

‘I’m sure he’s still in Portland. I’m just as convinced that Durrington intends to pick the boy up before going on to Ireland.’

‘D’you think he’ll bring Joanna on board?’

‘It’s unlikely. There’s a possibility that she’ll just be made to disappear, or he’ll simply leave her behind. I’ll have to get her out of there and get her
on board myself. If we use other means of travel it’s unlikely that we’ll reach Portland before you. Would you risk your employer’s wrath by hiding us, though?’

Edward nodded, as though this sort of thing happened every day of the week. ‘Easy enough. As for my employer, since the ship is up for sale, my position is already forfeit, along with my
entitlements, I’ve been led to understand.’ He gave a faint grin. ‘I’m of a mind to break the man’s balls. On a financial level, Durrington is sailing too close to the
wind, I believe.’

And his half-brother had underwritten the man. Now, that was interesting to know. Seth laughed. ‘I’m sure you could think of many ways to achieve that, especially while you have
command of the ship. I understand you already have a cabin set aside for Mrs Morcant and her son.’

Edward’s eyes flicked his way. ‘Do you?’

Seth wouldn’t like to play cards with this man. ‘It took some persuading to get it out of Joanna, but she finally told me the truth. I’m under the impression there’s a
conspiracy between the whole lot of you, too.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ James said, exchanging a grin with Edward.

‘Detection is my profession, gentlemen. I’ve also reached the conclusion as to why flight has become necessary.’

‘Have you, by God? State it, then.’

‘You’re a cagey bugger, aren’t you? Well, the fact is that I know Tobias Darsham is still alive. And in case you’re wondering why I’ve taken such an interest,
I’ll tell you something else. I intend to pursue Joanna Morcant to the ends of the earth.’

‘Makes sense,’ Edward grunted, exchanging a glance with James, which made Seth wonder if he’d missed something.

‘We understand each other, then. Can you delay the ship’s departure after Durrington’s party comes on board. Is that possible?’

Edward gave an incredulous chuckle. ‘Not if they come on board at the last minute.’

‘Ah yes, I see . . . the tide.’

‘Unfortunately, we can’t overlook it. But there are other considerations, like being in line for the towing services.’ Edward sighed. ‘I can always delay the ship in
Portland until you get there and the matter is resolved. Why don’t I just lock them in their cabins?’

Seth viewed the captain with some alarm. ‘We don’t want him to know you’re involved. The person who’s holding Toby prisoner in Portland might decide to dispose of him if
there’s a possibility that the sorry affair has been discovered.’

Brian Rushmore was going crazy. ‘Shut that brat up, would you, Ma?’

Fanny glared at him. ‘Ah . . . shut up yerself. The boy’s hungry. He needs some food and we haven’t got any.’

‘Well, he’ll have to wait until it’s dark, since I can’t go out in case somebody recognizes me. Then I’ll go and pull up a few cabbages and turnips and wring the
neck of a hen.’

Leaning on the sticks she used as crutches, Fanny Rushmore made her way rapidly across the floor. She was blind in one eye and her foot was twisted under her, the result of a severe beating
inflicted on her years before by her late husband, after she tried to leave him.

‘Get me a drop of gin while you’re out, our Brian,’ she whined. ‘I’m running short.’

‘I haven’t got any money.’

‘Yes you have. You could sell that ring you’ve got hidden to the Barnes brothers. And you took money from that Ada Cooper, who does for me. Where is she, anyway? The child’s
beginning to stink.’

‘I sent the nosy old witch away, so you’ll have to clean him yourself.’ Brian had in fact strangled the Cooper woman and thrown her over the cliff into the sea after
she’d threatened to fetch the constable. Her body would be halfway to Ireland by now.

‘What did you send her away for? I can’t remember things sometimes, and I need her to fetch and carry. I’m blind and crippled, thanks to your pa. I haven’t got the
strength to look after a young un.’

‘You never looked after us when you
did
have the strength, you stupid old hag.’

‘You show some respect when you speak to your mother, Brian Rushmore. You’re just like your pa, bad through and through. I heard about that girl you forced yourself on. ’Tis
said she walks around with a mazed look on her face, and cries and trembles when a man speaks to her. Her brothers have sworn to spill your guts if they set eyes on you in these parts again, so you
better watch out.’ Alarm suddenly filled her voice. ‘I thought you were in prison. Did you escape?’

‘They found out that somebody else hurt that girl, and they let me out.’

Brian adjusted his crotch, cupping his genitals in his palm. He could do with a woman. He closed his eyes and thought of Joanna. She owed him one, and she’d been widowed for over a year
now, so he’d heard. She would be begging to have a man between her thighs, same as him. He should have stuck it into her, right there in the yard. But she’d been unconscious and, when
he did stick it in, he wanted her to know it was punishment for scorning him all those years ago.

His tongue slid along his lips. There were women living in the Rushmore cottage, too – a ripe pair of uppity creatures, with skin soft and fair. Not that he cared what their skin was like,
only what they had under their skirts. All women were the same in that regard, only some smelled sweeter.

There was money of his hidden in the cottage they occupied, too. While he’d been living there he’d made a hiding hole under the floorboards. There he’d stash any cash he
managed to get his hands on, for he’d discovered that earning a living by stealing, was easier than fishing.

The brat was screaming now. ‘For God’s sake, shut your face,’ he shouted. ‘See to him, Ma, before I cut his flappin’ tongue out. Give him the rest of the milk in
the jug.’

‘It’s on the turn.’

‘As if I care. Give him the bleddy milk when I tell you.’

Fanny poured the milk into a mug and took it through to the other room. The boy stopped screaming to stare sullenly at her. His nose was running, his face was flushed and he stank something
rotten. Well, that couldn’t be helped, and she wasn’t going to clean up after him. Brian had brought the boy here, and Brian could look after him. Besides, he didn’t have any
clothes other than what he was wearing.

Fanny supposed she could take his reeking trousers off.

‘Want Mama,’ he said.

‘You can’t have her, you pest.’ She held out the mug. ‘Here, drink this.’

The boy gulped the sour milk down with barely a grimace at the taste. Rivers of it ran from the side of his mouth, over his chin and down his dirty smock. Vaguely, Fanny wondered whose child it
was.

‘Want more,’ he said holding out the mug.

‘Well, you bleddy well can’t have more because there isn’t any. Go to sleep.’

‘No!
Want Mama.’ He threw the mug. It hit Fanny on the bridge of the nose and fell to the floor. She slapped his face, then spread a blanket over him and snarled,
‘Another word out of you and I’ll take a stick to your arse, you see if I don’t.’

Brian had gone when she slammed the door on the screaming child. She fetched her bottle of comfort from its hiding place. There was barely a couple of mouthfuls left. Carefully, she sucked at
it, making it last. Blood dripped from her nose and she staunched it with the hem of her skirt.

Fanny thought of her daughter, respectable now, and living with her husband in that big house. She was proud of Tilda. She’d given the girl a chance to better herself when she’d
handed her over to Anna Rushmore to be company for that wilful little pest Joanna. That one had tried to queen it over all of them, she remembered bitterly.

Such a long time ago, that had been. Now Tilda was all growed up and married to a respectable man, and with a girl of her own to care for – a nice little thing who reminded her a bit of
her stepdaughter, Mary. Fleetingly, she wondered what had happened to Mary. Married a soldier most likely, since she was always chasing after a uniform.

The boy had stopped screaming, and was now giving long, shuddering sobs. Fanny suddenly felt sorry for him. Perhaps Tilda would give her something clean for the child to wear. And some fresh
milk to drink. She might even offer to look after the child for her.

‘I’m too old to have a babby foisted on to me,’ she said self-pityingly as the bottle yielded nothing more than the faintest taste of juniper berries to her seeking tongue.

But Brian had told her not to go out, and it was a long way to Fortuneswell.

‘Sod Brian, I need my comforts,’ she said out loud, throwing the empty bottle on to a chair. She picked up the ring he’d left on the dresser and stared at it. Thick, solid
gold, it was, by the look of it. And unusual, with two hands, fingers entwined. She could buy several bottles of mother’s ruin with that.

The child had gone quiet. She closed the door gently so as not to wake him, then walked out into the raw night. Storm clouds were boiling in the sky and rain was flung in scattered handfuls
against her body.

She made it to the nearest inn before her legs would take her no further. Leaning on her crutches she gazed through the window. There was a blazing fire in the parlour. The Barnes brothers,
their faces as sly as sewer rats, were seated in their usual corner.