Lovers Meeting (13 page)

She tried again: ‘Hello! Is anyone there?’ But still no reply broke the silence of the house. There were wide stairs at the end of the hall, closed doors to her right and one on her left that stood ajar, showing light within. Josie went to it and peeped through the crack. She took in the long, polished table and the pictures hanging on the walls, but only in passing. Her gaze was drawn straight to the man seated at the head of the table and she sucked in a sharp breath of shock, held it then let it out in a shuddering sigh. She clapped her hands to her face in horror as she realised this was a dead man.

The door creaked, a long drawn-out groan, as she eased it open. Josie caught her breath, then went to him, heart thumping and hands shaking. She edged slowly down the side of the table until she stood close enough to touch one of his hands. It had slipped down on to the arm of the chair in which he sat and was already cold, lifeless. His other hand still clutched his breast. His face was twisted with pain – of body or mind? His eyes stared. Josie recognised her grandfather, now shrunken and dead.

She felt no sorrow. This was not as when her mother or Dorothy Miller died. Then she had lost those she loved dearly, but this was different. Her only recollection of this old man had instilled terror.

And yet … She had been drawn to this place against her will, until at the last, when she had thought to rid herself of a memory. That memory of her grandfather had haunted her all her life and she had wanted to be rid of him. Well, now she was, and she felt tears pricking her eyes.

11

‘
Mam-mee
!’

Josie’s thoughts were recalled to the living as she realized the child was still wailing overhead. She returned to the hall, wondering, Where are James and his wife, and the servants in this house? But no one came, and she climbed the stairs. Four doors opened from a long landing; the crying came from behind one of them. Josie opened it and found a nursery. A fire, its embers banked up with coal dust for the night, gave out only a red glow. It was sufficient to show a table and chairs, a rocking horse, shelves on one wall with books – and a cot. The child, a dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl in a nightie, stood in the cot. She held on to its rail and wailed, eyes wide.

‘All right, now.’ Josie ran across to the cot and lifted the child out, held the weeping girl to her breast. ‘Whisht now, whisht.’ She soothed and rocked the child, whispering and crooning. There was a rag doll, the worse for wear through loving, lying in the cot. Josie pressed it into the plump arms and they closed around it. After a time the crying ceased and the little body relaxed. Josie gently replaced her in the cot and covered her over. She stood by for a minute or two, watching the sleeping child. Then, sure that she was sound asleep, Josie left the room.

She started back to the head of the stairs but then froze as she heard a heavy tread in the hall below. She wondered if the owner of the harsh laughter had returned.

A voice called deeply, ‘Who’s up there? Is that you, Rhoda?’

Josie did not think this was the same voice she had heard earlier in the square, but she was still cautious. She walked to the head of the stairs and halted there, looking down. A man stood in the hall. He wore a sea officer’s uniform of dark blue double-breasted reefer jacket and a peaked cap, but both were salt-stained, the cap broken-peaked. He carried a canvas kitbag on his shoulder and now took off the cap with his free hand as he saw Josie, revealing black hair that lay thick and unruly on his skull. He was unshaven, his face shadowed by the stubble, and his dark eyes and his voice were hostile as he demanded, ‘Who are you?’

Josie slowly descended the stairs and stopped when she was eye to eye with him. She realized she was still two steps from the floor. This man had not seemed tall when she looked down at him from the head of the stairs, probably because of the breadth of his shoulders, but now—

Tom Collingwood saw a slender, auburn-haired girl, pale and wide-eyed. Her coat was well worn and her shoes down-at-heel but there was a proud lift to her chin as she faced him. Pretty? He decided: more than that. But there was a rasp in his voice as he repeated, ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ He eyed her suspiciously.

Josie was still shaken, nervous in this strange place, and this man was rough in his appearance. She blurted out her prepared speech. ‘I’m Mrs Miller. I’ve come about the “place” advertised in the
Echo
.’ She held out the crumpled newspaper and pointed with one slim finger. She was also suspicious. She had photographs of James Langley, admittedly when he was fourteen years old, but she was sure this was not he. And this tall, hard-eyed stranger obviously thought she might be a thief. That angered her and she demanded, ‘May I ask the same question of you, sir?’

He blinked at that, taken aback by her challenge, but he answered, ‘I’m Tom Collingwood.’ He gave a stiff nod of the head which Josie acknowledged with a nod of her own. He went on, ‘I live here when I’m not at sea. I’m a ship’s captain.’ He reached out a big, callused hand, took the paper from her and read it, then looked up at her, still suspicious. ‘You were upstairs.’

‘I’ve been seeing to the little girl. She was crying.’

‘Charlotte?’

Josie remembered the name in
The Times
four years ago but realised she wasn’t supposed to know because she was Mrs Miller, not Josie Langley. She answered, ‘If that is her name.’

‘Where’s Rhoda?’

Josie shook her head. ‘I don’t know anyone called Rhoda.’

Tom muttered, ‘The last I knew she worked here and was looking after Charlotte.’ Then he concluded, ‘So Mr Langley has engaged you.’

‘No.’ And as he stared at her again, ‘I’ve been in this house less than an hour.’ Josie took back the paper, put it in her bag and snapped it shut. ‘When I arrived I found the front door open and—’ She stopped there.

Tom echoed, prompting her: ‘And … what?’

Her head had turned to face the dining-room and his gaze followed hers. Josie said, ‘In there.’

Tom crossed the hall with long strides and Josie came quickly down the last two stairs and followed him. He stopped for an instant in the doorway, staring at the body of William seated at the head of the table, then paced slowly to stand beside him and finally sank down on his knees to look into William’s face, gently touch his cheek.

Josie stood behind him and said softly, ‘He’s dead.’

He said hoarsely, ‘Aye, you’re right enough.’ Then he bowed his head and his wide shoulders slumped. He gripped the old man’s cold hands as if to try to drag him back from death. Josie heard him sob. His voice came to her, muffled. ‘He brought me up from a boy. He was father and mother to me. Anything I am or have, I owe to him.’ After a time he let go of the body and rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. Josie wondered at his love for a man who had turned her parents away.

Tom absently picked up the spread sheaf of papers from the table. ‘He had a sad ending. He sent me a cable – I got it at Lisbon a week back – to tell me his son James and his wife had been killed by some madman driving a lorry.’

Josie had heard nothing of this. She whispered, ‘Oh, my God! The little girl’s parents?’

Tom nodded absently. ‘Charlotte’s, yes. Her mother was Argentinian and her parents disapproved of her marrying James. They’ve not spoken to her since. But I must write to them, if William did not.’

Tom did not notice Josie’s shock, might have considered it excessive on learning of the death of two strangers, but he was frowning over the papers. Now he looked up, angry and puzzled. ‘These are notices of foreclosure, debts being called in. William must have mortgaged the yard. But to foreclose like this!’ He threw the notices on to the table as if they soiled his hands. ‘Who could have done it?’ Then he remembered he was talking to a stranger, and added stiffly, ‘This is family business. I’d be grateful if you would not repeat anything of what you’ve heard or seen this night.’

Josie looked up at him, angered by the request, the implication that she might gossip. But then she saw the reason for it, and his pain. She said, ‘I have something to tell you, Captain Collingwood.’

But not in the presence of the dead man. Josie led the way out into the hall and closed the dining-room door. She began, ‘When I got here, I was walking round the square—’ They stood together in the house, now silent save for the slow ticking of the clock, and she told of her arrival, the harsh laughter, the man and woman glimpsed in the fog. ‘She said, “You’ve killed him.” And he said, “You’ve finished with him as you wanted.” Then they went on and I came here. I heard the child crying upstairs and went to her, settled her down again – and then I heard you call.’

Tom Collingwood had listened intently and now he asked, ‘Would you know either of them again?’

‘No.’ Josie shook her head. ‘The box he was carrying hid his face and her shawl covered hers. And in the fog and the darkness—’

He nodded impatient acceptance of that. ‘Aye. But the woman sounds like Rhoda Wilks. She was the maid and lived in. I believe she’s been acting dissatisfied for some time. Maria – James’s wife – used to write to me and she mentioned Rhoda was not being satisfactory. And William was advertising so it sounds as if he might have been thinking of replacing her. But I must call the doctor.’ He turned towards the door then halted and glanced up the stairs, and his gaze came down to Josie. ‘There’s Charlotte. I can’t leave her alone in the house …’ He hesitated, his eyes searching Josie’s, and she met his stare. He went on, ‘And you are applying for the post of caring for the child? You have references?’

Josie hesitated now. Apply for this post? She had only come here out of curiosity and a vague idea of laying a ghost. Shouldn’t she disclose her true identity?

But Tom pressed her, suspicious again at this hesitation. ‘Well, have you?’

‘Yes.’ Josie fumbled the letter from Elizabeth Urquhart out of her bag.

Tom read it and admitted, ‘Very good.’ Then he glanced at the date. ‘But this was a year ago. You have nothing more recent than that? And you were in London. How do you come to be here?’

Josie explained how she had looked after Dorothy Miller and then sought work. Then: ‘I obtained a position in London but shortly afterwards the household moved North, to just a few miles from here. And I left today without a reference.’

Tom folded the letter and handed it back. ‘Dismissed? Why?’

‘I broke a vase.’

His brows rose. ‘Is that all?’ But he knew it was possible; servants had been dismissed for less.

Josie returned his gaze defiantly. ‘No. The son of the house laid hands on me and I … dealt with him.’

‘I see.’ Tom knew that happened, too. He looked away, embarrassed. Then they both turned as a motor car engine rumbled outside, brakes squeaked then the engine slowed to a steady tick-over. Josie saw the car through the open front door – a saloon, its coachwork and brass headlamps gleaming with polish. A chauffeur in uniform and peaked cap hurried out of the driving seat to open the rear door. A girl stepped out and ran up the steps.

‘Thomas!’ She cried his name as she entered the hall, opening her motoring coat of fur-lined wool to show her hourglass figure of curved hips, tiny waist and swelling bosom. ‘I heard that your ship had docked.’ She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then pulled away and rubbed her cheek. ‘Oh! You’re all bristly!’ and coyly, ‘I should have remembered!’ Then she became aware of Josie and asked, the smile suddenly brittle, ‘Who is this?’ It reminded Josie of Hubert Smurthwaite’s greeting: ‘Who the hell are you?’ And the stare was similar, assessing her worth, grading her according to her dress.

Tom was smiling at the girl fondly. Now he explained, ‘This is Mrs Miller. She’s come to apply to be nurse to Charlotte. William advertised in the
Echo
.’

‘I see.’ The smile widened again and the girl dismissed Josie as just a servant, ignored her as she went on, ‘Mother’s busy making plans for the wedding and I came over to tell you because I have to go away tomorrow for a few days.’

Tom’s admiring smile had faded. He began, ‘Felicity, I have some bad—’

Josie decided she did not like the name either. Felicity was pulling off her gloves and a diamond winked from the third finger of her left hand as she went on, ‘Is darling William about?’

Tom said, ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’ And as Felicity stared, face frozen, he explained how he and Josie had found the body. Felicity shuddered. Tom went on, ‘I was just going for the doctor, but someone will have to stay with Charlotte while I’m away, have to stay the night with her because I don’t know what I may be called upon to do—’

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ said Felicity quickly. ‘My reputation – if I stayed in the house alone with you – and that horrible child is always difficult – and we are leaving early tomorrow morning for Scotland. Surely this … Mrs Miller?’ She glanced interrogatively at Josie.

Who would not admit her deception and true identity in front of this girl and so replied, ‘That’s right, miss.’

Felicity went on, ‘She can see to the child.’ She glanced at the clock in the hall, then at the door of the dining room and shuddered again. ‘I really must go now.’ Tom followed her to the door but she paused then and smiled. ‘It’s very sad, but at least Langley’s yard will be in good hands now. In fact, as James is dead, then it will all come to you.’

‘Oh, no.’ Tom was plainly startled by this. ‘William has already given me more than I deserve.’

‘But who else is there? Everybody says you are as good as another son to him.’ Felicity kissed him again then ran down the steps to the motor car where the chauffeur held the door open for her. She ducked into the rear and the chauffeur slid into his seat. The car rolled away into the coiling fog, the light from its carbide lamps blurring then fading from sight.

Tom closed the door and turned back into the hall, frowning. Then he remembered the girl waiting patiently and apologised. ‘I’m sorry. Can you stay and care for the child? What about your husband?’

‘I’m a widow and quite alone, Captain Collingwood.’ Josie had thought it odd that there had only been one maid in a house of this size. She would have expected at least a butler or housekeeper, a footman and two or more maids. But then she recalled the notices of foreclosure. Was the house mortgaged up to the hilt? And the absence of staff due to a lack of money? But that was by the way. What mattered now was that she was Charlotte’s cousin and the child’s only relative, for practical purposes. Her mother’s family were on the other side of the world. It was her duty to care for Charlotte. At the same time …