Lovers Meeting (18 page)

She need not have bothered.

She walked back to the hall again when she heard voices there. Harry Varley had lost all his energy and his shoulders slumped. Tom was picking up his cap and when he saw Josie he said sombrely, ‘I’m just going down to the yard with Harry.’

Josie replied, ‘I’ll have lunch ready when you get back, Captain Collingwood.’

She had made a hotpot, having already found out that it was a favourite of his, but the effort was wasted. They sat down to lunch in the dining room, Tom at the head of the table with Charlotte between him and Josie. He ate abstractedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Josie knew he was upset by the closure of the yard and its effect on the employees. He finally pushed his plate away with the meal only half eaten and declined dessert. He rose from the table, saying, ‘Sergeant Normanby left a message at the yard: he’s coming to see us this afternoon. I’ll be in the office.’ He strode away across the hall.

Josie looked at her own picked-at plate and sighed. Charlotte said proudly, ‘I ate all mine.’

Josie replied mechanically, ‘Yes, you’re a good girl.’ She wondered what Normanby wanted with them.

Josie answered the knock on the front door with Charlotte trotting along at her heels. Normanby, helmet under his arm, apologised, ‘Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.’

‘Not at all, Sergeant. Come in, please.’

Tom appeared in the doorway of the office, repeated the invitation and included Josie: ‘You, too, Mrs Miller. You were a witness.’ He stood before the fireplace and nodded to Normanby to take the armchair. This time Josie sat in the swivel chair at the desk. The door of the office was open and she could see Charlotte playing in the hall. An open letter lay on the desk and the name ‘Mrs Josephine Miller’ leapt out at her, but she resisted the temptation to peep and tore her eyes away.

‘I asked to see you, Captain, Mrs Miller, because we have now completed our enquiries,’ Normanby said, apologetically. ‘I could have told you one or two bits of news at the inquest or the funeral but I thought it would be better to do it at one go and somewhere like this.’

Tom nodded. ‘Very well.’

Normanby took out his notebook. ‘I talked to Packer, the solicitor. He informed me that the man who delivered the notices of foreclosure, and the man behind Shipbuilders’ Finance Ltd, was a Reuben Garbutt.’

Tom interrupted, frowning, ‘A local man?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Normanby, ‘not now, but he was born around here. I remember his father, Elisha, that used to be manager at the Langley yard. Old Mr Langley dismissed him and the Garbutt family moved away. But that must be all of twenty years ago.’

Josie did not remember the name Garbutt, had been only four years old when she last heard it.

Tom was glaring at Normanby: ‘Then this man Garbutt was acting out of spite!’

Normanby agreed equably, ‘It could be. But he says it was only a matter of business.’

Tom asked, ‘You’ve talked to him?’

‘I have, sir.’

Normanby had sat in Reuben’s office in the City of London, with its atmosphere of solid respectability, and asked, ‘How was Mr William Langley when you left him that evening, sir?’

Garbutt shrugged. ‘A bit down in the mouth. But what would you expect? I’d called in some loans and he was going to have trouble finding the money, but that’s business.’

‘He wasn’t having a heart attack or a stroke?’

‘I’m not a doctor but I wouldn’t say he was having either of those. As I said, he was sitting at the table a bit fed up.’

‘A witness reports seeing a man of your description leaving the house with a young woman believed to be a Miss Rhoda Wilks, employed as a housemaid and nurse by the late William Langley. This witness claims Rhoda said, “You’ve killed him.” Were you that man and was that woman Rhoda Wilks?’

‘I was and she was. You know how the world wags, Sergeant. Rhoda and I had an understanding. I’d agreed to take her away that night. She was excited – and hysterical when she saw old Langley looking so miserable. That’s all.’

Normanby said, ‘The witness reports you as saying, “Shut your mouth! You’re finished with him and that’s what you wanted.”’

Garbutt nodded. ‘Exactly. I told you, she wanted to get away and I’d promised to take her. I told her to shut up because I was annoyed. Langley had been insulting over what was a quite legitimate business matter.’

‘Where can I find Miss Wilks?’

Garbutt shook his head, smiling, and lied: ‘Sorry. I haven’t seen her since that night. I paid her what I had promised and that was the end of it so far as I was concerned. I don’t know where she is.’

Normanby asked one final question because Garbutt fitted the description of the man who had driven the coal lorry, though that description could have been applied to thousands of other men. The sergeant was unlucky in that Garbutt was yawning and rubbing his face in his hands so his expression could not be seen. For a second it might have given him away when the sergeant asked, ‘Where were you on Tuesday, 8 September?’ This was the day on which James Langley and his wife, Maria, had been killed.

Garbutt answered, ‘I was here, in London. Why do you ask?’

‘Just following up another enquiry I’m making, sir. Can anyone confirm your statement?’

‘I was at home most of that day. You could ask my valet or my chauffeur.’

‘Where will I find them, sir?’

Garbutt told him. And as the door closed behind him, Garbutt reached for the telephone and spoke to his valet.

Now Normanby looked up from his notebook at Tom and Josie. ‘I spoke to them and they confirmed he had been about the house that day.’

Josie asked, ‘Couldn’t they be lying?’

‘They could,’ Normanby agreed, ‘but we can’t prove it. And really there is no evidence that this Garbutt was connected with the death of Mr and Mrs James Langley. Nor that he committed any crime in delivering those notices of foreclosure. That might be vindictive but it wasn’t criminal.’

Tom demanded, ‘So what now?’

Normanby put away his notebook and stood up. ‘All we can do is to keep looking for further evidence relating to these deaths. But you’ll appreciate, sir, as time goes by we’re less an’ less likely to find any.’

Tom said bitterly, ‘It’s a dirty, bloody business.’

Normanby agreed. ‘Yes, sir.’ Tom opened the front door for him and he trudged away round the square, clapping his helmet on his head.

Josie had come out into the hall but Tom stopped her there. ‘A moment, please.’ So she led the way into the office again, wondering if he was about to find fault with her again, bracing herself for the confrontation. But he stood by the desk, staring out of the window, brows down and lips tight. Finally he took a deep breath and shrugged as if to cast a weight from his shoulders. He turned towards Josie, saying, ‘It still seems murder to me, but no doubt Normanby has the right of it and the law can’t touch Garbutt. I must be content that I’ve foiled his plans to take the yard.’

Now he took the letter from the desk and asked, ‘Are you prepared to serve here for the foreseeable future?’

Josie breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘Yes, Captain.’

Tom handed her the letter. He had foreseen this decision a week ago, knew he had to leave and someone had to see to the house and care for Charlotte. He still suspected that Mrs Miller was not quite what she seemed, but she had proved competent and fond of the child. Even more importantly, the same instinct that made him suspect Mrs Miller also, strangely, told him he could trust her. Now he said, ‘That is a letter of authority, identifying you and authorising you to draw funds from the bank each week while I am away. I have written another letter to the bank confirming this arrangement. If you will be good enough to post it?’ He handed the second letter to her, this one sealed and stamped.

Josie looked up at him, taken aback. ‘You’re going away?’

Tom was still angry, deep inside, at William’s death and the manner of it. Also, he wanted to stay ashore and keep an eye on affairs but knew he could not. Out of frustration and anger he answered irritably, as if explaining the obvious, ‘I must. I don’t know what I can do about the yard in the long term but in the meanwhile Charlotte depends on me and there is this house to maintain. I’ve got a ship, the
Highgrange
, and she sails this evening.’

Josie noted his irascible tone but ignored it. ‘So soon?’

‘She’s ready so we must sail.’ Tom glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Do you think we could have a meal about half past five?’

Josie answered, ‘Of course,’ and cursed, because it gave her less than an hour. ‘You’ve packed?’

‘Not yet. I’ve cleared my clothes out of my lodgings, but all my sea-going kit is upstairs.’ Tom waved a hand at the desk and the papers still lying on it. ‘I have some loose ends to tie up, then I’ll do it.’

Josie took the hint. ‘I have work to do.’ And she left him to it.

In the kitchen she worked rapidly but still maintained a running conversation with Charlotte at her side and ‘helping’. Despite this help Josie cooked the meal in time. At five she heard the hooters that signalled the end of the working day in the shipyards. She stopped what she was doing and tiptoed along the hall with Charlotte, silencing the child with a finger to her lips. She passed the closed door of the office where Tom still worked and peered out of the narrow window by the front door. Usually she could hear the buzz of the men’s chatter as they came home from work, hurrying past the square or entering it, but today they were silent.

Josie sighed and went back to the kitchen. She left the door to the hall open and so heard when Tom finished in the office and climbed the stairs to pack. He did this in short order, and she heard him when he descended again soon after. She peeped out and saw him drop his big kitbag in the hall. He was dressed in the old reefer jacket he had worn when she first saw him. So she whisked plates and dishes from the oven and on to a tray, then carried them through to the dining room where she had already set the table. As she passed Tom she said brightly, ‘Dinner is served.’

She gave him broth – her stockpot was to thank for that – a grilled steak and sautéed potatoes and vegetables, with an apple pie for dessert. This time he ate steadily and with enjoyment through the courses and drank the bottle of beer Josie had opened for him. But he did not linger. His meal completed, he glanced at his watch and rose from the table. ‘If you will excuse me.’

Josie went with him. She had eaten little but put that down to the cooking in haste having taken away her appetite. Tom stood in the hall with his cap in his hand. He said gravely, ‘I leave Charlotte in your hands.’

Josie smiled down at her where she stood against her legs. ‘I’ll care for her. When do you sail?’

‘Within the hour.’ Tom looked around the hall as if to be sure he was handing it over in good order. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

Josie thought wryly that it was the first time he had given it thought. She replied, ‘I think we will do very well, Captain.’

Tom crouched before Charlotte and kissed her. ‘Be a good girl and I’ll fetch you back a present.’

Charlotte giggled. ‘A monkey?’

He tweaked her cheek. ‘One monkey in the house is enough.’ Then he straightened and they heard the murmuring engine then the squeak of brakes as the Blakemore car stopped outside. Josie saw it through the lace curtains at the narrow windows on each side of the front door. She thought that Felicity had known he was leaving, had come to take him to his ship. Well, she was his fiancée.

Josie heard herself say, ‘Miss Blakemore is taking you to your ship?’

Tom was smiling at Felicity now and he answered absently, ‘Yes. She is attending a dance this evening but she said she would see me off first.’

Josie continued, ‘Are you to be married soon?’

‘In just over a year from now, in October.’

Josie thought they would make a handsome couple. He remembered her now and turned. Josie smiled brightly, head back as he stood tall above her. Tom said, ‘I don’t know when I will be back. That depends on what cargoes the agents find for us. It may be weeks, months or a year or more. But I will write.’ He swung his kitbag up on to his broad shoulder and set his cap on his head. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Miller.’

‘Goodbye, Captain Collingwood.’

Josie watched him stride away down the wide steps she had scrubbed and duck his head to enter the car where Felicity Blakemore waited for him. She wore a stole around her shoulders over an evening gown of white chiffon with a low neckline. The lace trim on it glinted silver, reflecting the light from the gas lamps. The door closed behind Tom, the car moved away and drove down the side of the square and out of sight.

Josie realised Charlotte was still shrilling, ‘Bye, bye, Uncle Tom!’ She led the child back to the kitchen and together they washed up the dinner things. Only then did she realise that Tom was leaving Charlotte with her for an indefinite period. Because he had been unable, or not had time, to find another nurse/governess/housekeeper? Or was it that he trusted her and believed she would not walk out at the end of the first month? Josie glanced down at Charlotte; there was no fear of that.

Briefly cheered by this, she dressed herself and Charlotte for the street, or rather the seafront, in warm coats, a bonnet for Charlotte and a shawl over her own hair.

They left the house, hurrying in the cold, and turned down towards the sea. Josie had not been this way before – or not since she had come North again. But she found her steps turning on a way she seemed to know by instinct – or had she travelled it as a child twenty years before?

They came to the old North Pier and walked out to its end. There the wind cut into them, driving a thin drizzle into their faces. They waited there for twenty minutes, in the darkness and with the sea washing cold and breaking white below them. Charlotte was cuddled inside Josie’s coat, pulled round both of them for protection. At last they saw a ship. She was black with a single tall funnel and as she came out of the river between the piers Josie was able to make out her name on her bow:
Highgrange
.

She said, ‘That’s Captain Collingwood’s ship.’ They waved. There were men working on the deck of the ship as she slid past them but none returned their wave. In desperation Josie snatched the shawl from her head and waved that. A tall figure stalked out of the wheelhouse on to the wing of the bridge, took off his cap and flourished it.