Lovers Meeting (35 page)

Garbutt asked, ‘Where are these places?’

Packer started, ‘Down by the river—’

But Garbutt cut in, ‘Forget about that. Show me.’

‘Isn’t that taking a risk?’ Packer asked worriedly.

Garbutt said, ‘It will be dark soon and I’m not likely to meet the Miller woman there.’ Packer nodded nervously; that was true.

‘We’ll go out the back way.’ Garbutt pointed at his suitcase. ‘And I’ll leave that here for the time being.’

Packer led the way down to the river. He pointed out the two pubs and, standing in the darkness outside the Fleece, he said, ‘That’s Kavanagh, at the end of the bar.’

Garbutt nodded. There was no mistaking who Packer meant – a grinning, open-faced, burly man of thirty or so. Garbutt looked around him now, remembering this place from his youth. He had first learned to steal and worse, much worse, around here. He said, ‘I think I know where I can find some lodgings. Come along here.’ He headed along a deserted quay, the river flowing black and oily on the left, warehouses towering on the right, casting black shadows that swallowed the two men.

Barty Kavanagh lowered his pint glass and licked his lips, then found a bearded stranger at his side. Barty smiled at him and said jovially, ‘Aye, aye, man!’

The stranger said, ‘Do you want to make some money?’

‘Why – aye,’ replied Barty. ‘What’s the job?’

‘Come over here.’ Garbutt led the way to a quiet corner. When they were seated on the wooden bench he said, ‘Do you know the Langley house?’

‘Aye, on the other side of the river. There’s fellers boards there, sailors like me, atween ships.’

‘The woman who runs it, Mrs Miller. I want to know where she goes and when every day. And I want to know what’s going on in the house, the comings and goings. Can you do it?’

Barty asked suspiciously, ‘What’s your game?’

‘I’m working for a solicitor. He’s acting for Mr Miller who wants a watch kept on his wife. She claims she’s a widow but she isn’t.’ Garbutt spoke the truth when he thought he was lying to suit his tale.

‘Ah! Well, then—’ Now Barty was satisfied. ‘How much?’

‘A pound a day and every day when you report to me.’

‘I’m your man.’ Barty did not need to think about it. There were plenty of men bringing up families on a pound a week or less. ‘Now, let’s see—’ He thought for a minute and Garbutt waited. Then Barty said, ‘It’ll be best if I board there. So I’ll go over there in the morning and see if I can get in.’ He glanced sidewise at Garbutt. ‘Mind, that’ll cost me money.’

Garbutt slid a hand into an inside pocket and brought out a sovereign, surreptitiously in a closed fist. He transferred it into Barty’s eager palm and dug his hand into his jacket again. He said, ‘Be here tomorrow night at this time.’ He rose, then turned and bent over Barty, his back to the room, so hiding his next move. Garbutt said, ‘Don’t cheat me.’ Barty stared at the knife only inches from his throat. Its blade was long, wickedly sharp and pointed. Then it had disappeared inside Garbutt’s jacket and he was shouldering his way out of the bar. Barty let out a shuddering breath. He had thought that he was going to make some easy money but he would have to be careful, very careful.

Garbutt returned to Packer’s office and entered, as before, by the back yard. He drank some of the whisky as he searched the office, but took care to leave everything tidy; he did not want to arouse the suspicions of Packer’s secretary. He found nothing relating to him, but some cash in a locked box in a drawer. He forced the lock with ease and pocketed the money. The only other thing he took, and that with just a vague idea that it might be useful, was a length of thin chain and a padlock, such as might be used to chain a briefcase to a man’s wrist.

He left with his suitcase, crossed the river by the ferry to Monkwearmouth and found lodgings in Dock Street, only minutes from the Langley house. He ate the supper of bread and cheese that his landlady set out for him then went to bed and slept peacefully.

Packer’s body, his pockets weighted with stones, lay under a jetty, unlikely to be found for weeks or months.

Kitty had said that morning, ‘A party? What does he want a party for?’

‘To celebrate the opening of the yard,’ answered Josie.

‘Well, I’m not stopping out till all hours.’

‘You’ll have to stay there for a reasonable time as representing the owners of the ship they’ll be building,’ Josie pointed out. ‘It would be a discourtesy if you left too soon.’

They were working in the kitchen of the Langley house with Annie, already baking for the party. Now Kitty cackled, and admitted, ‘There was a time I’d ha’ stayed all night. I must be getting old.’

‘Never,’ chorused Josie and Annie, and they all laughed. Then the front doorbell rang.

‘I’ll go.’ Josie wiped her hands, took off her apron and hurried along the passage, wondering who it might be. As she opened the door she realised there was a cab outside. Then she recognised the man on the steps, in frock-coat and with top hat in hand, as the manager of the bank with whom she and Tom had been dealing these past weeks. He looked surprised to see her, and Josie realised he had been expecting a maid to open the door.

But he recovered and smiled. ‘Ah, Mrs Miller. I came to see a member of the Langley Shipping Company. I have an invitation for all of you, to dine at my house this Thursday. It’s to celebrate the reopening of the Langley yard and also for you to meet some people who are eager to meet you – businessmen hoping to do business with you. Can we look forward to seeing you?’

Celebrate. There was that word again. Josie replied, ‘Captain Collingwood is away at present but I think I can answer for him, and, of course, I will be delighted. I’ll consult Mrs Duggan and let you know her decision as soon as I can.’

‘Excellent! Until Thursday, then.’ He smiled, put on his top hat and the cab took him away around the square.

Josie closed the door slowly. This was Tuesday. That left plenty of time to prepare for the dinner. She had to go, of course, told herself she could not let Tom go alone as the sole representative of the Langley Shipping Company.

She returned to the kitchen and told Kitty, ‘We’ve been invited to dinner with the bank manager on Thursday – you, Captain Collingwood and myself.’

‘Not me,’ Kitty replied flatly. ‘I never was one for them fancy dinners and nowadays I don’t eat much anyway.’

‘Then I’ll write and tell him that you’re otherwise engaged.’

‘Ha!’ Kitty snorted.

Annie giggled. ‘With a bottle o’ stout.’ Because that was the extent of Kitty’s drinking now, a glass of stout sipped before the fire in the evening.

‘That’s more like it,’ agreed Kitty.

The mention of stout reminded Josie of something else she had to do. She opened the door to the cellar and lit the oil lamp on the shelf just inside the door with the box of matches that lay there. She descended the steps, with a slight shiver at the dank chillness, and stood the lamp on the shelf at the bottom in its usual place. Its light left shadows in the corner of the empty, stone-floored cellar. The six-inch-thick timber support standing in the middle of the floor cast another black bar of shadow, but shadows and cellar did not frighten Josie – with Annie and Kitty chattering just above her head. She found a bottle of beer for Tom’s dinner that evening, dusted it off and retraced her steps.

Later, in the office, Josie wrote the note confirming Tom’s and her acceptance of the dinner invitation, and made Kitty’s excuses. Then she sat on at the desk, nibbling at the pen, in frowning thought. What should she wear? She had two frocks that might serve as evening wear. And she did not want to dress up too much to go out with Tom, did not want to invite more trouble. The dark grey would have to do. But she hoped he would like her in it, just the same.

Tom Collingwood returned that evening in time to drink the beer poured for him and to eat dinner with Josie. It was then that he broke the news: ‘We’re sailing on Friday night.’

Josie’s appetite left her. ‘So soon?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Josie smiled brightly. ‘Well, we must make sure all your kit is ready in time.’ Then: ‘This means you’ll miss the party at the yard on Saturday – and it was your idea.’

Tom pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry. I would have liked to have been there.’

They were silent for a moment while Josie took in the news and its implications, pushed the food about her plate. Then Tom said softly, ‘You’ve been a great help here, Mrs Miller. I will miss you while I’m away.’

‘Thank you.’ And Josie escaped from the room as soon as the meal was finished, to take refuge in the kitchen. Then, when her heart had stopped thumping, she decided that the grey dress would no longer do. No.

The next day Josie left Charlotte in the care of Annie and Kitty and took a tram across the bridge into the town. First she called in at the bank and drew all the money from an account she had opened when she first came to Sunderland. The savings from her small wage had been considerably augmented by her share of the profits from the boarding house and the Langley Shipping Company. Then she made for the shops with her full purse. She spent recklessly, dressed herself from the skin out. A hansom cab was needed because of the number of her packages. She was proud to be going out to dinner with Tom Collingwood and wanted him to remember her with pride.

Josie took care to return to the Langley house in the late afternoon, when she knew Tom would be down at the yard, checking on progress. She left her packages in her room and went to the kitchen. Taking off her hat and unbuttoning her coat, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

‘No bother,’ Kitty assured her. ‘But there’s a feller come looking for lodgings, a sailorman called Barty Kavanagh, and he’s waiting for a ship. He’s in next door. I said he’d have to wait till you came back but he looks a decent enough lad to me.’

Josie found him in the boarders’ common room and immediately agreed with Kitty’s evaluation of this cheerful, patently honest sailor. She smiled. ‘I hear you want to board with us. Did Kitty tell you the terms and the rules?’ And she reeled them off, finishing: ‘— no drinking in here and you don’t come home drunk. Can you keep to them?’

‘Oh, aye, ma’am.’

‘Then I hope you’ll be comfortable here.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Satisfied, Josie went on her way. She spent a happy hour laying out her purchases on her bed, determinedly not looking too far ahead, pleased and excited. She would make the most of this.

That Wednesday evening she spent a long time in her room, writing a short letter. Then on Thursday morning she handed it to Dougie Bickerstaffe as he ate breakfast. He was to take a train to London that morning to join the
Dorothy Snow
with the rest of her crew. Only Tom Collingwood, her captain, would join on the Friday. Josie said, ‘Will you give this to him on Saturday? And keep this a secret between us? Please.’

‘Aye, Mrs Miller. Don’t you worry.’

Now she was ready.

‘My dear! You look charming!’ The banker’s wife was at once admiring, startled and envious, emotions shared by the other women at her dinner party. They were well aware that the men were staring at this Mrs Miller. Granted, she was a partner in the Langley Shipping Company, but only weeks ago she had been no more than a nurse and governess.

‘Thank you.’ Josie was well aware of how they were scrutinising her evening gown of sky-blue silk, simple and sheer, which was cut very low over her breasts and moulded itself to her body. ‘You’re very kind.’

Tom stood by her side, tall and handsome in his dinner jacket, face dark above the starched white shirt. He smiled but was wryly bemused. He had always believed there were hidden depths to this girl and now he was seeing another side to her. But he was proud.

They talked, laughed, ate, drank and were toasted: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the health of Mrs Miller and Captain Thomas Collingwood of the Langley Shipping Company and the Langley Shipbuilding Company. Long life and success to them.’ And a cab took them home at midnight.

When it set off they were laughing, happy and relaxed, but as the horse trotted on they fell silent and an electricity crackled between them. They got down from the cab outside the house and Josie drew her stole about her and shivered, tried to joke: ‘Someone walking over my grave.’ And knew she had failed. The narrow windows by the front door threw out long fingers of light. Annie and Kitty, long abed, had left the gaslights on in the hall. Tom’s suitcases were there, his kit ready for his departure the next day.

He said, his voice a low rumble, ‘I don’t want this evening to end so soon.’

Josie knew he was tempted, as she was, but also believed she had gone too far already, in an
affaire
that should never have started, was doomed from the outset. And it was all her own fault. Now she lied again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m tired.’

And she was close to him and he didn’t care that she was his servant living in his house or what anyone thought. He reached up to turn out the gaslight in the hall and they climbed the stairs. At the door to her room she turned to him. ‘Goodnight, Captain Collingwood.’

He stretched an arm over her to set it against the wall. He leaned over her and said deeply, ‘Tom.’

‘Goodnight, Tom.’ She breathed it, lips parted and eyes bright as he loomed above her. Then he bent his head to kiss her gently, but she held him off, her hands against his chest, fighting her instinct again. ‘No! Please!’ Because she would not seduce this man. He was to be married; another letter from Felicity had arrived only that morning. If Josie took him to her bed now it would be little short of adultery. She would not spoil what they had.

‘Goodnight.’ And she closed the door on him.

Tom turned away. He thought he knew why she had resisted: because he was not a free man. But the waiting was becoming intolerable.

Josie heard his firm tread recede along the passage. She stood in the darkness of her room, her back against the door and tears on her face. She whispered, ‘Goodbye, my love.’

25

Josie slept little and heard Tom go down in the early morning. He was leaving her.

In the kitchen Tom whistled softly as he made a pot of coffee and drank two cups of it. He breakfasted on cold meat and bread, sitting at the scrubbed table. When he walked through to the hall he found the post lying on the mat by the front door. He picked it up and dropped it on the small table, but then saw the letter from France. He took it into his office, frowning, and ripped it open.