Where Seagulls Soar (8 page)

‘Grace, you can dust the furniture and windowsill in your own little room. I’ll help you make the bed when you’ve finished.’

Tilda had given Grace the room Joanna had slept in when she’d worked as a housemaid for David’s late uncle. It was a small room, so Grace would feel safe in it. The ceiling sloped to
a window set under the eaves, which, in turn, led the eyes to a view down through Fortuneswell to the glittering sea beyond.

From here, Tilda could see the roof of the cottage in which Joanna had grown up, a place where Tilda had spent the happiest years of her childhood. She pointed to it. ‘See that orange
chimney pot over there. It belongs to the house your Aunt Joanna grew up in.’

Grace picked up the calico doll Joanna had given her when they’d first met, the doll Joanna had made for her on the voyage home from Australia. Now the girl cuddled it against her and
Tilda smiled at the sight. The doll’s face was unintentionally cross-looking, with frowning eyebrows, spidery eyelashes, a red pout and black woolly curls. Grace adored it.

Tilda’s smile faded as she thought of Alex. How sad his death was, coming so soon after that of Joanna’s first husband. Her friend deserved some lasting happiness. Perhaps she would
come home when she discovered the Rushmore family no longer lived on the island.

Tilda’s father had died in her absence. Gin had addled his widow Fanny Rushmore’s brain. Partially crippled from a beating inflicted on her by her husband, her mind failing her from
time to time, Tilda’s mother lingered on in the local infirmary, where the doctor had sent her. ‘A baffling case,’ the man had said. ‘She has long periods of lucidity, then
just as I think she’ll be able to manage for herself, she relapses.’

Her mother was as sly as a fox, Tilda thought uncharitably. She wouldn’t do anything to help herself unless she was forced to.

Of Tilda’s three brothers, Peter had been shot trying to escape the revenue men. Brian was in prison, serving a life sentence after viciously raping a young girl. He would never set foot
on the island again. But if by some chance he did, the girl’s brothers had vowed to hunt him down.

Tilda shuddered, for she’d suffered badly at Brian’s hands herself. If Joanna hadn’t rescued her and nursed her back to health . . . But she didn’t want to think about
that. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse over her family’s demise, even if it wasn’t as Christian an attitude as David would expect from her. She had flatly refused to
take her mother in and personally care for her. Now David was talking about installing her mother with a carer, in a church-owned cottage over at Southwell. Tilda wished he’d leave well
alone.

Only her eldest brother was left behind. Leonard lived in Poole with his wife and two children, where he worked on a paddle steamer. Her eldest brother had changed since she’d last seen
him. He’d become more confident and he’d smiled at her when she’d greeted him, something she’d never seen him do before.

Grace tugged at her skirt. ‘Can we visit Aunt Joanna and Toby, Mama?’

‘The house is empty now, my angel. But when we’ve made this place our home, we’ll go and look inside Joanna’s cottage and tidy it up, in case she comes to visit.’
Tilda was reluctant, though. Now she was back on the island the memories of her abuse had become sharper, and more painful – something she hadn’t expected.

She suspected Joanna’s cottage would have been left as it was when Brian Rushmore had been arrested. Knowing how her brother had lived, it was probably filthy. But the islanders had always
been honest with their neighbours, so she had no doubt that the contents would have remained untouched.

She stroked the child’s silky hair. ‘Just look at the big garden we’ve got for you to play in, Grace. And you can have a little patch of your own to grow things in, though
you’ll be going to school during the day.’ Her hands went to her hips as she surveyed the vegetable patch. ‘That’s going to take some digging over to prepare for a winter
crop, I can tell you.’

‘I’m sure we can manage without you growing our food,’ David said from the doorway.

She turned to him with a smile. ‘You’ll never take the island girl out of me. I’m not too proud to get my hands dirty, and it won’t hurt Grace to learn how to use the
soil to her advantage, since you never know when your fortunes are going to change. Look what has happened to poor Joanna. Best to have something put aside for a rainy day, even if it’s only
the skill to survive.’

David nodded. ‘You’d better find me a hoe then. At least I can lend some muscle to the enterprise. From what I can observe, the church here doesn’t have much of a congregation,
so digging will keep me gainfully employed.’

‘You can build me a chicken coop if you’ve a mind to.’

He chuckled. ‘I rather thought you might sleep in the house with Grace and myself.’

She laughed and threw a pillow at him. ‘Don’t give me any cheek, David Lind. Why are you home so early?’

‘A letter came from that greeting-card company you sell your work to.’

The letter contained a bank draft, and there was a request for some more designs. Tilda beamed her husband a smile as she handed the letter to him.

He gazed at her, his eyes full of pride because her gift for painting was finally bearing fruit. ‘Does this mean I can hire an architect to build the chicken coop?’

‘Certainly not. You’re quite capable of doing it.’

‘As long as you understand that I’m not the carpenter Jesus was.’

‘The hens won’t mind what it looks like as long as they’re warm and dry in the winter and have some clean straw to lay their eggs in.’

‘Hmm.’ David’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Perhaps I should build them a little church with a Norman tower, and a bell they can ring when they’ve laid an egg.’

‘They kick up enough fuss without a bell,’ she called after him as he walked away.

Because they had a baby and luggage to handle, and she didn’t want to change trains, Joanna decided to book a passage on a coastal boat. There was a brisk wind to push
them along and, although Mrs Bates looked a little pale from time to time, Joanna found the voyage along the coast to Poole an invigorating experience.

Stepping ashore, their luggage was loaded on to a donkey cart and they followed the lad and his beast of burden up the hill, where it was placed on Charlotte Darsham’s doorstep while they
waited for their knock to be answered.

‘Good gracious! I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Joanna . . . and Mrs Bates is with you.’

‘We had nowhere else to go. You won’t mind, will you? Mrs Bates and I will find work as soon as we can, and I’ll rent a place.’

‘You’re both welcome.’ Charlotte’s expression sobered, as if she’d suddenly remembered the reason why they were here. Taking Joanna and Toby in her arms she hugged
them tight. ‘Poor Alex, and poor you, my dearest ones. The news came as such a shock. Thaddeus is so terribly upset.’

Toby patted his great-grandmother on the head with a dribbly hand. Charlotte couldn’t help but smile and, taking a handkerchief from her sleeve, dried it. ‘I’ve never seen a
boy so like his father, young man, but don’t think you’re going to rule the roost around here.’ Her glance went to Mrs Bates. ‘Perhaps you’d like to take your things
and go through to the kitchen. Stevens will show you to your quarters, and you can help her with the household chores while you’re here.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mrs Bates said humbly. Picking up her bag she trudged off towards the door Charlotte pointed out to her.

‘Mrs Bates was going to help me with Toby,’ Joanna said in her defence.

Charlotte gave her a long, assessing look. ‘It doesn’t pay to become too familiar with servants, dear, and she still can help with Toby.’

‘You don’t understand. I can’t afford to pay Mrs Bates. I have nothing myself now so we’re on an equal footing.’

‘Nonsense. Class comes from family connection, not from the size of one’s bank account. Anyone who thinks differently has no class, at all.’ She sniffed. ‘Clara Morcant
is a perfect example of that.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Clara was an actress in a travelling show when she met Lucian Morcant. He was a nice man, but a fool who was easily taken
in, and she had her eye on the main chance. Oliver is just like his father. Take my word for it. Mrs Bates will be happy to work for bed and board if necessary.’

Joanna chuckled. ‘You’re an awful snob sometimes, Grandmother Darsham.’

‘I know. And I’m now Grandmother Scott, since Thaddeus and I were wed just a few days ago; though where my husband is at this moment, I’m not at all sure. Probably at the quay,
watching the ships come in and go out. I think he’s going to find retirement hard.’

Joanna kissed Charlotte’s cheek. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’

‘I am very happy.’ A slightly smug smile touched Charlotte’s mouth and her pale blue eyes began to sparkle. ‘Thaddeus Scott has turned out to be a surprising man. I wish
I’d married him years ago instead of mourning John Darsham for all those years in so noble a manner. Such a waste of time, since dead is dead, and no amount of wishing will bring them
back.’ Her eyes engaged Joanna’s. ‘You’re young, Joanna. Don’t allow your love for Alex to blind you to the good qualities of other men.’

‘My feelings are too raw to contemplate another man in my life yet, and I have Toby to raise.’

‘Grieve then, but don’t make a virtue of your widowhood, as I did.’ Charlotte gazed at Toby, who’d begun to wriggle in his mother’s arms and voice a protest at
being ignored. ‘He looks as if he needs a nap. You know where your rooms are, don’t you? Come down to the drawing room when you’re ready, my dear, and we’ll have some
tea.’

Joanna fed Toby and placed him in the cradle that had once been hers, rocking it with her foot, as Joseph Rushmore had once done with her. Joseph hadn’t been her real pa, though. A man
with a wife but no children of his own, the stonecutter had found her secured in the cradle as it was tossed in the stormy waves off the Portland coast, twenty years before.

‘’Twas guided by the spirit of a dead sailor whose soul had entered a seagull,’ her beloved pa had said, and Joanna had since come to believe that the gull had been the spirit
of the master of the ship she’d been travelling on, Captain Lucian Morcant.

Joseph Rushmore had taken her home to his wife, to be loved and cared for. He was a man Joanna remembered with affection for the warmth and security of his love, though he’d died when she
was young. Although he’d been in the wrong to keep her, Joanna couldn’t think ill of him.

Then there was the father who’d lovingly carved the cradle for the daughter he’d thought he’d lost. Circumstance had eventually joined them, but it had been the wrong
circumstance, leading to a hasty marriage of convenience. That had forced them apart once again, and had set in motion a chain of events that had been the downfall of the Darsham and Morcant
Shipping Company. Gabriel Tremayne, as her father was now called, was a tough, unselfish man – a man she’d grown to love and respect in the short time she’d known him.

Toby’s eyes began to droop as she rocked him back and forth. He only just fitted in the cradle. ‘Sleep, little man, you’ve had two busy days,’ she whispered. ‘May
your pa come to guide you in your dreams.’

Thaddeus had come home, Joanna could hear the rumble of his voice as she went downstairs.

His smile was sympathetic as she went into the drawing room, his voice brusque with the emotion he was trying to hold back. ‘How are you bearing up, girl?’

‘I keep thinking it’s all been a mistake, that Alex will go back to the house alive and well, find it boarded up and think we’ve left him. I don’t want to believe
he’s gone. It happened too quickly.’

‘Aye, it did, but maybe that was a blessing. You’ll get used to living without him.’

She crossed the room and kissed him. ‘I shall have to. You and Charlotte married without telling me, I understand.’

‘We did at that. I reckoned I’d waited long enough and had better get the vows said before she changed her mind.’ Thaddeus aimed a smile at Charlotte, who promptly blushed.

Joanna’s numbness soon wore off. The pit of despair she then plunged into was made all the more unbearable by Charlotte’s happiness. Joanna tried not to show her
grief during the day.

But at night her body betrayed her when she thought of Alex, and she was appalled by the thought that she could feel the need for the flesh to be satisfied when she had no husband to share that
particular intimacy with. She lost her appetite, but forced herself to eat so her milk didn’t dry up. The tears she shed at night bit into her sleep. Soon her tiredness took a toll on her and
she began to look as strained as she felt.

Only Toby kept her sane over the following two months. His frustration in his attempts to crawl brought a smile to her face as he rocked back and forth on his hands and knees. He soon outgrew
the cradle. Now he was sleeping in a cast-iron cot Charlotte had found in the attic. It rattled and clanged when he grasped two of the bars and shook them, which he did as often as possible.

Sometimes his progress was watched intently by Albert, the tabby cat Alex had given her. The pair talked to each other, Albert with perfectly modulated meows, and Toby with shrieks and
chuckles.

Joanna spent most of her time closeted in the private sitting room attached to her bedroom, or sometimes in the garden, where her active son could enjoy some freedom of expression without
annoying anyone. After a while she began to feel penned in. She hadn’t been raised to live a life of idleness.

One fine day in August she placed Toby in his carriage, with the intention of setting off for town. On the way out she passed a man who was writing down something in a small notebook. He was
tall and well-dressed, and doffed his hat politely when he saw her.

It was a good walk. Joanna enjoyed the sun against her face, though her dark gown seemed to draw the heat and perspiration trickled between her breasts. The air had a slight humidity to it and
was heavy with the scent of roses, flowers which seemed to bloom in every garden she passed. How intense the perfume was.