The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) Page 4

  The game of ducks and drakes on the seashore was so much a success that Kathryn was obliged to walk down there herself at about four o’clock in order to fetch them both home for their dinner. Sally and Tom always had Sunday afternoons off so it was Kathryn herself who typically cooked the meal. She could hear Mr Berkeley’s deep voice, roaring with laughter, a good few minutes before she could actually see him on the rocks and when she finally got to the foot of the hill she found him in the company not only of Bob but also a ragamuffin assemblage of all the cottage children happily joining in the game as well. So absorbed were they in their gleeful activities that for a few minutes no-one actually noticed Kathryn standing there on her own. She watched them all, fondly. For a moment or two she laughed at their antics. But then a deep sadness descended on her as she realised with a start that this, surely, was what family life should be all about and as she realised, even more starkly, that this was not at all the kind of family life that she and Bob were having to endure with Giles.

  Turning to seek some further stones to replenish his rapidly dwindling supplies, Mr Berkeley at last spotted her as she stood by herself on the rocks, her muslin gown blowing gently around her legs in the breeze. He instantly smiled and positioned himself next to her. He was panting a little, the exertions of the activity being a little too much for his weakened constitution, but he looked full of laughter and life as he shared the moment with her, watching the children continue their game.

  Kathryn smiled as well.

  ‘I fear you have not entirely grown up yourself, Mr Berkeley,’ she teased, watching as Bob managed to fall over just as a wave was coming in, catching him unawares, his breeches becoming enveloped in the sudden rush of cold water. ‘I am persuaded that you have enjoyed your little game just as much as the children.’

  ‘Probably more,’ he admitted cheerfully. ‘And you are quite correct, of course. What gentleman ever really does grow up? I think there is ever a small child in all of us – although perhaps some men are better at repressing it than I am.’

  Kathryn thought about this for a moment. She was not totally convinced that George had ever really been a child, even when young. And as for Giles – well, he certainly displayed the tantrums of a three year-old but she couldn’t pretend that she found these quite as appealing as she had found Mr Berkeley’s uninhibited exuberance on the beach that afternoon.

  ‘Maybe,’ was all she could say, cagily. ‘I daresay life would be exceedingly dull without a child to liven it up.’

  She called Bob over to them, thinking that the dinner would spoil should they remain on the beach for many minutes more. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bob seemed a little reluctant to comply. She waited for a little while, loath to spoil his fun, but once it was obvious that Bob had no intention of obeying his mama Mr Berkeley crept stealthily down the beach and positioned himself deftly behind him. Then, with a sudden roar, he grabbed him around the middle and tickled him without mercy. Bob let out a squeal of delight. In an instant he found himself being raised high into the air and deposited, dripping, upon Mr Berkeley’s broad shoulders, from whence he was transported deftly back up the hillside, his impressed and laughing mama at their side.

  After dinner Kathryn heated some water on the fire, washed the pots and pans and replaced them on the dresser nearby. Bob, worn out by his unaccustomed exercise on the beach, had nodded off on the kitchen settle, his head on Mr Berkeley’s broad lap. She looked across at them both and smiled. It was remarkable just how swiftly Mr Berkeley had managed to draw out her little son’s natural exuberance. She had almost forgotten its existence.

  ‘Would you care to put him to bed for me, Mr Berkeley? You only need to take off his smock and breeches. I just need to finish off here and then I’ll be done for the day and we can have the evening to ourselves.’

  Mr Berkeley acceded to this suggestion without hesitation and carefully took the dozing Bob into his arms and carried him up the stairs. Kathryn removed her pinafore and took a lighted candle into the parlour. The grate was empty so she went back into the kitchen to fetch some embers. By the time she had returned Mr Berkeley was back, eyeing a somewhat ancient spinet that stood, neglected, in a corner of the room.

  ‘Do you play your spinet, Mrs Miller?’ he asked her, taking the shovel from her and lighting the fire himself.

  ‘The spinet? Why, I had almost forgotten its existence. I did take some lessons while I was at school but George did not care for music – well, any music that didn’t involve hymn singing, that is (although, even then, the village band being as clueless as you would have found it to be this morning, he was definitely not too keen even on that!) – and Giles forbad me from playing as soon as he heard me, he complained that it sounded so bad!’

  ‘Well – perhaps we could play execrably together, then? My mother was quite a talented player and I used to watch her for hours as she sat at her instrument. I felt quite convinced of my own ability to play just as well as she. I used to sneak into the music room when she was out and try my hand occasionally. Not surprisingly I found it more tricky than I had expected. Somehow the tunes that were in my head never seemed quite the same when transmitted down to my fingertips!’

  ‘It sounds as though we are of a similar standard, then, Mr Berkeley. Shall we give it a try?’

  They sat down together at the instrument and Kathryn asked him what tunes he could play. After several false starts they managed to find a few that they were both happy with. Regrettably these consisted mainly of nursery rhymes and in the course of their execution it proved necessary to sing along to them, mainly due to the very imperfect execution of both players which would otherwise have resulted in them completely losing their way. And then the singing itself went awry, and what with one thing and another the occupation was soon abandoned amidst some rather hysterical laughter in favour of the less demanding occupation of reading aloud by the fire.

  ‘I have not enjoyed myself so much for an age, Mr Berkeley,’ admitted Kathryn, finding a somewhat tattered book in the cupboard and pulling it out. ‘Though I can see that other people might not appreciate our endeavours. Here – perhaps this book might settle us down a little? It looks like an old one of George’s.’

  Mr Berkeley pulled a face.

  ‘Oh dear. ‘Fordyce’s Sermons’. It does look a little serious,’ he said. ‘Have you nothing somewhat – well – lighter?’

  Kathryn turned back to the cupboard and fished about in it.

  ‘I must confess that I have not explored the depths of this cupboard for many a long year,’ she said. ‘I dread to think what it might contain.’

  Mr Berkeley moved over to assist.

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps we’ll find some hidden treasure? A pot of gold, maybe, or an ancient purse full of Spanish doubloons, or a box with secret compartments and mysterious symbols etched upon it?’

  ‘I doubt it, though we may find some better books.’

  They pulled out some boxes filled with such a miscellany of items – old bits of pottery (mostly broken), a collection of corn dollies (probably Kathryn’s aunt’s), a selection of toys (a little doll of Kathryn’s, a Noah’s ark (with some of the animals missing), a cup-and-ball that probably belonged to her papa) that in some ways it did feel just like a treasure trove. Mr Berkeley felt obliged to try out the cup and ball for himself and, to be fair, after a couple of false starts he began to get quite good at it. But in the end, abandoning the reading due to the distinct lack of books, they settled down to a quiet game of draughts, at which Kathryn proved herself to be surprisingly skilful, which also enabled them to converse a little more readily than their original ideas would have done.

  ‘It makes quite a change for me to see you without some work in your hands, Mrs Miller,’ said Mr Berkeley as he awaited her next demonic move. ‘I have watched you the whole week. Until today you have scarcely taken a moment for yourself.’

  Kathryn looked up at him, smiled, and stole a couple of his pieces.

  ‘I suppose yo
u are right. It had not crossed my mind. There is always a lot to do in a place like this. Everything can so quickly get out of hand.’

  ‘It must get quite hard for you. It is obvious that you were brought up with a less demanding lifestyle in mind. And yet you always seem so happy, so joyful. You sing and smile and laugh even as you clean and cook, and do not seem to mind at all.’

  ‘Mind? Why should I mind, Mr Berkeley? I have been so much blessed – I have a lovely little child, a comfortable home, enough to eat, two loyal servants to help me, respectful tenants, some beautiful lands – and a husband, of course,’ here Kathryn blushed, realising that this was very much an afterthought on her part. ‘It would be quite wicked to feel anything but contented. I am sure that anyone would be grateful were they to be given even half of what I have to enjoy.’

  Mr Berkeley looked less than convinced and sacrificed a further couple of pieces to his opponent’s growing collection.

  ‘Well, all I can say is that you are an inspiration, Mrs Miller, a real inspiration. When ever my own sense of happiness or contentment deserts me I shall think of you in that little wash-house of yours, working away, your hands raw with the cold, with everywhere wet (including yourself) and dismal, laughing and singing away as if you were the luckiest creature in the world. I shall think of you, Mrs Miller, and whenever I do so I shall remember with gratitude and joy the happiest few days of my entire existence.’

  Kathryn felt a sudden shiver run down her spine. She looked across at him in the firelight. He met her look with a similar one of his own.

  ‘I believe they have been mine as well,’ she said.

  Mrs Wright turned up, as promised, the next afternoon and was greeted most warmly by her brother. Kathryn had spied the carriage from an upstairs window as it crunched onto the gravel area next to the track and she was immediately struck by the lady’s close resemblance to her brother. Both shared the same blonde, curly hair and the same smiling features, and whilst although neither could be called exactly handsome they both shared such an unconscious air of well-bred confidence that Kathryn thought their lack of classic good looks to be no great loss at all.

  Kathryn had held back as the brother and sister renewed their acquaintance but as soon as Mr Berkeley was in a position to do so he immediately invited her forward in order to undertake the introduction. Now that she was able to view Mrs Wright at close quarters Kathryn realised that she had, in fact, seen her in Weymouth on a number of occasions – and, more particularly, in the coffee section of Harvey’s library, where Mrs Wright was often to be seen with her particular acquaintance – although, of course, she had never really taken a great deal of notice of her. Mrs Wright, too, acknowledged some slight recollection of seeing Kathryn before. It would only be natural, after all, for although Kathryn had not been in the habit of much visiting Weymouth she had lived in the area for most of her life, and the town was not so large as to hide its inhabitants entirely from each other’s notice. It appeared that they both instantly felt this lack of previous acquaintance to be a perfect crime, and they both immediately resolved to maintain and improve upon it now that it had been made. Kathryn invited her visitor to take some tea whilst Mr Berkeley took a leather case from the back of the carriage and escaped with it up to his room. By the time the tea was served he had divested himself of his borrowed garments and replaced them with the crisp white shirt, neat cravat, biscuit-coloured breeches and blue kerseymere tailcoat brought for him by his sister and which so altered his appearance as to make Kathryn take a second look at him as he reappeared in the doorway. In a way she regretted the change. Dressed in his own well-fitting and immaculate garments she found him so compellingly attractive that she completely forgot what she had just been saying. Luckily Mr Berkeley took advantage of the hiatus to thank his sister most sincerely for her fine choice of clothing before accepting a dish from his hostess and claiming the seat by her side.

  Mrs Wright finally rose to depart, and her brother, perhaps a little more reluctantly, determined on following suit. Kathryn was aware of a dull sense of loss as she supervised his final preparations to be gone. Before he did so he made his way into the kitchen to take his leave of, and give his thanks to, Sally and Tom and to take Bob into his arms and tell him to be a big boy, to care for his mama, and promise to come and see him in his new house very soon. Bob, indeed, seemed little inclined to be a big boy and, rather, gave every indication of being on the brink of violent tears more resonant of a very little boy, but the gift of a remarkably pretty fossil that Mr Berkeley had picked up from the beach the previous week fortunately managed to divert his attention long enough for him to slip away unnoticed. He returned to the hallway, from whence Mrs Wright was just exiting for the carriage, and took advantage of a quick moment alone with Kathryn to bend over her hand, kiss it, squeeze it a little and gaze into her lustrous dark eyes, and to tell her that he would most definitely soon be back.

  Chapter 4

  Mr Berkeley was as good as his word. Within a couple of days of his vacating Sandsford House, and at a time when any reasonable person might expect him to be fully engaged in sorting out his new property, he was back, parcels in hand, in a most impressive dark green curricle harnessed to a well matched pair of bays.

  Kathryn had been working alongside Sally at the back of the house engaged in her perpetual battle to maintain the windows in a relatively clean and salt free condition. She appeared at the door in her apron, her dark curly hair covered simply by a thin muslin cap. The cap appeared to emphasise her delicate features and enhance their beauty. Mr Berkeley himself was wearing a most fashionable caped greatcoat and beaver hat which he removed, unasked, when he was invited into the house.

  ‘I am come to repay some debts, Mrs Miller,’ he announced, when the formalities – such as they were – were over. ‘I have had Mr Arthur’s items washed and ironed and have included a couple of guineas in return for their use. I hope that this will be acceptable to him. I had a mind to send him more but common sense suggested that he might drink it all away in a single sitting at the Preston ‘Ship’ and, fearing for his health and capability, I decided that the smaller sum might prove a more sensible offering after all. I have brought a spangle for each of the others as well.’

  Kathryn acknowledged that this would certainly be the case and ventured to express the opinion that a single guinea would have been more than enough recompense for the loan of the clothes.

  ‘I have also brought a small parcel for my young friend, Bob,’ he went on. ‘I wanted to check its acceptability with you prior to handing it over, for I feel sure of his immediate desire to try it out for himself and I do not wish to put you to too much trouble. It is a small model boat, you see. I would not recommend him trying it out on the sea – if the waves did not break it up in an instant they would doubtless carry it right away – but I thought that perhaps he could try it out on Sutton duck pond. It will involve you in a bit of a walk, I’m afraid.’

  Kathryn reassured him that she should not at all mind a walk to the pond, and expressed the opinion that it was a most unexceptionable gift for her son, who was currently out in the grounds somewhere with Tom but would certainly soon be back.

  Mr Berkeley had a further small parcel remaining, which he now proceeded to offer to her with a somewhat shy little smile.

  ‘And I have brought a small trinket for you,’ he said. ‘It is little enough, considering the very great service you rendered me last week, but I should hope that it will act as a lasting reminder of my very great gratitude to you, and what I fully intend should be my eternal friendship for you, as a result of the kindness that you have already provided to me.’

  Kathryn was embarrassed. She was not at all certain that she, as a married woman, should be accepting presents from unmarried gentlemen but she could also acknowledge that Mr Berkeley would want to show her his gratitude in some material way, and that something small should therefore not prove to be unacceptable. But when she opened the parcel, trembli
ng a little, she uncovered a most expensive-looking jewellery box which, when she opened the lid, revealed an even more expensive-looking emerald necklace with a set of elegant emerald ear-rings to match. She took the necklace out and held it between her fingers admiringly. She held it up to the light for a moment, the better to capture its sparkle. She found it absolutely breathtaking. She had never owned anything nearly so beautiful before – nor anything nearly so expensive. It would have been heaven to be able to accept it. But it would not do. She knew that it was quite impossible. She could not even consider accepting it. So, with just the faintest hint of a regretful sigh, she shut it firmly back into its box and handed it straight back.

  ‘It is certainly most beautiful, Mr Berkeley,’ she said, feeling awkward. ‘And I thank you most sincerely for the thought. But I really cannot accept the gift. I did no more than any other human being would have done in exactly the same situation. Anyone would have done as I did. Your jewels are far too expensive a reward. It is not possible for me to accept them. I hope you will understand.’

  Mr Berkeley’s face fell. He certainly did not understand at all.

  ‘You disappoint me,’ he said. ‘I had thought that you would look nice in them. I wish you would change your mind and take them.’

  ‘I am a married woman, Mr Berkeley. Whatever would my husband say if he came home to find that I had accepted such an expensive present from another gentleman?’

  ‘Perhaps he would feel proud of what you had done?’ he asked, hopefully.

  The suggestion was so preposterous that Kathryn had to laugh.