Authors: Irene Carr
She realised then that she now thought of this house as home, and told herself it was not. She was a hireling here, a servant like Annie or Dan. But that was hard to remember when Charlotte came running to leap into her arms, and when neighbours in the square stood at their doors to call, ‘Home again, bonny lass!’ Annie scurried to make tea for her while the others – even the boarders – gathered round, smiling.
Later she went to Tom in his office, where he sat at his desk still in reefer jacket and sea boots. Josie had heard Felicity ensure Tom’s attendance at the Blakemore house for dinner that evening before picking her way disdainfully off the quay. Now Josie sat in the armchair again, with the width of the room between her and Tom, and said, ‘I need some money, Captain Collingwood, to rent a shop in Dame Dorothy Street. We need it to sell the goods we brought back today.’ Josie explained her plans and finished, ‘The business will be owned by the Langley Shipping Company and profits will be shared equally as before.’ A surprised and impressed Tom agreed.
She went on, ‘And I would like to have an advance on my wages, please, five pounds, if that is possible. I have to go to London because there is some family business I must attend to.’ This was only a small deceit, to cover her if her scheme failed.
Tom suspected that deceit there was, but he said slowly, ‘I see no reason why you should not have that amount. You have earned your share of the profit on this voyage, and there certainly will be a profit.’
Josie stood up and hurried on, wanting the interview over, ‘I won’t be away long and I’m sure Charlotte will do well with Annie and Kitty for a few more days.’
‘Of course.’ Tom was on his feet, looking down at her, and her eyes fell before his. Josie could feel the blood rising to heat her face, knew she was a poor liar and turned away quickly. Then he called as she sought to escape, ‘Mrs Miller!’
‘Yes?’ Josie halted in the doorway but did not turn to face him.
Tom said stiffly, ‘Thank you for all you’ve done.’
‘I’m glad to have been of service,’ Josie replied in kind. ‘Thank you, Captain Collingwood.’
Tom went to Packer’s office and told the solicitor, ‘From now on we’ll find the coal ourselves. We’ll do the work and take any profit. And if you’re thinking of shipping coal there yourself in competition, mark this: I have an agreement with the farmers and people living around there to buy what they produce if they take coal from the Langley Shipping Company. I doubt if you’ll tempt them back to you.’
So did the fuming Packer. But he was already plotting his revenge.
Josie paid a month’s rent on the shop in Dame Dorothy Street – little more than a pound – while Kitty, Annie and Dan Elkington promised to stock it with the goods shipped in the
Macbeth
. Josie took the train south to London the following day.
Tom Collingwood wondered at the ‘family business’, was sure she had not spoken all the truth and was once more suspicious. He also wondered if she would return.
Josie wondered if she should, but knew she would.
And on a later train, just two hours behind Josie, travelled Owen Packer, on his way to report to Reuben Garbutt.
18
Packer found Garbutt at his London home, the mansion in St John’s Wood. The solicitor’s taxicab crunched up the gravel of the drive, to halt at the porticoed front door as Garbutt descended from another. He was surprised to see Packer but welcomed him. ‘Come in! I wasn’t expecting you.’
Packer explained, fawning apologetically as they passed through the hall on the way to Garbutt’s study, ‘I wrote to you saying I had something to report and as I had business—’
‘I suppose it’s waiting for me’ – Garbutt waved the neat pile of letters the butler handed him – ‘among this lot.’ He tossed the pile on to his desk. ‘I’ve been away. France. What’ll you drink?’ He was in a good mood. He had gone to Calais to visit a bank where he held a safe-deposit box. In the privacy of the vault he had opened his box, taken from an inner pocket of his jacket several highly valuable items of jewellery and added them to those already stored in the box. Garbutt had other boxes in other countries.
Now, with he and Packer settled in armchairs before the fire, glasses of whisky to hand, Garbutt asked, ‘So what do you have to tell me?’
Packer recounted how a Mrs Miller had come to him and that she was a partner: ‘—in the Langley Shipping Company.’
‘What!’ Garbutt sat up, glaring. ‘Langley!’
Packer nodded, little eyes gleaming, sure now of his reward. ‘There are two other partners: Captain Thomas Collingwood and Mrs Kitty Duggan. I decided I should make some enquiries.’ He reminded Garbutt how Mrs Miller had been the first to find the body of William Langley: ‘—and she was the one who gave evidence of a man and woman leaving the house. I told you about that.’ And when Garbutt nodded: ‘She was only supposed to be the child’s nurse, but—’ He went on to describe how Josie had taken in Annie and Kitty and started a lodging house, the fitting out of the
Macbeth
and her first voyage. He put in quickly, ‘I thought I should give them the business as it might help me to get closer to them, if need be.’ He did not mention his fury when Tom told him the Langley Shipping Company would do no more business with him.
Garbutt nodded approval of Packer’s actions then sat brooding, fists clenched, knuckles white. He summed up: ‘This woman seems to be into everything. Giving evidence against me, keeping the house going, now a partner in this company. Why her? Collingwood was the boy the old man brought up and the Duggan woman owned the ship, so those two I can understand. But why this Mrs Miller?’ He stood up, drained his glass and stalked over to the decanter. ‘Watch them. I want to know what they’re up to – and especially
her
. They can’t be hoping to start up the yard again; they’d never find the money to do it. But whatever it is, I want to know.’
Packer knew he was dismissed, set down his glass and got up. Garbutt said, ‘You did right to tell me. Here—’ He dug a hand in his pocket, pulled out a roll of banknotes and slapped them in Packer’s hand.
‘Thank you.’ Packer backed to the door. He thought of pointing out to Garbutt that a true gentleman did not carry cash except to tip, charging everything to an account. He decided against it. Garbutt would not pay for the information; far worse, he might feel slighted and Packer would not risk that. He promised, ‘I’ll keep in touch.’
Garbutt was left staring into the fire and wondering. Who was this Mrs Miller? Why was she meddling? She was no more than a servant! He had thought he had finished the Langleys but the house and the shipyard still belonged to the brat. Surely in time the name of Langley would wither and fade away into obscurity. But if it did not, or if this woman continued her meddling, he would have to … deal with them.
When she arrived in London, Josie found cheap lodgings in a house near the station. The next morning, a cold, clear day, she set out on an open-topped omnibus headed for Wapping. She dressed for the weather in a long ‘Russian’ coat with a decorated hem and a belt emphasising her slim waist. It had been a gift from one of the Urquhart daughters, altered to fit her by Josie herself and cherished for years.
Josie had been given an address by Dougie Bickerstaffe, but when she got down from the bus she had to ask her way several times before she eventually reached the right street and the right door. It was in a long row of narrow little terraced houses, the living-room doors opening directly on to the street. Lace curtains covered the windows and Josie could just make out the dark green spread of an aspidistra within.
She knocked at the door and while she waited looked round and smiled at the dozen or so ragged and grubby children who had gathered, curious, behind her. The street swarmed with others at their games.
The door was opened by a stout woman with a full, sensuous mouth and little eyes that stared coldly at Josie – and then suspiciously when she took in the coat that had cost the Urquhart girl all of thirty-five shillings. There were men in the street bringing up families on twenty shillings a week.
Josie asked, ‘Does Iris Taylor live here?’
The woman challenged: ‘What if she does?’
Josie smiled, ‘I’d like to talk to her.’
‘What about?’
Josie kept the smile in place with an effort. ‘I just want to talk.’
‘She’s not here.’ The door slammed in Josie’s face.
She wondered, What now? She started back along the street, the children trailing behind her. Then one pigtailed girl said, ‘She’s in the shop.’
Josie halted. ‘Where is that?’
They showed her. It stood on the corner of the next street, its window filled with stacked vegetables, fruit in banked pyramids or boxes outside on the pavement. A tubby man in his forties hustled about between the shop and the nether regions and a woman, seemingly his wife, sat at a cash desk in a corner. A girl wearing a long sackcloth apron was serving the customers queueing at the counter.
Iris Taylor was slight, light-footed and her smile was genuine. Dougie Bickerstaffe had said she was nineteen but Josie thought she looked younger than that. Josie took her place in the queue, asked for a bag of apples when it was her turn and said softly when the girl was close, ‘Iris Taylor?’ And when the girl stared in surprise but nodded, Josie said, ‘I know a friend of yours, Dougie Bickerstaffe. Can I talk to you? When do you get off?’
For answer, Iris turned to the man. ‘Can I nip out for a few minutes, Joe?’
‘’Course you can. You go on, gal, but not all day, mind.’
‘Ta, Joe.’
They talked on the pavement a few yards away. Josie explained how Dougie lodged at the Langley house and sailed in the
Macbeth
, then said: ‘He talks about you all the time. He wants you to go up North. He said it would be no good for the pair of you down here.’
Iris said bitterly, her smile gone, ‘He’s right there. Hilda wouldn’t give us no peace. Wherever we went around here, she’d find us.’
Josie asked, ‘Hilda? Your stepmother?’
Iris nodded. ‘She comes up here and gets my wages off Joe. I never lay my hands on a penny except what she gives me and that’s precious little. I do all the work around the house and her and Dad go out boozing. Anytime I stick up for myself I get a bloody good hiding off the pair o’ them.’
Josie, appalled, asked, ‘Why don’t you walk out?’
‘I daren’t. I’ve got nothing saved and nowhere to go. Nobody to go to, either. Hilda told me, “You go to the police,” she says, “and I’ll tell ’em you fell down the stairs. It’d be your word against ours and I’ll settle wi’ you afterwards.”’
Josie started, ‘Suppose I—’
But Iris hadn’t done. ‘I’m only telling you this because you’ll be off as soon as we’ve finished. I wouldn’t dare tell anybody around here in case it got back to Hilda.’
Josie tried again: ‘Dougie—’
‘I know what Dougie wants.’ Iris’s smile returned briefly, fondly. ‘I can read him like a book, I think. But – there’s never been anybody else, you know? And I’m frightened to trust him. Sailors – I’d see him for a day or two, or maybe a week or just a few hours, then he’d be off to sea again.’
Iris paused and Josie finally got in: ‘You needn’t be frightened. I’ll give you the fare to come up North, find you lodgings and a job.’
‘What?’ Iris stared in disbelief.
Josie repeated what she had said and they talked for a few minutes more. Then Iris said, ‘Oh, Lor’! I’d better get back.’
Josie fished in her bag and pressed coppers and silver into the girl’s hand. ‘That will pay your fare to King’s Cross station and you’ll find me there. I’m catching the ten o’clock train tomorrow morning.’
Iris looked dazed but the smile was back for good now. ‘All right. Ta. Tomorrow.’ Then she ran back to the shop.
Josie was at the station before ten the next day and Iris arrived there only minutes later, nervous but excited. She wore a shabby coat and dress and carried a handbag but had no luggage at all. ‘I couldn’t get nothing out o’ the house except a few little bits me mum left me and they’re in me bag.’ So they went shopping – hurriedly – and when they boarded the train the guard was blowing his whistle, but Iris carried a suitcase of her own filled with clothes. Josie was eager and happy.
They arrived at the Langley house in the dusk of a bitterly cold day. As their cab slowed to turn into the square, Josie saw another already at the front door. She called quickly, ‘Stop, cabbie!’
He reined in the horse. ‘What is it, missus?’
Tom Collingwood stood on the steps of the house in conversation with two gentlemen, marked out by their top hats. They were obviously on the point of leaving but Josie decided it might not be tactful to break in on their farewells. She called, ‘Turn around!’
So she and Iris got down at the back door of the house and walked into the kitchen. Annie and Kitty had their backs to the door, singing as they worked, and its opening went unnoticed. Little Charlotte stood by Annie’s legs, her chubby hand wrapped in Annie’s skirts. Josie remembered that she herself had stood just so in this kitchen twenty years ago. Then she saw the child’s face change.
Josie looked up and her heart lurched as she saw the giant in the doorway, cut black against the light behind him. Then she realised it was Tom Collingwood, come from the front of the house, and her heart missed another beat.
He crossed the kitchen to her in a second, long-striding, to grasp her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, and stooped to peer into her face. ‘For a moment you looked as if you’d seen a ghost.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Josie answered breathlessly. Thinking quickly, she made the excuse, ‘I think it was coming into the warm kitchen from the cold outside.’ And to distract him and give her a breathing space: ‘This is Iris Taylor. She’s going to run our shop in Dame Dorothy Street.’
Tom grinned at Iris. ‘Welcome.’ And to Josie, ‘So this was your “family business”.’
‘Yes.’ Josie felt a blush rising under Tom’s stare. But then Charlotte was pulling at her while Annie and Kitty were both talking at once, taking coats, putting on the kettle. Tom retreated to the door and Josie was aware of him there, no longer a threat from her past. She was laughing happily. He nodded, smiling, and strode away along the hall. It was good to be home again.