Emma: There's No Turning Back

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Emma said, her voice so quiet Seth couldn’t be entirely sure he’d heard her right. She turned around to face him.

  ‘You’ve got something to tell me?’

  Emma nodded, sucking on her bottom lip. She took a deep breath, in through her nose, but didn’t let it out again.

  ‘What?’

  Emma clasped her hands together in front of her. Her shoulders hunched, and she seemed to be trying to make herself smaller somehow as she took in yet more air. He noticed the muscles of her stomach tighten. And then she let her breath out again and her words came out in such a rush Seth felt they were blowing him backwards.

  ‘Matthew Caunter’s been writing to me. From America. I didn’t ask him to and I’ve only written back once, after he told me his wife had left him. For another woman. She’s taken their son with her and Matthew was heartbroken. You do understand I had to do that? Imagine if Fleur was taken again and she never came back.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Seth snapped at her. He often woke in the night, drenched in sweat from some dreadful dream, that just such a thing had happened; dreams he never told Emma about. But Caunter back on the scene? Albeit by letter. ‘I still don’t think you ought to have written to him.’

  ‘Well, I did, Seth,’ Emma said. She had her arms folded in front of her waist now. ‘I told him not to write to me again, but he did. Ruby’s been bringing the letters because he’s been sending them to Nase Head House, expecting me still to be there. But stupidly, when I wrote to say how sorry I was he wouldn’t be seeing his son any more, I put this address on it. And a letter came here yesterday. It was in the tray. I saw it on the top when I went out to the bakery. So I took it. But I didn’t read it. I burned it without opening it. Oh, Seth, I can’t keep this from you any more. The subterfuge and the lies will only pile up,’ Emma said. ‘You don’t deserve for me to do that to you.’

  Seth shrugged. So he’d been right. There had been seven letters on the mat yesterday. Whatever it was he thought might be wrong with Emma, he hadn’t been expecting to hear this. He was beginning to regret spending so much money on the flowers now. Already the over-cloyingly sweet smell of them was making him feel sick.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Mr Seth?’ Ruby hissed between her teeth. Her eyes were wide and round and terrified as she scuttled up to him in the foyer of Nase Head House – shoulders hunched, arms twisted in front of her as though she was desperately trying to disappear. ‘What are you doing ’ere?’ She untangled her arms and flapped them around in a demented way, much as seagulls flap their wings when they’re fighting over a scrap of food. ‘Does Mr Smythe know you’re ’ere?’

  ‘He’s out. I saw Tom in the garden and he told me so. It’s you I’ve come to see. Where can we go to speak in private? And you don’t have to call me Mr Seth. Just Seth will do. You’re not my servant. And I’m your friend’s husband.’

  A lie, but Ruby wasn’t to know that. At least he hoped Emma hadn’t been unwise enough to tell Ruby that she and Seth weren’t legally married because what might the girl do or say in an unguarded moment?

  Seth had marched in through the front door of Nase Head House like a man possessed. Emma had told him she didn’t know Caunter’s address because she’d burned his letters and not made a note of it. She said he could search every single drawer in the house if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He believed her. He had to. But he had to let Caunter know beyond any doubt that he didn’t want him writing to Emma, ever again.

  So now he was here to see Ruby. The florid-faced chap on reception had nearly choked when Seth had given his name and said he wanted to see Ruby Chubb. But a sovereign coin slid across the desk towards him ensured that Ruby was sent for.

  ‘Whatever I call you, I’ll get the big ’eave-’o if Mr Smythe knows you’re ’ere. What’s wrong? Is it Emma?’

  ‘Mr Smythe isn’t going to know because I’ve paid him’ – Seth jerked a thumb towards the man on reception – ‘not to know. And Emma’s fine. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Aw gawd,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ve got a feelin’ in me innards – like ’ow it grumbles when I oughtn’t to ’ave ate so many iced buns – I know what it is you’ve come about.’

  ‘And I’ve got a feeling you’re right. Now, where can we go?’

  ‘In the dinin’ room,’ Ruby said. ‘I’m supposed to be settin’ it up fer a luncheon, not that it’s my job to do that, but wouldn’t you know there’s two who think this is part-time work they’re doing ’ere, the way they’m always going sick. I—’

  ‘Lead the way,’ Seth said.

  Ruby skittered across the foyer and into the dining room as though the hounds of hell were after her.

  Seth shut the door firmly behind them.

  ‘I ’ope you ain’t given Emma an ’ard time over them letters. ’Er didn’t want ’em and that’s the truth – well ’er ’ad one or two, but the rest’s in me room. ’Er said not to bring ’em over,’ Ruby blurted out.

  So Emma had told the truth – Ruby was keeping Caunter’s letters. The poor girl was shaking.

  ‘I believe her. But you’ve got some here and I’d like you to give them to me.’

  Ruby stopped shaking and stiffened up. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and tucked her hands under her armpits. ‘I ain’t doing that. They ain’t your letters. They’re Emma’s. Got ’er name on an’ all. Well, the one she ’ad before she married you. It should be obvious Mr Caunter only wrote ’em ’cos ’e didn’ know Emma had married you. So you see, I can’t give ’em to you.’

  Grudgingly, Seth could only admire Ruby’s honesty and loyalty to a friend. He thought for a moment.

  ‘Could you take them to Emma?’

  ‘No, ’er said ’er never wanted ’em. I got to abide by what ’er said.’

  ‘So why are you keeping them?’ Seth asked, clutching at straws now.

  ‘Gawd, but men are daft sometimes, aren’t they? ’Tis a woman’s perry ogatiff to change ’er mind.’

  The smile Seth didn’t want to give came anyway at Ruby’s amusing mispronunciation of ‘prerogative’. ‘Can we strike a compromise?’

  ‘Strike what you like as long as it ain’t Emma, but I ain’t givin’ them to you.’

  Ruby pressed her lips together so hard it looked, to Seth, as though she might have swallowed them.

  ‘Could you copy out Caunter’s address and let me have it?’ Seth asked. He slipped a hand inside his jacket pocket and extracted his wallet. He opened it as Ruby watched, wide-eyed.

  ‘’An ’ow would I be doin’ that seein’ as I can’t read nor write? Well, not much I can’t. It were Mr Bell what told me there was a letter addressed to Emma and I said I’d take it to ’er. So I know what ’er name looks like written down now, don’t I?’

  Seth opened his wallet and pulled out a £5 note. A crisp new one. He’d especially asked for new notes at the bank with which to tempt her. He had three more waiting if Ruby refused this one.

  ‘And you can put that back where it came from. You ain’t buying me off. Emma would be outer-raged, absolutely outer-raged, if she knew you was doing that. I’ve arranged to see ’er tomorrow on me ’alf-day and I’m goin’ to tell ’er what you’ve said. ’Er’ll be outer-raged.’

  Again, Seth had to suppress a smile – no wonder Emma loved Ruby’s company so, with the funny way she had of saying things. There was a charm in being as badly educated as Ruby. But pride, too. And loyalty.

  Seth decided not to insult her by offering more money. He put the £5 note back in his wallet. He’d have to find out Caunter’s address by another route. Caunter had been a friend of Smythe’s, so the man would probably have his address. It had to be on the premises somewhere. And the man on the reception desk wouldn’t have the strong scruples about being paid for information he ought not to give, that Ruby had.

  Emma was dreading Ruby’s visit. Seth had told her – almost verbatim, she was sure of it – about his visit to Nase Head Hou
se and his exchange with Ruby. Now Ruby would soon be here, to keep an eye on Fleur while Emma continued with her quest to find the perfect bûche de Noël recipe, and there was a churning in Emma’s stomach like a pot of stock boiling. Seth hadn’t gone back to work after lunch yet. She had a feeling he was waiting for Ruby.

  It wasn’t long before Ruby marched into the bakery, slamming shut the door against the wind. She was holding a bundle of letters in her hand.

  ‘Are you going to throw this lot in that gurt oven of yours, or am I?’ Ruby said without preamble. ‘They’m like poison now your Seth knows about ’em. I didn’t give ’em to ’im, though, never mind ’e tried to bribe me!’

  ‘I know. He told me. Thank you for being such a true and loyal friend. He told me about that, too. Oh,’ Emma said, as she saw Seth walk past the window. ‘Here he is now.’

  Ruby’s hands began to shake, the letters flapping like leaves in a breeze.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Emma said. ‘Seth won’t be cross with you.’ She walked to the door to let Seth in, show she was glad to see him. She knew what she had to do now.

  ‘Ruby,’ Seth said, with a nod of acknowledgement.

  ‘They’m ’ere,’ Ruby’s hands shook even more now as she clutched the letters close to her chest. ‘All of ’em in case you’m wonderin’, and you’ll ’ave to take my word fer it.’

  ‘I do,’ Seth said.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ Emma said. She held out her hands for the letters.

  ‘’Er ain’t read ’em, Seth,’ Ruby said, ‘’Onest.’

  ‘I said I believe you,’ Seth said. He turned to Emma. ‘And you. I was going to ask that oaf on the reception desk—’

  ‘Old Frosty Drawers?’ Ruby interrupted. ‘You don’t want to tell him nothin’.’

  ‘I didn’t tell him anything, Ruby,’ Seth said, with a sigh. ‘If you’ll let me finish I was going to say I was going to ask him for Caunter’s address, but decided against it. The fewer people who know our business the better it will be.’

  ‘Well, Tom knows,’ Ruby said. ‘Only ’e won’t tell ’cos ’e knows ’e won’t be gettin’ any more you-know-what with me if ’e do.’

  ‘Ruby!’ Emma said. ‘This is no time for jokes.’

  ‘It id’n a joke, Em. It’s bribery. Men can be so daft sometimes, can’t they?’

  ‘The letters,’ Emma said, choosing not to comment. She held out her hands, palm upwards.

  Slowly, Ruby unclasped her arms and proffered the letters.

  And in one swift movement Emma snatched them, rushed over to the oven, yanked on the iron door and threw the whole lot into the flames.

  There, the letters had gone and with Ruby, once more, as witness.

  And that should be the end of that. But would it be? The letters had gone but Matthew was coming to her in dreams now, every night. If only there was a place where unbidden dreams could go.

  Still, she saw relief lighten Seth’s eyes, and he smiled.

  ‘Right, my lady, there’s … somethin’ botherin’ … you the way ’ot weather bothers … a dog. What … is it?’

  Beattie’s voice was weak and her breathing laboured and the sentence had taken twice as long to come out as it would have done before her illness. But Emma knew she was stupid to think she could hide anything from her. Things might have reverted to how they’d always been between her and Seth this past fortnight, since she’d burned all Matthew’s letters, but still Emma’s mind was troubled.

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ Emma said.

  The truth, but not the truth Beattie was alluding to.

  Emma watched as Beattie took a vial of something from the bedside cabinet and swallowed it. She expected Beattie to remonstrate with her for evading the question, but she didn’t. It was as though Beattie was waiting for whatever had been in the vial to give her strength.

  Beattie had been in the cottage hospital for three weeks now and each time Emma visited she could see her slipping further away from her. Beattie was hardly bigger than a ten-year-old lying under the thin coverlet now, her once large bosoms shrunk and the skin on her chest shrivelled like dried up plums. Beattie’s usually florid cheeks were paler than milk, and her eyes watery. Oh to have Beattie well again and clutching Fleur to those bosoms so tight that Emma was often alarmed she’d smother the child.

  ‘You’m … worried?’ she said at last. ‘I’m worried … and … my Edward’s worried. ’E … can’t so much … as … boil an egg … proper. An’ ’e’s afraid … ’e’ll ’ave … to before too … long.’ Again, it took a long time for her to get the words out.

  Emma couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that so instead she began smoothing out the coverlet on Beattie’s hospital bed. All the coverlets on the ward were a nauseous shade of green and it crossed her mind that patients might feel better if they were a brighter colour: even beige would have been an improvement.

  ‘Don’t say such things,’ Emma managed to say eventually.

  ‘And don’t you go … evadin’ … the question. I … asked …’

  Emma froze inside as Beattie was overcome by another bout of coughing. She reached for the kidney bowl and held it in front of Beattie’s mouth and did her best not to look when the bowl was spattered with blood. But she’d seen. And she knew what it meant.

  A nurse looked up from a patient she was tending and shook her head sadly at Emma, confirmation that Beattie’s operation in the county hospital up in Exeter hadn’t been a success, if any were needed.

  Emma did the best she could wiping Beattie’s mouth and chin. She poured water from a jug into a glass and held it to Beattie’s lips.

  The woman was dying and they both knew it. Blood was seeping through the front of Beattie’s nightdress, despite the wound having been heavily dressed with lint and gauze after the operation to remove whatever it was had been in Beattie’s lungs.

  ‘Thank you, lovie. You’m a gem and … no mistake. I ’ope they ain’t goin’ to keep me ’ere long.’ A pause. A long, long pause. ‘I want to … die in me own bed like … any … sensible person would.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Emma said. She struggled to keep her tears behind her eyes. What use would she be to Beattie if she made her feel worse by crying?

  Beattie reached for Emma’s hand, clutched it in her skinny, claw-like fingers. How had Emma not noticed how thin Beattie had become in the weeks before Edward had come to the bakery to tell her his ma wouldn’t be coming in to work?

  ‘Now listen,’ Beattie said. ‘And no questions. No … interruptin’ like you usually do … neither. Understand?’

  Emma nodded.

  Beattie took as big a breath as she was able to manage. ‘They found ’alf a dozen gurt lumps, lovie,’ Beattie said, speaking slowly, but without the breaks in her words this time. It was as though she was dredging up strength from some unknown force and that frightened Emma.

  ‘Maybe—’ Emma began, but Beattie stopped her.

  ‘’Ush. It were bigger’n the turnips Farmer Yeo brings down to the market and they’m big enough. They found ’em when they opened me up, so they cut ’em out and stitched me up again. Not very neatly, I have to say. So, that’s me lot.’

  ‘Oh, no! Beattie, no! There must be something that can be done.’

  ‘There isn’.’

  Interrupting Emma so quickly made Beattie cough again. More blood. When she breathed in, very wheezily now, Emma went rigid with fright that she might never breathe out again.

  But the coughing and the wheezing subsided. Beattie was ready to speak again. ‘Trust me. Your Seth told the doctor he’d pay. For anythin’. Money ain’t goin’ to save me now.’

  Seth had done that? He hadn’t said. But I shouldn’t be surprised he has, should I? Emma thought. It was how Seth was. Generous and kind. Since the incident with the letters. he’d not mentioned them again, and had been just as loving to her as he’d always been.

  He’d put it behind him and Emma was struggling to do the same. And was hating her
self that she was finding it difficult.

  ‘So before I … pops … off, you’m goin’ to tell me … what it is that’s botherin’ you.’

  Am I? Emma thought. What could she say? Matthew writing to me has churned up all sorts of feelings I thought I’d forgotten? Thought I’d hidden deep inside me?

  ‘You’ve been … like a daughter to me. If the last …’ Beattie’s voice began to break and Emma wasn’t sure if it was with emotion or some other thing, like death, she didn’t really want to think about.

  ‘Ssh,’ Emma said. ‘Don’t weaken yourself.’

  ‘… the last voice,’ Beattie struggled on, as though Emma hadn’t spoken, ‘I ’eard on … on … this earth were yours, lovie, then … I’d die an ’appy woman.’

  ‘Oh, Beattie,’ Emma said. And the tears she’d been struggling to keep back spilled over and dampened the nauseous green sheet.

  A nurse came over and said Emma wasn’t to tire Beattie, and Beattie protested that she wanted to hear what it was Emma had to say and she wasn’t tired, but it had set off another bout of coughing, worse than the bout before and with more blood this time. The nurse filled a syringe with something and injected it in Beattie’s thigh and Emma had to turn away at the sight of Beattie’s scrawny leg, which seemed to be the same shade of green as the coverlet.

  A screen was dragged around Beattie’s bed to give them some privacy.

  So Emma did as Beattie asked. In a quiet voice so no one could overhear, she told. How the first time she’d seen Matthew her heart had almost jumped out of her chest because there’d been something about him, something that made her gravitate towards him when she knew she ought to have turned and run. And how she knew he had squashed down his feelings, too, because he had been married and she had been underage.

  She told Beattie about Matthew’s letters and Seth’s reaction to them, and how Ruby had been asked to put a match to any more that arrived at Nase Head House and how she’d said she would. So far no more had arrived and Emma said it felt almost disappointing that they hadn’t, and wasn’t she a horrible – disloyal to Seth – person for thinking that?