To Turn Full Circle

by Linda Mitchelmore

  Seth mumbled something Emma didn’t catch.

  ‘It’s not smuggled goods, is it?’ Emma said, all ready to hand it straight back to him if it was.

  ‘It came in on one of our boats, I can’t deny that. Our boats have to pull into French ports sometimes, Emma, if the weather turns and they’re too far from home to come back safely. They can be there for days sometimes. And they go ashore. Buy things.’

  ‘Is that the truth about this chocolate?’

  ‘I paid my brother, Miles, for it. Does that make it better for you? A more honest answer would be that I have my suspicions, but no real proof about what goes in and comes out of my pa’s boats.’

  ‘You mean smuggling, don’t you?’ Emma said.

  ‘Leave it, Emma. Best you get to sleep now. And you’d be wise to take my advice and pull a chair up to the door and ram the back of it under the handle.’

  And then he was gone. And Emma was left alone in the cold attic room and wondering if her papa had discovered something was going on – something he didn’t want to be part of; some sort of contraband goods racket. A sudden chill enveloped Emma that maybe Reuben Jago had left her papa to drown so he couldn’t go to the authorities. Would it serve any purpose to try and get the truth from Reuben Jago? She thought not.

  But she did as Seth had told her and placed the back of a chair under the door handle.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Emma! It’s me, Beattie Drew. Are you awake, lovie?’

  The door knob rattled and Beattie Drew knocked again. Emma rubbed sleep from her eyes – surprisingly, she’d slept well. As she shot bolt upright in the bed the thought hit her that seeing as Seth had suggested she put the chair against the door handle he had had no intention of foisting his attentions on her in the night. And that thought made her smile. She liked Seth. But maybe it would be better if she squashed down those feelings. He was a Jago, after all. And although she was now under the Jago roof, it hadn’t been her choice. No, she had nothing much to thank any of the Jagos for, did she?

  Beattie knocked again. ‘Emma, lovie, open the door.’

  Emma thought there was something approaching fear in Mrs Drew’s voice. Anxiety, at the very least. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

  She slid out of bed and grabbed the coat Dr Shaw’s wife had given her, and covered her near-nakededness. She’d had to sleep in her chemise and drawers, but she’d been warm enough – surprised to find a heated brick in her bed. Had Seth done that for her? She had a feeling he had.

  ‘Come on then, lovie, I’ve got work to do.’

  Emma dragged the chair away from the door. The legs scraping against the bare boards setting her teeth on edge, the way chalk had on a blackboard when she was at school.

  ‘Well, what a sight you are, and there’s no mistake.’ Beattie Drew bustled into the room, pulled back the curtains.

  Emma put a hand over her eyes to block out the low, bright, sunlight. What time was it?

  ‘I’ve brought a jug of hot water, lovie. It’s on the landing.’

  Mrs Drew scuttled out again, came back in holding the jug carefully as though it were a newborn. ‘What a to-do there is going on about that trollop, Sophie. Got no worse than she deserved. I …’

  ‘No one deserves to be murdered, Mrs Drew.’

  ‘I know. I know. And the devil take me for even thinking it. It’s the shock of it all making me say these things. I was only talking to her yesterday and now …’ Mrs Drew bit on her bottom lip. ‘Now, it won’t be doing any good to shed tears for Sophie, ’cos she didn’t worry about anyone else, that’s for sure. But better you get yourself washed while this water’s hot. Had to do it when Mr Jago weren’t looking, didn’t I? He don’t hold with lesser mortals having hot water. Oh no …’

  ‘Don’t get yourself in trouble on my account, Mrs Drew.’

  ‘And you think old Beattie Drew can’t get herself out of a bit of trouble?’ The older woman chuckled, put a finger to her lips intimating that they weren’t to make too much noise.

  ‘Mr Jago’s still around?’

  ‘He is, but he should be on his way soon. If he isn’t then he’ll miss the tide and he’ll have to pay off the crews and no fish to show for it to pay their wages.’

  Still feeling weak after her illness and no doubt all the trauma of the previous days’ events, Emma walked slowly over to the dressing-table. There was a set of silver-backed brushes and a comb neatly laid out like the rays of the sun in a child’s drawing. Were they Sophie’s? Had she used them before going out to her death? Emma bent to inspect the brushes. She couldn’t see any long, flame-red hairs that might have been Sophie’s. But still she didn’t want to use them just in case.

  ‘Get yourself tidied up, lovie. You can use them brushes you’m looking at like they’re going to bite. They weren’t Sophie’s, if that’s what you’re thinking. Seth got them from somewhere. His ma’s, I expect, God rest her soul. I was up here changing the bed and he came in and asked if there was anything else you might need. So I said you wouldn’t want to use the filthy brushes Sophie left behind. And off he went, came back with those.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said. For a fleeting moment she wondered if the brushes might be contraband, as the chocolate she hadn’t yet eaten more than likely was, but she dismissed the thought from her mind. She wasn’t going to let the Jago family make her suspicious of everything and everyone.

  ‘He’s a changeling that Seth, right and all he is,’ Beattie Drew said. She opened the bottom drawer of the dressing-table and pulled out a large towel – navy and beige stripes that Emma thought might once have been white. And a smaller coffee-coloured towel with a flower-sprigged trim. And a flannel. ‘Now, get that lovely hair of yours freshened up a bit.’

  She took a bar of soap from the pocket of her apron and handed it to Emma. Pink soap. It looked suspiciously like the very same pink soap that Emma had thrown at Mrs Phipps.

  ‘Just lather it up a little and finger a few suds over the top of your hair, rinse it off again with the flannel. There ain’t enough water here for you to wash the lot. You’ve got that much of it.’

  Emma put her hands behind her back.

  ‘Now come on, lovie, take it.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  Had Mrs Phipps given – or sold – it to Beattie Drew? And if it was either of those things then had she said that Emma had spent the night in Shingle Cottage with Matthew Caunter?

  ‘Found it. Down by the harbour. It had a bit of sand on it but I picked it off, gave it a bit of a wash. Beggars can’t be choosers, lovie.’

  ‘No,’ Emma said, ‘no, they can’t. Thank you. I’ll just use a little bit to wash and then I’ll leave it to dry off on the windowsill and you can have the rest of it back.’

  ‘No you won’t. You’ll keep it. And if you take my advice you’ll leave this place just as fast as you can. Good job you had that chair under the door knob, lovie, or those Jago boys …’

  ‘Seth told me to put it there,’ Emma said.

  Mrs Drew raised an eyebrow. ‘Did he then? I’ve still seen evidence of Jagos having been in that bed many a time, though, haven’t I? I’m not saying it were with poor dead Sophie Ellison, but there’s been maids here before her.’

  Emma didn’t know that she really needed to know all this. ‘Thank you for the hot water, but I won’t keep you from your work any longer.’

  ‘And that’s me dismissed, is it?’

  Emma felt herself blush. ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘’Course you didn’t. And I haven’t taken offence.’ Beattie Drew shook out the largest towel and laid it over the back of the chair. ‘Now get yourself tidied up.’

  ‘Mrs Drew,’ Emma said, ‘I don’t know what’s expected of me here. Dr Shaw said I was coming here to get my strength up. When I do, I’ll look for a job
and somewhere to live. But Carter and Miles called me a servant, and I don’t want to be …’

  ‘There’s lots we don’t want to be, but have to when circumstances dictate, lovie. You don’t suppose I want to be poor and have to wash out chamberpots to earn a crust ’cos my old man drinks most of what he earns at the quarry, do you?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘There you are then. But you’m doing nowt for a few days. The good doctor’s orders. He’s left money for your keep until circumstances change. Reuben Jago can well afford to keep you and after what he’s done to you, making you homeless and all, I think it’s his duty. But he’s taken the doctor’s money all the same, the greedy bugger.’

  Emma let Beattie Drew prattle on, glad of the company if she was honest, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say in return. She walked towards the window and stood staring at Nase Head House on the horizon, the far side of the harbour. It looked newly painted – the low morning sun striking the white paint almost blinding her. She knew Captain Godfrey had lived at Nase Head House alone since his wife had died. And his son, Arthur, before her – killed in the Boer War somewhere. Rumour had it that Captain Godfrey hadn’t been right in the head since. And rumour also had it that Arthur Godfrey had preferred men in his bed to women. But Emma knew what rumours were like – not a grain of truth in most of them.

  ‘There’s been some changes to Nase Head House since I last saw it. Not that I ever saw it much because I had no call to go up that side of town. And I’ve never seen it from here before,’ Emma said at last. ‘It’s been all painted up.’

  ‘I’ll say. Inside as well as out. You could go and work there, lovie – clever girl like you.’

  Emma shuddered. She didn’t fancy working for an elderly widower who was losing his marbles. And an ex-serviceman at that. He was bound to be particular. And old people smelled a bit, no matter how rich they were. There always seemed to be the smell of death hovering around old people – dust and decay. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could work for Captain Godfrey.’

  ‘Well, not now you can’t. He’s dead. Happened about the same time your pa … oh, I’m sorry, lovie. I …’ Beattie Drew’s voice trailed away.

  ‘It’s all right. You can say it.’

  Beattie Drew came over and placed an arm around Emma’s shoulder. ‘And your ma’s gone, too. She was beautiful, your ma was. And you’m going to be just as lovely.’

  ‘Don’t be nice to me, Mrs Drew,’ Emma said, swallowing back tears, ‘or I might cry.’

  Mrs Drew’s hold on Emma’s shoulder tightened.

  ‘Seems Captain Godfrey didn’t own Nase Head House. It belonged to his late wife’s brother. A fellow called Smythe. Rich as Croesus, he was, this Smythe fellow. Well, he went and died as well and it were left to his son up in London where he owns God knows what else as well – coffee houses, or fancy French cafés or summat like that. Anyway, this Mr Smythe – goes by the handle of Rupert, so I’ve heard – ’ev moved down here for the better air, so rumour has it. I …’

  ‘How do you know all these sort of things?’ Emma interrupted.

  Mrs Drew tapped the side of her nose. ‘No point cleaning for folks if you don’t find out a thing or two, is there? Eavesdropping some might call it but I call it keeping meself informed. I heard Mr Jago and Carter talking about it, didn’t I? Anyway, what I was saying before I got interrupted was, that this Mr Smythe is turning Nase Head House into a hotel, that’s what. About a dozen bedrooms and there’s no way I’d want to clean that lot. Going to be chandeliers and everything. And dancing with a band open to the public. And fancy cooking. Builders have almost done.’

  ‘Chandeliers?’ Emma said. ‘Dancing?’

  ‘Didn’t I just say? Now I’d better go or I’ll be looking for a job there an’ all.’

  Emma stood staring over at Nase Head House long after Mrs Drew had left the room. The sun was catching the windows on the upper storey and they sparkled like so many diamonds. The view from those windows had to better even than the one she had right at that moment. Maybe on a fine day you’d be able to see France. Roscoff. Her papa had come from Roscoff. Maybe she’d visit it one day.

  But for that she’d need money. Emma knew nothing about cleaning chandeliers or dancing, although she did know a little bit about cooking. But a hotel that size would surely need someone to organise everything, and run the reception desk. There was a big hotel in Torquay – The Grand – and Emma had glimpsed inside it once and seen a man standing behind a huge desk that looked like it must have taken a whole tree to make. She could start at the bottom doing cleaning – anything – and work her way up if it was going to be a means to an end, couldn’t she?

  ‘You can do that, Emma Le Goff,’ she whispered, her breath furring up on the glass of the window so that it looked as if she was seeing Nase Head House through a fine mist. ‘You can do that.’

  ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ Reuben Jago barked at Emma as she headed across the black-and-white tiles of the hallway towards the front door.

  ‘Out,’ Emma said.

  ‘Not through that door you’re not.’

  ‘But …’ Emma began, but was halted by someone clanging the door bell loudly.

  Mr Jago called for Beattie Drew to open the door, but Beattie didn’t respond.

  ‘You can open it,’ he told Emma.

  And I’ll be out of it as soon as I have, Emma thought. She walked towards the door, turned the knob.

  Matthew Caunter. He stood before her, a huge grin on his face, and a bundle of papers tied with string in his hands. A cloth bag dangled from the crook of his arm.

  ‘Just the girl I came to see,’ Matthew said.

  ‘Good morning, Caunter,’ Mr Jago said. ‘And I might remind you, seeing as you are in my employ, that the back door is your point of entrance to this house.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Matthew said, looking at Emma as he spoke.

  She had a feeling he wasn’t sorry at all.

  ‘State your business,’ Reuben Jago said.

  ‘I already have … Sir,’ Matthew said – just a little hesitation between the ‘have’ and the ‘Sir’. ‘I’ve come to see Miss Le Goff.’

  ‘Then you can see her around the back of the house. I was just pointing out to her, her place of entry and exit of my house. The servants’ entrance.’

  ‘Oh, I can see her well enough from where I stand, Mr Jago.’ Matthew turned towards Emma, held out the bundle of papers. ‘I found these in the outhouse when I was …’

  ‘Outhouse?’ Reuben Jago interrupted. ‘I thought I’d ordered that to be cleared.’

  ‘Seems those orders weren’t obeyed then, doesn’t it?’ Matthew said. ‘There wasn’t much in there anyway, beyond this and some tools and some half-used packets of seeds. Perhaps whoever it was you gave your orders to didn’t think it worth his effort clearing it.’

  ‘Could you continue this conversation elsewhere?’ Reuben Jago said.

  Emma could see he was discomfited and that Matthew was enjoying being the instigator of that discomfort.

  Matthew removed the bag from the crook of his arm and placed it on top of the papers. ‘This, too, is rightly yours.’

  But still Emma didn’t take it from him.

  ‘Enough!’ Reuben Jago said. ‘Take it all to your room, Emma. And you can forget about going anywhere today. You can stay here and help Mrs Drew.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Emma said. ‘Dr Shaw said I wasn’t to do physical work for a few days and he’s paid you so I don’t have to.’

  Emma heard Matthew laugh, and Mr Jago clear his throat as though he had something to say and plenty of it.

  ‘You’ve got a boat going out I understand, Mr Jago, Sir,’ Matthew said, taking advantage, no doubt, of Reuben Jago’s disconcertion. ‘And as pleasant as it is
looking at the lovely Miss Le Goff, we’ll miss the tide if we don’t move quickly. Sir.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me how to run my fleet,’ Mr Jago said.

  ‘Again, my apologies,’ Matthew said. ‘Your papers, Miss Le Goff. And some things which I think might have been your mother’s.’

  He held the papers and the bag towards Emma and this time she took them. A look passed between them and Emma had the feeling there was more to Matthew Caunter than met the eye. The way he spoke for a start – the way she did, not with a dropped ‘h’ the way most locals spoke.

  ‘Don’t get into trouble on account of me, Mr Caunter,’ she whispered.

  ‘I have no intention of it,’ Matthew whispered back. Then he turned his full attention to Mr Jago. ‘I’d best be off to see to my duties, Sir.’

  ‘We’d both best be off,’ Reuben Jago said. ‘You’ve wasted enough of my time already.’

  Emma watched the men go. At the gate Matthew turned to look back at her.

  ‘Enjoy your walk,’ he called.

  And Emma felt a smile spread through her – Matthew, at least, had got her mettle.

  Emma didn’t want to be in the house a moment longer. It was another glorious, unseasonably warm, April morning. The vision of Seth with his shirt off painting Shingle Cottage came to her mind. How unfair life was sometimes. Men could bare their chests and no one minded, but when women went out they had to wear their blouses buttoned to the neck, and their skirts to their ankles, and a hat at all times. Sometimes Emma wished she’d been born in Regency times when the women wore their dresses practically off their bosoms showing the creamy flesh of their necks that men dropped kisses on.

  ‘And that’s enough of drifting off into flights of romantic fancy,’ Emma said into fresh air.

  She held the bundle of things Matthew had given her in one hand and with the other rammed the blue felt hat that Dr Shaw’s wife had given her on her head, and marched down the front steps of Hilltop House.