To Turn Full Circle

by Linda Mitchelmore

  A thousand thoughts were fighting for space in Emma’s mind. She felt faint with the weight of them. She didn’t think Matthew Caunter was capable of murder. After all, he’d been kind to her, letting her sleep in the bed while he slept in a chair. And he’d mended her book. Given her soap as a present, even if he had no use for it himself.

  ‘Did you take that necklace from around Sophie Ellison’s neck before you called on Dr Shaw?’

  ‘No, Constable.’

  ‘Did Dr Shaw remove it and give it to you?’

  ‘No.’

  Emma trembled, afraid her legs were going to go from under her. She was telling the truth – but would the constable believe her?

  He began rifling amongst the things Emma had tipped from the bag – a nightdress of her mama’s, the hem embroidered with purple irises; a photograph of her parents on their wedding day; three gold sovereigns in a soft leather pouch; a copy of the Book of Common Prayer, well thumbed. And a key with a plaited length of black embroidery thread hanging from it. Emma herself had plaited that thread. Made it as a present for her Papa to hang his key from the hook inside the back door. The back-door key to Shingle Cottage. Had Matthew put that in the bag? So that she could go to Shingle Cottage if she had nowhere else to go? He had said she could come back if she needed to.

  Emma felt sick to her stomach watching the constable’s fat and rather grubby fingers pawing at her possessions. If only she’d looked in the bag earlier. Three sovereigns sounded like a fortune to her now. If the constable didn’t arrest her for stealing the amethyst necklace from around Sophie’s neck then she’d have enough to stop in a hotel for a night or two.

  Constable Jeffery laid a hand on the necklace and slid it across the table towards Reuben Jago. ‘Is this the same necklace stolen from your bureau, Sir?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I didn’t steal it!’ Emma shouted. ‘I haven’t been in this house a day yet. I only know where my room and the kitchen are. I don’t know what room your bureau is in. And I didn’t take it from around Sophie Ellison’s neck, either. I …’

  ‘Quiet, Miss,’ Constable Jeffery ordered. ‘Neither of us has suggested you took it from anywhere, have we?’

  ‘Well, no …’

  ‘My question was directed at Mr Jago and whether this is the necklace taken from his bureau.’

  ‘By Sophie?’ Emma said. ‘If she was seen wearing it …’

  ‘I’ll say it one more time, Miss. Quiet. I’m conducting this enquiry, not you.’

  ‘But I want to know how Mr Jago got my mama’s necklace.’ Emma felt hot and clammy and fired up with anger. She wasn’t sure she wanted the truth, but she had to have it.

  ‘Answer her Mr Jago, Sir,’ the constable said.

  ‘It was given me by your dear mother’s own fair hand. In lieu of rent …’

  ‘I don’t believe you. She’d never have given away my papa’s necklace.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Reuben Jago said. ‘That’s how I came by it.’

  ‘Your word against mine,’ Emma snapped. She knew with every word she said she was probably digging herself into a hole, but if she didn’t stand up for herself and her mama’s reputation, who would?

  ‘Enough, Miss,’ the constable said

  ‘Well, Emma,’ Reuben Jago said, ‘we both know, you and I, who gave you those things, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said.

  ‘Then tell the constable who it was.’

  ‘Mr Caunter,’ Emma said. She felt like a traitor – she just couldn’t believe he was capable of murder.

  ‘Time to speak to Caunter, then, don’t you think, Mr Jago?’ the constable asked.

  ‘You’ll have to wait. He’ll be at sea three days.’

  ‘I’m a patient man,’ Constable Jeffery said. And then he picked up the amethyst necklace and handed it to Reuben Jago. ‘Yours I think, Sir.’

  ‘It is …’ Emma began, but the constable put up a hand to stop her flow of words.

  ‘I’ll leave you to deal with this feisty little piece, Sir.’

  And then Constable Jeffery made his farewells and left.

  The second he was out of the house Emma squared up to Reuben Jago. ‘That necklace is by rights mine, Mr Jago. And I want it back.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. And you can want on. But I’ll tell you one thing, I want you out of this house. Now. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.’ He leaned towards her, his face almost touching hers. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to collect your things from your room and go, Emma. I’m going into the drawing-room and I don’t want to see you here when I come back out again.’

  ‘I’m going,’ Emma said, and ran from the room.

  But three days? Emma’s heart began to lift from somewhere around her boots to its rightful place. Matthew Caunter was going to be away for three days and she had a key to Shingle Cottage.

  She’d use one of the sovereigns to buy food on the way so she wouldn’t have to go in and out and risk being seen until Matthew came back. Three days would give her time to get a bit of strength back. And the minute Matthew returned, she’d be gone again – he wouldn’t even know she’d been there.

  But first, she’d go to the cemetery and speak to her mama.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m making such a mess of things, Mama,’ Emma said. ‘Trouble seems to be courting me at the moment. I might have to move away to find work and somewhere to live, although I don’t want to. And I’ll get your amethyst necklace back one day, you just see if I don’t.’

  It gave Emma comfort to say her thoughts out loud – she could imagine her mama really was listening. She sat on the damp grass beside the grave hugging her knees, her carpet bag now bulging with things beside her. She felt sad about not telling Beattie Drew she was leaving, but even though Emma had called her name on the landing and looked in the kitchen, she’d been nowhere to be seen. Thank goodness Carter and Miles hadn’t been around. She’d have liked to have been able to say goodbye to Seth, though. But he hadn’t been in the house, either.

  And where the cook was, Emma had had no idea. Out marketing like Florrie had been perhaps.

  ‘And when I’ve got enough money I’ll get a headstone for you and Johnnie. And one for Papa, too. And I’ll make you proud of me one day.’

  Emma hung her head and said a prayer. She wished with all her heart that it had been possible for her mama and Johnnie to have been buried in the same grave as her papa, but it just hadn’t been – something to do with earth that hadn’t settled properly in her papa’s grave, seeing as he’d only been buried six weeks before her mama and Johnnie.

  Emma raised her head from her prayer and her thoughts and looked around for something to put the flowers in she’d picked from the lane – some primroses and a few dog violets and some green stuff that was glossy that she thought would turn into arums later on.

  Ah, a metal pot lying abandoned. She’d use that. The water tap wasn’t far.

  It was as she was walking back with the pot full of water, her flowers loosely arranged, that she saw Seth. The click of the gate had made her look up and there he was – looking directly towards her.

  ‘Emma.’ Seth raised a hand in greeting, smiled shyly, and began walking towards her. He had a bunch of narcissi wrapped in brown paper hanging from his other hand. As though he was embarrassed to be carrying flowers.

  ‘They’re for my mother,’ Seth said, bringing the flowers to waist height in front of him. A barrier between them. ‘I expect you’re on the same mission.’

  ‘Yes. Only I couldn’t afford to buy flowers, so I’ve taken mine from the hedgerow.’

  A lie. She had three sovereigns in her bag, didn’t she?

  ‘They’re just as lovely, Emma,’ Seth said. ‘It’s not the cost of the flowers, but the reason behind bringing them, t
hat matters.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Emma said. She began to walk towards her mama’s and Johnnie’s grave, hoping that Seth would go away. But he didn’t – he followed her.

  ‘And I’m going to get a headstone carved when I’ve earned enough money, Seth. And one for my papa over there.’ She pointed to where her papa’s grave was sighted, crammed in with the relatives of other people who couldn’t afford headstones either – they were just mounds of grass, cut three times a year by old Harry Truscott, and only then if he wasn’t drunk.

  Emma bent to place her pot of flowers, some of the water spilling onto the grass. ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not. But you’re running away, aren’t you?’ With the toe of his boot, Seth tapped Emma’s carpet bag.

  ‘Don’t you kick my bag.’

  ‘I’m not kicking it,’ Seth said, reasonably enough. ‘I was merely noticing that you seem to have your bag with you and it’s a lot fuller than it was a few days ago when you left it outside Shingle Cottage and went to bawl my father out.’

  ‘And he deserved the bawling, Seth.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’s treated you abominably. As he treats most people. I’m ashamed to be his son sometimes. But you are running away, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve left Hilltop House, yes,’ Emma said. ‘There’s the evidence. You’ve seen it for yourself.’ She pointed to her bag. Seth didn’t need telling his pa had thrown her out, he’d find out soon enough. Just thinking about Mr Jago with her mama’s amethyst necklace in his hand was making her feel sick – the less she said the better, and the sooner she could get back to Shingle Cottage was more to the better, too.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Emma said, praying Seth wouldn’t detect a lie. ‘But before I do go, I want to say thank you for suggesting I put the back of the chair against the door handle. I did hear it rattle a couple of times before I fell asleep.’

  Seth shrugged, said nothing.

  ‘And it was you who put a hot brick in my bed to warm it, wasn’t it?’

  Seth nodded. ‘It can be cold at the top of the house,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t have to leave. I would have looked out for you. Kept you safe from my brothers I mean. Because I don’t have a skinful of ale most of the time, I’m faster, more accurate in a fight, if it should come to that.’

  Was Seth saying he would have fought his brothers for her? Seth had been looking right into her eyes as he spoke. The way he looked at her was making Emma’s stomach flip. Not nerves – something else she couldn’t put a name to.

  ‘I still couldn’t stay, Seth,’ Emma said.

  ‘Well, I wish you weren’t going,’ Seth said. ‘You were the best thing to come into our house for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, Seth,’ Emma said, her eyes beginning to puddle with tears. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say. But I’ve got to go. You do understand?’

  Seth nodded. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he said. ‘Where will you go? I could come and see you sometimes perhaps …’

  ‘No, Seth. You’ll always be a Jago and I’ll always be a Le Goff and, and …’

  And then Emma couldn’t say any more. She couldn’t tell him she was going to let herself in to Shingle Cottage now she knew Matthew Caunter wouldn’t be there for a few days, could she?

  ‘If you think my pa would object to me seeing you, then I’ll stand up to him.’

  ‘And he’d throw you out for doing it,’ Emma said.

  ‘I’d face that if it came to it, Emma. But you could let me carry that bag to the station. If that’s where you’re going?’

  ‘No! I’m not going to the station.’

  ‘Where, then?’

  There was a lump in Emma’s throat that was becoming increasingly difficult to swallow. Seth was standing before her, the flowers still held in front of him, telling her he’d miss her, that he’d stand up to his father over her, and she had just realised that she would miss his kindness and his gentleness, too.

  ‘I’ll bring flowers for my parents and Johnnie sometimes,’ she said. ‘So, if you’re here bringing flowers for your mother then maybe I’ll see you here?’

  Emma had to look away from Seth as she spoke because there was such sadness in his eyes and all she wanted to do was kiss those eyes and kiss the sadness away. And how very inappropriate that would be in a cemetery.

  ‘Here, Emma, take these,’ Seth said, thrusting the narcissi towards her. ‘I can buy some more for my mother.’

  ‘No, I …’ Emma began as she caught the sweet scent of the flowers.

  ‘Please, Emma. I want you to have them. Take them with you wherever it is you are going. God only knows you deserve pretty things. Who else is there to spoil you, except me?’

  ‘Seth!’

  Olly. Olly Underwood. Seth didn’t really want to see Olly at this moment, even though they’d been best friends since school days, with never a falling out. He was still burning with anger at his father for throwing Emma out – and all over a necklace his pa had that had belonged to Rachel Le Goff. Given in lieu of rent, his pa had said. A likely story. No doubt it had been taken along with other things from Shingle Cottage when his pa had ordered it to be cleared. Something pretty he could hang, some day, around the neck of some girl young enough to be his daughter, that he hadn’t had to pay for. But thank goodness Emma had been believed when she’d denied stealing it. Poor Emma. The very least he could do was make sure she had some money so she could get a room somewhere for a night or two. If he could find her.

  Seth turned to greet Olly, shake his hand.

  ‘Where are you off to at such a pace?’ Olly asked.

  Seth shrugged.

  Olly tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, an assignation?’

  ‘Not the sort you’re thinking of.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s fired you up. I had the Devil’s own job catching up with you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Seth said, ‘you’ve seen Emma Le Goff about, have you?’

  ‘Emma the orphan?’

  ‘You make that sound like an affliction. Being an orphan isn’t a nice position to be in, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Oooh, am I detecting a tender heart in that direction?’

  ‘Give over, Olly,’ Seth said, well aware he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. ‘Dr Shaw got Pa to take her in but now he’s thrown her out.’

  ‘And you wish he hadn’t?’

  ‘Selfishly so, yes. But for her own safety with my brothers being as they are …’

  ‘She’s better off out of there,’ Olly finished for him. ‘Where do you think she might have gone?’

  ‘I couldn’t hazard a guess,’ Seth said. ‘I’m on the way to the station to see if the stationmaster or the guard or anyone saw her get on a train, and if so where she might have got a ticket to.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you. But before you go … I don’t suppose you’d come and work for me, Seth? Percy Adams has gone down with consumption. Not likely to get better, either. I thought I’d ask you first before putting word about I need a hand. I know fishing’s not engraved on your heart the way it is on your pa’s and your brothers’.’

  ‘How well you know me,’ Seth said. He would much prefer to work for Olly in his boatbuilding business but knew his loyalty – for the time being – had to be to his pa. ‘And I’m sorry about Percy Adams. But to answer your question – no, not at the moment, but thanks for asking.’

  ‘Let me know if ever you change your mind. A pint in The Crabshell later?’

  Seth hesitated.

  Olly seized on the hesitation. ‘You might have other fish to fry? If you find Emma?’

  Seth gave Olly a friendly slap on the shoulder and went
on his way.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Seth asked – rather out of breath from the swift walk up the very steep hill.

  ‘Certain,’ the ticket clerk told him. ‘Been here all the time and no one came in here yesterday answering that description and carrying a carpet bag.’

  ‘Today then? I’ll make it worth your while to tell.’

  Seth dug deep in his pocket and found a half-crown. He slapped it down on the counter. He’d already been to see the carrier and Emma hadn’t booked a space on his cart, either.

  ‘Can’t take that under false pretences. I don’t lie. It’s the Le Goff girl you’re talking about, isn’t it?’ Before Seth could admit it was, or deny otherwise, the ticket clerk went on. ‘Rumours spread faster in the pubs around here than fire does through a hayrick. Your pa threw Emma Le Goff off his property, and now she’s gone you’re all lovesick for her. Am I right?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ Seth snapped.

  ‘’Cos you look like you’ve lost a £5 note and found a farthing. Why else would you be asking for her if you’re not sweet on her?’

  ‘I just want to know she’s all right.’

  ‘That and lovesick, lad,’ the ticket clerk said. ‘Good riddance to her, though, I’d say. Who wants a daughter of a suicide about the place? If I …’

  Seth reached across the counter and grabbed the man’s collar. Not tight enough to make the man cough and splutter but firmly enough to let him know that Seth wasn’t liking what he’d just heard.

  ‘That’s gossip. Women’s talk. And I don’t want to hear another word.’

  The ticket clerk grappled to free himself from Seth’s grasp. ‘Take that bliddy half-crown and go and get yourself a skinful of ale and forget all about her. She’ll likely break your heart, that one. Too beautiful for her own good. Too tainted, too. Spent the night with that new fisherman your pa’s hired, so I’ve heard.’

  ‘Well, un-hear it,’ Seth yelled at him. ‘Like I said, talk like that is women’s talk. Do you understand me?’

  The ticket clerk had the decency to blush.

  ‘I won’t tell what I know,’ Seth said, ‘if you don’t repeat the lies you think you’ve heard. Are we clear?’ It was fairly common knowledge that it wasn’t women’s bodies the clerk was after in the bars around the town.