To Turn Full Circle

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘Matthew’s been spying from here, hasn’t he?’ Emma said.

  ‘Best if I don’t answer that, Emma, and best if you don’t mention what you think has been going on here to anyone. Anyone at all,’ Mr Smythe said. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘Thank you. Thank you for letting me stay.’

  ‘Pleased to be of help. Now I must go. You should be comfortable enough here for the moment.’

  Yes, she’d be comfortable – more than. She’d dreamed of being at Nase Head House one day, but by her own endeavours – not like this.

  ‘Seth?’

  Mrs Drew was sitting on a chair in the hall as he let himself in. A candle guttered in its holder on the side table. No matter how many times he told Mrs Drew she could leave the lights on, she didn’t – she said she was afraid the new-fangled electricity would leak out if no one was around to keep an eye on it.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Seth said. He wondered why she was.

  ‘And don’t I know it. But Cook took to her bed this afternoon with a migraine, so I stayed on in case Mr Reuben or your brothers needed anything when they came back home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Seth said. ‘But I’m sure they can all rise to cutting a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese if they want it.’

  Seth stifled a yawn. He’d only had a couple of pints with Olly, but the alcohol seemed to have gone straight to his head. The sooner he could get to bed the better. He ought to escort Mrs Drew home safely before he did, though.

  ‘I’ll see you to your cottage, Mrs Drew.’

  ‘Not yet. You haven’t heard, have you?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Police and Customs and God knows who else – and He won’t tell – have been here. Cook got out of bed fast enough when ’er heard the commotion, didn’t ’er? Nearly fainted and all. ’Er ran off down the road to get that useless lump of a gardener your pa employs, Tom, out of bed and they came back here. By that time, the maid came down wanting to know what the din was about. After the Customs people, or whoever they were, had gone they began bellowing for their money. Well, I didn’t know anything about that, did I? So they took some silver apiece in lieu of wages they don’t think they’re going to get and buggered off. Excuse my French, but I didn’t want you to think we’d all left …’

  Seth stopped listening, went on through to the drawing-room, flicked on the light and saw that indeed some silver was missing from the dresser. Drawers had been opened and papers rifled through. What hadn’t been taken away was lying on the floor or on chairs and tables. Mrs Drew came scurrying in.

  ‘They’ve been down the cellar and up the attic, too, poking their noses into everything. There weren’t nothing there they was after, though. I tried to stop them, Seth, honest I did.’ Mrs Drew sniffed back tears.

  ‘I’m sure you did.’

  ‘They said they had authority. Waved a bit of paper at me. I couldn’t argue with that. I had to stand by and watch ’em. I didn’t make them no tea, though.’

  Seth couldn’t stop a smile from coming. Mrs Drew was fighting his corner, as always. He put an arm around her – she’d tried, in her way, to take the place of his ma and he loved her for that.

  ‘And none of them’s come back yet – your Pa, nor your brothers, I mean. I expect they’ve been arrested or summat.’

  ‘Seems like it,’ Seth said. Thank God he’d refused to sign the accounts.

  ‘Will they come for you, Seth?’ Mrs Drew said.

  Seth saw real fear in her eyes that they might.

  ‘No doubt I’ll be asked a lot of questions but I would think if they wanted me then someone would have been posted outside to wait for my return.’

  ‘That’s a mercy, then. ’Ere, I’ve had a thought. D’you think Emma’s had a hand in this? I know Carter tried, you know, to kiss her and that. Or worse …’

  ‘Can you forget you know that, Mrs Drew?’

  He didn’t think Emma would have reported the attack – and if she had, who would have believed her? – but he didn’t want her name said in the same sentence as his pa’s and his brothers’.

  ‘Forgotten already, ain’t I? Now, we could both be doing with a mug of hot chocolate, I’d say. With a tot of brandy in it, seeing as there won’t be any more coming in, looks like.’ Mrs Drew smiled warily at Seth. ‘I suppose we’re all guilty if we’ve ate things and drunk things if they’m dishonestly come by?’

  ‘But we don’t know they were,’ Seth said, smiling. ‘So make that two tots of brandy apiece in the chocolate. We’re going to need it.’

  Where was Emma at this moment? Seth knew in his gut that Matthew Caunter had a hand in whatever had been going on up at Nase Head House. He was far too sure of himself, and obviously better educated than any of the other fishermen his father had ever employed. And if what Carter had said was true, Emma would be up there with him. His brothers could turn nasty in a fight. Miles had a gun. A pistol. Seth had come across him cleaning it outside the back door.

  ‘I think I ought to go up to Nase Head House and see what’s going on. Make sure Emma’s not in danger.’

  ‘No. Don’t, Seth. You won’t help the cause. I might only be a cleaner what left school at twelve years old but I’m bright enough to know that the more you’re out of whatever it is your pa and brothers have been up to, the better it’ll be for you. And Emma, I’d say.’

  ‘Yes,’ Seth said. ‘And Emma.’

  Emma? Would she ever be his now? After this.

  Emma woke groggily after a deep and amazingly untroubled sleep, given what had happened the night before. The sun, low and dazzling, streamed in through un-curtained windows. She’d slept in the tower room, warm and comfortable enough because Mr Smythe had given her an eiderdown to put on top of the blankets – the softest thing Emma had ever seen, ever touched. And the pillows. Well …

  Someone knocked at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Emma said, pulling the eiderdown up tight around her neck.

  The door opened and a young girl peeped around the edge of it. ‘Mr Smythe says to tell you breakfast finishes in half-an-hour, Miss Le Goff. Oh, and Mr Caunter has seen to it that yer things have been delivered. Jimmy Dunn will bring ’em up later.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said. ‘Who’s Jimmy Dunn?’

  ‘He’s a porter, Miss. Carries the guests’ cases to their rooms and that.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said again. ‘A porter.’

  ‘Yes, Miss. It’s why ’e’ll be bringing yer things up.’

  Was she going to be staying here now? If her things were being brought to this room then it looked as though she would be, for the time being. It was a wonderful room even if it was small. She pinched herself so she’d know she wasn’t dreaming.

  ‘Ouch,’ she said, when the pinch was a bit too hard.

  The girl came rushing over. ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill?’

  ‘No,’ Emma laughed. She let her gaze wander around the room, over wallpaper that was decorated with huge purple irises, and a chest of drawers that gleamed with polish against one wall. She glanced upwards as sunlight bounced off the glass bowl of a lampshade hanging from the ceiling – it seemed over-large in the small space but wonderful all the same. Oh, Mama, if you could see me now, she thought. ‘I pinched myself so I’d know I wasn’t dreaming, being here in this lovely room.’

  The girl laughed. ‘That’s all right, then. But best you get out of that bed and go and get some breakfast down you. That was a right old ding-dong went on ’ere last night. You were involved in it, so I ’eard.’

  ‘I was,’ Emma said. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it. What time is it?’

  ‘’Alf-past nine, just gone.’

  ‘Oh, my Lord …’

  Emma leapt from under the eiderdown.

  ‘I�
��ve brought you a jug of water. There’ll be a basin in ’ere someday soon I ’spect, like there is in all the other rooms, but it’s a jug for you today, Miss Le Goff. Mr Smythe’s given orders for curtains to be put up in ’ere this afternoon, and all. Not that there’s anyone to spy on you from outside this high up, Miss Le Goff.’

  ‘Call me Emma.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t, Miss. You’m a guest and I’m staff.’

  ‘I’m not a guest. So in this room you can call me Emma. What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Ruby. Ruby Chubb.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Ruby Chubb.’ Emma extended her hand.

  ‘Oh, I’m not to shake hands with guests.’

  ‘I’ve told you – I’m not a guest,’ Emma told her.

  ‘Not what I heard,’ Ruby said. ‘If you need brushes and the like there’s some in the top drawer of that chest over there. Then you’d best get your clothes on or Stephen Bailey will die of a heart attack at the sight of your bosoms in that thin chemise at the breakfast table.’

  ‘Stephen Bailey?’ Emma laughed. ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘One of the waiters. The other one’s ’Arry Webber. Only ’e’s doing other duties now seeing as we’re a bit short-staffed here. Brought most of the staff from London, did Mr Smythe, but not many of ’em like it down here so they’ve scarpered back again.’

  ‘You’re not from London?’ Emma said.

  ‘With an accent like this?’ Ruby laughed. ‘Where’ve you been living, Miss? Under a stone?’

  ‘That’s what I meant.’ Emma giggled. ‘You’re local.’

  ‘From Galmpton. Just a couple of miles away. And proud of it.’

  ‘So, what do you do here, Ruby?’

  ‘Chambermaid. Well, that’s the official title. Eve Grainger’s the other chambermaid but ’er’s always off sick. Like today. So it means I clean the rooms and make the beds and make sure there’s towels and the likes by the basins in all twelve bedrooms today instead of just six of ’em. But seeing as the staff seem to be leaving faster than flies leave an abattoir when it stops trading, I do a bit of everything else as well. Laundry – eurgh, I hate doing laundry. All they dirty sheets from guests who’ve been doing goodness knows what. And talking of which, there’s a mountain of it waiting for me downstairs, so I’d better get on. You won’t tell old Frosty Drawers I’ve been up here yacking, will you?’

  ‘Frosty Drawers?’ Emma said.

  ‘Mr Bell. On the reception desk. Thinks he owns the place, especially when he’s in charge those times Mr Smythe goes back to London to see his wife. Never smiles.’

  ‘Hence Frosty Drawers?’

  ‘Yes. But don’t say I told you.’

  Ruby grinned and ran from the room. And Emma knew if she was going to be stopping here then she’d like Ruby for a friend.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emma knew she had to see Seth and soon. After she’d eaten porridge and toast for breakfast – served, to her amusement, by a blushing Stephen Bailey who couldn’t get his words in the right order when he spoke to her – Emma was told she had the morning free to do as she wished. But – Mr Smythe had been firm about this – she was not to go to Shingle Cottage or to the Jago household as Matthew had said she shouldn’t. And she certainly wasn’t to say anything to anyone about what had gone on in the hotel the night before, should anyone ask for a first-hand account of it. She was to be back by 2 o’clock at the very latest. After lunch, he had said, he would think what he was going to do with her, but before that he had to meet Matthew Caunter at the courthouse.

  Emma had asked if a note could be sent to Seth at Hilltop House and when she was told it could, she hastily scribbled a request that he meet her at Crystal Cove.

  And now she was sitting at the bottom of the steps, glancing anxiously up them, willing Seth to arrive soon. She prayed he hadn’t been arrested because, to her alarm, there had been lots of activity in the harbour – most of it on board Jago fishing vessels of one sort or another, although some of the sheds on the harbourside that were kept for storage had also had their doors forced open and had been searched. Sergeant Emms and Constable Jeffery, who had come to Shingle Cottage to talk to Matthew, were in attendance along with at least a dozen other men who seemed to be there in an official capacity although they weren’t in a uniform of any sort – Customs Officers perhaps? She had even glimpsed Matthew before he’d disappeared below deck.

  Would Seth want to see her? Would he think she had had a part in what had happened at Nase Head House the night before?

  But then, before she could torture herself further, Seth appeared at the top of the steps. Waved. He walked slowly towards her.

  Emma leapt to her feet, ran up the steps to meet him. He looked serious, troubled – which wasn’t unexpected in the circumstances. But Emma couldn’t stop smiling – she was just so pleased to see him. No, more than pleased – overjoyed.

  ‘Thank you for your letter, Emma,’ Seth said.

  ‘I had to thank you for getting the tablets engraved for my parents and Johnnie. I wanted you to know how grateful I am in case you … you were arrested.’

  ‘As you see, I haven’t been.’

  ‘I’m glad. And I want you to know, from my own lips, that I had nothing to do with what happened last night. To your pa, I mean.’

  It was obvious Matthew had been involved but Emma didn’t think it sensible to bring his name into the conversation at this moment.

  ‘I didn’t think that for a moment,’ Seth said.

  ‘As to the tablets, I’ll pay you back just as soon …’

  ‘I don’t want paying for anything, Emma,’ Seth said, his face grave. He reached a hand towards Emma’s forehead, now washed clean of its flour-and-rouge cover-up, but didn’t actually touch her. Her bruise had begun to fade to a dirty yellow, and the cut had formed a crust.

  ‘Carter did that to you?’

  ‘You heard?’

  ‘He told me. You packed a mighty punch …’

  ‘He deserved it. Thank goodness Mrs Drew was around, though, or …’

  ‘I’d have killed him if he’d, you know …’

  Emma nodded. They both knew the word Seth was needing to say but wouldn’t was ‘rape’.

  ‘Or possibly I’d have killed him first. Oh, I know he’s your brother and all, but he’s more like an animal. I’m sorry to have to say it.’

  ‘And you aren’t afraid to be here – alone – with me?’

  ‘Of course not. Why would I be?’

  Seth shrugged, and Emma thought the whole world’s sadness was in that shrug.

  ‘Let’s sit down.’ Seth took Emma by the elbow and guided her a little way down the beach. He took off his jacket and laid it down on the sand.

  Poor Seth. It couldn’t have been pleasant discovering his father and brothers arrested. And now his pa’s boats were crawling with police the way maggots crawl over a bit of rotting meat.

  ‘It’s not your fault Carter tried to …’

  ‘But he didn’t?’

  Seth indicated for Emma to sit, waited while she did so. Then he dropped heavily onto the sand beside her. A cloud of fine sand rose and fell.

  ‘No, he didn’t, you know … touch me. Honestly,’ Emma lied. Telling Seth the truth wouldn’t help him and it certainly wouldn’t alter things. ‘I scratched his face before he could …’

  ‘I saw. You should have gouged his eyes out.’

  ‘Seth!’

  ‘Well, you should. I’m ashamed to be a Jago at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Emma said. ‘But you’re not caught up in the smuggling, are you?’

  ‘No. But when your beef is seared with contraband brandy, Emma, and you eat it – suspecting the brandy was illegally come by – then I think that could be said to make you party to the act.
’

  ‘How could you not eat what your cook prepared for you?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Emma said. Deep in thought. She still had the chocolate Seth had given her – in fact she had it in the pocket of her jacket at that moment. For some reason she just couldn’t fathom she’d taken it with her to Nase Head House the night before. She was glad she had, now. She hadn’t eaten so much as a tiny corner of it, though. She took the chocolate from her pocket and placed it on the sand between them.

  ‘You didn’t eat it,’ Seth said, his voice achingly sad.

  ‘No. It’s contraband, isn’t it?’

  ‘I honestly can’t say it is, just as I can’t say it isn’t. But why didn’t you eat it?’

  ‘It’s the first thing you ever gave me. I kept it for sentimental reasons, I suppose. I still don’t know that I should eat it, though. If it’s contraband.’

  Emma unwrapped the chocolate. She read the French on the paper wrapper over and over. She would have to get some books in French soon or she’d forget how to read in the language, write in it. She would read out loud so she didn’t forget how to speak it.

  ‘Fabriqué en …’ Emma began to read the wrapping before her throat closed over with sadness.

  She screwed the wrapping into a ball and stuffed it back into her jacket pocket. And then she got up and walked to the sea, snapped the chocolate into tiny pieces and threw it fragment by fragment into the small waves that flopped like sinking meringues onto the shoreline.

  She stood for a while staring out across the water. Would she ever get to the land that was her father’s? Would she ever walk into a hotel and ask for a café au lait and a crocque monsieur? And if she did, who would she be there with?

  If she squinted hard Emma could imagine that was France she could see across the water although she knew in her heart – because she’d been good at geography in school – that it wasn’t; it was just a large vessel of some sort far out on the horizon.

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Emma,’ Seth said. ‘I’ll get you some more chocolate, and I’ll guarantee it will be honestly come by.’