Work did prove very difficult to find. Joey lowered his sights from being a waiter to anything in the hotel industry, and then just to anything. Mercy would have helped him, he knew, if his pride had not prevented him from letting her know of his situation. A week after he lost his job a letter, redirected from the Devonshire Hall, came from her suggesting tea but he cried off, pleading a change of duty hours as his excuse.
Torquay offered him no prospects of work; he was forced to extend his search beyond its boundaries. He tramped the coast road past the gasworks into Paignton. He had done it all before! The neighbouring town was not as stylish as Torquay, perhaps, but it was modern and bustling. Above all, it was enjoying a modest boom; if all else failed he might get work on building the new terraces or smart villas that were springing up. Everywhere he went, however, he was out of luck.
He almost missed the little boarding-house – it was so insignificant and shabby it did not command attention.
Only the faded letters painted directly on to the brickwork announced ‘Beds, Breakfasts, Dinners, Teas’.
Not hoping for much Joey went round to the back door. At his knock it opened, letting out a waft of stale air heavy with the odours of mildew, ancient cooking, and doubtful drains. There was no guessing the age of the man who held on to the door, he might have been anything from thirty to eighty, for the sallow pallor of desperate ill health had apparently permeated from his being into the very clothes he wore. Even the grubby apron tied round his meagre waist had never got any nearer to whiteness than putty-grey. His clinging to the doorpost was less to bar Joey’s entry than support himself.
‘Yes… ?’ The one word seemed to exhaust him.
‘I’m looking for work,’ said Joey. ‘I’m strong and reliable, and I’ll tackle anything.’
The man was silent for a long time as he looked Joey up and down with pale, shadowed eyes.
‘Do anything, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Queenie does the cooking. You do the rest. Ten bob a week, all found.’
The man did not wait to see if Joey accepted. He crossed the room, supporting himself on the furniture at each step, and disappeared through a narrow doorway. Not certain whether he was supposed to follow him or not Joey stood hesitantly in the scullery.
The door opened again and in walked a girl. She was older than himself by about four or five years at a guess, a young woman really, but there was nothing youthful about her heavy tread nor the solid pastiness of her features. Everything about her was plain and gave the impression that she had stepped straight from childhood into middle age.
‘Dad take you on?’ she asked.
‘I think so,’ said Joey.
‘Don’t you know? I expect he did, we need someone, goodness knows! I’m Queenie Dixon.’
‘Joseph Seaton.’
‘Come on then Joseph. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep. We’ve thirty in here when we’re full, twenty at the moment. Working men mostly, some from the building, some from the railway widening. They have their breakfasts here and a cooked tea. There’s plenty to do, as Dad’s not up to it any more. I’d be obliged if, as soon as you’ve settled in, you’d come down and start straight away.’
As she talked she led the way upstairs. Joey followed her, noting the cracked lino and the scuffed and torn wallpaper. Up another flight they went, and another, with Queenie becoming more and more puffed as they progressed.
‘This is yours…’ she wheezed, as they arrived at an attic room lit by a single skylight. ‘It’s not much… At least, you’ll be on your own … unless we get a sudden rush.’
The tone of her voice told him that this was most unlikely.
‘Thank you, Miss Dixon,’ said Joey. ‘It’ll do fine.’
Queenie gave a giggle that was surprisingly girlish. ‘You don’t need to call me Miss Dixon,’ she said, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Queenie’ll do for me. See you downstairs in a few minutes.’
As her heavy tread descended the stairs Joey looked about him despondently. He had a job right enough, and he was still in the hotel trade, of a sort – but this was a long, long way from the Devonshire Hall.
Chapter Eight
‘Are you sure you’re comfortable?’ Peter looked at his wife with concern.
‘I’m fine, darling, honestly I am,’ laughed Mercy. She leaned back in her rattan chair, bracing herself slightly against the gentle swell of the waves. Below deck the engines kept up a steady throb. ‘I’m only having a baby, you know. I’m not ill.’
‘You’re having my baby, and if that doesn’t deserve a little extra care and attention I don’t know what does.’
Mercy stretched out her hand to him, and he enfolded it in his. They sat together in happy silence, until the saloon door opened and the others emerged on deck, headed by Charlotte.
‘Really, Tilly, that’s the last time I partner you at whist,’ she was complaining.
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte dear. I get so confused.’ Tilly made little fluttering gestures of contrition.
‘All I can say is thank goodness there are only four suits. I hate to think of the mess you’d get into if there were more. Now what are you two doing?’ Charlotte’s gaze took in Mercy and Peter sitting together. ‘You’re flirting! If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s married couples flirting with each other. I won’t have it on board my yacht. Stop it at once!’
‘In that case I’ll have to spoon with you,’ grinned Peter.
‘No, you won’t! I’m not the spooney sort.’ Charlotte pretended to fend him off.
‘Then who can I flirt with?’
‘There’s always little me,’ said Tilly, in her most winsome voice.
‘Of course! Tilly! My thanks for taking pity on me. Let’s leave these heartless females and take a turn about the deck.’ Peter sprang to his feet and offered her his arm with a flourish. Giggling, Tilly accepted it, and they strolled away.
‘You want to watch Tilly, she’s got her eye on your husband,’ Charlotte observed.
‘You don’t think she was being a bit too blatant to be taken seriously?’ smiled Mercy.
‘Don’t be fooled by all that fluff and little-girl manner – beneath those frills Tilly has a will of iron. Her appetite for men could have earned her a fortune in another walk of life.’
Mercy laughed. ‘Having failed to scare me you’re now trying to shock me, eh? It’s no use, you know. I’m unshockable.’
‘I’m afraid you are, still, it was worth a try. Don’t say you weren’t warned. Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Enormously, thank you.’
‘Good, because I’ve decided to make up a party for Cowes Week, and I’m hoping you and Peter will come.’
‘How kind of you; but it’s not possible. It’s less than three weeks before the baby is due.’
‘Ah, so it is, more’s the pity,’ Charlotte conceded.
‘Are we allowed to know what is such a pity?’ asked Peter, returning from his stroll, with Tilly still clasping his arm.
‘The imminent arrival of your offspring is upsetting all my plans,’ said Charlotte.
‘What plans?’
‘I’d fully intended to take a jolly lot of people to the Regatta at Cowes, staying on board the Cleopatra, of course. Now Mercy says she can’t come.’
‘I’m afraid she’s right.’ Peter smiled at his wife.
‘There’s no reason why you should not join the party,’ said Mercy. ‘You’d enjoy it so much.’
‘You and George will be coming too, won’t you, Tilly?’ demanded Charlotte.
‘Oh yes, please. Thank you, Charlotte, dear.’
‘That’s settled, then,’ said Charlotte decisively. ‘You’ll have to come now, Peter, to keep George company. If you don’t he’ll have no one to talk to, since the rest of us don’t know our stays from our sheets.’
‘That isn’t true, and you know it,’ replied Peter, laughing. ‘And I’m not going to get into an argument, because I can s
ee where it will lead.’
‘Does that mean you’ll come?’ Tilly squeezed his arm and looked at him like an eager child. ‘Oh, good! George will be delighted!’
Mercy watched her display of enthusiasm with wry amusement. She found her childish behaviour absurd in a grown woman. Only later did she experience a niggling doubt that Tilly’s excitement might be more on her own behalf than George’s. Almost at once she brushed the doubt away, irritated with Charlotte for having put such an idea into her head.
As the summer dragged on the weather turned sultry, making the later stages of her pregnancy uncomfortable. She felt huge and ungainly, and she tired easily.
‘I won’t go to Cowes,’ said Peter persistently. ‘I’ll send a note of apology to Charlotte.’ He was still saying he’d stay on the morning the Cleopatra was due to sail.
‘You will do no such thing!’ Mercy kissed him, savouring his fresh smell of shaving soap and cologne. She knew how much he wanted to go. She had noted with fond amusement that his bag was already packed. ‘You’ll go and have a marvellous time, winning everything in sight, just to please me.’
The days passed more slowly than Mercy had anticipated, and she looked forward to Peter’s return with increasing enthusiasm. Yet when he did return their reunion was vaguely unsatisfactory. She found that his talk of his stay aboard the Cleopatra - of events she had not shared and people she had not met – gave her a bleak feeling of exclusion. As for her own conversation, even to her ears the domestic trivia sounded incredibly boring. She blamed her lethargy and low spirits. Once the baby was born things would improve, she assured herself.
When William Christopher Lisburne did arrive he chose to do so at the height of the Torquay Regatta, so that instead of racing across the bay in his yacht, Jasmine, Peter was sitting by the bed, holding Mercy’s hand.
‘You should have gone. You had such a good chance of winning this year,’ she protested weakly.
‘I’ll have a good chance of winning next year instead.’
‘It doesn’t seem right, having the Jasmine at her moorings throughout the Regatta. The crew have lost all chance of any prize money. They won’t even get any starting money, and they rely on it…’
‘Is there anyone else you want to worry about?’ smiled Peter affectionately. ‘I’ve only lost a couple of days’ racing. As for the crew, I’ve made sure they’ve received something extra to celebrate the birth of this young man, here. Now are you satisfied?’
Although Peter told her time and again he was not disappointed Mercy was not convinced. It was as if a small dark cloud overshadowed the joy of William’s birth. A larger cloud was to follow, for the new baby proved to be difficult over his feeds and a light sleeper. To make matters worse John was jealous of this intruder and demanded more of Mercy’s attention for himself. She found herself spending longer and longer in the nursery.
‘This is what you get for involving yourself too closely in your children’s upbringing,’ Agnes observed acidly one evening, as a pale and weary Mercy joined her for dinner. ‘Employ a good dependable nanny and leave the job to her, that’s my advice.’
‘You don’t think that bringing children into the world should involve a greater responsibility than just paying someone’s wages?’
‘I hope you are not presuming to instruct me in my responsibilities!’ There was ominous edge to her voice.
Mercy sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Lisburne. Of course I was doing no such thing. It is merely that our views on bringing up children are so different.’
‘In which case there is no point in discussing them. Will you ring for Rogers to serve the dinner?’ Agnes always made a great show of having relinquished the reins of the household.
‘Should we not wait until Peter comes home?’
‘He is dining with the Hewsons. Had you forgotten?’
Mercy had not forgotten. She had not been told. Somewhere inside her a small niggle of apprehension stirred; she managed to keep her expression impassive as she replied, ‘Let’s hope that he is enjoying himself.’
She lay awake for a long time that night, waiting for Peter’s return. It was way past midnight before she heard him enter his dressing-room. Lying tensely in the big bed she listened to his movements, expecting the connecting door to open and Peter to climb in beside her… She waited in vain.
‘Why didn’t you come to bed last night?’ she asked him next morning.
‘I didn’t want to disturb you, so I slept on the dressing-room couch.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered if you had disturbed me.’
‘Yes, it would. You need your rest. You’re looking very tired these days.’
‘Too tired to be amusing company for you?’ She was tempted to retort. But there was a fidgety, downcast air about Peter this morning and some instinct warned her not to provoke any squabbles.
‘Did you have an enjoyable evening at the Hewsons’?’ she asked with well-controlled calm.
‘Oh so-so.’ Peter began to read the morning paper, hiding behind its fold.
Mercy wanted to know more, only, the paper proved to be an impenetrable barrier. She waited for him to lower it. When he did not she silently left the room. He did not appear to notice her departure.
During one of Agnes’s interminable at-homes Charlotte gazed at her pointedly over the teacups and said, ‘You’re looking decidedly peaky. You need cheering up. Tear yourself away from your children for a few days and come with me to Upper Lee.’
‘Upper Lee?’
‘My place in Somerset. I have to go there next month to do my lady of the manor act. It’ll be terribly dreary, which is why I’m relying upon some of my more interesting friends to come and help liven things up a little.’
‘I’d love to come… Oh, but I can’t. Peter will be away then.’
‘What’s that got to do with it? You aren’t going, are you?’
‘No, it’s going to be an all male party.’
‘Oh, one of those! All the more reason for you to come to Upper Lee.’
‘I don’t think I’d like to without Peter. One odd woman would make your party out of balance.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! We aren’t going in two by two, you know. It’s to be a country house-party, not a trip in the Ark. Where’s Peter off to, anyway?’
‘To France. I think you know Colonel Boyer? Well, they are going in his yacht.’
‘On the Tango? I thought the colonel was trying to sell her? I’ve heard he’s in financial trouble.’
‘I don’t know about that. Perhaps he wants one last voyage in her before he loses her. As far as I know their official destination is Dinard.’
‘If Peter is off to Dinard then I insist you come to Upper Lee. I know of lots of people who will love meeting you. My cousin, Alston, for one. He can’t resist a beautiful woman – he’ll be at your feet in a trice.’
‘You make it sound as though you’re organizing some sort of assignation for me,’ laughed Mercy.
‘What’s sauce for the gander…’ began Charlotte, then she seemed to reconsider her words. ‘To put it plainly, your husband and his friends will be thoroughly enjoying themselves while you and the other wives stay demurely at home. It’s not right! Strike a blow for female freedom!’
‘That’s not what you were going to say.’
‘No, but it will have to do,’ said Charlotte, her face inscrutable.
Mercy noted her expression and did not press her further. She was very well aware of her friend’s fondness for intrigue. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to strike a blow for freedom some other time,’ she said, smiling firmly.
‘There won’t be a better time.’ Charlotte gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’ll put you on my guest list, in case you change your mind at the last minute.’
‘Is Colonel Boyer really in financial difficulties?’ Mercy asked later, as she and Peter went down to dinner. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Charlotte. She said he was looking for a buyer for the Tango.’
&n
bsp; Peter did not reply immediately. When they reached the foot of the stairs he said with forced casualness, ‘That’s not quite accurate. The Tango has already been sold… Oh, I suppose I may as well tell you sooner than later. I’ve bought her!’
‘You’ve bought the TangoT Mercy stood stock still. ‘You’ve bought a steam yacht?’
‘Yes. That’s why we’re going on this trip, so Boyer can show me the ropes and give me a chance to try her for myself. Decent of him, I’d call it.’
‘You’ve bought a steam yacht!’ Mercy could still not believe it. ‘What did she cost? Whatever it was, can we afford it?’
‘She was a bargain, truly she was. Poor old Boyer needs the money so desperately he let her go for far less than she’s worth. Anyway, I’ve given Boyer my word, and I’ll not go back on it.’ Peter was adamant, then his tone softened suddenly. ‘Just wait until you’ve seen her, darling! She’s a beauty. Clyde built, best Burmese teak on a steel frame, and the interior – the carved mahogany is magnificent. Some of the soft furnishings look a bit shabby, so I dare say you’ll have a great time putting things to rights.’
‘Oh, Peter!’ Mercy shook her head, halfway between tears and laughter. It was absolutely crazy buying a yacht she feared they couldn’t afford. Her knowledge of their income was not as clear as she would have liked. In spite of their earlier unfortunate experiences Peter still held the quixotic view that he alone should worry about their financial situation. She knew that they were considerably better off than they had been, but whether their finances could support a steam yacht she was not sure. But his enthusiasm was infectious, she couldn’t bear to spoil things for him. ‘When do I see our latest possession?’ she asked.
‘You mean you aren’t furious with me?’
‘I won’t say I approve, but seeing that it is too late to argue we may as well enjoy her.’
‘You’re marvellous, do you know that?’ In a burst of exuberance Peter flung his arms about her and swung her off her feet.
‘Put me down, you fool!’ gasped Mercy, laughing. ‘I refuse to be side-tracked. When am I to be allowed to see the TangoT
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