The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  ‘Yes, it is, and I am most fond of it, though the rent is rather steep. My own needs are modest, however, and my brother used to give me the odd present or two when he was alive. I am hoping that Andrew may do the same.’

  ‘I am sure he will,’ said Kathryn, thinking of his own attempted generosity towards herself. ‘He appears to be a most generous young man.’

  The little serving maid brought in the tea and the two ladies savoured a cup together, with Kathryn listening to all the noises emanating from the quayside – the noise of building work close by, the cries of traders selling their wares, the mechanical chink of chains and equipment from the boats moored alongside - with which Mrs Wright appeared to be perfectly accustomed but which for Kathryn, used as she was to a most peaceful existence in the isolation of Sandsford House, had all the charm of novelty.

  ‘I understand from Andrew that we are quite of an age,’ continued Mrs Wright, after a pause. ‘But you have the advantage over me of being twice married, and of having your little son into the bargain.’

  Mr Berkeley had obviously been most expansive in the account he had given of his stay at Sandsford House.

  ‘I have indeed,’ replied Kathryn. ‘I think that Bob quite took to Mr Berkeley. I am glad of it. He has not been much used to male company. My current husband pays him very little attention – Bob was the son of my first husband, and it is not the same for a step papa after all. The poor child could do with bringing out a little.’

  ‘Perhaps Andrew will invite you both to Belvoir. I am sure that Bob would enjoy exploring the outbuildings and playing on the lawn.’

  ‘Perhaps he will. I have no expectation of it, however. Although Mr Berkeley appears to see himself as under some obligation to me I have tried to convince him that he is under no such thing and that I only did for him what any human being would be pleased to do for another.’

  ‘Maybe.’ His sister didn’t sound totally convinced. ‘Though I daresay that one does feel under some obligation to the person who saves one’s life.’

  Kathryn was feeling somewhat uncomfortable. She decided to turn the conversation onto somewhat safer ground.

  ‘But what of you, Mrs Wright?’ she asked. ‘I understand that you have spent some time in the Netherlands. It must have been quite different from being here in Weymouth.’

  ‘It was indeed, though not unpleasant. I have fond memories of many of my holidays there. Mama was happier with her family than ever I remembered her at Belvoir and Andrew was always most kind – he is a talented man, Mrs Miller, and took to the language and customs over there with no difficulty whatsoever, whereas I – well, I could no more converse in Dutch than I could swim to America – it is all tongue and teeth – so I could never really get on there on my own. Andrew would take me out and about with him – wherever I wanted to go. I saw quite a bit of the country during my holidays there. It is certainly most flat, with the prettiest little windmills imaginable – just like in the paintings, and it sparkles like diamonds in the winter snows. Andrew used to take me on sleigh rides at Christmas times. I liked it very much. But once things started to look a little dangerous on the continent we all agreed that I should spend my holidays at home, with my brother John. It suited me just as well. I am not a great one for travelling, after all.’

  ‘Neither am I. I must confess, I have scarcely been out of Dorset more than three times in my life and I have never so much as taken the ferry to Guernsey or Jersey, let alone anywhere else. I am persuaded that it must seem very strange, with everyone speaking in a way that cannot be understood.’

  ‘I would agree with you there – I certainly found it most strange - though my husband enjoys it. It is a good job that he does. He has scarcely been in Weymouth three months in the year since we were married.’

  ‘You must find that hard.’

  ‘In a way I do, but I knew what I was taking on when I agreed to marry him. We were childhood sweethearts you see, Mrs Miller, but John was already in the navy when we first met so I have had plenty of time in which to get used to it. He was the twin brother of a school friend of mine. He used to visit her during term time, when he was not at sea, and we would all go out for jaunts together there. But I find plenty enough in Weymouth to keep me occupied. I have a good many acquaintance hereabouts, and I know that Andrew wishes me to visit him at Belvoir as often as I like. Belvoir is only a short step up from here. I can run in and out three times in a day if I need to.’

  Poor Kathryn. Mrs Wright seemed determined to drag her brother into every conversation, whilst she herself was equally desperate to keep him out. So in the end, having spent the best part of a half hour with her new friend, she had to admit defeat and announce her retreat by setting off for home.

  ‘For I have a long walk ahead of me, Mrs Wright, and I dare not leave Bob with our maid Sally for too long – he will drive her to distraction else!’

  Luck was not with Kathryn that afternoon, however, for no sooner had she quitted Mrs Wright’s house and started to make her way back across the bridge, than she was immediately accosted by Mr Berkeley who was coming across it towards her in the opposite direction. Kathryn could have stamped her foot in annoyance. This was just what she had thought might happen – and exactly what she had hoped would not.

  ‘Well met, Mrs Miller,’ he said, as she bobbed him a demure curtsy and coloured a little. ‘And what has brought you over to this side of the harbour?’

  Kathryn told him that she had just vacated his sister’s house and was on her way to the timber merchant’s for her aunt before setting back towards Sandsford House.

  ‘Then perhaps you will allow me to go with you? I have just come from that direction myself. I have been examining the reclamation work there. We are building a quay directly from the sea. I am providing my expertise to the engineers – it is a discipline that I know well from my past employment, you know - and I am planning to make some investment in it. I hope that you’ll allow me to carry the wood back to your aunt’s?’

  Although she wanted to decline this kind offer, Kathryn found herself smiling at Mr Berkeley in such a way that he had turned to accompany her before she had even framed her refusal. Considering the nature of her earlier deliberations she realised that this was not entirely an auspicious start. But, having sealed her fate so comprehensively, she now found that she was left with no choice but to take his proffered arm and walk along with him in the direction of the timber yard at the very end of the quay. Before they reached it, however, Andrew spotted an acquaintance of his. He was standing on a small merchantman moored up alongside, directing some crewmen who were engaged in loading up.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Captain Wayman,’ he laughed, stopping for a second (and thereby obliging Kathryn, who still held his arm, to do the same). ‘Hey, you old scoundrel – I have a bone to pick with you and your crew. I got washed overboard when you brought me over from Southampton that time – washed overboard and you never said a word.’

  The Captain stepped over towards him.

  ‘Well, if it ain’t Mr Berkeley,’ he said, obviously well pleased. ‘Washed overboard, you say? Well, there’s a surprise. We never even noticed you had gone, sir, and that’s no lie. Thought you was banged up in the cabin, the storm was so fierce, and we just assumed that you’d got yourself up and jumped ship early when we came out of Weymouth the following day!’

  Andrew threw his head back and laughed heartily.

  ‘Well, if that’s the way you look after your passengers remind me never to accept a passage from you again,’ he said.

  ‘I’m mighty sorry about it, Mr Berkeley, it never crossed my mind that you had gone. I’m pleased to see that it did you no harm. I don’t even know what happened to your bits and pieces. They may well still be in the cabin, if you’d care to come aboard. To my knowledge we haven’t used that particular cabin since. We don’t get many passengers at this time of the year.’

  Andrew invited Kathryn to join him on the boat. Kathryn had never been
on board a boat before. Without realising quite what she was doing she suddenly found herself being dispossessed of her basket and saw it being handed across the plank to the Captain. Then she found herself being led across the plank and being caught by the waist as she jumped down into the boat. She followed Captain Wayman along the deck, and found herself peering down a short ladder-like staircase and into the depths below.

  ‘Would you like to have a look at the cabins, ma’am, or would you prefer to stay on deck?’ asked the Captain.

  Kathryn peered again at the steep little staircase and the darkness beyond it and giggled.

  ‘I regret that I’m not quite dressed for subterranean explorations,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Should the hem of my skirt not serve to trip me up then I feel sure that my slippers would manage it instead.’

  Mr Berkeley looked down at her feet. The soles of her little shoes were parting quite markedly from the uppers.

  ‘Then perhaps you would care to take a seat for a moment?’ he suggested. ‘I won’t be very long.’

  ‘Over there, by that rope, would be the best place, ma’am – you’ll not get dirty sitting there.’

  ‘Well as long as I’m not in anyone’s way. I should hate to hinder anyone from getting on with their work.’

  The Captain followed Mr Berkeley as he clambered stealthily down the steps.

  ‘Lovely woman, your wife, if I may say so Mr Berkeley,’ she heard him whisper before they disappeared inside. ‘So beautiful, and not at all like these stuck-up women we get nowadays who care for no-one but themselves. You’ve got a rare one there, Mr Berkeley, and I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘She is indeed a lovely woman, Wayman.’ She could just catch Mr Berkeley’s deep voice as it faintly drifted back to her from a cabin down below. ‘Perfection personified, in fact - though sadly she is not my wife. Some other lucky cove got there first. I’d give anything for it not to be so, and that’s the honest truth. It pains me more than I can tell you to know that she’s not mine...’

  Despite the dirt and the smell of tar Kathryn was very glad that she had agreed to sit down by the rope. For reasons that she preferred not to examine too closely, she had just discovered that she was not quite able to move her limbs just then. It took her all of the time that Mr Berkeley spent below deck before she could finally persuade them to do her bidding once again.

  Chapter 5

  A couple of weeks later Kathryn received a brief note from Mrs Wright requesting her presence for the afternoon, and as she was due to visit her aunt again anyway Kathryn decided to accept. Her aunt was delighted that she was visiting her new friend again. What she did not realise – and what, to be fair, Kathryn did not realise either – was that Mrs Wright had determined on dragging her out on a visit to Belvoir House, at which Mr Berkeley had arranged a surprise dinner especially for her.

  Although she had not sought it, Kathryn had to admit to herself – albeit with more than a touch of guilt - that she was pleased to have the opportunity of visiting Mr Berkeley’s house. She tried to convince herself that this was only natural – that anyone would like to have the opportunity of looking around a lovely property – and indeed, to some extent this was true. But she couldn’t pretend to herself that the rather unwelcome fluttering in her stomach, and the thumping of her heart that instantly beset her as soon as she realised Mrs Wright’s intent, was merely the adjunct of such natural curiosity. This annoyed her very much, but there was nothing to be done about it. She couldn’t help her feelings, after all, and despite his words to Captain Wayman (which still insisted on impacting on her mind at every available opportunity) both Mr Berkeley and his sister were under no illusions about the fact that she was married. So she submitted to her friend’s plans with good grace, walked with her up the hill past the malt-scented breweries to the southern edge of town, passed a very pretty lodge stationed by some large iron gates by the road, and went on along a wide, gravelled driveway up to Belvoir House itself.

  Mr Berkeley was perhaps fortunate in that he had selected what turned out to be a glorious spring afternoon for his surprise dinner, for in the bright sunshine that was just then emerging from the final clouds of the morning, and in the brilliant clear blue of the sky reflected in the sea, the grounds of Belvoir House were certainly displayed to their full advantage. Indeed, they appeared so beautiful that Kathryn could only gasp as the whole vista opened up gradually before her. Large lawned terraces, dotted with tropical trees and plants, dropped gently down towards the deep blue seas beyond. Classical statues – not too many – adorned some leafy glades, planted strategically to provide shelter from the strong prevailing winds. A circular, raised pond in front of the house contained a delicate fountain which splashed glittering droplets onto the surface of the water beneath. The slight splash of the water merged with the faint rhythmic lapping of the sea way down below to provide a musical backdrop to the whole montage.

  The house itself looked quite modern. It was not especially large but it was beautifully proportioned, with columns of Portland stone supporting an elegant porchway up a short flight of steps to the front door, large rectangular windows on two levels, symmetrically arranged to make the most of the views, and an orangery to one side of it containing, as far as she could see, an array of strange plants which she had no doubt would produce exotic fruits at certain times of the year.

  Mr Berkeley could hardly contain his pleasure at this opportunity of showing Kathryn his home, and ran down the steps from the front door to meet them on the drive. He must have been looking out for them. Kathryn couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. There was something so very engaging about it which she did not have the heart to try to quash.

  ‘Will you enjoy a ramble around the grounds, Mrs Miller?’ he asked, after taking her hand in both of his for a second. ‘I consider them quite stunning at the present, and in the sunshine they are guaranteed to look their best.’

  Kathryn agreed that she should very much like to look around his grounds, and glanced across at Mrs Wright to check whether she, too, was happy with the plan. Mrs Wright, however, had other ideas.

  ‘Well, you go off with Andrew, Mrs Miller, while I get myself sorted out inside. I shall see you in the saloon shortly, I’m sure.’

  Kathryn was a little taken aback. She was not sure whether she should allow Mr Berkeley to conduct the tour alone, although (much to her chagrin) she found herself to be not entirely displeased.

  ‘My sister does not care to wander the grounds at present, Mrs Miller,’ he told her, offering her his arm so pointedly that she found it quite impossible to refuse. ‘Her eyes are drawn constantly to the shipwreck over there. It fills her with constant dread for her husband John.’

  Kathryn stared out to where the masts of a great ship could clearly be seen, rising eerily out of the clear blue water not so very far away. It made her shudder.

  ‘I can understand that. I heard that there were very few survivors even from a wreck so very close inland as this one. Should her husband be wrecked far out at sea it would be the end of him, I expect. I’m not at all surprised that she would rather not be reminded of the fact.’

  Mr Berkeley guided her along the winding pathways that meandered through his grounds. Everywhere were features to delight – smart terraces, little hidden valleys, unexpected vistas opening up to the sea, stands of tropical timber, beds of bright spring flowers – and the constant swishing of the waves, mewing gulls and exuberant song birds providing their own special accompaniment to the beauty of the scene. It was very, very different from the almost dour environs of Sandsford House with its scuffy grasses, neglected beds and almost treeless terrain.

  They sat down together on a little wooden bench amongst the trees, looking out towards the brilliant blue of the sea beyond. It was some moments before they spoke again, though Kathryn was constantly aware of his closeness to her. It made her feel uncomfortable, yet she felt no desire at all to move away.

  ‘Well, Mrs Miller – w
hat do you think?’

  ‘What can I say? It is an absolute delight, Mr Berkeley. I particularly like the tropical plants and the way in which they frame the sea. I cannot suppose that I should be able to grow anything like such vegetation at Sandsford. We are so much more exposed to the wind.’

  ‘Then allow me to show you the orangery. It is full of exotic species – I hardly know what they are. I can claim none of the honours for any of it. My father and my brother were responsible for it all.’

  She accompanied him back up the hillside, allowing him to give her a helping hand up the steepest part of the slope, and into the glass house adjoining Belvoir’s southern wall. Like her host, she knew nothing of exotic plants and could make no determination as to which were rare and which were common. So she admired them all equally and enjoyed the steamy warmth inside the building. It reminded her forcibly of summer.

  ‘This orangery provides a constant source of amusement for me, Mrs Miller. Knowing nothing of any of the plants, I am able to fill many a spare hour in going over them and guessing what fruit might appear. I have seen no sign of anything yet, you understand, though I live forever in hope of one day emerging with my very own pineapple or peach.’

  ‘But does your gardener not instruct you on the matter?’

  ‘Well, he has attempted to do so, I must admit. But I make a sorry student. I find it more fun to discover it for myself. I should be disappointed should I find the whole building restricted to boring old apples, plums and pears. As it is, my imagination is limited only by my very imperfect knowledge of all of the fruits that are actually available in the world.’

  ‘I am afraid that I know very little on the subject as well. We do attempt to grow some raspberries over at Sandsford but regrettably the blackbird normally has them – typically on the very day before they are expected to be ready. I am convinced that they must upset his digestion every year. It never seems to put him off, however. It drives poor Sally quite wild.’