The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

‘But what of the Punch and Judy, Bob?’ asked his mama. ‘You have told us nothing about that at all.’

  Bob fell silent for a moment.

  ‘I was not very fond of the Punch and Judy,’ he admitted, eventually. ‘I did not like the way in which Mr Punch kept hitting the baby’s mama. It made me think of papa.’

  Kathryn flushed. She could tell that Mr Berkeley had shot her a horrified glance.

  ‘Well, that is very kind of you, to be sure, Bob,’ she mumbled, staring down at the table. ‘It is only a game, however. He would not really hurt her, I’m sure of it.’

  Bob appeared inclined to argue the point, but fortunately the appearance of the first course diverted his attention and encouraged him to take up his knife and spoon instead.

  Kathryn could not help but be impressed with the meal, in spite of her embarrassment, and she had to admit that the cooking was superb. While they awaited the second course Mr Berkeley excused himself for a few minutes and returned soon after, looking well pleased with himself. Kathryn looked at him enquiringly but he simply grinned at her and said nothing. It was not until the meal was finished and he and Kathryn were just completing the last of their coffee that she found out what he had gone to do. Immediately underneath the window she could see a dark green curricle drawing up, with Mr Berkeley’s tiger at the reins. She looked at him, bemused. Mr Berkeley threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  ‘Well,’ he said, reasonably. ‘I couldn’t allow you both to drag all that way back by yourselves. You are both worn out already – look, little Bob can scarcely keep his eyes open.’ (It was true. Even as he spoke Bob’s head was nodding and he seemed in imminent danger of tumbling from his seat). ‘Well, then – I sent a message to Belvoir for Jack to bring the curricle around. You can hold Bob on your lap, I daresay.’

  Mr Berkeley paid for the dinners and assisted Kathryn from her seat. Then he picked Bob up from his chair and carried him out to the carriage. Kathryn got herself into it and found Mr Berkeley gently depositing her son into her waiting arms.

  ‘Thank you so much, Mr Berkeley,’ she said. ‘I really do not know what we would have done without you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. You seem determined to forget that you provided me the most valuable service that one person could ever provide for another. Compared with that a dinner and a short ride home are as nothing, let me assure you.’

  ‘Well, I am grateful anyway. I am so glad we met up again.’

  Kathryn had not meant to say this, but say it she did. For a second she hoped that Mr Berkeley hadn’t heard her but she soon realised that he must have. However, perhaps remembering her harsh words to him on the occasion of their last meeting, he decided to make no response. He simply bowed his head, ruffled Bob’s hair, and left them at their door.

  Chapter 7

  Kathryn’s concerns about her aunt increased rather than diminished over the next week or so. The old lady, not one normally to put a brave face on her aches and pains, suddenly began to change the subject when Kathryn asked her how she was, and she seemed less and less able to summon the energy to collect and deliver her work. As this provided her only source of income, other than Kathryn’s allowance for her rent, this represented a major threat to her well-being. So Kathryn increasingly found herself walking the three miles into Weymouth in order to keep her supplied with work.

  April sped on by, with little to relieve the daily routines at Sandsford House. Kathryn now held daily lessons with Bob, attempting (not altogether successfully) to instil the rudiments of the alphabet into him. There was the constant work inside the house – sewing, mending, cleaning, cooking – and outside – looking after the animals, collecting eggs, churning butter, pumping water, washing. And then there were the almost daily walks into Weymouth and back in order to support Aunt Shepherd. Kathryn was pleased to hear nothing from her husband. She felt that she and Bob were better off without him. She saw nothing of Mr Berkeley, and little of Mrs Wright. Once, to be sure, they had run into each other in Harvey’s library and taken their tea together, sharing some amusement at the weird new fashions then contained within the latest editions of the London magazines, but Kathryn was terrified of bumping unexpectedly into her brother at High Street and reviving all those illicit sensations which he evoked in her and that she was trying most desperately to subdue. So she used the excuse of her increasing commitments to Aunt Shepherd as reason enough for her lack of contact, and avoided going to High Street unless she was actually passing right by.

  On the twenty fourth, however - Kathryn’s birthday – she received a little note from Mrs Wright requesting that she reserve the morrow for a day out in the country in celebration of their joint birthdays, and with an invitation for Bob to participate as well. Had the invitation been solely for herself she would probably have returned her excuses, but she was acutely aware of her little son’s extremely constrained lifestyle and was very loath to deny him the opportunity of an outing. So the next morning she donned a walking dress and boots, as the invitation had intimated that a certain amount of rambling may be involved, and did her best to curtail Bob’s over-abundant excitement at the thought of a whole day’s excursion to some mystery destination which may, hopefully, involve some play.

  As she had half suspected, it was Mr Berkeley’s carriage, with both Mr Berkeley and his sister inside, which duly appeared at the door of Sandsford House at shortly after ten o’clock the next morning. Bob and Mr Berkeley greeted each other with the joy of long lost and very dear acquaintance, and Kathryn could not prevent herself from giving him a warmer smile than she had intended when he came knocking at the door.

  ‘This is most kind of you and your sister, Mr Berkeley,’ she said, ushering her son towards the carriage. ‘Bob can hardly contain his excitement. He has had little enough enjoyment these past few weeks, with my husband away and me being taken up so much with my aunt.’

  Mr Berkeley expressed his delight that she had accepted their invitation and made way for her in the front-facing seat with his sister, taking the rear-facing one with his adoring friend Bob for himself. The carriage jolted its way unsteadily up the rutted track, much to Bob’s evident glee, and from hence onto the turnpike, which, sadly, was not much better. They continued through Weymouth and across the bridge, eventually turning off onto the southbound road and thence out of town and along towards the sea. This was new territory for Kathryn and she was quite eager to explore it. After just a very few minutes the coachman pulled off the road and reined-in the horses. Mr Berkeley jumped down, picked Bob up and threw him unceremoniously onto his shoulders, handed his sister down and then gave Kathryn his hand to help her down as well.

  ‘We shall take a short walk down this way,’ he announced. ‘There is something just round the corner that I thought you might like to see.’

  The party dutifully made its way down a trackway and then broke off to head towards a ruined castle which stood on a promontory close by. Bob squealed with delight when he saw it. A real castle. Why, a boy could have hours of fun playing hide and seek with an Uncle Andrew here. He looked at his mama with pleading eyes. Mr Berkeley looked at her likewise, making her laugh.

  ‘We are entirely in your hands today, Mr Berkeley,’ she acknowledged. ‘If there is time enough for a game then a game is what you most certainly should have.’

  ‘Come along then, young man,’ commanded Mr Berkeley, effortlessly lowering him down to the ground again. ‘What will you do – hide, or seek?’

  ‘Hide, hide,’ shouted Bob. ‘And mama and Mrs Wright must hide as well and you shall come and find us.’

  Kathryn was not at all sure that she wanted to hide and be sought by Mr Berkeley but as Mrs Wright appeared to share none of her doubts she felt it a little mean to refuse. So she fled into the castle as soon as Mr Berkeley had turned his back and found herself a quiet nook, overlooking the water, in which to await her fate.

  Despite the secrecy of her hiding place it appeared that Mr Berkeley was either in lu
ck or – shame to say – perhaps had peeped just a little at her flight, for no sooner had he roared ‘coming’ than he made his way straight for her hideaway at a great rate of knots. Kathryn could see that she was certain to be discovered. Giving a little squeal she left the sanctuary of her hiding place and raced off in the opposite direction. She happened to come against Bob, crouching behind a stone nearby.

  ‘Quickly, quickly Bob,’ she shouted, holding her skirt up a fraction to facilitate her flight. ‘I shall be undone. You stay here and stand your ground. You can run more quickly than I can. You must not allow him to catch me. You must help me to escape.’

  Bob immediately stood tall to protect his mama. With a great roar Mr Berkeley started to head for him instead. Laughing out loud Bob began to run away. Kathryn reached the staging post at the same time as Mrs Wright, who had hidden nearby, whilst the jubilant Bob succeeded in evading capture by dint of a few sneaky twists and turns and not a little unwonted slowness on the part of his pursuer. Mr Berkeley threw up his arms, panting, in defeat.

  ‘I see you are all too slippery for me,’ he confessed, grinning. ‘You are all too good at getting away. Come along, then – we need to continue our ramble by the water’s edge before the tide starts to turn.’

  He took Bob by the hand, led the way down a steep little pathway leading to the rocky edge, and, reminding the ladies to take great care on the slippery surface, set off again towards Portland to the south.

  Mr Berkeley had determined on yet another treat for Bob. As they rounded the end of the rocks they came to a pretty little cove, a little way back from which stood a tiny and somewhat intriguing thatched cottage standing entirely on its own. Andrew lifted Bob up the rocky edge, jumped up himself, and then leaned down to offer his sister a hand. Kathryn managed to scramble up by herself and avoided his eye. They made their way over to the cottage, which turned out not to be a cottage at all but rather some kind of waiting room which opened out towards the water and was furnished inside with a range of benches for people to sit on. A stout rope led from one side of the building right down to the water, and as she looked along it Kathryn became aware of an odd-looking, flat barge making its way towards them, being propelled by means of a ferryman hauling at the rope. She pointed it out to Bob. Bob’s eyes almost popped when he saw it, and even more so when he saw not only the ferryman but a pony and trap, two shabby gigs and several men with horses standing quietly on the deck. He tore himself from his mama and raced to the edge to get a better look. Then Mr Berkeley asked whether he would like to have a ride on it. Would he like to have a ride? What young man of five and three quarters would not like to have a ride? So as soon as the ferry had relinquished its load Mr Berkeley paid their penny fares, assisted everyone on board, and almost before they knew it they were being transported smoothly across the little channel which separated the mainland from Portland Island itself.

  Once on the other side Andrew fished about in his pockets and, much to the surprise of Bob and the admiration of the ladies, produced four small pastries which they sat to eat (in some little discomfort) on the pebbly foreshore nearby. Kathryn stared out to sea as she ate. The area was busy with boats – square-rigged brigs, little fishing boats, the occasional pleasure craft with brightly coloured sails and an unhurried air. She was trying her best to appreciate the day for what it was. Mr Berkeley had obviously put a good deal of thought and preparation into it and she had to feel grateful to him for it. But she was finding it unusually difficult to enjoy, when all she could think of were regrets. Why had she succumbed to the shallow, fatal charms of Giles when she did? Why could Mr Berkeley not have appeared on the beach a year ago, before she had married him? Why had she allowed herself to be drawn so compellingly to the thoughtful, kind, loving man who sat so closely next to her that their shoulders touched, when she had known all along that it was wrong? Why could life not be perfect – perfect like this every day? She gave a little sigh and watched idly as Mr Berkeley and Bob, having devoured their pastry, rose together to race up the great shingle bank that faced them close to the shore. She heard Bob’s giggles and Mr Berkeley’s deep laughter as they found themselves slipping backwards down it again almost as quickly as they raced up. Mrs Wright, too, sat and watched them with a smile. She was extremely fond of her fun-loving, generous brother. It was good to see him so happy.

  Having worn themselves out, Bob and Mr Berkeley eventually flung themselves down, panting, next to the ladies, oblivious to the discomfort of the pebbles that were digging in beneath them. They sat there quietly for a while, enjoying some unexpected sunshine, chatting easily amongst themselves – the landscape, the seascape, the shape of the clouds, the state of the war with France. Then Mr Berkeley consulted his pocket watch. It was time for them to return. Assisting his sister and Kathryn to their feet he shepherded them all back towards the ferry and held Bob closely as they stood on deck, watching the boats on the sea. In a very few minutes they were safely over the other side. Kathryn was surprised to find that the carriage was awaiting them on the roadway nearby. The extent of his planning impressed her. She had not fancied a hard scramble back to the castle over the rocks.

  They returned to town via Belvoir, where Mr Berkeley had arranged the final treat of the day. Supplying Bob with a little box of mutton and potatoes to eat outside before playing in the garden with the scullery maid, he escorted Kathryn into his house and gave her the tour of the rooms that he had promised on the occasion of her previous disastrous visit there. This time, luckily, nothing untoward occurred to ruin their pleasure in the tour – only delight, as first one elegant but comfortable room was succeeded by another as they made their way slowly round each one. Some of the rooms overlooked the garden, others overlooked the sea. All were light and welcoming, with modern furniture and freshly painted walls. Kathryn could only compare them to the old fashioned darkness of Sandsford House and breathe just a very slight sigh of regret.

  The coachman dropped Mrs Wright off near the town bridge as they made their way back through Weymouth after dinner, with Mr Berkeley escorting Bob and his mama back to Sandsford on his own. Bob, tired out by the day’s exertions, was sitting on his knee, dozing. Kathryn was sitting quietly at their side. The rhythmic trotting of the horses, the slight sway of the carriage, the closeness of his shoulders to hers, the warm feeling that she always felt when she was alone with Andrew – all these gave her a sense of great contentment which over-rode her sense of guilt. She was pleased and grateful that he had organised such a lovely day.

  They reached Sandsford at last and Mr Berkeley carried Bob out of the carriage whilst Kathryn stepped down and opened the house door. She was laughing at the two of them. They were both looking distinctly the worse for wear after their excursion up the pebbles. Mr Berkeley’s tailcoat had strands of seaweed upon it and Bob, she knew not how, had a brown smear all over his cheek which smelled suspiciously of fish. But just as she was teasing them about their shockingly disreputable appearance, which was totally unacceptable in two gentlemen who might want to impress the ladies, her attention was caught by something lying in the hallway. She stopped in mid sentence, and blanched. It was a pair of muddy boots, both lying discarded on the cold stone floor, and next to the boots was a leather travelling pack.

  ‘Giles is back,’ she breathed in horror, and at that very moment a rough voice assailed them from the depths of the parlour.

  ‘Kathryn. Is that you? Where in God’s name have you been?’ Giles followed his voice to the door. ‘Who gave you the permission to....And who the hell are you?’

  Giles’s eyes had landed on Andrew, who still held little Bob in his arms. Andrew placed the child gently on the ground and advanced, hand outstretched, to greet him.

  ‘Berkeley, Mr Miller. Andrew Berkeley. Delighted to make your acquaintance, my good sir.’

  Giles was a little nonplussed by this somewhat unconventional approach. He took the proffered hand almost without knowing it. Bob had retreated a little, and hid behind his
mother’s skirts.

  ‘So...?’

  ‘I live in Belvoir House – over in Weymouth, you know,’ said Mr Berkeley, helpfully.

  ‘And what the hell has that got to do with anything? Why are you escorting my wife and son?’

  ‘We have been out on an excursion – on Portland, don’t you know? Mrs Miller is a good friend of my sister, Mrs Wright. She was kind enough to provide us with her company. It is my sister’s birthday, you see. My sister loves children and it was a treat for her to have Bob to entertain her for the day. Bob was too tired to walk back to Sandsford so I said that I would drop them off before going home.’

  Giles was slightly mollified, although he remained somewhat suspicious. He let it go, however, and turned tail back into the parlour.

  Mr Berkeley caught Kathryn’s eye as she prepared to show him out.

  ‘Thank you for today, Mr Berkeley,’ she whispered. ‘I am extremely obliged to you. Bob and I have had a really wonderful time. We will neither of us forget it in a very long while.’

  Mr Berkeley smiled at her a little sadly, patted Bob on the head, jumped into his carriage, and ordered his coachman to take him straight back home to Belvoir.

  Chapter 8

  Giles seemed genuinely pleased to see Kathryn when she managed to pluck up the courage to seek him in the parlour. She had placed Bob, silently, into Sally’s hands and taken a deep breath before putting her chin up and stepping firmly through the parlour door to see him. Giles had been standing staring out of the window and greeted her with open arms. She ran up to him and accepted the caress with as much complaisance as she could. She mentally thanked God that despite her feelings she had always done her utmost to maintain her faithfulness to Giles.

  ‘So, tell me all your news, Giles,’ she invited, taking him by the hand and leading him to the sofa. ‘You have been gone an immense time – it must have been exciting for you?’