The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) (24 page)

Andrew saw her look and shared her giggle.

‘Yes,’ he said, a little ruefully, ‘yes, you may be right. You will find some water heating on the fire. I thought you might like to wash her. It should make her a bit more comfortable, I think.’

Sally bustled out and as she closed the door behind her Andrew heard a quiet murmur emanating from the bed. He was there in an instant. In the dim half light he could see her eyes flicker a little, and then open. He shifted
over
to sit by her on the bed and buried his head in the pillow next to hers. She turned a little and kissed the hair behind his ear.

‘Andrew,’ she said, and then she burst into tears.

Although a little disconcerted, Andrew could only feel that this was a splendid sign. He had long heard of the therapeutic effects of tears. He was not one to depend on such a thing himself, of course, but he was hopeful that, by allowing her misery some expression at last, she would perhaps make a start on the difficult road back to normality again. He raised his head and returned her kiss, gently, firstly on her forehead and then over her eyes and cheeks. 

‘Yes, I am with you, my love,’ he murmured. ‘I am here. We will get through this together, don’t you fret.’

She opened her eyes again and gave him a little smile. His heart leapt with an unexpected gladness. He gazed into her eyes and smiled back. When Sally returned, boiled egg in her hand, Kathryn was sitting up, shawl around her shoulders, hair tousled and cheeks red amongst the black and the blue, still not quite looking herself but looking a lot more a part of the living than of the dead.

Andrew insisted on helping h
er to eat her breakfast
and then retired briefly in order to enable Sally to give her a wash. He went down to the kitchen and found Tom there, having his breakfast in front of the fire. The servant shared it with the visitor and they sat in companionable silence for a moment, enjoying the brief respite from the trials of everyday life.

After a few minutes Tom, rather hesitatingly, spoke.

‘Funeral’s today, Mr Berkeley,’ he muttered. ‘Thought you might like to go along.’

Andrew nodded.

‘Thank you, Tom. Yes, I will go. Will you join me?’

‘Aye.’

‘Thank you. When shall we go?’

‘It starts at twelve.’

‘Then call me down at a half after eleven. I will walk with you to the church.’

‘Should we tell the missus?’

Andrew thought for a moment.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No. I think not.’

‘So do I.’

Andrew sat with Kathryn for the rest of the morning, as before. She had managed a good part of her breakfast and was looking more comfortable in a clean night dress, her hair nicely brushed. He had already asked Sally to relieve him at half eleven. He was dreading the moment but it came at last and, as Kathryn had drifted off to sleep once more, he quietly slipped out and met with Tom as he came out of the kitchen. They walked in silence together up the hill towards the church. The little coffin was already next to a newly dug hole in the churchyard, next to the now maturing grave of Bob’s father. Andrew couldn
’
t look
at it
as it was lowered into the ground. Neither could he look as Tom threw the first grains of soil onto it. They were the only mourners. The vicar thanked them for coming. He asked them how Mrs Miller did and offered to visit. Mr Berkeley thanked him. Maybe later, he thought. It might be best for Kathryn to know nothing about it just yet.

The doctor was there once they returned to Sandsford House. He appeared satisfied that Kathryn’s progress was as it should be, but knowing of the reason for her distress in the first place he ventured to suggest that it would be quite some time before it would be safe to leave her entirely on her own.

‘I understand that she lives here with her husband and the two servants. It is a little isolated, is it not? It may be better, if it can be arranged, for her to be somewhere more in the centre of things – somewhere where there are more people about, in order to divert her a little. Are you aware of where the husband is?’

Andrew shook his head. He neither knew, nor cared, where Giles had gone. He only wished him at the bottom of the sea.

‘Well, if it could be arranged to remove her from here a change of scenery would do her the world of good,’ were the doctor’s final remarks. ‘It will be quite safe to move her within another day or so. Let me know how she goes on and call me in again if there
’
s any material change.’

With the doctor’s words Andrew’s mind was immediately made up. Kathryn should be removed as soon as possible to Belvoir House, with Mrs Wright to keep her company. Sophie would not be pleased, he had no doubt. Sophie would not be pleased but he didn
’
t give a damn.

So the next morning, Kathryn’s progress appearing to be maintained, Andrew asked Sally to pack a few of her things and prepare her mistress for the journey into town. Andrew himself retrieved his horse from the stable, where he had been meticulously looked after by the careful Tom, saddled him up, and trotted off to fetch his travelling carriage, which he felt would accommodate her rather better than his curricle would do. He would pass Miss Brewer’s house on the way. He resolved quickly to explain the reason for his absence the other day – surely she would understand? - before sorting out his carriage in time to get Kathryn to Belvoir by the end of the afternoon.

Andrew had truly expected Miss Brewer to understand.
But
Miss Brewer
certainly
did not understand
. Spotting him as he
dismounted and placed the horse
in the care of one of the urchins who materialised, as if by magic, as soon as a
rider
appeared, she stormed down to open the front door and stood before it, arms akimbo, as he mounted the steps towards her.

‘So you have decided to call at long last,’ was her tender welcome as soon as he was before her. ‘I
was quite beside myself, Berkeley
. No-one had the first idea wherever you had gone.’

She was wearing black for the Duke of Glo
ucester. It made her look
severe.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ Andrew bowed low over her hand. ‘I was called away to a dire emergency. It has taken me several days to extricate myself.’

‘Really?’ Sophie was obviously less than impressed. ‘And what, may I ask, was of such grave importance as to make you forget your commitments to myself and not even have the decency to let me know?’

‘It was Mrs Miller,’ he said, rather more bluntly than perhaps was politic. ‘Her son had just drowned. She was in shock. I had to go to help her.’

Sophie stiffened a little.

‘And where was Mrs Miller’s husband, that you were called on to assist?’ she asked, stonily. ‘Surely she could have had no cause to call on you?’

‘Her husband has gone away for a little while. There was no-one else they could call upon.’

‘Well, I still cannot see why you had to leave everything at the drop of a hat and rush to
her
. I’m sure I feel sorry for the poor woman but I really cannot see that there was any reason at all to steal you from my side. After all, we had our engagement with my aunt and cousins all arranged. I knew not what to do. It was acutely embarrassing. How do you think I felt, having to admit that you had disappeared, I knew not where, and having to apologise for your absence like that?’

Andrew tried manfully to put himself in his young
fiancée’s
position, but failed. Surely anyone – even a young, thoughtless girl such as Sophie – could see that a tragedy like the loss of a little son was
a great deal
more important than
a
family
tea? He looked at her
r
eproachf
ully. She noticed the look. It simply
added fuel to her fire.

‘You don’t have a
clue how I feel, do you, Berkeley
?’ she spat at him. ‘You are supposed to be marrying me next month and most of my family have not even met you yet. I was desperate to show you off.’

Andrew finally managed to make himself feel a little sorry for her. It must have been galling.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear. Please be assured that I would not have put you off unless it had been absolutely necessary. And now I am to put her up at Belvoir House for a while. The doctor has prescribed a change of scene. I will ask my sister to accompany her there. She will need looking after for several weeks to come. I will try to see you as often as I can, but for a week or so, at any rate, I would be loath to commit myself to any particular engagements. She appears to be recovering a little just now but the slightest thing could set her back again and I cannot just leave her entirely in my sister’s hands.’

‘Put her up? But why do you feel it necessary to put her up? She is nothing to you after all – not even a cousin or anything. Why on earth do you feel the need to offer her a home? Can she not rent a lodging, or an apartment, like anyone else would have to do? I cannot see why you have to get involved with her at all. And even if you did, surely the stupid woman can stay at Belv
oir on her own, with Mrs Wright?
There can be no necessity for you to be there. I cannot for the life of me think how the fact that Mrs Miller may be staying there may affect our plans at all.’

‘It is much to be regretted, I know. You must believe that I would rather have avoided it,’ (here Andrew was not being altogether untruthful. He would much rather Bob had not died, after all). ‘But you will remember that I owe my life to Mrs Miller. Without her assistance I would not now be here with you today. A little
inconvenience
on my part is a small price to pay when one considers the extent of her service to me.’

‘Well, I don’t see that at all. She only did what a
nyone would have done under the circumstances
. And I signally fail to understand why she should have to inconvenience
me
as well. However, I see that you have quite made up your mind. My wishes are apparently quite subordinate to hers. A young lady of
a
less forgiving disposition than my own would have given you a roasting even for the thought of it. But you obviously disagree with me here and I can have no influence over i
t at all. I shall explain your conduct
to my father. I’m sure that
he
will have something to say, after all.’

This sounded like an opportunity to withdraw, and Andrew took it as quickly as he could. Promising only to send her a message when he was able, he retreated a little warily out of the doorway and reclaimed his horse. The urchin gave him a hand up. Andrew gave him a penny. It seemed a fair exchange. Then, with scarcely a backward glance, he pulled the rein to take the horse across the road, and trotted off as quickly as possible in the direction of Belvoir House.

Kathryn stayed ten days at Belvoir House. For the first few, to be sure, she was scarcely aware that her surroundings had changed, that Andrew was with her almost constantly, reading to her for hours at a time
– Fielding, Richardson, Edgeworth -
holding her hand as she lay in bed, sharing in her pain. Mrs Wright had, of course, been only to pleased to oblige them and had moved into the room next to Kathryn’s – her old room – immediately on being asked. After this, however, Kathryn began to feel so much physically improved – her bruising fading to a somewhat unbecoming yellow and the cuts she had received whilst sitting on the rocks healing well – that she surprised a delighted Andrew one morning by finding her
own
way down to the breakfast room and making free with his
cold
roast
hams and delicately
buttered eggs.

Once she was downstairs both brother and sister appeared to see it as their personal mission to ensure that Kathryn was always entertained and never on her own. Jane turned out to be a competent pianist and spent many a long hour in
the drawing room,
playing for her and
providing her with tui
tion
. Andrew walked with them down to the quay, watching the activity there, and took them out for rides in his carriage.
They
took her into the orangery and marvelled with her at the peaches, apricots, cucumbers and melons that had appeared, as if by magic, from their somewhat unpromising beginnings back in the spring.
They scrambled down to the rocky cove and hunted for shellfish in the rock pools there.
They read the newspapers together in the sunny
saloon
and discussed the stories over chocolate. He told her about the land reclamation and how, when all the work was done, it would give the town a completely new pier
to separate
the harbour
from
the sea
.

Yes, Kathryn was always entertained and never on her own during the day time. But late at night, as she lay awake in her beautiful chamber, listening to the sound of the waves on the cliffs, thinking about her life as it was just then – her miserable existence with Giles, the impending marriage of Andrew to a woman who would never deserve him, the agony of the loss of her son – late at night as she thought of all these things she felt very, very alone. It was then that she allowed her spirits to fail her and the tears to course down her cheeks. It was then that she questioned why God appeared to have deserted her. It was then that she wondered why ever she would wish to go on.