The Body on the Beach (The Weymouth Trilogy) (4 page)

‘Belvoir House? Why – you are the brother of the other Mr Berkeley – Mr John Berkeley. He had lived there for some time, I believe?’

‘You knew my brother?’

‘Only by sight. I regret we are not important enough to have made his regular acquaintance.’

‘Then the loss was all his, Mrs Miller. I feel sure that he should have been pleased to get to know you. What a pity he never did
so
. But yes, John’s wife sadly passed away quite shortly after their marriage and he died suddenly of some horrid illness just a few months ago. As the next in line I have therefore been fortunate enough to inherit the property. I think of it as home anyway. I was brought up there and have stayed there many times since. When my father died it became my brother’s. My mother – who was Dutch – decided to return to her family in the Netherlands. She was never totally at ease here in England. She always struggled with the language. I was fifteen at the time and at school over here but I went to stay with her each summer holiday and decided to make the Netherlands my home with her when I
finished
my education. The French wars were bubbling just about then and I thought it best to remain over there with her in case she might need me. My sister, Jane, had similarly spent several holidays over there but she is some years younger than I and eventually it became just too dangerous for her to travel. So she remained in Weymouth and kept house for my brother instead – or at least, did so until her own marriage removed her from Belvoir and into a new house on
the
High Street
– just by the quay - last year. She married a naval officer who, as you might imagine, is much away at p
resent so I am hopeful that I sha
ll be able to renew my acquaintance with her now that I am back home again.’

Kathryn listened to his story with great interest. She knew of the family by repute but, as she had intimated to Mr Berkeley, she had never been introduced. She had heard that Belvoir was a most beautiful property, second in Weymouth only to that of Mr
s
Buxton nearby and benefiting from a most delightful position overlooking the bay. She should definitely be pleased to know the family and she suspected that Giles, should he ever determine on returning, would certainly feel the same.

Mr Berkeley, finding that he had become a little stiff (doubtless as a result of his
exertions the previous night
), now determined on rising from his seat and taking a
turn
about the room. He had already forgotten the extent of his injuries and managed a couple of steps before being reminded of them most forcibly by dint of such a weakness in his legs as to cause him to stumble. He should certainly have fallen had K
athryn not leapt up immediately
to prevent him. As it was, he was far too heavy for her to do more than soften the descent and they ended up together, most inelegantly and at great damage to their personal pride, in a sorry-looking heap in front of the fire.

‘Perhaps I should desist from too much exertion just at present, Mrs Miller,’ he admitted ruefully, as Kathryn scrambled to her feet, blushing, and rang the bell for Tom. ‘I do beg your pardon. I seem to do nothing but prostrate myself before you today.’

Tom appeared with rather more alacrity than usual, perhaps buoyed by the expectation of seeing the mysterious visitor for himself. Finding the gentleman sprawled most peculiarly in front of the fire rather than in the more usual habitation of an easy chair he assisted him to get to his feet, and took the opportunity to study him most closely as he did so. Although none too certain about the gentleman’s dress sense, which reminded him strongly of that of his neighbours down the lane, he could tell at once – as Kathryn had done – that he was a gentleman of quality and therefore deserving of some attention. He therefore enquired politely whether the gentleman would be requiring dinner that evening, to which the answer was a quiet affirmative, and whether he would also require the spare room to be made up, to which his mistress gave a similar response.

‘We live quite simply here, Mr Berkeley,’ explained Kathryn, as Tom went off on his errands. ‘You have met the whole household now, with the exception of my husband, who has gone away, and I regret that our meals are
as simple as they come
. However, be assured, please, that you are most welcome to share all that I have here at Sandsford House for as long as you need to and that Sally and Tom will be more than pleased to assist you in whatever ways they can.’

It was several days before Mr Berkeley felt strong – or inclined – enough to think of removing himself from Sandsford House and mak
ing
the three mile journey along Weymouth bay to the house he now called his home. Indeed, considering that he must surely have felt impatient to renew his acquaintance with Belvoir, to make his alterations and impose his own ideas upon the place, Kathryn was quite surprised (although not altogether displeased) to find him still at Sandsford a full four days after his fortuitous discovery on the beach.

For the first three days, to be fair, Mr Berkeley still felt ill and weak enough to justify his continued stay at Preston, where he sat for most of the time within sight of Kathryn, watching her closely as she worked. From dawn until dusk, he saw that she was ever busy - cleaning, cooking, baking,
churning butter,
working with Sally in the wash-house, seeing to Bob - singing softly to herself as she did so -
while in the darkness of the evening she picked up her little workbox and sewed.
He also saw that she was forever thoughtful, forever looking out for ways in which she could help everyone else – not just Bob, but anyone who happened to wander by. She had spotted that Tom’s smock was ripped and she had quietly mended it for him while he washed himself under the pump; she had welcomed an old Gipsy woman who had come to sell her wares – given her more than
half of
her nuncheon
and
bought her pegs even though she already had more than enough of her own.
B
ut b
y the Thursday evening
Mr Berkeley
felt so much recovered as to participate with Bob in a somewhat rough and tumble game of toy soldiers which appeared, in the main, to consist of rolling around on the parlour sofa, soldier in hand, in a (normally vain) attempt to knock the opponent’s soldier from out of his grasp. From the shrieks and laughter emitting from little Bob (if not Mr Berkeley himself) it appeared that the gentleman was experiencing the worst of the action and at one stage Kathryn was so concerned for the state not only of her visitor’s health but also for the state of Mr Arthur’s best outfit that she felt obliged to intervene. 

Now that he was feeling somewhat better Kathryn was amused to find how thoroughly
and unaffectedly
her unexpected visitor was making himself at home
at Sandsford House
. He played endlessly with a delighted Bob, he flirted with a flattered Sally and, as the week went on,
he
even assisted a surprised but grateful Tom with some of the lighter work around the farm. On the fourth afternoon, with Bob safely eating his
bread and meat
in the kitchen,
and Mr Berkeley himself having been supplied with some further clothing
and footwear
by the obliging Tom,
he suggested that Kathryn might be kind enough to take a break from her labours for a while and accompany him on a stroll
. He was keen to walk
down to Sandsford Cottages
so
that he might pass on his personal thanks to the three gentlemen (and diverse children) who had so unselfishly provided for his immediate needs, and to assure Mr Arthur of the safe return of his best set of clothing just as soon as he was in a position to do so. When they got there they found that Mr Arthur had hung what remained of Mr Berkeley’s clothing to dry outside the cottage. This was kind, although unfortunately it had become so cut through by the actions of the rocks, and so
misshapen
by the effects of the sea that although Mr Arthur offered it respectfully to its rightful owner Mr Berkeley declined it with a rueful laugh, and suggested that he might like to use the sorry remains for rags in the cottage instead.

The errand completed, and the afternoon being a fair one, he then suggested that he and Kathryn might continue their stroll by making their way together down towards the water’s edge.

‘For despite the somewhat violent demands it made upon me the other day I still feel a great affinity with the sea,’ he assured her, offering her his arm as they stepped
carefully
across the hummocky grass to the rocky edge. ‘I was trained as a landscape engineer in the Netherlands – or, as Monsieur Bonaparte now insists it call itself, the Batavian Republic – and became most interested in the draining of the polders there. It is because of my love for the sea that I ended up here, on your beach. I had arrived in England on the northern coast and taken the mail as far as London before I bethought myself to visit an old friend in Southampton on the way home. So I stopped off there for a couple of days and fell in with an old acquaintance of mine in one of the public houses on the quay – the master of a small merchantman - who soon persuaded me that a short sail to Weymouth would be just the way to complete my journey home. Had we not met up again I daresay I should have caught the coach instead. Luckily my main luggage remained with the coach – there was not room for it on the boat – so I am in great expectation of finding it safe at Belvoir as soon as I get myself home. I must admit I shall be pleased to see it. Mr Arthur’s clothing is as fine as it can be, I daresay, but not to be compared in comfort
and fit
with my favourite tailcoat and boots.’

Kathryn could appreciate his point and allowed herself to wonder, a little guiltily, what Mr Berkeley might look like in his favourite tailcoat and boots.

They had reached the rocks by now and were standing quietly together, looking out over the shining grey
water
. Like her companion, Kathryn had always felt a great affinity with t
he sea
. It drew her to it like a siren, in all weathers and at all times of the day. She stared at it
now. Raucous seabirds screamed
noisily
overhead. She could taste the salt on her lips and smell the seaweed in the air. Sometimes exciting, sometimes overwhelming, and at other times
softly
peaceful as it lapped gently to the shore, it was always different, always mesmerising. That afternoon it was quiet and still, the very slight, rhythmic swooshing of wavelets breaking onto the rocky foreshore making her feel relaxed and very, very contented. They stood there together in silence for a while, looking out at the great expanse of shimmering water, almost feeling the peacefulness. And then Kathryn realised, with a jolt, that she still held Mr Berkeley’s arm, and that it felt most natural and comfortable to be doing so. She withdrew it quickly, bending down instead to pick up a seashell to fill the void. It was a most pretty one and as she examined it Mr Berkeley bent his head close to hers to have a look at it too. She felt very aware of him and knew that she absolutely should not. So she handed the shell over to him with a start and wandered a few yards further along the grassy edge to admire the view from
a slightly
different perspective
instead
.

‘You obviously love the sea as much as I do, Mrs Miller,’ he remarked to her, offering his arm again as a prelude to going back. Kathryn looked out towards the shining buildings of Weymouth, tiny as little models across the bay, in an attempt to convince him that she had not seen it, and walked on independently instead. ‘Have you always lived in Preston?’

‘Almost always, Mr Berkeley. I went to school in Dorchester but came home each weekend – Sandsford was my father’s property so I grew up in this very spot. As soon as I left school my father required me to marry a neighbour of ours – the local vicar – I know not why. Perhaps he just wanted some security for me – papa was quite elderly after all and I had an older brother at the time who was set to inherit everything, so there was no other guarantee of my getting anything of my own. Anyway, not knowing any different, I married this vicar on my sixteenth birthday and went to live in the vicarage for a while. George was a very good man – a kind, worthy man and I am sure that he felt some affection for me, but I was only sixteen and he was over thirty when we married. Fifteen years is a very great gap for a young lady who has hardly finished her schooling and I am afraid that I found him very stuffy and dry. I wanted to be going out, to assemblies or the theatre – anywhere for a little diversion - and all he wanted to do was to stay at home and work. I did not realise quite what a marriage entailed, I fear, and I was totally ill prepared for it. But then he died. He was a conscientious parson and always insisted on tending to the sick. It was his undoing in the end. He caught a fever from one of his parishioners and died of it the following week. That was in the May – we had been married scarcely more than a year, as my birthday is in April. Bob was born three months later. He was born at Sandsford, so it has always been his home as well.’

‘And how did you end up here with your current husband?’

‘My brother passed away shortly after George, so my father changed his will to enable me to inherit. There was no-one else with any near relationship except for my father’s sister, my aunt, who also lived with us at the time. My mother had died when I was still a baby and my aunt had helped to bring me up. My father died in the October after my twenty first birthday so I was able to inherit the house and land straight away. The house is as you already know it. I daresay at one time it would have been thought quite
grand
, though it is in sore need of some improvement now. As you will have noticed, the kitchen lacks all the modern conveniences, and had we been anything like great entertainers we should have felt the lack of a dining room most severely
. I had been saving up for some renovations before I met Giles
,
but when he arrived he
considered it perfectly adequate as it was
and decided not to go ahead with the
m
. Luckily it meets our more modest needs well enough, and
of course it is
my home after all. The land, though, is quite extensive. We own several cottages in the
area as well as having a few
animals of our own, although being so wild and open to the elements it offers a poor enough existence. Anyway, I was invited to spend that first Christmas with a
school friend
over in Dorchester. I was still in mourning for my father, of co
urse, but she’
d invited several other friends and relations and I had to mix with them to some extent. One of them was Giles. I regret to say that he swept me off my feet. Just six months after my father died he asked me for my hand, and by the end of June – on his birthday – I found myself saying ‘I do’ with him at the altar of Preston church. Giles had very little of his own and as I already owned Sandsford House it seemed the natural thing for us to live together here. Of course, as soon as I married him the property became his anyway. As a married woman I am apparently not deemed fit to manage a property, despite having done so before. He is – well –
he is
quite a determined gentleman, Mr Berkeley. He soon took exception to my aunt living alongside us – I regret that she felt obliged to intervene on my behalf on several occasions – so he forbad her the use of the house. She has taken lodgings in Weymouth – essentially just a single room, I am sorry to say - and takes in plain sewing and mending from the guest houses to enable herself to live from hand to mouth. I pay the rent from my allowance. It leaves precious little else, but I feel it is the least that I can do. After all, it is quite my fault that she lost her lifelong home. I feel very bad about it and I should not have blamed her for one moment had she refused to know me after that. Unaccountably she remains quite fond of me, however. I am very grateful for it. She is the only remaining relative that I have – other, of course, than my son.’