Where Seagulls Soar (11 page)

Although the breath hissed between his teeth, Seth’s smile was pleasant. ‘No man wants to dance to the tune of a greedy woman.’

‘Greed is built into Clara Nash, but a lot of good it will do her now, since she won’t live much longer. At the moment the girls are living with their brother in Clara’s house,
but the lot of them will be out on the street shortly, when Barnard forecloses. I thought to buy the house myself, but it would stretch me too thin at the moment. I’ve just signed a contract
to build a steamship, and have plans to erect a warehouse on the site of Alex Morcant’s former home.’

Seth’s grey eyes gave nothing of his thoughts away. He stood up, shook hands with the man and nodded. ‘You’ve told me all I need to know. I’ll be in touch in due course.
Good day, my lord.’

When he got outside Seth drew in a deep breath. Even the streets of London smelled fresh after the stench of decadence in that drawing room.

He headed for his home, one in a row of houses exactly alike in design and situated not far from Hyde Park. It was a convenient location for Seth, since he liked to ride every morning when he
was in residence.

Handing his hat and cane to the butler, he said, ‘Where’s Miss Kate?’

‘In the garden with her governess, sir.’

Strolling through the house, Seth paused at the French windows, smiling at the sight of his niece, who was lying on her stomach under the copper beech tree, drawing something in an exercise
book.

She looked pretty in a blue flowered dress with a frilly white smock over it. Nearby, Kate’s governess was nodding off in a wicker chair. As Seth watched, Kate picked up a long blade of
grass, got to her hands and knees and tickled the end of the governess’s nose.

By the time the governess came awake, flapping a hand in front of her face and saying crossly, ‘Bothersome insects,’ Kate was back where she’d started from, drawing
industriously in her book.

When Kate looked up and smiled, her eyes wide and innocent, the governess smiled back at her and said, ‘All right, my turtle dove?’ Kate nodded, and the woman’s chin gradually
sunk on to her chest again and she began to snore gently.

Seth chuckled as Kate picked up the blade of grass again. She was more the magpie than the dove. Catching sight of him, she scrambled to her feet and dashed across the garden, hurling herself
into his outstretched arms. ‘You’re home, Uncle Seth. It’s been so boring without you.’

‘I saw what you did to Miss Tanner.’

‘You’re not going to be vexed, are you?’ Her grey eyes alight with mischief, the five-year-old giggled in a manner which reminded Seth very much of his sister. Sixteen-year-old
Sarah Adams had died giving birth to Kate. Too shamed to tell anyone she’d been violated by a guest in her eldest brother’s home, she’d run away from the row that had ensued when
her secret had been detected, and had ended up in a poorhouse.

He and Sarah had only shared a mother with their aristocratic elder brothers. Their own father had been of more lowly birth, but had been a learned and gentle man, philosopher and teacher. His
heart had failed him when he’d learned of his beloved daughter’s fate. The two had been buried together, their mother having been laid to rest some two years previously, in the family
tomb of the peer who’d been her first husband.

There had been no choice for Seth but to take the child in and make himself responsible for her. But he hadn’t considered how strong the emotional attachment would become. Advised by his
brothers to get rid of the unfortunate by-blow, he ignored them. As a result, he was now a family outcast, and so was Kate. Not that it mattered to Seth, for he’d never got on with his
brothers, who had always considered it rather vulgar of the widowed countess to wed a commoner and produce more offspring so late in life.

However, wealth had arrived in an unexpected legacy from a renegade aunt of his father’s family, who’d run off with a West Indian sugar planter of mixed blood – and that wealth
was something his brothers remained in ignorance of.

Kate’s future bothered him a little, for he was the only family she had in life. At the moment the girl was too young to understand, but he knew she’d be slighted in later years,
when people learned of her background.

So he hugged Kate tight and laughed, because he couldn’t be cross with her, however hard he tried. ‘I just came in to say hello.’

The smile left her face as she accused, ‘You’re going away again, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. For a short time.’

‘Can I come this time? You said I could when I’d grown up.’

‘And you think you’re grown up now?’

Scenting success, Kate emphasized her good points. ‘I’ll be good. I promise I won’t fidget or talk too much. I can do up my own buttons now and brush the knots from my hair,
though you’ll have to tie the ribbons. And Miss Tanner said I have lovely manners when I put my mind to it.’

Seth’s thoughts went to Joanna Morcant. He smiled as he remembered her wide blue eyes – he couldn’t help himself. Towing Kate along might break the ice between them, help her
to trust him a little more.

Kate squashed his face between her palms and produced her most winning smile, obviously keeping the best for last as she wheedled, ‘You’re the best Uncle Seth in the world, and I
love you.’

How could he resist such a blatant example of female strategy? He said, chuckling as he set her down on her feet, ‘I’ll ask Miss Tanner to pack you a bag. We’ll leave in the
morning and take the railway train to Southampton, where we’ll stay the night in a boarding house, for I have some business to conduct there.’ That business being to satisfy himself
that the death of Tobias Darsham had been above board. ‘Then we’ll go on to Dorchester. There, we’ll hire a carriage to take us to Portland.’ Seth intended to bypass Poole,
in case he ran into the uncooperative Leonard Rushmore again.

‘A railway train?’ A blissful smile split her face and she went skipping off down the garden, her skirts flaring up behind
her, calling out excitedly, ‘Wake up, Miss Tanner. I’m going with my uncle on a real railway train . . .’

Toby had learned to crawl and could now haul himself up on the furniture.

Outside, Joanna had been obliged to make a pen from a length of fishing net wound around four poles, and secured by stonecutter’s pegs hammered into the ground. Inside it she’d
placed the quilt, so Toby wouldn’t be encouraged to devour any hapless insect that wandered into his inquisitive gaze or within the clutch of his fingers. It would also provide something soft
for him to sleep on, if the urge took him.

Even though it was mid-September, the warm weather had lingered on, so to give her son some shade she’d hung a crinoline hoop covered in a silk petticoat from the washing line. The
clucking hens outside his prison kept Toby entertained as Joanna bent her back to her task. She could hear him chuckling to himself, above his chatter, the raucous squawk of gulls and the slow clip
clop of a horse making its way up the hill. It was probably the coal supplier.

With the colder weather coming, Joanna had two priorities in life, firstly to sow seeds for winter crops – cabbages, beans, carrots and potatoes. Her other priority was winter fuel. The
bunker was almost empty and she had no money to buy more unless she sold some of her mother’s jewellery. That would mean a visit to the
Lugger Inn
, at Easton, where, no doubt, the
wily Barnes brothers, who dealt in anything they could sell, and without asking questions, would pay her far less than its full value.

There was a soft breeze blowing and the seagulls were gliding high on it against a blue sky as she placed her hands against her aching back and straightened up to ease it. Perhaps the coal man
would accept her mother’s ring instead of payment, she thought, though she was loath to part with any of her jewellery.

The islanders had been generous so far, but she couldn’t rely on their charity for ever. She’d hardly moved in when she’d discovered various items left on her doorstep
overnight. A basket of vegetables, a jug of milk or a loaf of bread now and again. Then there was the sack of flour and a flitch of smoked bacon, a generous gift indeed.

She supplemented her diet with the snalters she trapped, the little birds making a tasty, though not a very substantial, dish. The wheatears would leave the island for warmer parts of the world
soon. Then she’d have to rely on the fish she could catch and eggs from the hens. Her time was fully occupied with trying to survive. But she would.

Thinking of winter made her remember the ten shillings Seth Adams had placed in her purse. The money now resided in the brown jug, waiting for its owner to claim it. That would buy her some
coal, she thought, bending back to her task. Seth Adams would hardly go to the expense of coming all the way from London to collect it and she could always replace it later.

Behind her, Toby had quieted. He’d probably fallen asleep. Then she heard him begin to babble and chatter, in the way he always did when he was excited. A child giggled.

Grace, most likely. Though Joanna had thought Tilda was going off to market today.

She turned, her eyes widening when she saw Seth Adams leaning against the wall, almost as though she’d conjured him up just by thinking about him. How had he got here? He hadn’t come
through the gate, because the squeaking hinges would have alerted her. A child was perched on the wall, one arm around Seth’s neck, her head resting on his shoulder.

Pulling himself up the fishing net, Toby fell forward and somersaulted over it. He landed on his back, quickly turned on to his hands and knees and headed for the visitors at as fast a crawl as
he could go.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Joanna scolded. ‘He’ll escape all the time now he’s learned how to go about it.’

As she grabbed her son up, Joanna suddenly became aware of her dishevelled appearance, of the perspiration on her body, her bare feet, calloused and dirty hands and the untidy appearance of her
braided hair. She quickly fastened the top button on her bodice. ‘I’m not in a condition to receive visitors.’

He slid her a teasing grin. ‘I noticed you’re not wearing your hoop and petticoat today.’

Damn him, he’d made her blush. She turned her face away, her eyes going to the girl, who’d jumped down from the wall to stare at the hens. When the girl looked up at her they smiled
at each other.

‘Do the chickens have names?’ she said.

‘I haven’t thought of names for them yet.’

‘My hen at home is called Victoria, after the queen. She lays brown eggs and I have them for breakfast. My name is Kate Sarah Adams.’

‘That’s a pretty name. Mine is Joanna Rose Morcant.’

‘That’s a nice name, too. I came here in a railway train. It was exciting but I got some soot in my eye and it made me cry.’ She gave Joanna a sideways look, then lowered her
voice to an urgent whisper. ‘Do you have a chamber pot? I badly need to go.’

Joanna nodded, and taking the girl by the hand began to lead her towards the house.

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, as well?’ Seth said.

‘Eventually, but Kate is
uncomfortable
, and I need to tidy myself up and feed my son. I’d be obliged if you would give me a half an hour of privacy first.’

Seth began to remove his coat. ‘I’ll do a bit of digging for you while I’m waiting.’

She gave a slight smile and nodded, sure he’d quickly tire of it.

Kate was soon made comfortable. Joanna poured some water into a bowl and washed her face and upper body, then she gave Toby a quick feed. The girl watched the proceedings with great interest.
Afterwards, Joanna slipped into a clean bodice, then vigorously brushed out her hair, tying it into a knot at the nape of her neck.

Toby had fallen asleep on the bed. Carrying him downstairs she laid him on the battered settee. He wouldn’t sleep for long.

Through the window she saw that Seth was attacking the garden bed with ease. His muscles moved smoothly in unison under his shirt, and he seemed to be enjoying the exercise.

Putting the kettle on to boil, Joanna placed cups on a tray, all odd ones. Brian Rushmore hadn’t left much in the cottage intact. Thank goodness she had some milk, though.

‘Is there any cake?’ Kate asked her. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘I haven’t got any cake, but I have a piece of bread and some apple and strawberry jam to spread on it.’

‘Why haven’t you got cake? Don’t you like it?’

‘I’m too poor to buy anything but essentials, so I have to live without cake,’ Joanna told her, cutting a slice from the remainder of the loaf.

A pair of bright eyes remarkably like Seth’s came up to engage hers, and Joanna wondered what the relationship between them was. Sister and brother perhaps? ‘Bread and jam is nice
too.’ Thanking her politely, Kate waited for the bread to be spread with jam, then began to eat it.

‘You can go and tell Mr Adams he may come into the house now if he wishes,’ Joanna told her.

Seth came in a few minutes later. He must have held his head under the pump, because water dripped from his hair and arms.

Joanna handed him a threadbare towel. ‘Why have you come, Mr Adams?’

‘To collect my ten shillings, of course,’ he said, and smiled.

Joanna’s heart sank.

Seth Adams didn’t as much as flicker an eyelid when Joanna handed him the mismatched cup and saucer. Murmuring his thanks, he took a seat on the threadbare chair, crossed
one elegantly shod leg over the other and sipped at it.

There was a catlike smugness to the smile he gave her as she seated herself next to the sleeping Toby and prepared to engage in polite conversation.

‘You were not very well the last time I saw you, Mrs Morcant? I do hope your condition has improved.’

Had there been a slight emphasis on the word condition? His astute eyes told her he’d guessed exactly what that condition had been. She returned his smile. ‘Thank you for enquiring.
I’m in perfect health now.’

‘And your son?’

‘None the worse for his mishap.’ Her glance went to the little girl, and her eyes questioned him.