Where Seagulls Soar (7 page)

Joanna lit a candle from the embers. ‘I’m going upstairs, Mrs Bates. I have the feeling tomorrow will be a long day.’

It was hard going into the room Alex had used on that last night. The bed was still tumbled where he’d tossed and turned in his pain. She should hang his clothing in the wardrobe, she
thought. Taken aback by the smell of stale sweat and sickness, she murmured, ‘When I feel stronger, I’ll scrub the room clean.’

Alex’s clothes had been thrown on a chair in the corner. As she grabbed them up, a whiff of perfume cloyed her nostrils and a woman’s glove fell to the floor. Joanna picked it up and
stared at it. It was grubby and the seam between thumb and finger was ripped.

Had Alex been with another woman? Something inside her head screamed out in anguish at the thought. She couldn’t bear thinking about it, not on top of his death. Going back to their room,
she took a pair of scissors and cut the glove into pieces. She threw them into the small black fireplace and soaked the fabric with spirit from the lamp on the dressing table. Lighting a taper from
the candle, she set the pieces on fire.

When the last spark had died, she went to bed and cried all night.

At the age of fifty-eight, Clara Nash was dried up and thin. Her blue eyes were devoid of warmth, her mouth drooped with dissatisfaction. Upon her head she wore a black wig,
the harshness of which made her face appear haggard.

She sat upon her chair like a queen on her throne, flanked by her two flawless daughters, who were almost seventeen years old. Lydia was the one with the slightly lighter hair, Joanna
remembered. She and Irene looked uncomfortable, their faces tear-stained and sullen.

‘Stop snivelling,’ Clara said when Irene sniffed back her tears. ‘It’s about time the pair of you got some backbone.’

A tear tracked silently down Lydia’s cheek, which was badly bruised. The pair looked quite desperate. Joanna felt sorry for them, for they’d adored Alex. He’d always protected
them from the worst excesses of their mother as she ruthlessly pursued wealthy husbands for her two innocent and reluctant daughters.

Clara’s fingers glittered with rings, her thin arms jangled with bracelets, her ears were stretched with the weight of the earrings she wore. Odd how wearing so many jewels could make a
woman look so cheap, Joanna thought.

‘Mrs Morcant wants to know where her husband’s body is,’ James told Clara.

‘My son isn’t her husband. I’ve been assured that a marriage aboard a ship has no legality ashore unless it’s been registered.’

Joanna bit her tongue, for she knew that to be the truth.

‘Joanna and Alexander had a son together. They had every intention of making the marriage a legal one.’

Clara’s smile was almost a sneer. ‘I doubt if she knows who fathered the child.’

Joanna stepped forward. ‘Oh, I’m quite sure who fathered him, and so was Alex. You’d know the truth of that, too, if you saw him. He’s the image of Alex. Now, I
haven’t come here to argue about the paternity of my son. I want to see my husband’s body. Where is he?’

Clara examined her fingernails. ‘Why should I tell you?’

‘If you don’t, I’ll go to the law and tell them you forged Alex’s signature on a company document to raise a loan for your own use. And I’ll tell them that Lord
Durrington witnessed that signature.’

‘They won’t believe a fortune-hunting little slut like you.’ Clara laughed. ‘You won’t get anything now, since the company will be bankrupt. Without Alex, you
won’t be able to run it.’

Lydia sucked in a deep breath as she gazed defiantly at her mother. ‘You don’t care that Alex is dead, do you? And the authorities
will
believe Joanna if she tells them the
truth, because I’ll go to them too, to back her up. And I’ll tell them what goes on in this house, the opium parties, and the men you—’

Both girls screamed when Clara casually backhanded Lydia across the face and blood spurted from a cut to her mouth.’

‘Leave Lydia alone!’ Springing from her chair, Irene came between them, taking the next blow on her chest. ‘My brother is in the funeral parlour just around the corner,’
she sobbed, sending a glance Joanna’s way. ‘Alex is to be buried the day after tomorrow.’

‘You ungrateful pair, get out of my sight,’ Clara shouted.

‘I wish I could,’ Lydia spat at her, her eyes blazing. ‘I loathe you as much as Alex did. You’re wicked, and I wish you weren’t my mother. And neither of us will
ever marry the old men you pick for us. We’d rather die, like Alex.’

‘That will be a fine day for me,’ Clara said. ‘If you’re not careful, I’ll throw you out in the street. We’ll see how you fare then. You’ll soon come
crawling back, begging for someone to offer you the respectability of marriage.’

‘As long as I have a roof over my head, so have you,’ Joanna told the girls.

Her words elicited a smile from Clara. ‘Then we must make sure you don’t have one.’

The door opened and Oliver came in. He appeared harassed as he looked from one to the other. When the girls went to him, he took them, one in each arm, so they nestled against his shoulders.

‘Mother?’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘These people are being tedious. This slut your brother lived with came here with her lawyer to make trouble.’

‘On the contrary, Oliver,’ James told him. ‘Joanna is simply trying to discover the whereabouts of Alex’s body.’

Oliver gave his sister-in-law an apologetic look. ‘I’ve just come from your house. I was going to take you to see him.’

Clara rose to her feet. ‘Get rid of her, Oliver. I don’t want her or her bastard to set foot in my house again. She’s just accused me of stealing company money, and threatened
me with the authorities. Don’t you dare believe her, Oliver. She’s a liar.’

‘Alex had already told me how you raised the money to secure my release. I see no reason to disbelieve him.’ Oliver gave Clara a pleading look before turning Joanna’s way.
‘Let me try and sort this out please, Joanna. Perhaps my mother can sell this house to help pay back the loan.’

Clara gave a thin smile. ‘It’s mortgaged.’

‘Then perhaps you could sell the jewellery you’re wearing.’

Clara flung a vindictive smile at her. ‘It’s not real.’

‘We have only your word for that.’ Taking a grip on her anger, Joanna nodded towards Oliver, knowing there were too many skeletons in her own closet to risk rattling those of
Clara’s. She wasn’t going down without a fight, though, and tried a bluff. ‘Perhaps I should alert the authorities, after all. Let them sort it out.’

Clara rose and headed for the door. ‘Go ahead. Much good it will do you,’ she spat out before she slammed it behind her.

‘I think my mother’s bankrupt,’ Oliver said miserably.

‘She’s spent our inheritance,’ Lydia said. ‘Now she’s trying to marry us off to old men. I hate her. I wish we didn’t live with her, and I wish Alex
hadn’t died. He was the only person who was really kind to us, except you, Oliver. But you were always at sea, or were too busy to have time for us. What will happen to us?’

‘There’s Joanna,’ Irene said, and the pair gazed at her.

Lydia smiled. ‘Mother would be incensed.’

Oliver stepped in. ‘It’s out of the question, of course.’

‘Why is it?’ Joanna said.

The two sisters exchanged a significant glance.

Alex was lying in an ebony coffin, his head on a white pillow. Dressed in his linen shroud and with his arms tucked neatly under the sheet, he looked like a soldier at
attention. Joanna gave a small, watery smile and ruffled his hair with her fingers. Alex had never slept on his back so tidily, he’d always sprawled.

James had said his farewell and had withdrawn, leaving her to snatch a few private moments. They knew she would never set eyes on her husband’s beloved face again.

All the tension had gone from him. But when she bent to kiss his cheek, his skin felt cold and waxy, as if he were a beautiful marble statue. She sensed he was hollow inside, remote from her, as
if all that had made him a man had been withdrawn from her.

‘Oh, Alex,’ she murmured, a tear falling on to his cheek. ‘Toby and I loved you so much. Why did you leave us?’ Gently, she wiped away the tear with her handkerchief,
knowing it was wasted on him. He’d gone.

Two days later they buried Alex’s body. There was quite a crowd attending. Men she didn’t know. To Joanna’s relief, Clara Nash was absent. Oliver looked harassed and his twin
sisters clung to one another, weeping. Joanna held her son in her arms. As if aware that the occasion was a solemn one, Toby behaved himself.

When Toby smiled at someone standing behind her, Joanna fought the urge to turn. She had a fancy that perhaps Alex’s spirit had joined them, and Toby could see his father, watching them
both. The skin at the back of her neck prickled.

When the service was over, she turned. Lord Durrington stood behind her, grey whiskered, stooped and distinguished. There was something about him that repelled her, however – something she
couldn’t identify. His dark eyes glowed in the pouched and wrinkled skin of his eye sockets, his gaze was intimate and assessing.

How great the resemblance of this man to Alex, who was his bastard son. Alex had loathed the man. But he was Toby’s grandfather, Joanna suddenly thought.

‘My commiserations, Mrs Morcant,’ he said, and he tickled Toby under the chin, making him chuckle. Lord Durrington smiled. ‘A charming child, with a strong resemblance to his
father. Has he a name?’

Feeling a sudden urge to protect her child from the old man, Joanna’s arms tightened around her son. ‘Tobias Alexander.’

‘Ah, of course,’ he said.

The undertaker sidled over to her and cleared his throat. ‘May I talk to you for a moment, Mrs Morcant?’

Lord Durrington turned politely aside, but stayed within earshot.

‘What is it?’ Joanna said, lowering her voice.

‘A question has arisen over who is to pay for the funeral. Although Mrs Nash made the arrangements, I understand she has now gone abroad. The account totals over one hundred pounds. If I
cannot be assured that the bill will be paid, I must make other arrangements for the body to be buried. You do understand what I’m saying?’

A pauper’s grave, he meant. Joanna couldn’t bear the thought, and she offered the only thing of value she had on her. ‘Perhaps my wedding ring will cover the cost.’

Lord Durrington turned to say quietly. ‘You will not worry Mrs Morcant with such a trivial issue in her time of grief. You may send the account to me.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The undertaker bowed and moved away. A signal with his finger and the gravediggers began to shovel earth on to the expensive coffin Clara had chosen.

‘Thank you,’ Joanna said as the mourners began to wander away. ‘That was kind.’

‘
Noblesse oblige
. It was the least I could do for my son. Do call on me if you need anything else.’ A cruelly derisive smile touched his mouth. Then it was gone. Doffing his
hat, he walked off towards his carriage, leaving her with a feeling of unease.

Escorted by James and the Lind family, Joanna and Mrs Bates walked home, not talking much, Toby riding astride Joanna’s hip. As they turned into the gate they heard the sound of hammering.
A man was boarding up the windows.

Another burly-looking man, stepped from the porch and handed Joanna a paper. ‘I can’t let you in, I’m afraid. Court order. We’ve taken possession.’

Joanna appealed to James. ‘Can they do this?’

James perused the paper, and nodded.

David Lind appealed to the man. ‘Would you allow the ladies ten minutes to fetch personal clothing for themselves and the child?’

The man’s eyes sharpened. ‘It could be arranged.’

Money changed hands.

‘I’m going off to have a pipe, then. Be back in ten minutes,’ the bailiff said.

Inside, the house wore an air of mourning with half the windows boarded up and keeping out the light.

Luckily, James had taken anything of portable value the day before. Joanna swiftly packed a bag for herself and a basket for Toby. As an afterthought, she tied the rolled painting of her mother
to the strap, and took the baby carriage from the hall.

They stood in the road outside, looking at each other, uncertain. Mrs Bates, her change of clothing in a small basket, was quietly weeping.

‘I wish we could take you in,’ Tilda said, her eyes full of worry, ‘but we’ll be gone tomorrow. We’re staying the night at the inn, and I’ve left Grace with
the landlady.’

‘Clara Nash has fled,’ Joanna told them with some satisfaction. ‘This is her fault, so let’s go and stay in her house. Oliver and the girls won’t mind.’

‘Don’t be surprised if the same thing happens there,’ James said.

‘But not for a day or two, surely. That will give us time to decide what we’re going to do. Mrs Bates and I will probably go to Dorset and throw ourselves on the mercy of
my—’ She caught James’s warning glance in time. ‘Mrs Charlotte Darsham.’

She exchanged a farewell hug with the Linds. ‘Tilda, you’ll tell Mrs Darsham what’s happened, won’t you? Give her my love and tell her I’ll be in touch as soon as
possible.’

After they’d gone, Toby was placed in his carriage, the basket laid across the bottom. James picked up her bag.

Joanna looked at Mrs Bates. ‘Dry your eyes, Mrs Bates, crying won’t help. Let’s go, before Toby decides he’s hungry and kicks up a fuss.’

Joanna was the only one who didn’t look back.

Tilda finished unpacking her few possessions, then tied an apron over her skirt and rolled up her sleeves.

Not that the stone house they now resided in was dirty, but the windows were dulled from salt borne on the sea air, and a film of pale grey dust had settled on the furniture.

It was one of the finer houses in Portland, built for one of the quarry owners, and sold to David’s uncle, Richard Lind, when the quarry had changed hands. Pride in having her own home to
care for had filled Tilda with the urge to see the place gleam, and she wanted to stamp her own mark on it.

She would sew some new curtains and cushion covers, she thought happily. And she’d sit by her own fireside on winter evenings and make a patchwork quilt for Grace’s bed, as she had
once sat and sewn with Anna Rushmore and Joanna all those years ago.