Chapter Seven

Emma had slept two nights in the bed that had been hers when she’d lived in Shingle Cottage with her family. How small that bed seemed to her now. There’d been no sheets or blankets on it so she’d used the nightdress of her mama’s, that Matthew Caunter had given her, to sleep in and pulled her shawl over her. She’d been warm enough.

The narcissi Seth had given her were scenting the room so powerfully in the old jam jar Emma had found to put them in that it almost took her breath away. There was a lot of life in them yet and she didn’t think that Matthew would want them. Perhaps she would take them to the cemetery and add them to the pot of wild flowers she’d picked for her mama and Johnnie – her mama would have appreciated the scent of narcissi more than her papa would.

The trawler Matthew was on was due in today and once she’d warned Matthew the constable was looking for him, she’d have to leave. She knew Carter and Miles Jago always unloaded the boats, so she hoped Matthew would be able to come ashore quickly and get back to Shingle Cottage before the constable got to him. Where she was going to go after that she had no idea.

Emma dressed quickly and stuffed every last thing of hers into her carpet bag. She shook the water from the stems of the narcissi and re-wrapped them in the brown paper Seth had presented them to her in. Then she lifted the window sash just a crack so she could tip the water over the sill into the back garden.

But with lightning speed, and as noiselessly as she could, Emma pulled the sash back down. A constable was coming along the narrow back alley. He was swiftly followed by a second policeman. And Emma was surprised to see Reuben Jago bringing up the rear. She held her breath waiting to see where they would go. But she’d half guessed they’d turn in through the back gate of Shingle Cottage. They strode purposefully down the back path.

Emma tiptoed through to the bedroom that had been her mama’s and her papa’s and which was very obviously the one Matthew Caunter was using now, because his clothes were strewn all over the place. There was a tea chest in the corner that looked full to the brim he hadn’t even unpacked yet. How right he’d been that he needed a woman about the place to tidy up after him.

Emma wouldn’t be able to escape from the back door without being seen. And as she knew she’d left the kitchen door open she knew they would be able to see her if she tried to make her escape through the front door.

‘Emma Le Goff …’

Emma heard Reuben Jago say her name as the back door creaked open. Were they coming for her? Had Mrs Phipps seen her slipping in and out to the privy and gossiped about it?

Then came the sound of footsteps across the bare boards of the kitchen. There was a lot of mumbling between the men but Emma couldn’t pick out a single, clear, word of it. She crept out onto the landing so she might hear better what was being said.

‘No need to wait Mr Jago, Sir.’

Constable Jeffery – how well Emma remembered his voice and his condescending way of speaking. It was better here – sound drifted upwards.

‘I’ll stay,’ Reuben Jago said.

‘We can deal with Mr Caunter, Sir.’

A different voice this time.

‘I said I’ll stay,’ Mr Jago replied. ‘This is my property.’

With a sigh Constable Jeffery suggested making tea. Emma salivated at his words. She’d been as neat as a pin in the kitchen. Washing the teapot and the cups the second she’d finished using them, replacing them in the exact positions Matthew Caunter had left them in. She’d fetched water at night so as not to be seen, being careful not to be wasteful so it would last until she could get more. But how she could drink a cup of tea now.

She heard the back door open as someone went to draw water from the pump. And then she heard it close again as whoever had done the task returned. Then there was a clatter of cups and someone banging the kettle down on the range. The range. She’d had to light it because Matthew had let it go out when he’d gone to sea. She waited to hear if someone would remark on the fact that the range was warm, despite Matthew Caunter not being at home. But no one did, as far as she was able to hear.

Certainly no one bothered to come upstairs – she heard the scraping of chairs on the wooden floor of the kitchen, and the sound of bodies dropping heavily onto them. She crept back into the front bedroom. She peeped around the edge of the curtain at the window. Could she somehow warn Mr Caunter that the constables and Mr Jago were waiting for him?

But she was too late. Matthew Caunter was kicking open the front gate, his arms full with the bag he had taken to sea with a change of clothes should he get wet, and food supplies. Emma’s papa had had such a bag. And often it had come back with more in it than when he’d left – a fish, or a crab, or a handful of prawns. And sometimes, if the boat had had to pull into a French harbour somewhere because of bad weather, there would be a lace handkerchief for her mama and maybe some sweet treat or a toy for her and Johnnie.

Emma wondered what it was that might be in the heavy bag that Matthew Caunter was carrying. She crept back out onto the landing. Matthew would have a clear view up the stairs towards her. Should she make ‘go back’ gestures at him?

‘What the hell?’ Matthew Caunter’s deep voice – very loud and obviously outraged – echoed through the house. He didn’t look up towards where Emma was standing, her back splayed against the wall, and barely breathing from fright. She could see the top of Matthew’s sandy hair now, but no one else.

‘A few questions, Mr Caunter. I’m Sergeant Emms. My colleague, Constable Jeffery, and Mr Jago you know, of course.’

Emma sucked her breath in. A sergeant, not a constable. This had to be serious, didn’t it? They’d come to accuse Matthew of murdering Sophie, hadn’t they?

‘Ask away. I’ve nothing to hide.’

Emma heard the sergeant clear his throat.

‘I shall be asking the questions. Constable Jeffery will make notes.’ He halted, and Emma heard the rustle of paper. ‘You called at Mr Jago’s property on Wednesday last with some papers and a bundle of possessions belonging, so you said, to the late mother of Miss Emma Le Goff?’

‘I assumed that was who they belonged to seeing as she had lived here. Mr Jago was there when I called.’

‘And did you know what was in the bundle?’

‘Some photos. A book of some sort. Item of clothing. Three sovereign coins I put there myself, in case someone is accusing Emma of stealing them. God only knows the girl’s going to find it hard to survive. I thought a bit of cash would help. Oh, and a necklace. Purple stone. Amethyst perhaps?’

‘And where did the necklace come from?’

‘I found it.’

Emma pressed her lips together to stop the sound of her shock escaping.

She didn’t want to even think that Matthew Caunter had murdered Sophie, taken the necklace from her bloodied neck and then given it to her. She didn’t think a man who had been so kind to her, so respectful in not forcing his attentions on her, could murder a woman.

‘Where did you find it, Mr Caunter?’ the sergeant asked.

‘I found it,’ Matthew said, ‘outside Mr Jago’s own front gate.’

‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’ Mr Jago’s voice dripped anger.

‘I don’t lie, Mr Jago. To you or anyone.’

‘Enough,’ the sergeant said. ‘We’ll hear Mr Caunter out. You found it – so you say – outside Mr Jago’s gate. When?’

‘When I was on the way to deliver the other things to Miss Le Goff. I knew she was stopping at Hilltop House because I’d asked a neighbour if she knew where I would be able to find her and she told me the doctor had arranged lodgings with Mr Jago. I thought the necklace such a pretty thing, and in my experience women like pretty things. It was a bit muddy, so I ran it through the damp leaves of Mr Jago’s hedge to wash it off a bit. Came up handsome it did, and …’

‘Thank you, Mr Caunter. We only want a statement, not a novel.’

‘Well, you won’t be getting one from me. Can’t write nor read, can I?’

He couldn’t read? Emma knew there were plenty who couldn’t, but Matthew Caunter seemed so learned somehow. And so confident in his replies to the sergeant.

There was a low murmuring of voices then that Emma didn’t catch a single word of.

Then Matthew spoke again – impatience in his voice. ‘Will that be all?’

‘It most certainly will not,’ Mr Jago said. ‘I like to know the measure of any man I employ.’

‘Leave this to me, Mr Jago, Sir,’ the sergeant said.

‘Very well, but you’d better get to the bottom of it.’

‘We will. Now, Mr Caunter, you tell me that you found this necklace outside Mr Jago’s house …’

‘If I said I did, then I did, Sergeant.’

‘That’s as maybe. But I have another question for you, Mr Caunter. Where were you on the evening of Monday last?’

‘I’d like to know why you are asking,’ Matthew said.

‘Answer my question first and I’ll tell you.’

Matthew sighed heavily. ‘Very well. I was here. I’d arrived from Slapton, asked the neighbour on the left for a spoonful of sugar because I’d forgotten to bring any with me and the shops were closed. I lit the range, cooked a bit of supper. Sat by the fire later.’

‘Alone, Mr Caunter, or did you have company?’

Emma swallowed. Would he say that she’d been with him? If he did then Mr Jago was sure to tell Seth. And what would Seth think of her then?

‘I had company.’

‘Male or female?’

‘Female.’

‘Anyone we can reliably call upon as witness?’

‘No one I’d want you to question, Sergeant. And now that I’ve answered your questions I’d like to know what this is all about. I’ve been at sea, as Mr Jago well knows, and I’m in dire need of a good scrub in the sink.’

‘Miss Sophie Ellison?’ the sergeant said. ‘Know her?’

‘No. Why?’

‘She was found stabbed and with her clothes in disarray in the alley behind The Port Light. A necklace she’d been trying to sell in the inn earlier was missing from her body. An amethyst necklace on a gold chain.’

‘Probably got what she deserved,’ Matthew said.

All the men began talking at once. Emma was still holding her breath – it was making her feel giddy.

She heard Reuben Jago tell Matthew that Sophie had worked for him, and Matthew reply that he ought to keep a tighter control on his servants, then – not allow them time to go ripping men off in inns for the price of a drink and other things done in dark alleys for money.

There was more general shouting. Then Emma heard the thump of a hand on the table.

‘No!’ Matthew said. ‘I did not go to The Port Light. Neither did I meet Miss Sophie Ellison. I told the truth about finding the necklace. And now I am going to have to ask you all to …’

‘Not so fast, Mr Caunter,’ the sergeant interrupted. ‘Unless you can supply me with the name of your, er, companion on Monday evening last, then I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the station for further questioning.’

‘Then we’d better go,’ Matthew said. ‘I have no intention of dragging an innocent young woman into this. But I’ll say the same things at the station that I’ve said here.’

‘That’s as maybe. Now, have you made a note, Constable, of everything Mr Caunter has said?’ the sergeant asked.

‘I have. Not looking good for him is it, Sergeant?’

‘The cuffs, Constable.’

Emma felt her blood chill in her veins. They were arresting Matthew Caunter for the murder of Sophie Ellison. She knew he couldn’t have done it because he’d given her a cup of tea and a buttered scone. It had grown quite dark outside. Then he must have put her to bed when she’d fallen asleep, mended her book – and that would have taken ages to do. Matthew wouldn’t have had time to go to The Port Light, drink, murder Sophie Ellison outside, and mend her book.

Emma heard the snap of the cuffs being fixed to Matthew’s wrists. She unpeeled herself from the wall, her back sticky with nervous sweat. She took a step forward to the top of the stairs so that if anyone looked up she’d be in full view.

‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘I was here with Mr Caunter on that evening. All night, too. Mrs Phipps saw me leaving the next morning.’

Three faces looked up at her. Reuben Jago’s eyes were hard as flint, and flashed anger. The sergeant and the constable looked totally surprised and not a little confused.

And Matthew Caunter? After a huge sigh, he looked up at her, too.

And winked.

All eyes were on her, but it was Matthew who spoke first. ‘Seeing as these cuffs are on you may as well take me to the station, Sergeant. I’ll answer your questions there. But not in present company.’

Emma saw him tip his head slightly towards Reuben Jago.

‘You and Miss Le Goff both, then,’ Sergeant Emms said.

Slowly Emma descended the stairs. What was going to happen now?

‘Seth. In here.’ Reuben Jago bellowed at Seth from the drawing-room.

What did he want now?

‘Yes, Pa?’

‘I suppose you let her in?’

‘Who?’

‘The Le Goff bitch.’

‘A bitch is a female dog. Emma’s not a bitch.’

‘I can think of worse words. She was found in Shingle Cottage. Did you give her a key? There was a key in the bundle of things Caunter brought, but that’s not to say it was a Shingle Cottage key or that he put it there.’

So that was where she had gone. Seth couldn’t stop a smile lifting the corners of his mouth now he knew that she hadn’t left the area. And then he remembered Matthew Caunter was living in Shingle Cottage and his smile dropped.

‘No. I didn’t give her a key. Where is she now?’

‘Still with Caunter. I’ve been reliably informed by Sergeant Emms not half-an-hour ago that Caunter couldn’t possibly have murdered Sophie Ellison so I’ll have to take his word for it. And as Caunter’s a good crewman – strong and hard-working, and I won’t be able to find a replacement for him easily – I’ve said he can stay. He stopped by on his way back from the police station. He says he feels bad the bitch has been thrown out of her home and wants to take her on as housekeeper.’ He leered, implying they both knew what that meant.

Seth felt sick at the implication. He knew his father wouldn’t have agreed to let Emma stay if there wasn’t something in it for him. He’d agreed to the arrangement because Caunter was going to be smuggling for his father, wasn’t he? There could be no other reason, could there?

‘Don’t put her in any danger, Pa. If Caunter is bringing in contraband stuff …’

‘Contraband? Whatever makes you think my boats are bringing in contraband?’ His father curled his lip at him.

Seth shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he was wrong? Certainly, there’d been nothing there shouldn’t have been in the cellar of Hilltop or in any of the netting lofts when he’d looked. ‘I’m just saying that if there is smuggling going on, then my decision would be made for me.’

‘Your decision to do what? Get hooked up with the Le Goff piece?’

‘Her name is Emma, but that’s not what I meant. I’m thinking of going over to Canada. Uncle Silas has always said in his letters that I could work for him. He …’

‘Your Uncle Silas? Your mother’s pure-as-the-driven-snow brother?’

‘I only have the one Uncle Silas,’ Seth said.

Who, Seth knew, wouldn’t get involved in smuggling. He owed it to his mother’s memory not to live on the fringes of criminality – or get up to his neck in it as his pa and brothers more than likely were – even if only by association. The second he found any hard evidence of smuggling through his pa’s boats he’d be off. Or would he? Perhaps not yet – not with Emma in danger as she would be if Caunter was going to be smuggling.

‘Is that all you wanted me for, Pa – to know if I’d given Emma the key?’

‘No. Not quite all.’ To Seth’s surprise his pa laid a hand on his shoulder – a gentle touch and not the rough push or a thump he usually got. ‘I’m pleased it wasn’t you who gave her the key after all.’

But I would have done if I’d been here and heard you tell her to leave, Seth thought.

‘What else?’ he said.

His father’s hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging in a little now, was making Seth feel how he imagined a cat’s prey might – trapped, totally trapped.

‘I want to make a deal with you, son. You’re not your brothers, I’ll admit, but you more than earn your keep here. You’ve a good head for figures. And your education was better than mine was for letter-writing. You write the entries in the books neater than I ever could. I need you here, Seth, not in Canada with your Uncle Silas. I …’

‘Get on with it, Pa. That’s the longest sentence you’ve spoken to me in a long time. But just so you know, if your “deal” has anything illegal about it …’

‘Just like your ma,’ his father interrupted him. ‘She was high on her moral horse most of the time.’

‘There’s no need to bring Ma into this,’ Seth snapped. ‘Just tell me about the deal.’

‘Not so unlike me, son.’ His father beamed at him, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Wanting to know every last detail. You’ve reached your majority and I consider it high time I make over the properties I own to your name. Many businessmen do it. A sort of insurance against hard times.’

‘Hard times?’ Seth said.

‘Do I need to explain it to you chapter and verse, son? You know as well as I do that there are good years and bad years for fishing. Times when prices are good and times when we wouldn’t be able to give fish away. Debts can pile up in a minute in hard times. D’you get my meaning now?’

‘I’m beginning to. And signing your properties over to me so they couldn’t be sold to offset any debts would be legal?’

‘It will be perfectly legal, son.’

‘Carter and Miles aren’t going to like it, though.’

‘They’re not going to know. Neither you nor I are going to tell them, understand?’

Seth nodded.

‘Good. I’ve made an appointment at a solicitor’s office in Exeter for tomorrow afternoon. For us both.’

Seth had never thought of himself as calculating or of being capable of using anyone. But his ma had brought a great deal of money to the marriage – her father’s money. If Carter and Miles were to get their hands on it they’d only fritter it away on women and high living. No, the properties were safer with him.

‘And the books, son,’ his father said. ‘You write them up, so I think it’s high time you signed them, too. What do you think?’

Sign them? Seth was already concerned sums weren’t quite adding up. His pa was depositing more money than the profits of the fishing fleet showed. He was up to something and Seth had no intention of being part of it. He’d have questions of his own about the exchange of property deeds when he met the solicitor. Besides, if he signed obviously false accounts it might affect his entitlement to the properties – something his pa seemed not to have realised – and he was not going to give them up.

‘No need to mention to the solicitor about signing the books. That’s a different matter.’

Seth shivered. It was as though his pa was reading his mind. And he was up to something – Seth was certain of it now. So, there was no way on this earth he was going to put his signature to anything other than the exchange of property deeds.

‘I can see you’re thinking about it,’ Reuben laughed. ‘I nearly nodded off there for a moment. Circumstances change, son. They change people.’

‘Don’t they just,’ Seth said.

As always, Seth’s thoughts turned to Emma. For a moment in the cemetery he’d felt deeply towards her, had felt those feelings reciprocated. But if she was going to be Caunter’s housekeeper Emma’s feelings might change. Caunter was a good-looking man, after all. Kind, too, to have given her refuge when she needed it.

Damn and blast it, Seth thought, that I’m a Jago. But he wasn’t going to give up on winning Emma’s heart – it might just take a little longer than he’d been hoping for, that was all.

‘What did you say to Mr Jago?’ Emma asked. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

She and Matthew were back at Shingle Cottage now. They’d walked via Hilltop House and Emma had been told to stay outside while Matthew went in to speak to Mr Jago – not that she was ever going to go in there again. All the way home she’d been asking what had been said but Matthew wouldn’t tell her.

At the police station Emma had been questioned first – alone. She’d nearly died of embarrassment when she’d been asked if Matthew had taken her to his bed, and she’d said – no, shouted – that she was underage for that sort of thing and anyway she wasn’t that sort of girl. And then Matthew had gone in and she’d had to wait almost an hour before he came back out again.

‘Patience, Emma, is a virtue you’d be wise to learn. I wasn’t going to tell you anything out in the street where I might be overheard. Tea?’

Matthew banged a kettle of water down on the range.

Did she have time for a cup of tea? She’d have to find somewhere else to stay before nightfall and already the sun was going down. ‘I don’t have time,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll collect my bag and then …’

‘No need,’ Matthew said.

‘I don’t understand.’

Honestly, Matthew was talking in riddles.

‘You can stay here. And you’ll have an official title – housekeeper. Nothing wrong in a man having a housekeeper if there’s no wife around to keep house for him. Mr Jago will spread it about that that’s all you are. It’s the best I can do to stop the gossip on your behalf.’

‘I don’t know that Mr Jago ever does anyone a favour. Certainly he didn’t do me any. He’ll be getting more out of this than you or I will,’ Emma said. ‘He’d never make an offer like that if there was nothing in it for him. He …’

Matthew held up a hand to stop her.

‘Neither of us can read Mr Jago’s mind or know what his intentions are, can we?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘But I’ll tell you what’s in mine. I think Jago has treated you despicably. You’ve been orphaned such a short time and I think he might have shown more compassion. And I told him so. So, my housekeeper – how does that suit? Remembering, of course, you have nowhere to lay your head tonight. I’m not forcing you to stay, of course. You’re free to go.’ Matthew waved an arm towards the door.

Emma wanted to say there was no way on this earth she was going to be anybody’s housekeeper. But something stopped her and it wasn’t only that the kettle had boiled and Matthew had taken biscuits from a tin and put some on a plate. Where would she go if she didn’t stay here?

‘I can see you’re mulling the idea over, Emma. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘But it’s making me feel like some tool a neighbour borrows like a saw to lop off tree branches or something. And in return gets offered the loan of boots for his children to go to school …’

‘I don’t want you to feel that way. It’s not how I see it.’

Emma heaved her shoulders up to her ears and let them drop heavily. She sighed.

‘And now I want to make deal with you, Emma.’

Emma folded her arms across her chest. If he was going to ask for the favours of her body then she’d be out of that door faster than a rat up a drainpipe. She was underage for goodness’ sake. It would be against the law.

‘What deal?’

‘If you stay, I promise not to enter your bedroom, as long as you promise not to enter mine. Is it a deal?’

‘That part goes without saying,’ Emma said. ‘But what will I be expected to do? I’ve got the money you told the sergeant you put in my bag, and I could use that for rent and food.’

‘No need. I’ll pay the rent, and give you money to shop for food. You keep house. And you cook.’

‘Cook? For you?’

Matthew put a hand to his forehead and pretend-scanned the room. ‘No one else seems to be here. So yes, you get to cook for me. You can cook?’

‘Yes. My mama was a good cook. And although he didn’t like anyone knowing he could – or that he did – so was my papa. He showed me how to make tarte aux pommes …’

Emma’s mind wandered off to the times she’d spent helping her papa cut the apples so thinly she could have read the newspaper through them. And then the bit she loved best when the tart came out of the oven and she glazed the top with melted apricot jam. She licked her lips. She could almost taste it.

‘And what would that be when it’s at home?’

‘It’s French. A sort of apple tart, but with pastry only on the bottom. Served with cream.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘But I hope I won’t be cooking for you for long …’

‘Don’t be in any rush, Emma. I admire you for the way you came to my defence against Jago and the rozzers. My way of saying thanks – to put a roof over your head for the time being.’

‘But people will talk about me, and …’

‘Let them. Small minds. You and I will know the truth of what goes on inside these walls. Hold your head high and ignore the lot of them.’

‘I’m getting good at that. Holding my head high – well as high as I can – because there’s lots here still think my mother was a suicide, even though the Coroner …’ Emma pressed her lips together. Couldn’t go on. She would love to be able to clear her mama’s name once and for all, but didn’t know how. And she wasn’t going to ask anyone to help, least of all Matthew Caunter.

‘The truth will out, Emma,’ he said. ‘It almost always does.’

Matthew began emptying the contents of the bag he’d taken to sea. He hung wet clothes over a line strung across the kitchen ceiling. Emma watched him, wondering if she should suggest he wash them in soapflakes first. If they were to share the cottage then she didn’t think she’d be able to live with the stinking smell of mouldy clothes.

‘I wonder who did kill Sophie Ellison?’ Emma said. She shivered – the sight of poor Sophie and the mess she was in when the doctor turned her over was still very fresh in her mind.

‘I wonder,’ Matthew said. ‘But don’t you worry. You’re safe with me. And that necklace that’s caused all this brouhaha … I’ll get that back for you as well one day. You can be certain of that.’