Chapter Fifteen

Seth had wined and dined a few women in the nine months that had passed since the night of Emma’s birthday.

There had been a few weeks in May when the country was mourning the death of King Edward VII, when everyone had worn black and no one had dared to consider enjoying themselves, but that time had passed now. All the talk was of the Coronation of King George V to come, and for the women, what they were going to wear to the parties that were being organised for the occasion.

He was meeting one such woman now. Caroline Prentiss. Whilst she was the daughter of the most successful builder in the area – Charles Maunder – she was also a widow, older than Seth by a good ten years. He was meeting Caroline for the fifth time, feeling anxious but excited, too. She’d intimated that she would be happy to welcome Seth into her bed as long as he was discreet and didn’t boast about it to his friends. And Seth had to admit that the offer appealed to him, although he hadn’t taken her up on it yet. Might tonight be the night? Caroline was pretty enough – her blonde hair piled on top of her head and almost always fixed with a diamanté clip, exposing a long, creamy neck that only a cadaver wouldn’t be tempted to kiss. The exact opposite of Emma in looks, if truth be told. Why did he still persist in comparing every woman to Emma? It would have to stop.

Seth walked on towards Church Road where Caroline lived. Her late husband – a solicitor – had left her not only with a fine house but with substantial savings, so rumour had it. There had been no children of the marriage, for which Caroline had told Seth she was grateful.

‘You’re late, Seth,’ Caroline said, when the maid showed him into the drawing-room. ‘You may go, Giles,’ she said, turning to her maid. ‘Weren’t you telling me your mother has been ill and you’re anxious to see her?’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘Then, go to her. Stay the night.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

The maid scurried off as though she was afraid Caroline might change her mind.

Caroline returned her attention to Seth. ‘As I said, you’re late. But I could forgive you.’ She ran the tip of her tongue along the edge of her top lip.

Seth raised his hands towards Caroline in supplication. He was late, there was no denying it. He’d walked the long way round to Church Street – via Nase Head House in fact, a route he took often in the hope he’d have the courage to walk up the steps, ask for Emma, apologise for his silence. The longer the rift went on, the harder it was going to be to heal. He’d been stupid to be jealous of Caunter because the man had long left for America, so he’d heard. The kiss he’d seen Emma give him, and the one she’d been given in return, had been goodbye kisses, that was all.

‘Paperwork,’ Seth lied. With a businessman father, Caroline would know how much paperwork was involved in running a business. He could hardly tell her he was late because he’d strolled, oh so slowly, past Nase Head House in the hope of seeing Emma Le Goff, could he? ‘My apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ Caroline said, stretching out a long, slim arm towards Seth, inviting him to kiss her hand.

Seth complied. Caroline’s hand felt icy and he jerked his shoulders.

‘I know. I’m cold, aren’t I? Cold waiting for you,’ Caroline said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you said.’

‘You’ll soon warm up with some good food inside you. I’ve booked a table at The Grand …’

‘I don’t know that I want to go out, Seth,’ Caroline purred. ‘I’m too tired for the trek to Torquay. You can ring and cancel.’ She waved an arm in the direction of her telephone. ‘I’d rather stay in. You can warm me up. Warm us both up.’

Seth knew exactly what she meant by that remark.

‘Giles knows I’m here,’ he said, playing for time, not at all sure that he wanted to be Caroline’s ‘secret’ any longer.While they’d dined in hotel restaurants out of the town, where they were unlikely to be seen, it could only be a matter of time before someone spotted them. The whole thing – the subterfuge – made him feel second rate. And yet …

‘And I asked Giles to leave out some cold cuts and pickles. Enough for two. The table’s all set in the dining-room. I pay her enough to forget she was asked to do that and to know that you’re here.’

Caroline fingered a gold locket dangling on a chain in her cleavage. Seth struggled not to look, but it was impossible. Caroline Prentiss was a fine woman, a very fine woman indeed. She took a deep breath and her breasts rose, pointing themselves at Seth almost, and he felt a stirring inside him. Lust.

Seth knew in that moment that tonight would be the night he took up Caroline’s offer to share her bed.

‘’Ere, Emma,’ Ruby said. ‘Have you heard?’

‘Heard what?’ Emma said. Ruby was forever asking her things she couldn’t possibly answer. ‘Tell me. I’m not a mind reader.’

‘Oh, sorry. I forgot you’re not 100% genius, Miss Le Goff,’ Ruby giggled. ‘What with the French you’re spouting all the time. Those boys were yattering away to one another yesterday on your half day, and they could have been saying I was an old witch for all I know.’

Emma laughed. ‘You’ll never know, will you?’

‘And you won’t tell.’ Ruby stuck her tongue out playfully at Emma.

‘Of course not. Anyway, what was it I may or may not have heard?’

‘Only that there’s rumours doing the rounds that Carter Jago’s name is being mentioned in the same sentence as the murder of that poor girl …’

‘Sophie Ellison,’ Emma said, a sudden flashback to the day she’d found Sophie’s body making her feel nauseous. She swallowed the feeling away.

‘Her,’ Ruby said. ‘That was the name I heard being bandied about. Seems the police have been in and out of all the inns asking questions. And it seems there are lots willing to tell what Carter Jago did to ’em against their wills for the sight of a shiny sixpence from those asking the questions.’

‘If it’s only rumours, then you can discount them,’ Emma said. She doubted very much that the police would be handing out shiny sixpences in return for answers to their questions. Didn’t she know, firsthand, that rumours were almost always only that?

‘Rape, Emma,’ Ruby whispered. ‘Can you imagine a more horrible thing?’

A ripple of fear snaked its way up Emma’s spine.

‘Let’s not talk of such things,’ she said. ‘I’ve work to do. Those children need to be washed and dressed and ready for their papa to take on a drive in half-an-hour. I’ll need to jump to it.’

‘That’s me dismissed, then.’ Ruby laughed, and scuttled off.

Emma hurried towards the nursery, a stone on her heart that someone might come to question her at some stage about the night Carter Jago tried to assault her. If Seth was asked if he knew anything, then he might tell that his brother had assaulted her. Mightn’t he? Or Matthew – who as far as Emma knew was still in America. He knew because she’d told him and he’d dressed her cut forehead.

She wished with all her heart she hadn’t said a single thing about it to anyone now – although, of course, Matthew had had to know.

Emma lived on tenterhooks for weeks. But no one came to Nase Head House to question her, and she began to breathe a little easier. She was settling down at the hotel, grateful to have a good roof over her head and food in her belly. And, now she was used to it, caring for Isabelle wasn’t as arduous as she’d thought it would be. When the child slept in the day, she was able to go to the kitchen and make tarte tatin or a savoury tart for Mr Smythe and the children.

Today was her half day and with nothing to do and no one to do it with, Emma decided to take some flowers and put them on the graves of her parents and Johnnie. She’d been bold and asked Mr Smythe if she might have some roses from the border in front of the dining-room – the bushes were groaning with them; deep peach roses with a heavenly scent. And Mr Smythe had smiled and said that yes, of course she could. And why didn’t she take some for her room while she was about it? ‘You’re becoming invaluable to me, Emma,’ was what Mr Smythe had said, and Emma had shivered at his words – she didn’t want to become invaluable to him, that was the last thing she needed. But she knew which side her bread was buttered for the moment, thanked him, and took the flowers.

And now, as Emma made her way through the lych-gate into the graveyard of St. Mary’s she was on tenterhooks again. Might Seth be there laying flowers on his mother’s grave? A part of her hoped he would be, but another part hoped he wouldn’t because, while she’d written to him at least a dozen times, he’d only replied once – and that rather stiffly, if politely, wishing her well, saying he was very busy and he regretted he wouldn’t have time to see her for a while.

Emma had clung onto that phrase – for a while. There was hope in that phrase, she thought.

Emma fetched fresh water from the tap in the corner and filled the tin vase that was set into the tablet of the memorial stone Seth had paid for on her mama’s and Johnnie’s grave. She began to set the roses in, one by one, turning them this way and that for the best presentation.

‘Emma?’

No need to guess who the speaker might be. She knew. Didn’t she hear his voice every night in her head as she went to sleep?

‘Hello, Seth,’ she said, standing up, turning to face him. She took a deep breath. She was laying her heart on the line and she knew it. ‘I hoped you might be here. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you.’

‘Mmm,’ Seth said, lips pressed together.

Emma waited for him to say he’d missed her, too, but he didn’t. He didn’t think anything of her any more, did he? He didn’t have any flowers with him, though, did he? Unless he’d already placed them on his ma’s grave? Emma resisted the urge to look and see if he had.

‘I expect you’ve heard about Carter,’ Seth said.

‘Only rumours.’

‘They’re not rumours any more. Evidence is piling up and Carter will be in Court again at some stage, charged with Sophie Ellison’s murder. I saw you walking this way, so I followed you. I didn’t want to write to you about it in case the letter got into the wrong hands and you were questioned. But in case you hadn’t heard …’

‘I hadn’t. Not that bit. The bit about him having to go to Court again, I mean,’ Emma said. She twisted her hands over and over, anxious that she might be questioned, that the police would call at Nase Head House. She could well imagine the alarm that would cause – and the rumours that would go with it.

‘Don’t worry,’ Seth said. He patted Emma’s hand lightly before taking it away again. ‘I haven’t told anyone what Carter tried to do to you, Emma. Even though I was asked if there was anything I knew that could be held against my brother.’

‘Thank you,’ Emma said. ‘I don’t think I would be able to bear it if I had to go to Court, swear on the Bible, face Carter across a courtroom.’

‘It’s why I kept quiet,’ Seth said.

‘Thank you,’ Emma said again. Seth still cared about her if he was trying to save her from that ordeal, didn’t he? ‘And I’m sorry, truly sorry, that the Jago name will be all over the newspapers again, on everyone’s lips in the inns and …’

‘I can cope well enough with that,’ Seth said. ‘I don’t think there’s anything about my pa’s and brothers’ behaviour that can shock me now. Let’s change the subject, shall we?’

Please, Emma thought, please – yes, let’s change the subject. Ask me to walk down to Crystal Cove with you so we can pick up where we left off. Hold me in your arms again, give me that second kiss I’ve been waiting so very long for.

‘It’s my half day,’ Emma said, smiling up at him. ‘We could …’

‘I’m sorry, Emma, I can’t do what I think you’re about to suggest. I’ve been seeing someone,’ Seth interrupted.

Well, of course he had. A handsome man like Seth. She was stupid not to have thought of that before laying her soul bare before him.

‘Who?’ Emma said, knowing she was looking even more stupid now by asking.

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Someone with more money to spend on finer clothes and shoes and hats than I have, no doubt. Is she rich?’

Emma only had two hats. Her navy blue felt for winter – the hand-me-down from the doctor’s wife – and the straw one she’d bought for pence and was wearing now against the hot July sunshine. At the moment, her straw was trimmed with a green ribbon the colour of a Granny Smith apple – no doubt her face was the same shade she was so jealous.

‘I can’t tell you that either.’

Seth took a watch from the pocket of his jacket, glanced at it and replaced it.

‘Then don’t let me keep you from her,’ Emma said, trying to salvage what dignity she had left. ‘Whoever she is.’

‘You’re not. But I wanted you to know about Carter before …’

‘Does she know?’ Emma knew she’d made the word ‘she’ sound like something best left in the gutter, and she hadn’t meant to. It just came out.

‘Yes. She reads the newspapers, Emma. Although I have, of course, spoken to her about it.’

‘Oh,’ Emma responded, not knowing what else to say. Seth was someone else’s now.

‘I’m sorry,’ Seth said, ‘that things turned out between us the way they did. I …’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Emma said.

‘But I must. There’s nothing I’d like more at this moment than to spend your half day with you, but it would be discourteous. In the circumstances.’

‘So don’t,’ Emma said.

She turned her back on Seth then, bent down to finish arranging the roses for her mama and Johnnie, fully aware that it was Seth who had provided the tablet with their names on, and the tin vase. ‘Thank you for letting me know about, about …’

‘Carter,’ Seth finished for her.

He knew she was struggling even to say the name, didn’t he? He still cared. Dared she hope he might finish with whoever it was he was being so secretive about and ask her out instead?

She stood up and turned to face him. Smiled. Willed him to give her some sign that he might.

‘I’d better go,’ Seth said.

He was looking at her the same way he’d looked at her just moments before he’d kissed her down at Crystal Cove – it seemed so long ago now, and yet only yesterday at the same time.

‘Before you kiss me again?’ Emma whispered, shredding every last ounce of decency and dignity.

‘Yes,’ Seth said.

He kissed his fingertips and blew the kiss towards Emma, before turning on his heel and rushing back down the path.

Emma threw herself into her work at Nase Head House and tried to forget all about Seth – or rather she waited for Seth to contact her and tell her he was no longer seeing anyone at all and that he would like her, Emma, to walk out with him instead.

But Seth made no contact with her, beyond two brief notes to tell her that the enquiries into Carter Jago were still ongoing – there seemed to be no end to it, he said. He signed his notes ‘Yours, Seth’ – except he wasn’t hers, was he?

So, on her half days, instead of going into town to shop or to go to the bank to deposit her wages, where she might bump into Seth, she stayed close to the hotel. If the weather was fine then she took Isabelle out in the perambulator that Mr Smythe had bought at huge expense from a catalogue. It had wheels almost as big as cart wheels, Emma thought, but it was easy enough to wheel over the rutted paths of the lanes behind the hotel with Isabelle laughing and smiling at everything. She would do just that today. And while she was there she’d see if there were enough blackberries to go with the apples for a tarte tatin.

Almost before she knew it, July had given way to a busy August, the hotel full with visitors. Emma had been fully occupied with the twins in their holiday from school, happy that they were becoming almost fluent in French. And now September had come around once again.

‘Letter for you,’ Mr Bell said, as Emma made her way to the boot room to fetch the perambulator. She’d done her best to walk quietly so that Mr Bell, who seemed to be getting more hard of hearing by the day and should be pensioned off in Emma’s opinion, wouldn’t hear her. But he had.

Another letter? From Seth? Her heart hoped it was the letter she’d been dreaming and wishing for, but her head told her it more than likely wasn’t.

‘Thank you,’ Emma said, taking the proffered letter.

No, not a letter. It was too stiff for that. A card. A birthday card? It was her seventeenth birthday and she’d been doing her level best to forget it was. There’d been no £5 notes from Mr Smythe this morning, as there had been on her sixteenth birthday when Matthew Caunter had called to take her out for the day.

Perhaps the card was from Matthew?

She hurried on her way to the boot room, where she would be able to open her card in privacy.

It was from Seth. A birthday card. A simple drawing of some roses. Peach roses like the ones she’d been placing on her mama’s and Johnnie’s graves when last she’d seen him. The choice of card told Emma that he was still thinking of her.

Did that mean he’d finished with whoever it was he’d been seeing and would call on her soon?