Chapter Two

Gasping for breath now, Emma hauled herself up the flight of steps, flanked on one side by cottages and on the other by a high stone wall, that were a short cut to Boundary Road, where the Jagos lived. Although the steps were steep it was a quicker route than walking half way into the town and then back again. And time was of the essence for Emma. She bent her head, watching carefully where she put her feet on the slippery, moss-covered steps, and trudged on.

Everyone knew Reuben Jago’s home – Hilltop House, the Victorian villa, large and imposing at the top of the hill. It would have – Emma was sure – a view that would take in the entire bay, if only she could get that far without collapsing with weakness to see it.

How dare Seth’s father throw her out of the cottage. And why had he sold all her family’s things? The photograph the journeyman had taken of them all standing by the front door, smiling and holding the pose for so long they’d all laughed afterwards saying they’d thought they were going to be stuck that way forever. Her mama had saved up and bought a silver-plated frame for it from Austin’s. And the china jugs with primroses painted on them that her mother had loved so – where were they?

He wouldn’t have sold them to cover the funeral costs, Emma knew, because her mama had always paid into a special insurance to cover the cost of family funerals. Emma had given the undertaker from Langdon’s the book when he’d called to arrange the funeral. Emma had always thought the idea of saving for one’s own funeral macabre every time the insurance man called on Fridays for the money.

And Emma’s own clothes? Had Reuben Jago ordered her clothes to be burned, too? She wasn’t dead, even though it might have been best if she was. Back in Mrs Phipps’, for the first few days, she’d refused to eat, hoping her refusal would hasten her own end. But then Dr Shaw’s wife had crept into the bedroom and hand-fed her a sliver of Victoria sponge. Oh, how wonderful it had tasted, slicked with a smear of clotted cream and strawberry jam that oozed down her chin. She’d kept one, tiny, whole strawberry behind her teeth for ages, not wanting to swallow it, not wanting to let the taste of it, or the kindness of the doctor’s wife in bringing it, go. She wished now she’d thought to ask Mrs Shaw to go back to Shingle Cottage and look out a change of clothes at least.

‘’Ere! What are you doing up ’ere?’

Emma looked up from her trudge up the steps. Margaret Phipps. And wasn’t that Emma’s Sunday dress showing a good foot below Margaret’s too-small coat? Not Emma’s red coat that had always been kept for Sundays she was pleased to see, but no doubt Margaret had been given it and would be keeping that for best.

‘Well? Cat got your tongue or summat?’

Emma ignored her. She took a deep breath and tried desperately to summon up a bit of strength to walk on. But then two more girls jumped out from a doorway and joined Margaret, blocking Emma’s path.

‘Answer her,’ one of them said. ‘Or have you gone deaf?’

‘No. And my tongue’s where it’s always been,’ Emma said. ‘Let me by.’

‘Will not,’ Margaret said, lunging forward.

Emma caught the stench of days’ old cooking on Margaret’s hair – fair, stringy hair that didn’t look as though it had been washed in weeks. She put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from gagging.

‘My ma says your ma and your brother should never be in the churchyard ’cos they’re suicides. And suicides go to hell.’

‘They’re not suicides,’ Emma said. ‘The Coroner said so. It was in the newspapers. But then, I’m forgetting – you can’t read, can you? My mama …’

‘Mama? Mama?’ one of the other girls said. ‘What’s a mama when it’s at ’ome? Oh yes, I forgot – silly me. You’m a furriner, Emma Le Goff. Best get back where you came from.’

Emma sighed. She’d been born in the town, same as these girls had, but she wasn’t going to waste her breath telling them something they already knew. Besides she didn’t have the energy.

‘So, when are they going to dig your mama and your brother up?’ Margaret said. ‘Seeing as suicides shouldn’t be buried in holy ground. That’s what my ma says.’

Emma knew she was outnumbered but she had to make a stand. ‘Are you lot deaf or something? I’ve just told you, but I’ll tell you again – the Coroner returned a verdict of accidental death.’

‘Lies! Lies! Lies!’ Margaret chanted, and the other girls joined in, their voices getting louder and louder.

Emma felt herself sway with the emotion of it, and no doubt the fact she hadn’t had any breakfast and was hungry.

‘If you’ve quite finished I’ll be on my way,’ Emma said, suddenly suffused with a strength she never thought she’d feel again. Her papa had often told her that he’d been frightened at sea in a storm, felt real fear, many times; felt he’d never be able to carry on – but then strength would come from somewhere. Well, Emma was feeling fear like she’d never felt before. Just one push from these girls and she’d be at the bottom of the steps – and there were at least a hundred of them to bump down, and have her bones broken on each and every one.

‘Oh, will yer?’ Margaret said.

‘Yes,’ Emma said.

She tried to shoulder her way through the wall of scruffily dressed girls, but her knees buckled and she crumpled down onto the step, grabbing at a piece of over-hanging tree top to stop herself from falling further.

And then she heard footsteps, running up the steps towards her and her tormentors.

‘Leave her alone! You hear me. Bugger off, the lot of you.’

Seth. Emma was glad to see him now even though she’d told him angrily not so many minutes ago that no, she didn’t want him to carry her bag anywhere, even if he was the last person on earth. He was carrying her bag now, though.

‘Ooooh, it’s yer knight in shining armour,’ Margaret Phipps said. ‘Although I’d have preferred one of his bigger brothers. If you get what I mean, girls?’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Seth said.

‘Make her,’ one of the other girls goaded.

‘I’ve never struck a woman, but don’t tempt me.’

‘Ooooh, I’m scared.’ Margaret Phipps gave a mock-shiver.

But within seconds they’d disappeared down a narrow alleyway between two of the cottages that was a short cut back to the street below, screeching with mock-fright, because they knew Seth wouldn’t chase after them.

‘You all right?’ Seth asked. He put Emma’s bag down on the step and knelt down beside her. He didn’t try to touch her, but he held out a hand to help raise her to her feet.

‘I can manage, thanks,’ she said, struggling to stand, refusing to take Seth’s offer of help.

Seth shrugged. ‘You’re going to see my pa, aren’t you?’

‘You know I am.’

‘It won’t do any good.’

‘I don’t have a choice. And I want my things.’

‘Ah, Miss Le Goff,’ Reuben Jago said when Seth showed Emma into a very grand and imposing drawing-room. It had a high ceiling and a chandelier full of candles hanging from the centre of it. None of the candles had been lit, Emma noticed. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

‘I want my things,’ Emma demanded. ‘My mama’s china jugs, and our family photograph in the silver frame. And her copper pans. And her …’

‘All sold,’ Reuben Jago said.

‘Sold?’

Emma looked at Seth, who held her gaze briefly before looking away. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said his pa had sold her things, then? In a strange way, Emma took comfort from that.

‘Sold?’ she said again, pointing at the things in the room – the bookcase full of books, a small table covered with photographs in silver frames, chairs that were thick with wadding and piled with cushions in velvets and silks. ‘Why would you want more money? Haven’t you got enough things?’

‘The rent, Emma,’ Reuben told her. ‘When your ma went and had her, er, little accident, there was no rent coming in. So I had to cover the loss somehow. I sold everything from Shingle Cottage I could to make up for rents due, and the rest …’

‘There was money in a box under their bed. I know there was. There was more than …’

‘I found it.’

‘And you expect me to believe that the money in the box didn’t cover all the unpaid rent?’

The man was lying and she knew it – he couldn’t meet her eye when he spoke.

‘My, but you’re a mouthy one.’

‘At the moment, yes,’ Emma said. ‘There’s no one else to speak for me. But where are the rest of my things? My clothes? They were good clothes, most of them.’

‘Good? Even the rag-and-bone man turned his nose up at them.’

Emma gasped in horror at his words. They had been good clothes. Her mama had only ever bought the best wool or cotton clothes from jumble sales and unpicked them, made them into something new for the family.

‘Most of it was only fit for the bonfire,’ Reuben Jago said.

‘You burned my things? My books? Family papers?’

‘All gone.’

‘That’s tantamount to stealing, Mr Jago. Did you burn them or did you get someone to do your dirty work for you?’

Emma turned to glare at Seth.

‘A man doesn’t keep a dog and bark himself, Emma,’ Reuben said.

Emma looked from father to son, willing Seth to stand up for her in some way, but Seth was standing in the doorway, his mouth open and his eyes wide with surprise. She had a feeling Seth had been as shocked as she had that his father had – with one sentence – lowered him to the status of dog. But if Seth wasn’t going to stand up for her, then she certainly wasn’t going to stand up for him.

‘And am I being stupid to assume that the money under the bed and the sale of my things covered the rent exactly and that there was nothing left over? Which, by rights, should be mine?’

Of course there had been money left over and they both knew it.

Reuben Jago yawned. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to call you stupid, Emma, but you are rather ill-informed. And tiresome. Very tiresome.’

‘No, Pa,’ Seth said, striding into the room. ‘Emma’s right. The sale of her things must have raised more than enough to cover the owed rent. The copper pans alone …’

‘Enough, Seth. When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Now, perhaps you’ll remember which side your bread is buttered, son, and escort Miss Le Goff off our premises.’

‘But I’ve got nowhere to go,’ Emma yelled at him. ‘I’ll get a job and pay you rent. I’ll …’

‘Who’s going to employ you? Look at you – a puff of wind would blow you over.’

‘I’ve been ill, Mr Jago, which I’m sure you know. And you didn’t send anything to aid my recovery, I couldn’t help noticing.’

‘I paid Dr Shaw’s fee when he called to attend to you.’

‘So you say. I don’t believe anything you say any more, Mr Jago. You don’t know what the word “truth” means.’

‘Out!’ Reuben Jago said.

Emma guessed she had gone a step too far with that comment, but she was so fired up, she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. ‘My papa worked hard for you, Mr Jago. The least you can do to honour his good memory is let me stay there a little longer, just until I find somewhere else to live at least. I’ll keep it clean like my mama did – all spick and span …’

‘Your mama, as you call her, was a silly goose and didn’t know when she was well off.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Emma said, the fire going out of her that someone, anyone – and especially Reuben Jago – was saying anything bad about her mama.

‘It means I want you out of my house. Now. Seth, did you hear me?’

‘I heard you, Pa, but I think you’re being heartless. Emma has nowhere to go. And she’s right – her pa did work hard …’

‘If you don’t want the feel of my hand across your ear you’ll do as you’re told. Or you’re no son of mine.’ Reuben made to walk towards Seth but Emma jumped in between them.

‘I don’t want anyone to be hit on my behalf, thank you very much,’ Emma said. And then risking a clout around her own ear she went on, ‘For what it’s worth, you’re behaving as bad as the lads down Burton Street School.’

Reuben Jago looked shocked at her audacity, but he recovered quickly and laughed. A loud, theatrical, and meant to intimidate laugh. But Emma wasn’t intimidated. She’d seen him for what he was – a bully. To her – and possibly her mother if he’d harangued her over the rent when she’d just lost her husband. And to Seth.

‘Just give me my bag, Seth,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’ll go.’

She held out her hand to take the bag but Seth gripped it tightly. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Emma, but I can see by the size of you that you haven’t eaten properly in a long time. Have you?’

Emma’s hands flew to her hips – how sharp the bones felt through the fabric of her skirt. She shook her head.

‘Well then, I’ll at least make sure you’ve got food inside you to go on your way.’

‘Oh, Emma, lovie,’ Beattie Drew said, taking Emma’s hands and drawing her into the kitchen. ‘Look at you. You’ve been crying that much the acid in your tears has taken a layer of skin off, you poor lamb.’

Emma still couldn’t speak because her throat was raw from the crying, so Seth spoke for her.

‘All the way,’ Seth said. ‘I didn’t know where else to take her, Mrs Drew, so I brought her here.’

‘’S all right, lad. You did right in bringing her to me.’

‘She hasn’t eaten in a while, Mrs Drew,’ Seth said. ‘Have you got a bite of something you could give her? I’ll pay you, of course …’

‘No, you won’t,’ Emma said, finding her voice. ‘I don’t want to be beholden to a Jago. I’ll pay my own way. I’ve got a few shillings saved. I used to run errands for neighbours and saved my pennies. It’s deposited at the Devon & Exeter Savings Bank. If your pa hasn’t burned my bank book, that is …’

‘I’m sure the bank manager will help you if …’ Seth began.

But Emma interrupted him. ‘Oh, are you?’

‘Will you two stop bickering,’ Beattie Drew said. ‘I don’t want anyone to pay me anything. If a body can’t help another down on their luck then it’s a bad job.’

‘I hope this won’t get you into trouble, Mrs Drew,’ Seth said. ‘With Pa, I mean. What with you doing the cleaning up at Hilltop House.’

‘No one need know, need they, Seth? But if you’re afraid for your own skin you can go now.’

No one spoke for a moment and it was silent in the room, save for the tick of a grandmother clock in the hallway.

‘Perhaps I had better go,’ Seth said. ‘Nothing to do with saving my own skin, Mrs Drew, but Pa’s got three crabbers going out in the morning and it’s my job to make sure the creels are stacked, and what with the brouhaha we had earlier I’m behind with my tasks. And then there are the windows I haven’t finished painting yet …’

‘’S all right, lad. We understand, don’t we, Emma?’

Emma nodded.

‘But before I go,’ Seth said, ‘I need you to know it wasn’t me who lit that bonfire.’

‘You could just be saying that,’ Emma said. ‘To save …’

‘No, he isn’t, lovie,’ Mrs Drew cut in. ‘’Twas his brothers did it. I was there cleaning the kitchen silver when Mr Jago told ’em to go and do it.’

‘Oh,’ Emma said. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t you after all. It won’t get me my things back, though, will it – knowing that? But they’re gone and that’s all there is to it. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks for bringing me here. A few nights’ good rest and I’ll be on my way again.’

‘Oh, Emma,’ Mrs Drew said, ‘I can give you a bite to eat, and some to take with you for later. But my ol’ man will be home drunk as a skunk later and he ain’t a pretty sight. And besides, I’ve got my Mary’s little ones stopping for a bit. Then there’s my Edward who needs a room to hisself. I’m sorry, lovie, but I haven’t got a spare yard of mattress for you to sleep on.’

Seth pushed open the drawing-room door without knocking.

‘Pa,’ he said as his father looked up, hastily stuffing papers back in the desk and locking the drawer. ‘I …’

‘Knock before you come in here,’ Reuben Jago bawled.

Seth chose not to comment. His brothers never had to knock and he didn’t see why he should have to. He had something to say to his pa and he was going to say it. He walked on into the room, closed the door behind him.

‘You can take the rent for Shingle Cottage out of my wages, Pa. Emma Le Goff deserves a bit of time to …’

‘Emma Le Goff deserves nothing.’ Reuben Jago leapt from his chair, knocking it over in his haste.

Seth thought he might be about to be hit, and stiffened himself ready for the punch. But the punch didn’t come.

‘She deserves some compassion for her circumstances, if nothing else, Pa.’

‘You heard the way she spoke to me, or did you turn a deaf ear?’

‘I heard,’ Seth said. And you were deserving of everything she said, he thought, but didn’t say.

‘I’ll say it again – that mouthy madam deserves nothing. Nothing! Like mother, like daughter, no doubt. She’ll be just as tight-arsed …’

‘I don’t want to listen to this. No amend that – I refuse to listen to this.’

Seth made to leave – he’d obviously chosen a bad time and had interrupted his father doing something and he was irked about it. But his father grabbed him by the elbow.

‘You’ll listen. She’s a fiery little wordy madam just like her mother was. You’ll do yourself a favour, Seth, if you forget all about Emma Le Goff. She’ll soon sink into selling that lovely little body of hers to earn enough to get by and then you wouldn’t want her, would you?’

‘That would be for me to choose. But she won’t go down that route, Pa. Not Emma. I …’

‘Forget her.’

Then his father pushed Seth towards the door, grabbed the scruff of his neck with one hand and with the other yanked the door open. He pushed him into the hallway, then slammed shut the door behind him.

Forget Emma Le Goff? Seth would no sooner be able to forget her than he could forget to breathe.

Emma slipped into the alley that went along behind the back gardens of the cottages. Shingle Cottage was the middle one. Filled with a good portion of Mrs Drew’s steak-and-kidney pudding, and a bowl of stewed apples and custard, Emma was feeling stronger now. Bolder. Her papa had built an outhouse out of bits of wood washed up on the tide. The outhouse was never locked. She could sleep there. For tonight at least. Whoever the crewman was who was coming up from Slapton and who was going to be the new tenant of Shingle Cottage, need never know she was there. And then in the morning she’d go and see the bank manager about getting her money.

Letting herself in through the back gate, she crept towards the blackened remains of the bonfire. She lifted a piece of fabric that had once been part of her mother’s Sunday dress – navy blue grosgrain with lighter blue butterflies embroidered around the neckline – then let it fall again. Closing her eyes she could see her mother in the dress, bending to Johnnie to show him the place in the hymn book – Johnnie had been a slow reader, always a word or two behind the rest of the congregation. How she’d chided him for it, and how she wished now that she hadn’t.

The book she’d seen – the one with the ripped-off spine – was still lying on the ground. She picked it up, turned to the first page. Persuasion. Jane Austen. She hadn’t even begun reading it. Slapping shut the book she threw it hard towards the back gate.

‘Hey!’ someone said from behind her. ‘That’s no way to treat a book.’

Emma’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins. The new tenant. He must have arrived and it was nowhere near nightfall, although the sun was beginning to slide down the sky now. And it seemed to be getting chillier by the minute.

She tried to run towards the gate but her legs didn’t seem to want to move. She began to shake. She listened hard for footfalls in case the new tenant was walking towards her, but she couldn’t hear any. Taking a deep breath Emma moved one foot forwards, then the other. But it was as though she was walking in slow motion.

Slowly she turned her head to see who it was she was trying to run away from – who it was that was going to sleep in a bed that had been her parents’. Who it was who was making her homeless.

Emma blinked. The new tenant was younger than she’d imagined he would be. But not as young as Seth. He was about thirty at a guess. And he was taller than Seth – who was a good six foot – too. His hair was somewhere between fair and ginger – and long; it reached his shoulders almost. He was standing on the doorstep, his hands in the pockets of a pair of black trousers, looking at her. His blue-and-white striped shirt was only half done up, as though he’d been having a wash and she’d disturbed him when she’d thrown the book at the gate and he’d come hurrying out to see what the noise was.

‘It’s my book,’ Emma mumbled under her breath. ‘I can throw it if I want.’

But he must have heard her.

Frozen to the spot with fright, Emma could only watch as he walked past her and picked up the book. ‘And you are?’ he said, returning to where Emma stood, shivering now with nerves.

‘Emma Le Goff. This used to be my home.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘All is becoming clear. I’m Matthew Caunter. I’d shake your hand but I’m not sure you’d want to shake mine in return. At a guess I’d say you aren’t thrilled not to be living here any more.’

‘You guess right,’ Emma said.

‘Take it. I’ve no use for books.’

Matthew Caunter thrust the book at her and Emma snatched it from him, clasped it to her chest. She couldn’t imagine how a life would be that had no space in it for books. She could read in both English and French, thanks to her papa. And she knew a bit of Breton, too, although only to speak it, not to read it or write it.

But if she kept the book, what would she do with it? She’d have no lamplight to read by in the outhouse, would she? And then she realised she wouldn’t be able to sleep there now because this man knew she was here.

‘Sorry to have bothered you,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll go now.’

‘Your decision, Miss Le Goff. But I was just about to make a pot of tea. You’re welcome to join me. You know the way.’

Matthew strode towards the back door and despite her misgivings that this could be the worst decision she would ever make, Emma slowly followed. From the open doorway Emma saw him take two cups – neither of which Emma recognised as having been her mama’s – from hooks on the dresser. She licked her lips. Her mouth was as dry as ash from thirst and nerves. Matthew Caunter was seriously tempting her by his action with the cups.

‘And I’ve got some scones here I bought from Callard’s Bakery,’ he called out to her. ‘I’m sure I could spare you one.’

‘No, thanks,’ Emma said. ‘Mrs Drew fed me up handsome.’

She patted her stomach as though to show this man how full Mrs Drew’s good food had made her.

‘Just the tea, then?’ he said. ‘You’re in luck because I drew water from the pump at the end of the lane earlier.’

Emma licked her lips again. Yes, she could drink a cup of tea. When might she get the next one if she didn’t?