It was not really necessary for Jessie to make a visit to Beechwood’s washhouse after Anderson’s body was carried home, but fear and curiosity about how the death would be officially explained made it impossible for her to stay away.
The place was in chaos when she slipped into the kitchen, eager to hear all she could.
The servants were gathered round the big pine table, drinking tea and eyeing the row of bells that hung along the wall. They wished at least one of them would be called upstairs to hear what was going on.
‘Aw Jessie,’ cried the cook, ‘have you heard the news?’
‘I was told the shop’s closed because Hester’s man drowned. What’s happening?’ was the innocent, wide-eyed reply. Jessie even surprised herself by her acting ability.
‘Miss Hester’s screeching the place down. The master’s telegraphed to Edinburgh for Master Everard. It’s a very funny business altogether,’ said the cook.
One of the table maids interrupted: ‘They think he was trying to run away! The gardener says he hired a horse from the hotel livery stable, and I heard the master telling Hester there was a lot of money in his pockets.’
‘In that case he didn’a mean to jump in the harbour. Ye dinna need a horse and pockets fu’ of money to kill yourself,’ said wee Jean.
Jessie allowed herself a laugh: ‘Unless the money was to weigh him doon.’
The second table maid snorted at this bit of black humour, and all the others grinned as well. There was no mourning in the kitchen for Steven Anderson.
Upstairs it was different. Hester lay on the drawing-room sofa, thumping her clenched fists on the upholstered seat and sobbing hysterically.
Her father, grim-faced, looked at the bewildered doctor and asked, ‘Can you give her something to quieten her down?’
Dr Wilkie approached the weeping woman and said gently, ‘Now, Miss Stanhope, I’m going to give you a draught…’ She pushed his hand away, spilling the medicine, but he persisted: ‘You must take it. Your father is very upset about you…’
She glared through swollen eyes and sobbed, ‘He never liked poor Steven. He doesn’t care. He’s been telling me awful things about him, a pack of lies. How can he be so cruel at a time like this?’
The doctor looked over her head at the old man and said, ‘I think the best thing to do is to get her upstairs and I’ll prepare another draught. It will make her sleep.’
Stanhope grimly crossed the room and pulled the bell. When a maid’s face appeared round the door, he said, ‘Miss Hester has to be helped upstairs.’
Hester began yelling, ‘I’m not going. I want to hear anything you have to say about my husband. I won’t have you spreading lies!’
The doctor became stern. ‘You must stop this or you will harm your baby.’
It was useless. In spite of the blandishments of the two men and the scared maid, Hester would not move.
‘Fetch the others from the kitchen to move her,’ snapped Stanhope, who did not think it proper for himself and the doctor to fight with his frantic daughter, whose nightclothes were already slipping off as she struggled. The maid scurried away.
The cook, the other maids, Jean and a delighted Jessie were brought in to form the moving force and, by dint of all taking hold of some kicking, struggling part of Hester, they finally managed to convey her upstairs.
When the cook kicked open the bedroom door and saw a pair of booted feet sticking up from the tumbled sheets, she realized Anderson’s corpse was lying on the matrimonial bed.
‘Aw my God, we canna put her in here wi’ him,’ she groaned. ‘She’ll hae to go in another room,’ and they awkwardly backtracked on the landing, dragging a howling Hester with them. Jessie, holding one of Hester’s kicking legs, had difficulty in restraining her hysterical mirth.
When they finally dropped their burden on to a high brass bed in a spare room, and the doctor moved in with his draught, the staff filed out. Jessie was last in line and when she passed the grim-faced Robert, she glanced up at him and all her frivolity disappeared, because the tragic look on his face touched her heart.
‘I’m sorry for your trouble,’ she whispered as she brushed past.
There was a softening of his eyes as he watched her go.
Everard arrived at noon and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He found his father sitting in the window of his own big bedroom staring out to sea, and ran across the floor to take the old man’s hand. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.
‘That husband of Hester was found floating in the harbour early this morning. There was a cut and a big bump on his head, but the doctor thinks he drowned. It wouldn’t take long, because it was very cold last night.’
‘Do you think he jumped?’
The old man shrugged. ‘Who knows? If he did, it was a sudden decision, because he’d hired a horse and emptied the fund cashbox. As well as his purse, he also had almost two hundred pounds in cash. I pulled it out of his pocket myself. Maybe he had a sudden attack of conscience.’
‘Do you think he knew we’ve been checking up on him?’ asked Everard.
‘Yes, he knew. There was a letter from Edinburgh for him yesterday morning. He said it was from his sister when he saw the envelope, but he read it at the breakfast table and I could see how it angered him. He never said what was in it and I’ve looked through his papers but can’t find any trace of the letter. He probably burned it.’
‘Does Hester know anything about our suspicions?’ asked young Stanhope.
His father sighed: ‘I’m afraid she does. She heard me telling Dr Wilkie about the money. I was surprised that he was carrying so much, and I’m afraid my tongue ran away with me…’
‘What did you say?’
‘Something about hoping he hadn’t been fiddling the fund… She heard me and went off into hysterics. The doctor gave her a good strong draught that’s put her to sleep.’
When Hester woke from a drugged sleep, she found her brother sitting by the bedside. When he rose to kiss her cheek, she turned her head away, asking, ‘Are you with Father? Do you think bad things about my poor Steven? Father is wicked, wicked and cruel. I will never, ever forgive him!’ and she went off into another storm of weeping.
Everard grimaced and said, ‘Hester, you really must pull yourself together.’
‘Why should I? The love of my life is dead and my father is spreading ugly rumours about him before he’s even cold!’ Her brother rose from his chair and walked across to the window. This room too had a view of the sea, which today was steel-grey and heaving with white-topped waves. The memory of the fishing disaster came into his mind and he mentally compared the intemperate behaviour of his sister with the stoical fisherwomen who lost their husbands.
‘Have some dignity, Hester,’ he said sharply over his shoulder. ‘Dignity!’ she screamed. ‘Father’s the one who should have dignity – talking about my husband the way he did with the doctor. The story will be all over the town by now. Mrs Wilkie can’t keep control of her tongue.’
Everard walked back towards the bed and said sternly, ‘I suspect that the story was round the town before father even opened his mouth. The men who found him searched his pockets. It’s to their credit that the money was returned untouched.’
‘Money! That’s all Father cares about. I hate him. I swear I’ll never speak another word to him as long as I live.’
Everard’s patience snapped. ‘Poor Father has only been concerned for you and your reputation. He’s been making enquiries about your saintly husband for weeks now. I’m sorry, but the man was a total fraud, and now we know he was a swindler as well. You are well rid of him, Hester!’
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. ‘You too! You hated Steven as well. Were you jealous because he was so big and strong while you’re a fat weakling?’
‘He was big and strong perhaps, but he was also a fool and a liar. He told you his mother was too ill to travel to your weddiing, but that was a lie. I’ll invite his relatives to attend his funeral and then you’ll meet them. If you have any sense, you’ll put as good a face as possible on this and calm down. Father will try to squash the rumours as much as possible for your sake.’ Everard was cold and angry.
There was fear in her eyes as she looked at him, though she did not want him to know how frightened she was. Her social position was more important to her than anything else – even her professed devotion to her husband.
‘I don’t care what Father does. I will never address a direct word to him again,’ she hissed, more quietly this time.
‘Please yourself, but count yourself lucky that he won’t be as vindictive to you as you are to him,’ her brother told her.
From Beechwood to Effie’s house Jessie ran all the way, bursting with news and reassurance that no suspicions were being entertained about murder. To her disappointment she was received with little enthusiasm, because both Effie and Rosabelle were in tears.
‘You’re not greetin’ for that bastard, are you?’ she asked them as she burst through the door, and Effie shook her head.
‘No, we’re greetin’ because nothing’ll ever be the same again if Rosabelle goes away. Is it really the right thing to do?’
Jessie spoke with determination, ‘It is the best thing. It’s the only thing. There’ll be trouble if she stays here because she can’t keep the secret to herself. She’ll blab and I don’t want us all to be hauled up in the police court, so I’m going to make damned sure she’s on that train to London tomorrow.’
The weeping women stared at her in awe and did not protest.
Remembering how Rosabelle’s mother lost her mind after Black Friday, Efifie began to fear for her too and tried to shake her out of apathy by putting Aaron on her lap; but, scared by his mother’s tension, he started to cry. Rosabelle stared at him without smiling and handed him back to his grandmother.
‘Keep him, Effie,’ she said. ‘He’s more yours than he is mine anyway.’
Tears came into Eflfie’s eyes and she said, ‘I’ll take good care of him for you, lass. When you’re ready, come back for him.’
Next morning she and Rosabelle walked without speaking to Burnmouth in drifting rain. Rosabelle wore her big cloak but Jessie only had her shawl, and when she saw her friend shivering in the bitter wind, the tall girl silently held out the wide cloak and they shared it, huddling together and walking in step with Rosabelle’s bulging carpet bag between them.
As the station came into sight, Rosabelle was the first to speak. ‘I’ll miss you, Jessie. I’ll miss you more than anybody,’ she said.
Jessie’s pert face was sad when she asked, ‘More than Aaron?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘I can’t help it. He’s so like Dan already. It hurts me to look at him…’
I could never leave Henrietta, thought Jessie, but she squeezed her friend’s arm and said, ‘I’ll miss you too.’
They stood on the empty platform as the Berwick train pulled in, and Rosabelle said, ‘Go home now, please.’ But Jessie shook her head. ‘I’m going on to Berwick with you. I’ll not be content till I see you on that train to London,’ she said, for she was still afraid that Rosabelle might change her mind at the last minute.
Berwick station was crowded when they arrived at fifteen minutes before twelve. At the sight of people milling around on the down platform, Rosabelle quailed and hung back, but Jessie kept her hand on her taller friend’s elbow, firmly pushing her along. When she glanced up to reassure the other girl, she was struck by Rosabelle’s fixed expression. She looked as if she was in a trance. Her eyes stared sightlessly in front of her, and her feet were going forward automatically like the feet of a clockwork doll.
‘Where is that Frenchwoman? What if she’s changed her mind and isn’t here?’ Jessie worried. Pulling Rosabelle along, she scrutinized people as she passed, but there was no sign of Madame Rachelle and the hands of the big station clock were creeping nearer and nearer to noon, which was the time the London train was due to leave.
Suddenly there was a piercing whistle and the crowd began surging towards the edge of the platform. Where is she? Jessie thought desperately.
‘Are you sure she’s leaving today?’ she asked Rosabelle, who nodded and murmured, ‘That’s what she said.’
At the moment the train rolled up to the platform, the door of the First Class Ladies’ Waiting Room opened and a vision in mauve silk and grey fur stepped out. Jessie ran towards Rachelle and flung out her arms in an embrace, so great was her relief.
‘Thank God you’re here. I’ve brought Rosabelle. She’ll go to London with you,’ she cried.
Madame Rachelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘So she changed her mind after all?’ She was obviously pleased, but when she looked at Rosabelle, she wondered if the girl knew what was going on. Perhaps she was drunk. She certainly looked blank enough. She turned back to the little dark-haired companion and asked, ‘Has she got a ticket?’
That had never entered Jessie’s mind, and anyway she had no money to buy one. She shook her head, but Rachelle rapidly scrabbled in her reticule, pulled out a satin purse and ordered, ‘Run and buy one – first class. One way.’
The gigantic locomotive was breathing steam beside them. The boiler of its engine was glossy black, banded with strips of gleaming brass, and a ruddy-faced driver hung out of the cab like a victorious charioteer; but Rosabelle looked at it without registering anything.
A porter appeared with a huge trolley heaped up with trunks and boxes, all of which turned out to belong to Madame Rachelle, and they were stowed in the guard’s van while she hustled Rosabelle on to the train, for she too was now afraid that the girl might attempt a getaway at the last moment.
Jessie ran along the platform to the booking office and by the time she came pelting back with the little bit of cardboard in her hand, the train’s pistons were moving and huge puffs of smoke were rising out of its funnel.
Rosabelle and Rachelle were aboard, and Rachelle reached her hand out of the carriage window to take the ticket and her purse. ‘I’ll look after her. Goodbye,’ she told Jessie in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she was a governess taking over a helpless child.
‘You’d better, or you’ll have me to answer to,’ was the sharp reply.
For the first time Rachelle smiled. ‘How terrifying,’ she said.
Jessie, with her dark shawl pulled back over her head, stood on the platform watching as the train pulled out, but there was no sign of Rosabelle, who stayed huddled in her seat and never even waved goodbye.
First class. One way… were the words that kept running through Jessie’s head. For her, having to leave her home town would be a tragedy and she mourned for her friend. Would they ever see each other again? she wondered.
Though she rarely wept, hot tears slid down her cheeks as she turned to make her way back to Eyemouth.