Emma: There's No Turning Back Page 4

  ‘Olly? Boatbuilding with Olly when you’ve run your own business?’

  ‘A partner. He’s often asked me. And while Olly’s on my mind, I was thinking of inviting him and his mother to lunch on Christmas Day. What do you think?’

  Emma pressed her lips together, and twisted her hands over and over.

  ‘You don’t want to?’

  ‘I like them well enough,’ Emma said, ‘but I hoped it could be just us on our first Christmas.’

  ‘Then it shall be,’ Seth said. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this later. Oh, there’s the postman. I’ll see if there’s anything for me.’

  And then Seth was gone. Not even stopping to give Emma a kiss as he usually did. She saw the postman hand Seth an envelope which he put into the briefcase he was carrying before hurrying off to his car.

  ‘Emma, it’s me.’

  Emma looked up at the sound of Beattie Drew’s voice. She wasn’t due to come and clean at Mulberry House today. She stood in the doorway of the bakery, a handkerchief held to her mouth.

  ‘I won’t come in, lovie.’ Mrs Drew coughed into her handkerchief.

  ‘I’ll get you the money for Dr Shaw just as soon as I’ve got this on the table. You must go and see him about that cough.’

  ‘I ’aven’t come for the money. And anyway, it’s not the cough that carries you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off in.’ Mrs Drew laughed at her own joke, making herself cough even more.

  Emma laughed too, if uncomfortably, and waited for Mrs Drew to get her breath back and tell her the reason for her visit.

  ‘I saw your Seth drivin’ down over the ’ill,’ Mrs Drew said, which set off another wave of coughing.

  Emma loved it when Mrs Drew said, ‘your Seth’. Like he was part of her, the way her arms and her legs and her hair were part of her. She hoped whatever he was having to face at Exeter prison wouldn’t be too heart-wrenching for him. But should she tell Mrs Drew where he’d gone or not?

  Emma decided not.

  ‘I waved to ’im, but ’e didn’t wave back. ’E was starin’ right through me, didn’t see me. ’Urtling down over the ’ill in that rattle-trap-motor of ’is. Charabancs and trams is bad enough. We’ll all be killed in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll tell him to slow down. He hasn’t had it long and he’s still getting used to it.’ A fresh fear chilled Emma as she thought about the risks of driving cars. She couldn’t bear the thought that Seth might be hurt, or killed, because of his car.

  ‘Anyways,’ Mrs Drew said. ‘I ’aven’t come to give you a reason to ’ave a row with your beloved. I’ve come to warn you.’

  ‘Warn me?’

  ‘Both of you. Guess who came tappin’ on the back door at Shingle Cottage? Weren’t even light. I picked up the poker before answerin’, just in case. But I ’ad to answer. It could ’ave been one of my big ’uns in trouble with their babes or that. ’E—’

  ‘Who?’ Emma interrupted. As dear as she was to her, Emma sometimes became frustrated with Beattie Drew’s ramblings.

  ‘None other than Miles Jago, that’s who it were.’

  Emma’s hands flew to her face, her mouth round with shock.

  ‘I didn’t recognise ’im at first,’ Mrs Drew went on. ‘’E ’ad a beard to go with that moustache ’e always ’ad. And ’e were about half the width ’e were when last I saw ’im. I didn’t know ’e was out, did you?’

  ‘Only just. Seth told me only an hour ago and that was the first time he’d heard. Only Miles hasn’t been let out – he absconded a month ago.’

  ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘We must let Sergeant Emms know.’ Emma took a tray of mince pies from the oven, set them on the table. Then she untied her apron strings. ‘You can come with me.’

  ‘I idn’ goin’ nowhere for the moment. Nearly killed me, it did, walkin’ up ’ere with this cough.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Miles we were …’ Emma was so fraught with nerves, she could hardly speak. She reached for the jug of water and drank straight from it, not bothering to find a glass. ‘We were living at Mulberry House now, did you?’

  ‘Emma Jago, I might be cabbage-lookin’ but I ain’t that green, lovie. ’Course I didn’t tell him. But it were you ’e wanted. Said, “Where’s that …” No, I can’t say the word.’

  ‘Bitch? Is that what he called me?’

  ‘No, ’t’were whore, ’e said. Sorry, lovie, it ain’t nice to ’ear, is it? But it’s what ’e said and you did ask.’

  ‘It’s only a bad word, it can’t kill me,’ Emma said. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘’E said someone ’ad told ’im you was back in Shingle Cottage, so ’e’d come for some answers. ’E said it were all your fault, seeing as ’ow you were linked to that customs fellow, Matthew Caunter, that his pa and ’im and Carter were arrested and thrown in gaol. An’ ’e wanted to know why Hilltop was all locked up and where Seth was gone to. I didn’t waste no breath telling ’im. But what puzzles me is, if ’e’s escaped from gaol, who’s been ’iding ’im? An’ who’s been telling ’im things about you? ’Tis a shame you got to share the same surname as the other Jagos, lovie. Exceptin’ your Seth, of course. Where’s ’e gone?’

  Mrs Drew – after all that talking, no doubt – had another coughing fit. So violent this time that it frightened Emma. Gently, she pulled the woman into the room and sat her down. She poured her a glass of water. Beads of sweat were forming on Beattie Drew’s forehead and she was red in the face. And breathing hard now.

  ‘I’m not going to take no for an answer ,’ Emma said. ‘I’m taking you to see Dr Shaw. And then we’re going to see the sergeant to tell him everything.’

  ‘No, we’re not goin’ down to the police station. I think it’s best if you keep out of it. We can tell Seth ’is brother came callin’ and we’ll leave it up to ’im to decide what to do about it. I’ve already forgotten I saw the under’and bugger, ’aven’t I? But if you just loan me the money for the doctor, I think I’d better go and see ’im about this cough.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll give you the money. And I’m coming with you. I’ll just get my coat.’ But in her heart of hearts Emma knew she was only going with Mrs Drew – instead of giving her the money to pay the doctor herself – because she didn’t want to be alone at Mulberry House should Miles Jago call.

  A week went by and, mercifully, there was still no sign of Miles at Mulberry House

  Seth, when Emma told him what Beattie Drew had said, thought that they should keep the news of Miles’s visit to Shingle Cottage to themselves. He wanted nothing to do with Miles ever again and besides, he said, what did he pay his taxes for if it wasn’t for the authorities to catch criminals? And the authorities already knew Miles had absconded, didn’t they? Sergeant Emms wasn’t going to thank him for telling him how to do his job, was he? But Emma had insisted that Seth should tell the police and, for a few days, an officer had walked up and down in front of Mulberry House a couple of times a day, keeping watch no doubt. Enquiries were made and no one claimed to have seen Miles Jago anywhere at all.

  So at last Emma had stopped glancing anxiously around her every time she went into town.

  On December 16th, Emma went with Seth to his father’s funeral. The mourners were just them and the prison parson and two ladies from some prisoners’ welfare organisation that Emma didn’t catch the name of. How sad it had all been that a big man, a strong man like Reuben Jago had been so reduced in size that his coffin was no bigger than a twelve-year-old’s would have been. And all by his own doing – his smuggling, his liking for strong drink and loose women.

  Mrs Drew was getting over her cough at last, helped by the cough mixture Dr Shaw had prescribed and the brandy Seth had bought for her. But it had taken time – time when Emma had kept house all by herself and surprised herself by loving it. How big the rooms were! Why, she could have fitted the whole of her previous home, Shingle Cottage, into the dining room of Mulberry House. So much
room! And such big windows, floor to ceiling almost in the front bedrooms that looked out over the town down to the harbour and out to sea. Yards and yards of material had gone into the curtains of each one. She and Seth were going to have to have a tribe of children to fill the bedrooms. A cot on its own in even the smallest room would look lost. But not yet. She was enjoying early married life too much – it was as though she and Seth were on an eternal honeymoon. And they were yet to have their first Christmas together. She couldn’t wait! Goose, perhaps. Yes, goose – she’d place an order with Foales the butchers in the morning.

  ‘You are one good cook, Emma Le G—’

  ‘Try harder,’ Emma said with a laugh, as Seth cut into her thoughts. ‘Emma Jago. Emma Jago. Emma Jago. I find it slips out easily now, the more I say it.’

  ‘I’ll have to. I was stopped four times down on the harbour today and congratulated on my marriage. Obviously Mrs Drew has fulfilled her news-spreading duties.’

  ‘She’s selective in what secrets and gossip she passes on, as well we know, but she only needed to tell one person about our “wedding” photograph and I knew it would spread like wildfire.’ Emma stirred the remains of the steak and kidney to take the skin off the top. ‘More?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Mrs Jago. It’s a hard choice. Another helping or take you to bed?’

  Seth’s eyes held hers – they were full of love, of desire. How good it made her feel to be so wanted, so longed for. That old school friends snubbed her in the street – or worse, called after her that she was nobody, a social climber more poisonous than ivy – didn’t matter at all when Seth was looking at her like this.

  ‘We could always forego pudding,’ Emma said. She knew Seth loved his puddings more than anything.

  ‘Or we could take it upstairs and you can feed me, sweetheart, and—’

  But before Seth could finish his sentence there was a loud hammering on their front door. ‘Who the hell is that breaking our door down this time of night?’ Seth got up to answer it. ‘Just as well we’ve no near neighbours to hear it. As long as it’s not one of our boats.’

  And then he was gone and Emma began to tidy the table, even though she knew Seth would show whoever was calling into the drawing room. She hoped nothing had happened to one of the boats, because every time a fisherman was lost to the sea it brought back into sharp focus the night her own pa had lost his life beneath the waves.

  She got up and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the hob. Tea would be needed without a doubt. It was almost nine o’clock – not the usual time for social visits. Whoever it was, Seth was sounding angry. It was unusual for Seth to raise his voice and Emma began to feel afraid.

  ‘No, Miles!’ Seth’s voice echoed in the vast, as yet not fully-furnished, hallway.

  So, he’d found them. Emma’s heart sank. She removed the kettle from the hob and set it down next to the flatiron. She wouldn’t be offering Miles tea. Or anything else for that matter.

  Then a bullish and flailing Miles, fighting off Seth’s efforts to retain him, burst into the kitchen, and Emma knew in a second that he was the worse for drink; the red face, the glazed eyes, the smell of him more rank than a basketful of week-old fish, as though he’d been sleeping rough somewhere.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, man,’ Seth said. ‘Calm down. You don’t want murder added to your crimes when the authorities get hold of you.’

  ‘Who says they’re going to get hold of me? Given them the slip more than a few times, I have. Sergeant Emms for one. It were him who arrested me in the first place, so if anyone would recognise me it should be him. But I walked right past him and he didn’t even register it was me. Got a few disguises, you see. Spectacles for one – it’s amazing how they can change a man’s appearance.’

  ‘Who’s been hiding you?’ Seth asked, his grip so tight on Miles now that Emma could see his clenched knuckles were whiter than snow.

  Miles laughed. ‘You’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were if you think I’m going to tell you that. But I see it’s true, then?’ With a sudden surge of energy, he lunged forward, knocking Seth off balance and making him lose his grip as he stumbled after his brother.

  Miles headed straight for Emma, hate in his eyes. ‘Scheming whore!’ He quite literally spat the words at Emma, who snatched up a tea cloth to swipe at the spittle that had landed on her cheek.

  ‘Shut your filthy mouth, Miles,’ Seth said. ‘Or I’ll shut it for you.’

  Emma backed away. Seth was struggling to restrain Miles from behind – anger and the drink seemed to be giving Miles the strength of ten men.

  ‘I heard you’d snared my baby brother. Got your hands on property that should rightly be mine.’

  ‘We’re married if that’s what you mean,’ Emma said. And they were. Committed to one another more so than many who’d stepped inside a church to exchange vows.

  She tried to sidestep Miles to get to the telephone to ring through to the police station, but Miles kicked out with his foot and she fell against the table.

  ‘You bastard!’ Seth yelled, struggling to keep his hold on his brother.

  ‘Wait ’til Pa hears about this!’ Miles squirmed under Seth’s hold, trying to free himself.

  ‘He’ll have a job,’ Seth said. ‘He’s dead. I buried him two days ago.’

  Emma had been looking at Miles as he heard the news. His eyes registered no surprise, no shock even. And no sadness. But there had been a twitch of his lips and the beginning of a smile.

  ‘Did you now?’ Miles said. ‘So, it’s half-shares now, baby brother. Just you and me.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Seth said. ‘And if you think the authorities are going to give up trying to find you, then you need your head reading.’

  ‘Going to turn me in, are you?’

  ‘Yes!’ Emma said. ‘And if Seth doesn’t, I will.’

  Miles leaned forward and bit Seth on the hand, making him yelp and loosen his grip. Taking advantage of his actions, Miles turned and thumped Seth in the guts.

  ‘Em … ma …’ Seth was gasping for breath. ‘Get … away …’

  Emma picked up the flatiron, and slammed it into the back of Miles’s head. Blood gushed out and Miles stumbled. Seth finally let go of his brother as Miles slumped to the floor.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Emma said. ‘Have I killed him?’

  Chapter Three

  ‘What are we going to do, Seth? What are we going to do?’

  Miles was still out cold – although, much to Emma’s relief, not dead. Seth was still refusing to telephone the police station for some reason best known to himself, despite her pleadings. Instead he had telephoned his friend, Olly Underwood.

  ‘We’re going to wait for Olly, and hopefully he’ll arrive before he wakes up.’ Seth tapped Miles’s thigh with the toe of his boot. ‘If Miles has been hanging around here, then Sergeant Emms and his constables aren’t doing their jobs properly, are they? Olly will be here far quicker than any of them will be, and I can’t risk Miles coming to and trying to attack you again while we wait for Sergeant Emms to sober up. Everyone knows how he likes a tipple or three of a night-time. God, Emma, but you packed a mighty punch.’

  ‘Didn’t I! I’m glad I …’ Emma struggled for breath – from shock probably, ‘didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Don’t waste your brain thinking about him.’ Seth slid a foot out along the floor in the direction of Miles. ‘My brother here, cares for no one but himself.’

  ‘I’m still glad I didn’t kill him, although I hope he wakes up with the headache from—’

  Emma was interrupted by Olly coming in the back door.

  ‘What the hell is all this about?’ Olly asked, slamming the door shut against the wind behind him. Then he saw Miles lying on the floor. ‘Good God. Is that who I think it is?’

  ‘Afraid so,’ Seth said. ‘Emma knocked him out with the flatiron.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No!’ Emma said quickly. ‘I keep checking his pulse,
although I’d prefer not to have to touch him. He’s alive.’

  ‘It would have been self-defence, I imagine, if you had killed him?’ Olly said, and Seth agreed that yes, it would have been.

  Emma wasn’t so sure. Women didn’t have too good a time of it in court – men always seemed to have the advantage when there was an element of doubt, whatever the crime.

  ‘I didn’t know he’d been released,’ Olly said.

  ‘He hasn’t,’ Seth told him. ‘He absconded a month or so ago. On a visit to hospital, so I’ve been told. Although no one bothered to tell me at the time.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Olly said. ‘Very odd. Who knows that you know he’s not still locked up though?’

  ‘Beattie Drew,’ Emma said quickly. ‘He called at Shingle Cottage. She came straight here to tell me. Seth didn’t want to, but I persuaded him to go to the police station to tell them Miles had been to Shingle Cottage looking for me. But …’

  ‘Ssh, Emma,’ Seth said.

  ‘No, I won’t shush,’ Emma said. She turned to Olly. ‘Tell him, Olly, that he’s got to telephone the police station.’

  ‘Who else knows?’ Olly asked Seth, ignoring her.

  ‘Bettesworth and his secretary. Sergeant Emms and the rest of them down at the police station – around here, that is. Presumably other forces are on the lookout for him.’

  ‘Can Mrs Drew be relied upon to keep her mouth shut about who she’s seen and when?’ Olly asked.

  ‘Mrs Drew knows when to keep her mouth shut,’ Emma said.

  ‘Seth?’ Olly said. ‘Mrs Drew? Is she considered reliable enough not to blab?’

  Emma was outraged. Wasn’t her word good enough? A ripple of something Emma thought might be fear shot up her spine, making her tingle all over. Was Seth about to do something criminal, as his father and brothers had done criminal acts?

  ‘She is,’ Seth said. He bent to check Miles’s pulse. ‘The temptation to bundle my brother into my car and tip him off Berry Head is an urge I’m doing my best to suppress. I can see where your thoughts are going, Olly, but it’s not why I asked you here. Sergeant Emms usually has a skinful of a night-time so he was hardly likely to get here very fast and I knew you’d come much more quickly. I thought that should Miles wake I couldn’t risk him punching me in the guts again, leaving him free to harm Emma.’