Sea Mistress Read online

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Bridie Marchant had been brought up with every advantage, a wealthy background, a convent education, and a father who eventually willed her a fleet of merchant sailing ships. When she married Paul marchant it seemed a perfect match, for Paul, owner of a much smaller fleet of ships, could take care both of Bridie and of her business interests.

  But slowly Bridie began to have her doubts about Paul, about his love, and about his business dealings. When he tried to inflict upon her the greatest insult of all, and also attempted to seize her fortune, Bridie decided she must fight back. With the help of Ellie Hopkins, she sought to trap Paul in a web of his own making. In the dramatic events that followed, both Ellie and Bridie were nearly destroyed before they finally found happiness with the men they loved.

  Sea Mistress is the fifth book in Iris Gower’s powerful Cordwainers series.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Iris Gower was born in Swansea to an Army family. Married early, she was a mother of four and a well-published author by the time she was in her mid-twenties. She still lives in Swansea with her husband in a house on top of a Welsh hill facing the sea she loves. Iris Gower wrote the libretto and lyrics for a new musical, Copper Kingdom, which was first staged in 1995. She is the author of the highly successful Sweyn’s Eye series of novels and Sea Mistress is the fifth title in her Cordwainers series.

  Also by Iris Gower

  COPPER KINGDOM

  PROUD MARY

  SPINNERS’ WHARF

  MORGAN’S WOMAN

  FIDDLER’S FERRY

  BLACK GOLD

  THE LOVES OF CATRIN

  THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER

  THE OYSTER CATCHERS

  HONEY’S FARM

  ARIAN

  and published by Corgi Books

  SEA MISTRESS

  Iris Gower

  This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form (including any digital form) other than this in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Epub ISBN: 9781446463680

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  SEA MISTRESS

  A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 14097 X

  Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,

  a division of Transworld Publishers

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Bantam Press edition published 1995

  Corgi edition published 1996

  3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Iris Gower 1995

  The right of Iris Gower to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,

  a division of The Random House Group Ltd,

  in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd,

  20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, NSW 2061, Australia,

  and in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd,

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd,

  Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa.

  To Christopher, Emily

  and JoJo with love.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Iris Gower

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  CHAPTER ONE

  Her husband had taken a mistress, she knew it as surely as if the word ‘betrayal’ was written in blood upon his forehead. Bridie Marchant lay beside Paul in their large bed, her emotions in turmoil, jealousy searing her, and stared at his naked back.

  When he had come home from sea (was it only yesterday?) he had been as warm and as happy as he’d always been to see his two young sons. His presents had been lavish, his gifts of silks from the East and perfume from the Americas were, as always, generous but when he took Bridie in his arms, something about him was different.

  They had made love, if you could call their quick coupling that. It had seemed more of a duty to him rather than the passionate response of a man returned to his wife after a long absence at sea. Once he would have been eager for her, he would have taken his time, made her sing with happiness but this time it was different. When it was over, Paul had promptly turned away from her and fallen asleep, leaving Bridie feeling disappointed, bewildered and used.

  Bridie had been unable to sleep; usually, after one of his trips, they sat up in bed, he talking of his adventures in foreign lands. She had enjoyed the moments of closeness when he would listen with rapt attention while she brought him up to date on the progress of his sons.

  Was this the normal pattern of marriage after several years, a case of familiarity breeding contempt? Had Paul tired of her already?

  Bridie felt tears on her lashes and brushed them away, she was the one who was always in control of her emotions. Bridie Marchant, sensible mother to her children, partner in a large shipping fleet, the senior partner to all intents and purposes, she reminded herself sternly. The thought gave her a small feeling of security. To keep control of the shares left to her by her father was something she had made a decision on before her marriage even though Paul had protested vigorously. He felt that women knew little or nothing about business, especially a business that involved the sea. And yet hadn’t there been some instinct warning her even then, that she would need to keep an ace in her hand where her husband was concerned?

  As though aware of her scrutiny, Paul stirred, muttering words that Bridie strove to hear. He was between sleep and wakefulness as he reached out for her. He drew her close and she lay against him, listening to the strong beat of his heart, miserably contemplating the identity of the woman he had last held this way. Had he fallen in love or had the long weeks at sea made him eager for release? Questions worried at her mind, she imagined him making love to some faceless hussy, kissing unknown lips, and anger raged through her.

  She disentangled herself from his arms and slid from between the sheets. She stood looking down at him for a moment, his curling hair hung over his brow, his broad shoulders were golden from the sun, she loved him so much she ached.

  Softly, she padded across the room. Soon her sons would be awake and, in spite of an undoubted fondness for Annie their nurse, it was their mother the boys turned to first thing on rising in the morn
ing. Her features softened; her sons, Andrew and Christopher, were so dear to her, they were her life. She clenched her hands into fists; for them, she would do anything to retain her interest in the shipping line, she would protect their future. For somehow she felt it might prove necessary one day.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Paul was sitting up in bed, watching her as she stood, hand on the doorknob.

  ‘To the children, of course.’ She knew her voice lacked warmth and Paul knew it too. For a moment, his violet eyes were guarded and then, he held out his hand and smiled. ‘Come back to bed, it’s early yet.’

  ‘The boys . . .’ Her words died away as Paul held back the blankets invitingly.

  ‘The children have a nurse, that’s what she’s for, to take care of our sons while we . . . while we.’

  ‘Make love?’ She supplied the word he seemed reluctant to say aloud. ‘It’s all right, Paul, it’s quite legal, we are married.’

  ‘Come here.’ He was assessing her, he sensed something was wrong but he had no intention of recognizing her mood. Slowly, Bridie returned to the bed and climbed into the warmth beside her husband.

  ‘Paul . . .’ There was a question in her voice but Paul, clearly, didn’t want to enter into any sort of discussion. His mouth was on hers, silencing her.

  This time there was more warmth in his approach, more tenderness, and she tried to tell herself that she had been foolish, imagining a problem which didn’t exist.

  His hands were caressing and in spite of herself she responded to his touch with her usual rush of desire. She loved Paul, she wanted him desperately. He took his time, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, and then his mouth tantalizingly moved to her breasts. Her breathing became ragged.

  ‘Do you love me, Paul?’

  ‘Of course, Bridie, you are my wife.’ His voice was thick with emotion and mingled with Bridie’s passion was a great thankfulness. His reassurances were like water to her parched senses, she wanted to believe him so much. She must believe him.

  She flung back her head, her back arching to enjoy all the more his possession of her. Her hands clasped his back, sliding silkily over his skin, feeling with delight the firmness of his buttocks. She wanted the moments of happiness never to end, for Paul, her husband, was hers once more.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The mill was filled with wood dust. In the slant of the early sun the motes appeared as snow drifting and falling in the cold spring air. The sound of the machinery macerating plates of oak bark reverberated around the mill, seeming to shake the frail wooden structure with the force of its power.

  Ellie Hopkins stopped the mill and made her way down the rickety wooden stairs to the room below, to where the chute was discharging the slivers of bark, and with an effort shifted the overflowing basket away from the foot of the machine. She sighed and rubbed at her spine before bending to place an empty basket beneath the chute. She paused for a moment, day-dreaming in the relief of the freedom from noise. It was a fine day, a good day for being out of doors, she thought wistfully.

  The splash of sunlight from the doorway was suddenly blocked by the huge bulk of Jubilee Hopkins. ‘Duw, Ellie, you’re like a little ghost there, standing silent in the dust. Pull your finger out girl or the work will never be done.’

  Ellie looked up and smiled, she knew the rebuke, though harsh-sounding, was good naturedly given. ‘So? Why not do a bit of graft yourself then, Jubie?’ She looked at him with fondness, his craggy brows formed a grey forest over his lined eyes, his hair hung around his shoulders in a white cloud. He appeared, Ellie thought, like a prophet from the Old Testament.

  Jubilee Hopkins came further into the mill and sat down on an upturned box. ‘Now I’ve stopped work for a minute, I’ll have a smoke, I deserve it, those skins I’m cleaning are giving me callouses on top of my callouses.’

  ‘Do you have to smoke that foul thing in here?’ Ellie demanded, her hands on her slim hips. She pushed back her fair hair, which was damp with perspiration, and stared at this man, this old man who was her husband.

  ‘Don’t grumble, girl, the tobacco covers the stink of the yard, you should be grateful.’

  Ellie had long since been unaware of the animal smell of the tannery where she had worked ever since her marriage. Even the sight of the stray dogs eating the debris of flesh from the skins newly in from the abattoir had ceased to offend her.

  On an impulse, she crouched on the ground beside her husband and took his roughened hand. ‘Jubilee, you will tell me if the work gets too much for you, won’t you?’

  ‘Aye, girl, don’t fret, I’ll be put in my box when I can’t work in my own tannery.’ He looked at her wryly, ‘Not much good for anything else am I, not at my advanced age?’

  Ellie felt her colour rise, theirs was a marriage that was not consummated, she had never expected it to be; Jubilee Hopkins had been in his seventies when he’d slipped the gold band on her finger.

  ‘Don’t talk like that.’ She said the words almost without thinking, they were her usual response to any suggestion that her husband was mortal.

  ‘Oh, love, I know what the men say about me, that I’m an old man without bullets in my gun.’ Jubilee ruffled her hair. ‘There’s not one of them out there as wouldn’t like to service old Jubilee’s wife given half a chance.’

  ‘Aye, well that’s what none of them will get, there’s no chance for any of them. I’d never risk going through all that anguish again.’

  ‘Don’t dwell on the past, Ellie,’ Jubilee rose, ‘what’s done is done and can’t be righted, see? Now, I’m going in to Swansea, got to buy some more skins, business is brisk this time of the year what with saddles and horse-collars and such. See you later, my little sweetheart.’

  When Jubilee had left, Ellie thought about him with a warm affection; he was a fine man and she was lucky to have him. Old he might be but he was twice the worker that any of his men were. Oh, she had seen them, the casual labourers in the yard giving her the eye, knew that they watched her, expecting her to fall into the arms of one of them but they were wrong. Ellie Hopkins wanted none of them, once bitten twice shy. She sighed, pushing back memories of her past. In any case, it was high time she got on with her work, the oak bark would not grind itself.

  Later, in the large house Jubilee had built for himself many years ago, Ellie put the big black kettle onto the fire and prepared to make tea for the four workers and the two casuals. They would take it out in the yard or if it was raining they would gather in the currying house where it was warm and dry.

  The two older men were no problem, both Luke and Harry were much older than Ellie, in their forties and happily married with buxom wives who sometimes helped out at the mill. And Boyo was a young boy from the workhouse, he was so shy he could scarcely bring himself to speak to Ellie and when he did, he touched his forelock as though she were some fine lady. Her face softened; Boyo, young though he might be, was fiercely protective of her, trying his best to ward off the attentions of the one man who gave her trouble.

  Matthew Hewson was handsome, young and with a fine tongue for the poetry but he had one conceit, he fancied his chances with any woman who came his way.

  Ellie would have liked to have been indifferent to him, that sort of reaction would offend him more than anything. But she felt a deep mistrust of him and a scorn for the way he lived his life, the way he used women and tossed them aside. She could hardly help knowing that he was a womanizer, he spoke often enough about his prowess and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

  She went outside in the sparkling spring air and banged on the gong that hung outside the door. The tea was brewed, the bread and cheese set out on the plain wooden table in the kitchen. The men would pick up their grub packs and place a few coins on the table in payment. It was an arrangement that Jubilee’s long dead sister had instituted and which Jubilee had wished Ellie to continue.

  Ellie clattered the enamel mugs on the table, side by side, and lifted the brown shiny te
apot.

  ‘Let me do that, Mrs Hopkins, it’s too heavy a job for the likes of you.’ The voice spoke directly behind her shoulder and Ellie sighed in resignation.

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of pouring a cup of tea, haven’t I done it these past years well enough?’

  ‘Why so prickly?’ Matthew Hewson was close, too close and Ellie moved away from him but not before he saw the pulse beat in her neck. He smiled. ‘Why won’t you let me be friends with you?’ he said softly, ‘I mean you no harm.’

  Ellie looked at him steadily. ‘Friendship is not what I’m offering, nor anything else. You work for my husband, that’s the only reason I’m civil to you.’

  ‘You don’t like me, even a little?’ Matthew picked up his bread and bit into the thick brown crust with white, even teeth.

  ‘I neither like you nor dislike you.’ Ellie poured the tea with a steady hand, ‘You have enough to do with the village girls chasing after you from what I hear.’

  ‘Ah, jealous is it? Well you needn’t be, the girls are silly giggling creatures, you, Ellie Hopkins, are what I’d call an enigma, a beautiful, delicious woman.’

  Ellie suddenly felt old, she was past twenty, her youth had vanished some years ago when she had put her trust in a man she had loved. Just look where it had got her.

  ‘Stop your silly nonsense.’ She put down the teapot and refilled it with hot water from the kettle. With a sense of relief, she heard the sound of Boyo’s light footsteps as he came towards the house. She supposed he had a proper name but she had never known it and neither had he.

  Boyo stepped into the kitchen and looked from Ellie’s impassive face to take in Matthew’s twitching smile. He frowned and placed himself directly between them.

  ‘The master’s on his way back, missus, I heard the sound of the cart from down the lane.’

  Ellie concealed a smile, she knew that Boyo wished he was strong enough to punch Matthew on the nose but he was a youth, his muscles scarcely showing beneath the sleeves of his flannel shirt.