Copper Kingdom Page 11

  Sterling nodded in satisfaction, the ore was not clotting but flowing freely. He folded his arms over his chest, watching as the copper was granulated with water after the first roasting; he found it curiously satisfying to see the product begin to take shape.

  Ben was mopping his face, rubbing the steam from his glasses, coughing to draw Sterling’s attention to himself, it was clear he did not find it fascinating to stand and stare as Sterling did.

  ‘How’s the tough pitch coming along?’ Sterling had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the bubbling metal. Ben nodded his head.

  ‘It’s good, sir.’ His dour face almost broke into a smile. ‘You know I have a knack of picking out the best ore even though I’m not a chemist.’

  ‘Right enough,’ Sterling conceded, ‘let’s go look at the ’finery work and then we’ll return to the office.’ He supposed it wasn’t fair to drag Ben around the works and yet shaking him off was like trying to free himself from a limpet, he thought ruefully.

  Ben followed close in his footsteps, still mopping his brow. He was game enough, Sterling had to admit; perhaps it was time he reassured the old man that he would not be pensioned off – at least not yet a while.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ben,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of retiring?’

  Ben removed his spectacles and polished them vigorously, trying hard to conceal his pleasure.

  ‘Don’t worry sir,’ he said, almost puffing up his chest with pride, ‘I’ll be here for some time yet, I know you need me.’

  The refinery where the last part of the smelting process was carried out was no less hot than the calcinating sheds and Sterling felt the sweat trickling down his back, running like water along his shoulders. How the ’finery workers survived in such conditions he did not know. Indeed, they were forced to take a rest and step away from the furnace mouth every ten minutes or so. Also the men drank huge draughts of water or even thick brown ale when they could afford it, for they sweated profusely and needed to replace lost moisture. He saw one furnace man take off his boot and pour a stream of liquid from it as though he had been walking in a river. But these coppermen were the topnotchers, the highest paid workers in the company, young strong men with muscles like steel and nerves that were even keener.

  Sterling watched as a green oak sapling was fed into the steaming liquid that by now was gleaming like gold. Bubbles appeared on the surface of the molten metal and huge bursts of steam gushed forth, eliminating the remaining oxygen from the copper.

  Sterling became aware that he was being watched. He turned sharply and saw a youth, ladle in hand, standing with feet apart, head back in an air of defiance. He could not have put into words more clearly his obvious disregard for the presence of the company owner.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Sterling jerked his head in the youth’s direction and Ben, following his glance, coughed into his handkerchief.

  ‘That’s young William Owens, sir,’ he said. ‘His father worked here once, rest his soul. Good family they are, the Owens.’ He paused. ‘Haven’t had much to do with that one though, looks a bit uppity if you ask me.’

  Sterling watched as the boy turned his back and ladled a scoop of molten copper from the furnace, tipping it swiftly into the waiting mould. His actions were careless and some of the gleaming liquid spilled onto the dampness of the floor. Immediately, the metal spat in all directions, cooling fast, becoming lethal weapons. Once touching flesh the metal would harden and set and would need to be prised out with a knife.

  ‘That was not very clever.’ Sterling approached Will Owens and spoke mildly. ‘If you can’t do the job then I suggest you get out of the sheds, there’s a place for boys in the washroom.’

  Will Owens smiled, he was a goodlooking youth with deep dimples in his swarthy skin. His hair was dark and his eyes implacably cold. He rubbed his sweating hands on the front of his red flannel shirt.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said amiably. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Make sure it doesn’t.’ Sterling was aware of the aggressive note in his voice and tried to moderate his tone a little. ‘It’s not only your safety that concerns me but that of the men working around you.’ He turned to the manager hovering anxiously in the background. ‘Come on, Ben, let’s get out of here.’

  It was cold in the yard yet even the biting wind seemed welcome after the searing heat of the sheds. ‘He’s a cocky young sod, that Will Owen,’ Sterling said. ‘I must keep my eye on him.’ He wondered if he had ever been as young and immature as Owens or had he always known that the responsibility for the company would one day be his? Perhaps he envied the boy his freedom? Ludicrous, he thought wryly. Doubtless Owens would have given his right arm to change places with Sterling Richardson.

  ‘’Scuse me, sir but it’s high time we were leaving for the ticketing.’ Ben was consulting the heavy fob watch hanging on his waistcoat with a studious expression on his cold-reddened face. ‘If we don’t get a move on they’ll start the bidding without us.’

  ‘I’ll get my coat.’ Sterling glanced at Ben. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy riding in my Ascot.’ He spoke dryly. ‘I’m not bothering to take the horse and trap today.’ Ben’s expression was one of comic dismay.

  ‘Me ride in that contraption, sir, you’re not serious are you?’

  Sterling laughed. ‘Come along, get your overcoat from the office and button it up well; oh, and you’ll have to hold onto your hat. Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy the experience once you get used to it.’

  Ben was funny in his mistrust of the automobile; he stood staring at the Ascot as though it was the instrument of the devil.

  ‘Get in, it won’t bite.’ Sterling concealed his amusement. ‘I’ll drive slowly, I promise, you’ll be quite safe.’

  ‘Yes, sir, right away.’ Ben moved with more alacrity than usual, anxious to dispel the impression that he was afraid of the motor car. He sat awkwardly in the high seat, staring down at the cobbles as though wishing himself anywhere but in this newfangled invention that aspired to replace the horse.

  ‘Quite a nice-looking machine, sir.’ He spoke heartily as though not at all awed by the gleaming metal body and the powerful engine that sprang alarmingly into life as Sterling swung the starting handle.

  ‘Not bad, is it?’ Sterling smiled as he jumped into the seat beside Ben.

  Once out onto the road, Sterling gave the car a little more thrust, increasing the speed, overtaking the flow of horse-drawn vehicles on the busy roadway leading to the centre of town. Ben clung fiercely to the seat, his face growing even redder than usual and regretfully, Sterling slowed the Ascot to a more moderate pace.

  The cobbled street followed the curving line of the River Swan upon which was a ship, sails unfurled, gliding gracefully along high in the water. At her stern was a flotilla of flat-faced barges, piled high with green ore that glinted in the sunlight and Ben, forgetting his fear of motoring, pointed eagerly.

  ‘The ore is going to auction now by the looks of it,’ he said. ‘I ’spects they’ll take only the best samples to the Mackworth Arms as usual. Cunning devils these middle men, paying the foreigners a pittance and charging the smelters top rates.’

  Sterling glanced at the manager quickly. ‘This is the main reason for the decline of the copper trade, you know, Ben,’ he said mildly. ‘Perhaps now you’ll understand my wish to make changes in the works.’

  Sterling drew the Ascot into a small side road leading to the back of the hotel. ‘Home sweet home.’ He pulled up the handbrake and the car shuddered to a halt.

  Ben climbed down from his seat stiffly, lifting his legs one by one as if to reassure himself he had sustained no injuries during the drive.

  ‘Are you staying here then?’ He jerked his head towards the rather dingy back of the Mackworth Arms. ‘Quite handy, I suppose, after the ticketings you’ll be able to go straight to your room.’

  ‘It’s all right as a temporary measure but I’ll be glad when my own house
is refurbished all the same.’

  The bar of the hotel was crowded with buyers, smelters from all over South Wales. Most were well-clad businessmen wearing expensive overcoats and neat starched collars above well-filled waistcoats, but some were the small men, those who ran one or at the most two furnaces with the help of a handful of workers.

  Glancing round, Sterling saw James Cardigan among the throng of people but before he could look away, James was raising his hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘Morning Sterling, my boy.’ He spoke cordially. ‘Good turnout for the auction, we shall have to be on our toes today.’

  Sterling concealed his irritation. ‘Indeed we shall,’ he agreed. ‘But really James, there was no need for you to come along.’ Although aware of the brusqueness in his voice, Sterling was powerless to alter his tone. James half turned away, exasperation and something else that Sterling could not read in the darkening of his eyes.

  ‘It simply occurred to me that you might need a little support, seeing as this is your first time alone at the ticketings,’ he said.

  ‘You are mistaken.’ Sterling spoke a little more smoothly. ‘While my father was ill it naturally fell upon me to arrange the purchase of the ore, didn’t you realise that?’ If his tone implied criticism, Sterling thought, then so be it.

  ‘I suppose I didn’t think,’ James conceded and Sterling felt almost sorry for him.

  ‘As a partner, you are fully entitled to attend,’ Sterling said. ‘But you mustn’t feel duty bound. I have Ben to fall back on and I think even you must bow to his judgment.’

  ‘In that case, I shall leave everything to you.’ James stepped back a pace. ‘I’m sorry you are rejecting my support, Sterling, for I believe there is more between our two families than mere business ties, but I will not presume to push myself where I’m clearly not wanted.’

  As James left the room, Sterling felt only relief. He resented the implication that he could not be astute at buying simply because of his youth. Where was James Cardigan, or Dean Sutton come to that, all the long months of Father’s illness when a little help would have been appreciated?

  Ben appeared at Sterling’s side with a list in his hand. ‘Look, sir, these are the asking prices, not much to choose between ores from Chile and those from South Africa.’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I’d plump for the Chile load if I were you.’

  Sterling nodded. ‘I agree. Come on Ben, let’s take our place. There are seats near the back – that way we can see who’s buying what.’

  The bidding was keen and Sterling found himself in the position of having to pay twenty guineas a ton for the crude ore.

  ‘At this rate we’ll need to sell twice as many brewing vessels just to break even,’ he said in a whisper to Ben. The old man nodded his head slowly.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you’re right about the changes, sir,’ he replied. ‘We’ll need to look at byproducts of the copper such as zinc and spelter, no doubt about it.’

  Sterling kept his own council. It was steel he was more interested in, the hard sheet metal that was far stronger than copper and for which there seemed to be an ever growing demand. Well he had taken a step in the right direction with the introduction of new furnaces, he mused, but that was not enough, he would need to expand in a big way, even if it meant mortgaging Plas Rhianfa to the hilt. It was nothing but a great white elephant anyway, a symbol of the once great Richardson empire. His new house was much more practical with its modest four bedrooms and a manageable acreage of land. If matters came to the worst, Mother and Rickie could always move in with him, though the prospect of such an eventuality was enough incentive to spur anyone on to success, he told himself ruefully.

  By the time the auction was over, he felt cloistered and in need of liquid refreshment.

  ‘Take the rest of the day off, Ben,’ he said evenly. ‘The works can do without us both for an afternoon.’

  Ben looked disapprovingly at him, taking out his handkerchief as he always did when perplexed and dabbing at his waxed moustache with it.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll take the tram back up to Green Hill.’ There was the merest trace of a smile in his pale eyes behind the glasses. ‘A much more enjoyable means of transport than the car if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘All right, Ben, please yourself.’ Sterling left the crowded room which was still filled with the sound of many voices arguing loudly over the day’s prices, and made his way through the heavily curtained and carpeted foyer with its plethora of potted plants. As he hurried up the stairs towards his room, the long corridor was empty and silent after the clamour below. He breathed a sigh of relief, taking his key out of his pocket, but to his surprise the door to his room stood open.

  ‘Bea.’ Sterling could not keep the surprise from his voice. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ He moved into the room and closed the door, staring at her as though he’d never seen her before. She was seated in a chair near the window and had been presumably passing the time by watching the people on the pavement far below.

  ‘I’ve brought you some patterns.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Look, isn’t this material simply lovely? Just what you’ll need for the curtains in the drawing room.’

  ‘Bea, do you know that your father is downstairs and half the town with him?’ He shook his head in exasperation. ‘You were foolish to come here alone.’

  Bea smiled up at him. ‘Don’t be angry, I didn’t come alone, Bertha is with me. But even a maid likes a little time off now and again, she’s having tea with her sister who lives in one of the cottages on the dock, she’s not a stone’s throw away. In any event, who will know except us? And don’t worry about Daddy, he left some time ago. I saw him striding along the street at a great pace.’ She bent down and brought a bottle out of her bag.

  ‘This is for you.’ She held it out to him smilingly, engagingly. ‘It’s to celebrate your inheritance. I don’t expect anyone else has thought of making a toast to your future success. I wish I’d thought of it last week when I came to measure the windows at your house but in any case the builders were much in evidence making a dreadful fuss and noise.’ She looked round her. ‘This is much better.’

  ‘All right, Bea,’ Sterling sighed, ‘it’s a nice thought, but just one glassful and then you must be going. I don’t want anyone gossiping about you.’

  Bea’s eyes were shining as she looked up at him. ‘It’s very kind of you to worry about my reputation Sterling, but I’m a woman now, or haven’t you noticed?’

  She was wearing a soft silk blouse through which the swell of her breasts could clearly be seen. Sterling looked away sharply.

  ‘You certainly seem to have made yourself at home,’ he said wryly, looking at her discarded coat and the large hat with numerous velvet bows decorating the crown. ‘I’ll ring for some glasses and then we’ll have that drink before I take you home.’

  ‘No need for glasses, I’ve brought my own.’ Bea delved into her bag once more and busily unwrapped the glittering crystal goblets.

  ‘Here’s to you and me, Sterling, may we both prosper.’

  The wine was heady and potent and Bea seemed determined to keep refilling his glass. Sterling sat on the bed; he had eaten very little that morning and he began to feel lightheaded. Bea settled herself beside him, pouring yet more wine, her eyes dark and lustrous.

  ‘Hold on,’ he protested, ‘or you’ll have me falling asleep and then you’ll have to go home alone and serve you right.’ He smiled, softening his words.

  ‘Good isn’t it?’ Bea held her glass aloft, her cheeks flushed and her hair escaping from the confining pins. She looked desirable and slightly drunk and he found himself leaning forward to kiss her cheek. But she turned her face and his lips were upon hers and then he was holding her close, enjoying the resilience of her body against his own.

  She seemed to be drawing him downwards upon the bed, her eyes wide, offering an invitation he could not resist. As he kissed her neck his hands were
busy undoing the buttons of her blouse. Her skin was warm to the touch soft and fragrant, swamping his senses.

  ‘Bea,’ his voice was thick and as if she knew he was about to say something she didn’t wish to hear, she raised herself up and pressed her moist mouth against his. Her arms were clinging around his neck, her body arched and her eyes were closed. It was clear she wanted him and deftly he opened the hooks that held her skirts in place. Eagerly now, he undressed her and stood back staring down at her nakedness.

  She was so beautiful that it took his breath away. Her breasts were full and firm, her waist small. Her hips rose invitingly and Sterling moved down upon her, though even with his senses reeling he was careful not to bruise her sweet white flesh. She moaned a little, whether in pleasure or pain he could not tell.

  He held her close, thrusting with more vigour now while she clung to him, head flung back, mouth open and small gasps escaping her full lips. She was a woman ripe for love, he thought ruefully, and if he had not harvested her then another man would soon have done so.

  They moved together in a sweet age-old rhythm, she was past pain now, he realised, and was fully aroused, a mature woman needing release from her frustrations just as he did. Gently he turned on his back, holding her above him and her hair cascaded over her face so that she looked like a wanton.

  At last she cried out in ecstasy, her face contorted by passion. She slumped sweetly against him, her hands cupping his face, her eyes staring down into his.

  ‘I love you for that, Sterling,’ she said, ‘for giving me the greatest gift I could have asked of you.’

  Carefully he moved away from her, stunned that he’d taken her as though she were some little hoyden from the whorehouse on the Strand.

  ‘Bea,’ he began but then she was behind him, her arms around his waist, her face pressed against his back.

  ‘Hush, please don’t say anything and don’t look round for I’m going to get dressed now.’

  By the time Bertha came knocking at the door of the hotel room Bea was seated demurely in a chair near the window. Her hair was the perfection of tidiness but in her eyes there was a light that no one, least of all the perceptive Bertha, could miss.