Sea Mistress Page 5

  ‘Paul Marchant is being unfaithful to his wife as is the wont of footloose sailors.’ He turned to look at her. ‘It’s common talk among the society ladies of the town, brought to them by their servants, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know from first hand experience.’ Arian’s tone was dry. ‘As the wife of a madman, I don’t warrant invitations to any fancy events. In any case, I suppose I’m the subject of a great deal of gossip myself.’

  Calvin raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. ‘Do you mind?’

  Arian shook back her long hair. ‘No, I suppose not. Sometimes it rankles though, I’m not accepted for myself, Arian Smale, businesswoman, and I should be. All right, I haven’t a husband who’s made his mark in the town, instead I have a husband who is capable of violence, who killed a young girl.’ Her face softened. ‘Who would have killed me if you hadn’t been there, my darling.’

  ‘Hush, don’t rake up bad memories.’ Calvin slipped out of bed. ‘I’m going to take a bath, come with me?’

  ‘Not now,’ Arian smiled. ‘I don’t want to throw caution entirely to the wind. I wouldn’t like Mary to hear my gurgles of delight as she sits in her room.’

  ‘She’s discreet enough, isn’t she?’ Calvin stood naked, a tall well-muscled man, looking down at Arian.

  ‘I suppose so, I think I can trust her. I don’t really care either way. I live my life as I see fit, even if I wanted respectability I’d hardly be able to achieve it, would I?’

  ‘Am I enough for you, then? The little bit of time we have together, is it making you happy?’

  ‘I have you and I have my newspaper, that’s all I’ll ever want.’ When she was alone, Arian pondered on her own words. Was it enough for her, this hole in the corner affair? In any case, had she any choice but to accept such a compromise?

  Calvin was free of encumbrances, he had divorced his first wife in spite of the furore it had caused. Since then, he’d taken mistresses, no-one blamed him for that, and now she was one of them.

  Arian sighed. She was still married to Gerald Simples; whatever he was, whatever he had become, he was her husband and nothing could change that. It was something she had told herself many times before but it didn’t get any easier.

  She rose from the bed. She would wash in the water from the basin, it would be cold but later she would luxuriate in her bath once more, remembering every little detail of how Calvin had looked and what he had said, going over and over it in her mind. Precious memories, was that all she would ever have?

  Bridie stood in the window watching as the cab carrying Paul away from her disappeared along the drive. Once she would have gone with him to the docks, stood waving to him as his ship prepared to put to sea. Now it was different.

  She turned away and moved towards her desk. She took the key from her belt and unlocked the roll-top desk. Seating herself comfortably, she pulled her notebooks towards her and began to study them. Here she kept her private records of the business transactions carried out by the main body of the fleet of ships she owned. Steel, tin-plate, coal, she wasn’t fussy what the cargo was so long as it made her money.

  The accountant was very efficient, he worked diligently over the regular books but Bridie did not wish to trust anyone entirely. So she kept her own accounts.

  Paul might not be aware of it, but lately, Bridie had taken to relegating the cargos on board his ships with the less profitable loads. Instead of letting him take the long haul trips to China and India, she had manipulated matters so that he took the short runs to Bristol and Ireland. These brought in little return but strangely he made no protest, indeed, he seemed happy to accommodate her wishes. What he failed to realize was that her fortune was growing and his was diminishing; it was one way of keeping her husband in line.

  If there was any bitterness in the way she thought about him, she chose to ignore it. Paul was being unfaithful, she was sure of it. Oh, it would be difficult to prove, he was too careful to allow any evidence of his infidelity to become apparent. But he was not the shrewd business man he believed himself to be, or else he trusted his wife implicitly, because while he was betraying her, she was finding ways to arm herself against his possible desertion.

  She doubted he would go so far as to cause an open split in their marriage, he wanted the regard of his sons, his fine home, the acquiescent wife he supposed Bridie to be. Well, she was not so gullible, he would find that out one day to his cost.

  She pored over the books for a time, adding figures, making calculations and then, carefully, she closed her desk and locked it. Let Paul Marchant try to get one up on her and he would learn that she was not such easy prey as he imagined.

  She wandered into his room; this last trip he had made an excuse to take one of the other bedrooms for his own so as not to disturb her. Disturb her indeed! Did he think she was a fool?

  Systematically she searched through the drawers; there were his clothes, his underwear, his socks and in the wardrobe his pristine shirts hung stiffly in a row. She smelled them, wondering if she could detect perfume on the fine linen but no, they were freshly washed, there was nothing but the scent of soap and the hot iron.

  At the bottom of his wardrobe she found an old cloth bag that he’d left behind this trip. She had bought him a new one, ashamed of the shabbiness of the one he usually carried, finding it distasteful for a man in his position to be so careless of his possessions.

  On an impulse, she picked up the bag and carried it to the bed. Perhaps she would find his notebook again and this time make more sense of it. In the depths of the battered bag, she found a jacket which Paul must have overlooked. She pulled it free of the bag and as she did so she heard a crackling in the pocket. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she took out the piece of paper and unfolded it.

  If she had hoped to catch him out, to prove his infidelity, she was disappointed, there was nothing written on the slip of paper but the time of the outgoing tide from Swansea docks.

  But wait, it wasn’t in Paul’s hand, his writing was strong and bold, with large loops and curls. This was small, cramped, the handwriting of a woman. On an impulse, Bridie thrust the paper in her pocket and glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. There was over an hour yet before the ship sailed, why had her husband left too early? He had a master to see to the preparations for hauling anchor and preparing the ship for sailing. Well, she would take a look down at the docks, try to find out just what Paul was up to.

  Ellie walked towards the docks feeling the softness of spring cool her hot cheeks. Shortly, she reached the entrance to the harbour where the pier jutted out to sea like a long arm reaching for the distant shore across the water.

  The scents of tar and rope mingled with the overpowering smell of the fish market as she walked rapidly past the open shed where the fishermen had displayed their wares. A few housewives and serving maids were bartering loudly beside the boxes of cod and whiting and no-one noticed Ellie as she made her way to one of the shipping offices situated in the streets surrounding the docks.

  Her spirits were light because Jubilee was up and about again, his illness vanished as quickly as it had come. The doctor was amazed at Jubilee’s powers of recovery, declaring him a tough old bird. The sickness and fever, which remained undiagnosed, had vanished as if it had never been and though Jubilee was still a little unsteady, his powers of leadership were as strong as ever.

  The reason she was here now, making for the offices of Marchant and James shipping line, was because of Jubilee’s fussiness that his payments for goods delivered be made on time.

  He had lately sold stocks of leather to Paul Marchant, undertaking to deliver the skins to the saddler and thereafter to pick up the finished goods and have his waggons deliver the horse-collars directly to the docks.

  Jubilee’s orders were that Matthew should accompany Ellie on the journey to the shipping office but Matthew had been out with one of the wagons collecting more timber. In any case, Ellie didn’t want to give the man any
encouragement at all, though she could hardly tell Jubilee that. So she had come alone and now she was feeling a little foolish and at a loss.

  She looked up at the elegant buildings, at the ornately decorated porticos and felt intimidated. She wasn’t used to doing business, she usually left all that to Jubilee. Still, it was about time she took some responsibilities from the shoulders of her husband.

  The tannery at Glyn Hir, though not a large one, was flourishing and had a reputation surpassed by none in Swansea or its environs. He was probably speaking the truth when Jubilee claimed that the leather from Glyn Hir was among the finest in the entire Principality.

  The offices of Marchant and James were smaller than she had imagined, less imposing. But the woodwork was newly painted and the sign above the door was bold, striking a chord of confidence in Ellie that gave her some measure of relief. At least she would not be dealing with charlatans.

  She knocked on the door and a masculine voice called for her to step inside. If she had expected to see Bridie or her husband Paul Marchant she was disappointed. An elderly man with huge side whiskers sat behind a desk, looking at her in obvious surprise. She saw him rise to his feet in an excess of politeness and gesture to the rather capacious wooden chair that stood facing him.

  ‘I’m sorry, young lady,’ his eyes, set deep in plump creases, sparkled. ‘We don’t see very many of the fairer sex in this office. I’m Mr Elias, by the way.’

  Ellie felt foolish. ‘My husband hasn’t been well,’ she said, feeling the need to make excuses for her presence there. ‘It was necessary for me to come to see you. It’s rather embarrassing, it’s about an outstanding bill, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I see, sorry to hear it indeed. Well can you give me some details Mrs . . . ?’

  ‘Mrs Hopkins,’ Ellie supplied, ‘I’m sorry to have to come to the offices but the bill has been outstanding for some time and now, it seems, Mr Marchant needs more stocks of leather. I’m sure it’s all just a mistake, an oversight on Mr Marchant’s part.’

  ‘How much leather?’ Mr Elias turned some papers over on his desk. ‘I need to know a little more about this before I can look in to it. When was the load delivered and what was its destination? Do you have a bill with you stating the amount owed?’

  Ellie felt foolish, she could see now that she had come to town ill prepared, she should have been business-like, had all the necessary information at her fingertips.

  ‘I haven’t brought anything with me, I haven’t gone into it very thoroughly, I’m afraid, I can see that now.’

  ‘Well, Mr Marchant would not want the leather for delivery to France, that’s for sure.’ Mr Elias leaned back in his chair, ‘They send us the most lovely calfskin, want to export more, not import any leather, that’s the French for you.’

  Ellie was feeling more foolish by the minute. ‘I think I should go, it was silly of me to have come here so unprepared.’

  The outer door opened and the rush of salt breeze carried with it the tang of the sea. Paul Marchant was suddenly in the office filling it with his presence. ‘Elias, we’ll be sailing soon and . . .’ his eyebrows lifted when he saw Ellie sitting there, looking up at him in some agitation.

  He was a handsome man, broad of shoulder and with the healthy complexion earned by years of weathering in the sun and sea air. ‘Good morning.’ He stood beside Ellie’s chair, looking down at her, his eyes full of interest. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see anything so lovely when I walked into my office this morning.’

  Ellie felt her colour rising, she was used to Matthew’s rather blunt approaches, but coming from a gentleman of Paul Marchant’s standing, such charm disconcerted her.

  ‘I’m afraid I may have wasted Mr Elias’s time,’ she said. She moved her bag on her lap, uncertain whether to leave and after a moment’s hesitation, she rose to her feet.

  ‘The young lady, Mrs Hopkins,’ Mr Elias paused, was there an emphasis on her married name, Ellie wondered? ‘Mrs Hopkins was enquiring about an unpaid bill. Her husband owns a tannery, you see, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I do see,’ Paul thrust his hands into his pockets and studied her, he had a subtle air about him which managed to convey the impression that Ellie was the one woman in the world he wanted to talk to. At this moment, she certainly seemed to be the sole object of his interest. His charm was palpable and what’s more he was aware of it. He was the same type as Matthew Hewson except he was garbed in gentleman’s clothes.

  ‘How much leather are we talking about and in what quantity?’ Paul smiled disarmingly. ‘When was the delivery date?’

  ‘I’m afraid I came here quite unprepared.’ Ellie’s embarrassment increased, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know answers to any of your questions.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, I’m sure we can sort this out.’ Paul leaned slightly closer and Ellie resisted the temptation to step away from him.

  ‘Our tannery is called Glyn Hir, we . . .’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course, very good stuff comes out of your place. Old Jubilee Hopkins is well known around Swansea, his name is synonymous with quality. Think no more about it, the matter will be dealt with as soon as I return from my trip to Ireland.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ Ellie moved towards the door, ‘I’ll speak to Jubilee, he hasn’t been well or he’d have called to see you himself. He knows much more about the business side of things than I do,’ she added apologetically.

  ‘I insist I accompany you past the entrance of the docks,’ Paul’s voice indicated it was a casual gesture. Somehow, Ellie knew that the move was quite calculated.

  ‘Can’t have you being carried off by any of the foreign sailors who come ashore here, can we?’ Paul was exerting his charm, smiling down at her, his strangely violet eyes full of meaning.

  ‘It’s all right, really.’ Ellie drew her gloves more tightly over her fingers, she was ill at ease with this man, she was aware that he posed a threat without really knowing why.

  Mr Elias rose from his chair, ‘Good day to you, Mrs Hopkins.’ His practical attitude broke the tension, ‘I trust you’ll soon sort matters out to your satisfaction.’

  There was nothing for it but to allow Paul Marchant to accompany her on her departure from his office. But as Ellie walked along the cobbled roadway with Paul Marchant at her side she was feeling far from comfortable with the situation. She could think of nothing to say but that didn’t seem to matter, Paul Marchant was in complete control of the moment.

  ‘I shall make it my business to come to Glyn Hir and see Jubilee Hopkins for myself. I shall also make it my business to ensure the bills are paid on time in future.’ His smile inferred that the oversight was not his own. Ellie found him far too confident of his own charm and she was beginning to be irritated by him.

  ‘I need your leather,’ Paul said more seriously, ‘it’s a very important part of my trade. As is the extra service done by Mr Hopkins. It saves me so much time to have the skins delivered to the saddler’s and made up into the required loads of tack.’

  ‘But surely there are larger tanneries than ours?’ Ellie said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. Why was Paul Marchant bothering to flatter her? Glyn Hir’s contribution to his business enterprise must be very small indeed.

  He seemed to read her mind. ‘Your price is competitive and your goods are of an excellent quality, that’s why I need to buy your leather.’

  Perhaps he was right but Ellie doubted it. She wished she had never come, it was embarrassing walking along with this man who was a stranger to her and who was so sure of his own ability to charm her. There must be something in the transaction for him, he was the type who never did anything without good reason. Still, he was a customer and she must not be downright rude to him.

  As they passed the entrance to the docks, where, thankfully, Ellie could take her leave of Paul Marchant, a carriage drew to a sudden halt and a woman alighted. Her face was flushed, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘Paul!’ Her voice was harsh, her features s
o contorted with anger that for a moment Ellie didn’t realize she was face to face with Bridie Marchant. ‘And what may I ask are you doing walking openly along the docks with some cheap whore? You thought you’d fooled me didn’t you?’ She was gasping with anger. ‘I knew you were up to something, I felt in my bones that there was another woman in the offing somewhere.’

  Ellie felt herself blanch, how dare Bridie Marchant assume she was a loose woman?

  ‘Excuse me, you’re quite mistaken,’ she forced herself to speak. ‘I came here on business, I . . .’

  ‘You are alone, aren’t you, here on the dockside with a sailor? And what sort of business are you conducting, I wonder?’

  ‘I came to see about a bill for leather, an unpaid bill for money owed by your firm.’ Ellie was growing angry, she had asked for none of this.

  ‘A likely story, you’re acting more like a prostitute than a lady out and about on business. Oh you may talk in a fancy voice but that doesn’t make you a lady.’

  ‘I’m a respectable married woman.’ Ellie was outraged by Bridie Marchant’s attitude, ‘I don’t deserve this . . . abuse.’

  Bridie rounded on her. ‘I know who you are, you’re the wife of the tannery owner aren’t you? Shows what sort you are, married to improve yourself did you? Well you just keep your hands off my husband if you know what’s good for you. Go back to your disgusting old man.’

  Incensed beyond reason, Ellie found herself lashing out, the flat of her open hand catching Bridie full across the face. Immediately, Ellie was appalled by her own reaction, by responding in such a way to the woman’s goading she had lowered herself to Bridie Marchant’s level.

  ‘How dare you touch me,’ Bridie put her hand to her cheek, ‘you bitch!’

  ‘Bridie,’ Paul stepped forward, his face set, ‘you are making an exhibition of yourself. Be calm, let’s all get a grip on our tempers. I assure you Mrs Hopkins came to see me on a business matter.’

  ‘On what business matter? The business of how much she was going to charge you for her services, I suppose. You disappoint me Paul, I didn’t think you were the sort to pay for your pleasures.’