Sea Mistress

by Iris Gower

  ‘Oh, Ellie, make sure there’s enough oak bark, don’t want to be running out. It’s spring time, should be fetching in a fresh stock by now. Organize some of the men to take out the wagons to collect a load of oak bark, take a time to dry the plates do.’

  She moved to the door and was stopped by his voice. ‘And remember, Caradoc is coming to do the books for us.’ He paused for breath and Ellie took her opportunity.

  ‘Don’t fuss and worry, I’ve been here longer than five minutes, mind.’

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Ellie placed the dishes in the sink, they could wait. Tonight, she would tidy up the place while Caradoc Jones worked in Jubilee’s study adding up figures, making sense of the columns of profits and losses. Fortunately, there were few losses because Jubilee was a shrewd businessman. It was all an uncharted land to Ellie; the buying, the selling and the finances of the tannery, all this she preferred to leave in the hands of the experts.

  It was chilly in the yard and Ellie was glad to make her way to the comparative warmth of the grinding house. Matthew was thrusting plates of bark into the mill, while down in the room below Boyo was carrying half-hundredweights of oak bark to the tan yards for the dusting.

  ‘Enjoy it, then, your jaunt into town, I mean.’ Matthew was eyeing her coolly, his tone was a little censorious for Ellie’s liking.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She held her head high and her eyes challenged him. With Jubilee sick, it was vital she keep the reins of the place firmly in her own hands. It was not a situation she relished and one she wasn’t competent to handle but it was a case of take charge or allow the men to do as they liked. Only one was likely to take advantage and he was standing before her now. As Jubilee was fond of saying, one rotten apple could ruin a good barrel.

  His eyes flickered away from hers. ‘I should have come into town with you, it’s not seemly or safe for you to be walking the streets of Swansea alone.’

  ‘That is not your concern,’ Ellie’s voice was cold. ‘This is the new century, women are having to get out in the streets alone every day, how else do you think they get to work?’

  ‘I only meant . . .’ His voice trailed away into silence and Ellie took a deep breath.

  ‘Matthew, if you wish to continue working here then please accept that I’m your boss, at least while Jubilee is sick. If you remember that and give me the respect I deserve we’ll get on much better. Now, I’ll take over here, you go out and help the others dust the oak bark on the leather.’

  Matthew gave her a long look, he seemed about to protest but after a moment, he moved from the grinding house and she was alone. Ellie found she was trembling, it was an effort to assert herself, she who had always been content to take a back seat in life. But no, not always. Once she had refused to accept Calvin Temple’s terms for staying in his life, she had wanted the commitment of marriage, he had not. She had left him. It had taken courage but in the eyes of her family, her decision had been ill-judged.

  Perhaps her family were right, had she stayed with Calvin as his mistress might she not be living in luxury right now? Or, alternatively, perhaps she would have been cast aside anyway once Arian Smale had found a place in Calvin’s life. Anyway, it was all past history. Here she was, wife of a tannery boss and, for the moment at least, she was in charge of the yards.

  ‘Missus Hopkins, there’s no bits of bark coming down the chute, the grinder must be empty.’ Boyo’s voice echoed up from the room below the grinding house. Want me to fetch more plates in from the drying house?’

  Ellie gathered her thoughts and looked around her. ‘That would be a good idea, Boyo,’ she called. She moved to the window and stared outside into the yard, watching as the slight figure of the boy crossed the open ground. He was a good worker, small but strong for his age. At least he would be loyal to her if she was forced to take over the running of the mill completely. But no, that wouldn’t happen, Jubilee would be well soon, he would take up the reins again and life would go on in the same way as it had these past years.

  The future seemed to stretch in drab monotony before her. She would have no children, she would have no young man to sing her love songs and make her feel beautiful. No strong body next to hers in the bed. Her flesh would never again sing with desire the way it had when Calvin Temple had held her and made love to her. She felt with a deep sense of conviction that she would never love again. Suddenly there were tears on her lashes and even though Ellie recognized them as tears of self-pity, she couldn’t stop them slipping down her cheeks and into her mouth.

  By the evening, Ellie’s mood of despondency had been alleviated by young Boyo’s stories. He told her how the men working in the yard talked of their lives at home. Luke’s mother-in-law was living with him, so he complained and he was being nagged by two sets of jaws simultaneously. Ellie could well imagine Luke’s dry humour that would be much in evidence even while he grumbled.

  Harry had other problems, his wife had found she was expecting again and had banished Harry to the slope where he shivered alone at night. The way Boyo repeated the tale was so funny that Ellie found herself laughing aloud. She appreciated the men; through all the trials and tribulations of life they were good natured and did an honest day’s work for their pay. The older man kept in line the casual labourers who worked only intermittently when there was extra work on at the yard. The casuals caused little problem, glad of a few hours labour for a more than generous pay.

  Ellie knew the men could be relied upon in a crisis, both Luke and Harry were loyal to Jubilee. It was Matthew who made her afraid she would fail to keep the tannery running smoothly.

  Jubilee was asleep when she went into his room and she stood for a moment looking down at him, her heart filled with an almost painful love. He was more of a father to her than her own had ever been. Jubilee, if he’d had a daughter would never have cast her aside for fear she would disgrace him. He would stick by his own against all odds not caring what anyone else thought.

  As though aware of her presence, he opened his eyes. ‘Hello, love,’ he smiled. ‘I feel a little better now, mind, the sleep did me good.’ He gestured for her to sit beside the bed. ‘When I go, you’ll be well cared for, it’s all done, the will, legal like. In any case, there’s no other kith or kin of mine to come and try to take a penny from you. What I’ve earned is yours, it’s all in the hands of Bernard Telforth, he’s a good man, he’ll advise you.’

  ‘Hush, please Jubie, don’t talk like that.’ She took his hand and traced one of the blue, jutting veins with her finger. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you, I love you, you must know that.’

  ‘Aye, I do, that’s why I want to leave you well provided for. You’ll be free some day soon and then you can do just as you please.’

  ‘Being with you pleases me.’ Ellie felt close to tears. ‘I need you Jubie, don’t give up on life.’

  ‘Look, girl, I’m an old man, I’ve had my life. These years we’ve been together have been some of the happiest any man could wish for.’

  She put her free hand across his lips. ‘No more. I’m not having you talk like that. Now, let’s change the subject, what about a bit of that lovely pudding then, all I’ve got to do is warm it up?’

  Jubilee smiled. ‘Aye, that sounds good, go on with you then, less talk and more action, right?’

  He ate very little of the pudding and Ellie’s concern grew. Perhaps it would be as well to call in the doctor in the morning if Jubilee was no better.

  Later, Caradoc Jones came to the house and stood in the kitchen before the fire; a young, rotund man, his fresh face wreathed in smiles beneath a hat that appeared too small for him. ‘Cuppa before I start on the books wouldn’t go amiss, mind.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back towards the fire, his belly hanging ripely over the waistband of his trousers. There was a dusting of fuzz above his mouth and more around his chin, it seemed Caradoc was unable to grow either a moustache or a beard.

  Ellie’s feet ached, she longed
to kick off her boots and sink into a chair before the fire but the sooner she gave Caradoc his ritual cup of tea, the sooner he would start work.

  ‘How’s Mr Hopkins?’ he asked looking round questioningly, ‘Gone out to the public is he?’

  ‘He’s not feeling too well.’ The kettle began to pour steam from the blackened spout and Ellie deftly hauled it onto the hob and made the tea.

  ‘I think I’ll have one with you.’ She put out the cups and watched as Caradoc spooned sugar in a generous measure into his cup.

  ‘I don’t know how you can drink it like that.’ She took her tea without sugar. ‘It must be sweet as honey.’

  He nodded affably, ‘Aye, just about.’ He drank it standing up before the fire, his face alight with almost feline contentment. ‘Can’t beat a good fire, my mother, rest her soul, used to make sure that the maid kept our grates well stocked with coal. Can’t abear being cold, me.’

  Ellie would have imagined, looking at him, that his bulk was enough to keep him warm, but she was too polite to say so.

  ‘Jubilee in bed, is he?’ His rapid change of subject was bewildering, Caradoc’s mind was like a butterfly hopping from one subject to another with amazing swiftness.

  ‘Yes, he’s in bed.’ Ellie wished he’d get on with his work, she wasn’t in the mood for making polite conversation, she was far too tired.

  ‘Had the quack in to him?’ Caradoc put down his cup and lifted the tails of his coat to give the flames of the fire more access to his large backside.

  ‘I will in the morning.’ Ellie put her cup down beside Caradoc’s, she could hardly keep her eyes open she was so weary.

  ‘Best thing.’ He talked in the briefest of sentences and Ellie found herself doing the same. It must be an idiosyncrasy that was catching.

  ‘By far.’ She waited patiently in silence and at last he moved away from the fire.

  ‘Best get on. Shall I go through?’ Without waiting for a reply, he left the kitchen and, with a sigh of relief, Ellie sank into a chair.

  She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes once more, the fire had fallen in the grate, the flames almost extinguished. She looked at the clock, it was past ten, time she was in bed. The door to the kitchen opened and Caradoc’s stomach preceded him into the room.

  ‘All done for this month,’ he rubbed his chubby hands together in satisfaction. ‘Good books Jubilee Hopkins keeps, no need to worry about discrepancies where he’s concerned.’ He moved towards the door.

  ‘See you again then and take care of that husband of yours, give him my regards, mind.’

  Ellie damped down the embers of the fire and poured what was left of the hot water from the kettle into a bowl, she would have a quick wash and then she would go to bed.

  Later, lying beside Jubilee in the double bed, Ellie lay wide-eyed staring at the patch of light cast on the wall from the window. In spite of her weariness, sleep wouldn’t come. She was worrying about Jubilee. She wished she had called the doctor at once, when Jubie had taken to his bed. With a man the age her husband was, it didn’t do to take chances.

  At last, when she finally slept, it was to dream of graveyards and coffins and black-garbed mourners and interminable rain streaming down into her eyes.

  When she woke in the morning, she turned at once towards her husband and caught her breath in relief, Jubilee was breathing easily, he had a good colour and as though aware of her scrutiny, he opened his eyes. They were bright and clear. Well, hadn’t her mother told her when she had nightmares as a child that nasty dreams always meant the opposite and that something good was going to happen the morning after a bad dream?

  ‘Hungry?’ She slid out of bed and stood bare-footed on the wooden floor, feeling the chill of the spring morning wrap itself around her.

  ‘I’m starving.’ Jubilee smiled, ‘Fetch me my trews, I’m getting up, I’ve got work to do.’

  As she knelt before the hearth, building the fire, listening to Jubilee’s heavy footsteps on the boards upstairs, Ellie closed her eyes for a moment in relief.

  ‘Thank you God,’ she whispered fervently and as though in reply, a shaft of morning sunlight slanted, like a benediction, across her face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Arian Smale locked the door of the newspaper offices with a sigh of relief; the last few days had been trying, to say the least. Customers had complained en masse of the rise in the advertising rates, giving voice to their protests in no uncertain terms; anyone would think she was proposing to take the last penny out of their pockets.

  In her own rooms, she kicked off her boots and sank into a chair. The maid, conscientious as always, brought in her tray holding a carafe of sherry. She had only been with Arian for a few months but already she was proving invaluable.

  ‘Thanks, Mary, you’re a wonder.’ Arian stretched her toes towards the fire gratefully; although spring was bringing swaths of daffodils through the parklands of Swansea, the evening air was still misty and chill.

  Arian picked up her mail, slicing the envelopes open with a paper-knife. It really was time she engaged the services of a secretary, she had enough to do without answering customers’ letters personally.

  The first one was from Bridie Marchant, reiterating her complaint concerning the tide tables. Arian bit her lip, it really was too bad of her reporters to get it wrong, it wasn’t difficult to consult the experts down at the Swansea shipping offices. Blast Bridie Marchant!

  Strange, Bridie used to be a very nice person. When she had come to live in Wales and had stayed with her cousin Jono in his modest home at Clydach, Bridie had been kindness itself. But then Arian had been a nobody, a shoemaker and not a very good one at that so perhaps Bridie had found her no threat. Did that mean that now she did?

  Arian looked around at her lush apartment with a critical eye. As her newspaper had flourished she had been able to expand her business, taking on the building next door and adding to her living-quarters so that they were large, almost sumptuous. True she had no grand house, no flower-filled garden in which to walk, but she had the town of Swansea right on her doorstep.

  It was just possible that Bridie resented her success. But it went deeper than that, Bridie Marchant was a woman who was very unhappy. The lines etched deeply around her mouth, the small frown that was always present between her brows revealed her state of mind much more than any words could do.

  Arian drank a little sherry, allowing the mellow flavour to roll over her tongue, then she rose to her feet stretching her hands above her head. She would have a bath, she would revel in the luxury of her newly built bathroom. She would prepare herself for Calvin’s visit.

  She was just like a courtesan, she thought soberly, washing, perfuming her body in readiness for her lover. But unlike a courtesan, she had a husband who had tried to kill her. She also had the need to earn her own living.

  Lying in the scented water, Arian felt the tensions wash from her. It was good to forget the petty irritations of her day, even better to anticipate the moment when Calvin would hold her in his arms.

  A long time ago, she had come to a decision about what was important in life. Facing death at knife-point, confronted by Gerald Simples, her husband, a madman, she had decided that if she was allowed to live she would make the most of her days. So, here she was, waiting for her lover as eagerly as any untried maiden.

  Calvin was late. Arian stood at the window watching, waiting for him to come to her, as she had done so many times before. He was all she desired in a man; he was kind, generous, a lover and a friend. What a pity he could never be her husband.

  When he turned the corner into her street, anticipation flared through her. She resisted the temptation to rush down the stairs, waiting for his key in the lock and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs with barely contained excitement.

  When he entered the room, he carried with him the freshness of the spring air. He took her into his arms and held her close. She didn’t admonish him for his lateness, she close
d her eyes and breathed in the scent of him and knew she loved this man more than she had ever loved anyone.

  ‘Take me to bed,’ she whispered. He held her hand in his and led her through the upper hallway and towards the narrow stairs to her room.

  ‘Arian, I have waited for this moment all day.’ His voice was tender and she kissed his mouth. She loved the way his lips curved upwards at the corners, she touched them lovingly with her fingertips.

  ‘Damn it! I can’t wait, will I never get enough of you, Arian?’

  His flesh was warm against hers and as they lay beneath the blankets, Arian held him close to her, closing her eyes, happiness flowing through her.

  ‘I love you,’ she said the words against his mouth as he kissed her. ‘I love you, Calvin Temple.’

  He took her with vigour and yet without aggression. She held him close, enjoying the silk feel of his skin against hers. He was so dear to her, had such power to thrill her. She revelled in their passion, losing herself in the dizzy happiness of the moment.

  Afterwards they remained side by side, propped up against the pillows and talked. ‘I’ve had a written complaint from Bridie Marchant about the error in the tide table.’

  ‘Is it important?’ Calvin held her hand, his fingers warm around hers.

  ‘It is to me, I hate making mistakes.’

  ‘Well, you know what Bridie’s trouble is, don’t you?’ He was being mischievous, Arian could tell by the smile in his voice.

  ‘No, tell me.’

  ‘Her husband is a sailor, he has a girl in every port. Well, at least in one port.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Arian turned to look at him, her interest aroused.

  ‘Men gossip too, especially sailors in drink. Call yourself a newspaper hound and you don’t know the latest bit of scandal? I bet old Mac knows all about it.’

  ‘Ah, Mac.’ He was Arian’s partner as well as being a very good reporter. ‘I sometimes think he knows everything.’

  Calvin was silent and Arian punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Come on, then, tell me.’