Sea Mistress

by Iris Gower

  She missed the usual contact with her sons, they were in the hands of their strict tutor now and she scarcely ever saw them. They were being prepared for boarding school and, though it would hurt her to send them away, it was something she recognized needed to be done.

  She took up The Swansea Times, studied the tide tables and saw to her relief that by now the tide would be out and any shipping would be well out into the channel. That distanced Paul from any tempting entanglements, at least for a time.

  Bridie turned the pages of the broadsheet and stopped at the obituaries. There, plainly written was an account of the unremarkable life of one Jubilee Hopkins. The name was enough to make Bridie feel sick. So the whore was widowed now. Bridie read on and suddenly whistled inelegantly through her teeth as she read the amount of the estate left by Hopkins. It was sizeable indeed, who would think that a tannery, however successful would yield such an income?

  But wait, the man had been endowed with a huge inheritance by his father, left a fortune which he had, apparently, salted away. And now Jubilee Hopkins was dead and that hussy, that fancy piece he’d married in his dotage was a very rich widow.

  Bridie resisted the urge to crush the paper between her hands, she hated Ellie Hopkins with every fibre of her being. She had sold herself to an old man and now she had designs on a younger man, on Bridie’s husband. Why else would the whore have been down at the docks that day, walking side by side as bold as a new penny piece with Paul?

  Bridie clenched her hands into tight fists. She knew the type, mealy-mouthed, innocent-eyed monsters who prayed on decent men. Well Ellie Hopkins had made an enemy, and one day, she would regret it.

  ‘But I can’t be rich.’ Ellie looked at the lawyer as he sat in her sun-filled parlour. ‘Jubilee has never said anything about owning a fortune.’

  ‘I expect he had his reasons.’ Mr Telforth had been a contemporary of Jubilee Hopkins, had known him since childhood, knew a great deal about him, perhaps too much. He coughed and returned his attention to the matter in hand.

  ‘You may sell the tannery but only when you have worked it for a year after Jubilee’s death. In the meantime, might I suggest you employ the services of a housekeeper and a maid.’ He looked round him with some distaste. ‘Perhaps you could refurbish the house, I can release you enough funds for anything you might require.’

  ‘Yes, I should have someone, here, it’s been suggested to me already.’ Ellie spoke almost absently and Bernard Telforth thought he recognized the signs of real grief in the young lady. Perhaps Jubilee had not been such a foolish old man after all.

  ‘You will naturally observe the usual year of mourning.’ He smiled at her and she gave him the full blast of her beautiful eyes; she was a sweet, innocent young thing, no wonder Jubilee thought so highly of her.

  ‘You must beware of fortune hunters and the like.’ He realized he sounded grave. ‘Jubilee asked me to keep an eye on you, he had your interests at heart my dear.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Ellie bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears and old as he was, Bernard Telforth could feel the attraction old Jubilee must have felt. What a great pity his friend could not get heirs by this girl, just think what children would have been spawned from this delicious creature.

  ‘Yes, well,’ he shuffled the papers together, ‘if there’s anything you would like to ask me, please do not hesitate.’

  ‘No, it’s all quite clear,’ Ellie attempted to smile. ‘What you could do, if you’re willing, is to take me in your carriage as far as the cemetery. I would like to put some early roses on Jubilee’s grave. He always liked roses.’

  Bernard Telforth resisted the temptation to utter the thought that Jubilee’s widow was the fairest rose anyone could wish to see and pushed back his chair.

  ‘Certainly, Mrs Hopkins, it would be my pleasure. Indeed, I will accompany you, if I may; it’s not safe for you to be in such a place alone.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve already begun to look for a housekeeper who, hopefully, will be a companion also.’ Ellie smiled, ‘I’m quite aware that as a woman alone here, I will be open to gossip and scandal.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that the matter is in hand, my dear.’ Bernard Telforth held the door open for her and stepped outside into the sunshine in time to see the bulk of a young, bare-armed man barring his way.

  ‘Am I to be let in on the secrets of my shareholder’s will then, Ellie?’ The man was rough, his voice, his bearing, even his apparel gave lie to the words he’d spoken, the claim he’d made of being a shareholder with Jubilee Hopkins.

  ‘Who are you? Come on my man speak up.’ Bernard Telforth knew he sounded testy, his words rushed from his lips on a flood of anger, how dare this labourer be so familiar with Jubilee’s widow?

  ‘I am Matthew Hewson, Jubilee, Mr Hopkins offered me shares in the business, isn’t that right, Ellie?’

  ‘It’s true, Jubilee intended to give Matthew a share of the profit in the tannery in return for his greater responsibilities.’

  Telforth studied the man for a long moment, he didn’t need to be the clever lawyer he was to size up the situation. Ellie Hopkins didn’t like the man, it was only her fair-mindedness that forced her to speak up for him.

  ‘You signed no papers to my knowledge,’ Bernard Telforth said, thrusting his hand into his pocket and taking out his watch, making a point of the fact that he had little time for this sort of nonsense.

  ‘We had an agreement, me and Jubilee, it was in words not on paper and it would have been made all legal-like if Jubilee had lived a bit longer.’

  The man was insensitive as well as self-seeking. ‘A verbal agreement might have been reached, it might not,’ Bernard Telforth said slowly, heavily, ‘but unless Mrs Hopkins chooses to increase your wages, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about bettering yourself.’

  ‘I’ll not put up with this!’ The man moved forward menacingly and Bernard Telforth held his ground.

  ‘Please, Matthew,’ Ellie’s voice small and uncertain filled the brooding silence, ‘it will all be sorted out, don’t make a fuss.’

  ‘Stand aside,’ Bernard Telforth lifted his chin, ‘I have business elsewhere, I’ve wasted quite enough time with you, my good man, I don’t intend to waste even so much as another breath.’

  He helped Ellie into the cab and the horse moved restlessly between the shafts seemingly in agreement with Telforth that the sooner he left behind the stench of the tannery the better he’d be pleased.

  ‘Don’t, on any account, allow that man to bully you.’ Telforth took the liberty of covering Ellie’s hand with his own. ‘And for heaven’s sake get more workers into the yard, I don’t know what my old friend was thinking about allowing you to do menial work like a common woman.’

  ‘Jubilee knew I wanted to earn my keep,’ she said softly. ‘I failed him once, I couldn’t fail him again.’

  Telforth knew the whole story, knew about the twins Ellie had been carrying, the offspring of Lord Calvin Temple, by all accounts. Knew too that Jubilee couldn’t be a father, not since his sickness, though what had gone before was a secret Bernard Telforth had kept for many a year.

  ‘Poor child, you’ve not had an easy passage in life so far.’

  ‘I’m all right, really,’ she protested. ‘I can look after myself, I can.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have to, I’ll be there, at least for the rest of the time the good Lord spares me, I’ll look after you.’

  He accompanied her to Dan y Graig cemetery and stood with her in the soft air, breathing in the scents blowing in from the docklands with a sense of relief, the tannery really was no place for a lady of Ellie Hopkins’ delicate nature.

  ‘I miss him already.’ Ellie bit her lip, a tear rolled along her cheek and Bernard Telforth, hardened lawyer, wanted to hug her and protect her. What was there about some women that made men feel ten feet tall, he wondered.

  ‘I had hoped that once the funeral was over I could come to terms with bei
ng alone but it’s not so, I expect to see him at every turn, expect to smell his pipe, hear his voice. Will it ever get better?’

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘I don’t know, I’m a crusty old man who never had a wife or a sweetheart, what do I know about feelings? Facts, I understand, wills and testaments, legal matters, these are in my blood, dry old blood, my dear, I’m afraid I’m of little help to you at a time like this.’

  She reached out and caught his hand. ‘You’ve been a wonderful help to me, you give me confidence, you make me feel I’m not completely alone.’

  ‘Then I have done something worthwhile.’ Telforth moved away from the fresh grave, leaving Ellie to take the roses she had picked from the bushes at the back of the house she had shared with Jubilee and place them on his final resting place.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bridie had searched diligently through her husband’s possessions, hating her actions but unable to rid herself of the terrible suspicions that gripped her. He was being unfaithful, she was growing more sure of it with every passing day. If only she could find some evidence, something to prove or disprove her theories, perhaps then she could take control of her life.

  Her mind, as it was, was in constant torment and it would almost be a relief to learn that her jealousy was founded on substance and not the fevered imaginings of a disturbed wife.

  His notebook was not in the house, the grand house, bought with her money, the house they had both christened Sea Mistress when their love was new. Bridie slammed the drawers shut with tight-lipped anger. The book was invariably missing when he was away, the first time she had seen it he must have left it behind by mistake. She tried to remember what was in it, nothing of significance, she was sure. Why then, was it always in his possession when he travelled?

  She tried to be calm, he needed his notes, she told herself, whatever they meant, he obviously understood them. And yet it irked her, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, that there was little of a personal nature to show that Paul lived in the house. His toiletries he naturally took with him on his travels; his favourite clothes were more often on board ship than hanging in the wardrobe in his room. It was as though, when he went to sea, Paul ceased to exist for her.

  In despair, she sank into a chair. Her thoughts raced in a confusion of questions that could not be answered. She had no evidence that her husband was being unfaithful, nothing tangible she could examine at will. There was only the feeling that all was not well between them which continued to plague her.

  She left the room and walked out onto the broad landing, resting her hand on the gallery rail as she looked down into the hallway below. The house was strangely quiet but then it would be at this time of day with the servants busy below stairs.

  The boys had been taken, in the charge of their nurse and their tutor, on an educational trip to the galleries of Florence. It had been arranged for the children of Swansea gentry by the members of the town’s most prominent businessmen and Paul had insisted his sons should go. Bridie had agreed but she missed their noisy presence in the house. Also, she recognized, his sons had been a solid factor which had drawn Paul home from his travels, now there was only her. The thought, in itself, held a mixture of fear and insecurity for Bridie.

  Paul, since their marriage, perhaps even before, harboured ideas above his station. He was a small-time ship owner, his wealthy lifestyle courtesy of his wife’s fortune. Over the years it had been Bridie’s wit and acumen, her gift for employing the best people, that had made the firm of Marchant and James into the force it was today, something Paul should remember.

  Lately, she had bought into a Cornish firm of steam packet owners; steamships represented the future, she was sure of it in spite of Paul’s energetic denials, and Bridie meant to go with her instincts, they had not let her down in the past.

  Marchant and James were among the most profitable shipping owners in the town of Swansea; the family, though comparative newcomers to Swansea, were well regarded. But even so when Bridie sought to put her boys on the list of prospective pupils at one of the best local schools, she had met with resistance. It was only when she had thought of endowing a large amount of money to the school that her sons had been accepted for admittance when they were older. Now she wondered if she had done what was best for them. Perhaps she should have heeded Paul and had the children enrolled in a much better public school, away from the area.

  Paul was a self-made man who had been lucky to attend the grammar school in Swansea. He had seemed at first to be delighted by the fact that Bridie had been given the benefit of a good convent education in Ireland. Later, he had grown to resent what he saw as her superior attitude.

  Bridie had learned Latin, had been taught to speak both French and German, indeed, she far outstripped her husband in knowledge of subjects learned from books. And, too, she had a sound business sense and a flair for looking to the future with a certain insight which Paul lacked.

  On the other hand, Paul had taken to the sea in all its moods, he knew the tides, knew the sandbanks, knew instinctively what was right for his ship. Pity he did not study his wife the way he studied his charts.

  Paul had not yet made any protest at the way Bridie manipulated the trips. Why should he? He believed unquestioningly that the money accrued from Bridie’s ships as well as the few he owned was going into a joint fund. But there, he was wrong.

  Bridie sighed heavily, she felt frustrated that she was no wiser about Paul’s activities. Perhaps she should get out into the fresh spring air, take a walk, try to clear her mind. These days she didn’t seem to be thinking straight. Perhaps she was allowing her imagination to run away with her. But then, she had not imagined the scene on the docks with Paul side by side with that whore Ellie Hopkins.

  It came to her that perhaps she would learn more about Paul at the office than she did at home. She would give Elias the day off, send him away and be free to search through Paul’s desk.

  She hurried downstairs and rang for one of the servants to fetch her coat and hat. She was impatient now to put her thoughts into action. It was like a fever, this need to find something to set her mind at rest one way or the other.

  ‘Collins, where’s that damn carriage?’ She didn’t look at the butler as he crossed the hall, she was aware of his tallness, had been surprised by his youth when, some years before, she had interviewed him for the position. Butlers had always been old men; in her childhood days butlers were seen and not heard for her father had treated the servants with the same hard indifference with which he’d treated his daughter.

  Her carriage was a long time coming, old Masters was growing slow and when at last he stood at the front door, Bridie issued orders to him in a sharp voice. In turn, he angrily chivvied the stable boy who had been sorting out the tack preparing the horses for the journey. At last, after what seemed an interminable wait, she was on her way towards the docklands.

  The salt of the sea air drifted towards her as the carriage turned towards the lower part of the town. The offices were situated in Gloucester Place, in a pleasant street a short distance from the elegant Guildhall.

  Bridie could hardly wait for her driver to rein the animals to a standstill before she was climbing down onto the roadside. There she was standing before the large building, the building that housed the offices of Marchant and James. It looked innocent enough behind the shining windows and elegant doors but within its walls the records of the company held a wealth of information.

  The profits made by the business last year alone were enough to keep Bridie and her boys in comfort for a very long time. She stared up at the sign above the door bearing her name and felt a sense of triumph that most of it was hers. Paul would find himself in very diminished circumstances if he were ever to leave her.

  ‘Morning Mrs Marchant, what a pleasant surprise, are you well?’ Elias rose from his chair with difficulty and moved around the desk to take her hand politely.

  ‘I have an even more pleasant surprise for yo
u, Elias,’ Bridie peeled off her gloves with an impatient gesture. ‘If there’s nothing pressing to do here, you may have the rest of the day to yourself.’

  If Elias thought this strange, he chose not to comment. He moved to the coat stand and took up his hat and jacket and turned towards the door.

  ‘If you’re sure, Mrs Marchant, then I’ll be off, Mrs Elias is rather poorly so I’m grateful to you.’

  ‘You should have said,’ Bridie looked at the old man, he was a faithful employee, she really should have more consideration for his age. ‘Please go home at once and take tomorrow off too. I’ll manage here just fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’ he repeated and Bridie waved her hand at him impatiently.

  ‘Go on, you know I’ve got as good a business head as any man. My coachman is outside, I’ll come to no harm.’

  She took the pins from her hat and turned her attention to the open books on the desk. ‘Just a minute, Elias,’ her voice was suddenly sharp, ‘what’s this entry for leather cargo all about?’

  ‘Oh, that was Mr Marchant’s doing, miss. Small load, I thought and only going as far as Ireland, not really worth the trip. Mind, he did take on board some fuel blocks as well, so the venture might be profitable in the end.’ By his tone, Elias took leave to doubt it and so did Bridie.

  ‘I see the load of skins was purchased from the Glyn Hir Tannery, that’s Mrs Hopkin’s place, isn’t she a new customer?’

  ‘Well we have bought one or two loads from her tannery over the past months, is anything wrong?’ Elias hovered in the doorway and Bridie shook her head.

  ‘No off you go, give my best wishes to your wife.’

  She sank into the wide-armed captain’s chair and tried to control her fury. So Paul was doing business with the woman was he? No doubt after the excuses Ellie Hopkins had made for being with Paul, the pair thought it best to regulate matters, put their affair on a business footing, at least to all outward appearances.

  It was quite clear to Bridie, however, that it was all just a sham, Paul was taking the leather and transporting it to Ireland as a cover up for his other activities. Bridie saw a picture of Ellie Hopkins in her mind’s eye, as she had been that day at the entrance to the dock, small, fair, and doubtless quite predatory. She was just Paul’s sort, rich, young, pretty in a washed-out kind of way and probably only too available.