by Iris Gower
Bridie nodded her agreement and watched as Collins searched through the drawers and produced bright new accounts books. Her heart sank, it was clear that Paul had been up to something but was he capable of cheating her out of her inheritance?
It took her much less time than she had thought to go through the books; everything was quite clear, Paul had transferred the entire shipping fleet to himself, she owned nothing, not one single vessel. For a moment Bridie felt beaten, she poured over the books listing the shorter trips, many of them were to Ireland. It seemed Paul had been shipping various cargos across the Irish sea from candles to leather saddles and horse-collars, why, what was in it for him?
She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, perhaps Paul was shipping forbidden goods, tea, tobacco, or silks, contraband cargos of some kind. She remembered the notebook she had found in his bag, she hadn’t understood it, the entries were in some sort of code.
She looked up, Collins was seated in the chair opposite her, his shoulders tense as he watched the door. ‘Collins,’ she said gently, ‘I want you to take me to the bank.’
She would speak to Jake Simmons, he was an old friend of her father’s, he would tell her all she wanted to know, none of this ethical nonsense with him. He knew full well who had made the largest part of the money that had gone into building up the shipping line of Marchant and James. Jake was just about to leave the bank but he smiled when he saw Bridie and ushered Collins, with Bridie in his arms, into his own private office.
‘Bridie, so good to see you looking well again.’
‘Thank you, Jake.’ She bit her lip for a moment, ‘I have to talk to you. This is serious.’
‘I suspected it was.’ Jake said softly and glanced at Collins who had settled Bridie in a chair and stepped back self-effacingly.
‘You can talk in front of Collins,’ Bridie said, ‘please Jake, what is going on here?’
‘You tell me,’ Jake sat down and played with the quill pen resting in the ink-pot on his desk. ‘I can only say I was devastated when your husband withdrew all the moneys and closed the account.’
Bridie felt as if she had swallowed something bitter. ‘When did Paul do all this?’ It was an effort to speak normally.
Jake looked at her compassionately. ‘About two weeks ago, no explanation, took the whole lot of it, not only the considerable amount of money he’d made himself but your fortune too, Bridie, he had all the right documentation, I assumed you were too sick to deal with matters yourself.’
‘His own money, he had quite a lot, did he?’
‘The profits Mr Marchant made on the short runs were greater than those you made from your deep sea cargos which I thought very strange.’
Not so strange if her suspicions were correct. Bridie tried to think clearly but muddled thoughts kept running round and round in her head until she thought she would go mad. Well then, Jake, I can only apologize and explain that I knew nothing about what my husband was planning.’ Did she sound as desolate as she felt?
‘I’m sure he did what he thought was best,’ Jake leaned over and touched her shoulder, ‘once he took charge it was a case of a new broom sweeps clean and all that, I suppose.’
‘You’re taking it really well,’ Bridie said softly, ‘but I do wish you’d come to me and talked it over, Jake.’
He shrugged, ‘How could I? I knew of your illness, I believed you were too sick to see anyone.’
Bridie sighed, Jake was right and Paul could be most convincing if he wanted to be, she knew that better than most. ‘Right then, it’s home for us, Collins, nothing more I can do in town today.’
When she was settled in the carriage, Bridie closed her eyes wearily. What could she do? It seemed that Paul had cleaned her out, taken all her money, all her ships. She looked down at her useless legs, here she was, helpless, a cripple, unable to stand up to her husband and demand an explanation. She began to cry, sobs racked her thin frame. Bridie felt she had no weapons and no energy to fight for her future. She was defeated.
By the time the carriage drew up outside her home, she was composed and if her eyes were a little red, her cheeks a little blotchy, no-one among her staff was going to be indiscreet enough to mention it. In her room, Bridie lay for a long time, staring at the lengthening shadows that crept across the ceiling. She felt empty of all emotion, there wasn’t even a glimmer of hope to give her cheer.
In the morning, she woke early, a pale sun was shining through the window and suddenly Bridie was filled with a sense of resolution, she was not beaten, not yet she wasn’t. After she had eaten a light breakfast, she sent for Collins. ‘I intend to walk again,’ she told him. To her gratitude, he didn’t appear surprised, he merely nodded.
‘I don’t want anyone to know about it,’ she instructed, ‘I want you to get me some walking sticks and, Collins, I’ll need you to help me, will you do it?’
She was asking him humbly and he smiled at her. It was the first time she had seen him smile, he was a good man, a trustworthy man and Bridie’s heart warmed a little. ‘I know it’s not going to be easy,’ she said, ‘I will fail lots of times but I will do it, you’ll see.’
‘I know you will, Mrs Marchant,’ Collins nodded reassuringly. ‘I know you will.’
‘Now,’ Bridie said, ‘I want you to find me someone to board the Marie Clare, I want him to sail with my husband on his next trip.’
Collins never seemed to be surprised by anything she said. Bridie smiled, ‘This man must be more than a sailor, he must be a special sort of person, one not quite . . . honest. He must be able to keep his eyes and ears open, find out what exactly these trips to Ireland are all about.’ Bridie paused. ‘I needn’t tell you, Collins, you will have gathered as much for yourself that I have no money, this man must sign on as crew like any other but I refuse to accept that I have been cheated out of my father’s inheritance, I will put the matter right and when I do he will be well rewarded, you too Collins.’
‘I need no reward,’ Collins said simply. ‘And if I might make a suggestion, I have a little money put aside with which I can pay for a man’s services. A loan of course,’ he said as Bridie made to protest, ‘I’m sure it will all be put right when you regain control of your business.’ His tense look eased a little. ‘As I said, you were always fair and honest.’
Bridie felt tears come into her eyes. She was getting soft, she who had been feared in Swansea, Bridie Marchant of the sharp tongue, she was touched by this man’s simple loyalty. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was penniless, a cripple, dependent for the first time on others to help her. Well, she might be broke but she was not helpless and that was something Paul would shortly learn.
It was no chance encounter that led Collins to seek Matthew out at the bar of the Ship Inn. He had heard much of the man from one of the serving maids, knew he was the sort who would do anything for money. When he was face to face with Hewson, he saw a big man with a ruthless air about him and congratulated himself on choosing wisely.
‘Mr Hewson,’ he said quietly, ‘I hear you are currently without a position. I think I might just have something to interest you.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I want to buy more of your fine leather, Mrs Hopkins.’ Paul Marchant looked down at Ellie, his face close to hers, his eyes regarding her with far too much interest for her liking. ‘I did look for your foreman in the yard but apparently there isn’t one. I understand you dismissed him from your service?’
Ellie wondered just how he had come about that little piece of information. ‘That’s right, I need a replacement for Matthew Hewson as soon as possible. Please come indoors, Mr Marchant.’
Ellie led the way into the sitting room where Martha was busy embroidering a sampler. The older woman looked up and regarded Paul Marchant with shrewd eyes. She nodded her head in acknowledgment of his polite greeting but didn’t speak.
‘Of course you may buy all the leather you want from us,’ Ellie said, ‘please, sit down, but you will ha
ve to do business with me, for the time being.’
She knew her tone was businesslike but it was difficult to be friendly when she remembered the last time they had met when Bridie Marchant had behaved like a harridan. Later, she had come up to the tannery and accused Ellie of having an affair with her husband, it was all so embarrassing. Ellie knew she should not hold it against Paul, it was not his fault that his wife was so jealous. Or was it?
‘That is fine by me.’ Paul rested easily in one of the big chairs. ‘I know your leather is of the finest made around these parts, the saddler who makes up the tack for me is delighted with the quality. I appreciate the extra service you do me, delivering the leather, it’s very kind of you.’
‘It isn’t something we would do for everyone. It takes a considerable amount of time and manpower to run the wagons down to the saddler and then, later, to bring the finished goods to the docks.’ Ellie had no intention of being overly polite, Paul Marchant was not one of Glyn Hir’s biggest buyers, indeed, his orders were comparatively modest. It was from the large warehouses that the real orders came, the furniture makers, the boot and shoe emporiums. The leather from Glyn Hir was shipped all over the country. Still, she reasoned, a customer was a customer and Ellie felt it necessary to show a degree of interest. She looked at him from under her lashes, Paul Marchant was a personable man, a charming man, why then, didn’t she quite trust him?
‘The leather I buy from you, is ideal for horse-collars, saddles, that sort of thing, it’s so well treated.’ He was sincere enough; Jubilee had always prided himself on quality. ‘I ship the goods abroad to a customer of mine in Ireland.’ Paul smiled. ‘It’s not a big order for me, as I’m sure you appreciate, but the goodwill of a business is so important.’
It was a reproof and Ellie recognized it as such. Paul smiled again as if to soften his words. ‘I needn’t remind you of that, of course. Later on, I’m hoping to increase the stock of leather I buy from you to a much bigger quantity.’
‘I see.’ Ellie didn’t much care, one way or another, she would rather have as little as possible to do with Paul Marchant and his fiery wife.
It was as though he read her thoughts. ‘I’m sorry for the way my wife acted that time,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sure she would have apologized to you herself but she hasn’t been well lately, indeed, she is a complete invalid these days, confined to a chair.’
Ellie had heard a little of Bridie’s illness from Martha who seemed to pick up all the gossip being spread around the town but she hadn’t realized how serious it was. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to help?’
‘That’s very kind of you, especially in the circumstances, but no, I’m managing everything just fine, thank you.’
Ellie forbore to ask how his wife was managing; Bridie Marchant was not the most patient of women, it couldn’t be easy for her to be dependent on other people. Paul rose to his feet and smiled down at Ellie as though entirely sure he could charm her. She looked at him without expression. ‘Please feel free to choose any of the skins you want,’ she said as pleasantly as she could, ‘though we have no inferior goods on sale, I do assure you of that.’
‘I am aware of the quality of your leather,’ he replied, ‘as I said, it is of the best, that’s why I have returned to buy more.’
Ellie wished he would go and leave her alone, she really must get a good manager in, someone who would take the responsibility of running the tannery without her help. She moved impatiently towards the door, she was expecting Daniel and she wanted time to prepare herself. Her spirits lifted at the thought. All she had to do was to be patient and soon she would be with the man who had come to mean more than all the world to her.
‘You can’t mean it,’ Arian Smale was looking at Daniel in disbelief and though he was flattered by her reluctance to accept his decision, he was not one bit influenced by it.
‘I am grateful for my training here,’ he said humbly, ‘I’ve learned such a lot, things I should be able to put into use when I have a parish of my own.’
‘You really mean to go into the church then?’ Arian shook her head. ‘I knew you were impressed by Evan Roberts, I just didn’t realize how impressed.’
‘I hope you’ve thought this over,’ Mac was leaning across his desk, his long legs looped around his chair. ‘Not much money in being a vicar, you know.’
‘I don’t mind that,’ Daniel answered good naturedly, ‘I’m not out to make myself a rich man. In any case, I’ve spoken to the bishop and he feels I will do very well in the church. So you see, it’s all settled.’
‘Doesn’t have to be, keep on the job for a while, it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of cash by you, especially a young sprig like you who might want to get hitched one day.’
Daniel looked at Mac with affection. ‘I won’t be in a position to get married for a long time yet.’
‘Not until Ellie Hopkins’ year of mourning is over, at least.’ Arian said.
Daniel felt his colour rise. ‘I would be very honoured to marry Mrs Hopkins but I will respect her wish to give her husband’s memory the respect it deserves.’ He knew he sounded pompous but he couldn’t seem to help it.
To their credit, neither Arian nor Mac mentioned Jubilee’s will and the great fortune he had left his widow. They knew Daniel better than to believe him a gold-digger.
‘I’ll work out the month’s notice if that’s suitable,’ Daniel said, ‘I don’t have to go to college until the beginning of the next term.’
Arian smiled. ‘As Mac said, why not keep on your job ’til then?’ It really was generous of her, she could have begun looking for a junior reporter at once.
‘I would be delighted to stay as long as I may,’ Daniel smiled warmly. ‘At the risk of sounding sentimental, I feel I belong here.’
‘Right then, I have an assignment for you,’ Arian said. ‘I’ve heard a rumour, just a rumour, that Paul Marchant has somehow taken charge of his wife’s shipping fleet, apparently she is left with no assets to her name at all. See what you can dig up about it, Daniel.’
This was part of the job he didn’t like; the snooping, the prying into the private affairs of others but it was all in a day’s work in the life of a junior reporter and for now, he was still in Arian’s employ.
‘I don’t know how you’ll go about it,’ Arian continued, ‘you can hardly go and ask Paul or Bridie Marchant outright, can you?’
‘Leave that to Daniel,’ advised Mac, ‘any reporter worth his salt knows how to winkle stories out of unsuspecting folk.’
It was easier said than done, Daniel mused as, later, he walked along the Strand. He knew his starting point, the shipping office in Gloucester Place, but how to make enquiries without seeming too inquisitive. Daniel knew he could write the stories well enough, it was the ferreting out of information he was no good at. Perhaps it was just as well he’d chosen to go into the church, there people would confide in him only so much as they wanted him to know.
Brian Thomas was uncommunicative. He sat in the offices of Marchant and James and stared stoically at a point somewhere above Daniel’s head. ‘I don’t know what information you are seeking,’ he said pompously, ‘but remember, I only work here, if you want to know anything you must speak to the owner.’
‘I thought there were owners, plural,’ Daniel said quickly. ‘But then,’ Daniel continued, ‘I don’t suppose you would know, not being in the confidence of the owners.’ Daniel tried playing on the man’s sense of importance; Thomas was obviously puffed up with pride.
‘Mr Marchant is the sole owner these days,’ Thomas fell into the trap and then immediately regretted his words. ‘I’m saying no more.’ Daniel left the office knowing he would have to search elsewhere for his copy though it did seem as if Arian’s sense of a story was working as well as ever.
Daniel walked up the hill to where the big houses sat in woody gardens. Sea Mistress, the house owned by Paul and Bridie Marchant was set back from the roadwa
y, the elegant gables reaching fingers skyward, the windows gleaming brightly against the old stonework.
Perhaps, Daniel thought, he could talk to one of the servants, there seemed no other line of enquiry open to him. He paused by the imposing front entrance, the old wood of the double doors, lovingly polished, opened up a way into a marbled outer hall. He would gain no entrance there. Daniel made his way round the large structure to the back. The gardens stretched away into the distance, trees and shrubs offering privacy to the neat walkways and pretty arbours. Stone statues were placed among the trees to charming effect and Daniel stood for a moment appreciating the scene before him.
‘Can I help you?’ A voice broke into Daniel’s reverie and he turned to see a man a little older than he himself watching him with suspicion. This was one of the male servants, a man of position in the household and he was looking Daniel over with a practised eye, correctly assessing his status in the place of things and speaking respectfully.
‘Excuse me,’ Daniel smiled disarmingly, ‘I’m afraid I’m trespassing.’
‘Do you have any business here?’ the man was cautious, overly polite and yet with a distinct air of one who would guard the privacy of the residents of the house with force if necessary.
‘I’m afraid I am snooping,’ Daniel liked the look of the man and decided he might as well be honest. ‘My boss, Arian Smale, asked me to look into the rumour that Mrs Marchant has signed the business over to her husband.’
The man appeared startled. ‘How in heaven’s name . . .’ he broke off and ran his hand over his brow. ‘Wait here.’
Daniel stood in the garden wondering what on earth was going on behind the solid walls of the big house. Women, in the past had fought hard to retain control of their inheritance and now, Bridie Marchant, a woman renowned for her toughness in business was handing everything over to her husband on a plate, it was incredible. A sense of excitement filled Daniel, Arian could well be right, there could be more than a gossipy item here, there could be a big story.