by Iris Gower
At first he had intended to go to Bridie Marchant with his findings, figuring out that when she claimed back her empire he would be richly rewarded. But that would have taken a great deal of time so he had decided it was better to work out the true lie of the land and how wise he’d been.
It was when he was deliberately eavesdropping on Paul Marchant’s conversation with his lady friend that the truth had become clear. Marchant had been bedding the girl, something Matthew would have liked to have done himself, she was a real Irish beauty. Marchant had been boasting to her of his cleverness. He told her he’d managed to get a hold of all his wife’s assets, she was in his power, she would be obliged to do just as she was told. He’d made plans to take his little whore home with him on his next trip and when she had protested that her parents wouldn’t willingly let her go, he’d promised he’d see them all right. It was then that Matthew had decided which side he would take.
At first Marchant had tried to bluff him. He had blustered, bluffed and argued until, at last, Matthew had produced his ace, had shown him the small packet of opium he’d taken from inside one of the leather horse-collars.
‘I can be of use to you, Mr Marchant,’ Matthew had urged, ‘a man like me can do a great many useful things.’
‘Prove it,’ Marchant had taken up the challenge, ‘get rid of someone who has become a nuisance and you’ve got a job for life.’
Charlesworth was the master of the Marie Clare but it seemed he also had too much knowledge of the deals in which his boss was involved.
‘He’s become a threat,’ Marchant said bleakly, ‘I want to be rid of him.’
It was easy to arrange an unexpected ride for Charlesworth in a boat heading for Hong Kong; the man had never known what hit him, one moment he was returning to Ma Murphy’s ale house, the next he was on board a foreign ship. It was doubtful if the man would survive the trip, he was travelling as part of the crew and the ship’s master was one who believed in blows rather than reason. No, Charlesworth was well out of the picture. And Marchant had been suitably gratified.
Now Matthew was on his way towards Glyn Hir Tannery, he would be seeing Ellie again and this time, he would have the whip hand. He would be clever enough to make money out of her as well as out of Paul Marchant.
The yard was just the same, the stink of the leather, the noise of the grinder were all familiar to him and for a moment, a wave of something like nostalgia swept over Matthew. He had enjoyed his life here, making up to Ellie while at the same time having a fine old time with Rosie. He saw the same men in the yard, Luke and Harry looked up and nodded as he passed but there was no welcome in their faces. Well to hell with them, he needed no-one. Boyo looked out of the grinding house, he was taller, bigger built now but Matthew could still beat the living daylights out of him if he chose to.
Ellie was not pleased to see him. She stared at him blankly for a moment and her small figure barred his entrance into the house.
‘I must talk to you, in private,’ he said bluntly, ‘it’s in your own best interests Ellie, I’m warning you, you’re in deep trouble and I’ve come to help you out.’
‘I don’t know what you can possibly mean,’ Ellie was adamant. ‘Please go away, Matthew, I don’t want you here.’
Matthew glanced around him and spoke in a low voice. ‘Do you know you have been aiding and abetting Paul Marchant to smuggle opium out of the country and into Ireland?’
‘Rubbish!’ Ellie stepped back as though his words were a physical blow. ‘If this is the truth why haven’t you gone to the constabulary with this tale?’
‘Because I wanted to protect your good name, Ellie,’ Matthew said smoothly.
‘I’m not such a fool as to believe that.’ Ellie looked at him for a long moment. ‘You’d better come in and tell me the whole story.’ She reluctantly held the door wider and let him into the hall, ‘Now either come to the point, tell me why you are really here or get out and leave me in peace.’
‘The leather you sold Marchant, it was for tack, collars, saddles that sort of thing.’
‘Yes?’ Ellie stared at him, ‘Our waggons delivered the skins to the saddler’s and then to Marchant’s ships, so what?’ Her head was high, her expression one of distaste and Matthew felt anger begin to burn inside him. He didn’t fancy her, she was far too prissy for that but he’d love to bed her just to teach her who was boss.
‘So, your leather was paid for very generously, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I sold it for the going rate.’ Ellie was frowning, ‘I don’t see how you can accuse me of anything illegal. Get to the point, Matthew for heaven’s sake.’
‘You recommended the saddler, didn’t you?’ Matthew said with maddening slowness.
‘Yes, I did and he’s a good man.’
‘Oh, he’s a good man, all right,’ Matthew laughed shortly. ‘The saddler was the one who placed the opium inside the tack, that way there was no duty to pay on it, you see?’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Of course you will say you don’t know anything about it, you’ll put the blame on the saddler. He will say different, I’ve already spoken to him.’ Matthew paused to let his words take effect.
‘Even if folk think you are innocent, they will not believe Jubilee didn’t know anything about it, this little scheme has been going on since before his death.’
In that moment, Ellie felt fury run through her like a torrent, she had never hated anyone in her life, but for Matthew Hewson she could make an exception. He would stop at nothing, he would stoop so low as to besmirch the good name of a man no longer able to speak up for himself.
‘Now,’ Matthew said, ‘if you look at your books properly you will see that your payment for the leather was way above the going rate, why was that? Questions will be asked such as why buy from you when Marchant could buy good leather at any number of places much more cheaply.’
Ellie shook her head, trying to think clearly but her mind was clouded with anger and she couldn’t marshall her thoughts into any sort of order.
Matthew spoke again, softly, insistently, ‘People will think you were a willing accomplice. You see, Ellie, things are beginning to look bad for you.’
Ellie forced herself to be calm. ‘We can settle this now, I’m sure you are wrong about the payment made to us by Paul Marchant.’ Ellie led the way through the house to where the books were kept. ‘Caradoc Jones, my accountant, he’s not mentioned anything about all this extra money you say I’ve had.’
She thumbed through the books, and stopped when she came to the relevant sheets. She was not very good at figures but even she could see that the income from the leather sold to Paul Marchant was, as Matthew had claimed unusually high. ‘I must talk to Caradoc,’ she said almost to herself, ‘ask him what this is all about.’
‘I’ve told you what it’s about,’ Matthew was growing impatient, ‘it’s about you being an accomplice to smuggling, that’s what it’s about.’ He paused. ‘And what would that fancy boyfriend of yours think about it and him going into the church? Wouldn’t look good for him, would it, consorting with criminals.’
Ellie put down the books. ‘What’s all this to you, anyway? What do you want, what do you really want, Matthew?’
Matthew felt himself relax. ‘I want what I was promised by your husband, by Jubilee, but now my demands won’t be so modest.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes, ‘And as for talking to Caradoc or anyone else, if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut, people don’t understand this sort of thing, they have scruples, they do silly things like going to the police.’
Ellie felt trapped. ‘I want proof that what you say is the truth,’ she said desperately, ‘I can’t believe the Marchants would be mixed up in this sort of thing. Give me dates and times of sailing, I want to know who Paul Marchant’s contact is in Ireland and I want to see the leather in which you say this opium was smuggled.’
‘You don’t want much, do you?’ Matthew asked with sarcasm. ‘What makes you think I’d give you all that inf
ormation?’
‘I might just sign over to you half my inheritance from Jubilee if I think it’s worth it.’ She looked directly at Matthew, estimating the power of his greed. ‘We could do it almost at once but I want proof of what you have told me before I take any action, wouldn’t you do the same in my place?’
‘How can I trust you?’ Matthew said hesitantly.
Ellie shook back a curl of hair from her brow. ‘You’ll just have to, won’t you, what choice have you got? If there’s proof of what you’ve told me, I’ll have to pay up, if not, you are wasting my time and yours.’
Matthew took a small packet out of his pocket. ‘Here is some of the opium,’ he said showing it to her.
She shook her head. ‘Opium it may be but how do I know where you got it from? Oh no, Matthew, you are going to have to do better than that, it’s only reasonable I’d want convincing, didn’t you think of that?’
‘Of course I did,’ he said quickly but of course he hadn’t. He’d imagined that Ellie would crack at once, would pay him anything not to have the good name of her dead husband besmirched. She had grown tougher since he’d last seen her, more resilient.
He moved closer and touched her hair lightly. She looked up at him. ‘I might give you money,’ she said, ‘I just might but don’t think you’ll get anything else from me, I’d kill you first.’
He stepped away from her, he wasn’t used to being spurned and Ellie had done it once too often. ‘I don’t want you, don’t flatter yourself,’ he said sulkily.
Ellie smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘We’re even then,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t fancy you if you were the last man left alive on earth. Now please leave my house and don’t come back until you have what I want.’
When Matthew left the yard, it was with mixed feelings; he’d expected to come out of all this on top, to add Ellie’s contribution to the money Paul Marchant was already paying him but here he was sent away like a whipped dog. He ran his hands through his hair, she would pay and good, he’d bring her the proof she wanted, she wouldn’t dare talk to anyone else about it. In the meantime, he would go to see the saddler, persuade him that it would be in his interest to do whatever Matthew wanted of him. It would not be difficult to get the man to implicate Ellie, to say it was all her idea that they hide the contraband inside the saddles and collars. It was the waggons from Glyn Hir that had delivered the leather to the saddler and had collected the finished articles of tack some time later. Oh, yes, it would appear to anyone interested that Ellie Hopkins, or at least her husband Jubilee, had been in on the scheme from the beginning. He would beat her yet, just let her wait and see.
After Matthew had gone, Ellie went into the kitchen and sank into one of the wooden chairs. She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes.
‘What’s up, missus, you look like death?’ Rosie had come into the kitchen and was standing beside her.
‘I’ve just had a visit from Matthew,’ Ellie said with a sigh, ‘he’s after money again.’ Ellie did not choose to go into too much detail, Rosie meant well but she was an incurable gossip.
‘Still on about them shares, is he? Your husband should never have promised him anything.’ Rosie was still bitter about the way Matthew had treated her. ‘He’s a no-good and he’s a dangerous no-good, you look out for him.’
‘Oh, I will.’
‘Anyway, let me take your mind off things,’ Rosie sat opposite her, plump arms on the scrubbed surface of the table, ‘I’ve heard a bit of gossip.’
‘No, really?’ The irony was lost on Rosie, she leaned forward eagerly.
‘Mrs Marchant has left her husband, been forced out of her own home, so the gossips are saying. He’s gone and brought in some fancy piece from Ireland, says she’s a housekeeper, a bedwarmer more like it, and no woman is going to stand for that. Course the rich will turn a blind eye to it all, as they usually do when it comes to one of their own. So long as that man Marchant don’t parade his lady love in public no-one will say a word against him. All at it, they are, if you ask me.’
Ellie looked up. ‘Where on earth would Bridie go in her state of health?’ she asked and Rosie shrugged.
‘Blowed if I know but all she got with her is that funny chair she had made for herself and a change of clothes. Took one of the servants too so I heard. Suppose she had to have someone, her not being able to walk.’
Ellie sat up straighter, this needed looking into, there was something very strange going on and it seemed that what concerned the Marchants was going to concern her too if she was ever to get Matthew Hewson out of her life. But she knew where she might be able to learn more about Bridie, if anyone could make an educated guess it would be Arian Smale, she and her newspaper hounds seemed to know everything.
Ellie felt her spirits lift, Matthew believed he had the upper hand, well she wasn’t so stupid as he thought, she would find out the truth herself, she would speak to Paul Marchant, it would be in his own best interests to refute Matthew’s absurd claims. She rose to her feet, she had to be alone, she needed to think things through away from everyone, even Martha. ‘I’ll go through into the study,’ she said, ‘and Rosie, you’d better take some hot milk up to Martha, I know she went to bed early but she won’t be sleeping yet.’
When she was seated in the big leather chair, in what had once been Jubilee’s retreat, Ellie bit her lip trying to sort out her muddled thoughts. If what he claimed was anything like the truth, she might have to give Matthew half her money just to get him to leave her alone but she would have to make sure he didn’t come back for more and keep coming back. The last thing she wanted was another scandal in her life, especially now that she had Daniel to consider. Matthew knew her weak spots, all right, Jubilee’s good name and Daniel’s too were more important than Ellie’s own.
But she wouldn’t give up without a fight, she would learn all she could about Paul Marchant’s affairs, arm herself with every possible weapon of defence and perhaps, just perhaps, she might get the best of Matthew Hewson.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Paul Marchant looked at Ellie Hopkins as if she had taken leave of her senses, she had called this evening meeting claiming it was urgent and yet she was sitting there so calm and composed anyone would think they were here to discuss the weather.
He was seated in his ships offices behind his imposing desk, his brief Christmas holiday over and he was not feeling in very good spirits. His sons had come home from their trip abroad and far from being grateful for the fine time they’d had, they got on his nerves by whining for their mother throughout the festive season. They hated Carmella on sight and had driven the young Irish girl to distraction. In despair, Paul had arranged for the two boys to go to visit his aunt in Shrewsbury vowing that whatever happened, he would never allow Bridie the satisfaction of knowing she had been right about her sons’ wishes all along.
‘Mr Marchant, this is very difficult but there is no other way than to be blunt,’ Ellie spoke firmly. ‘I want Matthew Hewson to stop trying to blackmail me or I might be compelled to take further action.’ Ellie’s eyes were large in her pale face. Paul waited in silence for her to continue, he had no intention of revealing his hand, not until he knew what it was she had in hers. ‘These illicit dealings you might or might not be involved in have nothing to do with me, I am not interested so long as I am left alone.’ When Paul didn’t reply she continued more urgently. ‘You do know what he’s saying about you, don’t you?’
‘Blackmail, that’s a nasty word, Mrs Hopkins,’ Paul was prevaricating, wondering how much this woman really knew of his affairs. ‘As for illicit dealings, I’m not sure I know what you are talking about.’
‘The smuggling of opium in the leather you bought from me, that’s what I’m talking about.’ She sounded impatient and Paul realized there was no point in avoiding the issue, Hewson had really spilled all he knew, the fool.
‘Unfortunately no-one is going to believe that you are not involved,’ Paul was still confident
. ‘So I would just go home and keep your head down and your lips closed.’
‘And allow Matthew Hewson to blackmail me?’ Ellie leaned forward in her chair. ‘Don’t you understand?’ Paul heard the tone of desperation in her voice. ‘This man is a threat to me and to you, too.’
‘Oh, I hardly think so.’ Paul toyed with the silver paper knife on the polished surface of the desk, ‘Who is going to say anything to the authorities without incriminating themselves?’
‘So in other words you are hand in glove with Hewson, you are condoning what he is doing.’ Ellie’s shoulders sagged and Paul, watching her, felt a moment of triumph; good, the woman knew when she was beaten. He had admired her looks, had been nice to her in their past dealings but she had always seemed a bit above herself for the wife of a tannery owner.
Paul’s first reaction to the fact that Hewson had told his little story to Ellie Hopkins had been one of anger but, on second thoughts, he saw clearly that the scheme to get a share of Ellie Hopkins’ not inconsiderable fortune might benefit him too. From all accounts Ellie was now a very rich widow. If Hewson had a windfall coming, Paul wanted a share in it. As for the smuggling, he could give that up if it became too dangerous. At the moment, though he was getting richer by the minute and it was a feeling he very much liked.
He was on top of the world, he had rid himself of Bridie, not that he’d meant her to actually leave home, but now she had gone he was free to indulge himself as much as he liked with his little Irish colleen. He was very discreet when visiting her room but in any case the servants knew better than to gossip about him and what’s more Carmella had won most of them over with her pale Irish beauty. His feelings softened, Carmella was the one woman he knew who loved him for himself, not for what she could get out of him. Take Bridie, his dear wife, she had spent years keeping secret books, making money to salt away in her own account, it was doubtful if she had ever loved him. It was madness at his age to fall in love when he had avoided it for so long but Carmella was irresistible, he wanted to hold her in his arms and make love to her whenever he saw her. Every other woman paled into insignificance when he looked into Carmella’s lovely face.