Sea Mistress

by Iris Gower

  Carmella began to cry, ‘Paul hasn’t deserted me, has he? Surely he’ll come for me in Ireland. I’m sorry, he’s your husband but he loves me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I fell out of love with Paul a long time ago,’ Bridie said flatly. ‘I knew he had other women, I suppose I became used to the idea.’ She saw Carmella flinch and regretted her words at once. ‘But perhaps you’re right about him being in love with you.’

  Carmella looked up at her anxiously. ‘I wasn’t the first one he’d been with since he was married, then?’

  Bridie rose from the bed. ‘I’m afraid not. Rest now, you’ll need all your strength if you want to travel home soon. In the meantime I’ll arrange to send a letter to your parents, I’ll tell them to expect you within the month.’

  ‘Bridie,’ Carmella’s voice was soft, ‘do you think he’s gone off with another woman, then, is that why he hasn’t come home?’

  Bridie shrugged. ‘I just don’t know, Carmella, he’s never been the predictable kind, he might well have gone off on a ship somewhere for all I know.’

  Bridie left Carmella to rest and stood for a moment on the spacious landing. Sunlight was streaming in through the stained-glass window, falling patterns of light splashed the walls and the carpet with myriad colours.

  Strange how the world turned around, she mused, once, not very long ago she would have been bitter, unforgiving, hating the girl who had stolen Paul’s affections. Now, all she felt was pity for Carmella, the girl would just have to learn that Paul was an incurable womanizer. She had believed his protestations of love but now it must be clear even to Carmella that Paul was a man no woman could ever be sure of.

  The sounds of activity from the yard penetrated the kitchen where Rosie was roasting a chicken for lunch. She moved to the window and stared out at the half-dozen tradesmen, small figures in the sunlight of the open ground leading to the tannery. The wooden buildings were taking shape, the walls were in place already although it seemed only a few weeks had passed since the fire.

  Rosie wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead, the kitchen was hot even though the back door stood open. Rosie’s mouth curved into a smile, she would bathe later, wash her long, thick hair, make herself beautiful. She stared unseeingly into the sunlight, anticipating the evening. Caradoc Jones was coming to do the books, she would see him tonight and a sudden sense of excitement filled her.

  In moments of calm reflection, Rosie didn’t really know what she saw in Caradoc. He was young enough, just a few years older than she was, but he was plump and somewhat plain. Until he smiled, that is, and then great dimples appeared each side of his mouth. It was when he smiled that his eyes became crinkled with humour; lovely blue, honest eyes which looked on her with obvious pleasure.

  At first she had not taken a great deal of interest in Mr Caradoc Jones, he was a bookkeeper, a very clever man, an educated gentleman. He had a fine house near the docks, a fashionable house with heavy curtains at the window and a door knocker shaped like a lion’s head which had been polished to within an inch of its life. Rosie knew all this because she had followed him home one night and stood outside mooning over him like a love sick girl.

  It was then, standing in the darkness, seeing the light from the lamps gleaming in the windows that she knew she wanted to be there with him, inside the warmth of his house, she wanted more than anything to be Mrs Caradoc Jones.

  ‘You fool!’ she said the words out loud and sank down into a chair. What should he want with the likes of her, a humble servant? And what would he say if he knew of her past, she being a woman who had known more than one man?

  Her face softened as she remembered the way he. looked at her, with such brightness in his eyes. He smiled at her often. He made excuses to be with her. He came into the kitchen on some pretext or other and then sat with her half an hour or more just talking about anything under the sun. So Rosie hoped and waited and prayed that one day, Caradoc would pluck up the courage to speak to her of his feelings.

  She believed him to be an honest man and yet sometimes doubts filtered through the haze of her happiness. Did he just want a quick roll in the grass with her, was he looking for a fancy piece to while away a few hours? She had no means of knowing because Caradoc was a man shy of showing his feelings. Rosie heard the spitting of the roasting meat in the oven and with a sigh, returned to her work.

  ‘Well,’ Ellie smiled, ‘you have progressed really well, I’m very pleased at the work you’re doing for me.’

  ‘Thank you, missus.’ The foreman stood, cap in hand, his grey beard bobbing as he spoke. ‘We does our best, see?’

  ‘So you think you’ll be finished in a few more weeks, is that right?’

  ‘Aye, providin’ the rain holds off, see missus?’

  ‘Well, thank you for the report on your progress and of course you must feel free to order any goods you might need.’

  The man inclined his head in acknowledgement and left the room and Ellie listened to his heavy footsteps crossing the hallway. She looked ruefully at the spot where he had been standing, sawdust had fallen from his boots onto the carpet, Rosie wouldn’t be too pleased about that. She liked the place to be nice when there were visitors coming.

  Caradoc Jones wasn’t exactly a visitor but Rosie treated him as such. Indeed Rosie treated him as a very special guest. Ellie smiled, she saw more than Rosie realized. Caradoc, ostensibly, was coming over to double check the books, a task he was taking upon himself with increasing enthusiasm. He had agreed readily to her suggestion that he tutor Boyo, teach him his own efficient methods of accounting and Ellie felt as though she had offered Caradoc an ever open door at the tannery house.

  But at least the new regime suited Boyo, he was looking forward eagerly to his next lesson. He had spent the last few days writing out columns of figures, adding and subtracting, worried that he might appear slow to a man like Caradoc. Ellie had told him not to concern himself. ‘Caradoc knows you are just a novice at all this,’ she had touched Boyo’s cheek. ‘It will all take time, be patient.’

  ‘Have I ever said how grateful I am, Ellie?’ His voice had been resonant with feeling. ‘I don’t know where I would have ended up if it hadn’t been for Jubilee and for you.’

  Ellie sat now in the darkening room and sighed, knowing that soon she must light the lamps. She hated this time of day when the sun was going down and the darkness drawing in. It was then, when she had time on her hands, that she missed Daniel the most.

  But soon things would change, soon they would be married and they would be closer than ever before. Daniel would still have to attend his college, of course, she accepted that but at least the times they were together would compensate for his long absences.

  When she had questioned Daniel about the Bishop’s response to his decision to marry, he’d been vague. It had occurred to Ellie that the Bishop might have urged Daniel to wait at least until he was ordained before taking such a step but she pushed the disquieting thought aside.

  Sighing, she rose, the house was quiet, Martha had gone to visit an old friend and Rosie was upstairs in her room. Ellie stood at the window, looking out at the dusk settling over the land. The hills rose steeply around the valley and the stark shapes of the half finished tannery buildings stood out against a night sky that was streaked still with red.

  In a few weeks, the tannery would be functioning once more and Ellie was glad, feeling that Jubilee would have approved of her efforts. The decision to rebuild had been a difficult one, it would have been so easy to leave the tannery as it was, razed to the ground, but with a warm feeling in her heart; Ellie knew she had done the right thing.

  Rosie was brushed and shining by the time she opened the door to Caradoc Jones. She bobbed him a quick curtsey and stood back for him to enter the hallway. The light from the lamp fell on his curling hair as he took off his hat and he bent forward towards her, smiling down into her face, his dimples in evidence.

  ‘Evening, Rosemary, how are you this fine
night?’ He stumbled over the words as though he wasn’t in complete control of his tongue.

  ‘I’m very good, sir.’ She debated whether to add ‘all the better for seeing you’ but decided against it, thinking it too forward.

  ‘Miss Ellie is in the parlour, Boyo’s there too, would you like to go through, sir?’

  ‘Not right away, I’ll have my pot of tea first, in the kitchen, if I may. Ellie knows my funny ways by now, she knows I can’t start work until I’ve fortified myself with a little refreshment.’

  Rosie was pleased, he wanted to be with her, she was sure of it. She went before him into the kitchen and pushed the kettle, already boiled once, onto the fire. Immediately it began to issue steam and Rosie saw from the corner of her eye that Caradoc was smiling.

  She lifted the kettle but it was overfilled and the rush of steam gushed outwards catching her hand. She gasped and banged the kettle down and at once Caradoc was at her side.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself, let me look, oh, dear, your poor hand.’ He lifted it suddenly to his lips and kissed the soft flesh. He looked up and met Rosie’s eye and blushed a fiery red. He dropped her hand suddenly and moved away from her.

  ‘Forgive me, Rosemary, I’m not usually that forward.’

  She took a chance. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, I liked it, very much indeed. You are a kind man, Mr Jones.’

  Emboldened, he took a deep breath. ‘I wonder if you like me enough to come walking with me, one evening,’ he rushed the words out as though fearing they would never be said. Rosie hesitated, telling herself not to appear too eager. ‘That would be very nice, Mr Jones.’ She glanced up risking a bolder, more encouraging look. ‘I’m off on Thursday, as it happens.’

  ‘Thursday, it is then. Now let me pour the water on the teapot, that kettle really is too heavy for you.’

  Rosie felt a warmth steal through her, she had always been regarded as a fine built woman, strong and a willing, able worker. It was wonderful to be treated as a delicate little lady, too weak to lift up a kettle of water. If only he knew; when anyone in the house bathed, it was Rosie who carried kettleful after kettleful up the stairs to the bedrooms.

  When at last Caradoc took his leave of her, Rose leapt up in the air, waving her arms in triumph, she and Caradoc Jones were walking out together!

  Thursday seemed as though it would never come but at last, Rosie found herself dressing carefully, anticipating with high excitement her evening with Caradoc Jones. She had told Ellie about it and Martha, Old Elephant Ears, had heard and done her best to put a damper on Rosie’s joy.

  ‘Don’t you go anywhere alone with him,’ she warned. She meant well, Rosie knew it, but she wished the old woman would mind her own business.

  ‘Some men are out for what they can get, especially when it comes to taking out a serving girl,’ Martha spoke in dire tones and Ellie laughed. ‘Have a heart, Martha, Caradoc Jones isn’t exactly the type to prey on defenceless women, is he?’

  ‘That’s as may be but when it comes down to it, they all want to have their wicked way with a woman, don’t they?’

  Rosie hoped so though she forbore to say as much aloud, she didn’t want to shock Martha or Ellie come to that. In any case, Caradoc was special, she knew enough about him to tell her that he had principles. She hoped he was the sort who wouldn’t think of taking a woman to bed without putting a ring on her finger first. The thought thrilled her. Mrs Caradoc Jones, it sounded wonderful.

  He called for her promptly at seven. The sun was still shining, casting long shadows over the trees, giving a silver edging to the few clouds that were about. It was a lovely day, a most wonderful day.

  In silence, they walked away from the tannery and down into the town. There, as they neared the pier, the air was tangy with the smell of salt and tar.

  Awkwardly, they sat side by side on one of the struts of wood under the pier and watched as the sea rushed inwards and then was dragged back again into the basin of the bay. Rosie searched her mind for something to say, why was she so tongue-tied with this man when she could usually tease and taunt with ease?

  It was Caradoc who broke the silence. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Rosemary, I’m afraid you’ll think me dull or worse a fool.’ She was amazed to hear Caradoc give voice to the same doubts she’d been harbouring. She turned to him warmly and looked into his face. ‘I know what you mean, I feel just the same.’

  He took her hand tentatively. ‘I hope you do feel the same because Rosemary, I think, no, I know I’m falling in love with you.’

  She felt an unexpected blush rise to her cheeks. ‘Oh, Caradoc!’ She squeezed his fingers, she who had lain with men, had taught them how to enjoy a woman, she was absurdly shy with the one man who mattered so much to her.

  ‘And you, Rosemary, do you feel, do you think you could bear to be walking out with me, properly, I mean, as my betrothed?’

  She could hardly breathe for the joy of it all. She closed her eyes and leaned towards him and as she had hoped, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. At first, he was tentative, she let him be, knowing he must find his own way. Growing bolder, he put his arms around her, drawing her close, kissing her more deeply and with greater passion. The kiss seemed to go on for ever and Rosie was filled with happiness and excitement.

  She knew she wanted this man, wanted him in every way. She wanted him to make love to her but more, she wanted their love to be of a more lasting sort than the merely physical. She realized in that instance that she had held herself too lightly, she had grasped at gratification not realizing that there was more, far more to a union between two people than the coupling of bodies.

  They drew apart at last and Rosie put her head on Caradoc’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the dying sun on her face, hearing the lap of the sea with heightened sensibilities. She was in love.

  ‘Well, that’s my duty done,’ Bridie said as she turned away from the docks. ‘Carmella is safely aboard, on her way home to Ireland. Whether she will find Paul again, who can say?’ She sighed in satisfaction. ‘Why do I feel so relieved, is that mean of me, Collins?’

  He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘You are too hard on yourself. The girl is lucky, not many women would have been so kind in the circumstances.’

  Bridie smiled up at him. ‘I can be kind because I’m happy. You have made me happy, Collins.’

  ‘Then I can’t ask for more,’ he said quietly. Bridie looked at him wondering if he was teasing but his face was deadly serious.

  She slipped her arm through his and he glanced down at her. We’re in Swansea, mind, not Clydach, aren’t you afraid of the gossips?’

  She shook her head. What can they do to me now?’ Paul’s disappearance had been the source of tremendous speculation; most people concluded, probably correctly, that he had run off with another woman.

  So she walked arm and arm through the streets with Collins, her head high, her shoulders proud. That she could walk at all was due to the dedication of the man who had been her servant, the man she loved.

  Her spirits sank a little as she drew nearer to Sea Mistress. The house sat on a hill, elegant and classical in line, the Grecian Doric pillars giving the entrance a grand appearance. Once, she had been happy there but that was a long time ago. Now all she wanted was for the place to be sold. With Carmella returned to her own country, the matter would be dealt with right away.

  At the doorway, Collins paused and turned her to face him. ‘Let me take you to Clydach, not to your cousin’s but to our own house,’ he said persuasively, his hand rubbing her shoulder.

  ‘But there’s no furniture,’ she protested, ‘the drapes are in place and so are the carpets but there is no bed.’ She lowered her eyes as she felt the colour rise to her face. Collins laughed in amusement.

  ‘In any case,’ she said hurriedly, ‘though the kitchen is equipped there’s no staff to cook for us.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I will cook for us,’ Collins said. ‘Come on, Bridie, let
’s go home.’

  She turned away from the ornate front entrance of the house and began to retrace her steps along the driveway. We’ll take a cab,’ she said eagerly, ‘we’ll be there within the hour.’

  In the busy streets of Swansea, it was easy to pick up a cab. The driver, seeing Collins’s raised hand drew the horses to a halt and though his eyebrows raised slightly when he heard the name of their destination, he nodded affably enough. The good fare would more than compensate for his time.

  Bridie leaned back in the leather seat, comfortable and safe in the curve of Collins’ arm. ‘You know I’m a very demanding woman, don’t you?’ she said softly. ‘It won’t only be the cooking I’ll want from you.’

  Collins caught her chin in his hand and turned her lips towards him. ‘I am yours to command, my lady,’ he said and then he kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Arian sat in her apartments high above the noise of the busy street carefully studying the latest edition of The Swansea Times. Normally, she would have felt the glow of pride that always came with a sense of having done a good job but now she felt only an emptiness, without Calvin, her achievements seemed meaningless.

  What had happened to their vow to make the most of their lives? When Calvin had saved Arian’s life almost at the expense of his own they had believed they were destined to be together. Now they had parted in anger, she unwilling to give up her work, he convinced that if they married she should be happy to live her life as Lady Calvin Temple. She was independent, had made her own decisions albeit sometimes unwisely. She had made a success, at last, of her life; she had built a newspaper she could be proud of, how could he expect her to give it up so lightly?

  It was some days now since she had seen him, days in which she had felt lost and alone. She missed Calvin badly and yet she knew she could not go back on her decision. She needed the newspaper, needed her success perhaps more than she had ever needed Calvin. But the pain of losing him went deep.