by Darry Fraser
Angus didn’t like where Mr Finn was taking the conversation. ‘Thank you, Mr Finn. We can assure you—’
‘Yes, Mr Finn. Mr Forrestor is taking care of that for the carriers. But please tell me who it is you have in mind to head us up. I am very interested in your opinion.’ She turned her head to stare a moment at Angus.
‘Well, Mrs Foley. I’ve mentioned him—it’s that Mr MacHenry.’
Angus knew then that he would have a battle on his hands. He sighed to himself.
‘I see. Thank you for bringing him to Mr Forrestor’s attention. I’m sure he will give it due consideration.’
Angus suspected Mr Finn had finally realised that Mrs Foley was not exactly as happy with the advice as he’d hoped.
‘So,’ the river man said and stood. ‘Thank you, Mrs Foley for the refreshment. I’ll make my way back to my lodgings, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not. Good day, Mr Finn.’
Angus saw him out.
He went back into the room and found her standing by the window. He would have to take the bull by the horns.
‘Georgina, I have some news.’
She turned to him and he was suddenly struck by the maturity in her face. He hadn’t noticed it before; she’d never appeared to him to be calm or serene, but there it was. He was also struck by her loveliness. Her glossy blue-black hair framed her face; her chestnut-coloured eyes, her proud and straight nose, the smattering of freckles that was not the blemish her gender believed it to be. She was slim of build, a little tall for a woman, but not overly much. She would have to get herself out of those dull clothes soon, mourning or not. A young life should not be wasted on grieving.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘An offer for the Carriers.’
Her face set. ‘An offer.’
‘Now, hear me out. There’s a lot of talk on the river about what’s happening to the company, as Mr Finn has told us. The men are nervous for their jobs, and rumours are thick about the place.’ He spread his hands in exasperation. ‘It’s natural someone would speculate—’
‘And just who made this offer, Angus?’
He should have stopped, fabricated the name of some individual, but he didn’t. He dropped his arms. ‘Dane MacHenry. It’s a reasonable offer, all things considered. We’ll take a loss, but better to shift—’
‘I don’t care.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I haven’t had time to think at all. Nothing is for sale yet, not a thing. And you can tell the men we will find them an overseer if that will keep them happy, but I’m not ready to sell.’
‘Georgina.’ Angus heard the cajoling tone in his voice.
‘I see very clearly I won’t be running the company, so I must hire people who can. At this point, Angus, there is absolutely no question of my selling Foley’s River Carriers, and so help me, I am getting sick and tired of being manipulated. If you would like to wash your hands of it all, please, don’t feel obliged to stay on.’
Angus fell back in a chair. ‘I won’t let you down, but I want you to see reason. Sell now. His offer is solid. We might not be able to sell anything in six months’ time.’
‘You don’t know that.’
This slip of a girl, silly, stubborn and wilful, was pretending she knew about business. How had he seen maturity a moment ago? ‘What on earth, what possible rational reason have you got not to sell to MacHenry—or anyone, for that matter? I strongly advise you to accept. It might be more than prudent in the light of the economy and the turn of business now the railway goes to Swan Hill. River trade will slow, if not stop.’ Would any man in his right mind in these times refuse an offer to sell?
Still, he wasn’t dealing with a man.
‘It’s not for sale yet. I have not thought all this through.’
‘Oh, come now. I know you’re not going to hang on to the Carriers for sentimental reasons. This is business, this is what you wanted to learn. This is how things work.’
‘I want to learn the business.’
‘This particular part of the business will not stay afloat, so to speak, until you’re able to take the wheel.’
She waved her hand. ‘But there’s you and Mr Wardle.’
‘Mr Wardle has strongly indicated he wants to retire soon.’ Angus tapped the arm of his chair. ‘MacHenry has made a better offer than you’re ever likely to see again.’
‘And why has he done so?’
Angus, exasperated, huffed. ‘Clearly because he wants to. What possible reason, tell me—’
‘You know as well as I do, I can’t explain it. He wants to take everything that was Foley’s … everything that is mine. Do you understand?’
For a moment, Angus couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. Then, ‘You mean as revenge, Georgina? What utter bosh. He’s a businessman.’ Angus slapped the table with the palm of his hand. ‘Are you prepared to tell him you’re not interested?’ He watched surprise register on her features. ‘You want to head up the company—you tell him. No? Well then, are you prepared to have the men strike because they don’t want a woman to answer to?’
‘What do you mean? On whose authority do they strike?’ He’d stunned her.
‘They make their own decisions. And as Ranald Finn is speaking for them, I’d suggest you listen closely. You lose the support of your workers and you’ll ruin the business. Wake up, Georgina.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Do you really think Ranald Finn doesn’t know of MacHenry’s offer? Dane MacHenry has probably personally approached every man on your boats. I am not the one manipulating you—I’m trying to keep your head above water.’ Angus huffed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper.
‘It never occurred to me that being a woman would have some bearing on whether or not employees kept working. What a ridiculous reason to strike.’ She stood up. ‘I am paying them. I’m not about to do any harm to these men—they still have their jobs. Am I supposed to be weaker in decision making or some such thing?’
‘It’s exactly that. It’s unheard of for a start—’
‘Do they object to being paid by a woman? I know I am the boss in name only,’ she mimicked Conor’s accent, ‘and that you and Mr Wardle keep the business profitable, but it is still my business.’
‘You won’t have a business if you have no employees to work it for you,’ Angus all but shouted. ‘And no one likely to want to take their places.’
‘The country is in a depression, Angus. Mr Finn just said there were always people on the river looking for work.’
Angus had had enough. ‘Georgina. I can tell you, Conor never spoke to me about administering for you. Has it occurred to you that I might not want to run it, either?’
She looked up at him, startled. Her shoulders sagged. ‘No. It hadn’t occurred to me.’ She studied her hands, folded in her lap, for some time. Then said, ‘I’m sorry, Angus. It’s obviously a burden to you. I promise to revisit selling.’
He sighed in relief.
‘But not to Dane MacHenry.’
Angus threw his hands in the air and left her in the office. He would speak to Mr Finn tomorrow. He would even contact Dane MacHenry. He would sweeten the deal and make it irresistible for both parties.
He certainly didn’t need the added burden of his sister-in-law’s childish notions.
Twenty-Seven
Georgie heard Manning and her new chaperone and companion, Mrs Dawson, at the front door conversing with a third individual.
Odd. A visitor at such an hour. She’d only just had her evening meal.
The voices came closer to the parlour. She sat in the lamplight, her stockinged feet on a stool in front of the fire, a newspaper dangling from her hand. As the voices approached, she clutched her dressing gown over the loose linen shift she wore before bed.
Manning burst into the room with a noisy Deborah, a tall, imposing man following. Mrs Dawson brought up the rear. Georgie’s heart leapt to her throat as she stared into the blue eyes of Dane MacHenry.
> ‘Dismiss these good people,’ he ordered quietly.
Both Deborah and Manning looked at her. She rose, and rested a hand on the back of a chair. Deborah rushed to her side.
‘Miss, he just kept coming. We—’
‘Mrs Foley, I will go for the police.’ Manning stood in the doorway.
‘For God’s sake, Manning, you know who I am,’ Dane growled. ‘I’m not some bloody bushranger.’
Mrs Dawson gasped at the profanity.
Georgina waved them all away. ‘It’s all right, it’s quite all right.’
‘I will be in the kitchen, madam, if you need me.’ Manning followed Deborah out after one last glance at Dane MacHenry.
Mrs Dawson wrung her hands, hovering.
‘I shall be perfectly safe, Mrs Dawson.’ Georgie waited for the woman to retreat before she turned to Dane. ‘It has barely been six weeks since I became a widow. Your visit is not seemly at all.’
He scoffed, shot her a look, then wrapped the length of his scarf around his hand, slipped it off and left it in a tidy bundle on a side table. He removed his cravat and placed it on top of the scarf, shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat, and hung them on the back of a chair. He loosened his shirt and sat down in a chair opposite her, stretching out his legs. ‘I’ve come to buy the business, Georgie. And I’m not leaving until you at least discuss that and other things with me.’
Georgie looked at him. ‘It is hardly an appropriate time of the day for business discussions.’
‘And pour me a drink, would you?’
She scowled. ‘You are not welcome—’
‘Nevertheless.’ His gaze hadn’t left her. ‘If you please, a drink. Then let’s clear the air.’
For a moment she considered standing by the door and demanding he leave. But what would a shrewd businessperson with a potential rival on her doorstep do?
A shrewd businessperson would hear him out.
She poured him a drink of what first came to hand: rum. She left it on his side table, careful not to touch him, then sat opposite, her hands clamped over the arms of the chair.
He sipped appreciatively, and glanced at her once or twice. Georgie didn’t miss the rake over her attire, but it was nothing out of the ordinary for ladies to wear this type of gown in their own home for day or night wear. He was only trying to unsettle her.
The impatient tap-tap of her foot was the only sound in the room.
Dane smiled at her, creasing his darkly shadowed but cleanshaven face in a way that caught her off guard. His eyes lit up and her heart did a stupid pitter-patter and wouldn’t stop.
She found her voice. ‘Unless you have a ridiculously high offer, which I can’t imagine you do, it is not for sale.’ Heat threaded across her chest. Strangely, perspiration dampened her throat and a chill followed the heat.
‘That’s not what I want to hear.’ The smile lost some of its brilliance as he shifted in his seat.
‘You come brawling into my house like some thug—’
‘Hardly. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you alone, Georgie.’
‘Your visit is not proper.’
‘Nothing between us was proper, even from the beginning.’ A frown gathered on his brow. ‘I would like things to be proper, but you’re clearly not comfortable.’
‘For good reason. I am a woman alone in this house, in mourning, and you are—are … ’
He waited as her voice trailed off. ‘I’m surprised you can’t find a suitable descriptive profanity.’ He scratched his ear. ‘And you are hardly alone, with three others here.’
Her fingers tingled and she fidgeted, shifting in her seat. He poured another drink and handed it to her. She shook her head.
‘Come now, one drink. It’s not my way to loosen a lady with alcohol. You are quite safe in that respect.’ He placed the glass in her hand. It was only half filled with rum, certainly not as much as she had poured for him. She brought it to her nose and breathed in. He chuckled. ‘That’s possibly the safest way to approach it.’ He watched as she sipped and grimaced. ‘Acquired taste,’ he said.
She set the glass aside. ‘Ranald Finn has been here, and Angus is constantly at me to sell. My affairs are being manipulated.’
‘Your affairs have been manipulated since—’
‘Angus has been over and over this with me. Neither you, nor Angus Forrestor, nor Ranald Finn will push me. I am not stupid. If I don’t wish to sell the Carriers yet, then I will not.’
‘Correct. You’re not stupid.’ He crossed his legs at the ankles. His booted feet nearly touched hers.
‘I have no need to sell.’
‘I beg to differ. If you do not sell now, the Carriers will fold.’ His voice was low and clear.
She slapped her palms on the arms of her chair. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I read the market to know the business.’ He leaned forward. ‘You’ll have to sell the Carriers, and soon, if you’re going to see anything for them. The men believe you want to stay as head of the company and they are fearful for their jobs.’ He sat back and took a swallow of rum. ‘You have a very good offer from me and you should not refuse it.’ He downed the last of his rum, then reached over to add a couple of logs to the fire.
His familiarity was not lost on her. She stared at him, the tingles burning along her hands and over her arms. ‘You won’t bully me. I am a woman of means—’
‘A woman of means. Of course you are, thanks to your husband’s early demise, without which you wouldn’t even have your freedom.’
‘Oh, I’m aware of that. I was to be shipped from Jacaranda by your parents but then you—’ She stopped, mindful it was a subject he hadn’t yet mentioned.
‘Ah yes. Jacaranda.’ He watched her silently for a moment. ‘We will also talk of that. But one thing at a time.’
Her mouth worked with unspoken words. Then, clamping her lips together, she poured her rum into the teapot and shoved the empty glass across the table. It slid and clattered onto the floor, landing at his feet.
He reached out, righted it, and partly refilled it. He was very calm, and very close. ‘You will continue to be very comfortable financially if you sell now. If you don’t, you will lose the Carriers. The river freight trade is dying.’
A fevered chill feathered down her spine. ‘Then why do you want the Carriers?’
‘As a means of transport still, clearly. But for my own business’s use at this point, not as a commercial enterprise. If my plans come to fruition … ’
‘There would be other boats to buy.’
‘There are, but none in as good condition for freight and for travelling comfort.’ He set his glass down, and considered her as he rested his elbows on his knees. ‘You know Angus does not wish to continue to administer the business. Mr Wardle is about to retire, and it seems Mr Finn and the working men are restless, not wishing to work for a woman.’
‘Why do they think anything of it if they’re all still being well paid?’ she snapped.
‘Well paid for how long? Can you go to the market and bid for the contracts? Can you stand on the docks and bargain with the old river men and the pastoralists and the merchants from the city? Can you negotiate and bargain and verbally grapple with old men smoking cigars, trading wool and cattle and sheep?’ He held his chin in his hand, eyes on her face.
‘I will learn. There’s many a woman can do those things.’
‘Name anyone who’ll teach you, name anyone who’ll stand by you in this. You think you’ll be able to learn simply by turning up at the docks?’ He shook his head. ‘You’d be lucky to leave there safely. Or at the sale yards? These are dangerous times, and men who’ve families to look after won’t be too happy with a woman taking their job.’ He took a long swallow of rum. ‘Will you be able to read the turn in the trade once the impact of this depression fully hits? It’s coming, if it’s not already here.’
‘Will anyone be able to read it?’ she shot back.
He ignored that. ‘I have
made an offer. Sell while you still have something to sell. If you lose the business, you will have nothing to sell.’
‘You have already said.’
‘It would allow you to have more financial investments, or property, if you like.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Horses. Perhaps a stud farm. God knows, Melbourne loves its horse racing. Realise some cash before the crash hits.’
‘It’s too soon to sell.’ Her voice drifted as she thought. ‘Horses.’ She sat up quickly. ‘Where is MacNamara?’
‘He is stabled at the Cawleys’s. Why?’
‘I miss him. I’ve missed him for nearly a year. How is he?’
Dane smiled. ‘He is the same big old soft-heart he always was. He is in fine condition. Perhaps you would like to see him?’
Georgie met his gaze, her heart tripping merrily. ‘I would.’
‘Then we will arrange to see him together.’ He gave her a small salute with his glass.
She remained silent.
‘The time is always right if you have a buyer, and especially now.’ He moved to the edge of his seat. ‘Think on it swiftly. You’re right, you are not stupid. And you need to be shrewd to protect yourself, not to mention the men whose lives you hold in the balance.’
‘That presumes I will fail—’
‘If you are not shrewd.’
She wavered; she knew he knew it. The sense of it was clear. She knew it despite all her protests. Conor had left her the Carriers but she had no skills to keep it going. Why on earth did he do that if he knew she couldn’t?
Read the market to know the business.
Dane was right. She had no expertise whatsoever. None. Her will alone would not carry it. She had decided so long ago she would pick her battles to win, but for this battle, she was not well enough equipped to succeed.