by Erica Brown
‘I have to go to Bristol,’ she said sharply.
‘Yes, miss,’ he said with a slight bow, his eyes following her as she swept along the passage towards the marble-floored reception hall, the grand staircase and her own room.
* * *
After she’d gone, Duncan sniffed the air. Horatia had left a drift of her own, personal perfume. He had grown to know that perfume well over the years. In the privacy of his narrow bed he had fantasized that she was with him, her body tight to his and her scent upon his pillow. During the day he did as Sir Emmanuel had asked and kept an eye on her at Marstone Court, sometimes going into the city.
Following her and seeing what she did often made him jealous, and he wanted to strangle her. Her dalliances with Captain Strong were very hurtful, and he’d dearly like to tell her so, but deep down she must know. He told himself that she only consorted with Captain Strong to throw her father off the scent and that she loved him, her footman.
He’d always looked at her lovingly and had convinced himself that she looked at him in the same way. Of course she couldn’t possibly admit that she was in love with him because she was afraid of being rejected. It was up to him to make his feelings clear. He must prove to her that he loved her beyond any other woman, beyond life itself.
Shoulders back, arms held stiffly at his side, he entered the Egyptian room.
Pausing, he considered what he had heard her say. Why do you still live? When she had come out of the room, he had seen the look in her eyes. Over many years he had prided himself on interpreting exactly what Horatia wanted from those looks of hers. Others could not possibly see what he saw there. Despite their differences in race, colour and class, he knew she depended on him, perhaps even loved him. He certainly loved her and would do anything – anything at all – for her. He always had and he always would.
* * *
Conrad met Tom at the shipyard where he proceeded to tell him about the problems he was having with the sugar supply.
‘There is plenty of sugar, but transferring it from ship to barge is expensive.’
‘You need new premises.’
Conrad nodded. ‘Which will cost much more money.’
Tom eyed the iron-clad side of his new steamship. ‘Which is why you are here.’
He had always respected Conrad Heinkel and regarded him as a friend. They hadn’t been in contact since his return from Boston. Deep down both men knew the reason but they kept their discourse on a business level.
Conrad looked very serious. ‘I am looking for funding. There are various interested parties, but I am choosy as to those I do business with. You are one of those I trust.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I have little money of my own, Conrad.’
‘You have these ships,’ said Conrad, nodding at the first of the Strong steamship fleet.
Tom found himself swelling with pride to see the admiration in Conrad’s eyes, but he understood where the conversation was going. ‘And in time I might like to use them as collateral for diversifying into related ventures. Yes. I can see the sense in that, but you have to bear in mind that I would have to refer to other members of the board, which is only now being set up.’
Conrad nodded and rested his big, red hands on his walking stick. ‘I understand. I can hold out until then. I take it that Sir Emmanuel will have the last say on the matter.’
‘As always.’
They both turned their heads at the sound of a carriage arriving. Horatia waved out of the window.
‘One of the strongest of the Strongs,’ said Conrad with an ironic humour that amused Tom.
Chips of stone sparked from the loose covering of the ground between the shipyard office and the yard as the coach came to a standstill.
The usual acknowledgements and introductions were made before Horatia said to Tom, ‘May I talk to you in private?’
Tom apologized to Conrad. ‘If you will excuse me…?’
‘Of course. I will walk around your ship, if I may.’
Conrad left them.
Horatia pulled Tom into the carriage and told him about the will. ‘Can you believe it?’ she said, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘He’d been in his cups, of course – hardly the first time, but this was different. He told me I’m to inherit the bulk of the Strong interests and that I’m the best business brain in the family. There are a few stipulations attached to my inheriting, but I’m sure they can be overcome.’
He wondered why she sighed so heavily and fluttered her eyelids like an untouched girl. He should have known then that something was afoot. He should have known that she was manipulating events to suit her own ends. When Horatia set her heart on something and thought there was a chance of obtaining it, nothing – absolutely nothing – could stand in her way.
He dragged his concentration back to what she was saying.
‘And please, say nothing of this to my brothers. ‘I’m on my way to see Septimus Monk and will instruct him to look into the matter. He has spies everywhere, even in the office of the family solicitors. I have to have it confirmed. I have to know if my father’s mind was so addled by drink that he was telling me a fantasy rather than the reality of the situation. His moods change so often nowadays. Indeed, I sometimes think he’s going quite mad.’
She sighed heavily. ‘Once I know for sure, I shall immediately capitalize on my investments, perhaps transfer money from my trust fund for buying ships. There’s no point in selling what I’ve got if I’m in line for inheriting a lot more. Once Monk informs me that everything is in order, we can make plans to go to Barbados.’
Tom frowned. ‘I still don’t see that Barbados is a better place to go than Boston. And what will your Uncle Otis say?’
‘Ah,’ she said her expression changing. ‘I think that is partly the reason why Father was so forthcoming in all this.’
‘Well?’
‘Uncle Otis is dead. Father received a letter this morning.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He took a deep breath as he considered the situation, then said, ‘So it’s Boston, I think.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head and frowning. ‘Why do you say that?’
As he took hold of her hands, he remembered the feel of her breasts the day before and felt aroused. He forced himself to look away, to watch as the tugs prepared to push and pull the newly built ship off to a wharf where she’d be loaded with the goods she was destined to carry around the world.
‘If your father should die, you have to be here to run everything, but I can’t stay. As you said, I will be safer abroad.’
‘No, no, no,’ she said, and he could almost believe that it was genuine concern he could see in her eyes. ‘You have to be with me. I have to be with you. That’s one of the stipulations of the will, you see.’
It was an odd feeling, to know what was to come, to see the type and size of noose he was putting his head into. But there was no getting away from it. He had a clear premonition of what she might say next. When she did so, it came as no surprise.
She looked away, almost as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other – yet he knew it did. It mattered very deeply.
‘We have to marry. Father insists.’
Tom tried to remember how tightly his valet had tied his cravat that morning, and whether it had felt as restrictive as it did now. He picked his words carefully, but they still sounded clumsy and ill chosen. ‘A man can bequeath money and property in his will. He cannot bequeath a man’s life. It is not his to do so.’
‘He seemed to think there were very good reasons for us marrying.’
‘What about reasons why we shouldn’t marry?’
‘Can you think of any?’
Tom thought about it. He’d known Emmanuel for most of his life and knew the way he considered things. Horatia, like everything else in his life, was a commodity. Sir Emmanuel would only think of the financial aspects of such a union.
‘I should imagine that your father has many reasons for thinking that
a marriage between us would work very well, but there are also reasons why it might not.’
Her chin stiffened. ‘Because you still love Blanche?’
Until then, he’d admired the determined thrust of her chin. It reminded him of prizefighters determined to take a hit rather than appear to lack courage. The accusation did take him unawares.
‘Blanche is not an option,’ he said, shaking his head and wishing circumstances had been different. ‘Though I admire her greatly,’ he added. ‘Although married to a wealthy man, she goes out of her way to make life easier for others.’
Horatia exploded. ‘She’s a marshmallow! An insipid creature who hardly seems to know that she’s alive.’
Tom blinked. Horatia’s vehemence surprised him. Her whole body seemed to heave with annoyance. Tom gathered his thoughts, determined not to placate her.
Finally he went out of his way to irritate her. ‘She makes me feel warm. Perhaps if you were as generous of spirit I wouldn’t balk so much at the thought of marrying you.’
Horatia’s face dropped. He knew he’d disappointed her, but to his surprise, she swiftly gathered herself.
‘You were really impressed that day you came across us in the city?’
He nodded. ‘Lewins Mead is not a tea party. It was no surprise to see Edith there. I could also understand Blanche’s presence. She’s been married to Conrad for a very long time and has acquired his charity. But you? I must admit to some surprise.’
Horatia smiled. ‘So there you are then. I’m not as heartless as you think. I felt genuinely sorry for those people and I truly believe the city should be cleansed of its bad airs and dirty waters.’
‘I take my hat off to you,’ he said, and did so.
He was being amusing, lightening their conversation so that neither of them had to back down.
Horatia held back her smile. ‘Sometimes I think you might one day make a gentleman.’
‘Sometimes I forget that you’re a lady, but then I do know the real you.’
She eyed him quizzically. ‘The real me?’
‘The one I first met when I was about nine years old.’
‘I wasn’t a lady. I was a girl.’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You were a bitch, a spoilt, selfish little bitch.’
At first she sucked in her breath and looked aghast.
Tom remained unfazed, his expression unchanged.
Slowly, she began to shake with mirth. ‘You’re right. I was. Remember when you sang that dirty little ditty you’d heard on the quayside?’
Tom nodded. ‘Most certainly. About a lady that frequented such places, if I remember rightly.’
‘About a whore! It was about a whore!’
It amused Tom that she spoke with such enthusiasm. There was warmth in the way she said it, a certain pride as though the knowledge he’d brought into the house from his dire beginnings had lightened her world, when in fact, it should have darkened it. His beginnings had been dismal, yet his humour, his natural love and affection had attracted her.
‘You should not even know such a word.’
‘But I do, thanks to you.’
His expression softened. ‘And thanks to you I’m out of prison. For the moment, at least.’
‘So there,’ she said, cocking her head to one side and eyeing him with as much sauce as a dockside tart, ‘it’s only sensible that you marry me. Neither of us is perfect, and the rough edges of each of us can soften those of the other.’
Her eyes were very blue. Sometimes they were grey, at least it seemed that way, but when she was in a warm mood and communicating cheerily with those around her, they always looked blue. God help anyone close by when they turned grey.
‘Am I pretty enough?’ he heard her ask.
He nodded slowly, but said nothing. He was too busy imagining her hair loose from its pins spread over the pillow. He could get lost in that hair. He imagined the quickening of her breathing, the warmth of her belly, the cool hardness of her breasts. She was hard to resist.
‘I suppose so,’ he said off-handedly, ashamed of the way he was feeling and not wanting to believe it.
‘A fine ship,’ said Conrad, who had returned.
Horatia took the opportunity to convey the bad news to him. ‘My father’s brother, Otis Strong of Bridgetown, Barbados, is dead.’
‘God rest his soul,’ said Conrad. ‘Please convey my condolences to your father.’
‘He drowned,’ she added swiftly, as though she had more important matters to deal with and wanted to get it over with.
Tom sensed there was something more that she wasn’t saying.
Conrad was suitably sympathetic. ‘That’s dreadful.’
Horatia dabbed dutifully at her nose.
‘I will tell my wife of this sad occurrence,’ said Conrad. ‘She was fond of him during her time growing up in Barbados.’
Horatia’s eyes flashed. ‘She would be, under the circumstances.’
Tom threw her a warning look. It was neither the time nor the place to mention that Blanche’s mother had been Otis’s mistress. She sniffed, turned her face skywards as if to study the flock of marauding seagulls wheeling overhead.
‘Please pass my regards to your wife,’ Tom said to Conrad.
‘I will indeed, if I see her.’ Conrad chuckled and shook his head. ‘A while ago when we lost our child I was worried about her sitting around and sinking deeper and deeper into despair. I could barely get her out of the house, and when she did go out, it was only to cross the river and sit in the window of that cottage she named Little Paradise. Now she is involved in improving people’s living conditions and has started by letting one of our servants and her family move into the cottage.’
Tom swallowed the lump rising from his chest to his throat. Conrad was talking about the woman he loved most in the world. Loving was the most painful emotion he’d ever felt. He’d loved his mother, he’d loved Jeb, he’d loved Sally – in his own way – and he’d loved Blanche most of all.
Slapping Conrad in the brotherly manner men have, he said, ‘You are a lucky man, Conrad, and your wife is a wonderful woman.’ He looked tellingly at Horatia. ‘Rich women are not usually so generous.’
Horatia’s expression turned smug as though she knew something he didn’t. ‘I know all about the servant moving into the cottage. It’s Edith! She used to work for us at Marstone Court. She used to help Blanche when she was nurse to my half-brothers and sister. She also used to have a nice sideline in reclaimed King Charles Spaniels. Edith needed help. The place she lived in was appalling and although Little Paradise is better, it has no furniture. I promised I would donate some. There’s plenty in the attic at Marstone Court.’
‘That is very good of you, Miss Strong,’ said Conrad, tipping from the waist. ‘I hope your goodness inspires the same in others. It sounds as though you are going to end up like my wife – not just giving gifts, but also giving of your time. Most commendable, my dear. We can only love you for it.’
Sensing Horatia was trying to impress, Tom made a point of saying, ‘Knowing Blanche, I can easily imagine her helping Edith place the furniture and sew the curtains. Your wife has a generous heart. Any man would be proud of her.’
‘I’m taking some furniture there tomorrow,’ blurted Horatia.
Tom raised his eyebrows but maintained a serious expression.
‘Very generous,’ said Conrad. ‘You too will make someone a very good wife one day, Miss Strong, eh, Tom?’
‘Yes,’ said Tom, and had the impression that Horatia would eat him then and there if he gave her the opportunity. ‘I’m sure she will.’
She asked Tom if he would be accompanying her back to Marstone Court. He said he would not. ‘I have further business to discuss with Mr Heinkel,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps you can call in here on your way back from the solicitors?’
She was happy when she left, her day mapped out before her. First, instruct Septimus Monk to check her father’s will, then a coach r
ide home with Tom. She could easily excuse him for being busy.
Tom felt he had to make amends. Meeting Blanche in Little Paradise had been precious to him. At night he dreamed of her, smelled the apple blossom, heard the wind whispering through the trees just outside the window. Being alone with Conrad for a while and listening to his problems regarding transport costs seemed small recompense for being tempted to seduce his wife. He felt he owed it.
Conrad puffed on his pipe between bouts of explanation. ‘The cost of sugar refining at the Counterslip has become prohibitive,’ he said, the bowl of his pipe resting on his chest as he and Tom shared a drink at a local inn. ‘I am thinking of building a new factory closer to the Floating Harbour. That way I won’t need to use barges to transport raw sugar from ship to factory. I would also like to diversify, which is why I wanted to talk to you. When your shipping company finally goes public, I would like to buy shares.’
Tom took a sip of port. It was thick and red as blood and tasted creamy. ‘You don’t need to ask my permission to do that.’
Conrad smiled self-consciously and Tom fancied he saw a sudden flush on his features that had nothing to do with drink.
‘I must confess that I was worried when I heard you had returned to Bristol. I thought you would come looking for Blanche. Please forgive me for not contacting you sooner. You were my friend in the past. I should not have been so foolish as to think either you or my wife would betray me in such a way.’
Tom was lost for words. He’d seen Blanche before he’d seen Conrad and felt guilty about it. He turned the conversation back to business.
‘What will happen to your old factory if you move out?’
‘There are a number of possibilities. Someone of a different trade may wish to buy it, or I could convert it into rooms for rent, just as Mr Cuthbert did the old sugar house in Lewins Mead, the one Miss Strong is about to buy.’
Tom remembered the deed he’d read. He was sure the address was the same, but he needed to make sure. ‘Which building is this?’