Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  She reached out and took his hand in hers. “We have faced many things together.”

  “And we can face this,” he agreed. “But I’m not worried about us. I’m thinking of the children.”

  “Donald and Anne are hardly children.”

  “They are young, with most of their lives ahead of them. I do not wish their names to be tainted with scandal.”

  “So?”

  He sighed. “I shall have to deal with James. I have not yet decided how.”

  Becky said, “If you could make him wait a little, with his bad heart he is apt to die at any time.”

  “He has those cursed pellets to help him,” Bart said.

  “He had an attack at my place. I was shocked!” she said.

  “We can hardly depend on his heart ridding us of him,” Bart said. “It may be that I may have to scrounge up a number of pounds more on the firm’s credit and pay him off.”

  “The firm doesn’t have the money.”

  “No,” he said grimly. “And the banks are into us deeply. We have little interest left.” They crossed the bridge and drove to a more familiar area, the East End dock section where she had grown up and where the shipyard was located. It was also changing, and not for the better. More houses were crowded into the narrow, crooked streets, and everywhere there was filth on the cobblestones. She could not believe that it had been this bad in her day.

  They passed a bakery shop whose exterior looked familiar, and Bart pointed to it and said, “Used to be Crowns’ Tavern.”

  “Of course !” she exclaimed, leaning to have a final look out the window as they passed it by. “I should have known it at once!”

  “I’m taking you to the docks,” he said. “I want you to see a small wooden schooner we’ve just finished. She’s still on the stays, as graceful and beautiful a craft as you’re ever likely to cast eyes upon.”

  “A wooden boat? Aren’t they usually built by the smaller yards?”

  Bart looked down at his hands. “They are. But we had no work for our men. Better take a small job than have none at all.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “I know your thinking,” he said. “You side with Donald. You’d like us to go into steel ships.”

  “Then I need say no more,” she said. “I don’t wish to plague you. You have enough other worries.”

  He was looking straight ahead now. “Do you know who is to have the largest steel mill in the London area?”

  She felt her throat tighten. How much did he know? She said, “I wonder who it might be.”

  “A man called Davy Brown,” Bart said grimly. “I had him shanghaied years ago. He was just a sailor on the street to me. His head brought me a bounty. He went to Australia and made a fortune. And he is the man who thrashed me and sent me to the hospital.”

  “It’s a strange story,” she said.

  “A bitter one for me,” Bart said. “I wouldn’t have recognized him. But he told me who he was and what I had done to him. Then he beat me unmercifully.”

  “That was hardly justified after all those years.”

  “I think perhaps it was,” the man at her side said. “That is why I didn’t name him. He had his revenge, and I paid the price for my evil.”

  Becky felt a little easier after hearing his reaction. She said, “Then it is at an end. You need think no more about it.”

  Bart said, “I don’t think Brown is quite finished with me. He has bragged to his banker, who in turn gossiped with mine, that he intends to take over Gregg & Kerr and build steel ships.”

  “These idle rumors often have no basis in fact,” she tried to placate him.

  Bart said, “I think this one may have. I’m sure Brown wants to ruin me and will never be content until he takes over my business.”

  She dared not tell him that it was she and his son who had approached Davy Brown with the idea, that he was proceeding with it on the assumption that he would have their support. She asked, “It might be the only way you can keep the yard operating?”

  “Then I’ll let it close,” he said grimly.

  “All the men out of work, and our investment in it lost!”

  Bart said, “You must have enough put aside without being dependent on the yard’s income. I have.”

  “We shall be much poorer if it goes.”

  “I can endure that, but I cannot change my beliefs,” the ailing Bart said in his old, weary voice.

  They reached the docks overlooking the yard, and he insisted on getting out and her joining him. His legs were so stiff both she and the coachmen had to help him. But after he moved about for a little, he was easier able to walk with his cane.

  Using his cane as a pointer, he indicated the small, trim craft on stays at the end of the yard. It was, as he’d said, a fine example of wooden construction.

  Staring at it with pride, he said, “When ships like that ruled the sea, a passing craft was a graceful sight. Now its naught but metal plates and wads of black smoke rolling up into the air!”

  “It is a lovely vessel,” she said. “What is she to be called?”

  He turned to her with a smile. “I had only one name for such a lovely vessel. That’s why I wanted you to see her. She’s to be the Rebecca!”

  She looked up at him with shining eyes. “That is a truly lovely compliment!”

  “There are few ways left I can express my love for you,”, he said. “This is one of them. She’ll keep your name alive over the seas as long as she sails.”

  He took her back home again, and she could tell that he was exhausted. It had been a strange afternoon, with her learning some new facts. Oddest of all was that he had found out that Davy Brown was anxious to take over the yard. He still did not know that she and Davy had once been lovers and were still staunch friends.

  Nor did he guess that attractive girl whom Donald was seeing was Brown’s daughter. If he did find out, there would be a row between the father and son. The feud between Bart and Davy continued.

  That evening it was Davy Brown who came to see her. He had heard of her return from Donald. And since Donald and Julia had gone out for dinner and the Theatre, he was on his own.

  He told her. “Those two are at the theatre tonight.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “That young man is winning her gradually,” he said with a stern look on his bronzed face. “I may have to send her back to Australia.”

  “She might refuse to go.”

  “She’d better not,” he said hotly.

  “People in love are difficult to reason with.”

  “Puppy love!” he scoffed. “I didn’t think anything would come of it, or I’d have discouraged him at once.”

  She said, “They seem to get along so well together. And I can’t say anything against Bart’s son. He and my daughter have been very close.”

  “Then let him marry your daughter!”

  “I think Anne is in love with a Frenchman.”

  Davy Brown looked frustrated. “Well, I can’t abide the thought of being linked with a Woods!”

  “That’s nonsense. You might go far and not find as suitable a prospective husband for Julia as Donald.”

  “I have the proposition ready for consideration by your people,” he said. “Now its up to you and Donald.”

  “I know.”

  He eyed her with a gleam in his sharp eyes. “We’ll see what happens then.”

  “You mean what Bart does then?”

  “He’s opposed to it. I know that much.”

  “And it would give you satisfaction to break him?” she said. “Tell the truth.”

  “It’ll be your decision and his son’s,” Davy said.

  After he left she thought about it all. How cleverly he had worked it out. Bart was bound to lose, and not only was he doomed to be defeated but he would also be defeated by his son and the woman he loved. How could she go along with it? Yet, if she didn’t, they would all be impoverished for the sake of his stubborn refusal to face p
rogress. It was a dilemma.

  She was up early the next morning expecting to hear from Donald about the offer arriving from Davy Brown’s office. But she didn’t hear from Donald; she heard from Bart Woods. Her bell rang, and when she answered the door Bart was standing there looking almost as weary as when she had left him the previous afternoon.

  “Bart, What is it?” she exclaimed.

  “I’ll come in for a moment,” he said. And when he was inside, he suggested, “Let us go to your sewing room I do not wish to be overheard.”

  She led the way and he followed, his cane in hand. When they were in the room and the door closed, she faced him anxiously to ask, “What is wrong, Bart?” She couldn’t help wonder if he hadn’t already heard of the plot to take the business from his hands.

  He looked at her with a strange gleam in his eyes. And in an even voice, he said “James Kerr is dead!”

  “Dead!” she gasped.

  “Yes. One of the servants found him stretched out on the floor of his room this morning. He came in late last night. Very drunk.”

  She was beginning to sense the unusual calm in him. Almost a mad calm. Fear made her taut. She repeated. “He was drunk, you say! You saw him come in?”

  “I happened to be in the hallway by his door when he came stumbling up the stairs,” Bart said. “Crippled as I am, I was able to help him into his room and put him on the bed. I made no attempt to make him more comfortable. I thought I had done my duty.”

  “You had,” she agreed, still bothered and not knowing quite why.

  In that unnatural, even tone he said, “The next thing I knew they found him on the floor this morning.”

  Becky said, “He must have had one of his spells in the night and had been trying, in his still drunken state, to find his bottle of pellets.”

  “Pellets?” his tone was blank.

  Her eyes windened. “You know what I mean. The pellets he brought from America with him. He used them whenever he had a seizure. He took one here, and it brought him back fairly quickly.”

  “You must be confused,” Bart said stonily.

  “What?”

  “I know of no pellets.”

  “But you told me about them,” she insisted. “I remember!”

  Bart Woods shook his head. “You’re making a mistake. There were no pellets. None were found on him or in his room.”

  She gasped again. “So!”

  “I thought you should know.”

  She caught him by the arm and in a urgent voice, said, “Bart! What are you telling me?”

  “That there never were any pellets!”

  She was near hysteria. “Bart, he came in drunk last night. You helped him onto the bed where he collapsed. Then you searched him and took that vial of pellets he always carried on him. After that you searched the room and located whatever other cache he had of them and took them. After that you left him!”

  “You have a fine sense of melodrama,” Bart said, “You’re almost the equal of Dickens!”

  “This is a dreadful business, Bart! You had no right!”

  “James will tell no tales,” he said. “That worry at least is ended.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to somehow reconcile it all in her mind. Then she said, “I wish you had let him talk. Anything but this! You left him there to die!”

  He behaved as if he had not heard her, saying, “Vera is looking after all the funeral arrangements. It will be a private affair. You will not be expected to attend.”

  “Thank you,” she said, in a near whisper.

  Bart’s eyes were cold. “I wanted to bring this news to you myself.”

  “Yes, Bart.”

  “I will go now.”

  “Yes, Bart,” she repeated, almost under her breath. She was still standing there in a numbed state as he let himself out and went back to his carriage.

  She could not deny that she was relieved to know that James was dead and that he would not blackmail them any longer. But to mar any good feelings about that, there was her certain knowledge that Bart had committed a murder to save them. For it was surely the next thing to murder to strip this ailing man of the medicine that kept him alive.

  Bart had done this, counting on James having another heart seizure sometime before morning. And it had worked out that way. She could picture the dead man’s last tormented convulsions as he groped about desperately trying to locate the precious pellets which might save him. Villain that he was, she could not have wished him that sort of end.

  Most horrifying of all, it meant that Bart had reverted to the violent methods of his beginnings. Somewhere under the cloak of the conservative business man of today there was still the criminal who had preyed on innocents like Davy Brown on the docks. And Bart had proven he felt guilt for his wrong-doing when he refused to give the authorities any hint of his attacker, even though he’d known it was Davy.

  She was so upset she hired a carriage to take her to Tenby Hall. All during the long drive she sat not seeing or hearing anything, lost in her thoughts. A drizzle of rain was starting as she left the carriage and made her way to the door of the mansion.

  She told the servant who answered that she wished to see Mr. Brown. She was shown into a small reception room and left there to wait his arrival. When he came into the room he frowned, “How dare they leave you out here!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said rising.

  “It matters to me how my friends are treated,” he said. “And you are much more than an ordinary friend.”

  “Davy, let us go somewhere so we can talk privately without being overheard!”

  The big man stared at her. “You’re in a state!”

  “Somewhat!”

  Come along,” he said, taking her arm. “We’ll go to my study. That is quite safe.”

  When they were in the study he seated her and insisted she have a brandy before saying anything. Then he stood to listen to her story. “What is it brought you all the way across London?”

  She sipped the burning brandy and summoned all her courage. Then she began a recital of James Kerr returning and all that had happened, including his death as a result of being denied the pellets.

  Davy Brown rubbed his chin. “So Bart went back to his old criminal tricks.”

  “You might say that.”

  “Mind you, this James was in bad shape. The time would come when those pellets wouldn’t help. That time could have been last night.”

  Distressed, she said, “But Bart had taken them.”

  “So he hadn’t even the opportunity to see if they would benefit him. And at the same time he’d be in a worse panic knowing he couldn’t find the pellets. That could increase the severity of his attack and make it more certain he’d die.”

  “Bart left little to chance.”

  “So we could say Bart Woods has committed another murder.”

  “Please!” she begged, tears in her eys.

  Davy stared at her. “What puzzles me is why he came directly to you and confessed? How could he trust you?”

  She took a deep breath. “Davy, there’s something you should know if you haven’t guessed it before.”

  “What?”

  “Bart and I are lovers. We have been for years.”

  The big man sighed. “I did sort of suspect that. I thought there must be someone, and that is why you refused to marry me. I didn’t know who it would be. So it is Bart!”

  “Yes,” she said, wryly. “Fate played a strange trick on me when it put me in the arms of the man responsible for my losing you.”

  “How long have you loved him?”

  “Ever since Mark Gregg had his stroke.” She paused. “You may as well know it all. What James Kerr was threatening to expose. My daughter, Anne, is not Mark’s daughter, but Bart’s. I lied to save my reputation and give Anne a name. I also meant to protect Bart’s marriage, even though it was no longer a true marriage. They were merely living under the same roof.”

  “That is a s
hocker,” Davy admitted as he sank down into a swivel chair by his desk and thought about it for a moment. Then he said, “This Donald, Bart’s son, didn’t you say he wanted to marry your Anne?”

  “Yes,” she said unhappily. “That is why Bart and I have been trying to break the romance!”

  He said, “And that is why you have been such a matchmaker between my daughter and Donald Woods?”

  “Not really! I honestly think Julia and Donald are ideally suited to each other.”

  “Under the circumstances, you would,” the big man said grimly.

  “Davy! You must hate me!”

  “Why?”

  “For holding back the truth and not telling you everything. I actually told Julia most of it. So she knows.”

  Davy Brown’s handsome face showed a bemused look. “It seems to me I’m being twisted and turned at will by the women folk around me. I’m not sure that I like it!”

  “Don’t blame Julia for anything!”

  “Life was more simple in Australia,” the big man said looking at her sadly. “But I couldn’t be satisfied until I had returned to London and to you.”

  “Now you’re sorry!”

  He got up, and with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bent he began to pace slowly back and forth. “My greatest concern is for Julia. She is dearer to me than anything else.”

  “I understand.”

  He shot her a glance.” And yet you would be willing to see me let her marry the son of a murderer.”

  “Bart is not exactly that. And in any case Donald is in no way to blame for his father’s behavior.”

  “His father is your lover; naturally it is easier for you to forgive him than it is for me.”

  She sighed. “Bart and I have talked about it many times. If the worst comes to the worst, we will bring the two young people together with us and tell them the truth.”

  “They’ll surely hate you.”

  “I know,” she said unhappily.

  “And with reason.”

  “I’ll grant you that. I won’t deny it,” she said. “I came to you because we were once in love. My first love.”

  “And mine,” the big man said.

  “I automatically thought of you,” she said. “I’m sorry. It would have been better if I hadn’t come here.”