by Erica Brown
After stabling his horse, he headed for the opulent staircase that swept up from the chequered floor of the reception hall where alabaster pillars formed a colonnade around the room and gilt cherubs clung to French mirrors and the legs of marble-topped tables. The Strongs had never succumbed to the Regency fashion for understatement. Wealth and power were reflected in their love of the ostentatious.
The Reverend Jebediah Strong was asleep though upright, propped up against a mountain of pillows. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was open. A rattling sound came from his chest and his hands shook as if attempting a never-ending task for which he had too many fingers.
Tom paused. Was it only two days ago he’d stood in this same spot watching him sleep? Jeb looked far older than his fifty-eight years. When had he started to look old? Not in two days surely?
Grateful for a moment to compose himself, Tom rubbed a thumb and finger into the corners of his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. At the sound of it, the man in the bed stirred, his eyelids fluttered before he opened them.
‘You’re awake!’ Tom smiled as if his confidence was an infection he could pass on to the sick man. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
A weak smile twitched at the old man’s mouth. ‘I smelled the sea. I knew immediately that the prodigal son had returned.’
He didn’t mention knowing that Tom had been home for two days. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, no one had told him. He pulled up a chair. ‘Anything interesting happen while I was gone?’
Jeb smiled ruefully. ‘As in life, nothing ever happens at Marstone Court unless you make it happen. Tell me about the places you’ve been to, the sights you’ve seen.’
Tom smiled. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’ He made his tales as vivid as possible so Jeb could see, smell, hear and feel the things he’d done and seen. Porpoises, dolphins, flying fish, and great whales spouting water from their heads; Tom described them all. He spoke of the smell of the sea, the warm aroma of land just over the horizon, ocean-side villages rising on stilts above the waters, brown-skinned women wearing little more than tablecloths and necklaces of flowers. It was the most he could do for a man unable to escape his ailing body.
When he’d finished, Jeb sighed, his breath rattling dryly in his chest.
‘I can’t wait to get back,’ Tom added.
Jeb nodded weakly.
Just then, the soulful note of a lone church bell sounded from the village. Tom shivered inside but made a big show of walking to the window and looking at the clouds, the grass, the trees, anything but let Jeb see his expression and perhaps guess…
‘God bless,’ Jeb said softly. ‘A poor village boy going into an early grave, so Edith tells me.’
Tom closed his eyes in thanks. He would have kissed Edith if she’d been there. She hadn’t mentioned to Jeb that the boy had been found in an upstairs chimney. The dear soul had understood that sudden shocks were dangerous to a man as sick as Jeb. Hopefully she’d keep the gossip at bay.
‘I’m going down to the Miriam Strong later,’ said Tom, changing the subject as he turned back from the window. ‘I’ve got a new recruit, a deserving case I think would benefit greatly from a bit of education.’
‘Good work, Tom. Good work indeed.’ Jeb beamed. ‘I recall the boat was about to be broken up when I bought her,’ he said. ‘But with a little bribery… if you’ve got money and someone else hasn’t, you can buy anything.’
A fit of coughing racked Jeb’s body and his eyes rolled in his head. ‘Turn me on to my other side,’ he said.
Gently, Tom eased him so that his right side was favoured over his left, his weight hardly seeming to dent the pillows.
‘Indulge an old man,’ Jeb said, his breath whistling through his teeth as he fought to keep talking. ‘Let’s talk about how it used to be; Miriam and the girls; and Jasper.’
‘Tell me,’ Tom said, his smile feeling tight on his lips.
And so Jeb told him – as he had many times before. Tom sat quietly, remarking only where it was necessary, and all the time he listened to the bell tolling in the church tower. Then it stopped and he knew that Jasper had at last been put to rest.
Tom waited until Jeb was snoring before leaving the room and its close-kept smells of camphor, liquorice and the unmistakable presence of terminal sickness. As he closed the door behind him, he saw the hem of a grey silk dress disappear behind a lacquered Chinese cabinet along the corridor. At the sound of his first footfall, Horatia stepped out, a vision of glorious womanhood, her blonde hair and blue eyes adding immediate lift to the grey creation she wore.
She rushed up to him, grabbed his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.
‘What was that for?’
‘For being kind to Uncle Jeb.’
‘Thank you.’ It seemed to Tom as if she were waiting for him to kiss her back, but he wouldn’t. So far as he was concerned, to take advantage of her affection would be easy, but ungrateful. He dare not.
She linked her arm with his as they made their way along the thickly carpeted landing and said breathlessly, ‘It seems so long since we last saw you.’
‘A year. That’s all. Supplies for the plantation, rum for Savannah, sugar and tobacco for Bristol. A nice round trip.’
‘Lucrative, no doubt, though not so lucrative as in my grandfather’s day, of course.’
Tom shook his head. ‘No slaves, thank God!’
‘Poor savages. Now they have to stay in Africa and eat each other.’
‘I don’t think they do that.’
Horatia’s idea of artful conversation had always vexed him. As a child she’d baited him and as an adult she sometimes bored him.
‘Never mind whether they do or don’t. It was a good trade. This house was built on it. And are those people really that much better off? I don’t think so. But there, that’s in the past. The future is there for those with ambition. Do you have ambition, Tom?’
She was studying his face, but he feared looking at her. Horatia always had plans, and he was never sure where he might fit into them.
‘My only ambition is to see more of the world.’
‘Back to sea? Again? Don’t you want to settle down, Tom? Don’t you want to see what can be achieved on land without risking life and limb?’
He sensed the questions were leading somewhere. ‘I like the sea.’ They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, Horatia still smiling and Tom being polite. She hugged his arm close to her side.
‘Surely we should see more of you, things being the way they are with Uncle Jeb?’
Tom frowned and felt suddenly cold, anticipating he was going to hear the news he most dreaded. ‘How long?’ he asked.
She shook her head and gripped his arm tighter as if to give him comfort. ‘I’ve already told you, if you go away for another year, he won’t be here when you get back.’
He closed his eyes as if that would shut out the thought of Jeb’s passing.
Horatia took his hands between hers and looked at him intently. ‘I understand how you feel, Tom, and I know you’d want to be here when he goes.’
Tom nodded. It was true, but he couldn’t say it. The words stuck in his throat.
‘And there is more than one reason for you being here…’ Tom frowned. What was she up to?
‘Father wants to see you,’ she said. ‘I believe he’s in the library. Will you go there now?’
It wasn’t usual to be summoned to see Sir Emmanuel on returning home, but perhaps in the circumstances it was only to be expected. ‘If it’s about,’ he began, but stopped what he was going to say and looked up at the first-floor balcony. ‘What’s that noise?’
What initially seemed to be a humming came along the landing towards the stairs. Mrs Grainger came into view, three of Emmanuel’s children trotting along behind her. The children were singing and looking straight ahead as they came down the stairs. Tom and a smiling Horatia stood back and watched. Tom strained his ears to catch the words.
Oh, I am just
a child,
So lowly, meek and mild.
And Mrs Grainger’s taught me grace,
To hold my tongue, and know my place.
Once she was down the stairs, her charges following, Mrs Grainger, a woman with frizzy red curls escaping from a bun plastered back with goose grease, nodded a tight greeting and bobbed a curtsy. The three children continued to chant and smile.
If Tom hadn’t been so concerned about Jeb, he would have noticed their eyes were not smiling and that Caroline, the eldest daughter by Emmanuel’s second wife, threw him a withering look.
Horatia had already lost interest. ‘Never mind Verity’s children, Tom. Listen to me,’ she said.
As if they were nothing to do with her father, and therefore of no consequence to her, he thought. Horatia resented Verity – that much was obvious.
‘There’s something I want to talk to you about—’
Frowning, Tom looked after the small file of teacher and pupils disappearing down another well-used passageway. ‘I thought Verity had four children,’ he said.
‘She has,’ Horatia answered, annoyed that he was paying more attention to the children than he was to her.
‘So where’s the fourth?’
Horatia sighed. ‘Lying down in the nursery, I expect. Does it matter?’ She clasped his hands more tightly and held them against her cleavage. He could feel her heart and the inside curves of each breast, and knew she had done it deliberately.
Jeb and Jasper were still large in Tom’s thoughts. He was only vaguely aware of Horatia telling him of a future Bristol where the ships wouldn’t have to wind their way upriver, and steam power rather than sail power would change their world for ever.
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, without knowing what she had asked and disentangling her hands from his. Although she still smiled, he could see she was disappointed, but he had no intention of giving her hope. Having Edith smirking at him like a puppy dog was bad enough, though he couldn’t in all honesty envisage Horatia sinking quite that low.
‘Tom Strong, you have not heard a word I said!’
He was about to lie, then thought better of it and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Do excuse me. I have so much on my mind at present.’ More than you could ever know, he thought.
‘Tom, we’ve been friends since childhood and—’
‘Yes,’ he said trying to sound more uplifted. ‘We had a happy childhood, didn’t we?’ It wasn’t exactly the truth. ‘But I was part of it because Jeb’s son went missing.’
‘True,’ said Horatia. ‘The silly boy. He was always climbing.’ ‘How old were you when he disappeared?’
‘Disappeared? He drowned. He fell off the tree and drowned. You should know that.’
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders and stretched her neck so he could see the whiteness of it, the way it curved from her collar to her chin. She was flirting with him.
‘I think I was about ten, perhaps eleven.’
‘Do you remember what he was like?’
She frowned and looked at him searchingly. ‘Why are you asking me these questions?’
‘Jeb’s about to die. He talks about his family a lot.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Was Jasper especially close to anyone? Like you or Nelson?’ ‘Naturally. We were cousins.’
‘Did you play games with him – like you did with me?’ Horatia’s taunts had sometimes made his life a misery.
Her smile vanished. ‘I don’t remember.’ Her wide skirt knocked against him as she suddenly turned to leave. ‘I have to go now.’ Why had she suddenly become agitated? he wondered. Was it regret? And for whom?
‘Did he drown?’
Horatia shrugged. ‘There’d been a lot of rain. The river had broken its banks and flooded the meadows.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I was only a child at the time. The gardeners searched the grounds. They’ve all moved on now apart from one. He helps in the churchyard in the village now.’
The silk gown rustled seductively as she walked away. He watched her go, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Before she disappeared, he headed for the main staircase and the library. He didn’t see her stop and turn to watch him, or the desire in her eyes. The sound of children singing floated from the dining room. It crossed his mind that the fourth child must be ill and he would have asked Horatia if that was so. Although she hated Verity, she seemed to care for her stepbrothers and sister. No doubt he would hear if it were serious.
* * *
There was a faint chink of light shining beneath the locked door of the attic, where little George was crying bitterly, his skirts bundled around his legs. A splinter of dry wood had pierced his bare bottom, but he dare not move. Mrs Grainger had foretold dire consequences with the birch should he move an inch. She’d already laced it across Caroline’s backside because she’d protested at her treatment of him. So he sat in the darkness and dust, accompanied by the smell of his wet drawers, which Mrs Grainger had tied around his neck. Gradually his crying became sobs and he wished he were elsewhere with Peters, or someone like her who would give him cuddles. Comforted by the thought of all those kind-hearted girls who had shared the same name, he fell asleep, his chin falling on to the wetness of his drawers.
* * *
The library walls were dark with books, the gilt of their spines glinting in the sparse light piercing the draped windows.
Emmanuel was sitting at his desk, both hands folded over a thick book he’d been reading prior to Tom entering the room.
‘Tom! I’ve seen little of you since you moored up.’ His voice was strident though not deep. His face was flushed and his clothes were newly fashioned and finely cut, no doubt purchased to better hide the increasing corpulence of his figure. Emmanuel Strong had a big appetite for everything.
‘I’ve only been back two days, sir.’
Emmanuel waved his hand at the winged armchair directly opposite his own. Tom sat down.
‘You’ve seen my brother, Tom?’
‘Yes.’
‘My brother has led a blameless life. No doubt he has a place in heaven.’ He arched his eyebrows in subtle amusement. ‘Hopefully he’ll put a good word in for me when he gets there.’
Most people would have considered the comment utterly tasteless, but Tom knew the brothers well. If Emmanuel had said it to his face, Jeb would have laughed and promised he’d do what he could to assist his errant brother enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
Emmanuel poured claret from a cut-glass decanter into two short glasses. He handed one to Tom, his eyes flicking between Tom and the drink as he began to speak.
‘Jeb has little time left and I know you would wish to be here when he dies. I also know that you are a man who bores easily. Oh, my daughter would probably find time to entertain you, but women’s company can get tiresome after a while, don’t you agree?’
Tom wasn’t inclined to give a direct answer. Instead he said, ‘I believe you have something in mind to keep me occupied.’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Emmanuel with a sly wink. ‘One of the hens in the coup has already clucked in your ear.’
Tom smiled politely. ‘Horatia is very kind.’
Emmanuel’s face darkened at the mention of his daughter’s kindness, interpreting it as an intimacy he didn’t feel Tom deserved.
‘A warning, Tom; treat her as your sister, nothing else, mark you, if you catch my meaning. Hmm?’
He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Tom had no qualms about putting Emmanuel’s mind at rest.
‘I have never regarded her as anything more.’
Emmanuel’s jowls trembled as he nodded and said, ‘Good man. Good man. Not that I consider you unworthy of joining this family. Although I was never entirely in agreement with my brother and his charity work, I will abide by his wishes that you be given the same opportunities to succeed as my own son. But I’d rather you didn’t pursue my daughter. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘
And no doubt she is destined for better things,’ said Tom with an even smile, though he would bet that Horatia’s plans for marriage were at variance with that of her father.
Emmanuel showed no embarrassment at his obvious prejudice. He leaned forward, and Tom found his gaze fixing on the dents in Emmanuel’s puce nose.
‘We’re talking business here, Tom. To that end, and bearing in mind Jeb’s imminent demise, I have a proposition for you.’ Emmanuel struggled his portly form out of the chair and strolled to the window where he held back a tasselled drape.
‘The Strongs have owned plantations in the West Indies, principally in Barbados, for many years. My grandfather started it, and my father extended the business. Rather than pay shipping companies to transport his goods, he set up his own. Thanks to him, the Strongs now own plantations and shipping.’ He sighed, his breath misting the cold glass of the windowpane. ‘They were powerful men, Tom, giants of their time. And I want to be one too. I wish to make a mark on this family, create an increase in its wealth with an eye on future expansion.’
He turned from the window. ‘The sugar refining process is the only part of the business we do not control. I want that too, Tom. In fact, I’m determined to have it.’
It was like sitting in the path of a storm. And I’ve done that enough times, thought Tom, but at least with a ship you can veer away. There was little chance of that with Emmanuel. The man possessed the same passion for business that some men had for women or fine horses. Some of that passion was reflected in the eyes of his daughter, though not Nelson, who treated business more casually, as though what would be was luck more than judgement.
‘To that end, I have agreed with Conrad Heinkel, who owns the largest refinery in Bristol, that I will purchase shares in his establishment. But,’ he said, raising his finger, ‘I wish to buy at the right price. At present I have agreed a very good price, which I do not want to pay.’
Tom shrugged. He wasn’t at all sure where all this was going. ‘Can’t you afford it?’
Emmanuel looked astounded at first, then rocked with laughter. ‘Of course I can. But that’s not the point.’