Triangle Trade

by Geoff Woodland

  The grey light of dawn attempted to get round the edges of the thick curtains covering the windows. William stubbed out the remains of his already extinguished cigar. His mouth tasted sour and his eyes felt gritty. He rubbed his face in an effort to wake, stood and stretched while rubbing his lower back to relieve cramp. He moved to the curtains and gently pulled them apart. The day was coming to life and it looked miserable. It was drizzling, which made him think of a bath and fresh water for his mouth.

  ‘You let me sleep through,’ said Ruth, stretching her legs.

  ‘I thought there was no point in both of us losing sleep.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Still making those small sighs every now and then. The doctor is due later this morning.’

  Ruth paused, then said softly, ‘Thank you, William.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For all you did yesterday and last night.’

  ‘I did nothing. Do you want breakfast?’

  ‘No, do you?’

  ‘I need a wash and a shave and perhaps I may borrow a clean shirt.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Elijah.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, you stay here, I will find Elijah.’

  Soaking in the bath eased William’s aches and pains. Elijah had brought him hot coffee, which he sipped as his body absorbed the heat of the water.

  Later, as he shaved, Elijah brought a choice of shirts from Abraham’s wardrobe and laid them across a small table. He dressed in one and was arranging his jacket when he heard Ruth shout his name.

  He ran along the corridor to Abraham’s room and found Ruth standing over her father, the small mirror clasped in her hands. William moved to her side and looked at Abraham. One glance was enough. Abraham was dead.

  Ruth, her voice wavering, said, ‘I was just about to check that he was still breathing by using the mirror. I hadn’t heard him sigh for several minutes.’

  William took the mirror from her and placed it on the table. He helped her to the chair in which she had spent the night.

  Abraham’s flesh felt clammy and cold to William’s touch. He pressed his finger into the dead man’s cheek. The indentation stayed. William gently pulled the bed sheet over his friend’s face.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said to Ruth, and offered his hand for support.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Future

  Abraham was buried in the bottom area of Mamre amongst the trees he loved so much. The gathering of his friends surprised William. He knew Abraham had many friends, but he didn’t realise just how many. They arrived from all over Massachusetts and from as far away as the Canadian border. Fortunately the cold weather held, allowing the funeral to be delayed a little longer than normal, which meant more of his friends could pay their last respects.

  William and Ruth fell into a pattern of walking after breakfast. They always seemed to drift towards the fresh over-turned earth that marked the last resting place of her father.

  ‘I must leave soon,’ said William, standing below the trees near Abraham’s grave. ‘Spring is nearly upon us and I must return to Liverpool.’

  ‘Must you go so soon? I thought you planned to go to Calcutta?’

  ‘I am sorry, my love, but your father’s death forced me to change my plans and there are things to attend to in Liverpool.’ He hesitated as he held both of Ruth’s hands in his own. He stared at her and waited until she turned her face.

  ‘What, William?’ Her eyes searched his face.

  ‘I have to leave. Will you come with me?’

  ‘To Liverpool?’

  ‘Yes, to Liverpool. I will leave my father in charge of things there. We could be married and …’

  ‘But what about the business here?’ interrupted Ruth. ‘We have a large business here.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. She had said ‘we’, meaning her and her father. William placed his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against his chest. ‘William, I can’t leave Mamre.’

  ‘You could appoint a manager to oversee the company and we would visit frequently.’

  ‘Where would I find the right man to manage the company? A lot of information is in my head. I have grown up in the company and I can’t see how a manager could make it work.’

  ‘I want you with me, Ruth. I want to marry you!’

  ‘Oh, William, how can we marry? You will be on the other side of the world.’

  ‘I want you with me. Sell the company and join me!’

  ‘Sell father’s company! How can you think of such a thing?’

  ‘I think of such a thing because I love you and want you with me!’

  ‘No, no, I couldn’t sell the company and have strangers in father’s chair. What would I do about our Negroes? No, I couldn’t sell.’

  ‘Sell to me. I will buy the company.’

  ‘You? What do you know of trading in Boston?’

  ‘I will appoint a manager and your Negroes will be taken care of because they will be working for me. If you marry me, they will still be working for you!’

  ‘But I will not be here if you want us to live in Liverpool. How do I know they will be well treated by this manager?’

  ‘Because if they’re not, the manager will answer to me!’

  Ruth leaned forward and allowed her head to rest against his chest. She let out a great sob and her body started to shake. The strain of the last couple of weeks had become too much for her. Her tears flowed freely. William wrapped her in his arms and rocked gently back and forth, making soothing sounds while he stroked her. He didn’t say anything, he just held her tight.

  ‘Dinner is served, Sir,’ said Elijah to his mistress and the captain. He bowed his head a little and closed the library door quietly. It saddened him to see such a lovely couple just sitting, his mistress staring into the fire and the captain reading a newspaper. They should marry.

  ‘Thank you,’ said William to the closed door and folded the newspaper before placing it on the small table. ‘They are ready for dinner, my love.’

  He watched Ruth raise her head and push herself up from the chair. She allowed William to link her arm with his as they made their way to the dining room.

  Ruth had hardly spoken since leaving her father’s graveside. She didn’t say a word during their return to the house. William found it a strain trying to make conversation in an effort to divert her mind. Finally he too lapsed into silence. He had guided her to the library knowing there would be a welcoming fire. Ruth stood near the flames and rubbed her hands together.

  For most of the afternoon William read a newspaper and kept a watchful eye on Ruth as she sat quietly gazing into the fire. He realised that she may be in shock, having seen similar reactions in some of his crew after capturing the Nancy.

  Eventually she slept. Although the fire gave off a large amount of heat, he placed a shawl around her shoulders to keep her warm.

  The last lines linking Boston to the Black Swan were released. They splashed into the dirty water and the crew hauled them aboard.

  Ruth sat in her open-topped carriage and waved while the ship slowly moved away from the land.

  It was the end of March and the last few days had been hectic. She and William had agreed on a one-year separation prior to marrying. A year didn’t seem such a long time until she watched the Black Swan move further and further from the shore. Whichever way she thought of the separation, twelve months or a year, they both added up to a lifetime.

  On board William felt sick, as his stomach churned. He tried to convince himself that he felt sick as a result of bad food, but he knew in his heart the real reason. He didn’t want to leave Ruth. Seeing her in the carriage made him want to jump the ever-widening gap between his ship and the land.

  The Black Swan pointed her bow towards the ocean.

  ‘Make sail, make sail!’ shouted the first mate. The crew raced to the yardarms to release the lashings. Sails tumbled free, followed by a dull thud as the offshore wind filled them.

  ‘Haul away!’ yelled the
mate, ‘sheet home!’

  The Black Swan heeled gently, and began to pick up speed.

  William stood on the poop deck and focused his glass on the diminishing image of Ruth, now standing on the wharf and waving her headscarf. The breeze blew her hair as she brushed it out of her eyes. He lowered his glass and held his hat high in acknowledgement of Ruth’s frantic waves.

  His thoughts were drawn back to the frank discussion during their last meal together.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ William had asked as they entered the dining room

  ‘A little. I am not so cold,’ replied Ruth.

  ‘Hot food is the best medicine for cold, and to lift one’s spirits.’ William pulled a chair from the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered and sat down.

  William moved to the other side of the table to take the chair offered by Elijah.

  ‘When will you leave?’ asked Ruth.

  The question surprised him, as she had not appeared to be thinking of anything in particular. ‘That depends on you.’

  ‘William, I can’t marry you if you want me to go to Liverpool. I can’t sell my father’s company, which is mine now. I intend to stay and manage it myself.’

  ‘But you are a woman!’

  ‘Yes, I am a woman. Do you see that as a problem?’

  ‘No, I don’t see your being a woman as being a problem, but I can foresee problems with the company. Running a company, and a shipping company at that, is not a feminine role. In my opinion running a company is better done by men.’

  ‘Why should men have all the pleasure of business? Why is it acceptable for a woman to be queen, and to run a country, but unacceptable for a woman to run a company? Think about your country’s history. Wasn’t Elizabeth a woman?’

  ‘She was different, as well you know, Ruth. She was born to the position, so there isn’t any comparison between Queen Elizabeth and a woman running a company.’

  ‘Why not? If she could run a whole country then my running a company shouldn’t be too hard. And as far as being born to rule, may I remind you that I was born into this company and have spent years learning its management from my father.’

  ‘But I love you!’

  ‘Enough to give me the chance to run my own life?’

  ‘Ruth, my place is where the expansion of my company will take place, and that is in the East.’

  ‘I fear that I can see myself taking second place to your company.’

  ‘But you can help me build the company. Think on it, both of us together, building the company and running it between us!’

  His enthusiasm for the company was infectious. Ruth appeared to waver. She picked up her glass and drank some of the wine. It calmed her nerves. The conversation was going nowhere. ‘William, I am sorry but I cannot marry you if you wish for me to live in Liverpool. I wish to stay and run my company here in Boston.’

  ‘Is that your final word, Ruth?’

  ‘I am sorry, but it is.’

  William picked up his glass and swallowed a deep draught of wine and watched her over the top of his glass. He could see her eyes and he knew she would not give in to him. Perhaps another way could be found. He would do anything to keep Ruth. He loved her and wanted to marry her, but he could understand her reluctance to give up her father’s company so soon after his death. On the other hand he had business in Liverpool to make sure the Nicholson family was not taking advantage of his father.

  He had to return to Liverpool. If Ruth could keep her company going until his return, he would live in Boston if she would marry him. He estimated that he would be away for between twelve and eighteen months. Would her love for him stand an eighteen-month separation?

  He placed the glass on the table, dipped a finger in the remains of the wine and ran his finger around the rim of the glass, causing it to give off a high-pitched hum. He made a decision. He removed his finger from the rim and reached across to take one of Ruth’s hands.

  ‘Let us have an understanding.’

  ‘An understanding of what?’ asked Ruth as she leaned forward to assist William to hold her hand.

  ‘Each of us will build and run our own company for a year. After that time I will come back and ask you to marry me again. I want to marry you, Ruth, and so I will move to Boston. First of all, though, I must return to Liverpool to make sure my father is not ill or being taken advantage of by the Nicholson family.’

  Ruth listened to William’s plans for their future, and to his plans for hiring a managing agent in Liverpool. While he spoke, she gripped his hand tighter.

  ‘Oh! William, I do love you. Thank you. Yes, yes, I will wait for you.’

  She withdrew her hand from his grasp and picked up her wine glass. She saluted him with the glass and drank.

  ‘A year,’ she said and waved for Elijah to refill her glass.

  William picked up his glass and toasted, Ruth, replying ‘A year.’

  He felt the Black Swan shudder as she met the first of the Atlantic rollers. Spume flew across the deck, turning to spray before splattering William and drawing him back to the present. The wind was strengthening and he heard his first mate shout for more sail. The shoreline was just a smudge on the horizon.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Charlotte’s Return

  Liverpool

  April 1807

  Charlotte picked a piece of thread from her cape and flicked it to the floor of the coach. She hated herself today. Her body was not her own. She felt tired and every bump of the coach reminded her of how ugly her body had become. She hated George King – and his son.

  The coach rattled over cobbles and swayed, causing Charlotte to fall sideways on to the woman next to her. She groaned as she felt the child kick. The other female passenger smiled in pity at Charlotte and helped her to sit up again.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’

  ‘Thank you, I’m fine,’ snapped Charlotte, brushing her cloak once again.

  The other woman sighed and glanced at Charlotte’s large body. ‘Do you have long to go, dear?’

  ‘To Liverpool.’

  ‘No, dear, I meant …’ and she pointed to the large bulge under Charlotte’s cloak.

  ‘Oh, that. I have another six weeks, according to the doctor. Not that he knows anything, being a man.’

  The other passenger smiled in sympathy. She gazed at her sleeping husband. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘How much longer are we to be tortured by this coach?’

  ‘Not long now, dear. We have passed Prescott, so we should be in Liverpool in less than an hour.’

  Charlotte jammed herself into the corner of her seat and closed her eyes in the hope that she would be left alone. At the moment the whole world annoyed her. Even her Aunt Dorothy annoyed her by questioning why she was visiting without her husband, George.

  Aunt Dorothy should have been happy that she had even come to see her. After all, she had to go somewhere once she realised that George would confront his son about her lie. Even her mother had been surprised that she wished to visit her aunt. Charlotte hadn’t answered her mother’s question. She’d just whispered that she was expecting a child. The news had distracted her mother from any further awkward questions.

  Being locked away with a maiden aunt in the hills behind Manchester was depressing. Aunt Dorothy didn’t think it proper for a lady in Charlotte’s condition to attend dances without a chaperone. She was never allowed to be alone. Her aunt’s fear of men taking advantage of a young woman annoyed her, when every man could see she was going to have a child. As Charlotte grew, her aunt insisted that they both withdraw from society so as not to offend people. Charlotte considered that the most offended person was herself, particularly when she looked in a mirror. Eventually her aunt’s fussy ways and limited social connections caused Charlotte to pack her bags and return to Liverpool. She preferred to be in Liverpool than pretend any more to her aunt. She wanted to be rid of the child, so as to get back to her old shape, before George att
acked her. She planned to bring up the child herself, with a lot of help from the servants. The child would always be clean and quiet in her presence. She was not interested in motherhood, unless she had an audience.

  ‘We are here, dear.’

  Charlotte felt her arm being gently shaken. She opened her eyes and realised that she must have fallen asleep. The coach stopped and the smell of Liverpool assailed her nostrils. She was home. She allowed her travelling companion to assist her down from the coach.

  ‘Thank you, would you ask the coachman to find me a carriage?’

  ‘Aren’t you being met, dear?’

  ‘No, I want to surprise my husband.’

  ‘How romantic,’ fluttered the woman. ‘Coachman! A carriage for the lady and be quick about it!’

  Fanning herself in an effort to cool her face in the warmth of spring, Charlotte studied the house on Kent Street as the carriage turned into the driveway. It was drab and the gardens were not to her usual standard. The place needed a good woman to take care of it, and she was that woman. She would bring the house and the garden back to her standards.

  The carriage stopped under the covered entrance created by the Ionic columns. Alfred approached.

  ‘Open the door, Alfred, and help me out.’ If she weren’t so tired she would have burst into laughter at the expression of astonishment on the servant’s face. Walking up the few steps to the main door of the house, she turned to Alfred. ‘Is Mr King at home?’

  ‘No, Ma’am, he out.’

  ‘Have my things taken to my room.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, but which room?’

  ‘Which room? The room I have always occupied!’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  It was early May when the Black Swan picked up the pilot off Anglesey. The river was crowded with shipping as they approached the basin for George’s Dock. William studied the various vessels and tried to imagine if any were for sale or charter. He knew Owen would have all this information at his fingertips.