Ruby McBride (32 page)

‘But you don’t choose to, do you, Pearl? You prefer the thrill of the chase, or is it control over men’s appetites that you enjoy so much? Having a bit of fun without any sort of commitment, is that it? No, don’t look daggers at me. It’s your choice and I can honestly see the attraction in such a philosophy, if not the way you choose to carry it out. But I’m not moralising here. From what I’ve seen, you evidently give good value for money.’
 

She smirked at him. ‘Fancy a bit yourself then, do you?’

‘I don’t think so, Pearl, thanks all the same. Just tell me how I can get Kit Jarvis off my back? Otherwise, I shall be forced to reveal the truth about you to Ruby, which wouldn’t be pleasant for any of us, now would it?

‘You rotten, twisted, nasty piece of . . .’ She hissed at him, angry as a spitting cat. ‘You think I’m scum don’t you?’

‘Misguided perhaps. You’ve had a hard time of it, Pearl, and if you’re looking for a way out of this hole you’ve got yourself into, I can help you do that too.’

Hands on hips, she tossed back her cascade of hennaed hair and laughed, a loud and raucous sound. ‘Hark at you! Never thought the baron himself would turn into Preaching Pete. Right bleedin’ saint you are, to hear you talk. Well, I’m not the only one with skeletons in me cupboard.’

‘I’m sure you aren’t, Pearl, but which cupboard, in particular, are you referring to exactly?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about.’

He lifted his brows in polite enquiry. ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

‘What about you and that Pickering woman you visit so regular? Her what lives in the big fancy house. Oh, aye, our Ruby told me how you went a-calling there once, pretending to be interested in buying it. You’ve called again since, haven’t you? Several times in fact.’

‘I was interested in the property at one time, yes, unfortunately the owners decided not to sell.’ His eyes narrowed consideringly. ‘How do you know all of this?’

‘Kit decided to follow you. He wanted to find out more about your background, who you were, like, and where you come from.’

‘And did he succeed?’ The tone was sharp, interrogative.

‘Keep yer hair on. He found out about the woman.’

‘Nothing more?’

She chuckled throatily. ‘Isn’t that enough? Oh, we haven’t been idle this long while. Aye, you’re right. I’ve been with Kit for a year or two now. We suit each other very well. No ties. No fuss. Our Ruby may have landed herself a big fat fish with loads o’ brass, but it were allus Kit she wanted and
I
was the one to catch him, so she lost out, didn’t she? Not that you care, since you have yer own bit of comfort, eh?’

‘Comfort? What sort of comfort would that be exactly?’

‘Aw, don’t play the innocent with me, I know all about her, that secret mistress of yours.’ Pearl began to feel more confident at the surprised look on his face. ‘Thought no one knew, eh?’

‘Pearl, I haven’t the first idea what you are talking about.’

‘Nay, don’t play the innocent with me. You know well enough. Like I say, we’ve been watching you, where you go, who you see. Kit and me decided we all deserved a share of your loot, being family like, and considering all we’ve been through, especially since we didn’t manage to get the pendant.’

‘The pendant wasn’t yours to keep.’

‘Maybe not, but we reckoned we deserved it. Don’t you think that’s fair? According to our Ruby you don’t even pay her what she’s entitled to, no wages, nothing. Just think how she’d react if she knew you were tossing brass she’d worked hard for into another woman’s skirt. She’s not the vindictive type our Ruby, but even she has her limits. She’d strip you bare of everything you own. So, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Make it worth my while and I’ll say nowt to her about your visits to your fancy woman up at the big house. I’ll even persuade Kit not to make you pay for our silence.’

He put back his head and laughed loud and long. ‘I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong, Pearl.’

She was unconvinced by this display of casual indifference. ‘I don’t think so. Like I say, Kit saw you, more’n once. He reckons you’d pay him quite a lot to keep his mouth shut, if only because you need to keep your end up with the workers. You didn’t reckon you were the only one to enjoy her favours up at that posh house of hers, did you? Eeh no, she has quite a few gentlemen callers, besides yourself. All from t’top drawer, I’m sure.’ Pearl had adopted a mincing voice in parody of the lady in question, and was delighted to see how his eyes had widened, how she’d shocked him at last with this latest piece of information.

She blithely continued. ‘According to Kit, who’s done his homework proper I may say, she was called Jessica Ramsden before she wed that Pickering chap. And she was a high class whore even in those days. A leopard don’t change its spots, eh? She’s no better than me, not underneath. She does tricks, and her clients pay for the privilege. They just pay more, that’s all, for the frills and furbelows.’
 

Pearl seemed to have finally run out of steam and stopped, waiting to judge the effect of her words. That’d show him, making himself out to be some sort of plaster saint, when all the time he was no better than any of them. But instead of looking furious, as she’d expected, he was actually smiling, as if she’d said something that had pleased him.

‘Pearl,’ he said at last, ‘you’ve opened my eyes this evening, you really have. You’ve no idea how pleased I am that we’ve had this little chat.’ Then he turned on his heel and began to stride away.

Pearl ran after him. ‘Hey, do we have a deal or not? You don’t tell our Ruby about what I get up to here, and I’ll keep mum about your secret visits to your lady friend. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

He paused to cast an eye over her tousled charms, his gaze searingly intimate and yet starkly critical. Pearl found herself flushing, tidying a stray curl, buttoning her gaping bodice and preening herself before his scrutiny. ‘Well, how about it?’

‘You could be so much more, Pearl. So much more.’ There was sadness in his tone, and in the expression on his handsome face. As he walked away, she silently watched him go, smarting at his superior attitude, and at the pity in his tone.

It was only as she flounced off through the puddles, making her way back to the tavern that the significance of his lack of an answer came to her. He’d made her no promise, no vow of silence. None at all.
 

A sudden shaft of fear struck her. She’d told him that Kit had been spying on him for months, that he’d found out about his visits to that mistress of his, Jessica whatsit. Oh, Lord help her, what had she done? She’d really cooked her goose this time. Kit would near kill her for this. And what would the baron do to Kit? He’d looked far from pleased at having his background investigated.

Pearl turned on her heel and began to run. Heaven help her but she must find Kit and warn him before he carried out whatever mischief had brought that shining light of purpose to his golden eyes.

Giles Pickering was every bit as intractable on this occasion as he had been years ago. Then, as now, Bart had stood in this very same study, with the same overwhelming scent of leather, beeswax polish and acrid cigar smoke filling his nostrils, while accusing his father of driving his fiancée to suicide. A state of affairs that he’d bluntly denied. Today he again refused, absolutely, to accept responsibility for any of it: the devastation he had brought to his son’s life, to that of his own first wife - Bart’s mother, or to his employees in his obstinate refusal to recognise their union or improve their working conditions. In his own eyes he was outside the normal standards of human decency. He was Giles Pickering, self-made man of affairs, and therefore could do as he pleased.

‘I will not discuss what is in the past and cannot be altered. I did what I thought was right at the time, and there’s an end of the matter.’

Bart was livid. As always, when confronting his father, he felt a great sense of futility, as if he were desperately swimming against a tide of self-interest which would ultimately overwhelm him, no matter how hard he floundered and fought against it for every last breath of air. He felt again like the schoolboy he had once been, who his father had loved to criticise and bully, and insist he try harder to make something of himself.

‘What
you
thought right, and to hell with everyone else. That’s just typical, blast you! You’ve never given anyone else decent consideration in your entire life. Look at the way you treated Mother, no wonder she went into a decline and died before her time.’

‘You know nowt about it. Whatever went on between me and your mother is none of your goddamned business!’

‘You think it didn’t affect her, you sneaking off to see this Jessica Ramsden woman? And
she
, I have learned, had something of a reputation. Was that part of her attraction? Were you one of her clients?’ He smiled as he saw his father pale. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about it. Though I’m sure you’ll say that’s none of my business either.’

‘Damn’ right I would!’

‘It would never do for such information to be spread abroad, would it? For either yourself, as a respectable businessman, or for dear Jessica. You know how people do love to gossip.’

Pickering stabbed out the butt of his cigar with furious jabbing motions into a silver ashtray. ‘Damnation, are you out to ruin me, boy?’

‘No, no, of course not, Father. And I’m no longer a boy. But perhaps a less trenchant stance might be called for. What do you think? A little give and take, perhaps? Some open discussion with the men at the docks could well prove fruitful.’

‘Over my dead body! How dare you come in here, ordering me about, telling me what to do in my own house, mischievously accusing me of causing the death of that gold-digging little tart you once fancied marrying . . .’

Bart clenched and unclenched his fists. How he would love to plant one on that arrogant, smug, self-satisfied face. But this was his father, for pity’s sake! ‘You’ll take that back! Alice was not ... Dear God, what kind of man are you?’

Pickering smirked. ‘The kind who holds all the damned cards. And you, son, are nobody, and never will be.’

Bart swallowed his contempt. Every nerve ending was crying out for revenge, yet it was vital he keep in mind the true purpose of his visit: to use this new information for the benefit of the men, not his own personal vendetta. If he didn’t, then this dratted tyrant of a father of his would have won again. He drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m not talking about me. What about the men in your employ? Don’t they deserve better consideration?’

The older man snorted his derision. ‘They’re paid well enough, considering all the time they spend hanging around the docks doing nowt.’

Bart ground his teeth, striving for patience. ‘They don’t want to spend hours on end hanging around the docks, doing nothing. They should be given new orders the minute they’ve finished unloading, not be left to travel empty. If you ran your wharf in a more efficient manner, they might not have to.’

‘And happen if my son would come and work
with
me, instead of against me, I might just manage that.’

They glared furiously at each other, neither prepared to back down one iota, though in his heart Bart recognised this as a fair point. His future had at one time been assured: to become a partner in his father’s business and, in the fullness of time, take it over completely. All that had been lost to him with the death of Alice. How could he ever work with such a man again? Bart calmly continued speaking, reining in these straying thoughts. ‘As for hours, most of the slow-boat carriers start work at five or six in the morning and are still working at eight or nine at night. They need at least one day off a week.’

‘If I were to give them Sundays off, we’d lose the momentum at the end of the working week when most goods are ready for shipping, and even more loads would go on the railways. We’re fighting for our lives here, a losing battle some say. I’ve had to take the house off the market, put my plans to semi-retire on to the back burner for now. I’ve no time to concern myself over
the grumbles of the men. I’ll not buckle under your threats, so spread what gossip you like about Jess. It’ll not touch us. We’re well thought of round here. In any case, we’ve heard it all before. We can ride whatever dirty waters you stir up.’

To his great chagrin, Bart realised that this was probably true, that he too was fighting a losing battle. Now, he strode from his father’s house rigid with fury but forced to accept that he had failed yet again. No concessions were to be granted. He had achieved nothing for the men, in spite of all the hours of negotiations, the endless meetings, the talking, the arguing, even this futile and pathetic attempt at blackmail. It was a hard pill to swallow and as he took his leave, he swore never to return.