Sea Mistress (18 page)

Richard rose to his feet. ‘I'm going up to take a rest. We'll be sailing with the first tide, I take it?'

‘If the cargo is shifted tonight, which is your responsibility, yes we will. In the meantime, I think perhaps you're right, bed calls to me, too.'

‘But not quite in the same way?' Richard's voice held a note of derision which Paul didn't much like.

‘I can't help it if I've got red blood flowing in my veins,' he snapped. It was a veiled reference to one of Richard's other odd habits but the man ignored it.

As Paul passed the bar, he nodded to the landlord. ‘Tell Carmella to bring me some tea, there's a good chap.'

He made his way up the rickety stairs and paused for a moment on the small landing thinking about Richard Charlesworth. The man was becoming more than an irritating thorn in the flesh, he was becoming dangerous. In his own room, Paul threw off his jacket and sank onto the bed. He was always given the best room in the house which wasn't saying a great deal, the mattress was lumpy and the bedclothes shabby but at least the place was clean and smelled of much scrubbing.

He felt quietly satisfied as he withdrew the envelope Monkton had given him from his pocket, it was thick with notes and he ran his thumb through them counting rapidly. It added up to a nice little sum which he would put in his own secret bank account. Bridie who believed she owned him body and soul knew nothing about it and perversely, for a moment, Paul almost wished she did, then perhaps she would see him in a different light, treat him with more respect. As it was, she never forgot that she had come from a wealthy background and had been given the benefit of a fine education while Paul was a self-made man.

A small tapping on the door snapped him out of his reverie and without haste, he tucked the notes away. ‘Come in,' he said and the door opened to admit Carmella, her young face flushed, her dark hair falling to her shoulders. She had an innocence about her that he found irresistable. He held out his hand and she took it willingly, her mouth slightly open, her eyes alight.

She was obedient in all things, sweetly compliant as he took off her clothes. She lay then, naked against the sheets, her fair skin flushed from her breasts to the fine-structured bones of her face.

Carmella was still shy of her nakedness but not in the prim way his wife was; Carmella enjoyed his delight in her body while Bridie concealed herself from him whenever she could. She claimed that child bearing had robbed her of her charms. In a way, it was true, her breasts had slackened, her belly was scarred, she had grown heavy about the thighs. Perhaps that was why he sought solace with other, more virginal women.

He gently lowered himself onto the lithe body waiting for him. Carmella gasped as he entered her but she was as roused as he was and his progress was easy. He moved against her teasingly and she put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from crying out in joy.

His head was pounding with blood, he felt triumphantly in charge, he had made a great deal of money today and now, he was the conquering hero, claiming the spoils of victory. Carmella was writhing with fulfilment beneath him, lifting herself upwards the better to encompass him. And then the sweet passion was flowing from him, fire burned exquisitely in his loins before he fell, replete, onto his side.

Carmella was sobbing gently, overwhelmed by her feelings. ‘I love you Paul,' she touched his cheek, ‘you bring me such joy, don't ever leave me, will you?'

He turned and kissed her shoulder. ‘I won't leave you, my sweet darling, because I love you too.'

To Paul's surprise, he knew quite suddenly that he meant what he said. He who had enjoyed many women from dusky skin to alabaster white, had lain with exotic women from the east and had bought the favours of the ladies of the night who frequented British ports, he was in love with the little innocent Irish colleen who lay beside him.

He examined his feelings, was it Carmella's unconditional love for him that drew him to her or was it her clean, fresh beauty? He didn't know. All he did know was that he must be with her as often as his other commitments would allow.

‘I will have a present for you next time I come here,' he said softly, ‘something to show how special you are to me.'

‘I don't want your presents, Paul.' She put her hand on his cheek and kissed his mouth. ‘You know all I want is you.'

‘I know and that's what makes you so wonderful,' he sighed and rolled away from her. ‘But now, I have things to do, my love. I have a business to run and I can't rely on Richard to work without my supervision.'

She rose and washed her delicate body at the basin on the heavy washstand, every action was that of a dancer, balanced and fine and he wished that he could stay with her. But all too soon now, he would be heading for home and Bridie.

He was definitely colder towards her, angry that she had followed him to Ireland and thrown accusations at him. Bridie was lying awake, staring up at the dappled reflection of early sun on the white ceiling above her. And her trip up to Glyn Hir had been fruitless. She had found the woman at home and not secreted away on the
Marie Clare
as she'd suspected. Yet the feeling persisted that the woman and Paul were indulging in some sort of illicit relationship. The thought was beginning to obsess her.

Paul had returned home yesterday and he seemed to glow with an inner satisfaction that she failed to understand. It wasn't only that he was indulging in an affair and was returning from his lady love, no, there was something more going on in his life, something that was making him less dependent on her but what was it?

She looked over to the side of the bed where he'd lain, cold and unresponsive, the night before. It was now empty, his pillow still marked with the line of his head. Bitter fury flowed through her as she recalled her humiliating failure to arouse him. She had tried, how she had tried with every trick she knew to make him want her. At last he had pushed her away, telling her he was tired, he'd hardly slept for the preparations he'd needed to make for the return journey. Anyone would think he was running an enormous fleet of ships the way he went on. It was she who kept the organization of the exports and imports in check, she who made the real money in this family and all for Paul to indulge himself on wasted trips transporting leather goods and fuel blocks.

It was true he'd made a little money on the cargo but not enough to warrant the time he'd spent over in Ireland. She, on the other hand, had seen to it that large stocks of coal and steel had been safely dealt with and went on their way across deep water.

Perhaps she had allowed her jealousy of other women to cloud the issue, it was just possible that Paul was up to other sorts of mischief like lining his own pockets. But how? She really couldn't see any way he could make extra money, especially not on the trifling loads he was exporting across the Irish channel. And yet were these cargos simply a cover for something else? It might be a good idea if she was to check up on her husband's business activities.

In the meantime, she would be sweetness and light, pretend there was nothing wrong, allow him to lower his guard. He was a careful man, she had learned that since she had taken to searching through his possessions. He left nothing around by way of paperwork that she could make any use of but there was always his sailing table, that he couldn't conceal.

Paul had eaten breakfast, the maid was just clearing his empty plates from the dining table when Bridie let herself into the room.

‘Bring me a pot of tea and a little dry toast,' Bridie ordered, scarcely looking at the girl as she moved to the long windows and stared out into the garden.

He was there, her husband, strong and handsome in the bright sunshine, his hair curling around his forehead as he bent to talk to the gardener.

Suddenly, Bridie felt faint, she clutched the back of one of the heavy dining chairs and sank down, her face in her hands.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Marchant?' The maid's anxious voice penetrated the haze that was settling over Bridie's mind.

‘Water, bring me some water.' She fought to control the darkness that was flooding over her. The maid took an eternity to return and when she did she had Collins with her. The butler bent over Bridie holding the glass to her lips, coaxing her to drink. ‘Come along, Mrs Marchant, you are going to be all right. Just a little fainting spell, natural enough in this heat.'

The mists cleared a little and Bridie sank back in her chair in relief. ‘I'm all right now,' she opened her eyes, ‘thank you Collins. Send someone to fetch the master in from the garden will you?'

Bridie felt her stomach turn over at the sight of the greasy kidney dish on the sideboard. The queasiness was familiar enough to her and she bit her lip in consternation.

Paul came into the room, his face showing concern and she was warmed for a moment. Perhaps this might, just might, be a good thing to have happened, it could be the means of bringing them closer again.

‘Paul,' she said, ‘sit down and hold my hand.'

He obediently sat and took her hand, leaning forward in his chair. ‘The servant said you were unwell, what is it, Bridie, tell me?'

‘It's nothing to worry about, Paul, indeed, I think it might well be cause for celebrating. I believe I'm going to have another baby.'

A mixture of emotions chased across his face, Paul seemed to be assessing the situation, considering just what it might mean for himself. He smiled.

‘I'm happy, my clever girl,' he said softly, ‘but you must promise me that you will take things easy now, look after yourself, I insist on it.' He paused but only for a fraction of a moment. ‘You must take care of yourself, no more travelling, understand me?'

Oh, she understood, she knew then what her condition meant to Paul and a bitterness filled her mouth. What she was holding out to her husband was not a concrete reason for them to be together, what she had given him unreservedly was his freedom.

CHAPTER TEN

‘You are seeing a great deal of this Daniel Bennett aren't you?' The voice, harsh, condemning, broke the hushed silence of the parlour where Ellie had been ensconced since breakfast time trying to make sense of Jubilee's books. She looked up sharply to see Matthew Hewson standing in the doorway, his apron slung low around his hips, his cap pushed to the back of his head so that the black hair sprung upwards in waves.

‘I beg your pardon?' She spoke as calmly as her sense of outrage would allow. ‘What did you say?'

‘This man, this pup reporter, he's been here again today, hasn't he?'

Ellie put down her pen and rose to her feet trying to appear much stronger than she felt. She could not allow Matthew to dictate to her, who did he think he was?

‘And do I have to answer to you then, Matthew?' She spoke in deceptively soft tones and Matthew emboldened by her apparent docility was encouraged.

‘It's not good enough. You see Ellie, you are encouraging this little snob of a reporter, he'll think he can get a foot in here if you don't watch him.'

He stared down at her so sure of himself that Ellie realized she would have to take strong steps to put him in his place. She took a deep breath but Matthew continued speaking almost at once. ‘People will start to gossip about you, you don't want to besmirch old Jubilee's good name do you?'

Ellie clenched her hands together feeling the nails bite into the flesh of her palms. ‘Be silent, Matthew, are you my keeper suddenly?' The sharpness of her anger penetrated Matthew's consciousness and he lifted his head defensively.

‘I'm only thinking of you, what will people make of you, a widow, entertaining a caller?'

Ellie was so angry she felt like dismissing him on the spot. She told herself to be calm, knowing her own guilt was telling her that he had a point. Still, it was high time she put a stop to his proprietary attitude towards her, she wanted nothing to do with him. He was alienating her so much that she was past feeling guilty about the shares Jubilee had promised him. She was also past exercising tact, it was time Matthew was put firmly in his place.

‘Do you wish to continue working here?' The question caught him off guard.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean what I say, do you wish to keep your position at Glyn Hir, your generous wages, your position as chief hand? I think you'll admit that you are better off now than you've ever been.'

‘Aye, well not so well off as I'd expected to be.' Matthew's brows were drawn together in an angry line.

‘Nevertheless, you are making a very good living, I assume it's one you value. If so, you had better watch your manners, I'm quickly coming to the point of losing all patience with you. For two pins I'd dispense with your services, get rid of you once and for all, I can do without this constant battling with you, listening to you whine about your lot, what makes you think that I owe you anything? It was Jubilee who spoke to you of shares, it was nothing to do with me, if you remember?' She saw him struggle with his anger, a mixture of emotions shadowed his face and then, common sense asserted itself.

‘I'm only thinking of you, Ellie,' he was smiling now, his eyes, though, were hooded. ‘I know Jubilee wanted me to look out for you, watch no-one moved in his carpet slippers and pipe to take his place.'

‘No-one will ever take Jubilee's place so you can just stop thinking about me,' Ellie said. ‘I am a sensible woman, I've had to be. You forget, I have expert advisers so I don't need your interference.'

She had launched into a tirade now that seemed impossible to stop. ‘I am more than adequately chaperoned whenever I go out, more so than most women these days so who is going to talk about me? It is you who are jeopardizing my reputation by your habit of barging into my house whenever you see fit. You are a workman here, nothing more, have I made myself clear?'