Sea Mistress (26 page)

When Collins knocked at the inner door, Bridie's impatience returned. ‘Go in, man, no need to knock, I do own the place after all.'

Collins obeyed and strode into the office, placing Bridie carefully in a chair. She took a deep breath staring in consternation at the man behind the desk, he was a stranger, a thin bespectacled, dour stranger.

‘Where's Elias?' She asked abruptly.

‘He's retired this past two weeks.' The man looked at her askance as she stared balefully up at him.

‘And who are you?' Bridie said, hostility in every line of her body.

‘I'm the new office manager, Brian Thomas. Who are
you
?'

‘I'm Bridie Marchant, owner of the shipping line, that's who I am.'

‘I think it's Mr Marchant who is the owner,' Brian Thomas said carefully, ‘I handle the books you see, I know exactly the state of play in the business of Marchant Shipping line.'

‘It's Marchant and James,' Bridie felt her anger rising. This stranger, this man with the superior attitude was daring to talk so insolently to her.

‘Collins,' Bridie said, ‘take this key and open the drawer over there, that's the one, second down. Bring me the books from inside.'

Brian Thomas stepped forward as if to protest but Collins brushed past him as if he wasn't there and she wanted to applaud him for putting the upstart in his place. She watched as Collins did her bidding, the books were still there and Bridie sighed with relief. For a moment she had been frightened, imagining that Paul had discovered her secret.

She opened them and placed them on the desk. ‘Look at these, Mr Thomas, you'll soon see who owns the biggest share of the shipping line.'

He put on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and took the books towards the window, running his finger along the columns of entries.

‘Very interesting,' he said after what seemed an interminable length of time. He snapped the books shut. ‘Not worth the paper they are written on, alas.'

‘What do you mean?' Bridie heard the hoarseness in her voice and was impatient with her own weakness.

‘I mean that these,' he threw the books down scornfully, ‘are out of date, all these vessels and their cargos and so the profits too, have been transferred to Paul Marchant.'

‘That can't be, not without my consent,' Bridie said quickly.

‘Then I suggest you must have given your consent, Mrs Marchant.' The man was so sure of himself that Bridie knew he must be right.

‘Have you not recently signed control over to your husband? After all, you are not exactly fitted to running a shipping line, are you?'

She longed to smack his face but it was Collins who moved forward.

‘You keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Mrs Marchant,' he said and the man gawped at him from behind his spectacles.

‘I have signed nothing,' Bridie said almost to herself. But a thin icicle of fear touched her spine. She had given Paul her signature. It was when she was sick, confused. Paul had brought her documents, told her she was releasing money for the benefit of their sons, could he have tricked her?

‘I want you to get out of here this minute, Thomas.' Bridie suddenly felt in charge. ‘I am going to go through the books myself, I'll soon find out what's been happening in my absence.'

‘I can't do that,' Thomas said but his protest was weak, he glanced uncertainly at Collins who was still standing uncomfortably close to him.

‘Out,' Collins said, ‘otherwise I'll have to help you out, understand?'

Thomas went towards the door, his face was flushed as he took his hat from the stand. ‘I'll take no responsibility for any of this,' he protested. ‘When Mr Marchant returns I'm sure he'll have something to say to you, my good man.'

As the door slammed behind Thomas, Bridie looked directly at Collins. ‘I don't know why you should be on my side in all this but I am very grateful to you.'

‘You have always been fair,' Collins said carefully, ‘you have paid good wages and always on time. In the beginning when I first worked for you—' He stopped speaking.

‘You needn't go on, Collins, I know I've changed lately and for the worse. Go on out, go have a beer, I need to look over the books. You can come for me later.'

‘If it's all the same to you,' Collins said quietly, ‘just in case that . . . that person wants to come back.'

Bridie nodded her agreement and watched as Collins searched through the drawers and produced bright new accounts books. Her heart sank, it was clear that Paul had been up to something but was he capable of cheating her out of her inheritance?

It took her much less time than she had thought to go through the books; everything was quite clear, Paul had transferred the entire shipping fleet to himself, she owned nothing, not one single vessel. For a moment Bridie felt beaten, she poured over the books listing the shorter trips, many of them were to Ireland. It seemed Paul had been shipping various cargos across the Irish sea from candles to leather saddles and horse-collars, why, what was in it for him?

She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, perhaps Paul was shipping forbidden goods, tea, tobacco, or silks, contraband cargos of some kind. She remembered the notebook she had found in his bag, she hadn't understood it, the entries were in some sort of code.

She looked up, Collins was seated in the chair opposite her, his shoulders tense as he watched the door. ‘Collins,' she said gently, ‘I want you to take me to the bank.'

She would speak to Jake Simmons, he was an old friend of her father's, he would tell her all she wanted to know, none of this ethical nonsense with him. He knew full well who had made the largest part of the money that had gone into building up the shipping line of Marchant and James. Jake was just about to leave the bank but he smiled when he saw Bridie and ushered Collins, with Bridie in his arms, into his own private office.

‘Bridie, so good to see you looking well again.'

‘Thank you, Jake.' She bit her lip for a moment, ‘I have to talk to you. This is serious.'

‘I suspected it was.' Jake said softly and glanced at Collins who had settled Bridie in a chair and stepped back self-effacingly.

‘You can talk in front of Collins,' Bridie said, ‘please Jake, what is going on here?'

‘You tell me,' Jake sat down and played with the quill pen resting in the ink-pot on his desk. ‘I can only say I was devastated when your husband withdrew all the moneys and closed the account.'

Bridie felt as if she had swallowed something bitter. ‘When did Paul do all this?' It was an effort to speak normally.

Jake looked at her compassionately. ‘About two weeks ago, no explanation, took the whole lot of it, not only the considerable amount of money he'd made himself but your fortune too, Bridie, he had all the right documentation, I assumed you were too sick to deal with matters yourself.'

‘His own money, he had quite a lot, did he?'

‘The profits Mr Marchant made on the short runs were greater than those you made from your deep sea cargos which I thought very strange.'

Not so strange if her suspicions were correct. Bridie tried to think clearly but muddled thoughts kept running round and round in her head until she thought she would go mad. Well then, Jake, I can only apologize and explain that I knew nothing about what my husband was planning.' Did she sound as desolate as she felt?

‘I'm sure he did what he thought was best,' Jake leaned over and touched her shoulder, ‘once he took charge it was a case of a new broom sweeps clean and all that, I suppose.'

‘You're taking it really well,' Bridie said softly, ‘but I do wish you'd come to me and talked it over, Jake.'

He shrugged, ‘How could I? I knew of your illness, I believed you were too sick to see anyone.'

Bridie sighed, Jake was right and Paul could be most convincing if he wanted to be, she knew that better than most. ‘Right then, it's home for us, Collins, nothing more I can do in town today.'

When she was settled in the carriage, Bridie closed her eyes wearily. What could she do? It seemed that Paul had cleaned her out, taken all her money, all her ships. She looked down at her useless legs, here she was, helpless, a cripple, unable to stand up to her husband and demand an explanation. She began to cry, sobs racked her thin frame. Bridie felt she had no weapons and no energy to fight for her future. She was defeated.

By the time the carriage drew up outside her home, she was composed and if her eyes were a little red, her cheeks a little blotchy, no-one among her staff was going to be indiscreet enough to mention it. In her room, Bridie lay for a long time, staring at the lengthening shadows that crept across the ceiling. She felt empty of all emotion, there wasn't even a glimmer of hope to give her cheer.

In the morning, she woke early, a pale sun was shining through the window and suddenly Bridie was filled with a sense of resolution, she was not beaten, not yet she wasn't. After she had eaten a light breakfast, she sent for Collins. ‘I intend to walk again,' she told him. To her gratitude, he didn't appear surprised, he merely nodded.

‘I don't want anyone to know about it,' she instructed, ‘I want you to get me some walking sticks and, Collins, I'll need you to help me, will you do it?'

She was asking him humbly and he smiled at her. It was the first time she had seen him smile, he was a good man, a trustworthy man and Bridie's heart warmed a little. ‘I know it's not going to be easy,' she said, ‘I will fail lots of times but I will do it, you'll see.'

‘I know you will, Mrs Marchant,' Collins nodded reassuringly. ‘I know you will.'

‘Now,' Bridie said, ‘I want you to find me someone to board the
Marie Clare
, I want him to sail with my husband on his next trip.'

Collins never seemed to be surprised by anything she said. Bridie smiled, ‘This man must be more than a sailor, he must be a special sort of person, one not quite . . . honest. He must be able to keep his eyes and ears open, find out what exactly these trips to Ireland are all about.' Bridie paused. ‘I needn't tell you, Collins, you will have gathered as much for yourself that I have no money, this man must sign on as crew like any other but I refuse to accept that I have been cheated out of my father's inheritance, I will put the matter right and when I do he will be well rewarded, you too Collins.'

‘I need no reward,' Collins said simply. ‘And if I might make a suggestion, I have a little money put aside with which I can pay for a man's services. A loan of course,' he said as Bridie made to protest, ‘I'm sure it will all be put right when you regain control of your business.' His tense look eased a little. ‘As I said, you were always fair and honest.'

Bridie felt tears come into her eyes. She was getting soft, she who had been feared in Swansea, Bridie Marchant of the sharp tongue, she was touched by this man's simple loyalty. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was penniless, a cripple, dependent for the first time on others to help her. Well, she might be broke but she was not helpless and that was something Paul would shortly learn.

It was no chance encounter that led Collins to seek Matthew out at the bar of the Ship Inn. He had heard much of the man from one of the serving maids, knew he was the sort who would do anything for money. When he was face to face with Hewson, he saw a big man with a ruthless air about him and congratulated himself on choosing wisely.

‘Mr Hewson,' he said quietly, ‘I hear you are currently without a position. I think I might just have something to interest you.'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘I want to buy more of your fine leather, Mrs Hopkins.' Paul Marchant looked down at Ellie, his face close to hers, his eyes regarding her with far too much interest for her liking. ‘I did look for your foreman in the yard but apparently there isn't one. I understand you dismissed him from your service?'

Ellie wondered just how he had come about that little piece of information. ‘That's right, I need a replacement for Matthew Hewson as soon as possible. Please come indoors, Mr Marchant.'

Ellie led the way into the sitting room where Martha was busy embroidering a sampler. The older woman looked up and regarded Paul Marchant with shrewd eyes. She nodded her head in acknowledgment of his polite greeting but didn't speak.

‘Of course you may buy all the leather you want from us,' Ellie said, ‘please, sit down, but you will have to do business with me, for the time being.'

She knew her tone was businesslike but it was difficult to be friendly when she remembered the last time they had met when Bridie Marchant had behaved like a harridan. Later, she had come up to the tannery and accused Ellie of having an affair with her husband, it was all so embarrassing. Ellie knew she should not hold it against Paul, it was not his fault that his wife was so jealous. Or was it?

‘That is fine by me.' Paul rested easily in one of the big chairs. ‘I know your leather is of the finest made around these parts, the saddler who makes up the tack for me is delighted with the quality. I appreciate the extra service you do me, delivering the leather, it's very kind of you.'

‘It isn't something we would do for everyone. It takes a considerable amount of time and manpower to run the wagons down to the saddler and then, later, to bring the finished goods to the docks.' Ellie had no intention of being overly polite, Paul Marchant was not one of Glyn Hir's biggest buyers, indeed, his orders were comparatively modest. It was from the large warehouses that the real orders came, the furniture makers, the boot and shoe emporiums. The leather from Glyn Hir was shipped all over the country. Still, she reasoned, a customer was a customer and Ellie felt it necessary to show a degree of interest. She looked at him from under her lashes, Paul Marchant was a personable man, a charming man, why then, didn't she quite trust him?