Sea Mistress (38 page)

‘I see, well thank you for your frankness.' She paused. ‘Don't you think I should have been informed of Gerald's condition before this?'

‘Our policy is not to alarm the relatives of our patients unnecessarily.' Dr Thornton said smoothly. ‘Patients who are on drugs, who are largely inactive, do unfortunately develop all sorts of complications. Sometimes the symptoms pass without anything serious occurring, sometimes, as now, the situation becomes grave.'

Arian wished in that moment that Calvin was beside her, helping her through the ordeal that was most certainly coming. What did she feel? She tried to picture Gerald's face, he had been handsome but never, never had she felt the slightest liking for him let alone love. He had trapped her into marriage and she had never forgiven him for that and she couldn't now, not even if he was on his deathbed.

The stark walls of the hospital loomed up out of the mist and Arian felt her spirits sink even lower as she imagined herself walking in through the doors, the chains and locks that had to be undone, leading to what?

When she was led by a nurse into the hospital ward where Gerald was lying, Arian gagged at the smell, stale urine and formaldehyde mingled together in a pungent cocktail of despair. Gerald was almost unrecognizable, he had grown so thin in the weeks since she had last seen him. His cheekbones jutted grotesquely, his nose and chin were gaunt against the parchment of his skin.

Arian stifled a gasp, how could anyone be so sick and still go on living? His breathing was noisy, his lips blue, he looked as though he was already dead. She sat beside the bed not sure what she should do. She reached out a tentative hand and then drew it back, repelled by the sight of the man in the bed.

‘How long has he been like this?' Arian glanced up at the nurse who shook her head.

‘Don't know, madam, I only came on duty this morning.' She moved away in a rustle of starched linen leaving Arian alone with Gerald.

It was as though he had been waiting for that moment, he opened his eyes and stared directly at her and she started back in her chair, frightened by the lucidity in his face.

‘I'm not ready to go yet,' his voice was faint, reedy but there was a demonic glow in his eyes that frightened her.

‘I won't let you be free of me, ever,' he said, ‘I'll come back and haunt you even from my grave, you are my possession, Arian, no other man can take my place.'

‘Hush,' she said quietly, ‘don't try to talk.' She was surprised that he was so rational, his ravings seemed to have gone, his senses were restored. Perhaps it was just a temporary state brought about by the cessation of the sedative drugs that were usually in his system. Perhaps even the worst sort of mental sickness was overcome by the will of the dying.

He closed his eyes as though very tired and turned his thin face away from her. Arian wanted more than anything in the world to run out of the hospital, to go home, to wash away the stink of the hospital, wash away any thoughts of Gerald Simples. But she sat, frozen in misery looking down at the man in the bed, her husband.

The nurse returned and hovered near the bed, Arian looked up hopefully. ‘Can I speak with Dr Carpenter?' she asked almost pleadingly.

The nurse nodded. ‘He's waiting to see you in his office, madam.'

With a last desperate glance towards the still figure in the bed, Arian left the ward and followed the nurse along a maze of corridors. Her head had begun to ache, she felt sick with fear and remorse, she had virtually deserted Gerald these past months and his words echoed in her mind, his threat that he would return after death to haunt her. What if he could reach her from beyond the grave? But that was absurd, she was being morbidly fanciful, influenced by the dreadful atmosphere of the hospital.

‘Eddie,' she went gratefully into the light, airy office where Eddie Carpenter was sitting behind a cluttered desk and, leaning over, took his hands in hers. ‘Eddie, is he going to die?'

‘Sit down, Arian. Would you leave us alone, nurse?' The girl rustled away and Arian sank into a chair facing across the desk.

‘I don't think he has very much longer,' Eddie said evenly. He leaned forward and his eyes were suddenly brimming. ‘I know I hated the man, still do, for what he did to my daughter but by God he's had his punishment in full.' He bent his head to hide his grief and Arian thought of his daughter, beautiful, young, besotted by Gerald, her life snuffed out by him.

‘Eddie, Gerald will haunt us all all our lives, he's right about that, we'll never be able to forget the evil he's done.'

‘Even while I've hated him, I've treated him to the best of my ability.' Eddie straightened and looked at her, clear-eyed now. ‘His madness seemed to be intermittent but the last weeks, he's been worse than ever, his fury, his madness, has burnt him out. This is why I waited until now to send for you, I wanted to spare you as much pain as possible.'

‘I know.' Arian spoke quietly. ‘I feel so guilty, Eddie, I've been getting on with my life, being happy and fulfilled and I've neglected Gerald badly.'

‘There was nothing you could have done even if you'd been here every day.' Eddie's words comforted her a little. ‘And don't lose sight of the fact that the man was never any good to you, you must not allow yourself to feel guilty.'

Arian was silent for a moment and then she asked a question, dreading the answer. ‘Should I stay?' Relief flooded through her as Eddie shook his head. ‘No point, I'll be giving him some medication in a minute, he'd sleep then, peacefully, perhaps.' He paused. ‘There will be matters to discuss, however painful they might be, the funeral arrangements to be made, I'm sorry but it has to be done.'

Arian shuddered. ‘Will you let me know when . . . it sounds so callous to say it but you know what I mean.'

‘I'll let you know,' Eddie said rising to his feet. ‘Now go home, put it out of your mind for now. The end will come soon enough and then you can get on with the rest of your life.'

‘And you, Eddie?'

He smiled grimly. ‘I should be thanking God for what I have left, my loyal wife, my career, my friends. But I can't forget my first born daughter and the day she died in some hotel room like a common whore.' He rubbed his eyes. ‘It's marked me, Arian, it's a nightmare I must live with for the rest of my life.'

Impulsively, Arian went to him and held him close, her head against his chest. Once they had been lovers, long ago, one summertime, now they were just two people joined by mutual misery.

When she was back in town, Arian went directly to her rooms, she couldn't face the bustle of the office. Gone was her euphoria of the morning, gone was the sense of achievement, the wonder at the way she had made a success of her life against all the odds. Instead, she felt her senses were blunted. The smell of the hospital seemed to be in the very folds of her clothes and she took them off and pushed them into a basket ready to be washed.

Once she had bathed and was dressed in a clean skirt and blouse, she felt better. She had the maid bring her some hot coffee and she leaned back in an easy chair, her feet stretched out towards the fire and tried to regain her equilibrium.

A knocking on the door roused her and she called ‘Come in,' automatically. She had hoped it was Calvin, Calvin who would take her in his arms and erase all the bad memories. It was Mac, his eyes alight in a way that could only mean one thing. ‘You've got a story.' It was a statement. He dropped his long frame into a chair and allowed himself a smile.

‘Have I got a story!' He stared at her waiting for some reaction and she searched her mind frantically for a clue as to what he had been working on.

‘Tell me,' she said at last.

‘Not only has Paul Marchant disappeared in very suspicious circumstances indeed but it appears that the man might have been involved in some sort of smuggling racket.'

Arian leaned forward interested in spite of herself, her apathy vanishing. ‘How did you find out all this?' she asked in surprise. ‘You haven't skipped over to Ireland and back by some sort of magic carpet have you?'

‘Didn't have to, just spoke to a sailor off the
Marie Clare
, one Matthew Hewson.'

Arian frowned. ‘We'd better keep this quiet for the moment, just until we know more about the situation. We don't want to be accused of scandalmongering, not until we have more than this man's word to go on, after all Matthew Hewson isn't exactly famed for his honesty is he? Still, well done, I always knew you were a gifted reporter Mac, but I certainly didn't realize you could do my job better than me.' She frowned suddenly. ‘What about Bridie, how is she taking all this?'

‘Mrs Marchant does not seem unduly upset that her husband is not in Swansea with her. What she did tell me was that shortly she will be selling up her extravagant house and moving somewhere quiet. It seems she has got her fortune back in her own hands, somehow.'

Arian shook her head. ‘The mystery deepens. I don't know how you do it, Mac, but I'm so glad you belong to
The Times
and not to any other newspaper.'

‘You are very lucky to have me, Arian Smale.' He pinched her cheek. ‘Now, how about you telling me what's happened to make you unhappy.'

‘You are perceptive on top of all the other talents,' Arian said softly. She moved to the window and stared unseeingly into the street far below. ‘It's Gerald,' she said, ‘he's dying.'

‘You'll pardon me if I say that's good news.' Mac's hands were suddenly on her shoulder. He turned her to face him and looked down at her with a stern expression. ‘You've done your best in that quarter,' he said, ‘and don't forget it.'

She shrugged hopelessly. ‘What have I done but begrudge him every visit I've ever made to that place?' She paused. ‘I haven't even done very much of that lately.'

‘You've paid for him to have the best attention, remember? You could have abandoned him to his own fate. After all the evil that man did, anyone would have forgiven you for turning your back on him. He deserved to spend the rest of his natural life in a mad house.'

Arian sighed heavily. ‘At least if he dies he'll be at peace at last.'

‘That's a good thought,' Mac said, ‘hold on to it.'

When Mac left the room, Arian remained where she was, staring down into the grey, wet street. She didn't know what she should feel, remorse, regrets, what? She searched within herself and all she knew was that there was a deep gratitude that her obligation to a man she hated was almost over.

Matthew Hewson had never been so glad to be walking the streets of Swansea even in the dank, winter weather and mists that pervaded the town. He had escaped from Monkton by the skin of his teeth, Marchant had not been so lucky, he'd been detained on board until the shipment of opium was delivered. Bridie Marchant had been very clever, perhaps how clever she didn't even realize herself. And where did it all leave him? He was back in Swansea, safe from Monkton's wrath but his pockets were empty except for the paltry few shillings that reporter chap had given him. Still, he hadn't revealed too much of his story, he reasoned the information might come in handy later.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, he wasn't sure just how much Bridie Marchant had found out about the illegal trade in opium and his own part in the transactions. He was a little afraid of Bridie Marchant, she was a strong, perhaps a ruthless, woman. She had turned the tables on her husband with very little trouble, she might just be too clever for Matthew. The only option left to him was to tackle Ellie Hopkins. He knew he could make her feel guilty, make her feel she owed him something and so she did, he thought bitterly.

With renewed sense of purpose, he turned towards the outskirts of the town in the direction of Glyn Hir Tannery. He felt unaccountably nervous, unsure of his reception.

It was Rosie who answered the door to his insistent knocking. She looked at him without emotion and he deliberately smiled at her, trying to charm her. ‘You're looking more lovely than ever, Rosie, a real treat for these jaded eyes of mine.'

‘Wait here.' Obviously, his charm no longer had any effect on her. He thrust his hands into his pockets feeling let down, betrayed almost, how fickle women were, all over a man one minute and the next as cold as ice.

Eventually Rosie returned and Matthew was shown into the kitchen. He stood there feeling awkward, waiting for Ellie to put in an appearance. She entered the room so quietly, he scarcely heard her and she looked at him with expressionless eyes. ‘What do you want, Matthew?' she asked without preamble.

‘What do you think?' He might as well be as blunt as she was, he decided. ‘I want some money. If I can't have the shares I'm due then I'll take hard cash instead.'

‘You are joking with me, aren't you, Matthew?'

‘But you said you'd pay me, that time . . .' his voice trailed away.

‘That time Daniel gave you a hiding you mean?' Ellie said dryly. ‘Well that was to prevent you fighting and it didn't work. You should have taken the money when you had the chance. Now it's too late.'

He moved a step nearer her. ‘I could go to the police, tell them about your dealings with a certain drug smuggling racket. Don't think it would be my word only, Smithers would back me up.'

‘Smithers?' Ah, he had shaken her confidence now. He looked at her with scorn in his eyes.

‘Aye, Smithers, he was working for us, for me and Paul Marchant, he kept us informed of what was happening. More than that, he continued to supply the leather we required.'

‘Then he wasn't very good at his job, was he?' Ellie's voice had taken on a hard note.