Sea Mistress (4 page)

Arian's eyes were difficult to read, ‘Nothing comes easily in this life.' The hard line of her jaw softened. ‘Still, I have my newspaper, seeing it flourish is most satisfying.'

Ellie bit her lip and looked down at her work-roughened hands. Suddenly, it was as if she had no business to be sitting in a fine room surrounded by beautiful things. She was the wife of a tanner, her home was spartan, her husband worked back-breaking hours to make a living.

And yet, she was lucky, she could have ended up in the workhouse or even on the streets. It was as though Arian had picked up something of her thoughts because she leaned forward, her voice when she spoke was softer, kinder.

‘You have something I'll never have, you have respectability.' She shrugged, ‘I have a husband in the asylum and a lover who visits me under the cover of darkness. Not an entirely happy arrangement.'

Ellie felt the urge to open her heart to Arian, it seemed a very long time since she had a woman to talk to. She began to speak before she could lose her nerve.

‘I may be respectable now but you know as well as I do it wasn't always like that.' She hesitated to put into words her feeling of rejection when Calvin had refused to marry her, no need to upset Arian again with reminders of her lover's chequered past.

‘I'm married now, I have a ring on my finger but it was put there by an old man.' Immediately she had spoken, Ellie felt disloyal. ‘Mind, Jubilee is kindness itself.' She frowned. ‘It's true he can't love me in the way I'd like to be loved,' she shrugged, finding she was floundering into deeper water. ‘He's sick, that's why I'm here alone today and I'm frightened for my future, is that very selfish of me?'

‘It's natural enough, you've been alone once. When your family turned you out, it must have seemed as though everyone had deserted you. No wonder you are frightened and insecure.' She paused and it was as though the words were forced from her lips. ‘Do you hate Calvin very much?'

‘I don't lay blame at anyone's door, it's just the way my life has turned out and now, I have a great deal I must be thankful for. Calvin never lied to me, he never said he would marry me. It was my decision to leave him when I fell pregnant. He honoured his obligation to me financially until the day I married Jubilee. No, I don't hate him for what happened.'

‘It's strange,' Arian said. ‘If only we could fall in love at will and with suitable people, life would be much easier.'

‘Anyway,' she spoke briskly now, ‘to business.' She rested against the plump cushions of her chair, a woman more at ease now, a woman in charge once again. ‘It's just that my advertising rates have to be increased at the end of the month by quite a large amount. If this inconveniences you, especially in the circumstances, with your husband indisposed, then I'm more than willing to accommodate you – for a while but I'm afraid I must move with the times.'

‘Of course.' Ellie moved to the edge of her chair feeling the point of the interview had been reached, ‘I shall tell Jubilee when I get home and then he can decide what to do about it.'

‘You can take a copy of our future prices with you,' Arian said as she rose to her feet and moved towards the door. ‘I hope you'll feel you can still patronize us, you are one of our most regular customers.'

Ellie could not help feeling dismissed even as Arian accompanied her down the stairs and right to the door of the office. She studied Ellie for a long moment in silence as though weighing her up. ‘I hope to see you again, Mrs Hopkins,' she said at last.

‘Yes, of course. Thank you for your time.' As Ellie turned she came face to face with Bridie Marchant. Her head high, her neck stiff, she looked every inch the lady; her eyes swept past Ellie's unfashionable figure without interest.

Bridie Marchant was the wife of one of the richest shipping merchants in Swansea, part owner of the fleet and she appeared determined to let everyone know it. Her carriage stood near the kerb, the paintwork gleaming, even the wheels looked as though they had been polished. The horses, immaculately groomed, stood as if to attention and Ellie wondered if Bridie's formal, almost regal air had affected the animals as much as it affected her.

‘Morning, Mrs Marchant.' Arian had stepped back to allow Bridie inside the door and for a moment, the three women stood as though posed for a tableau.

‘It's about the tide tables,' Bridie Marchant began without preamble, it seemed she had no time for pleasantries. ‘They have been wrong on two occasions over the past week. We shipping folk rely on you people at
The Times
to get it right. I'm sure you will appreciate that if our loads miss the tides the delay costs us good money.' She sounded cross and Ellie, feeling she was eavesdropping on a private conversation, stepped outside into the street.

‘Good day to you, Mrs Hopkins.' Arian sounded pleasant, unruffled by the attack on her paper and Ellie watched for a moment as the two women disappeared into the offices of
The Swansea Times
and the door swung shut as if to exclude her.

Ellie smiled, coming to Swansea certainly made her realize how the other half lived. Once she had been part of the other half herself. But that was some years ago now, when she was single, when she was the pampered mistress of Calvin Temple. Then her family had turned a blind eye, after all, the inclusion of lord into their circle was a welcome event. It was only when Ellie was alone, alone and with child, that her father showed his disapproval in no uncertain terms.

In marrying Jubilee Hopkins Ellie had married beneath her but, even as her father had digested that information, he had been relieved that he no longer need feel any responsibility for his daughter or the twins that the local midwife had assured them Ellie was carrying.

Would she ever learn to forgive her parents? Ellie turned towards the seashore, it would be good to breathe in the clean air and watch the waves if only for a few minutes. Perhaps one day she would forget her father's rejection of her but she imagined it would be a long time before she could forgive.

Her mother was weak, subservient to her husband's will. She could no more help her attitude than she could abandon her comfortable lifestyle. Her mother Ellie could understand, she was a victim of her own strict upbringing and failed totally to understand her modern-minded daughter.

The waves were washing the golden sand of Swansea bay. The curving stretch of coastline was breathtakingly beautiful on this crisp spring morning. Suddenly Ellie felt an excruciating sadness for all the things she would never have; a young, vigorous husband, a brood of children round her skirts.

She turned in sudden determination towards home, she would just have to be content with what the good Lord had chosen to give her.

‘It really isn't good enough, you know.' Bridie knew she sounded sharp, shrew-like even but she couldn't seem to help herself. She sat in Arian Smale's private rooms in the same chair Ellie had occupied a little earlier, but unlike Ellie she didn't admire the décor, didn't even see the good furniture and rich carpets. Her own home was palatial, the shipping industry was booming and that was a result of Bridie's acumen rather than that of her husband.

‘I apologize. I shall see to it, Mrs Marchant,' Arian's voice was soothing, controlled and for some reason it served only to incense Bridie so that she clenched her hands tightly together.

‘If the mistakes continue I shall feel obliged to take my custom elsewhere.'

‘That would be a great pity, we are the largest paper in these parts and
any
advertisement you should choose to place with us would find the widest of audiences.'

Bridie flushed as Arian's meaning became clear. Bridie placed little or no advertising in
The Swansea Times
. Come to think of it she couldn't remember the last time she had put any business of that sort Arian Smale's way. Arian clearly knew that and was making a point.

Bridie rose to her feet, ‘I must be going.' She drew on her gloves. ‘I apologize if I sounded a little harsh but . . .' she shrugged.

‘That's your privilege as a reader of our paper,' Arian spoke softly, ‘you are quite right to point out any errors we make, I'm grateful to you.'

Was there an edge of sarcasm to Arian's words? Bridie could not quite decide. When Bridie left the offices of
The Times
she stood for a moment looking back at the large, elegant building and she felt, uncomfortably, that she had come out of the encounter with Arian with considerable loss of face.

‘Take me home.' She snapped at the driver as she climbed into her carriage and closed the door impatiently behind her, the man was so slow, perhaps he was getting too old for the job. She sank back into the seat and pondered on the unsatisfactory direction that her marriage, indeed her whole life, seemed to be taking.

Paul was in the drawing room; he was sitting, legs spread out before him, reading the paper. It was
The Swansea Times
.

‘Not looking up the tide tables are you?' She pulled off her gloves and threw them down on the well-polished occasional table beside her.

Paul took his time looking up at her. ‘I am as a matter of fact. I'm sailing the day after tomorrow as well you know.' He sounded irritated, he seemed quite often irritated by her these days.

‘Where are the boys?' she asked tossing aside her hat. Paul watched her, his eyes narrowed.

‘With the new tutor, of course. I want them to go to a good school later on, in the meantime they need preparation, you must realize that, surely?'

She didn't reply and he spoke again, his tone revealing his irritation. ‘Can't you let the maid take your things in the hall? Or else go up to your room to change, it's not very seemly of you to be flinging your clothes about the drawing room.'

‘
You
talk to me about being seemly?' Bridie was, for a moment, lost for words. Paul was an upstart, a self-made man while she was from a good family background.

‘Why the question, do you think me so much of a peasant that I'm not able to discern what is seemly and what is not?' He sat forward in his chair, any moment now they would be heading for a full-scale row. There had been too many rows lately.

‘Of course not,' her tone was conciliatory. ‘It's just that I'm annoyed by the wrong information contained in that rag you're reading, Arian Smale should be sure to get her facts right and I told her so to her face.'

‘You seem to be handing out home truths left, right and centre lately.' Paul subsided in his chair, it seemed he'd had enough of the matter as he put the newspaper deliberately close to his face, effectively shutting Bridie out.

She suddenly felt lost and alone. ‘What's happening to us, Paul?' She was close to tears. He didn't reply but the way he shook out the folds of the newspaper indicated he wanted nothing to do with any such discussion.

Disheartened, Bridie left the room and went upstairs to the master bedroom. Paul's bag was packed, it was as if he couldn't wait to get away from her. On an impulse, she knelt down and tugged at the clasp, the bag gaped open and there were Paul's clean, crisp shirts and fresh underwear and socks. Not much to take when he was going to sea for a month or more. But then he had another wardrobe aboard his ship. He always sailed with a full complement of kit on the
Marie Clare
.

Bridie could understand the wanderlust that drove her husband, she sometimes heard the call of the sea herself, and yet she was growing tired of the gap that was between them. What had happened to all that love they'd shared? Or was she mistaken, was it only her ships Paul had wanted and she had been a necessary part of the package?

Something was jutting out of the inside pocket of the bag, a leather-bound book, a diary she thought with a sudden sense of discovery. She drew it out and saw that it was much used. Paul's fine handwriting was small, difficult to decipher but at once Bridie could see that it was no record of any amorous adventures. She sank onto the bed and began to read.

It seemed to make little sense, there were notes concerning odd cargos which brought little profit, things like boxes of candles and leather horse-collars. There were dates, apparently of meetings and the name Monkton appeared several times and Ireland was mentioned on almost every page.

Baffled, she returned it to the bag and snapped the catch shut. Perhaps she was growing obsessed, her reasoning distorted by jealousy. Well, she would go downstairs and discuss with Paul which school he would like their sons to attend when they were older, that approach was sure to put him in a better frame of mind. She left the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

Ellie carried the laden tray up the stairs to Jubilee's room. She had insisted he rest after what he called his ‘funny turn' and though he'd protested, she could see he was grateful to spend a few days in bed. This in itself was worrying, it was seldom Jubilee was indisposed.

‘'Bout time you brought my grub.' Jubilee was resting against the pillows, he was still pale and the flesh hung around his jowls. ‘A man could starve to death by here in this bed while his wife gallivants round Swansea.'

Ellie knew he didn't mean a word of it. ‘Stop your complaining, man.' She placed the tray on the washstand and brought a bowl of soup to the bed. ‘Shall I help you?'

‘Good Lord, no. When the day comes I can't feed myself I'll be ready for my box.'

Ellie remembered when he'd said the same thing about working the tannery and she bit her lip trying not to show her anxiety. She waited while Jubilee bent his head to say grace and then placed the soup in front of him. But his hands were shaking and after a moment, Ellie took the spoon.