Sweet Rosie

by Iris Gower

  Unconsciously she squared her shoulders. She would start with Edward Sparks, she would put the small man in his place, tell him some home truths about his mishandling of her affairs and then she would transfer her account to another bank. If she was destined to live alone then she would make the best of it. One thing she was sure of, she would never trust a man again.

  John lay back on the bed in the cosy attic room and stared up at the ceiling. It seemed that once again he had fallen on his feet, he had a roof over his head and he had the promise of a job. He glanced across to where his bag stood on the floor. Inside was most of the money he had taken from Dan McCabe and it was a goodly sum. John supposed he would need to visit a bank as soon as possible, open an account.

  He wondered if he would be lucky enough to find a bank manager who would be sympathetic to his needs. Preferably someone not too concerned with the rules. That way, a little money could be made to increase dramatically. Well tomorrow he would go into town, talk to people and see what he could learn. In the meantime, he would enjoy the comfort of a bed that did not move in time to the ocean waves. He closed his eyes and slept.

  In the morning, John began to look for proper lodgings. He wanted somewhere cheap and clean where he could impose upon the lady of the house to attend to his laundry. He spent some time in some of the inns on the way into the Stryd Fawr, the High Street where one of the largest banks was situated.

  He did not learn a great deal about any of the bank managers and he was coming to the conclusion that they were all as honest as the day was long. It did nothing for his spirits but the beer helped a little. Still, he needed to keep a cool head if he wanted to do business with anyone.

  He was leaving the Britannica Inn when he saw a young lady bustling along the pavement towards him, her arms full of packages. She was richly dressed and carried herself like a lady. This impression was confirmed when he saw that she was heading towards a gleaming coach bearing a coat of arms on the door.

  The lady dropped one of her packages and John leapt forward to pick it up, doffing his hat politely.

  ‘Thank you, that’s so kind of you.’ She looked up into his eyes and her expression was that of a harlot not a lady. John read lust there and his pulse quickened. She looked familiar, had he met her before? Or did all whores look the same?

  ‘I couldn’t see such a beautiful young woman in distress, could I?’ He watched her carefully as she looked towards the carriage, had he misread the warmth in her eyes?

  ‘Could I escort you somewhere?’ he asked politely. This would be the test, no respectable woman would agree to trust a man to whom she had not been introduced. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. He had not been mistaken.

  ‘I was just on my way home but I have a raging thirst and could do with a drink of tea,’ she said gushingly.

  ‘It would be a delight to accompany you, Mrs . . .?’

  ‘Polly Boucher but you can call me Polly,’ she simpered. ‘I’ll just put my parcels into the carriage and we can go into one of the tea rooms around here if you like.’

  ‘I would like. Very much,’ John said easily. He watched as the driver took the parcels from Polly and doffed his cap as she gave him instructions to wait. She came bouncing back to John. Her eyes were gleaming like those of a cat. She was a strange mixture, part lady part whore, and the combination excited him.

  He took her into the Castle Hotel and ordered tea. They sat there in silence for a few minutes and then Polly leaned closer to him.

  ‘I must tell you all about Swansea,’ she said. ‘And the so-called élite of the town.’ She had a ready fund of gossip and John listened intrigued. She talked about Eynon Morton-Edwards and his affair with the wife of a bank manager. John smiled at her, encouraging her to go on and she did so, her tongue sharp, her observations even sharper.

  ‘The twins Alice Sparks is carrying, everyone says it’s Eynon who is the father.’ She dimpled. ‘I can well believe it, Mr Sparks looks too effete to produce anything more than a bank draft.’

  John leaned across the table allowing his hand to touch hers. Polly did not draw away. ‘Ah, you mentioned banks and as it happens I’m looking for somewhere to put my money,’ he said. ‘I take it you would not recommend I put my trust in Mr Sparks then?’

  ‘Too royal!’ Polly said robustly. For a moment she almost sounded as common as a street girl, then she put her head on one side and smiled at him. ‘You put your trust in my husband. Jem Boucher is a good businessman and has made a rich living for us both.’

  She was once again the lady, well spoken if a little too outspoken. She interested him. ‘You are a fascinating lady, you know,’ he said softly. ‘If you weren’t married, I think I could fall for you hook, line and sinker!’

  ‘Oh go away with you, sir.’ She looked down, pretending a shyness she clearly did not feel. ‘I expect you say that to any lady you chance to take tea with.’

  ‘Well not exactly, I don’t know many ladies in Swansea, I have only just returned from the Americas.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her eyes were large. ‘I hear everyone in America is very wealthy, is that so?’

  ‘It is in my case.’ John was exaggerating; he had only the money he had taken from McCabe and, though that was more than John had ever owned in his life, without proper care it would not last him long.

  ‘And you have no wife in America?’ Polly asked.

  John shook his head. ‘I did have but I lost her.’ He looked as downcast as he could manage. ‘In any case, the marriage was an unhappy one. There were no children, nothing to keep me in America and so I returned to British shores.’

  ‘Ah, marriage, it is not always what we think it to be,’ Polly said. ‘Though my husband is good to me, he is old and lacks physical prowess, if you know what I mean.’ She lowered her lashes but John read her well. If he played his cards right, he would soon have Mrs Polly Boucher between the sheets. Being a paramour to a wealthy woman was a much better prospect than working in the pottery under the surly eye of Watt Bevan.

  It was John who brought the interlude to an end. ‘I had better return you to your carriage.’ He paused and smiled in what he hoped was a rueful manner. ‘And, alas, to the arms of your husband.’

  Polly seemed taken aback by his decision to leave. She pouted for a moment and then rose to her feet with a flourish.

  ‘You must come to visit us.’ She was the haughty lady now. ‘We are living in the house once owned by the Morton-Edwards family, do you know it?’

  Did he know it? He could scarcely miss what was one of the most elegant houses in the whole town of Swansea. ‘I’m sure I could find it.’ He leaned forward. ‘I have every incentive to do so when there is so much at stake.’ She could take that any way she chose. She smiled.

  ‘Are you being naughty, sir?’

  ‘I would love to be naughty with you, Polly.’ He kissed her fingers, allowing his mouth to travel to her wrist where a gleaming bracelet hung. He made a quick appraisal. It was made up of at least twelve carats’ worth of diamonds, she must be very rich indeed.

  ‘Polly,’ his voice took on a sense of urgency, ‘please let me see you again, very soon.’

  ‘Tonight?’ she said. He looked at her sharply. She rested her free hand against his shirt-front. He congratulated himself on wearing his best linen, bought for him by Josephine.

  ‘Won’t your husband object?’

  ‘My dear Jem is away on business and my nights get lonely without him.’ She leaned a little closer. ‘Just be discreet, that’s all I ask. I shall leave the French doors of the drawing room open and you can step inside without anyone being any the wiser.’

  ‘I will count the minutes, dear Polly,’ he said earnestly.

  As he watched her carriage roll away in a cloud of dust, John smiled to himself. Tonight, if he was any judge, he was in for a good time. Meanwhile, he would spend the rest of the day seeking out Mr Sparks, bank manager. John had the distinct feeling that the two of them would get along very well.
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  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Edward, be quiet, you’re always complaining about something!’ This time it was the fact that he might be forced to leave the bank in spite of his efforts to cover up his petty pilfering. Alice was in no mood to listen. She felt her swollen stomach; the twins were overdue, either that or she had got her dates wrong. She would not dwell on that possibility; if she had calculated wrongly, the twins could well be Edward’s. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. She stared at him now, his thin face lined with misery. ‘What do I know about your doings at the bank and more to the point, why should I care?’

  She closed her eyes, wishing Edward would go away and leave her in peace. She ached in every bone, her legs and feet were grotesquely swollen and Alice was worried that something was wrong with the twins. Surely it was not normal to go on so long?

  Perhaps she would ring for Rosie to bring her some herb tea; the brew was supposed to help a woman through her labour. Alice thought of Rosie with fondness; she had come to depend on her maid more than she had thought possible. She did not even complain when Rosie went up to Greenhill each day to spend a few hours cleaning and cooking in her mother’s house.

  When Rosie’s mother had passed away it was to Alice she came for comfort. To Alice’s surprise Rosie’s tears had moved her. Perhaps she could ask Rosie her advice about her condition. On the other hand, Rosie was childless; maybe it would be better to have the doctor called in. Oh to hell with it all! She just wanted to sleep.

  She closed her eyes but she was restless, unable to relax. ‘Edward,’ she rubbed her hand across her swollen stomach, ‘do you think we should get the doctor? I don’t feel well.’

  ‘Who’s complaining now?’ Edward was triumphant that he had scored a point off her. ‘In any case, doctors cost money and, as I keep telling you, that’s something we are short of right now.’

  Alice was exasperated. ‘How can we be short of money after the loan that Eynon Morton-Edwards made us?’

  ‘Don’t question me!’ Edward rose from his chair. He was thinner than ever, his nose looked longer and was pinched at the nostrils as though he was constantly plagued by a bad smell. He was the meanest man it was ever her misfortune to meet and she was married to him.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I question you?’ Alice wanted to hit him. ‘You haven’t been up to your old tricks, have you?’

  The look on his face was enough to tell her she had hit the mark. ‘Edward! You’ve been pilfering money again!’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘You should be looking after me, not worrying me with your troubles at work. What are you doing with all the money, that’s what I’d like to know?’

  It was not another woman; that much Alice could be sure of. Edward was not one for bed-time games. How she detested him. He was inept at everything he did. He could not even make a decent living for his wife and family.

  ‘Get the maid, Edward,’ she said briskly. ‘I need something to drink, my throat aches and my head is thumping.’

  ‘It’s not my place to fetch the maid.’ He was in his pompous mood now, he was such a child. ‘I am supposed to be master of the house, you call the maid, the bell is just above you.’

  Alice manoeuvred herself to the edge of the chair and, with a great effort, managed to get to her feet. She tugged at the bell cord, feeling breathless even with such a slight exertion. Surely something must be wrong?

  ‘Bring me some tea, Rosie, please,’ she said as the maid came into the room. ‘And some of that herb stuff for headaches. Hurry, there’s a good girl.’ She subsided into her chair with a feeling of relief.

  The tea was warm and comforting after the bitter taste of the herbal remedy Rosie had prepared for her.

  ‘You shouldn’t drink that poison.’ Edward pointed at the empty glass. ‘It smells foul, you don’t know what it’s doing to your insides.’

  ‘It cures my aches and pains and that’s all I care about,’ Alice said defiantly. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Perhaps she would try again to sleep and then she might feel better. In any case, closing her eyes and pretending to sleep would give her some respite from Edward’s constant whining.

  Alice relaxed, her mind felt as though it had been wrapped in wool, the pain in her head abated and she slept.

  John Pendennis had arranged to see Edward Sparks first thing on Monday morning. He was there bright and early and though he was irritated at being kept waiting he smiled pleasantly and held out his hand.

  He could see at once that his manner of speaking and the way he was dressed impressed Sparks; the man managed a smile and gestured towards a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mr Pendennis?’ Sparks spoke in clipped tones as though reluctant to allow the words to pass his lips. John summed him up at once: he was mean spirited and game for anything. He was a crook.

  ‘There is a venture I’m interested in, a real money spinner.’ John smiled. ‘Within a year I aim to treble my initial investment.’

  Sparks sat forward in his chair. ‘Might I ask what this investment is?’ He was clearly interested. His small eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.

  ‘Ah, now this is where you come in,’ John said. ‘I’m going to need some help.’ He smiled easily, noting the way Sparks sat back in his chair.

  ‘If you are asking me to make an investment along with you then you are out of luck.’ He pressed his thin fingers together. ‘It is not bank policy to let the managers become embroiled in financial dealings with customers.’

  ‘All I would need from you is some information,’ John said.

  ‘What sort of information?’ Sparks’s tone was guarded. His shoulders were tense and in spite of his attempt to appear casual, the interest was back in his eyes. ‘And what would be in it for me?’

  John knew he had the man hooked. Greed was an overpowering emotion and Edward Sparks had more than his fair share of it.

  ‘That depends,’ John said. He was playing the man along, tempting him and then withdrawing the bait. Sparks was practically drooling at the prospect of getting in on something that would make him rich.

  ‘You could earn yourself as much as a forty per cent share in the profits I make,’ John said. ‘If the advice you give me is valuable enough.’ It was time to get to the point.

  ‘I want to buy the Mainwaring Pottery,’ he said. ‘I hear the owners went through a shaky period some time ago, unpaid debts, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I am not in a position to disclose personal details,’ Sparks said uneasily. John concealed a smile, his information had been correct, it had been well worth him cultivating Polly Boucher; she was a gossip of the first order. She advised John to put his money in safer hands because Sparks was about to be dismissed from his position and lucky not to be prosecuted for misappropriation, if not downright dishonesty.

  He smiled; her enthusiastic response in the bedroom was gratifying, bringing him gifts of fine jewellery as well as generous sums of money. He expected more to come from that quarter and felt that risking his own small resources was no risk at all.

  He had only known her a little over a week but already Polly was dependent on him the way women were, clinging to him, begging him to stay with her just a little longer, bribing him with her lithe body as well as with her money.

  He met Sparks’s eyes. ‘Cut the garbage!’ he said. ‘We both know you were involved in the decline of the Mainwaring Pottery. You did it once, you could do it again and this time with rich pickings.’ He smiled.

  ‘Once the property falls low enough in price, I intend to buy it and build it up. Once the creditors know the place is under new management they will supply all that I need to work the place.’

  ‘But have you experience in that line?’ Sparks asked uneasily. ‘Potting is not such an easy business, you know.’

  ‘I grew up with it, damn you!’ John said. ‘Do I look the sort of man who would go into something half cocked?’

  He rose to hi
s feet. ‘If you are not interested then I will find someone who has the intelligence to recognize a good proposition when it comes along.’ He paused. ‘I have looked at the books, that pottery is a little goldmine, believe me.’

  ‘But Mrs Mainwaring might notice something.’ Sparks was weakening. ‘I managed to cover the discrepancies up last time, claim there was an unavoidable mistake. Which there was of course,’ he added hastily. ‘I had no intention of bringing the price of the pottery down, you see it was, as I said, a mistake.’

  ‘But you had a buyer for the place. You were offered a generous sum of cash if you persuaded Mrs Mainwaring to sell, isn’t that so?’

  Sparks raised thin eyebrows. ‘Supposing what you say is correct, what would be in it for me?’

  ‘You would have a nice little sum of money by way of a thank you gesture.’ John smiled. ‘I understand you might be dismissed from your post any day now.’

  Sparks ignored that remark and raised his last objection. ‘There’s Watt Bevan, he’s no idiot, he’d know something was wrong even if Mrs Mainwaring failed to notice.’

  John knew the man had picked on the only real flaw in the plan. Watt Bevan was astute and he was in charge of most sections of the potting business. But then, accidents could happen to anyone.

  ‘I’ll take care of Watt Bevan,’ John said slowly. ‘All I want from you is a small diversion of funds from the Mainwaring account to mine.’ John took his bag from his belt and threw it on the desk. ‘I think you’ll find a small sum of money there, just enough to open an account. I expect that account to grow. Do you understand?’

  ‘I’ll do what I can.’ Sparks’s greedy hand reached for the bag. He adjusted his glasses and stared at the contents. The small sum John had mentioned was quite substantial by Sparks’s reckoning. ‘I think we might be able to do business, Mr Pendennis,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Now a receipt if you please. I am a cautious man when it comes to business.’ He smiled and waited while Sparks carefully wrote out a receipt and signed it with a flourish.