The Trader's Reward

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Just a little.’

  That was an understatement, he was sure, yet she’d never complained, not once, not about anything. ‘Are you going to sign up for any of the classes, Fergus?’

  He liked the way she said his name, not with the Irish accent of his family, but in her own special way. Her voice was low and musical, easy to listen to. He wondered suddenly if she was a good singer. ‘It depends what’s being offered. I enjoy learning new skills, I must admit.’

  ‘At the moment, Matron’s collecting names of people who can run things, so she doesn’t know yet exactly what will be offered. She says all passenger ships do this. It’ll be nice to have something to pass the time, don’t you think? They’re going to run classes for the children too. I think it’d be good to keep the boys occupied.’

  ‘Very good. Sean’s got too much energy for his own good. I wonder …’ It was his turn to hesitate. ‘Did Matron say anything about singing? I used to be a member of the glee club at church till Eileen got too sick. I really enjoy singing and I helped run the club.’

  He chuckled suddenly. ‘That’s one thing at least that I do better than my brother Bram, sing. He can’t even sing in tune.’

  Sean tugged his father’s sleeve. ‘Dad, can we go and—’

  ‘You can stay here while I chat to your mother, Sean. It’s about time you stopped sulking and joined in.’

  ‘She’s not my mother.’

  ‘She’s your stepmother, which is nearly the same. Are you going to go against your mother’s last wish? Surely not?’

  ‘The boys could call me something different and keep the word “mother” for Eileen. How about they call me Mama instead?’

  Mal tried it out. ‘Hello, Mama. Thank you, Mama.’ He giggled. ‘Posh people say that. We aren’t posh.’

  Fergus smiled at him. Mal, with his sunny nature, often cheered them all up. ‘We may do better in Australia than we did in England, though. Your uncle is making a success of his life out there.’

  Matron came up to them again, beaming. ‘You’ve had six people put their names down for your sewing class already, Mrs Deagan. As long as the weather doesn’t take a turn for the worse, we could start it quite soon.’

  ‘Good.’ Cara looked at Fergus. If he didn’t offer, she’d do it for him. But he did offer. ‘I could organise a singing group, if you like, Matron. I used to help run a glee club in Swindon.’

  ‘That’d be marvellous. We usually put on a concert so we have some sheets of music on board. There’s a piano in the cabin-class passengers’ day room, which we usually bring out on to the deck.’

  ‘Put on a concert?’ Fergus looked shocked.

  ‘It’s not much different from running a singing group, I’m sure, Mr Deagan. How well do you play the piano? Do you have some music with you?’

  ‘I can’t read music. I play the piano by ear. Once I’ve heard a tune, I can play it.’

  ‘Even better. I’ll put you on my list.’ She scribbled on her piece of paper and turned to the others. ‘Now lads, one of the sailors is going to show any boys who’re interested how to tie proper sailors’ knots, starting this afternoon. Would you like to do that?’

  They both beamed at her.

  She gave them a very stern look, adding, ‘As long as you behave yourselves, that is.’

  They nodded.

  ‘Luncheon is at half-past twelve but there’s a cup of tea and a bun at half-past ten for those who’re hungry. There’s a snack at half-past three in the afternoon as well.’ She smiled at Cara. ‘If your sons are hungry all the time, as lads usually are, that is.’

  ‘Oh, they’re always hungry.’

  ‘She’s not our mother!’

  Sean gave her such a hostile look, Cara felt tears rise in her eyes. She hoped Matron hadn’t noticed, but saw Mal give her a worried look, then frown at his brother.

  But Fergus had noticed she was upset, of course he had. He looked at Sean angrily.

  Cara intervened quickly, not wanting to cause trouble between father and son. ‘I’m the boys’ stepmother, Matron.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Matron nodded and left.

  ‘I want to go down now and check on Ma,’ Cara said. ‘If she’s getting more used to the rocking of the ship, I’m sure she’d be better on deck in the fresh air.’

  ‘I’ll help you down the stairs, I mean the companionway.’ Again, he carried the baby down, stopping at the bottom to hand Niamh over.

  For a moment they stood there, smiling slightly at one another. Doing things together felt … nice. Cara wished they had more time to chat and get to know one another better.

  When she went into their cabin, Pa put one finger on his lips and she saw that Ma was fast asleep.

  She whispered, ‘I need to feed Niamh. Why don’t you go up on deck for a few minutes and join the others?’

  But though she fed the baby, Niamh once again behaved as if she was still hungry and her crying woke Ma.

  She sat up as soon as she heard the baby. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve fed her, but it didn’t seem to take as long as usual, and it’s as if she hasn’t had enough.’

  Ma got down and came across, checking Cara’s breasts and muttering to herself. ‘I think your milk is drying up. It happens sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, no! How are we going to feed the baby?’

  Ma smiled. ‘We’ll mash some food up to a paste. I’ll talk to Matron about it. I’m sure she’ll help us.’

  Being needed seemed to have revived Ma and she bustled off. Matron came back with her. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Deagan. Sometimes the change of circumstances upsets women’s milk, so we keep Mellin’s Food on board. It’s really easy to use and the babies usually thrive on it. You don’t even have to boil it, just dissolve a measured amount in hot water. I’ll fetch you a jar and you can read the instructions for yourself.’

  When she’d gone, Ma asked softly, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I feel as if I’m letting you all down.’

  Ma gave her a quick hug and plonked a kiss on the baby’s forehead for good measure. ‘You’re not. Without you, she’d have died. I did wonder if your milk was drying up, even before we left Swindon. You weren’t leaking as much and Niamh seemed a bit hungry sometimes.’

  Was there any detail Ma didn’t notice? Cara wondered, feeling her cheeks go warmer with embarrassment.

  Matron came back just then, carrying a glass jar of what looked like powder. ‘Here you are.’ She tapped the label. ‘Mellin’s Food. A marvellous invention. And here’s a feeding bottle to put it in.’ She pulled one out of her apron pocket.

  Cara had never seen a feeding bottle, because she’d not had much to do with babies before. She studied the object, which looked like a half-flattened bottle lying on its side with the ends curving slightly upwards. It had an opening in the top and a much smaller opening at one of the narrow ends.

  ‘The ship’s doctor insists mothers take great care to keep the bottle clean.’ Matron pulled out a small bottle brush and handed that over too. ‘He suggests washing the bottle thoroughly after every single use, especially the inside of the narrow feeding end, for which you’ll need this brush. He also insists on people rinsing the bottle out with boiled water afterwards.’

  Ma nodded. ‘I’m a great believer in keeping things clean myself.’

  Cara took the jar of baby food and studied the label carefully, reading it aloud for Ma’s sake. ‘Mellin’s Food for infants and invalids is the only perfect substitute for mother’s milk.’

  ‘Well, to think of that!’ Ma exclaimed, examining the jar and shaking its powdery contents about.

  ‘We’ll also provide you with rice pudding and similar invalid foods, which you can pass through a sieve. The baby will soon get used to them. She looks to be a healthy little thing. Though of course, if you have any trouble, you must take her to the ship’s doctor.’

  Matron glanced at her fob watch. ‘It’s time for morning tea now. Come and have
something to eat. You mothers need to keep up your strength.’

  After they’d finished their morning snack, Cara rinsed out the baby’s bottle, just to be sure it was clean, and made up a little Mellin’s Food to try.

  Fergus examined everything carefully and even tasted the mixture, pulling a face at its blandness. Then he sat with her while she tried out the bottle on the baby.

  Niamh spat out the narrow end-piece a few times, with such a disgusted expression on her face they all had to laugh. But after a while she started to move her lips as if chewing the thickened liquid that had got into her mouth.

  The baby sucked down a little more, then fell asleep between one mouthful and the next.

  Ma looked at her so longingly, Cara said, ‘Would you like to hold her?’

  ‘I’d love to. There’s nothing to beat the feel of a baby in your arms.’

  Fergus tugged Cara’s arm and gestured towards the door. ‘Let me take you for a little stroll while you’re free. I want to check on the boys, too.’

  Up on deck, she said, ‘I’m sorry to have let you down, Fergus.’

  He looked at her in astonishment. ‘You haven’t let us down in any way that I can think of. I only brought you up on deck for some fresh air. I think Ma would like to feed Niamh sometimes. Would you mind?’

  ‘No. I can understand how Ma feels about her daughter’s child. She’s a wonderful woman, isn’t she, Ma?’

  ‘Yes. She is.’

  ‘Was Eileen like her?’

  ‘No. Eileen wasn’t nearly as wise as her mother.’ He changed the subject immediately, so Cara didn’t pursue it. She’d noticed before how reluctant he was to talk about his first wife and he never criticised her directly, but sometimes things he said showed that there had been problems between him and Eileen.

  It was lovely to stroll round the deck, crowded as it was. She looked enviously at the cabin passengers’ deck in front of the funnel. That area wasn’t at all crowded and people could walk about more freely.

  Fergus followed her gaze. ‘They’re lucky, aren’t they? Their journey will be a lot more comfortable than ours. You should be travelling with them, really.’

  ‘I’m happy with you and the Gradys. You’ve given me so much.’

  ‘Have we? I feel as if you’re the one who’s done the giving.’

  ‘You married me and gave me a family, including a daughter to love.’

  ‘I’m sorry you lost your own child.’

  She could only nod. It wasn’t something she could talk about easily.

  She hoped Fergus wouldn’t regret marrying her so hastily. It’d not be her fault if he did.

  She didn’t regret marrying him, not at all. In fact, none of the gentlemen she’d been introduced to by her mother had pleased her half as much as he did.

  Rémi decided to take a stroll on deck in the fresh air. He felt obliged to ask Barrett if he fancied joining him.

  The other man shuddered. ‘No, thank you. I’m feeling queasy as hell. All I want is a cup of weak tea.’ He rubbed his forehead as if it was aching.

  Serves you right, Rémi thought.

  He found the deck half empty when he went outside. The air felt bracing. A group of women were chatting in one corner and some older men were sitting on steamer chairs closer to the rail. He nodded, but didn’t feel like joining them.

  A steward approached. ‘Would you like a deck chair, sir?’

  ‘Deck chair?’ Rémi didn’t know the term.

  The steward pointed to a pile of wooden chair frames. ‘Some people call them steamer chairs, but we call them “deck chairs” because on deck is the only place they’re used.’

  ‘Not at the moment, thank you. I feel like some exercise.’

  He was too tall to find the steamer chairs comfortable, anyway, with their single strip of canvas fastened to a wooden frame. He’d already found that they were hard to get into and even harder to get out of.

  He paused at the central part of the deck near the funnel, watching the steerage passengers, who seemed a much livelier lot than his travelling companions. These people seemed to be coping much better with the rougher seas, laughing and exclaiming as they were jolted about.

  The dark-haired man Rémi had noticed before was there with his wife. The matron came across to him. ‘Could you spare me a few moments, sir?’

  ‘I’ve as many moments to spare as you please, ma’am. I can see that time will pass more slowly while one is sailing.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I came to see you. I’m in charge of arranging a programme of classes and events. I wondered if you’d like to run a group.’

  When he said nothing, her tone became coaxing. ‘You could deal with any topic you please. I’d better warn you that the steerage and cabin passengers usually mingle in such situations. Some people don’t approve of that.’

  He beamed at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind mingling and I’d be delighted to help out … if I can. I’m not sure what I could do, though.’

  ‘Almost anything. People don’t usually complain. We have several volunteers already.’ She turned to point to the family he’d just been observing. ‘Mr Deagan has suggested forming a glee club, and I’ve nudged him into making it a concert. He helped organise a glee club in his home town, so he should have some experience. Have you any musical talent, Mr Newland?’

  ‘I can sing reasonably well, as long as no one expects me to sing solo.’

  ‘Perfect. Why don’t you sing in the chorus and help Mr Deagan to organise the concert? We usually put one on before we get to Port Said and enter the Suez Canal. People enjoy whatever entertainment can be provided. Other passengers normally join us at Marseille, but as you know, this ship isn’t stopping there.’

  Rémi suddenly had an idea. ‘I wonder if any of the steerage passengers are interested in bettering themselves? I’ve taken an interest in working people before, in London. I could use Samuel Smiles’ book Self-Help to guide a few discussions. There are some very wise ideas in it and he provides inspiring examples of people who made a success of their lives.’

  ‘Perfect! I’m sure the men will love that.’

  ‘What about the women?’ He had met an occasional woman interested in bettering herself and had let them join in his discussion groups. After all, many women ran small businesses, just like the men.

  That’s very kind of you, sir. I’m sure anything you can contribute will be greatly appreciated. I’ll let you know when I’ve made arrangements.’

  She moved on to speak to another passenger and Rémi continued to stroll round the deck, feeling a little better at the prospect of something to do. He’d have to plan his self-help class carefully. Maybe he could offer summaries of what Mr Smiles said, then they could discuss some of the topics? Yes, that might be a good way to go. He’d have to go through the book again and take notes. He’d not read all the biographies of successful men it contained. There were far too many, really, and they got a bit repetitive after a while, since they were mostly illustrating the same virtues emphasised by Smiles as crucial: industry, frugality, temperance and honesty.

  He sighed. Did he have those virtues himself? Not industry, because apart from working for his uncle, he hadn’t done more than dabble with this and that in his spare time. Frugality? Yes. He’d had to be careful with his money. Temperance? No, definitely not. He enjoyed a drink, though he didn’t like to get drunk, which was a stupid thing to do with one’s body. Honesty? Yes, he approved of that one.

  On the other side of the deck, he slowed down as Mrs Spaulding fell in beside him. This older lady was lively and not afraid to strike up a conversation with anyone. Well, she wasn’t that much older than him, about ten years or so, he supposed. But she had a grown-up son. What did he have to equal that? No family at all now.

  ‘You’re looking happier than when you passed me earlier, Mr Newland.’

  ‘I’ve just agreed to help Matron with some classes and groups.’ He found himself telling her about the glee club, the concert
and the idea of the self-help class.

  ‘What an excellent thing to do. Now, what could I offer people, I wonder?’ Her face brightened. ‘Perhaps I could read stories to the children. Those from poorer families rarely get the chance to stretch their imaginations. I used to read to the children in my church.’ She chuckled as she added, ‘And not always improving tales from the Bible, even on Sundays. I’ve brought along the books I used then, to read to my grandchildren, so if one of the sailors could get my trunk out, it’d be easy enough to read stories. I’ll go and see Matron about it this very minute.’

  He smiled as he watched her bustle off.

  Barrett joined the cabin passengers for the evening meal, but said very little, looking sulky and bored. He’d said very little in the cabin, too.

  Rémi had to wonder, from what Barrett had said, whether he too was being forced to leave England.

  As he got ready for bed, Rémi noticed that his companion had found a way to refill his hip flask and was settling down to drinking steadily, turning the pages of a book which, if the glimpse Rémi had had of it was anything to go by, contained photos of young ladies in states of undress … and worse.

  He said goodnight as a matter of politeness but received only a grunt in reply.

  As he put his own book away and reached up to turn the lamp down low, Rémi saw his companion’s book slip to the floor. Barrett muttered something that sounded like a curse and tossed the hip flask on to the floor beside the book. It must have been empty because he hadn’t put the cap back on.

  Soon he was snoring.

  Rémi turned his back to the fellow, hoping Barrett would wake up with a well-deserved hangover.

  11

  When the lonely gentleman’s advertisement appeared in the newspaper for a second time, Bram couldn’t get it out of his mind. In the end, he consulted his wife. ‘I really think we should contact this man. We could invite him round to take tea and if he seems as suitable as he sounds, we could introduce him to Livia.’