by Anna Jacobs
‘That was your good fortune. She was … not a good person.’ He didn’t waste his time speaking ill of the dead.
‘After I came to Australia and decided to settle here, Conn Largan bought this piece of land in Fremantle, with its livery stables, cottage and a row of sheds that I turned into this Bazaar. He did it secretly, because it wouldn’t have helped for people to know that the Bazaar was partly owned by a convict – though his conviction has been erased now because he wasn’t guilty. His father had engineered that, falsified evidence. Well, you know what the man was like. I’ve been paying Conn rent ever since. If I can ever afford it, though, I’d like to buy the land the Bazaar stands on from him.’
Another pause, then: ‘And I had help in Singapore from a very clever Chinese man called Lee Kar Ho – we call him Mr Lee, though that’s not how they talk to one another there. He too became my business partner. He’s the one who suggested I marry Isabella, who had been teaching him and his family English. I’d never have dared to think of that without his encouragement, though I’d fallen in love with her at first sight. So you see, I’ve been lucky. Quite a few people have helped me on my way.’
‘And now you’re helping me in my turn.’
This time, thank goodness, Fergus’s tone didn’t sound sarcastic.
‘I will help you if you’ll let me. We are brothers, after all.’ Bram didn’t know how to persuade him that it would be a pleasure for him to help his family. But he thought, he really did, that Fergus was looking a little less stiff about it all today.
Before he could say anything else, there was a commotion at the front of the store and a lad came running down towards them, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘Mr Deagan! Mr Deagan! Come quickly! It’s Mr Chilton.’ He stood panting in the doorway, then said dramatically, ‘He’s just dropped dead.’
‘Dear heaven, no!’ Bram stood up so quickly he sent his chair crashing sideways. He pushed past the lad and ran out of the shop without a word of explanation to his brother.
Fergus had heard the panic in Bram’s voice, so didn’t hesitate, but followed him. As he chased down the street after his brother, he left the lad panting along behind them.
Something was wrong, badly wrong from the expression on Bram’s face. Maybe he could help.
After a few moments he sniffed the air, wondering what that unpleasant smell was. His brother was still running, coattails flapping, arms pumping the air.
He saw Bram hurtle round the next corner and into a building labelled ICE WORKS.
Fergus followed. The smell was coming from this building: ammonia. Ah, of course! That could be used in making ice. He’d read about a better process in one of the magazines the engineers lent to him, though he couldn’t at the moment remember the exact details. He seemed to recall, though, that a man in Australia had patented a new process.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he walked through a small shop, which had no goods on display, only a counter. Couldn’t they store their supplies of urine outside in the yard? It might mean more fetching and carrying, but it’d also mean a better, more pleasant shop for customers to visit. Any fool should know that.
When he reached the back part of the building, he forgot about the technicalities of ice making and selling because his brother was kneeling next to a man’s body, which was sprawled across the floor. Whoever it was looked more like a fallen scarecrow than a person, his clothes were so shabby on a skeletally thin body.
Fergus turned to the lad who’d brought the news. ‘Who is he?’
‘Mr Chilton. He makes – used to make the ice here.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Robbie. I work here, help out. Well, I’ve been doing most of the ice making lately. Mr Chilton hasn’t been … well.’
Bram stood up again. He looked to be in utter despair and didn’t move or speak, just stared blindly into the distance. So Fergus took charge. ‘Well, Robbie, I think you should get on with your work while Mr Deagan and I do what’s needed for Mr Chilton.’
The lad hesitated. ‘Shall I open up the shop, then?’
‘Is that what you usually do at this time?’
‘Yes. If there’s any ice.’
‘Do you have some ice to sell today?’
‘A bit. The machinery isn’t working very well. Mr Chilton said he was going to have a look at it. Still, it isn’t hot today, so we won’t get as many people in. And maybe the machinery will go on working till Mr Deagan can find someone else to look after it.’
‘Right. Get on with it, then.’
The lad nodded and went off towards the front of the building.
Fergus frowned. If there was any ice? Machinery that needed looking at? What sort of a manufactory was this?
Bram was looking like a man who’d suddenly had a fortune stolen from him. He turned away and brushed his forearm furtively across his eyes, but a gulp betrayed that he was struggling against tears.
Fergus couldn’t bear to watch his brother’s pain any longer. He moved forward and put an arm round those shaking shoulders. ‘Was Chilton very dear to you?’
‘Dear to me? No. I think I grew to hate him! He promised so much and things never went right.’
The tale tumbled out jerkily, of how Chilton had produced some ice, but had said he had to have better machinery if he was to make enough ice to satisfy people’s needs and make money. Bram had seen it as a good investment in a hot climate, so had provided the money.
Only it hadn’t been a good investment.
‘I can’t even retrieve my money now, Fergus. No one else understands Chilton’s machinery. And I’m not sure he understood it properly, either. I should have listened to Isabella and closed this place down months ago, stopped pouring money into it. Only … the ice can save lives in hot weather. It did save my little Arlen’s life, I’m quite sure of that. He had such a fever, you see. I wanted to help save other children.’
His voice faltered as he added, ‘And I didn’t want people to know that I’d made a bad investment.’
Fergus was touched to the core by this halting admission. Here he’d been feeling suspicious of Bram, looking for condescension and he knew not what else. He now understood that his brother was a man of great heart. Look at the way Bram had treated that widow today. And the way he’d worked at the big house for years, giving his family most of his wages. He hadn’t run off to England and left his younger brothers and sisters to starve, as Fergus had.
Bram didn’t seem to know what to do next.
‘Is that an office? Come and sit down for a few moments. You’ve had a shock.’ Fergus spoke gently, then put an arm round his brother and guided him into the untidy little room.
As they sat down, he began thinking hard. He was far more at home with machinery than his brother, so perhaps he could help. He looked up as Bram spoke again.
‘You must think I’m a fool, Fergus. Everyone makes mistakes, I know, but this is a big, expensive one.’ Bram sighed and leaned against the back of the chair, closing his eyes for a moment, as if worn out. ‘I’ve earned quite a lot of money, but there have been problems now and then. We lost most of one cargo in a storm, you see. I’m terrified of losing everything I’ve built up. Absolutely terrified of that happening. People do go bankrupt sometimes, you know, in spite of their best efforts.’
There was silence again, except for a quiet, despairing little groan, then Fergus said, ‘I’ll see if I can get you a drink of water, or a cup of tea even.’
Bram didn’t reply or even seem to notice when his brother left the office.
Robbie said he could make them a cup of tea and while he was doing that, Fergus took a quick walk round the ice works, looking at the machinery, some of which wasn’t connected. Those parts seemed to have been abandoned, simply pushed to one side and left where they were.
When he rejoined his brother, he found that Robbie had brought in two tin mugs of tea and dumped them on the desk. Fergus wiped the dirty fingerprints off the rims and thrust one mug into his brother’
s hands. ‘Drink this.’
As he sipped the tea, Bram seemed to revive a little.
Fergus set down his mug, grimacing at the poor quality of the tea. The cheapest tea dust, not proper leaves, if he was any judge. ‘Listen to me, now, will you?’
Bram nodded. ‘I’m listening. Sorry – it was the shock. Losing the business like that.’
‘I know. But I’ve had a look round and I think I can help you to save this business. Even if we do nothing else, we can retrieve a lot of this machinery and sell it, or use it for other purposes, so it won’t be a complete loss.’
‘We can?’ Bram blinked at him, then shook his head. ‘No. It won’t work. I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t know the first thing about machinery.’
‘Of course you don’t. Why should you? You’re a trader. But I’ve been earning my living by working with machinery and I know about it. More than that. I have a real feel for machinery, Bram.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. So will you let me study this place to see if I can help you? Give me a week or so, and I’ll be able to tell you whether we can get it going again as a money-making business or sell the equipment for scrap.’
‘Fergus, you worked on railway machinery not iceworks. I don’t mean to doubt you, and I do appreciate your offer, but is it worth the trouble? I tried, and tried again with Chilton, and each time it cost me more money.’
Fergus hesitated, but he did know about machinery. ‘This is different, Bram, and I’m not Chilton.’
When he had his brother’s full attention, he tried to explain, though he knew he wasn’t the best with words. In the end he simply held out his hands in the air between them. ‘I can’t always find the words I want, but these hands of mine seem made to pull machinery to pieces and put it together again. I can repair and build, and even design new machines. I wasn’t properly trained as an engineer, so other men took the credit at the railway works, but I was proud of what I could do and they didn’t treat me too badly, considering they were gentlemen and I wasn’t. They asked my advice or let me deal with things on my own. And they paid me extra.’
Bram looked at his brother’s strong, capable hands. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure that if there’s a way of mending things, I’ll find it. Not sure there is a way.’
‘You seemed upset when you arrived here. I couldn’t get close to you. And yet, you’re offering to help me. I appreciate that.’
Fergus laid a hand on Bram’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘That was my fault, not yours. I was upset when we got here. Very. Because there are no railways here, you see, so I didn’t know how I would earn a living. It’s always been the railways for me, ever since I went to England.’
He gestured round them. ‘But there are other types of machinery. I’d forgotten that in my disappointment. Give me a week, Bram. Just a week. I’ll put all my money into this, because we’ll need a few bits and pieces if this machinery is to run properly. I’ve only got fifty pounds but I’ll risk it all, every penny, because I know where I am with machines. I can do something with this lot, I’m sure I can. Enough to get my money back, at the very least.’
Bram looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘I’m already certain of one thing that ought to cheer you up: I can get the machinery working at least as well as it was before. Which isn’t good enough to pay back your investment, I know, but still, it’d give you some ice to sell, stop the money pouring out.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘To think you make money from ice! And in England it’s there for free in winter. Rich people cut it up into chunks and bury it below the ground in ice houses, so that they can pull it out in summer.’
Bram smiled. ‘It never even gets cold enough for frost here in Fremantle, let alone snow and ice.’
‘Imagine that.’ After another pause, he said, ‘Right then. If I can produce ice, it’ll show you I know what I’m talking about. And maybe we can go on from there to do better here.’
He looked round again and let out a puff of breath in sheer disgust. ‘I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but that man didn’t even keep the place clean. Machinery doesn’t work its best when it’s covered in fluff and dirt.’
Bram was caught by the conviction ringing in his brother’s voice, caught too by those strong, capable hands that had stretched out towards him.
If Fergus did know about machines, if they really could retrieve something from this mess, rather than losing everything, that’d be grand. But far more important than the ice works to him, this was the first time they’d got close to one another. Having a proper relationship with his brother, that would be the best thing of all to come out of this mess.
Only … Isabella would kill him if he put any more money into the ice works.
Still, Fergus was willing to risk everything he had in the world. All his life’s savings. And it was so much harder to save that first fifty pounds than to save bigger amounts later.
Bram remembered risking everything himself the first time he went to Singapore. How could he not give his brother the same chance to make something of himself?
He stared out of the office door at the still figure on the floor of the ice-making area. Poor Chilton. He’d seemed so confident at first.
But … there was something different when Fergus spoke about machinery to when Chilton talked about it. If Bram had ever seen someone who knew what he was talking about, it was his brother.
‘I’ll do it!’ he said suddenly. ‘And what’s more, I’ll match your fifty pounds. Will a hundred be enough? Because if it isn’t, it’d be better not to do anything. I can’t afford any more at the moment.’
Fergus stared at him, then asked in a voice gone suddenly hoarse and hesitant, ‘You trust me, then?’
‘Of course I do. You’re a Deagan, aren’t you? You’d not cheat your own brother. And besides, only a fool would put all he’s saved into a business if he didn’t feel certain he could succeed. You’ve never been a fool, Fergus. A bit rash at times, but not a fool.’
Then they were hugging one another, both near tears, so emotional they couldn’t speak, only offer another hug or two, then slap each other’s back wordlessly.
When they moved apart, Bram held out his right hand. ‘Partners. We’ll go equal shares in what we get out of this.’ He gestured around them.
Fergus hesitated. ‘It’s not fair for me to have equal shares. I didn’t put the money into it in the first place.’
‘Without you, it’d all be wasted. So I insist. Equal shares. Let me do this for you, Fergus lad.’ And he took his brother’s hand in both of his, clasping it tightly, for longer than was necessary to shake on a business agreement.
‘All right. Thank you.’
Another moment of emotion passed without words, then Bram pulled himself together. ‘We’d better make arrangements to have Chilton buried. The poor fellow hasn’t got a family that I know of, but I’ll ask around. He has lodgings just down the street, though I’m not sure which house. Robbie will probably know. I’ll send him for the doctor to examine Chilton and arrange for the body to be taken away.’
‘I’ll get to work straight away, well, once I’ve done your floor at the Bazaar.’ Fergus looked at the machinery and shuddered. ‘Will you look at that? There are loose connections everywhere. Water’s leaking! Oil’s dripping. There are squeaking sounds … What did the man do with himself? Could he not even tighten up the connections properly?’ He wandered off, still muttering to himself.
As Bram paced up and down, waiting for the doctor, Fergus called out from the far corner.
‘Come here a minute, Bram lad. See what I’ve found.’
Bram lad, he thought as he walked across. A term of affection. He smiled at that, but the smile faded when he saw what was behind a pile of old planks: a wooden barrel containing empty bottles that looked as if they’d held spirits.
Fergus sniffed the one on top and held it out. ‘Rum, I think, thoug
h it’s like no rum I ever smelled.’
Bram scowled at the bottles. ‘They’ve no labels on them, so they must be from a sly grog seller. Just let me catch one of those villains on my property ever …!’ He saw his brother didn’t understand the term and added, ‘It’s people who brew booze illegally, selling it cheaply because they don’t pay the duty on it. Sly grog, you see. Terrible stuff, it usually is. I don’t know how anyone can stomach the taste of it.’
Fergus studied the barrel’s contents, whistling softly in surprise. ‘It’s nearly full of empty bottles. A whole barrel full of them. That’s all there is in it. Chilton must have been a heavy drinker.’
‘I haven’t a head for drink at all. I’d rather have a cup of tea any day.’ Bram kicked the barrel suddenly. ‘That’s why Chilton never quite got things right. He was a drunkard. How did I not notice?’
‘There are some who drink steadily. They don’t show the effects as long as they can get a drink every hour or two. There was a fellow on the ship a bit like that, cabin class too. When they stopped him getting any drink, he went mad. In the end he fell overboard and died.’
‘You pay heavily for being a drunkard. And others pay for it too. Damn Chilton!’ Bram kicked the barrel again. ‘Why didn’t I smell it on him, though? You can usually smell the booze.’
‘He probably ate peppermints or something to hide the smell.’
Bram gaped at him. ‘He did, too. How did you know that?’
‘There were a lot of men working at Swindon Railway Works. Hundreds. You see all sorts over the years.’
Fergus shrugged and went back to his thorough examination of the ice works, leaving Bram to walk up and down like a caged animal, occasionally muttering to himself and pulling out his pocket watch.
The doctor came within the hour, examined the body and looked at the empty bottles. ‘A boozer. Look how thin he is. I doubt he was eating properly. He hid it well. I knew him slightly and I’d never have guessed.’
‘I’ll go to his lodgings and see if they know whether he has any family. If not, he’ll have to be buried by the parish. I’m not spending any more money on him.’ Bram hated the thought that some of the hard-earned money he’d invested had been spent not on machinery, but on booze, absolutely hated the thought.
