The Sugar Merchant’s Wife

by Erica Brown

  Horatia looked as though she were going to be sick and was holding a lace-edged handkerchief to her nose.

  It pleased Blanche to see her reaction. However, she felt obliged to comment. ‘How despicable to condemn people just because they are poor.’

  Horatia’s recovery was swift. Her eyes darted in Blanche’s direction. ‘Then it must be improved,’ she said. ‘As I have said, the Strong family are more than willing to donate a reasonable sum, and I am willing and able to give my services.’

  Titters of admiration broke out among the other women. Where Horatia led, they would follow, simply because she was a Strong.

  Blanche refused to be outdone. ‘My husband, Conrad Heinkel owns the largest sugar refinery in the city. We will be more than willing to contribute too and I have already promised my services to Doctor Budd.’

  Sensing the air of competitiveness between Blanche and Horatia, the other women joined in. By the time they’d finished, the doctor’s expression reflected the abundance of pledges he’d received.

  ‘I can’t thank you all enough, but I am sure the citizens of this city will bless your names for ever,’ he intoned, his face alight with enthusiastic rapture. ‘You two ladies, especially,’ he said for their ears alone. ‘This would not have been possible without you. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart.’

  After they’d accepted his thanks, he went off to thank the other women just as profusely. Horatia and Blanche stood alone.

  Blanche was puzzled by Horatia’s presence and her curiosity overcame her dislike. ‘Why are you here? You’re not known for carrying out good works in the city.’

  The scent of violets filled the air as Horatia dabbed her kerchief at her nostrils ‘It becomes a woman to do good works. Men like it, don’t you think? Especially…’ She paused for effect, her lips parted, her white teeth shining like pearls. ‘Especially sea-going men.’

  ‘That’s absurd!’

  Horatia raised her eyebrows. ‘Is it?’

  No, thought Blanche. It isn’t absurd. Tom likes intelligent women, but he also likes them to have a compassionate side. What better way to impress him than helping with Dr Budd’s project? And then it struck her. Horatia would use whatever it took to win Captain Tom Strong.

  * * *

  Satisfied she’d made a favourable impression at the hospital, Horatia left for another important appointment. Perhaps as a residual response to the charitable start to her day, she dropped a coin into the blind beggar’s tin cup before entering the office of Septimus Monk.

  Monk was suitably solicitous and offered her a chair.

  ‘I have managed to procure five of the ten properties you wished to purchase.’ He was wise enough to realize that being only half successful wouldn’t please her.

  He was right.

  Her face froze. Her eyes were like glass. ‘Who will not sell?’

  ‘A man named Sydney Cuthbert. You know him?’

  ‘An upstart.’

  ‘A wealthy, and dare I say it, conniving upstart.’

  ‘Can he be bought?’

  ‘At too extortionate a price to be worth your while, especially when he knows he can get a good return on his investment when the Corporation push the new sewer through.’

  Silence as Septimus waited for her next question, which he was sure would come. There were few men who would utter it let alone a woman. But Horatia? She was something different.

  ‘What do we know about him?’

  Septimus smiled. ‘You mean, can we threaten him with details of his life that he’d prefer to keep secret?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean.’

  When Septimus smiled, the corners of his eyes turned upwards in a strangely Oriental fashion. His lashes were sooty black, too black, thought Horatia, to be natural.

  ‘In a strange way, my dear lady, Cuthbert and your good self have much in common. Neither of you are afraid of being – shall we say – unorthodox in your approach to business. You are both aware that information is everything. The difference between you is that you use an agent to carry out the more unsavoury aspects of commerce, whereas Mr Cuthbert prefers a more hands-on approach.’

  ‘In short, Mr Monk?’

  Resting his elbows on the desk, he steepled his fingers and peered at her over the top of them. ‘In short, Miss Strong, he leaves himself open to all sorts of problems. Where there is intrigue, skulduggery and blackmail, there are witnesses. One moment and I will give you an example.’ He rose from his chair, went to the window and gave three short raps on the pane. A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked the blind beggar, seemingly finding his way in as if he knew it very well indeed.

  ‘Bedbug. Relate to this lady the scene regarding a man named Sydney Cuthbert, a carriage and a judge named Sir Stanley Moorditch.’

  Horatia frowned at Monk. The man’s name was off-putting enough, but how, she wondered, could a blind man be a witness to anything?

  Monk read her meaning, ‘Bedbug is blind, dear lady, but he is not deaf. Neither is he a fool. Luckily for us everyone thinks he is, and thus are less than discreet in his company. In fact, his hearing is more acute than normal people because of his blindness, and his mind is shrewd.’

  Horatia nodded. ‘Then let us hear what he has to say.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Conrad was frowning over a plan of the city when Blanche entered his study, a pleasant room with glass doors that led out into the garden.

  ‘I came to ask if you’d changed your mind,’ she said.

  He jerked his head up and looked at her. She could tell from his expression that he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

  ‘The steam engines,’ said Blanche. I’m taking the children to see the steam engines at Temple Meads Station. I know you said you were too busy earlier, but I thought you might have finished your work and be free to come with us now.’

  Conrad sighed. Although his frown lessened, lines of worry were still discernible. ‘I am very sorry, my dear. I cannot. The city aldermen are worried. We are having trouble buying the properties that need to be demolished in order to build the sewers. Speculators have got wind of our plans. The price of the project is soaring. I am studying the plans again in the hope of seeing a way around the problem and saving money.’

  ‘How greedy people can be.’ Blanche shook her head sadly. ‘Have they no idea how many lives will be saved?’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘They do not care, my dear. Their priorities are not the same as yours and mine.’ He looked up at her and patted her hand. ‘Do you mind very much going alone?’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll take Edith with me. I didn’t get round to telling her about moving into Little Paradise at the hospital. I thought I’d tell her today. I’ve also gathered up all the clothes that the children have grown out of, plus some of my own.’

  ‘And mine?’ he asked apprehensively, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ She smiled at him, her eyes shining and the blue of her bonnet and dress complimenting her complexion.

  Conrad clasped her hand suddenly. ‘I am sorry for being such an old fool.’

  ‘You’re not.’ She laughed lightly, unsure of where this was leading.

  ‘I am sorry for not having the energy to go with you.’

  Blanche looked concerned. You've just said you have work to do. I won’t be alone.’

  With a swaying of her voluminous skirt, she turned to leave, but Conrad still held her hand as if afraid to let go.

  The concern on his face had intensified. ‘You do not regret marrying me, do you, Blanche? After all, you are so much younger than me…’

  The question surprised her. Conrad was some twenty years older than she was. He was also one of the kindest men she’d ever met.

  Cupping his face in her hands, she gazed into his face. ‘How could I regret marrying a man like you? You are the most considerate of husbands, the kindest of fathers.’

  ‘You have ev
erything you want?’ he asked.

  She tried not to frown but to keep smiling, to speak lightly. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I know that Captain Strong is back, Blanche.’

  She prayed her emotion did not show on her face. Conrad didn’t deserve it. Tom’s presence had infiltrated Little Paradise, her relationship with Edith and even the cholera project through the interference and jealousy of Horatia Strong. His name had not been mentioned at Somerset Parade – until now.

  ‘But what difference does that make to us? He’s part of my past, not of my present. You’re my husband.’

  * * *

  Once she’d left Somerset Parade with Edith and the children, she forced herself to forget Tom, Conrad’s concern and what a bitch Horatia had been, in particular her comments about Max. A more pressing and exciting matter would take her mind off things.

  ‘I’ve something to show you,’ she said to Edith.

  Instead of going straight to Temple Meads Station, Blanche had the coachman take them to Little Paradise.

  Edith gazed with interest at the passing scene as the children told her all about the cottage.

  ‘Bedminster used to be no more than a village,’ said Blanche. ‘Some bits of it are still quite old.’

  But not many, she thought sadly once they’d crossed the river. Brick-built buildings were gradually spilling into the fields, squeezing out mortar-faced labourers’ cottages. Here and there small lanes radiated off the main road, and apple trees hung ripe with fruit over dry stone walls.

  The lane near the cottage was too narrow for the carriage. Blanche descended and Edith and the children tumbled out behind her.

  Max whooped with joy and pushed his cap to the back of his golden hair as he ran through the grass. His sisters ran after him, shouting and laughing and holding their skirts way above their knees.

  ‘I love this place,’ said Blanche. Sunlight shining through the trees dappled her pale blue dress with spangles of light.

  ‘What do you want another house for?’ asked Edith as she followed Blanche down the garden path to the front door, which was half hidden beneath the tumbling wildness of a late flowering honeysuckle. ‘You can only live in one at a time.’

  ‘I’m not going to live in it. You are.’

  ‘Me?’

  Edith was astounded. Her mouth hung open and she was blinking furiously as though someone had just awoken her.

  Blanche retrieved a six-inch iron key from a hook beside the door. ‘See? It has a proper key, not that it’s needed. People are very honest around here. It also has a large downstairs room, two bedrooms up above and a privy at the end of the back garden.’

  The old hinges creaked and Edith gasped as the door swung open. Spellbound, she stepped into the cottage and attempted to take everything in.

  A spider dashed into a crack in the flagstones and a pitter-pattering sounded from upstairs. The fireplace had a high grate with a hob at each side, an iron hook and a small spit hanging over it, a bread oven to one side. The windows were small, and there was a door at the back of the house and another set into the wall. ‘This one leads upstairs,’ said Blanche as she pulled it open.

  Too astounded to comment, Edith followed her up the stairs. The wood was dry and groaned beneath their feet.

  A panelled wall of painted pine divided the upper floor into two rooms, both flooded with daylight. There were two windows in each room, one looking over the front garden, and one at the back, both set tightly into the eaves.

  Face bright with excitement, Blanche stood in the middle of the front room, her arms outstretched. ‘Well? What do you think of it?’

  Edith moved slowly around the room, touched the panelling, looked out of the front window and saw the new spire of St Mary Redcliffe rising above the trees. She turned and gazed out of the rear window. The privy was just visible beyond a tangle of fruit bushes. Blanche watched her, wanting to hug her, but she knew that despite Edith’s poverty, she was proud. It didn’t do to rush things.

  ‘Well,’ Edith exclaimed, a sudden stubbornness setting her chin, ‘Could be nice an’ cosy if a person ’ad a mind to make it so, I suppose… Lot of cleaning to be done, mind you… I mean… just look at it.’ She swept her finger along the slate window ledge, and then held it up for Blanche to inspect.

  ‘Yes. You’ll have to give it a good clean,’ Blanche agreed.

  The sound of the children’s laughter drifted up from the garden. Blanche couldn’t hold in her excitement any longer. ‘So what do you think?’

  Edith shook her head. ‘I don’t take charity. You should know that.’

  ‘No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong. My husband bought this cottage for use as servants’ quarters.’ Blanche adopted her most pleading expression. ‘You are one of our servants, but there’s no room at the main house for you and your family. It makes sense for you to live here. I need you to help me, Edith.’

  ‘Well…’ Edith began.

  Blanche attempted again to reassure her. ‘You won’t have to walk all that way from Lewins Mead any more, or leave your children with neighbours.’

  Edith clapped her hands to her face. ‘Oh, my word!’ Her eyes shone like glass before she stiffened and pursed her lips. ‘I’m quite ’appy where I am, thank you very much. I knows my place!’

  Blanche grabbed her arm as she turned to flounce off back down the stairs. ‘This is your place, Edith. You’re part of my household now. Conrad owns this cottage, and you won’t get it for free. You’ll have to pay rent. And the garden will have to be tidied, the fruit bushes and apple trees looked after properly. And we’ll want some of that fruit for pies. Cook would make good use of it all. Perhaps vegetables can be grown.’

  Edith’s pride was stiff as calico corsets, but mention of paying rent seemed to soften her stance.

  Just a little more persuading, thought Blanche. ‘There’s another reason,’ she said turning her back and looking out of the window. ‘This was the place I last saw my daughter Anne playing. For a while it was my refuge. I came here alone and sat for hours on end just staring out of the window. I used to imagine I would see her come across that common opposite. You know how I felt, Edith. You’ve lost children too. But my mourning is over. I want the cottage to echo with children’s laughter again. That’s why I want you to have it.’

  She turned back from the front window and the sound of her children enjoying themselves. ‘And yours would love it.’

  Mention of their mutual loss tipped the balance as Blanche hoped it would. Edith squealed and threw both hands to her mouth. ‘They’ll like it a lot,’ she squeaked through her fingers, which were swiftly wet with tears. ‘They’ll like it ever such a lot.’

  As they left Little Paradise, Blanche handed Edith the key. ‘I think you should lock it,’ she said.

  Edith glowed, finally hanging the key back on the nail and sighing contentedly. ‘My own little cottage,’ she said. ‘When can I move in?’

  ‘Whenever you like.’

  ‘As soon as I can! I’ll start packing the minute I get home.’ Blanche laughed and clapped her hands, though she couldn’t imagine Edith having much to pack.

  ‘Now can we go to see the trains?’ said Max.

  Blanche couldn’t resist giving Edith a hug. ‘Then that’s settled. Max is right. Let’s be off now and see the trains.’

  Edith was silent as they drove to Temple Meads Station. Like a bottle of ginger beer, she contained her excitement until they arrived at their destination when it finally bubbled over, just as Blanche knew it would.

  ‘Little Paradise it will certainly be by the time I’ve finished with it. I ain’t got much, but I’ll get more in time. Now let me think,’ she said, counting each item on her fingers, ‘I’ve got a bed. I’ve got a chair. And I can fix the wobbly leg on me table – and maybe Freddie and my Lizzie could make taffy apples in the summer and sell them down in King Street when the nobs are coming out of the Royal! And p’raps we can raise rabbits.’

  The
children heard her and squealed with delight at the thought of keeping rabbits, their upturned faces bright with enthusiasm. Blanche didn’t have the heart to tell them that Edith wouldn’t be keeping rabbits as pets, but putting them in pies.

  Edith’s face glowed as she listed all her hopes for the lovely little cottage, and Blanche glowed too. Giving to people in need was one of the most satisfying discoveries she’d made since marrying Conrad.

  ‘Rich men take much from those around them,’ he’d said to her. ‘It is only right and proper that we give something back.’

  The children had been given little flags by their nanny to wave at the steam engines as they left the station. The engine drivers, big men with thick whiskers and faces reddened by the heat of the firebox, always waved back.

  The station was a hive of activity. Passengers departed and arrived, and men in uniform heaved luggage, blew whistles and waved little green flags of their own.

  The children waved when they waved and Max expressed a wish for a whistle just like theirs. While her children watched the trains, Blanche touched Edith’s arm. ‘Tomorrow we’ll look through the attic for furniture and get Mrs Henderson to see what spare bedding and curtains we have.’

  ‘I’m so happy,’ said Edith, her eyes misty and her voice shaking with emotion.

  Further conversation was momentarily drowned in a loud cheer as a coal black steam engine slowly crawled forward. Steam hissed from beneath its belly and smoke chugged from its stack.

  ‘It’s gone,’ wailed Max, as it disappeared in a cloud of smoke and steam.

  ‘Can we go to the doll’s hospital today?’ asked Lucy, whose interest had disappeared along with the train.

  ‘No! We’re going visiting,’ said Blanche. Out of the hearing of the children, she told Edith of the food parcel, the blankets and clothes she’d packed before leaving. ‘They’re in the back of the carriage,’ she said, ‘and there’s such a lot, you’ll need it delivered.’

  The colour drained from Edith’s face. Blanche guessed at the reason but decided that there was no longer any point in sparing Edith’s feelings. ‘Look, Edith, I’ve seen where you live. It doesn’t matter. You’re still my friend.’