by Erica Brown
She felt immediately self-conscious. ‘Mr Clarke-Fisher, I hardly think it appropriate…’
Her hand started to shake and she felt her face getting hot. What would the other guests think? Two men in quick succession, both getting familiar in a public place: one she welcomed, the other she did not.
‘Mrs Heinkel, I would not be so coarse as to ask you to accompany me to Venice as anything less than my wife. From the first moment I saw you, I decided that I would marry you. Now I know you’re not in the first flush of youth, but you’re a fine-looking woman for your age. I think you would be good company, and not frivolous and wanting to be entertained all the time like some younger woman with no experience of running a household and understanding the extent of a man’s needs. You might want some time to think this over, but may I suggest you don’t take too long about it? After all, as I’ve just said, you’re not getting any younger and not everyone wants to take on a widow. So there you are.’
Blanche was flabbergasted. Her mouth hung open in silence as he took out his watch. He frowned at it, almost as if he were timing the hours, minutes and seconds until she gave him an answer.
Bristling with indignation, she didn’t look at him until her teacup was safely on the table. Her first inclination had been to throw it at him.
‘Sir,’ she said, her voice rumbling with barely controlled fury, her words uttered between closely ground teeth, ‘please do not feel that you have to favour me with an offer of marriage. I am quite happy to remain unmarried to the end of my days. I am not in need of a husband. I was married to an incomparable man, a considerate and good person who treated me with the utmost respect. So please do not waste your time waiting for me, Mr Clarke-Fisher. The answer is no. Perhaps you should consider a younger woman. After all, she could be trained up to suit you, like a pony to a trap or a poodle in a circus!’
Judging by the rustling of papers and low murmurs of conversation, every single word was being devoured by the other people in the room.
Darius Clarke-Fisher looked very put out. He sat bolt upright, his eyes round and his chin receding into the opulent cravat at his throat. He raised his finger and wagged it at her as though she were a child. ‘My dear Mrs Heinkel, permit me to say that I think you have made a very foolish mistake. But you have been a widow now for some two years or so, and I understand you haven’t been feeling too well just lately. Therefore, I am quite prepared to give you a second chance and will keep my offer open for another month, but be warned – no more.’
Blanche slumped weakly into her chair, hardly able to believe her ears. He’d seemed quite bearable at Clevedon. Now he was quite the opposite, as if he’d considered the matter of marriage for a given time and had now decided the time was right to put in a claim.
‘Please leave me, Mr Clarke-Fisher. I wish to be alone.’
‘Well, you certainly shall be, madam, with that kind of attitude.’ He got to his feet.
‘I will not reconsider,’ said a resolute Blanche, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and her jaw aching with the effort of controlling her temper.
He tapped his hat onto his head and swallowed back whatever emotion he was feeling – if he was feeling anything much at all. ‘Now, now, Mrs Heinkel. As I have already warned, do not be too hasty. I am a man who appreciates a woman’s beauty regardless of her age. May I say before departing that black does become you.’
She ran her hand over the stiff silk and pursed her lips. ‘Does it really? Then I think it’s time I put on something a little brighter – once I am in amenable company.’
He shook his head and a mocking smile curled his lips. ‘Captain Strong is amenable company? I wonder if his wife would agree?’
It was exactly as she’d feared. He’d seen them together, perhaps even holding hands, when the room had melted away. His palms had been warm and she had been glad she wasn’t wearing gloves. Flesh pressed against flesh in the manner of old and very dear friends who could be more, much more than they were. She could give no excuse. All she prayed was that word of her meeting with Tom would not get back to Horatia.
She stood. ‘Please go.’
‘Just bear in mind what I have said. And don’t be too long with an answer.’ He doffed his hat and left.
The room was suddenly too hot to bear and she stalked out, aware that every pair of eyes was studying her, each person forming their own opinion.
The concierge was waiting for her outside. ‘Mrs Heinkel?’ he said, his face clouding on seeing her expression. ‘Is something the matter?’ She shook her head. ‘No. No. An old friend came to see me. His news was not exactly pleasant, but I was glad to see him. The second gentleman was not welcome. If he should ever come here again, please tell him I do not wish to see him. He makes me feel uneasy. He also causes… disapproval. You know how it is, Sam. Widows are fair game for gossip.’
The concierge smiled knowingly. ‘I understand. I saw him leave. Your first visitor is still here. He asks if you would join him in the courtyard.’
Blanche was surprised. ‘I didn’t know there was one.’
‘This way,’ said Sam, opening a panelled door onto a long corridor with a flagstone floor and plainly painted walls. ‘It’s officially for the sole use of the hotel owner. The courtyard divides the rear of the hotel from the rear of his private house, but he allows me to make concessions for those guests who might find it useful. Your friend asked if there was somewhere private where he could talk to you.’
Tom’s consideration made her heart beat more rapidly. Blanche followed the concierge down the passageway. The courtyard was a surprise, sandwiched as it was between the tall, Georgian buildings. It was an oasis of greenery and birds, larger than she’d expected it to be, more akin to a garden than a courtyard despite the lack of lawn.
The air was sweet and the leaves of silver-clad birch trees shivered in the slightest draught. Hosts of flowers jostled for space in raised beds amidst the flagstone paths and the air smelled of sweet-scented stock. Dividing the courtyard into two distinct halves, a mass of yellow climbing roses rambled over a row of arched trellis. Around the tangled roots the remains of a Roman mosaic floor glittered in the sunlight.
On seeing her, Tom smiled, and creases appeared at the side of his eyes and mouth. She couldn’t remember him having those when he was younger, not that it mattered. His features were still firm and the sparkle in his eyes had not diminished with the years.
‘Thank God we’re all alone,’ she blurted. Out of sight of curious eyes, she couldn’t resist touching his cheek. ‘You haven’t changed.’
‘A little greyer,’ he said, smoothing his hand over the feathers of whiteness amongst the dark. A shadow seemed to pass over his eyes. ‘You’ve considered our conversation?’
She nodded. ‘I’m not sure if your baby will still be there, but I will do my best.’
His sigh seemed to encompass his whole body. ‘That’s all I want to hear.’
‘Tom, if I can make you happy by finding this child, I will. But you know the news may not be good. Few babies survive in that place. I don’t want to make you more unhappy than you already are.’
He shook his head as though what she’d just said shouldn’t be uttered. His tone was almost defensive when he said, ‘Are you happy, Blanche?’
The question was sudden and took her by surprise. ‘I’m a widow. I’m not meant to be happy.’
‘That’s not really an answer.’
‘It’s not the answer you wanted to hear.’
Neither of them noticed that their fingers were touching until a sudden moment of silence that sits easily on old friends.
‘The circumstances of us meeting are dire. But this is so wonderful,’ she said softly. ‘The world is suddenly brighter.’
His smile was weak, but at least it chased the sadness from his eyes. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me about your problems.’
She began to tell him about Samson and his family, but he stopped her.
‘That’s n
ot what I meant. I knew he was coming. I sent Rupert to tell you so, if you remember.’ His face creased with concern and he held her hands more tightly. ‘Let’s talk about you first. Why do you come to Bath? How ill are you, Blanche?’
She chose her words carefully. ‘I come here to take the waters. They taste foul, but I have a recurring cough and the waters do it good. Apparently it contains lots of iron. I also like the warmth of the baths. They remind me of home. I’ve always missed the Barbados sunshine.’ She laughed lightly, as though her affliction was too trivial to contemplate. The opposite was true, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She had resolved to bear her sickness alone. ‘Remember when I arrived so wet and cold in Bristol? I thought I would never be warm again.’
He smiled at the memory. His fingers twisted and turned between hers. She looked round the courtyard, but there was no one there.
Snapping her fingers shut like a pair of scissors, she trapped his fingers between hers. ‘We shall be the subject of scandal if we go on like this.’ She kept her voice low.
‘Would that worry you?’
She shook her head. ‘But it would upset my family. And Horatia would not be pleased either.’
The mention of family steadied their reckless slide into intimacy. They sat on a wooden seat moulded to shape a curved frame. They talked of their children, their homes, their staff and the state of the city, the country and the world.
‘I trust you are not finding Max too overpowering. He’s taking the management of the refinery very seriously indeed.’
Tom grinned wryly. ‘So I noticed. I expected him to be like any other young man, full of ideas though lacking in experience, which indeed he is. But he’s also stubborn and fiercely loyal – to Conrad mostly.’
They exchanged a look that said everything. Max was like his father, though of course he wouldn’t know it.
‘And that man, he wishes to marry you?’
‘Darius Clarke-Fisher. How did you know that?’
He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t think of any other reason why I should dislike him so much. I decided it was jealousy, and that he had serious intentions. After all, you are a widow.’
‘I have refused him.’
‘He’ll be back.’
She frowned. ‘Do you think so?’
‘I’m convinced he will. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
He took hold of her hands and clasped them tightly to his chest.
‘I appreciate what you’re going to do for me, Blanche.’
She felt herself blushing, but said nothing. No words were enough to express what she was feeling. What were her worries about family compared to his about the baby boy he’d never set eyes on? She decided not to mention Samson and walked with him through the foyer to the main door.
‘Will you send me a message?’
She nodded. ‘As soon as I know something.’
‘Be careful.’
Blanche thought of Max. ‘We both have to be careful.’
‘Will you be coming to Bath again?’
‘Yes.’
‘We could meet here?’
If the circumstances had been different, she might have refused him. But life had become more precious than it had ever been, simply because she could see its end getting closer and closer. The doctor’s latest prognosis was not good. Yes, she decided suddenly. They would be in Bath. Horatia would be in Bristol. No one would be hurt. That’s what she told herself, though she knew deep down that she was straying into danger.
‘I think we could.’
She watched him walk away, knowing that they would not resist temptation. Mortality and age altered one’s judgement of what was important.
She was just about to go back into the hotel, when someone called to her. It was Mary, the concierge’s daughter. She was pushing one of the new perambulators and about to disappear into the lane that ran along the side of the hotel to the owner’s house at the rear.
She waved. ‘Good day, Mrs Heinkel.’
Blanche waved back. ‘Good day, Mary. You’ve been out taking the air, I see.’
‘A quick circuit of the park, and now back home with Master James here.’
Blanche was tempted to dash along to the lane and peer beneath the tasselled canopy, but she didn’t have time. ‘I hope to see him on my next visit,’ she called out.
A lucky child in a comfortable home with adoring parents, she thought. Not like Tom’s poor child – wherever he may be.
Despite feeling short of breath, she threw herself into all the tasks that had to be done. Luggage had to be packed and a train ticket bought. She was going home to Bristol, to St Philip’s Workhouse, determined to tackle both the issue of Samson and his family, and make enquiries as to the whereabouts of Isaiah Thomas Strong.
Chapter Fourteen
Soon it would all be gone.
Horatia smiled as she left Monk’s office once more.
‘You look pleased,’ he said, escorting her to the door.
‘Everything is going to plan,’ she said as she prepared her parasol for opening. The season was mellow and the sun golden for the time of year. She would not countenance a sunburned complexion. A lady’s skin must always be white and unblemished by sunlight. Perish the day when a woman wished it otherwise!
‘You are indeed blessed,’ said Septimus, then added, ‘You think of him quite often?’
She looked at him sharply, so sharply that he apologized.
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Yes, I do think of him often. I admit it. Even though I know he is being well looked after, I somehow feel that no one could look after him as well as his mother.’
Except his father.
The comment was unsaid, yet she could see it reflected in his eyes, just as he could see the words written in hers.
‘Soon, a goodbye to sugar,’ he said, emphatically changing the subject.
‘A goodbye to sugar,’ she said.
A pang of regret lay with her, though not for sugar. Its day was done so far as she was concerned. Only the Heinkel Sugar Refinery stood between her and her ambition, and soon even that would be gone. This was the nineteenth century. It was taking them forward at a rate of knots, just as she would take the Strong fortune forward. There were other things besides sugar.
* * *
Emerald was sleeping. Tom looked down on her, his heart heavy. It vexed him to feel so helpless. He was a practical man, a man who had sailed the oceans and survived situations where other men would have crumbled.
He remembered the time when he’d fought an opium-crazed Chinaman on a Macao quay. He’d side-stepped the pig-tailed man’s onslaught, stuck out one leg as he did so and sent the little man flying. He’d cracked together the heads of two crewmen fighting over a dockside whore; he’d faced the fiercest hurricanes the weather could throw at him, yet had still come through. Despite the dangers, none of those situations had made him feel so weak and vulnerable as now. He’d set wheels in motion, knew Blanche would do all in her power to find his child. He’d also felt a subtle change between them. A little push and they’d both fall over the precipice. Where would it lead? He feared for them both. He feared for Max, and he also feared for Emerald.
His daughter still had nightmares about the day she’d seen a man blow his brains out. By day she was still the bright little thing he’d known and loved. Night times were different. Although the doctor had advised against it, Tom had ordered an oil lamp to be provided. If she did wake up in the night, it wouldn’t be dark. It was the darkness that frightened her, and he did not want his little daughter frightened.
He heard the swishing of a heavy silk skirt brushing across the floor and knew by her perfume that Horatia was checking up on him.
‘Thomas.’ She kissed his cheek, her hand running down his arm. She rested her chin on his shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen you all day.’
‘I had to go to Bath. I saw the plans for the new cranes.’
It was close to the truth. A large engineering firm in
Bath had indeed drawn up plans for the huge cranes that would be needed at the new docks at Avonmouth. It was, of course, only a partial truth.
‘Were they impressive?’
‘Very. They’ll be even better following some minor adjustments I suggested.’
‘I think we should invest in a crane company ourselves.’
‘Can we afford it?’
‘Of course we can. We can use the money invested in the Heinkel Sugar Refinery. Once The Counterslip premises are sold to the brewery, there should be more than enough to form a financial base for a crane company. The remainder can be used towards purchasing more land around the new site.’
Tom frowned. Satisfied his daughter was sleeping peacefully, he guided his wife out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind them.
Her features were made golden by a wall-mounted oil lamp.
‘I thought we were going to use the money to build a new refinery at Avonmouth.’
She spread her hands. ‘What for? Let someone else build the refinery. I’ve changed my mind. We can make money just by being landlords.’
‘So where do we get our sugar refined – depending of course on when a buyer is found for the plantation?’
‘At the refinery to whom we lease the land. I’ve spoken to Septimus about it. We insert a paragraph in the lease that ties the refiner to process Strong sugar in priority to anyone else – at a fixed price, of course. Until I sell the plantation.’
Tom could hardly believe what he was hearing. Horatia was pushing into new fields and changing her mind from day to day. He’d thought that Heinkel’s Sugar Refinery, in which they had a large interest, would be transferred lock, stock and barrel to a new site at Avonmouth. He’d virtually guaranteed that to Max, who’d remained sceptical about the whole thing and totally loyal to his father’s memory.
‘I told Max that would not be the case.’
At the mention of his bastard son, a strange look stole over Horatia’s face. ‘Then he’s not going to be very pleased with you, is he, and quite honestly, you can’t blame him. I can’t see him ever forgiving you for lying to him. How sad for you. How sad for him, if he but knew it. But not for this family,’ she said, her voice deepening as her eyes blazed with a fervency that only came when something she wanted was within her sights. ‘Oh, come along, Tom. Think!’
