Triangle Trade

by Geoff Woodland

  ‘Mr Fuller, what are the arrangements for paying off?’

  ‘As soon as you are ready, Captain, we can close the ship’s books and pay off the crew.’

  ‘Allow that gentleman to come aboard,’ said William, pointing to Owen Johnston, ‘and then have the crew muster for signing off.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Sir.’

  Owen bustled aboard and made for the captain’s cabin. ‘Are you well, my friend?’ he asked, a look of sheer pleasure on his face.

  William grasped Owen by the arms and squeezed gently, ‘All is well. Sit down and tell me what news you have.’

  ‘Good news, and very good news. The Bill to abolish the slave trade will go before Parliament again in the New Year and this time we are confident of success.’

  ‘That is great news.’

  ‘Mr Wilberforce is being fêted all over the country for his good work.’

  ‘How are he and his colleagues?’

  ‘They are all well. They were in Liverpool last month. We anticipated you would arrive before Christmas, so wanted to make sure everything was in order.’

  ‘Is everything in order in Liverpool?’

  ‘Ah, hmm, oh yes,’ said Owen.

  William felt that Owen was hiding something.

  ‘Then perhaps this is an appropriate time for us to talk about my purchasing the Albatross?’ suggested William.

  ‘I know how keen you will be to see your family, so perhaps tomorrow or the next day would be the right time.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ enquired William.

  ‘At the Pen and Wig. Will you join me there after you have seen your family?’

  ‘I would be delighted,’ said William, his heart not fully accepting the joy of being home. He felt disappointed that his father had not come to the quay to greet him. He would have known the Albatross was due today. The families of the crew knew of their arrival.

  ‘I will leave you to finalise things here, while I return to the Pen and Wig. I only wanted to make sure you were well and to let you know of the work being accomplished at home.’

  ‘What of the sheriff’s office?’

  ‘I have convinced the sheriff to allow you to land your cargo and finalise your arrival details. I am guarantor that you will not abscond before the investigation.’

  ‘I am innocent of the charge of slave trading.’

  ‘My friends and I know you are innocent, and that the charge is a false accusation. The problem is that you didn’t stay to answer the charges.’

  ‘We would have lost the opportunity to prove that a Liverpool ship could make a profit without the trade. If I had returned to Liverpool I would have still been here and our enterprise would have failed.’

  ‘The sheriff will be down tomorrow with Lawyer Snelgrove, who is acting on behalf of his client.’

  ‘And may I ask who that is?’

  ‘Henry Nicholson!’

  ‘That damn family again. Am I never to be free of them?’

  ‘I will be here in the morning to bear witness on your behalf.’

  ‘Thank you, Owen, you are a true friend.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. Just well … it is nice to see you.’

  ‘You seem troubled, Owen, has something happened? What is it that I should know?’

  ‘No, no but …’

  ‘Owen, you are making me angry. What are you hinting at?’

  ‘I don’t know anything for sure. It is all rumours.’

  ‘Rumours, what rumours?’

  ‘Perhaps you should ask your father.’

  ‘Ask him what?’

  ‘When do you plan to see him?’

  ‘As soon as I can get some sense out of you, and sign off the crew.’

  ‘Then I will leave you to finalise the crew. Goodbye, my friend.’

  ‘Goodbye? Now hold on, Owen, I need to know what you are talking about.’

  Owen rose and walked to the cabin door. He paused and turned. ‘William, all I can say is that I suggest you visit your father as soon as possible.’

  Owen stepped through the door and without looking back allowed it to close behind him. William could hear footsteps as he hurried up the companionway ladder.

  William sat at his desk and pulled the muster book towards him, knowing that the crew was waiting to sign off. A light tap on the cabin door made him glance up, thinking Owen had returned.

  ‘Come in.’

  David Fuller stood on the threshold.

  William waited while a sad-faced first mate said, ‘Mrs Austin is topside, Sir.’

  ‘Show her down, please, and make sure we are not disturbed.’

  A few minutes later David Fuller showed a middle-aged woman into the cabin. William stood and moved a chair close to his desk.

  ‘Mrs Austin, Sir,’ said Fuller.

  ‘Mrs Austin,’ William said, ‘won’t you take a seat?’ She had been crying.

  ‘I want the truth, Captain King. I hear that my James has been buried at sea.’

  ‘I cannot soften the truth, Mrs Austin, but James was buried at sea between Cuba and Boston. I can show you on the chart the exact spot if it will help.’

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘He was wounded in Havana. We tried our best for him, but his wounds didn’t heal properly and he became ill.’

  ‘Did he suffer?’

  ‘No, Mrs Austin, I can assure you James was not in any pain. Most of the time he slept. He slipped away peacefully one night, and was given a Christian burial with the ship hove-to for the service.’

  She couldn’t stop her tears running down her face. She sobbed.

  ‘What is going to become of our Michael? He is a growing boy and we had high hopes for him, but now I will not be able to earn enough to hardly feed us, never mind clothe him properly. James wanted him to get an apprenticeship, but I don’t have the money for an apprenticeship bond.’

  ‘Mrs Austin, you will be paid the balance of James’s wage. The amount will be the same as if he signed off in Liverpool. Normally his wage would cease the day he died, but I like to think of him as a friend. He meant more to me than just the Albatross’s first mate. How old is Michael?’

  ‘He be twelve this year. Why?’

  ‘I will be happy to accept him as an apprentice on my ship.’

  ‘No! You are trying to get out of paying me James’ wages, because I will have to give it back as a bond for Michael’s apprenticeship.’

  ‘No, Mrs Austin, you do me a disservice. I have no intention of charging you a bond for Michael.’

  ‘I’ll not have him going to sea and ending up like his father,’ screamed Mrs Austin, standing up quickly and knocking the chair over. Her face contorted with fear for her son, grief for the loss of her husband, and the lack of money for food and rent. Her whole world had collapsed around her and she couldn’t bear the thought, or the possibility, of losing her son to the sea.

  William stood quickly and reached out a hand to her in an effort to stop her from falling over the chair.

  ‘Mrs Austin, Michael is old enough to leave home and the sea can be a good life for a boy.’

  ‘No, I will not let him go to sea!’

  She grabbed the cabin door handle, pulled it open and fled from the man who had offered to take her son.

  William stood in the doorway of his cabin. Could he have phrased certain things a little better? Perhaps he should have waited a few days before making his offer to take on James’s son as an apprentice. Michael might not even wish to be a sailor.

  He sighed, picked up the overturned chair and closed his cabin door.

  Charlotte stood at her bedroom window and watched the traffic moving slowly up and down the road.

  She knew the Albatross was due in the morning. She even considered meeting it at the quay, but it wouldn’t have been seemly without her husband.

  The relationship between her and George had deteriorated since she lied that his son had been the fi
rst to bed her. George hardly spoke to her now.

  She moved from the window and sat at her writing desk while her mind considered the problem of George.

  William hadn’t, of course, touched her. She wanted to wound George for striking her and to end any further ideas he may have of sharing her bed.

  She let her mind drift to the day after their lovemaking. It was Charlotte’s practice to eat breakfast in her room but this day she decided to share breakfast with her husband in the dining room. George never liked to eat breakfast in his bedroom. It was uncivilised and it gave the servants extra work. Charlotte’s opinion was that she paid good money to lazy good-for-nothings, so they could serve her in her bedroom and like it, or she would know the reason why.

  This day George was not at breakfast.

  Later in the morning, she’d visited George’s room with a vague idea of offering him an apology. It would allow them to start again, if he’d leave her alone in bed. She had knocked on his door and placed her ear to the panel. She couldn’t hear anything, so knocked again – still silence. She turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open. George was lying on the bed with an empty bottle of brandy clutched in his arms. She looked around and considered waking him. Then she saw the pistol. It lay cocked on the table near the bed. Had he planned to shoot himself? It was fortunate that he had fallen asleep before he could carry through the deed. A terrifying thought struck her that perhaps the gun was for him to use on her. She moved into the room and gently picked up the pistol. Holding it in her hands, she looked at her drunken husband. She could shoot him and then place the gun in his hand. It would not be difficult to play the bereaved widow and she would have George’s wealth to keep her company after the funeral.

  George grunted and rolled over in his sleep. She jumped in fright at the sudden movement, then realised she still had the gun in her hand. She un-cocked the weapon and put it back on the table. She couldn’t shoot him. The servants would hear the shot. Giving him one last glance, she silently made her way from the room.

  The next time she saw George he was a changed man. He was more pleasant to the servants than he was to her. He would be very polite to her in front of the servants or their friends, but when they were alone he never showed her any affection. She made an occasional effort to show her willingness to try to get back together again, but he would never allow the conversation to get any further than civilised politeness.

  Her mother brought up the subject of their relationship. ‘Even your father has noticed that things are not as they should be, and for your father to notice anything outside of making money is very unusual.’

  ‘George and I are having a few problems, Mother, so I would rather not talk about it because it is between George and myself.’

  ‘I am only trying to help, dear.’

  ‘I would prefer it if you and father didn’t try and help. Any interference might make the problem worse.’

  Her mother sniffed, which said more than any words. ‘How we can make things worse, I don’t know?’

  ‘Mother, I have asked you not to mention it again. If you wish me to stay for tea, I do not wish to discuss George and myself anymore. Otherwise, I shall have to leave.’

  ‘Very well, but you can’t stop me from being concerned for the two of you. I had my doubts about the marriage and your age difference before you even married him. But no, you got your own way as you always do and …’

  ‘Goodbye, Mother, I am leaving. Give my love to Father.’

  ‘You said you would stay for tea if I didn’t mention George again, and I haven’t. I only commented on what my thoughts were at the time of the marriage. Your father is making a special effort to be home to take tea with us this afternoon. He will be disappointed if you are not here to greet him.’

  ‘This is the last time, Mother. You can discuss the weather or anything else, but not George and myself, nor the possibility of grandchildren.’

  ‘Grandchildren,’ sighed her mother, ‘I so want a grandchild.’

  ‘It will be a long time before that happens, so perhaps Henry can satisfy that need for you, because I cannot. Talking of Henry, where is he? Has he returned to Boston?’

  ‘It appears your stepson, William, has started a house of ill-repute in Jamaica.’

  ‘I doubt that very much, Mother. William is more interested in trading and shipping than in women, but if you had said the same of Henry, I would have believed that.’

  ‘Charlotte! To say such a thing, and about your own brother, I have never heard of such a thing.’

  Charlotte sighed, pushed her chair back from her writing desk and stood at the window to gaze at the traffic once again.

  A hackney cab stopped at the main gate. She watched a dark-haired man emerge from the cab and walk towards her house.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Father’s House

  William paid the cab driver and stood at the gate to his father’s home. He could have been driven to the front door, but he wanted to savour the moment of his homecoming.

  He had changed from his uniform into a dark green single-breasted cutaway coat that showed off his white breeches. He had also chosen a pair of black boots that Sang had shined to a mirror finish.

  William pulled his waistcoat down tighter and walked towards the house. The noise of the crushed gravel beneath his boots disturbed the tranquil setting. He noticed that the lawns were neat and trim, but the borders were bare of flowers. The flowerbeds appeared ready for new growth in spring. The house was well maintained and appeared to have been painted recently. Marriage must suit Father.

  Charlotte watched the confident man stride to the front door. He was very handsome, with a lot more confidence than the last time they met. It was obvious that command had changed him. He had a presence about him that was not there last year.

  She heard the doorbell and the sound of a servant answering the call. A murmur of voices preceded the front door closing. Charlotte moved away from the window. It would never do for the servants to know that she had watched the visitor’s arrival. Charlotte returned to her desk and opened a book to give the impression that she was deep in thought.

  ‘Come in,’ called Charlotte in answer to the maid’s knock.

  The maid dropped a small curtsy. ‘There is a gentleman in the library asking of the master, Madam.’

  ‘Thank you, Beryl, please inform him that I will come down and speak with him.’

  Charlotte inspected herself in the full-length mirror and absent-mindedly brushed her clothes to smooth the creases in her dress. Her face felt a little flushed, as she thought of the man downstairs. He was technically her son, yet only a few years older than herself.

  William was intent on the books, neatly filed on the library shelves, when he heard the door open and the sound of a dress as it brushed against furniture. He turned to see Charlotte in a bright yellow dress that clung to her upper body and flared outwards from the waist. He made an effort to remember the details of the dress, as he was sure Ruth would wish to know all about the latest fashion.

  Charlotte glided towards him and extended her hand to receive a kiss. ‘William, what a delightful surprise. Are you well after your voyage? How long has it been?’

  ‘Nearly a year.’ The last letter he had received from his father was not long before he sailed for Liverpool. It had informed him of his father’s marriage to Charlotte. ‘I assume you do not wish me to call you Mother?’ said William accepting Charlotte’s proffered hand.

  ‘You’re correct, William, I am not old enough to be a mother to anybody.’

  The tone of her voice told him a lot more than he had expected. He accepted her hand but instead of kissing or shaking it, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Welcome to the family, even if I am a little late.’

  Charlotte felt his lips and the sensation burned. She blushed and pulled her hand back from his grasp.

  ‘William, you mustn’t.’

  ‘Why ever not? What have I done wron
g but kiss my father’s wife on the cheek?’ Charlotte moved away in a fluster, ill at ease. ‘Where is Father?’

  ‘He’s, um … he’s at the office.’

  ‘Do I assume he was unaware the Albatross was due in this morning? He must have known. I saw the signal arms flapping as we entered the river. The crowd on the quay confirmed that the crew’s families knew of our arrival, yet nobody greeted me.’

  ‘I am sorry William, but I don’t know why your father did not meet you. I don’t normally go to meet my own father or my brother. I wait with Mother at the house.’

  ‘I never expected you, but if we were in port, it has always been normal for either my father or myself to welcome the other back. It grew into a tradition.’

  ‘Would you like a drink. Tea, perhaps, or something stronger?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you, I will go to the office and see if I can find Father.’

  ‘He has been under a lot of strain of late; perhaps you should wait until he returns home.’

  ‘Is he ill?’

  ‘No, not ill, but I can tell he is worried about the possibility of the anti-slave bill being passed.’

  ‘If he had done what I wanted a year ago, he wouldn’t be worried today.’

  ‘Pray what did you want him to do last year?’

  ‘I advised him to stay away from the slave trade. He didn’t need it. He had a healthy business in trade goods. He didn’t need to carry salves.’

  ‘The trade is still legal, William, and my family have a proud heritage in that business, so much so that my father has been asked to stand for the office of Mayor. If the trade is wrong, do you think the business leaders of Liverpool would have asked him to stand for such high office?’

  ‘Liverpool was built on slaves, or the trade, as you say. It is not a history of which to be proud.’

  ‘That Wilberforce fellow may be the death of Liverpool,’ snapped Charlotte.

  ‘If the city cannot make a living without selling black Africans into slavery, then it doesn’t deserve to survive. I think you underestimate your fellow citizens. This town will survive, and it will flourish through genuine trade and not that of slavery!’