He watched as Charlotte drew in a deep breath to calm herself. It seemed that each time they met, they quarrelled.
He bowed to his stepmother and said, ‘I apologise, Ma’am, for my temper. I am sorry and did not mean to upset you so. Perhaps slavery is a subject we should avoid in the future. I do not wish to upset you or my father. I will leave now and attempt to find him.’ He moved to the door, placed a hand on the knob and bowed again to Charlotte. ‘Your servant, Ma’am’.
Charlotte heard his footsteps as he crossed the entrance hall. She picked up a small cushion from the chaise-longue and threw it across the room with such force that it hit a vase of flowers, knocking it to the ground. The vase cracked with a loud snap and water flowed across the floor, soaking into the carpet. She clenched her fists and shook them over her head in anger as she watched the cushion roll off the table in to the ever-widening pool of water.
‘Damn the man, damn, damn, damn!’
‘You called, Madam?’ asked Beryl, entering the room.
‘No, I didn’t, but now you are here, clean up that mess and try and dry the carpet.’
Beryl glanced at the broken vase, pool of water and the flowers scattered across the floor. ‘Yes, Madam,’ said Beryl, and bent to pick up the flowers.
By the time William had calmed down, he had walked the length of the drive to the road. His father would have allowed him the use of a carriage to return to his ship. If William had realised that his father was not at home, he would have retained the cabby. He refused to return and ask for the use of a rig to get back to town. He realised he would have a long hard walk ahead of him and stepped out to begin the journey back to town, when he heard a carriage approaching. Turning he saw his father’s coach, driven by Alfred, who pulled on the reins and stopped alongside William.
‘Missus King tol’ me to drive you to the city, Mr William.’
‘Thank you, Alfred. Mr King’s office, please.’
‘Yes Sur, Mr William,’ replied Alfred.
William climbed aboard, while Alfred flicked his small whip. He had a feeling that all was not quite right between his father and his stepmother, but he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps the age difference was too great, or his father was working long hours and leaving his young bride alone for too long. Charlotte wasn’t the type to be left alone for long. He would have to approach the subject with caution next time he spoke to his father.
William stepped down from the hackney at the company office and registered the sign over the offices. His father used to be very particular about the office sign. A good clear sign tells the world what we are about, and a dull sign tells the world we don’t care, his father used to say. The sign was dull, and the paint had peeled in areas. Did this mean his father no longer cared?
Pushing open the door, William was aware of the clerks as they scribbled, and the strong smell of ink. Someone had to make out manifest, but he was glad it wasn’t his responsibility. A movement at the rear of the office caught his eye and he saw Chief Clerk Watkins, coming towards him.
‘Mr William, may I be of assistance?’
‘Mr Watkins, I am looking for my father. Do you know where he is?’
‘I think Mr King said he may go to his club for luncheon, but I do not know what time he will return.’
‘Thank you, which club and where is it?’
‘The Athenaeum, Mr William, on Hanover Street.’
William bounded up the steps to the door of the Athenaeum Club and entered. A large fat man, dressed as a head butler, moved quickly to attend to the young intruder. The fat man’s expression gave away his thoughts. A gentleman did not enter the Athenaeum Club in such a manner.
‘May I help you, Sir?’
‘I am looking for Mr King.’
‘Does Mr King know you are looking for him?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Then, Sir, I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave.’
‘I am not leaving until I see Mr King. Please be good enough to tell him William King is here to see him.’
‘Are you related, Sir?’
‘Mr King is my father, and that is the last question you will ask me. Go and do as I have asked!’
The cold edge to William’s voice caused the fat man to step back in surprise. William watched the man’s expression. He was obviously not used to being spoken to in such a manner, particularly by someone who was not a member, or even a guest of a member.
‘I will ascertain if Mr King wishes to see you.’
‘You will ascertain, as you say, if my father is here, and if he is, you will then show me to where he is. Do I make myself clear?’
The fat man gulped and nodded his head.
William placed his hat on the table alongside the latest newspapers from London and began to pace the club’s foyer with his hands clasped behind his back in much the same way as he did on the Albatross.
He had completed ten circuits of his make-believe ship’s deck before the fat man returned, his face red from the unaccustomed effort of moving quickly.
‘Sir, your father will see you in the dining room. Please follow me.’
‘Thank you,’ said William, and collected his hat.
In the dining room he saw his father seated near a window, and realised he was not alone. On closer examination he saw that the other man was Charlotte’s father, Donald Nicholson.
‘Father, I have found you at last! I have been to the house and the office. It was beginning to feel like a game of hide and seek,’ laughed William, holding his hand out to his father.
George glanced up at his son and waved his hand, which held a fork, towards an empty chair opposite. Gravy flicked from the fork and landed on the snow-white cloth in front of William’s chair.
‘Sit down,’ said George. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
The weak sun through the window highlighted his father’s face, which appeared to William to be old and tired, with the possibility of sickness.
‘Are you well, Father?’
‘As well as can be expected!’ snapped George.
Donald Nicholson appeared a little embarrassed. ‘How was the voyage, William?’ he asked.
‘Profitable, Mr Nicholson.’
‘That is the main thing, my boy. No point in sailing around the world and not making a profit, eh?’
William smiled and glanced at his father again. ‘How is everything with you, Father? You appear tired.’
‘I am tired. I am tired of people asking me why I am tired! I have asked you if you want anything to eat?’
‘What do you recommend?’
‘We had the roast. Wine?’ asked George in a quieter voice.
‘Thank you,’ said William.
‘Some wine here!’ shouted George.
The waiter scurried over in response to the shout, and poured a glass of wine for William.
‘I hear you carried an unusual ballast from Boston to Jamaica,’ said Donald, ripping a piece of bread to mop up his gravy.
‘Mmm,’ said William, and raised his glass to his lips.
The sound of his father’s knife and fork hitting his plate stilled the other diners in the large room. The napkin followed the cutlery, as he pushed his chair from the table.
‘Forgive me, Donald, but I must speak to my son.’ He glared at William and said, ‘Follow me!’
William rose from the chair, his meal finished, and followed his father to the exit.
‘You!’ yelled George to the fat man at the door, ‘find me a small room for a meeting. Now!’
‘Yes, Sir,’ said the man, and moved quickly to the reception area. ‘Please follow me, gentlemen.’
They entered a small room lit by a cheerful fire. The furniture consisted of two large chairs facing the fire and a small table under the window, on which a lighted oil lamp had been placed.
‘May I get you gentlemen a drink?’ asked the man in a very subdued voice.
‘No, just get out and leave us alone until I call!’ said Georg
e King, collapsing into one of the chairs. ‘Sit down, damn you!’ shouted George at his son.
William slowly sat in the other chair and wondered what calamity had happened. He was about to speak, but decided to let his father open the conversation.
‘A good voyage?’
‘Yes, Father, as well as could be expected.’
‘Did you make a profit without trading in slaves or carrying products produced by slaves?’
‘I was forced to trade in a few cargoes produced by slaves, which was unfortunate, but overall the majority of the trade was in cargo not produced by slaves. It can be done, Father, if only people would try.’
‘Poppycock. You have just admitted to me it can’t be done without carrying cargoes produced by slaves.’
‘This was the first attempt, Father, and I think it was a success. We managed to get most of our profit from goods not produced by slaves. It will take time, but I believe that one day we will produce sugar, rum, coffee and many other goods from free labour. It will happen in my time, I am convinced.’
‘You don’t seem to realise those damned friends of yours in Parliament may win the next vote on slavery, and if they do, how will I be able to keep the Margaret and Elizabeth Rose in work?’
‘Surely you haven’t taken both ships off the Mediterranean and Baltic trade?’
‘I was forced to when you left. I had little choice because the Irish traffic didn’t make a profit and I was unsure of the best action for the future. There was no one in whom I could confide. My son had left on a harebrained scheme.’
‘Don’t blame me for your misfortune. If I had had my own ship, this would not have happened.’
‘It is all in the past, and now I have to think of what I should do if the trade stops.’
William remained silent and watched his father stare into the fire.
The silence grew longer. Perhaps his father was asleep. The smell of food seeped into the room. He identified roast meat to boiled cabbage.
‘I met your new wife earlier today.’
George’s head shot up as he turned to stare at his son. The expression he gave William was of hatred. Then his face collapsed while he focused on the fire again.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ whispered George.
‘Tell you what, Father?’
‘Don’t make me spell it out to you.’
‘I am sorry, Father, but I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘I am talking about Charlotte, before we were married.’
‘Before you were married? I am sorry, Father, either I am very stupid or something has happened of which I am not aware.’
The fire spluttered as a piece of wood collapsed in a shower of sparks. His father ran a hand across his face and brushed at a watery eye.
‘You knew Charlotte before I married her?’
‘Yes, I met her at your house the evening I returned from Trafalgar.’
‘I don’t mean then. You knew her later,’ he whispered, ‘and you never warned me.’
‘Warned you about what?’
‘I thought we were more than father and son. I thought we were friends and could confide in each other.’
‘I have great love and respect for you, Father, but of late I have found my desire to stand on my own two feet has clashed with your desire to keep me always under your command.’
‘What are your feelings for Charlotte?’ William remained silent. Why was his father asking such a question? George waited as time dragged. He turned his face to William and demanded, ‘Well?’
‘I am not sure how you mean.’
‘It is a direct question that requires a direct answer.’
‘I don’t have any feelings for her, except for respect as your wife. I am sorry, Father, but she will not replace the image I have of Mother, nor can I accept her as my mother, if this is to what you allude?’
‘You never knew your mother.’
‘The image I have is the one you gave me over the years. I am aware I never knew my mother.’
‘So you have little or no feeling for her. This gets worse.’
‘Father, you have something on your mind about Charlotte and me, and I can tell you now, I find her an attractive woman to the eye, but not a woman I would wish to marry.’
‘Perhaps you don’t want to take a bite of the same fruit twice.’
‘This conversation has gone on long enough. You either tell me what is on your mind or I leave now. I don’t know what you are implying, but I do know your new wife has come between you and me, and I don’t like it. Ever since you became involved with the Nicholson family our relationship has deteriorated.’
‘If I was a younger man I would call you out, son or no son.’
‘I wouldn’t fight you, Father. I couldn’t hurt you, which is why I don’t understand your line of questioning!’
George struggled to his feet and stood in front of William, his hands opened and closed in preparation to fight his son. His face became bright red in anger.
‘I will ask you once, and once only, William. Did you bed Charlotte before I married her?’
The question shocked William to silence as he realised the reason for the line of questioning.
George watched his son’s face as it flushed with blood.
William responded through clenched teeth. ‘So this is why you are so upset. Do you really think I would have done such a thing, knowing you were interested in the lady?’
‘Answer the question, William.’
‘Who is my accuser? Who has put such an idea in your head that has poisoned our relationship?’
‘Answer the question!’
‘Do you believe I am capable of such a thing? You must if you ask the question!’
‘William, I must know for peace of mind, my mind!’
‘When am I supposed to have done such a deed?’
‘On the Albatross the night before you sailed from Liverpool last Christmas Eve.’
‘I was at a farewell dinner that evening, a farewell dinner you refused to attend.’
‘Was my wife there?’ George watched his son’s eyes as William cast his mind back.
‘Yes, she was.’
‘Did you leave with her to show her around the Albatross?’
‘No, I didn’t. Charlotte wanted me to take her to see the Albatross, but we didn’t have a suitable chaperone to accompany us. I refused to take her without a chaperone.’ His father studied his face and sat down again in his chair. He let out a long sad sigh. ‘Who accused me of bedding Charlotte, Father?’
‘She did.’ The two words seemed to rip from his heart. His body sagged with despair.
William dropped to one knee and took his father’s hands and held them in his left hand. With his right hand he stroked his father’s head. Now he was the father figure. He remembered all the times George had stroked his head when he was a child. His father’s strokes had soothed away all of his pain.
His father gripped his son’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I doubted you, Son.’
‘It’s in the past now, Father,’ replied William, his voice calm. ‘I will take care of everything. Don’t you concern yourself any longer.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Accused
William helped George to the carriage and ordered the driver to take them home to Kent Street. He left the old man in the library and made sure the servants knew what was required. Satisfied that his father was safe, he left to find his stepmother. He was thankful that she was not home, he was not sure what he would have done in anger.
Donald Nicholson gave him a cold, blank stare as he informed William that Charlotte was away visiting her maiden Aunt in Manchester, who had been taken ill suddenly.
William didn’t believe a word. He knew Charlotte had left Liverpool so that there would be little chance of him speaking to her after he found out the truth from his father. He would wait his time for the reckoning.
The following day in his cabin, William met with Owen to discu
ss the purchase of the Albatross.
‘I apologise for being a little obtuse the other day when you asked me about purchasing the Albatross. I did not wish to distract you from visiting your father, as he hasn’t looked well of late. How is Mr King?’ asked Owen.
‘He is fine, a little tired, but in good health.’
‘And Mrs King?’
‘She is in Manchester looking after an elderly relative. Owen, may we discuss the Albatross?’
‘Of course, dear fellow: I have scrutinised the accounts of the voyage and I am pleased to say it was a very successful venture. A large portion of the overall profit was due to the shipments of ice that you carried. The cost of the ice was minimal, but the sale price was excellent. Taking everything into account, I am pleased to offer you the Albatross as your share of the profits and your wages for the voyage. You only owe for the expense of fitting her out for the voyage and we are happy to defer the payment until you return from your next voyage.’
‘Owen!’ exclaimed William with pleasure. ‘What can I say? You and your associates are very generous. The ship is mine?’
‘Yes, William, she is yours and here are the ownership papers.’ Owen smiled as he handed over the documents to William.
William accepted the papers and opened them to read that Captain William King was the owner of the sailing ship Albatross.
William gently folded the documents, placed them in the drawer of his desk and whispered, ‘Thank you, Owen, you have no idea what this means to me.’ He could now return to Ruth, as promised, with his own ship.
As he closed the drawer, there was a light knock on the cabin door. It creaked open and Sang’s head appeared.
‘Captain, people to see you.’
‘That will be the sheriff and Lawyer Snelgrove,’ said Owen.
‘Show them in, Sang.’
The door opened and Pilcher entered, followed by a round-faced fat man. The fat man’s waistcoat buttons strained under pressure of his chest and stomach. His face was ruddy from the effort of climbing from the quay to the deck of the Albatross and walking the short distance to the captain’s cabin. Holding a leather case under his arm, the fat man mopped his brow with a large silk handkerchief. ‘An exceedingly humid day. Captain, my card.’ With a flourish the fat man withdrew a card from a small pocket in his waistcoat and presented it to William.
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