Along the Endless River

by Rose Alexander

  Despite her mother’s matter-of-factness, Mabel could tell she was nervous and that only served to heighten her own fear. Her stomach somersaulted. She tightened her grip on the handle of the cloth bag that contained her purse, her toothbrush and soap. Her mother carried her box with her uniform, underwear and the few personal items she possessed. Mary had made the required garments – a print dress for the morning, black for the afternoon, and the aprons – though Mabel had helped. She would have done it all, but Mary was insistent that the work must be faultless, every stitch perfect. She didn’t want anyone thinking that her daughter was not properly equipped for her first situation. They’d had to buy the collars and cuffs, but even so they’d made a considerable saving on the normal £4 cost of purchasing everything ready made from a shop. Mary’s skill with a needle had seen to that.

  ‘Well, are you?’ Mary questioned, waiting for Mabel’s answer. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mabel hadn’t intended it to but it came out as a whisper.

  Mary’s face broke into a sad smile of sympathy. ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, love,’ she said. And then she bolstered herself, throwing her shoulders back and marching out of the house, waiting for Mabel to follow and then banging the door purposefully shut. ‘But seeing as it has, we just have to make the best of it. It won’t be as bad as you think – you’ll soon settle in and learn the ropes and you’ll probably find you enjoy it once you’ve got used to it.’

  There was silence, broken only by their brisk footsteps on the cobbles. They both knew that this was unlikely to be the case – it was common knowledge that a housemaid’s lot was unremitting toil and drudgery.

  They took the omnibus all the way through the West End, down Oxford Street to Marble Arch, hardly speaking. Neither could trust themselves not to break down. The remainder of the way to Brampton Square they walked. The house was tall; Mabel counted six levels of windows plus the basement. In the middle of the square lay a garden, filled with dark and forbidding trees which cast a gloom over everything. Or perhaps that was Mabel’s mood, which was sinking along with her heart, as she realised that there was no going back. She had to go into that austere building and begin a new life, working for others, doing exactly as she was told and never, God forbid, getting above her station. She chewed the lump in her cheek and clenched her fists, feeling the welts made by her nervous, clenching grip on the cloth bag’s handles.

  ‘Here we are then,’ said Mary, making a feeble attempt at sounding cheery. She put Mabel’s box down on the pavement. It stood there, a symbol of Mabel’s future.

  They stood staring at each other. Then Mabel flung her arms around her mother and buried her face in her neck, it smelt of home and safety and familiarity. It would be two weeks before she got an afternoon off and would be able to visit her family. She didn’t know if she could last that long. It was unimaginable, unbearable. She had never been away from home for more than the hours of the school day before. How on earth was she going to survive a whole fortnight?

  Mary let the hug continue for a few moments and then gently pushed Mabel away. She reached out her hand and wiped the tears from her daughter’s eyes. Mabel was her youngest child, the only girl other than Katharine.

  Mabel caught her hand and kissed it. ‘Sorry, Mother,’ she murmured. ‘Sorry for being weak and pathetic.’

  ‘Silly girl,’ admonished Mary, kindly. ‘You’re nothing of the sort. Just nervous, and what fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be?’

  Mabel sniffed and fumbled for her handkerchief to blow her nose.

  ‘Can you see that I’ve been crying?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Do you think they’ll notice?’

  ‘No,’ answered Mary, definitively. ‘Now, on you go. Let’s be off with you. No point in delaying.’

  Neither of them moved.

  ‘Come now, Mabel, you must go.’ Mary’s voice was quiet but insistent, then suddenly urgent. ‘One last thing. Be careful. Of – of men and… well, remember that great harm can come to a girl who fraternises. And one as beautiful as you might – you might attract attention. Unwelcome attention.’

  It was the closest her mother had ever got to talking about relationships. Mabel, hazily understanding what she meant, mustered a nod and turned away, towards the tradesmen’s steps leading down to the basement. Ignorant though she was of the world, she knew that servants never used the front door. Faltering at the gate, fumbling with the latch, her heart was beating twice as fast as normal, her stomach flipping back and forth. She was glad again that she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  Hoping for a last glance of Mary she turned back, holding on tight to the black ironwork to steady herself, to anchor herself to this job and this future, to prevent herself fleeing back to the security of Clerkenwell. If she’d spotted Mary then, she would have run. But her mother had disappeared, melting into the streets beyond the darkness, and Mabel could no longer see her.

  The door of the neighbouring house opened and a smartly uniformed nanny emerged, pushing an enormous black Silver Cross pram. With her came two footmen, who lifted the pram as if it weighed nothing and carried it to the pavement. Regally, the nanny followed. Taking a firm hold on the handle, she strode off briskly in the direction of Hyde Park, giving neither word nor gesture of thanks to the footmen. None of the three of them took the slightest notice of Mabel. She was clearly the lowest of the low.

  Taking a huge breath, steeling her nerves, reminding herself why she had to do this, she descended the area stairs, box and bag precariously clutched in her arms. A black door with a brass knocker greeted her, as uninviting as the lowering square itself. Reaching out her hand, she rapped three times and then waited.

  This was the end of childhood, the end of freedom. The lump in her cheek grew bigger.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Norwood, 1900

  With no one else to confide in, Katharine sometimes found herself turning to Antonio. So, she told him about the unexpected price rises. She could see the mist of incomprehension covering his eyes as she spoke; it made her feel selfish as well as lonely. It was wrong of her to burden the poor boy with problems he had no concept of.

  Antonio, for his part, made no effort to hide his lack of interest.

  ‘What are you going to do about it,’ he asked, his eyes already on the river, planning a fishing trip or a swim.

  ‘I’ll just have to pay what Mac has asked for,’ she replied, ‘and keep working as hard as I can so that we still make some money.’ Antonio was fidgeting, eager to be gone. ‘It’ll be all right in the end,’ she concluded. She didn’t want her son to worry. For once he had actually put in five hours of relatively concentrated studying that day. ‘Run away and play now!’

  Instantly, Antonio turned on his heels and fled to the riverbank, joining a bunch of his Indian friends by the water’s edge.

  ‘Get an acari for our supper,’ called Katharine after him, smiling to herself as she saw the carefree way he moved, the swiftness of his gait, his relief at being free. No wonder he resented being tied to his school desk. Who wouldn’t, with the whole vast jungle playground constantly beckoning?

  Back at her desk, Katharine turned once more to her account books, which she had pored over all the previous evening. There were no magic formulae to make the sums add up. With Mac’s new charges and the tax, it was more important than ever to keep all the estradas in production, the seringueiros tapping the latex and smoking it as fast as they could. The fact that she treated her tappers fairly, paying them well, not over-charging them for supplies, providing them with the benefits in kind that she had promised right at the beginning, meant that the money she made from one bolacha of dry, fine Pará was much less than that garnered by the unscrupulous rubber barons who ruled over most of the Amazon.

  So many lives were lost in the pursuit of rubber. The forest workers often succumbed to accidents, to the multitude of local diseases, or to tribal rivalry. Many seringueiros became so lonely and depressed, living their lives in the melanc
holy, oppressive atmosphere of the deep forest, their huts on poles surrounded by flood water during the yearly inundations, that they committed suicide, killing themselves with the guns they were given for protection or, slower and more painful, drinking themselves to a lonely death. Only the favoured few lived long lives in the Amazon.

  Thinking all of this rekindled Katharine’s determination not to chase the quickest dollar, whatever the temptation. Her principles, as Charles had so often pointed out, had cost her dearly in financial terms. But while there was breath in her body, she would not give them up. Those in her employ could be sure of conditions that were as good as she could possibly provide – and never, ever would anyone be forced to labour on her land. Nothing would change that. She would not lower her standards for convenience’s sake – not even to repay her father more quickly. Instinctively, she knew that he would not want that either.

  Over the course of that afternoon and evening, as arranged, the cubertas arrived in ones, twos and threes at Norwood. Jonathan and Santiago oversaw the loading of the bolachas. Katharine was apprehensive at being without her key lieutenants for the two to three months that they would be away. This was the first time the amount of rubber her estradas had produced had necessitated two supervisors to travel with it. They had been busy training up junior colleagues to cover their absence but it wouldn’t be the same.

  At first light, she bid the huge convoy farewell, waving them off until all had rounded the bend and disappeared out of sight. Even then, Katharine stood on the ridge above the beach, forlornly looking after them. Of course, it was good to be selling rubber, and so much of it – but she would miss them. Shaking herself off and giving herself a strict internal talking to, she was about to trudge back to her office and get to work when an igarité hove into view. Straining her eyes, she tried to see who was aboard but the sun-awning hid all the occupants except the Indian paddlers.

  As she looked on, the boat bumped onto the beach and a man slowly unloaded himself, moving awkwardly as if his limbs were stiff from a long journey in cramped conditions. Katharine gazed down at him. There was something familiar in his stance, an unmistakeable arrogance about his posture. With a slow dawning of realisation, she understood who it was.

  Mayhew.

  Her long-lost brother who, having conquered North America, had arrived to take on the South.

  He strolled up the beach towards her as if his arrival was nothing out of the ordinary and greeted her with a casual handshake.

  ‘So, this is what you’ve been up to all these years?’ he remarked. He was looking around with calculating eyes as he spoke, surveying the surroundings, as if adding up the sum worth of Norwood. ‘Who would have thought my little sis had it in her?’

  Bristling at his insinuation that she was incapable, Katharine swallowed down a sharp retort. He had got to Norwood far sooner than expected but now she wanted Mayhew’s visit to be harmonious – and short! The best way to achieve that was to be welcoming and hospitable and for him to find out for himself precisely how dull life was here, and what hard work. Then, hopefully, he’d take himself off, back to America or Britain or anywhere where he couldn’t bother her any longer. In the meantime, she was determined to bite her tongue, avoid altercations and encourage the good relationship between Mayhew and Antonio that she had envisaged. The boy needed a father figure and it would be beneficial for him to spend time with his uncle.

  Katharine showed Mayhew around the various buildings that had been constructed over the years: the office, the storerooms and the guesthouse. Travellers were infrequent as far upriver as Norwood, but they did come, and when strangers arrived it was customary to welcome them in, providing them with accommodation and food. That was just how the Amazon worked. These days the scientists and plant-gatherers had been augmented by politicians, brought here by the constant vying for control of the region that was going on between Brazil and Bolivia. Fortunately, they had no one staying at the moment, so Mayhew could have the place to himself, which at least would keep him from being constantly under Katharine’s feet.

  ‘You don’t have much luggage,’ Katharine commented mildly, as she and Mayhew sat down for coffee at the end of their tour.

  ‘There’s another couple of canoes coming on behind mine,’ Mayhew replied, waving a hand in the vague direction of the river. ‘They’ve got my clobber, such as it is. And someone I’ve brought with me.’ He tasted his coffee and almost spat it out. ‘Don’t you have any fresh milk instead of this damned condensed stuff?’ he demanded, petulantly. ‘I can’t abide the taste.’

  Katharine smiled. ‘Look around you. Do you see any cows?’

  Suitably silenced, Mayhew sipped at the coffee with a long-suffering air.

  ‘So, who is this mystery companion?’ Katharine asked. ‘Someone from New York?’ She assumed it must be a friend or acquaintance who wanted to take the opportunity to explore the Amazon, or maybe someone hoping to benefit from the rubber boom. There were always plenty of those.

  ‘A manager,’ stated Mayhew, baldly, his tone implying that this was all that needed to be said on the matter.

  ‘A manager?’ repeated Katharine, as if she didn’t quite understand the word. ‘Why are you bringing a manager?’

  ‘For you,’ Mayhew said. ‘To help you out, bring some order to this operation.’

  Katharine bowed her head over her steaming coffee cup and counted to ten slowly in her head. She felt as if she might explode. What right did Mayhew have to come here and instruct her on what she did or didn’t need? He was acting as if he knew the first thing about her business, about the rubber business in general, which he most certainly did not.

  ‘Mayhew, I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing,’ she replied eventually, concentrating on modulating her tone of voice. ‘But I don’t need a manager. I’m managing perfectly well by myself with the help of my clerks and have done so for the last ten years.’ She stressed the word managing to emphasise her capabilities. ‘My Indian clerks,’ she reiterated, to make sure that Mayhew understood that the native people were trustworthy, not the idle, thieving layabouts they were so often portrayed as.

  ‘His name’s Thomas Smart,’ continued Mayhew, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Found him in Barbados looking for a job. Fine fellow, over six feet tall, strong as an ox, black as night. Family were slaves once upon a time, before abolition.’

  Katharine greeted this information with a stunned silence. It was totally unexpected, and she had no idea how to react.

  ‘Men like him are all the rage on the rubber estates, so I’ve heard,’ said Mayhew, still taking no notice of Katharine’s reaction – or lack of one. ‘Skilled, literate and no strangers to hard work. Though I say it myself, I did rather well in recruiting him – and I think you’re going to find that Mr Smart is the perfect solution for you, really get this little enterprise you’ve got here operating on another gear.’

  Mayhew sat back with a satisfied smile and drained his mug of coffee, seeming to have forgotten his dislike of tinned milk.

  * * *

  It was late by the time the second and third canoe pulled up on the beach.

  Katharine had walked down to the water to see the full moon reflected on the still surface of the river. It was absolutely flat tonight, a black mirror so smooth it seemed that she could walk across its surface right to the opposite bank. Ibis and sandpipers waded in the shallows and an egret, hanging on a thermal, suddenly swooped low and then, with a piercing call, disappeared into the night. The profuse white flowers of an orchid that garlanded the trunk of a Brazil nut tree glowed opalescent in the silvery moonlight.

  The mosquitoes were out in force so Katharine had not taken a lamp, but the sky was cloudless, the moon and stars bright enough to see by. As she gazed upon the river that she knew so well, the canoes materialised out of the distant darkness, slowly developing into recognisable shapes.

  Thomas Smart was the first person to step out. It could not be anyone else but him. He was exactly a
s Mayhew had described him, tall and well built, with an air of carefully conserved energy about him, as if at any moment he could out-sprint the wind. In the white light of the full moon his burnished skin glowed and his dark eyes pierced straight through her.

  He stretched out his hand in greeting and Katharine responded. His grip was deft and assured, and as they shook, he smiled at her. Ex-slave or not, it was impossible to imagine this man being subservient to anyone.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ replied Katharine, working hard to present a demeanour of perfect composure. She had lived so long at Norwood, barely meeting anyone new. This stranger’s presence was unsettling, unnerving. She didn’t know what to say to him.

  ‘You are absolutely as your brother described you,’ Thomas added, filling the silence.

  A sudden, furious blush rose inexplicably on Katharine’s cheeks. Turning abruptly to hide her face, Katharine gestured to Thomas to follow her.

  ‘I’ll show you to your accommodation,’ she muttered, trying not to let him see how flustered she was. ‘The men will bring your things. And tomorrow – well, tomorrow we’ll discuss what you’re doing here.’

  As soon as the words were out, she realised how rude they must have sounded, but she was too confused and discombobulated to work out how to put the matter right, and annoyed with herself – and Mayhew for putting her in this awkward situation. Thomas seemed a fine fellow, exactly as Mayhew had said, and it was a pity she was going to have to send him away when he’d undertaken the long and arduous journey to get here in good faith. But she had neither asked for nor wanted a manager and so send him away she would.

  ‘Here is your room.’ She opened the door of the bedroom next to Mayhew’s. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’

  She was about to head straight back to her house when something made her falter. She turned around to find Thomas looking at her with his steady gaze and unfathomable eyes.