Sea Mistress (54 page)

Unless he and Arian were reconciled, there would be no heirs, no-one to make use of Calvin's money. He might as well do some good to someone rather than the fortune go into the state coffers. Not that Calvin wanted to be a replica of Lord Shaftesbury, who everyone knew had done great work for the poor of his own area in his own time, but at least he might work quietly to make the town a better place for all to live in.

Was he growing soft? He glanced down at
The Times
once more, he always took it, read every page as though somewhere there would be a message from Arian for him but it was a vain hope. Perhaps he should make some effort to see her but could their differences ever be reconciled? He rose to his feet and thrust his hands into his pockets. He still thought it entirely reasonable that she give up the proprietorship of the newspaper; as Lady Temple she would find her social life increasingly demanding. It simply wasn't possible for her to spend hours, sometimes late into the night, down at the offices in the Strand. And yet she had been adamant that she would continue to run
The Swansea Times
. Could they perhaps come to some sort of compromise where she spent most of her time at home and only a small part of it at the office? It was worth discussing with her, surely, for his life had become empty without her.

He moved over to his desk and seated himself before drawing a sheet of paper towards him. After a moment's hesitation, he began to write. ‘My dear Arian.' He paused, his pen falling onto the sheet as he searched his mind for just the right words that would bring her to him.

Arian wrinkled her nose as the cab came to a halt outside the rambling house at Glyn Hir, how anyone could bear to live in such surroundings, she just did not know. The horses moved uneasily between the shafts as though anxious to be away. ‘Can you collect me in about an hour?' Arian paid the driver and the man lifted his cap in acknowledgement.

Rosie opened the door, drying her hands on her spotless apron. The smell of baking permeated the house, a fragrant improvement to the odour outside.

‘I've come to see Ellie, is she at home?'

Rosie nodded. ‘Come in, miss, there's a nice fire in the parlour, I'll go get her, she's upstairs, packing some things.'

‘Packing, she
is
leaving then?'

‘She will be soon, just as soon as Dan, that's her husband, comes to take her down to Lampeter.'

It was warm in the parlour and the furniture shone with constant polishing. Arian sat in an upright, upholstered chair, shabby and old but comfortable, her thoughts racing as she waited for Ellie to put in an appearance.

‘Arian, there's nice to see you.' Ellie was a pretty girl, Arian noticed Ellie's pale beauty as if seeing her for the first time. She was small, appearing delicate with her fair skin and hair, but she was tougher than she looked. What Arian didn't see was that she and Ellie were very much alike in appearance as well as in sturdiness of character.

‘I'm sorry to call unannounced,' Arian smiled. ‘I know it's rude of me but I heard from one of my reporters that you might be leaving town, I thought it would be a nice gesture if I came to wish you luck. Perhaps I could put a piece in
The Times
about your move from Swansea?'

‘Don't apologize, you're very welcome.'

The women sat for a while making small talk. Ellie seemed a little remote, her thoughts somewhere else and Arian wondered at the wisdom of her visit. They had never been close friends but they once had something in common, a love for Calvin Temple.

‘I was talking to the young tannery manager, Boyo, I was very impressed by his manner. Will he be taking charge when you leave? Or will the tannery be put up for sale?'

Ellie was quiet for a long moment and Arian rushed to fill the uncomfortable silence, ‘Forgive me, I'm prying.'

‘The future ownership of Glyn Hir is in the balance at the moment,' Ellie said softly.

Arian accepted defeat and tried to amuse Ellie with the trivial affairs of the townsfolk but after a while, she rose to her feet. ‘I won't keep you any longer but if there's anything I can do, please get in touch.'

‘Look, I haven't been very good company today. Why not come up to see us Saturday evening, Dan has to return to Lampeter for the Sunday services so that's the only opportunity I'll have to talk to you before I leave. I can tell you a little bit more about the tannery then, only I'm not sure how important you'll think it once you hear what it is.'

‘If it concerns the lives of the people of Swansea then it's of interest, not only to me but to my readers. We'll all be glad of some relief from the awful news of the influenza epidemic.' She studied Ellie's face, she was quite obviously happy in her marriage, a light had come into her eyes when she had mentioned her husband and yet something was troubling her.

Later, as Arian returned home in the jolting cab, shivering against the cold leather seat, she racked her brains to solve the puzzle of Ellie and Boyo. There was some definite connection there but what was it?

Arian was glad when she arrived home and, as she alighted in the wet street, she glanced up to her rooms where the lamps gleamed in the widnows; Megan was a good girl. Arian's last maid had recovered from the influenza but as she had no wish to return to service Arian had advertised for another girl. It wasn't just that Arian needed help in the house, someone to tend to the fires and the stove but she needed company in the lonely evenings, another body and soul to share the solitude of the large building. Megan was a hearty girl, cheerful and a good worker, she had a strangely motherly approach even though she was a good few years younger than Arian.

Arian paid the driver and gave him a large tip and he nodded down at her, raising his cap imperceptibly from his head. Inside the passageway leading to the upstairs rooms, it was dark and silent and Arian wished she had a candle to light her way.

Megan beamed at her as Arian came into the brightness of her rooms. ‘Heard the door, miss, let me take your things.
Duw
, you're wet and cold, I've put a bottle in your bed to warm it for you.'

Arian let Megan take her coat. ‘That's a good girl, it's freezing out tonight.' She followed Megan into the kitchen where it was warm and bright, the stove filling the room with radiance. ‘I think I'll just sit in here with you for a bit and get myself thoroughly thawed out.' Arian felt in need of company, she was fast turning into a lonely old maid, she told herself not without a touch of irony.

Megan seemed not the least flustered by her mistress' strange actions but then this was her first position as maid and she had no preconceived ideas about how the rich were supposed to behave. ‘I saw the maid from the big house up on the hill, you know that one his lordship lives in,' Megan said conversationally. ‘Seems he's been having a lady caller visiting him, full of it is Dotty.'

Arian felt her stomach turn as she tried to compose herself. ‘Oh, is this lady staying with his lordship?' She hated herself for prying but she couldn't help it.

‘Looks like it, been treating her to fine dinners and the best wine from his cellar, too, so Dot says.'

Arian, for a moment was back at the big house, fetching wine from the cellar for the preparation of Calvin's meal. Inadvertently, she had brought the best of his stock and had received the sharp edge of cook's tongue for her troubles. But all that was a long time ago. Another life time. ‘What's this lady's name, did Dotty tell you?'

‘Oh, aye, a rich heiress come from the country for the winter, a Miss Southerby. Course, her mam or her old aunt or someone goes visiting with her, it wouldn't do otherwise would it?'

‘No, I suppose it wouldn't.' Arian felt suddenly ill. So Calvin was no longer waiting for her to change her mind. It seemed he'd cut his losses and was searching for a wife. Well, he never pretended with her, he'd told Arian more than once that he needed an heir, that it seemed was his prime consideration. Well, she couldn't really blame him could she? ‘I think I'll turn in, Megan, I'm feeling a bit washed out.'

It was a long time before she slept. She kept seeing Calvin in her mind's eye with a lovely young girl on his arm, walking up the aisle to the surge of organ music. Turning her face into her pillow, she cursed herself for being a fool.

It was not until the morning, until she went downstairs into her office, that she saw the letter in the familiar scrawl that made her heart dip with emotion. She opened it with shaking fingers and read the short note quickly.

‘I need to talk to you. Can you come up to the house on Saturday evening?

Yours ever,'

It was signed with Calvin's usual flourish. She sank back in her seat, she was supposed to go up to Glyn Hir Saturday night. In any case, Calvin was probably going to tell her something she did not wish to hear, offer her yet another ultimatum, that she accept his terms and marry him or he would turn his attentions elsewhere. Well she would not, she could not be pushed into a mould, not even to suit Calvin. Slowly, she screwed the note into a tight ball and then dropped it with a mass of other papers into the waste-bin beside her.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Matthew Hewson was sitting in the public bar of the Ship Inn staring out moodily at the dull, winter weather. Marchant was probably sunning himself in some foreign land and what had Matthew to look forward to? He was alone, all his money gone, practically friendless and from no fault of his own.

It was Ellie Hopkins who had cheated him out of what was rightfully his, who had started his run of bad luck. She had sacked him like a dog, sent him packing from a job he had held for a long time, a job he had been good at. It was time he had his revenge. He brooded over the injustices that had been done to him, making a catalogue of them in his mind and as his anger grew, his fist clenched around the handle of his mug of ale, the knuckles gleaming white.

She had outsmarted him all along the line, he mused bitterly, she had denied him the shares which were rightfully his. She had scarcely been bothered by the fire at the tannery, with her money rebuilding some sheds was no great inconvenience. She was a whore posing as a lady, married now to a mealy-mouthed priest. Well,
he
would be getting a nasty shock too, Daniel Bennett would soon find out he was not so clever. Ellie had even come out of the smuggling game unscathed in spite of the fact that her wagons had been delivering the opium. There must be a lucky star shining over her head. Well, he, Matthew Hewson would, soon extinguish it.

Matthew felt like hitting out at someone, he sunk lower into his chair, he burned with anger and frustration. They were all winners except for him. Ellie Hopkins, sitting pretty, owning a vast fortune, Daniel Bennett the new husband of the rich widow and Marchant who was running away from all his problems in some sunsplashed spot while he, Matthew, was still down in the gutter.

Well, Ellie, at least, was not going to get away with it. He moved his foot to reassure himself that the bag was still there beneath the table and smiled unpleasantly as his toe gently came in contact with the explosives.

It hadn't been easy acquiring what was virtually a bomb but with the help of Dai, the gunsmith, he had managed it. Crude, it might be but it was enough to blow Glyn Hir and everyone in it to kingdom come. Ellie Hopkins had it coming to her, if he couldn't share Jubilee's money then she would have none of it either.

He had spent his last shillings paying the gunsmith to make up the charge from a mixture of nitre, charcoal and sulphur, urging the man to mix in the sulphur well, he needed the explosive to keep until he found the right opportunity to use it. Dai had protested that he was no expert in the field of explosives, he could only use the outdated methods of his father's generation but Matthew had ignored him. Did it matter what methods were used so long as the bomb did the job?

He scowled into his ale, half drunk, his ill humour obvious in every line of his body. Today he had been asked to leave his lodgings, he hadn't paid his landlady rent for many a month and because of his growing obsession with getting his revenge on Ellie Hopkins he had even been failing between the sheets. Finally Dora Griffiths had run out of patience and she had ordered him in no uncertain terms to quit his room. And it was all Ellie's fault, oh, yes, she had a great deal to answer for, she had ruined Matthew's future. Well, he was determined she would pay for what she had done and pay for it even if it had to be with her life.

Bridie was sitting in the window of the modest house in Clydach, looking out at the fields stretching out before her in a rolling pattern of fresh greens and muted yellows. From upstairs came the sound of her sons laughing, chasing across the floor, no doubt encouraged by the young nanny Bridie had engaged.

It was good to have the boys home but it seemed what God gave in one hand, he took away with the other. She looked down at the letter, she had read it a dozen times. It had been sent by an employee from a shipping office in Ireland. It told her in stark terms that her husband was dead. She covered her face with her hands, poor Paul, he had not deserved to die. He had been all sorts of a cad, stripping her of her fortune and her dignity but to end his life crushed between the side of a ship and the dock was a cruel accident of fate.

It was ironic that the letter had come now when she had been so happy. Guilt had seared her, the feeling that she might have been the cause of Paul's death. And yet now, rereading the brief words, she realized there was nothing anyone could have done to save Paul. He had served the sea and the sea had been the means of taking his life.

She folded the letter carefully and locked it away in a drawer. Then she returned to the window once more, spring was not far away. Life was beginning anew, she must forget the past and look forward to the future.