Alley Urchin (26 page)

‘Don’t fuss!’ he told her now, putting his fingers to the stiff collar of his shirt and frantically loosening it. He was acutely aware that Silas Trent was also on his feet, looking concerned. He cursed the paralysis which seemed at times to creep into every corner of his being, squeezing and torturing him until he felt like screaming out in the rage which it wrought within him. He fought it with every ounce of the strength he had left, but it was not enough; it was never enough.

Over the years, Emma had come to recognise the signs, and now, seeing him writhing in the chair with a look almost of hatred on his face, she sensed the onset of a deep depression, and her heart went out to him. ‘Mr Trent,’ she said, in a deliberately calm voice, ‘would you be so kind as to summon the nurse? . . . You’ll find her in the room adjacent to that of Mr Thomas.’

‘Right away,’ Silas agreed, going at once from the room and hurrying down the corridor which led from the hallway to the east side of the house. He knew the direction, because he had visited Mr Thomas in his room on previous occasions, when that unfortunate fellow had been confined to his bed.

By the time the nurse was alerted and both she and Silas Trent hurried back to the study, Emma was already on her way, pushing the heavy weight of her husband and the cumbersome bath chair before her. In a matter of minutes the protesting Mr Thomas had been whisked off to his room and one of the servants sent to fetch the doctor.

Some short time later Emma was seeing the doctor from the house, thanking him, and quietly nodding her head as he explained, ‘He’ll be fine now, Mrs Thomas. It’s just as I told you . . . he will become more subject to these attacks as the illness takes its hold. At present they only last for a very short time, but they will worsen, I’m afraid.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘No man could be cared for better than you care for your husband. Good day, Mrs Thomas.’

Silas Trent patiently waited in the study. He had watched the incident, been a part of it even, and he was filled with admiration for Emma. How unlike his own wife she was, he thought, for as much as he loved the petulant Martha, he could never imagine her making the sacrifices for
him
that Emma had made for her husband. It was made more remarkable by the fact that she did not love him, nor, he suspected, did her husband feel for Emma what a man should feel for his wife. Silas recognised the marriage for what it so obviously was . . . Purely a business arrangement, because there was no doubt that it was Emma who was the brains and force behind the business which Thomas Trading Company had become; Emma had initiated the big deals that had propelled the company ever upwards. But it was also plain to see that, without the finance and opportunity supplied by her husband, Emma would have been very hard put to have achieved her astonishing business coups, and to have become so well regarded in what was essentially a man’s world.

Knowing how heavy Emma’s burden was, Silas Trent’s heart urged him to tell Emma of Marlow Tanner’s presence here. But his head warned him against it.

‘He’s sleeping peacefully now.’ Emma returned, full of apologies and eager to continue the discussion. Silas Trent noted for a moment how the light had gone from her lovely grey eyes. Then, when she began to outline her plans, the excitement was there again, in her voice and in the whole of her manner. ‘I don’t pretend to know the first thing about shipping, ships . . . or the moods of the ocean with which you have to contend. But I
do
know about merchandise and the market value of it. I know how to acquire your cargoes, even if I don’t know one end of a hold from the other. If Thomas Trading Company had its
own
fleet . . . by God! I’d give the big boys a real run for their money.’

‘A fleet of your own!’ Silas Trent was astonished at the ambitiousness of Emma’s plans. But he was also enthused by it, sitting forward on the edge of his seat, his brown eyes alive as they looked at Emma with awe. ‘Do you have any
idea
how much you’re talking about?’ he asked her. ‘Why, it would cost a fortune! Every penny you have.’

‘Every penny we have, maybe. A fortune . . . perhaps not.’

‘How then? . . . At any rate, Emma, it sounds too much like a gamble to me.’

‘It
will
be a gamble,’ Emma conceded, ‘but that’s how fortunes are made, Silas . . . nobody ever grew rich by hiding their capital under the floorboards. I know we’ll have to start off with the very basics . . . ships that are seaworthy without being too fancy or expensive. Ships tailormade to our immediate needs . . . then, as we prosper in that direction, we can begin to plan for better ships, and more of them. Do you see what I’m getting at?’ Emma’s enthusiasm was so contagious that Silas Trent, being greatly moved by it, jumped to his feet and immediately began pacing up and down, all the while ramming one fist into the other, appearing deep in thought.

‘You’re right, Emma . . . of course you’re right!’ He came to a halt and swung round to face her. ‘The big companies do sell off their vessels occasionally . . . but no, they ask too much money for them. But the single owners like me . . . who captain their own ships,
there
lies our chance, Emma!’ He was no more than three feet away from her now, and when Emma saw the corresponding excitement in his face she knew that she had chosen the right man. ‘I know of at least two who have run into trouble and are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. A good offer for their vessels would make the decision for them: Oh, they’re not ships of great beauty, because they’ve seen better days. But they
are
seaworthy, and still have a few sailing years left in them.’

‘I’m all set to move into coastal shipping in a big way, Silas . . . already I’ve paid for vessels to carry many thousands of pounds of cargo. But the cost of commissioning vessels to carry it is crippling my profits. Oh, I’m well aware that running and maintaining my own fleet will draw heavy on the purse-strings . . . but I calculate that such expense will be offset by the fact that, not only will I be in a position to take a greater slice of the trade, but that the decisions as to when and how often the cargoes go, and how big a cargo it will be, will not be dictated by the vessel’s captain but by me . . . and you, Silas. Roland and I want you in on this venture . . . the three of us . . . each with an equal share.’

‘But I have no money.’

‘I know that. But you do have a ship, and if I’m right, you do have it mortgaged?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

‘How heavily?’

‘The bank owns a fifty per cent share. I own the remainder.’

Here Emma gestured for him to be seated opposite her. ‘What I propose then is this . . . presuming of course that you’re interested?’

‘I certainly am!’ He was no fool. This could turn out to be the chance of a lifetime, the break in his fortunes that he had prayed for!

It was an hour later when Emma walked Silas Trent to the door, and already it was coming twilight outside. ‘You’re satisfied with our arrangements then?’ Emma asked. ‘I can go ahead and have it drawn up, ready for you to sign on your return?’

‘The sooner the better,’ he agreed,’ wondering how he could ever thank her, for words alone seemed so inadequate. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll try and make contact with the two owners concerned . . . and I’ll explain the entire deal to the bank. I’m sure they’ll be delighted . . . as I am.’

‘You don’t mind relinquishing full ownership of the
Stirling?’
Emma asked.

‘To become a full and active part of the Thomas Shipping Line? It’s more than a fair exchange, Emma . . . and I really don’t know how to thank you for your trust and confidence in me.’

‘You have
earned
it, Silas. And the decision was based on the fact that, while Thomas Trading has a wealth of experience in merchandise . . .
you
have the experience in seafaring. To be honest, we couldn’t really do it without you. It’s only the beginning though, I do promise you. Today, your barque and one other, together with the large clipper ship you mean to acquire for us. Tomorrow, who knows . . . we could grow to be bigger even than Lassater Shipping.’ She laughed, but Silas Trent had every confidence in Emma’s prediction. She had created for him also a unique opportunity. Instead of being half-owner of one vessel, he could go home with the wonderful news that he was about to become a part-owner of a newly formed shipping line. His great joy was momentarily clouded by the fact that, at some later date, it might be necessary for him to be based here in Western Australia, and, whilst he himself was enthused by the possibility, he knew how strongly attached his wife Martha was to England and to her parents. However, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

‘God speed,’ said Emma, smiling up at him with encouraging eyes. For a moment, Silas Trent was sorely tempted to lean down and kiss that warm, perfectly shaped mouth. But his respect and admiration for her would not let him take such a liberty. Instead, he gently lifted her hand in his, and gazing deep into those sad grey eyes that so touched his heart, there was an even greater temptation growing inside him. A temptation which, God help him, he could not resist, for he believed that Emma had earned the right, by the sacrifices she had made, to grasp every opportunity for happiness.

‘Is there something troubling you, Silas?’ Emma had sensed the struggle within him.

‘Yes, Emma . . . it’s you . . .
You
are troubling me.’

‘Oh.’ Emma felt the need for caution, but she was not sure why. Stepping away from him, she opened the front door, saying with a smile as she returned her attention to him, ‘Now, why should you be troubling yourself about me?’

For a moment he gave no reply, but came to where she waited with the door open and her hand resting lightly on the glass knob. ‘Emma, please forgive me if it seems I’ve taken too much on myself in thinking that you are not happy.’ She put up her hand with the intention of interrupting him, but he shook his head, saying more firmly, ‘I have more respect for you, Emma, than I have
ever
had for any other woman. You’re not only spirited and ambitious, but you are loyal, kind and, when the occasion demands it, always prepared to put others before yourself.’ She softly smiled and lowered her head, as he continued in a gentler voice, ‘I know how you grieve for your lost child and . . . I know about Marlow Tanner.’

Emma jerked her head up, her eyes wide and surprised as she stared at him. ‘Marlow Tanner!’ She was afraid that somehow he had discovered that her late husband was not the father of her child. The shame she felt in that moment was all-engulfing.
‘What
do you know of Marlow Tanner?’ she demanded, instinctively casting her eyes towards the room that was her husband’s. ‘Mr Trent . . . the agreement between us does
not
give you the right to discuss my private life!’ Emma opened the door wider. ‘I think you had better go, and we’ll just forget this conversation.’ She was astonished, though, when he made no move.

‘You
do
love him, don’t you, Emma?’ he said softly. ‘You love him still . . . after all these years.’ He watched her small, stiffened shoulders relax. He waited whilst she slowly closed the front door, and he remained perfectly still and patient as she kept her back to him. He had triggered something very deep and precious in her, he knew. He wished he had not done so. When she turned to look at him, with imploring eyes that were softened by the touch of tears, he fervently trusted that he was doing the right thing. ‘I will
always
love Marlow,’ she told him simply, ‘and I have never kept that truth from my husband.’

‘Forgive me, Emma, but I don’t talk of these things merely to pry, but because . . .’ He was unsure as to how he might reveal that the fellow was here, without shocking her too much. ‘. . . I wasn’t going to tell you, Emma, but I must! I couldn’t leave with an easy conscience unless I had told you that I met Marlow Tanner very recently.’

‘You . . .
met
him?’ Emma’s heart soared as the image of the man she loved rose in her mind. Oh, how very clearly she could see him, with his tall powerful figure and those black laughing eyes. It had been so long, so very long, and her heart ached for the sight of them. ‘
Where
did you meet him? How long ago? Was he well?’ The torrent of questions poured from her. There was so much that she needed to know. And, seeing the joy light up her eyes, Silas Trent was convinced that he had done the right thing. ‘Oh, Silas . . . where did you see him, and when?’ Emma asked breathlessly.

‘He is well, Emma, I promise you. At least he seemed well enough some hours ago, when I saw him on the jetty.’

Emma was visibly shocked by his words. ‘Some
hours
ago? . . . You saw him then? Here, in Fremantle?’ She could hardly breathe for the pounding which stifled her throat.

‘He had just arrived . . . wanted a return ship. When I told him I was bound for England, he said he might well spend the night at the inn and seek a ship on the morrow.’

In a moment, Emma was hurrying away in the direction of the nurse’s room, after saying to Silas, ‘Please wait. I’d be obliged if you would walk me as far as the jetty.’ Silas began warning her that she should not walk the streets at night. But Emma had already gone. In another moment, she returned with her bonnet and cape on. ‘You’re sure it was Marlow? How could you tell? I wasn’t aware that you and he were acquainted,’ Still she could not believe it.

All the way to the jetty, Silas was made to answer the detailed and persistent questions which Emma directed at him. Now, as they stood at the foot of the Stirling’s gangplank, her courage began to desert her, and once again she insisted on going over the incident when he had met Marlow, while Silas Trent unsuccessfully made every effort to dissuade her from going to the inn alone.

Marlow felt the need for sleep coming on him. He had intended enjoying a tankard of ale before retiring, but suddenly he had no appetite for it. Then, at the very moment when he was about to get to his feet and make for the attic room which was his for the night, an old Darwin fellow sat alongside him and engaged him in conversation. ‘Looking for a ship, I hear,’ he said. ‘Anywhere but England, is it?’