Sea Mistress (22 page)

‘Oh God!' She clenched her hands into fists and waved them above her head. ‘Why me? I'm so young, I have children who need me, I can't live as a cripple for the rest of my life, I just can't.' She turned her face to the wall and wept.

It was two weeks later when Bridie was able to return to her own home. Paul had returned from sea and was there to lift her into the carriage, carefully covering her legs with a warm rug because she was shivering in spite of the warmth of the late slant of sun.

She felt ashamed of her weakness, marked out from the rest of humanity, someone to be looked at as an object of pity. She bit her lip as Paul seated himself beside her, she would show them, show them all that Bridie Marchant was still a force to be reckoned with.

‘I want a detailed list of all your sailings.' She spoke to Paul as though he was a stranger in her employ and he turned his head to look at her in surprise.

‘What?' His voice had an edge to it, his patience and consideration had apparently vanished.

‘I intend to be in control of everything.' She didn't look at him. ‘I can't stop you whoring around with other women, oh, don't protest your innocence, I know you too well Paul, but what I can stop is the expenditure of my money on your doxies.'

‘You are mistaken, Bridie, there's no-one.' Paul attempted to be firm but his voice lacked conviction.

She sighed heavily. ‘Don't insult my intelligence, Paul.' She paused listening to his breathing, loving him and hating him at the same time. ‘I know you are having some sort of liaison with that trollop Ellie Hopkins, I know you had meetings with her in Ireland so don't lie. You are in love with her, you wish you were free to marry her, especially now that she's a rich widow. But I'll never let you go, Paul, never.'

Paul took her hand. ‘You are obsessed with this woman and you couldn't be more wrong about her, she is not the sort to indulge in a casual liaison.'

‘Oh, I see, you are defending her now. Well you don't fool me, not for one moment.'

‘Bridie, I've sworn to you that I have never touched Ellie Hopkins, not in that way.'

‘And yet you bought leather from her, a pitifully small supply of it at that, how do you explain that?'

For a moment, Paul seemed at a loss, he shook his head and sank back into the shadows of the coach. ‘I promise you, Bridie, on my sacred oath that I am not involved with Ellie Hopkins in any way except that of doing business with her company.'

‘You would say anything to prove me wrong,' Bridie said harshly. ‘What profit is there in transporting such a small load, answer me that?' Bridie was determined to pursue the point. She clenched her hands into her lap and waited to hear Paul's lies.

‘It was a favour for a colleague in Ireland,' he spoke at last, his voice heavy. ‘He needed some tack, I don't know why he wanted it from me but I wished to oblige him.'

‘And you repeated this favour, several times over the past months. Who is this colleague? It all sounds very thin to me.' Her voice was scathing and she felt Paul recoil.

‘Bridie, I will not have you speaking to me in that tone of voice.' He spoke quietly so that his words carried even more weight. ‘I am not a child and even though I am making allowances for your illness I cannot endure such an attitude. I ran my own shipping fleet very successfully for many years alone before I met you, I can run it alone again, if needs be.' He paused for breath, obviously he was choosing his words carefully. ‘I cannot and will not have you questioning my every move in this way, I cannot allow you to undermine my authority with the men of my fleet, do you understand?'

Bridie felt a trickle of fear at his words, Paul's meaning was clear, they could work together or each go their separate ways, it was up to her. She decided for the moment to capitulate.

‘Of course you must run your own business as you see fit,' she said, ‘I'm only thinking of you, such small loads are scarcely worth dealing with, are they?'

‘Not in immediate financial terms, I suppose,' Paul agreed, ‘but what you must take into consideration, Bridie, is the good will of the customer. A little bit of co-operation oils the wheels. Perhaps that's something you should think about.'

The carriage jolted to a halt and Bridie realized she was home. She made to rise, forgetting in that instant that she was unable to move without help. Her leaden limbs refused to function and she put her hands over her face in sudden despair, hating herself for the weakness of tears.

‘It's all right, my love,' Paul was all concern, it was rarely he saw her like this, soft and vulnerable. He put his arms around her and held her close.

‘You are my wife, mother of my sons, you will always be my first consideration, remember that. Of course I have a part of my life in which you have no share, that is inevitable, but it is you I come home to from the sea, that will never change.'

But other things would change, Bridie thought helplessly, Paul had made it clear that he would go his own way and brook no interference from her.

The threat was there, he could leave her if he chose. But if she accepted his ‘separate life' their marriage would survive, at least on the surface. She knew she had no choice in the matter, not at this very moment. She held out her arms to her husband.

‘Take me home, Paul,' she said softly, knowing that her words were acceptance of his terms. He lifted her out of the coach and carried her into the house.

Collins opened the door wide in welcome. The sun filled the hallway and the gallery above with jewelled light, the servants were assembled near the doorway, waiting for her. Bridie suddenly felt very humble and then the overwhelming need to hide herself away swept over her. She felt flawed, imperfect, from henceforth she was destined to be a useless onlooker in life.

As Paul carried her through to the sitting room where a fire flickered cheerfully beneath the ornate mantleshelf, she was aware of the servants bobbing and murmuring their welcome.

‘You know I envy them, all of them,' she said as Paul set her into an armchair. ‘All healthy and vigorous. None of them like me, if I wasn't paying their wages they wouldn't give me the time of day.'

‘You are too hard on them, sometimes.' Paul adjusted the wrap around her legs, ‘They would like you well enough if you gave them the chance.'

‘What do I care for them?' Bridie waved her hand in a sudden gesture of defiance. ‘They are there only to do my bidding.'

‘That's where you're wrong, Bridie, they are servants not slaves, they have rights and they have feelings just like you and me.'

‘Oh, turning into a philanthropist now are we?' Sarcasm edged her voice. ‘Well, will you tell one of those feeling servants to bring me a glass of port and quickly?'

Paul looked at her and shook his head and after a moment, walked towards the door.

‘Where are you going?' Bridie demanded and he paused at the door to look at her.

‘I'm going out into the garden,' he said ‘to get a breath of fresh air. In the meantime, I trust you'll think over your ill humour and try to moderate your speech, otherwise I shall find it necessary to curtail my shore leave and return to sea as soon as possible.'

‘I'm sorry,' Bridie held out her hand in supplication, ‘don't leave me, Paul, I need you so much.'

He returned to her side and took her hands in his, she read compassion in his eyes and suddenly felt she had the key to him.

‘I feel so helpless, so alone, I can't bear to be dependent on other people. I'm frightened for our future, Paul, hold me close, please hold me.'

As he took her in his arms, a smile of triumph curved Bridie's lips, she saw it all now, she must play the weak woman, in need of protection and Paul would do anything for her. She pressed her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, loving him so much that it hurt. What was it about him that roused in her these feelings? She would do anything to hold him, anything at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Boyo took the mug of ale from Harry and sipped it gingerly, it tasted bitter and yet nutty, he found he liked it. He was seated with the other men around the fire in the yard. The week was ended, another load of skins had left the tannery, the wagons, piled to the brim, were bound for Mikefords the wholesale merchant in town. Tomorrow was Sunday, a day of rest and of going to church, it was something the men celebrated each week without fail. And it was Boyo's birthday.

Harry took up his fiddle and began to play, the notes haunting on the quiet air. The sound drew Rosie from the kitchen, her sleeves rolled above her elbows, her face smeared with flour. She stood for a moment, lifting her skirts and tapping her slim foot in time to the melody. It was growing dusk, the fire glowed, the ale was being passed and a sense of well-being washed over Boyo; he felt at one with the other men, they had become the family he had never known.

Rosie suddenly took his hand and dragged him, protesting to his feet. ‘Come on, my lad, time you learned to dance.' She held him close and Boyo smelled the essence of her, the sweetness of her hair, coming loose from its ribbons, the yeasty tang of new baked bread that clung to her and a strange longing for he knew not what gripped him.

‘Enjoying yourself, lad?' Rosie said breathlessly. She was against him one moment, then flinging apart from him the next. He relaxed, he might as well enjoy himself, here he was the focus of attention for once in his young life.

He shook back the hair that had fallen over his eyes, giving himself up to the intoxication of the music and Rosie's nearness.

‘He's a fast learner,' Rosie called to the men and Harry waved his hand at her.

‘Time he learned other things beside dancing, mind,' he said. ‘Matthew's away with the wagons, what a fine chance will you have then to make the boy, this night, into a man?'

A strange feeling, half fear, half exhilaration filled Boyo as Rosie nodded. ‘Perhaps, if he's lucky, he might learn the sins of the flesh before the morning light.'

‘Take him off now before he gets too fuddled with ale to be any good.' Harry advised and Rosie drew Boyo close to her.

‘Want to learn the delights of flesh, Boyo?' she whispered in his ear. She threw back her head laughing, the white of her throat a gracious column leading the eye to the swell of her breasts.

He was confused, he was a good church-going boy, the sins of the flesh were forbidden and yet his body was filled with desire to taste of the forbidden fruit of Rosie's ripeness. Sensing his hesitation, she took his arm and led him away from the flames, into the darkness of the currying house. He scented the aroma of the skins, so familiar, so much part of his life. The scent mingled with Rosie's clean-washed smell and he knew he was lost. He would learn tonight to be a man, it was his fate, no good fighting against it.

Rosie drew him down onto the floor and as her hands moved purposefully to his buttons, a great excitement filled him. It washed away any doubts he had harboured; he was being offered a priceless gift, how many boys of his age could boast knowing a full-grown woman? One of his friends claimed to have deflowered an untried girl but Boyo took leave to doubt the truth of it. The boy's description of the act was scrappy, he had seemed uncertain about his feelings as he'd recounted the event boastingly to Boyo. Now, Boyo was about to learn the truth.

His buttons open, his manhood exploded from the confines of the rough cloth of his trousers. Rosie clucked her tongue. ‘There's a fine big boy you are then, it's going to be a pleasure to teach you how to love.' She drew him to her but no sooner had he touched the fullness of her breasts than he felt a surging of hotness in his loins. It was as though a thousand stars were bursting inside his body. He pressed his lips together to prevent crying out into the night, his eyes were clamped shut. He knew it was too soon, much too soon, Rosie needed pleasuring as much as he did. He fell onto his back, tears of failure rising to his eyes.

Rosie leaned over him. ‘It's not the end of the world, Boyo, my darling,' she said breathlessly, ‘Rosie said she'd teach you to be a man and she will. Rest a minute and then we'll try again. You'll see, it will be all the better for it, I know, I'm an experienced woman, mind.'

It might have been her words of encouragement, it might have been something deep within himself, but Boyo quickly found that she was right. He carefully eased himself into her and she gasped with the delight of it.

‘That's right, gentle now, no pushing, no need for roughness; after tonight, my darling, you will want to pleasure many girls but don't throw away your precious gems, keep them for the girl you will love.'

The experience was all that he could have wished for, he heard Rosie moan beneath him with a sense of joy and accomplishment, he was pleasing her and it made him feel good. He touched her swelling breasts with reverence; he would remember this, his first coupling, always. The smell of the tannery, the burning of the wood fire and the sound of Harry's music reaching fingers in the darkness to heighten his pleasure would be a precious experience, one he would thank God for all his life, or was that a blasphemy?

When it was finally over, Rosie took him to the pump, helped him strip off his clothes, washed him as carefully as though he was her child. It was difficult to believe that a few minutes before, she had been clinging to him and sighing with the satisfaction of the fulfilled woman.

‘One last thing, Boyo,' she rested her hand against his cheek. ‘A real man doesn't need to boast, see, he lets his actions speak for him, remember that. I've found in my lifetime that the more a man talks about his prowess, the less of it he has.'