Copper Kingdom (11 page)

‘And what did you make of it all, pretty little Letty?' He had smoothed her hair back from her hot face, soothing her fears. Tentatively, she had smiled at him.

‘I know enough of writing to understand that you are Mr Arthur's real son and that Master Sterling is not.' She had bitten her lip worriedly.

‘You mustn't breathe a word of this to anyone, do you understand?' His tone had been silky and she had crouched against him, her hands running over his body in a way that sent shivers along his spine.

‘I wouldn't do anything to harm you, Master Rickie.' Letty's eyes were limpid. ‘I love you so much that I would die for you.'

He had bent his head and kissed her, after all if it had not been for her prying, he might never have known the truth. He had made it good for her then, knowing within himself it would be for the last time. She was a danger to him now, he wanted to be the only one with the knowledge that could split the Richardson family asunder.

She was sweet beneath him, moaning her surrender. He would miss little Letty, there was no doubt about that, but then maids were two a penny, he would soon find fresh fields to explore.

His first job the next day had been to contact Glanmor Travers with whom he'd shared rooms at college.

‘There's this chambermaid.' He'd spoken lightly. ‘Had my fill of her now but she's young and willing enough, any notions as to how I can be rid of her?'

Glanmor had laughed shortly. ‘Me, ideas? I'm full of them,' he'd said with an air of supreme confidence. But that had been two days ago.

Rickie glanced at the round face of the clock ticking away the minutes on the barroom wall. Perhaps Glanmor Travers was not as clever as he pretended to be and had found no solution to the problem after all.

The doors swung open, allowing a flurry of cold air into the bar. Rickie leaned back in his chair, sighing with relief.

‘About time you showed up,' he said dourly. ‘I was just about to leave as a matter of fact.'

Glanmor shook his head. ‘Oh ye of little faith,' he said reprovingly. ‘Wait just a moment, while I order a hot toddy, I'm frozen.' He lifted his hand and the landlord nodded, familiar with his customers and their requirements.

‘Now, why are you looking so worried?' Glanmor sat opposite Rickie, resting his arms on the stained wooden surface of the table. ‘All your problems are over, dealt with by the efforts of your reliable friend. Tomorrow, Letty will be nothing but a memory.'

Rickie looked at him expectantly. ‘What are you going to do with her?' he asked, but to his disappointment, Glanmor shook his head.

‘Best you don't know too many details, suffice it to say she will be placed in a position where she will be out of your way and where she can do little harm.'

‘Harm?' Rickie echoed the word. ‘She can do nothing to me, what makes you think otherwise?'

‘There's usually a reason for getting a worn-out doxy put aside,' Glanmor said, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. ‘But you know old Glanmor, the soul of discretion, that's me, so don't worry your head about it any longer.'

Rickie drank a little of the thick dark ale, staring over the rim of his glass. Glanmor was digging into his pocket, paying the landlord for the steaming toddy of whisky and hot water standing now on the table before him. Glanmor was not a handsome man, there was too much of the ferret in his narrow eyes and sharp features for that, but perhaps to women there was something compelling about the man's confidence and the air of toughness he exuded.

Rickie did not even like Glanmor. He had been a useful roommate at college, there was no denying that but his arrogance and his attitude of being hard done by irked more than somewhat when one was forced to spend a great deal of time with him.

‘Well, do I proceed?' Glanmor said and Rickie became aware that he was staring.

‘Yes, why not?' he said quickly. ‘I'm sure you know what you are doing. Now, how much do I owe you?' Rickie had soon learned that Glanmor did no favours, not for anyone.

‘Nothing, at least not now but perhaps later on there might be a return gesture of thanks?'

Rickie was uneasy. ‘Come along, Glanmor,' he said with false heartiness, ‘it's not like you to be so reticent, shall we make it a nice round sum, say ten guineas?'

Glanmor stared at him levelly, his narrowed eyes seeming to gleam in the light from the fire burning alongside him. He shook his head.

‘There's nothing at the moment. I shall not let you forget you owe me a favour, don't you worry.'

But Rickie was worried, he did not like being indebted to Glanmor; perhaps consulting him on the subject of Letty had been a mistake. He drank down his ale and rose to his feet.

‘I'd best be off home, I've sat around this freezing bar for long enough.' His tone was surly and he saw a fleeting expression of anger cross Glanmor's face.

‘When will it happen?' he asked abruptly. ‘I don't want this business hanging on any longer than necessary.' Glanmor took a slow drink from his glass, deliberately keeping Rickie waiting. He was a sadistic bastard, Rickie mused.

‘Consider it done,' Glanmor said at last. Rickie would have moved to the door but Glanmor's hand on his sleeve stopped him.

‘Did you know that brother of yours has given me notice?' His tone revealed his bitterness. ‘That's all the thanks we Travers get for working faithfully for the Richardson family all these years.'

Rickie felt bewildered. ‘I had no idea,' he said. He wrapped his collar more tightly around his throat, doing up the top button, giving himself time to think. Why had Sterling suddenly dispensed with Glanmor's services? He did nothing without good reason, what did he have hidden up his sleeve now?

‘Nothing I can do about it if that's what you're hoping for,' he said shortly. ‘You know as well as I do that Sterling doesn't give a horse's fart what I say about anything. He won't reinstate you so perhaps you'd better take that ten guineas I offered you.'

Glanmor sneered. ‘No thanks, and you must be a fool if you think I'd even consider working for your brother again, ever. He can go to hell his own way and he will from what I've heard.'

Richard sat down again, leaning forward, his arms on the table. ‘And what might that be? Come on Glanmor, you know you mean to tell me sooner or later.'

Glanmor leaned back against the seat, his eyes shrewd. ‘They really don't tell you anything, do they? Well it seems that your brother isn't content with the rich pickings he's getting from the copper, he wants to go into steel too. Work's about to start on changing the furnaces any day now.' He shrugged. ‘Some people are never satisfied with what they've got, always looking for new ways to line their pockets. What a pity you won't inherit, Rickie.'

‘You could just be wrong about that.' The moment he had spoken, he realised his mistake. Glanmor's eyes lit up and he sucked in his breath on a whistle.

‘Holding out on me, boyo, well don't tell me, not if you don't want to, but I shall find out anyway, sooner or later.'

His laugh echoed behind Rickie as he left the public bar of the Cape Horner. It was sharp and cold on the quayside and Rickie stood for a moment staring down at the pewter water running high between the ships berthed in the dock. He was furious with himself for giving away too much back there. Glanmor was like a dog with a rat, he wouldn't give up once he'd sunk his teeth into something. Rickie did not feel like the walk back up the hill and so he took the tram, swinging himself aboard easily, seating himself near the doorway. A cold draught of air blew against his cheeks and he sank back, hands in his pockets, wishing himself home near the warmth of the fireside.

He turned his head to look out of the window. Down below he could see the shops of the town spread along a street shaped like a question mark. It seemed peopled by midgets, dark figures scurried to and fro, small shadows seen from a distance.

It was growing dusk, the sky fading to a dull indigo. There would be no sunset, not tonight, for the clouds were grouped thick and heavy, hanging low over the sea. To the east was the river, dull and dirty, lit occasionally to a glowing red by sparks from the forest of chimneys above the copper works. In pride of place was the Richardson Copper Company, the squat buildings lying near the banks of the Swan, standing like a monument rising up from the scarred land. This then was the inheritance that should have been his, and anger burned low in his gut as he thought of Sterling lording it over all, strutting about the sheds, issuing orders, hiring and firing, little better than a thief.

He alighted from the electric tram and watched it roll away back down the hill. The gaudy advertisements for Rowntrees' Cocoa and Cherry Blossom Boot Polish slid away into the growing dusk. He began to walk briskly along the pathway towards the house that lay back from the road as though disdaining contact with anything other than itself. Plas Rhianfa was elegant and gracious and the pain within Rickie was burdensome as he realised it would never be his. Sterling would possess it as he possessed everything else; was there no justice?

The trees that edged the long wide driveway swayed and moaned above him, bare branches waving like skeleton fingers in the wind. Rickie glanced upwards and paused for a moment to stare at the lowering clouds. He would not let Sterling get away with it, damn it.

He entered the hallway, brilliantly lit by the chandelier overhead, and looked around as though seeing his home for the first time, the rich patterns of the carpet glowed up at him, the colours jewel bright, swamping his senses. All this should be his, and by God he meant to fight for it.

From the drawing room he could hear the sound of Victoria's voice and carefully he moved towards the wide staircase. He had no wish to be sociable to anyone at the moment, least of all his mother.

‘Bitch!' His own vehemence startled him and he ran the rest of the way up the carpeted stairs and along the broad, spacious landing. Inside his room he closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, staring around him. A big fire roared in the grate – kept alight, no doubt, by the faithful Letty. The drapes over the bed were fresh and clean, the quilt thick and silky. The sheets were of finest linen, pristine white and folded just so. If he had taken his home for granted until now, it was because he had not realised that it was rightfully his.

He lay on the bed and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ornate ceiling. Tomorrow, he mused, he would see Gregory Irons. If the man lived up to half the reputation he'd gained for being the shrewdest if not the most crooked lawyer in Sweyn's Eye then he should be able to help him sort out what the letter meant in terms of the inheritance.

There was a timid knocking on the door and before he could speak, Letty was in the room, her face pale and tear stained.

‘Master Rickie, you've got to help me.' She came close to where he lay, staring at him wide eyed, her hands outstretched to him in supplication. His first reaction was to order her out of his sight but on reflection, this might be the last time he would see her. In any case, he was curious.

‘Come and sit beside me, tell me what's troubling you.' He placed his arm around her shoulder, drawing her soft warm body close to him. Her eyes stared into his imploringly and he kissed her trembling mouth before she could burst into tears.

‘What is it?' he urged and she leaned her head against his neck, sniffling in her misery.

‘Cook has made me pack my bag,' she said in a small voice. ‘She says I'm to leave here at first light.'

‘Now why would Mrs Griffiths tell you that?' Rickie asked. His hand was searching in the bodice of her heavy gown and at last his fingers came in contact with her firm breast.

‘You know I can't do without you,' he said softly. He pushed her back on the bed, ignoring her small protests.

‘I must go downstairs, Master Rickie, cook will be going on at me again if I'm away too long.'

‘Never mind cook.' Rickie's voice was hoarse. ‘There are more important things to worry about than that old crusty virgin.'

‘No, please, not now, Master Rickie, I just can't think of anything except having to leave here.'

‘Don't be silly, I won't let any harm come to you.' He kissed her, silencing her words and at last, she relaxed beneath his searching hands.

‘I love you, Master Rickie.' She breathed his name as though it was a prayer. ‘I'd be that miserable if I was sent away.'

‘Hush, it won't come to that.' The urge was strong within him and roughly he lifted her skirts, thrusting against her so that she cried out in pain. It gave added spice to the event that this was to be the last time, at least with Letty, soon there would be a new chambermaid to amuse him.

It was over quickly and Letty lay like a bundle of soiled washing in the softness of the bed. Rickie moved away from her, looking into the darkness of the sky through the window. Suddenly he shivered. Out there somewhere was Glanmor Travers, scheming and plotting his way through life, a man who should not be trusted at any price.

‘Master Rickie.' The small voice from the bed captured his attention. ‘It will be all right won't it, you will speak to Mrs Griffiths?'

He turned to look at her, trying to hide his impatience.

‘Go on now, back to the kitchen before she misses you and yes, I'll have a word with cook, don't worry about a thing.' He bundled her forward, taking a quick look along the corridor before thrusting her outside and closing the door in her startled face. It was a good thing she was leaving Plas Rhianfa, she was becoming far too clinging, demanding his attention as though it was her right.