The Orphan's Dream (43 page)

Jerusha leapt up from her seat, scattering cake crumbs on the floor. ‘My dear Belle, I am so sorry for what happened this morning. I truly thought I was doing the right thing for both of you.' She beckoned to the waiter. ‘A fresh pot of tea, please, and some more of those delicious pastries and two bowls of ice cream.'

Some of the tension leached from Mirabel as she sat down opposite her friend. Jerusha's kind heart was only exceeded by her love of food, especially anything sweet and sugary. ‘It wasn't your fault, Jerusha. You couldn't have foreseen the outcome.'

‘But he loves you, Belle. We talked about you often during the voyage across the Atlantic, and of course I knew how you felt about Jack. Then, when Ethan introduced him to me I guess I knew why you fell for him in the first place, and you seem so right for each other.'

Mirabel selected a small fancy cake and bit into it. ‘People change. The first person he thought of when he arrived home was Zilla. He went to see her, and when she told him that I'd gone into business with his old partner he accused me of having an affair with Edric. I can't forgive that.'

‘I guess he was jealous, Belle. Men are like that, even my Ethan.' Jerusha sat back as the waiter picked up the teapot and replaced it with another. The cakes and ice cream followed in quick succession, and Jerusha clapped her hands. ‘I love ice cream. I'm going to ask for their recipe so that my cook can make it back home.' She spooned some into her mouth. ‘This is so good, honey. You must try some.'

‘I can't believe that Ethan was ever anything but the good-natured man he is today.'

Jerusha opened her eyes wide. ‘Oh, but he can be a bear when he's angry. I danced with an old beau at the barbecue last summer and Ethan was like a man possessed.' She uttered a sigh of satisfaction. ‘So you see, you mustn't allow Jack's quite natural reaction to come between you.'

Mirabel picked up her spoon. ‘I'll give it some thought, but I'm not going to apologise. I'm not sure I like being married. Maybe I'll choose to become an old maid and keep my sanity rather than spend my life worrying about what my husband says and does.'

Jerusha licked her spoon. ‘You don't know what you're missing, sugar.'

Suddenly the house in Savage Gardens seemed overcrowded and too noisy for comfort. Bodger had been there when Mirabel returned from Berkeley Square and Gertie was fussing around him, demanding to know everything that had happened to him from the time he parted from them in America until the
Munroe Star
docked in London. Mirabel sat and listened, trying hard to look interested although her thoughts kept wandering, and after a while Alf took himself off to the pub. The boys were bombarding Bodger with questions, and the girls were clamouring for his attention. Mirabel made an excuse to go to her room, but finding herself alone for the first time that day she could think of nothing but the fierce altercation between herself and Jack. As she lay down to sleep she could hear Zilla's words repeating over and over again in her head, and the ache in her heart refused to go away.

Breakfast next morning was much quieter than normal. The children had stayed up late and were tired and irritable. Gertie was in a hurry to get them fed and out of the way and Tilda had allowed the porridge to burn, going into a sulk when Gertie reprimanded her in front of her brothers and sisters. The sudden arrival of Edric gave Mirabel an excuse to leave them all to their own devices, and she ushered him into the study. ‘You look upset, Edric. Take a seat and tell me what's bothering you.'

He remained standing, twirling his cap between his fingers and shifting from one foot to the other. His bushy eyebrows and beard were pearled with raindrops and water dripped off his jacket onto the Turkey carpet. ‘I'll come straight out with it because I don't know how else to say it, but I think we should go our separate ways.'

‘Why? I don't understand. What's brought this on?'

‘I heard that Jack Starke is back.'

She stared at him, perplexed by his attitude. ‘What difference does that make?'

‘He'll tell you that I'm a bad lot and turn you against me. I'd rather we finished on a good note than go through all that.'

‘Please sit down, Edric. Looking up to you is giving me a crick in the neck.' Mirabel perched on the edge of the desk waiting until he was seated. ‘This is all nonsense. I've come to know you and Beatrice, and I think of you as my friends. We work well together, don't we?'

He nodded vigorously. ‘We do, but maybe you'll change your mind when you hear about the way I used to behave. I'm not proud of myself.'

‘Whatever happened in the past is over and done with. You've proved yourself to me, but if you're not satisfied with the way things are going I wouldn't want to hold you to our agreement. We have no legal contract and you're free to walk away if you so wish.'

‘I don't.' Edric's craggy features creased into a grin. ‘I'm not going back to my old ways, and I'm grateful to you for helping me out of a tight spot. I'd almost given up trying when you came along and saved me from myself.'

She smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘I don't want to break up our partnership.'

‘Jack won't approve. He doesn't think much of me and he'll think even less when he learns that I squandered the money he gave me for my share of the ship.'

‘Then perhaps you ought to take this opportunity of putting things right between you,' Mirabel said firmly. ‘His ship is the
Munroe Star
, unloading in the London dock. Go and see him and set things straight.'

He stood up, ramming his cap on his unruly mop of hair. ‘I'll do that. I'll go now, and I'll tell him what a fine woman you are.'

‘Better keep my name out of it. Jack and I aren't on the best of terms at the moment, but don't concern yourself with that.'

Edric's brows lowered in a frown. ‘I hope it didn't have anything to do with me?'

‘Don't waste time worrying on my behalf. I can look after myself.'

She sat for a while after he had gone, but she had work to do and idling around the house would not cure a bruised and sore heart or put money in the bank. The office needed to be open for business and the books had to be balanced. Their reputation was growing and the need to knock on doors was lessening, although it was slow progress, but she was her father's daughter. Despite Wiley's base accusations Jacob Cutler had been a shrewd businessman and had made a great deal of money. Had it not been for his misalliance with Ernestine and the machinations of his grasping manservant, Mirabel knew that she would have inherited a small fortune. She had been robbed of a large part of it, but that made her even more determined to live up to her father's reputation in business. He might have been many things, but she wanted to believe that he had been honest and fair in his dealings. With that in mind she put on her cape and bonnet and set off first for Cutler's Castle.

Mrs Tweddle had already begun her day's work and was busy cleaning the windows in the morning parlour. The smell of vinegar and lye soap wafted in eddies around the entrance hall and Mrs Tweddle sang as she worked. Mirabel congratulated her on her progress.

‘Thank you, Mrs Kettle. It's been a bit of a challenge, I have to admit, but another couple of days and you'll be able to think about putting furniture back in the rooms.'

‘You've done a splendid job, Mrs Tweddle. I don't know how I would have managed without your help.' Mirabel left the house with the cleaner's words fresh in her mind. She had not come to a decision as to the future of her childhood home. It could be rented out or she could sell it, or she might decide to move in and make it her own. Now that all traces of Wiley had been removed by the application of elbow grease, soap and water, she was beginning to see the possibilities of returning to Catherine Court. Alf and his sons were earning a wage and could afford to pay rent on the house in Savage Gardens, and she had no emotional ties to the property. It had been Hubert's home, not hers. She realised with a pang of regret that she could walk away and not grieve for the life they had shared albeit for such a short time. The future was hers now to do with what she pleased. She was financially independent, and the respectability of widowhood might have been thrust upon her, but Hubert, even in death, had given her a social standing to which a spinster could never aspire. She set off for the office. The house could wait; the trade of the busy River Thames could not.

She arrived to find a small queue of men standing outside the door. Apologising for keeping them waiting she turned the key in the lock and went inside. They filed in after her and she dealt with them in turn, handing out bills of lading, taking payment for small shipments waiting for delivery and offering a quote to the last man, who had come on behalf of a brewer who required a carrier for a significant quantity of barrels of ale. As he left she realised that she had not had time to take off her outdoor garments, but it was almost as cold inside as it was out on the wharf, and she had forgotten to ask Danny to buy a sack of coal. Her fingers were blue, and it was not just the ink that caused them to change colour. She cupped her hands over her face and blew on them, Perhaps Alf and the boys were still tied up alongside and she could send one of them to purchase coal and kindling, or maybe she could attract the attention of Ned and Jim, who were scavenging on the foreshore below the Tower that morning. They often came back with bags of coal that had fallen from barges as they unloaded at coal wharves. She was about to get up when the door opened and a man entered on a gust of cold air. ‘Good morning, sir. May I be of assistance?' She broke off, rising swiftly to her feet.

He stood for a moment, casting a critical eye around the sparsely furnished room. ‘So this is where you hide out. You're a difficult woman to find, Mrs Kettle.'

‘What do you want, Jack?'

‘I've come to apologise for my behaviour yesterday.' His tone was neutral and there was a hint of wariness in his eyes.

For some reason Mirabel found his apology more chilling than his unfounded accusations. ‘There's no need. I've forgotten it already.' She met his gaze with a steady look, but beneath the desk top her hands were clenched and her fingernails were digging painfully into her palms.

‘I've just seen Edric. He explained everything.'

‘Maybe that will teach you not to be so quick to jump to conclusions.'

‘I've said I'm sorry; what more can I do?'

‘And I've accepted your apology. I don't think there's anything more to say on the subject.' The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, but the hurt look on his face weakened her resolve to be strong. For a split second the tough sea captain looked like a small boy caught out in a naughty deed, and she had to curb a sudden desire to comfort him.

‘You're right,' he said slowly. ‘Then there's nothing else to say. Goodbye, Mirabel. I hope you and Edric make a success of your business venture.' He made a move towards the door.

‘You're leaving?' Her voice sound high-pitched to her own ears, like the squeak of a mouse, but he did not seem to notice.

‘The
Munroe Star
sails on the tide.' He hesitated in the doorway. ‘I am truly sorry, Belle.'

She was left staring at the door as it closed behind him. For a moment she could not believe that he had gone. He had used the pet name that Jerusha always called her and it had slipped from his lips like a term of endearment. Her knees gave way beneath her and she sank down on the chair, staring blankly at the door – waiting. It opened as if her will had worked a miracle, but it was Sawyer the wharfinger who burst in. ‘Some light-fingered bugger has pinched all my coal,' he said angrily. ‘I left a full sack last night and now it's gone.'

She rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Mine too, Mr Sawyer.' She pointed to the empty grate.

He pushed his cap to the back of his head, scowling. ‘We'll have to keep it inside and make sure the back door is locked. I can't afford to keep buying coal only to have it stolen from right under my nose.' He peered at her, squinting through narrowed eyelids. ‘Are you all right, missis? You look a bit peaky.'

‘I'm cold, Mr Sawyer. The weather has taken a turn for the worse.'

‘Give us the cash, missis, and I'll send my boy out to get two bags of coal. He'll fill the scuttle for you too. The lazy lump needs a bit of exercise.'

Mirabel reached inside the top drawer of her desk and took out the cash box, selecting a few coins and handing them to him. ‘Thank you, Mr Sawyer. I'm much obliged.'

He tipped his cap. ‘Happy to help, missis. But if I was you I'd pop home and get some vittles and a nice hot cup of tea inside me.'

‘That's good advice. I might just do that.' She managed a smile but she sighed with relief when the door closed on him. No doubt he meant well, but he had taken up valuable moments when she might have caught up with Jack in the hope of restoring peace between them. She sat in a daze, shivering with cold and unable to concentrate on the sheaf of papers that lay waiting for her attention.

Sawyer's boy brought the coal and set the fire for her. She gave him tuppence for his trouble and as he was about to leave she called him back. ‘Tommy, wait a moment.' She rose to her feet with a sudden burst of energy. ‘What time is high tide today?'

He stood in the open doorway, glancing out at the river. ‘It's on the turn now, missis.'

‘Don't close the door, Tommy. I'm going out.' She grabbed her reticule and followed him out onto the wharf, stopping only to lock the door behind her. One look at the swirling pewter-coloured water was enough to convince her that the tide was on the turn. The
Munroe Star
was about to sail and she had only one thought in mind. As luck would have it she managed to hail a hansom cab in Great Tower Street, giving the cabby instructions to take her to the London dock. ‘I'll give you double the fare if you can get me there quickly,' she said in desperation. Money seemed to matter little when the only man she had ever loved was about to set sail for America.