Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (12 page)

‘Only very distantly,’ Killian protested. ‘I barely even know how myself.’

‘Well, if not by blood, then probably in other ways.’ Miss van Sandt raised her chin a notch, as if defending her views.

‘You shouldn’t judge people before you know them. Why should I be like your stepfather?’ Killian was intrigued by her reasoning.

‘You have the same look of assurance. Swagger, in fact. I know your type and I will not be taken in again.’

Killian raised his brows at her, but she still wouldn’t look at him. ‘You’ve been taken in by your stepfather?’

‘No, I meant … that is, it’s none of your business. Kindly pay attention to the sermon and leave me in peace.’

Killian did as he’d been asked, but he was more determined than ever to find out what Fergusson had done to earn the girl’s enmity to such a degree. It couldn’t just be because he had usurped her father’s place in her life and married her mother. And with a tongue as sharp as that, he believed even less in the story about her broken heart. There was a mystery here and he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he’d have to be patient for now.

Meanwhile, he could amuse himself by ruffling her feathers, which seemed all too easy to do. He knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. Fidgeting just like her half-brothers, he took up the largest amount of space possible on purpose. This meant their thighs came into contact whenever either of them moved, which sent a frisson through him and hopefully her as well. He didn’t know what devil prompted him to act in this way, but he felt more alive than he had in ages. Never had a visit to church been so enjoyable.

As they made their way out into the autumn sunshine at last, Miss van Sandt whispered under her breath, ‘I shall take care not to sit next to you again, sir.’ She made to move off, but under cover of the throng of people, he grabbed her wrist to detain her.

‘And I shall make sure you do,’ he whispered back.

Jess unconsciously held her wrist, which seemed to burn from his touch. She couldn’t help but stare at Mr Kinross’ broad back while he stopped for a word with her stepfather. She felt shaken again, just like she had the night before, but she wasn’t sure if it was outrage at his behaviour or excitement from the unusual sparring between them. A little voice inside her head dared her to admit that she had enjoyed the encounter, but she quelled it ruthlessly.

Before she had time to think about it further, the daughter of another Dutch-born merchant came over to greet her. Jess hadn’t seen Margreet Jansen since her return, even though they had known each other for years. She’d had no opportunity to rekindle friendships, because Robert had discouraged her from going out. So far there hadn’t been any invitations to social gatherings either. Since she felt like she was treading on eggshells most of the time, Jess hadn’t dared to contact any of her former friends of her own accord. It seemed safer to wait for them to call on her.

‘Jessamijn, you’re back at last! I thought you lost to us forever, you were gone so long. Did you find a handsome prince in the forest to marry?’ Margreet was small and dark, and known as a great flirt, but she had a kind heart. Jess knew she was only teasing, so she shook her head with a smile.

‘No, nothing as exciting. I just had a great deal to do and became caught up in the running of the manor for a while,’ she lied.

Margreet made a face. ‘How boring.’ She glanced in Mr Kinross’ direction. ‘But it seems you’ve found something better here, eh?’

‘What? Oh, you mean Mr Kinross. No, he’s just my stepfather’s new apprentice.’

Jess pretended indifference, but her eyes followed Margreet’s. She studied the stylish cut of Kinross’ black silk coat, which seemed moulded across his wide shoulders and fell in perfect pleats to just above his knees. He couldn’t be accused of ostentation as he had dressed in the best possible taste. His coat had only a moderate number of silver buttons down the front and on the cuffs, but its very plainness enhanced his good looks. It also contrasted beautifully with his auburn hair.

‘I wouldn’t mind having him as my apprentice,’ Margreet giggled.

‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s very full of himself.’ Jess didn’t really want to talk about Mr Kinross any more. Just looking at him from a distance made her feel distinctly odd and she knew she had more important things to do. She took Margreet’s arm and began to walk in the opposite direction. ‘Now please, won’t you tell me what I’ve missed while I’ve been away? There must be some interesting gossip, surely? How many young men’s hearts have you broken in a year? Hundreds?’

Margreet laughed, then obliged good-naturedly with the latest tales of Gothenburg society. As they promenaded back and forth outside the church, however, Jess found her eyes kept straying to Mr Kinross. It was impossible not to notice how his hair shone with copper highlights in the sun and his laughter carried on the wind.

He was altogether too much of a distraction.

Killian spent the rest of the Sunday with Captain Craig and the group of other Scotsmen gathered at
Vita Hjorten
. He was introduced to a whole host of new people and they all seemed only too happy to welcome another fellow countryman. Several of them extended invitations to dinner even though he barely knew them. Killian gathered they stuck with their own kind as much as possible.

‘Not sure the Swedes really want us here any more,’ one man commented. ‘But they needed our expertise and the money we bring in, so there’s no going back now.’

‘Expertise in what exactly?’

‘Well, it was really the Dutch they needed most to build this place. But we’re every bit as good at trade and seafaring, not to mention our contacts in England and Europe, so they welcomed us too. You’ll soon learn.’

This was Killian’s intention, but he didn’t plan to be quite as insular as some of his compatriots. In order to really take advantage of all the opportunities that Gothenburg could offer him, he knew he had to forge links with the natives as well. With that in mind, he asked the landlord’s fifteen-year-old son Jamie to teach him the Swedish language, starting immediately.

‘I hate not knowing what everyone is saying, it makes me feel at a disadvantage,’ he told the boy. ‘So the quicker I can learn, the better. Will you help me, please?’ The boy took one look at the silver
daler
Killian held out to him and nodded with a smile.

Killian found it difficult to get his tongue round some of the sounds the boy made, but other than that he discovered it wasn’t a complicated language. Quite a few words were similar to English ones, which made it easier. Young Jamie was only too pleased to earn some extra money. As soon as he noticed that Killian treated him well, he even dared to assert himself more and correct any mistakes his pupil made.

‘You’ll soon catch on, sir, I’m sure of it,’ he said with a cheeky grin, having just laughed at Killian’s particularly bad pronunciation of the Swedish word for seventeen –
sjutton.
Killian was determined to prove him right.

‘Just you wait, you little scoundrel,’ Killian smiled good-naturedly. ‘Now go through those numbers again, please, and I’ll get it right this time.’

Fergusson introduced him to his chief assistant early on the Monday morning. Albert Holm proved to be a quiet Swede of indeterminate age who seldom smiled. His face was plain, but pleasant, his thinning fair hair tied back neatly and his expression open and honest. Killian decided the man also had kind eyes. He spoke English, but it was heavily accented.

‘Please to meet you,’ he said. He pronounced the words as if he was still speaking in his native language, which made them seem flat and toneless. He bowed politely and Killian bowed back.

‘
God morgon, herr Holm,
’ he said, trying out his best newly-acquired Swedish.
‘
Hur mår Ni?’

Fergusson laughed. Holm’s eyebrows rose a notch and he nodded, as if he approved of Killian’s attempt, but the man gave no other sign of surprise. ‘
Bra, tack
,’ he replied.

‘Been listening to the natives, have you?’ Fergusson cut in. ‘Good, good, always pays to keep your ears open. Well, I’ll leave you in Albert’s capable hands then. I’ve got some people to see about a cargo.’

Killian was left with Holm, feeling slightly awkward as he had no idea what was expected of him. Although he had spent some time with Lord Rosyth’s steward learning about the running of the estate, he had never held a job as such. There was an embarrassed silence, then he decided he might as well try to break the ice. ‘Er, what would you like me to do this morning?’

‘Perhaps some sums?’ They had been standing inside the doorway of a huge warehouse. Holm now led the way up to a smaller room on the first floor, reached via a rickety staircase. Holm’s spare, but wiry frame moved without haste, but always with purpose. Killian soon understood that the man only spoke when he had something important to say, which meant it was best to listen carefully and take note.

The office, which was what the room proved to be, was covered in shelves from floor to ceiling. Ledgers and other papers were stacked in orderly heaps on just about every surface. There were two tall sloping writing desks at right angles to each other with writing materials neatly laid out at the top of each. ‘Sit here, please. You can add?’

‘Yes.’ Killian hadn’t exactly been a diligent pupil and most of his and Farquhar’s tutors despaired of him. Still, he had a quick mind and they had never been able to complain about his aptitude. Learning came easily to him, as long as the subject in question interested him, and numbers was one of his
fortes.

Holm placed a fat ledger in front of him and opened it at the latest page. He indicated a piece of clean paper on the desk and said, ‘Add on there first, please, I want no mistake.’ Killian nodded and got on with it.

There were only a few pages of sums needing attention, and he had soon finished. Holm sat at the other desk and was busy writing letters, but when Killian placed the finished sums in front of him, he looked up.

‘You finish already? I check.’

While Holm went through the sheets, Killian paced back and forth in front of the windows of the office, which overlooked the coast. He could see his own ship anchored in the distance, as well as a large number of other vessels of various sizes. A warm glow spread through him at the thought that he was the owner of one of them. He hoped the cargo he and Captain Craig had decided on would make a good profit. The captain was off at this very moment negotiating with the local merchants to sell the goods they had brought and ask for a favourable price with regard to the cargo they wanted to buy.

‘This is right,’ he heard Holm say, and turned back to face the man.

‘I know,’ Killian said and smiled. The corners of Holm’s mouth grudgingly turned upwards.

‘So you know how to add, that is good. Now you do it in the book, then we go downstairs.’

‘Fine.’ Killian quickly finished this task as well, and then the two of them went back down to ground floor level.

Holm took him on a tour of the warehouse. ‘All these things we trade,’ he explained. ‘Iron, tar, copper …’ The list went on, but Killian gathered those were the main items, or at least the ones that gave the most profit.

‘
Vad är det
?’ Killian pointed to a stack of sacks piled up against a wall.

‘
Havre,
oats,’ Holm said. ‘Going to Scotland. Your people like … er,
gröt?
What’s it called in English?’

‘You must mean porridge. Yes, we do. Did I say the question right? I’ve only just started learning.’

‘You did in a way, but there are more polite ways of asking.’

‘Will you teach me, please? As well as everything else?’ Killian spread his hands to encompass the entire business of Messrs. Van Sandt & Fergusson.

Holm hesitated only a fraction before nodding. ‘
Ja
, I will. But only if you really want to learn.’

‘Believe me, I do.’

‘Good.’

And with that one word, Killian somehow felt he had received Holm’s seal of approval.

It was the start of a friendship of sorts, although Killian always felt as if the other man was holding back somehow. Holm never offered any comments about anything other than business. The few times Killian dared to ask a personal question, he was given a non-committal answer. He learned only that Holm was unmarried, lived alone in rented rooms and liked reading for pleasure. The older man helped Killian in many ways, however, such as with the problem of accommodation.

‘Are you staying with Mr Fergusson?’ he asked on the second morning.

‘No, I’m still at the inn, but I would prefer some sort of lodging of my own. I really don’t want to impose on Mr Fergusson and his family, although he did offer.’

Holm gave a small smile. ‘Too many babies in that house,’ he said and Killian grinned back at his perspicacity. ‘I know a widow with two rooms to rent out. Respectable. You interested?’

‘Definitely. Thank you, that was just what I had in mind.’

‘Very well. I take you there after work.’

Fru
Ljung proved to be a relative of Holm’s, some sort of distant cousin from what Killian could gather. Friendly and chatty, she was pleased to let him have two connecting rooms on the first floor of her modest house. It was in a narrow street on the opposite side of town to the warehouse, but as Gothenburg wasn’t very large, Killian didn’t mind. A walk every morning would do him good.