Alley Urchin (25 page)

The officer nodded before making a gesture after the sailor whom he had seen leaving. ‘Taking him on, are we?’

‘Unfortunately no . . . we’re one man short and could have done with that fellow. But he won’t be bound for England.’

‘Aye, and you couldn’t have done better than him if you’d searched from one end of Australia to the other. He’s a good man.’

‘You know the fellow, then?’

‘Did a year’s stint on the
Eleanor
with him about four years back. He goes by the name of Tanner . . . Marlow Tanner. Pity he won’t sail for England with us, but he’s intent on making his fortune.’ He laughed softly, but not with malice. ‘Fine bloody chance o’ that, I’m thinking. If he ain’t made his fortune these past fifteen years, there’s not much chance of him making it at all!’

‘Marlow Tanner, you say?’ Silas Trent was racking his brain. He knew the name, but where? . . . When?

It was some time later when Silas Trent recalled the name of Marlow Tanner, and where he had come across it before. Wasn’t
that
the fellow who, according to Martha, had been ‘Emma Grady’s downfall’. Of course! By all accounts, Emma was in love with Marlow Tanner, even after she was married off to Gregory Denton, and he was crazy in love with her, so much that he had left England on the news of her marriage. A terrible and riveting thought crossed his mind as he continued on his way. How unpredictable the hand of Fate was, to bring Marlow Tanner to the very place where Emma lived, and neither of them aware of it.

He felt himself to be in a great predicament for, even on this very evening, he was heading for the house on Phillimore Street where Emma lived with her husband, Roland Thomas. Since her marriage to him some eight years back, Emma had expanded the firm of Thomas Trading Company beyond the boundaries of Australia, with shipments of wool, sandalwood and other cargoes being commissioned to the likes of him. She had worked hard, he knew. Who didn’t know of her admirable progress in the trading world? The results of her determination and the incessant ambition which drove her to succeed were most evident in the house on Phillimore Street, a grand, white-painted place, with impressive well-kept gardens and massive pillars fronting the main verandah. But for all that, Emma was neither happy nor contented. She had made a comfortable home for her husband, who, following a bad fall from the loft in his old shop, was unfortunately confined to a bath chair. He was a good man, but, like Emma, he kept quiet in his sorrow. He had never really come to terms with the loss of his beloved first wife, or his guilt arising from it. Added to that was the fact of his crippled legs which cruelly robbed him of his freedom and dignity. Then there was the tragedy of his son, Foster Thomas. His only son, who, because of his rakish and deceitful nature, had forced his father to throw him out of the house on the very eve of his mother’s funeral. To this day, Roland Thomas had never forgiven him.

Emma’s discontent stemmed from three things: the fact that her husband’s state of health prevented her from returning to England, where she had long planned to confront her old enemies and seek out those who had loved her; the pain of always remembering how she had lost her one and only child; and lastly the futile love she carried in her heart for the child’s father, Marlow Tanner.

Here, Silas Trent paused in his thoughts. Should he tell Emma that the man she craved was no further away from her than the inn at the docks? Or would it be a cruel and spiteful thing for her to know? Silas Trent decided against telling her. He would not be the one to cause her unnecessary heartbreak, because even though his heart still belonged to his wife Martha he was more than a little in love with Emma himself.

As usual, Emma was delighted to see him, but as she swept across the marquetry floor of the spacious entrance hall, looking slim and attractive in a bustled dress of burgundy, her rich auburn hair swept back with two mother-of-pearl combs, it struck him how pale she looked and how subdued her strong grey eyes.

‘Oh, Silas, I’m glad you came. I thought you might stay on the ship this evening. I know you intend sailing on the first tide.’ Emma’s lonely heart was always gladdened at the sight of him. In this last year she had found a friend in Silas Trent, and whenever they were together, she would ask him of England and the way it was when he had left. And always, he would avoid talking of his wife, and of his father-in-law, Caleb Crowther, because he knew of their callous treatment of Emma, and he felt ashamed. Emma, too, avoided the subject, in order to spare him embarrassment. But she revelled in news of his son, Edward, and had been horrified to hear of the unfortunate incident which had befallen him, the news of which was relayed to Silas in some distant port. Silas had not been home since, and Emma knew how very much he was looking forward to it. ‘Just think,’ she told him now, leading him towards the library, where she regularly spent many long hours at work, ‘if you’re not laid over too long at Singapore, you’ll be home well in time for Christmas.’ She added softly, ‘Oh, how I envy you!’

Silas had not missed her gentle utterance, nor the longing behind it, and his heart went out to her. ‘How is Roland, Emma?’

‘He’s fine,’ she said, gesturing for him to help himself to a tot of rum from a tray on the sturdy oak dresser. When he had poured himself a drink he extended the sherry decanter towards her. Emma nodded and then gratefully took the half-filled glass which he handed to her.

When they were both seated in brown leather armchairs situated either side of a large, rather ornate dark-oak desk, Emma told him, ‘Roland is no worse . . . and he’s no better. But there are times when he has these unpredictable moods of deep depression and, to be honest, I don’t know how to handle him.’ Emma deplored her husband’s awful predicament and was determined to do all she could to make life comfortable for him. But it was not easy. It was never easy.

‘You’ll cope, Emma,’ she was told now. ‘But you’re driving yourself too hard . . . you know that, don’t you?’

Emma knew it. She knew also that, without her work, she would grow slowly crazy. ‘My work keeps me sane,’ she said, sipping the sherry but hating the taste of it. ‘Talking of which, I have a proposition to put to you. I’ve thought on it long and hard. Roland and I have discussed it, and as usual he’s left the decision to me.’

‘A proposition, Emma?’ Silas Trent was intrigued. ‘What kind of proposition?’

‘One that will benefit us all.’ Emma put her sherry glass on the desk before getting to her feet, where she walked slowly and deep in thought around to the back of her chair. Here, she put her two hands on the chair and leaned forward to look at Silas with a direct and friendly gaze. ‘As you know, the Thomas Trading Company handles increasingly vast quantities of goods . . . all manner of goods pass through our hands every working day. In these past two years alone, we’ve doubled the business. Eighteen months ago we invested heavily in the running of pearl, wool and sandalwood . . . prize cargoes for which we commissioned ships such as yours, to carry far and wide . . . we’re expanding all the time, you know that.’

‘Everybody who’s involved in shipping or merchandise knows it.’ Silas Trent was already following Emma’s thinking, but he dared not let himself believe it. ‘What exactly are you getting at, Emma . . . how does all of this involve
me
? Apart from being fortunate enough to secure a cargo from you wherever possible, and being well paid for it too,’ he gently laughed, ‘though I do believe I’m honest and reliable enough to deserve it!’

‘You have certainly proved that, Silas . . . in fact, if that
wasn’t
the case, I wouldn’t be talking to you now, and I would not be about to offer you a stake in a new venture. Perhaps even a partnership later on, if all goes well.’ Her steel-grey eyes never left his face.

‘Partnership!’
Of a sudden he was on his feet.

There came the sound of a voice from the doorway. ‘That’s right, Trent, a partnership . . . of sorts and all in good time.’

Seeing that it was her husband being pushed in his bath chair by the nurse hired to care for him, Emma went quickly to his side. ‘Mr Thomas!’ she gently reproached him. As always Silas Trent was amused to hear Emma address her husband as ‘Mr Thomas’. Not once, since discovering that Emma Grady as was, was now Mrs Thomas, had he heard her call him by the name of Roland. It was an odd thing, but apparently accepted by them both. ‘I thought you were sleeping.’ Emma had given strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ returned Roland Thomas, affectionately patting Emma’s hand which rested on his shoulder. It always seemed to Emma to be a very cruel thing when she saw how helpless he had become. Her husband was still a striking figure, tall with large bones and a strong-featured face which was shaped harder by a coarse beard around his mouth and chin. Yet, if a person looked closely enough, it was not difficult to perceive the futility in his deep-set eyes, nor to see the weary stoop of his once broad and powerful shoulders. To Emma, and to those who knew him well enough, Roland Thomas was not a happy man. Yet Emma kept alive his interest in the business by actively involving him in day to day routine affairs, while ensuring he was involved with the greater issues – of which the proposition to Silas Trent was one example. In such a way, and by promising that she would stay by his side for as long as he needed her, Emma had successfully rekindled his passion to see the Thomas name ‘up there above the rest’. She was well on the way to fulfilling his long-held ambition, an ambition which had been interrupted by the fateful accident he had suffered. The same accident that had cost Roland Thomas the use of his legs. By the same token, it had also cost Emma very dearly.

Because of it, all of Emma’s carefully laid plans were now postponed, for how could she leave him and return to England? It was his greatest fear, and only when Emma had fervently given her word that she would not desert him had he acquired peace of mind. But if he had gained peace of mind, Emma had not. Often, in the solitude of her room, she would think about the man who was her husband, the man in the speciallyadapted room downstairs, and she was torn a multitude of ways. Without him, she would likely never have had the opportunity to see a company grow and prosper, and to be an integral force in the excitement of it all. She would not be on the way to becoming wealthy, nor would she be in such a respectable and envied position. Emma knew all of this, and was thankful for the unique opportunity which the kindly Roland Thomas had put her way. On the other hand though, Emma sometimes wondered whether the price she was asked to pay was too high. There was no love in her life, only the ever-painful memory of Marlow. She had been blessed in her life with only one child, and that child had been snatched away for ever. She had no real friends, with the exception of Nelly, who, in spite of the frustrating habit she had of landing herself in trouble, was always a delight and great comfort to Emma. In all truth, she longed for freedom of spirit, and she longed for home.

Yet, there were times when Emma was forced to ask herself just where her home was. Here, she had risen above the pit into which her enemies had thrown her, and she had forged a life of some consequence. She had Nelly, and Roland, and she had her work. Why then did she crave for England? Was it only because there were things to settle there and questions to be answered? Was it for revenge, which in all truth, had long been her driving force? Was it in hope of a long desired reunion with a lover she could never forget? Or was it simply because England was her home, her roots, the land of her birth, from which her body had been torn, but in which her mind, heart and spirit would ever dwell? All of these considerations caused Emma a great deal of agonising . . . until she had decided that her deep longing to return to the homeland was a combination of all these things.

The one truth that grew ever stronger in her heart was that on a day in the future, she knew not when, she
would
return. When she did, all the questions which had tormented her would be answered. Until that day, she must remain patient and stay true to her ideals, for if she did not, then she would be as much a prisoner now as on the day she was brought here in exile.

Dismissing the nurse by asking that she arrange for refreshments to be sent in, Emma wheeled Roland to the desk. She and Silas Trent also took up their places there. ‘Perhaps you would explain to Mr Trent what we have in mind?’ Emma asked of her husband. She knew how such a suggestion would please him.

‘I’ll do that . . . of course I will, Emma,’ he replied, afterwards turning his serious gaze on the man seated before him. ‘Let me make it plain, Mr Trent . . . when Emma first made the suggestion I was dead set against it, but as always, she made me see the advantages of her plan.’ He smiled warmly at Emma, before returning his attention to Silas Trent. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Trent,’ he said. ‘Since you’ve been running cargo for us, you’ve proved yourself to be a reliable, honest fellow with an appetite for hard work. Now then . . . Emma has it in mind that we’re missing out, by commissioning the odd ship at a time. She sees the big shipping companies regularly snatching valuable cargoes right from under our noses . . . because they don’t have to commission the odd barque or clipper. They have the advantage of sailing their
own fleet
, so they’re not subject to the same limitations and frustrations as we are. The consequence being that, whilst the Thomas Trading Company is rapidly expanding overland, we haven’t made as much headway on the shipping of goods. It’s not an area that we’ve ever had that much experience in, you see.’ Here, he winked at Emma, saying, ‘But Emma intends to change all that. Y’see, she’s a woman who don’t like to be beat, and I reckon she’s just itching for a fight with the big boys . . . ain’t that right, Emma?’ He appeared to grow excited at the prospect.

‘You know it is,’ she laughed. Then, as there came a light tap on the door, heralding the entrance of a short, sturdily built maid carrying a tray of food and drink, she got to her feet and cleared a place at the desk. ‘Thank you, Judy,’ she said, watching while the young woman gingerly put down the tray before quietly leaving the room. It was when Emma had poured the tea and prepared to hand a cup to her husband that she noticed how pale he had suddenly become and how his face seemed pinched as though in pain. ‘Are you all right, Mr Thomas?’ she asked, putting down the cup and saucer and hurrying to his side. She had seen these attacks before and recalled the doctor’s warning: ‘The paralysis isn’t the only problem, Mrs Thomas,’ he had told her soon after the accident. ‘There will always be pain, I’m afraid, and the risk of spinal deterioration. That in turn will bring its own more dangerous complications. There’s very little we can do and, in the circumstances, your husband is not likely to survive beyond five years.’ That was almost three years ago, when Emma had decided to devote herself to making her husband’s life as easy as was humanly possible. He himself had insisted on being told the truth and, knowing it, he had come to lean on Emma all the more.