Ruby McBride (23 page)

Bart ground to a halt and whirled about, golden eyes blazing with wrath. ‘I’d stay out of this lad, if I were you. While you still have a head on your puny shoulders.’ And ignoring Ruby’s pleas and cries for help, he strode away, dragging her ignominiously behind him.

He didn’t pause till they reached the tug, then he swung her up in his arms and carried Ruby on board as if she were no more than a parcel of rubbish he’d picked up off the quay. Ruby fought like a cat with teeth and claws, kicking her legs in a lather of temper, but to no avail. He strode into her cabin and dropped her on the bed, where she lay gasping for breath, nut-brown hair falling loose from its pins and tumbling over her face and shoulders.

‘It’s time you learned to do as you’re told. Any more rebellion, and I’ll consider it mutiny, the punishment for which does not bear thinking about.’ His tone was harsh, jagged with fury.

‘You daren’t do anything to
me
.’

‘Oh, I dare! I dare anything, Ruby McBride. Make no mistake about that. What I want you to do now is wash your grimy face and get ready for bed. I shall go and make myself and my cabin suitably presentable for a lady. When I am ready, I shall come for you.’
 

There was triumph in his tone of voice, a terrifying glitter in his searching gaze, then he removed the key from the lock, slammed shut the cabin door and, as Ruby heard it turn on the other side, she screamed out her frustration in an explosion of rage.

‘
Drat you
!
I shall
never
come willingly. Make me walk the plank if you must. Flog me with a cat o’ nine tails. But you can’t ever make me into
your
woman!’

The sound of his soft laughter filtered back to her through the panels of the door. ‘Oh, but I can, Ruby. I rather think that I can.’

It was half an hour later when she heard the key in the lock a second time and her heart leaped into her throat on a surge of apprehension. She still had not washed her face, or removed a stitch of her clothing. Nor would she. Ruby had no intention of giving herself willingly to any man other than her beloved Kit, certainly not this one, husband or no. If he insisted on taking her, then it would have to be by brute force. A prospect which, despite her brave thoughts, made her shudder with foreboding.

He stood in the doorway, quietly looking down upon her. ‘I see you have not taken me seriously.’

He was dressed in the silk robe he had worn that first night, except that beneath it she guessed he was quite naked, and her heart fluttered, although not with foreboding this time. His commanding presence seemed to fill the tiny cabin, making him seem taller, more muscular, more strikingly handsome with his tousled, red-gold hair, than she’d ever seen him before. Ruby felt diminished by his power, and by some emotion inside herself she had no wish to examine too deeply.

There seemed to be only two ways of dealing with this. Either she surrendered willingly, or he took her without her consent. Neither prospect appealed. Why did it have to happen now, just when she’d found Kit and had scented happiness at last? She could cry at the unfairness of it all.

‘Perhaps a little night-cap, to relax you?’

She snatched at the offer, then saw how he clenched his teeth in fresh annoyance when she chose cocoa. Alcohol was quite out of the question. She needed to keep her wits about her. Nevertheless, he made the hot drink without protest, watching in silence while she drank it. Ruby made it last as long as possible, sitting in the main living area of the barge, all too aware of the open door to his spacious cabin through which she caught a glimpse of a rumpled bed with a green silken coverlet. She could feel the beat of her heart in her breast, slow and rather breathless.

He did not drink, which surprised her. She’d expected him to take a nip of whisky or rum which he did sometimes of an evening. Instead, he sat looking quite relaxed, hands loosely clasped, elbows on knees as he watched her, his gaze unfathomable. What she could see of his legs beneath the robe were strong and muscled, and bare. She averted her eyes. The tension in the room was palpable, her breath now caught in her throat as if she did not dare to expel it.

At length, he calmly removed the empty mug from her hand. ‘I’ve been a patient man long enough, Ruby. Too patient. I’ve done everything in my power to make you comfortable, to provide you with a home, food on the table every night, as well as keep you safe from harm. I’ve even spared you from danger in the very important and essential work that I do. But I am a red-blooded male and you are my wife. I can wait no longer. Most women seem to find me attractive. I cannot understand why you continue to resist. Do you imagine that I’ll hurt you? Have I given you cause to think so?’

‘You still haven’t found Pearl.’ Her voice sounded weak, the excuse feeble, even to her own ears.

His reply was soft, and tinged with sympathy. ‘I know, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry too if my irritation on the subject has alarmed you, but I swear I have made several enquiries and will do everything in my power to find her. Come.’ He held out a hand for her to take.

He tried not to show the vulnerability he was feeling, emotions he was not accustomed to
experiencing let alone reveal to others. If she rejected him now, Bart hadn’t the first idea what he would do. His passion for her had driven him to the edge of madness, the heat of his desire made his loins ache. How he had managed, in all this time of living at such close quarters with her, not to take her, he would never know. It spoke volumes for the effect she had on him. Above everything he wanted her, and yet respected her right to refuse him, not only because of the nature of their marriage but also because of the high esteem in which he held her.
 

Something she couldn’t seem to grasp.

But was he capable now of asserting these rights he spoke of so glibly? Did he believe for one moment that such an act would win her? He did not want to lose her. Still she held back, resisting every appeal he made. And then it came to him, on a blinding flash of understanding.

‘Dear heaven, you’re still a virgin. Is that the way of it? Has no man ever touched you?’

Ruby did not answer. She could not. She felt a tightness in her chest, a breathlessness at her own vulnerability. She’d hoped and prayed to give this precious gift to Kit Jarvis and now this man, this hated man, was to rob her of that pleasure too. One by one he had destroyed all her dreams, but she would not allow him to destroy her. Ruby’s chin came up, fists clenched as she leapt to her feet.

‘Why should that surprise you? Did you take me for some sort of harlot, just because I was brought up in the reformatory? Well, maybe I am. Maybe I have more experience than you think.’

In one fluid movement of defiance she ripped open the buttons of her dress, pushing it back over bare shoulders to let it fall to the ground. She stood before him in her short cotton shift, her uptilted breasts revealing the outline of dark nipples beneath the thin fabric.
 

He watched, mesmerised by her beauty as she turned from him and strode away, slender and graceful, into his cabin.

Quietly, he followed her, and closed the door.

Ruby turned to face him, giving no indication of the inner turmoil she was experiencing, save in the way her eyes flaunted her contempt and in the bravado of her words. ‘I’ll not make it easy for you.’

‘I very much hope, Ruby, that you will enjoy this as much as I.’

If she did, she made every effort not to show it. Ruby bit down hard on any cry which he might mistake for ecstasy, for all her fingers clung tightly to his broad shoulders. And although she did not offer up her mouth for his kisses, when he claimed it anyway her lips seemed to open for him of their own accord, very much against her will. Even her skin seemed to flare with desire at his touch, causing her to react with a shameful wantonness, to beg him for more.

He made no concessions to her innocence but took his fill of her, meaning to staunch his need once and for all, only to find, after that first climactic exorcism, that he could not resist loving her all over again. His greater gentleness the second time, was her final undoing. Ruby McBride, that stalwart of stubborn pride and fierce rebellion, crumbled beneath the onslaught of this tender passion and wept as he cradled her in his arms.

Chapter Sixteen

Bart stood on his soap box on the quay before his normally stalwart and loyal supporters, feeling close to exasperation. His carefully rehearsed speech on how he, together with a select band of workers, would approach Pickering and demand that he acknowledge the union and concede to at least some of the men’s requests: showers and lavatory facilities, safety procedures put into place, and a decent rate of pay, had been listened to with close attention. There’d been mumbles of agreement all round, rousing cheers at times. Some had been sufficiently stirred by his passion to call out the odd, ‘Hear! Hear!’

But when he’d asked for volunteers to accompany him, it was as if they shrivelled before his eyes. Their faces seemed to close up, and they looked anywhere but into his eyes. Some sloped quietly away, leaving others hesitantly to express their appreciation of the baron’s efforts on their behalf but explain how they personally couldn’t do anything to help, for one reason or another. Their wife was sick, there was a child on the way or some relative had died. Less than half the excuses were genuine for not one of them was willing to be a member of this select band, or to take up the cause on behalf of their colleagues. Some offered no apology at all, but simply denounced the idea out of hand.

‘Waste of time. We’d get nowhere.’

‘Aye, and look what he did to Sparky.’

‘How can working men take on employers? It isn’t reasonable to ask’

‘He’d probably refuse even to talk to us.’

‘It’s not like there are other jobs we could go to.’ Tom Wright said. ‘All employers are as bad. And there’s a score or more chaps waiting every morning for work down at the docks. Maybe six’ll be taken on out of a long line of hopefuls. And every day it gets worse. The foreman always picks his favourites. You only need to get yourself a reputation as a troublemaker, or worse, a union activist, and that’s it. You’re done for.’

The men all looked at Bart in aggrieved silence and he could guess what they were thinking: that it was easy for him to talk. He had a bit of money in the bank, and he wasn’t the one in danger of losing his job. Bart had offered Sparky some work on his own barges, which he’d finally accepted, once convinced it wasn’t out of charity and that he was genuinely needed. Bart suspected Aggie had had something to do with this change of heart. But it wasn’t in his power to give work to them all.

It was Sparky himself who broke the silence which threatened to undermine the entire meeting. ‘Much as we might like to deny it, Tom’s right. Bosses hand out the work and we’re the ones who need it. There’s nowt we can do, and they know it. They’ve got us over a barrel.’

Bart protested that this kind of defeatist talk would get them nowhere, but the argument continued to range back and forth, going round and round in endless circles, the most prevalent response being that everyone thought it a good idea to wring better conditions out of the bosses, so long as they weren’t asked to be the ones to do it.

One man even insisted that it wouldn’t be patriotic to take any risk which might result in a strike. Most, however, were simply too hungry or too afraid of losing the work they did pick up in Pickering’s wharf, however irregular, to risk it.
 

Giles Pickering owned one of the largest carrying companies in the district and though he could never be accused of philanthropy, there was no question that he possessed power. He was an important employer, rivalling the Ship Canal Company itself, far too big for any of them to take on.
 

Their fear was palpable. It hung on the evening air like acrid smoke which Bart could almost taste in the back of his throat.

Nevertheless, he persisted. ‘You should at least try. Can’t you see that? Don’t expect the government to solve your problems. Certainly not this Conservative government.’

Tom, ever cautious, refused to accept this. ‘They’re holding a Royal Commission on Trade Disputes and Combinations. They mean to sort it all out. All we have to do is hang on to us jobs in the meantime.’

‘They’ll fudge it, as always,’ Bart argued. ‘They haven’t appointed one single union member to serve on it. Where’s the resolution to improve conditions for the working man? How is it that the wealthy employer is allowed to pay money into clubs and political organisations of which he is a member, but the working man is not permitted to contribute through his own union to the political party of his choice? It’s intolerable. If you want unions to be accepted and taken note of, if you want your working conditions improved, you’ll have to do it yourself. First on a local level and then nationally. There’s no other way. The truth is, if you don’t fight, you won’t win.’