Chapter 27 #2
Kitty clenched her fist. The man was not French by any stretch. His accent she couldn’t quite place, but he might be a Londoner. One who had risen from the bowels of the rookery and polished his speech but couldn’t quite rid himself of the filth.
“Mr. Lovett, please leave my yard now. Before I summon the magistrate and have you charged for trespassing and slander.”
“Slander, is it? Plum word.”
“Mr. St. Clair,” she said, “is in London to procure timber and a commission.”
Lovett addressed the men. “The only procuring he’s done is a black-haired adventuress. Saw ’im giving her the stiff and stout myself in the walks at Vauxhall. A lusty gent to be sure. Plowed her field the next morning in St. James Park too.”
Kitty swallowed down a sick rage.
Lovett tutted. “And lost a thousand at a gambling hell. How many families could he feed with that quid?”
“I’ll fetch the pistols,” Althea said, dashing away.
Julian would never wager such a sum after he had spent two months breaking his back in the yard and searching for men.
Never. The man’s words were lies designed to put doubt in her workers and send them running.
And denying them would only serve his purpose and make her appear a fool.
In the past, Julian had spent time with loose women and gambled to excess. Every man here knew it.
“If what you speak is the truth, what of it?” she said. “Every Englishman has the liberty to engage a woman’s charms. What man here has not?”
She surveyed the men. They looked aside or stared at their shoes.
“And if a man loses in gaming according to his means, and Mr. St. Clair has plenty, then why should we care? Should he give away his money when he already pays more than the other yards? When every man here earns a premium for evening work? Who here wants for Mr. St. Clair’s charity?”
Grumbles arose amongst the men.
Someone shouted, “I don’t want no charity!”
Lovett chuckled. “Fine words, Madame, but I’m not looking for charity. I’m looking for men to come with me.”
Kitty knew a moment of desperation. “All who remain at St. Clair Shipwrights shall receive a reward for their labors at Christmas.”
“I’ll match St. Clair’s wages,” Lovett said. “Your Christmas reward will be a job that lasts past St. Clair’s next whim. St. Clair ain’t gonna change his spots, and you all know it. What’s to say he returns? Worthing, when was St. Clair coming back?”
Sam clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“Jasper?” Lovett asked.
“About a week ago.” Jasper splayed his hands when Sam turned to glare at him. “What? He said he’d be back a week ago.”
Lovett asked, “Well, Madame, where is he?”
Oh, if only she were a man, she’d smash his twisted grin and the crooked teeth behind it, and he’d choke on them. When Julian returned she’d do the same to him.
Hurried footsteps padded on the grass. Althea approached with pistols held tightly in both hands.
“Don’t shoot,” Kitty warned her friend.
Lovett’s brows lofted at the weapons. “Appears my time’s ending here. Who is coming with?”
“What yard?” someone asked.
“Childers,” Lovett answered.
Kitty stepped forward. “I pledge a percentage of profits to any man who remains tonight. All of you will own part of this yard.”
“Aye, men,” Lovett said. “You’ll own a percentage of nothing.”
She watched Jasper retrieve his level. A man beside him hooked his hands on his coat, preparing to walk. Behind her, men conferred in hushed tones.
“I was poor once,” she said. “I lived in a grand old manse falling about my family’s ears. I know what it is like to scrounge for pennies to buy meat. What I wanted was something I could call my own. Mr. St. Clair is the same.”
“He’s the son of an earl,” a man said.
“Yes, he is, and he wishes to make his own success without patronage.”
“Patronage would pay your wages,” Lovett said to the men. “Feed your children. And St. Clair don’t want it because if he did, he’d have the king to answer to when he leaves you high and dry. You’re a bleedin’ hobby—”
“Get out!” Althea rushed forward both pistols trained on Lovett. “Before I send you to the devil.”
Sam lunged across the circle to Lovett and shoved him down the slipway until he stumbled into the river with a splash. He earned Sam’s right fist in his jaw and an escort down the riverbank by the back of his coat.
The men began to converse heatedly. Some defended Julian despite all Lovett had laid out while Kitty fought to do the same.
Julian had promised to be discreet with other women, assured her she could retain her dignity.
He would never humiliate her by fornicating in a public place.
A park? She couldn’t believe it. And she refused to give any credence to Julian wagering recklessly.
More men spoke in favor of her husband. It was true he was an earl’s son, they agreed, but a body would never know by his plain manner and hard work.
His ship designs were first-rate, they concluded.
And hadn’t he cut weeks off the cutter’s build so that the slipway could be vacated and another ship begun?
Kitty’s faith in Julian grew.
She had prevented the men from leaving outright and pledged precious coin to keep them.
She fretted on what to tell Julian of this night when he returned.
He had dedicated himself to making a success of their enterprise, working long and arduous hours.
He had met lowering humiliation when searching for commissions and labor and had stubbornly persevered.
He was a good man. An excellent partner.
Althea had calmed to a proper simmer as Sam trudged up the bank. A moonless night had settled over them.
“Thank you, Sam,” Kitty said and then shifted toward Althea, relieving her of the pistols. “And Althea. All of you, thank you. I stand by my promises, and Mr. St. Clair will support them. You have much to ponder. If you leave our yard, I wish you well. Good night.”
She drew Sam aside and relayed her wish that Mr. St. Clair be kept unaware of Mr. Lovett’s visit. “They are patent lies, Sam.”
“Aye, ma’am. Your husband’s devoted to you.”
“Er, yes. And my husband would surely wish to challenge Mr. Lovett and Childers if he were to know, wouldn’t he?” Sam scowled an affirmative. “Acknowledging Lovett’s lies would give them weight. Yes, Mr. Lovett will never be spoken of again. He will be forgotten. Please convey this to your men.”
In the office, Kitty returned the silver-inlaid flintlocks to their box and watched the men from the window debating their course.
“I could have done murder,” Althea said, collecting her sewing. “Please do not mention my anger to the vicar, if you will.”
“Never.” Kitty bit her lip, a small laugh escaping at the image of God-fearing Miss Dixley brandishing Julian’s dueling pistols.
It was to be their first night at the Pierpoints’ lodge. Vicar Carleton would arrive soon. The day had started with promise, but wasn’t that how tragedies revealed themselves, arriving upon the waves of joy? Just like the day the earl had ordered her killed.