The Trader's Reward Read online

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledegement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Anna Jacobs

  Contact Anna

  About the Author

  Anna Jacobs grew up in Lancashire and emigrated to Australia, but she returns each year to the UK to see her family and do research, something she loves. She is addicted to writing and she figures she’ll have to live to be 120 at least to tell all the stories that keep popping up in her imagination and nagging her to write them down. She’s also addicted to her own hero, to whom she’s been happily married for many years.

  THE TRADER’S REWARD

  Anna Jacobs

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Anna Jacobs 2014

  The right of Anna Jacobs to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 444 76131 3

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Thanks once again to Southampton City Council’s Arts and Heritage section, and the Archivist, Joanne Smith, who helped me with ships’ names and departures from Southampton in the 1870s. Their help is very much appreciated. I do like to get ships’ names and sailings right, if I can.

  And of course, further thanks to my nautical guru, Eric Hare, whose help in this whole series has been invaluable. I’ve taken up far too much of his valuable time, but I so appreciate the lessons he’s given me in sailing and steam ships.

  Sometimes information isn’t certain and one has to make an educated guess about what happened. I hope my guesses haven’t strayed too far from the mark. Any mistakes are, of course, my own, not Eric’s.

  1

  November 1871 – Swindon, England

  Fergus Deagan stood in the kitchen, staring at the doctor in horror. ‘You must be able to do something!’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Deagan, but I can’t stop the bleeding. We doctors are helpless against the trials of childbirth. At least you still have time to say farewell to your wife.’ He pulled out his pocket watch, studied it and moved into the hall. ‘I have to visit another patient now, I’m afraid. There is nothing I can do to help you.’

  He left the little terraced house and walked briskly down the street, his footsteps echoing back like blows to Fergus’s aching head.

  The night had been harrowing, as his wife struggled to give birth, and now this. He couldn’t move for a moment or two, just stood leaning against the front door frame, staring down the street. Then he realised a neighbour was looking at him from her doorway, so he shook his head to show things weren’t going well. Closing the front door quietly, he climbed the stairs, feeling weighed down with sorrow. And guilt.

  As he went into the bedroom, the midwife thrust a wriggling bundle into his arms.

  ‘Take comfort from—’

  ‘This gives me no comfort!’ Fergus said in a low voice, looking down in loathing at the wailing scrap of humanity. He thrust it back at her without asking whether it was a boy or a girl. What did he care about that, now?

  ‘I need to be alone with my wife.’

  When the midwife didn’t move, he pushed her out on to the landing. ‘I don’t want the boys brought up here to say farewell. I want them to remember their mother alive. Anyway, she said goodbye to them when her pains started.’

  Just in case, Eileen had told him with a faint smile. It was as if she’d known she’d not survive. As if she was already moving away from them into another world.

  He closed the door and flung himself down on the floor beside the bed, clutching her hand. She was so pale and insubstantial, he thought for a moment she hadn’t waited to say her final farewell, then he saw the pulse fluttering weakly at her throat.

  She opened her eyes and stared at him.

  ‘The doctor’s wrong,’ he said desperately. ‘We’ll nurse you carefully, get you better.’

  ‘Too tired. Been tired for so long.’ She whispered the words, managing with an effort to raise one hand to caress his thick black hair.

  He held her hand tightly, wishing he could share his own strength with her.

  When Eileen spoke again, it was even more faintly. ‘It is a girl, Fergus. I did so want … a daughter.’

  Her words came in little bursts, as if she hadn’t the energy to finish a complete sentence. ‘When it’s all over … go to your brother. Take the children to Bram. Take my parents too. Nothing for you now, here in England.’

  She’d been saying that for the last few weeks as she dragged herself round the house, waiting to give birth, skeletally thin except for the obscene mass of her belly. She’d had to leave the hard physical housework to her mother.

  He’d spent those weeks cursing himself. They’d decided a while ago not to have any more children because of Eileen’s poor health, and he’d coped without the bed play because he didn’t want to kill her. She’d seemed a bit better, too, without the burden of carrying a child.

  But she’d longed for a daughter, could think of nothing else, and had begged time and again for one last child.

  Guilt wrapped itself round him like shackles. Why had he agreed? He should have known better.

  ‘Promise me you’ll go to your brother, Fergus. Mr Kieran Largan said in his letter all the other Deagans … have left Ireland and joined Bram in Australia. He’ll send you money for fares. I know he will.’

  Still Fergus hesitated. He didn’t want to be beholden to anyone, let alone his damned eldest brother.

  ‘Promise me.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Please, Fergus. Then I can go in peace.’

  He couldn’t deny her this final wish, so forced the words out, ‘Very well. I promise.’

  ‘And you’ll marry again. Soon.’

  He was shocked that she’d say this.

  ‘Fergus?’

  ‘I can’t think of that yet, if ever.’

  ‘Please. Our children will still need a mother’s love, especially the baby.’

  ‘I may marry one day, if I find someone.’

  There was silence and he didn’t know what else to say to reassure her.

  But she had always been stubborn when she wanted something. ‘No. Promise me you’ll marry … within the year.’

  How could he promise such a thing?

  ‘Fergus? Please.’

  He could see death in her face, couldn’t deny her anything. ‘Very well. I’l
l marry within the year.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise.’

  When she spoke, her voice was so faint he had to lean close to hear. ‘You’ll call our daughter Niamh. As we agreed.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t let them spell it wrongly.’

  She’d made such a point of this. Her favourite girl’s name was pronounced ‘Neev’, but spelled very differently. Strange that she’d insist on it now. Shouldn’t she be praying? What did he know of deathbeds?

  ‘Fergus?’

  ‘I’ll make sure people know how to spell it.’

  With a sigh she closed her eyes. ‘That’s good. Such a lovely name.’

  A few minutes later she whispered, ‘So tired, my darling, so … very … tired.’

  Eileen didn’t speak again, and a few minutes later she breathed her last. For all he was a strong man, Fergus sobbed over her body, great racking sounds as grief tore into him. Such a short life and he didn’t think he’d made her happy. Not really.

  That was how his mother-in-law found him when she heard his sorrow echoing round the house.

  He didn’t tell her it was as much guilt as grief, just as he’d not told anyone else how quickly his love for Eileen had faded into fondness and then mere habit. Most other marriages seemed to be like that, he’d noticed.

  But he’d hoped for more when they met, she was so lively and pretty. He hadn’t expected to spend his life with someone who echoed his words and opinions back to him, someone whose thoughts were only of her family and home. Oh, she’d listened quietly enough when he talked of the wider world he read about in newspapers, but she wasn’t really interested. He could tell.

  Still, for all her faults, Eileen hadn’t deserved to die so young.

  He shouldn’t have given in to her about the child.

  After their sad and disturbed night, Fergus’s sons were tired. Their grandmother gave them breakfast then took them to sit in the front room of the small terraced house, something they only normally did on Sundays. Their father had stayed with their mother.

  ‘Stay here and be good, boys.’ She dropped a kiss on each of their heads.

  When she’d gone upstairs, they huddled in their father’s armchair, pressed tightly against one another. At ten and six, they knew something bad was happening, because they’d seen their mother fall ill three times already, after losing a baby too frail to survive.

  When their grandmother came back later to tell them their mother was dying, they could only stare at her numbly. She was sobbing as she spoke, which made little Mal cling more tightly to his big brother.

  As she went out into the kitchen at the back, they heard their father start weeping upstairs and this was so shocking, they began to cry as well, huddling close to one another.

  For once, their grandma didn’t come to comfort them. She went rushing upstairs, shouting, ‘No! No! Not yet.’

  They waited but the terrible noise of their father’s grief went on and on, echoed by their grandmother’s weeping.

  ‘Mam must be dead,’ Sean said in a hushed voice.

  ‘What’ll we do now?’ Mal whispered back, wiping his tears away with his sleeve.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted. Then he remembered what his mother had made him promise before the baby started to be born. ‘But I’ll always look after you because I’m your big brother.’

  ‘I’ll look after you, too.’

  ‘You’re too little to do that.’

  ‘Am not.’

  ‘Are so.’

  Their grandfather came into the room, tears rolling down his cheeks, and they stopped their half-hearted bickering. He held out his arms and they threw themselves at him, letting him hug them for a long time, needing the solid comfort of his sturdy old body.

  Granda went on crying, though, and he didn’t stop until the midwife came into the front room, holding the new baby in her arms.

  ‘I need your help, Mr Grady.’

  He stood up, fished in his pocket for his handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘What can I do, Mrs Sealey?’

  ‘I’ve some water heating to wash your daughter’s body before I lay her out. When I’ve got everything ready, you must come upstairs with me and get your wife and son-in-law out of the bedroom. Bring them down here to comfort your grandsons.’

  He nodded, looking at the bundle in her arms. ‘Is the baby a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A girl. Very small, though.’

  ‘Eileen wanted a girl.’ He put an arm round each grandson and tried to draw them across the room. ‘You have a sister, boys, a baby sister. Come and look at her.’

  Sean pulled away. ‘No. I hate her! She killed our mam.’

  Patrick looked at his older grandson in shock. ‘She did not.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for the baby, Mam would still be alive. I heard Dad say so.’

  ‘Your mam longed for a daughter. It was she who chose to try for another baby. The baby didn’t ask to be born.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want a sister. I want my mam back.’

  ‘Sean lad, you mustn’t speak like that. It’s the Lord’s will that your mother has gone to heaven.’

  ‘We needed Mam more here than God does up there,’ the boy declared, chin jutting in that stubborn way he had. ‘He’s got plenty of other people with him in heaven.’

  Patrick and Mrs Sealey exchanged shocked glances, but nothing they said would change the boys’ minds.

  ‘Will you hold the baby while I finish getting things ready, Mr Grady?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He held out his arms.

  The two boys stepped even further back, scowling across at their new sister.

  Patrick looked down at his granddaughter. The baby weighed so little and yet she was staring up at him as if she could really see him, as if she needed him now that she had no mother to care for her. It was as if she was asking for his love. He felt a tug at his heart at the sight of her tiny hands and wispy dark hair, at the way her little head nestled in the crook of his arm.

  He knew what his daughter had wanted to call her, so he said the name aloud. ‘Welcome to the family, Niamh.’ He turned to his grandsons. ‘Ah, come and look at her, at least, boys.’

  But they continued to scowl and shake their heads, so he thought it best not to push them any more just now and went into the kitchen with the midwife.

  He felt desperately sad, but was determined not to give way to tears again. There were things that needed doing and someone in the family had to keep a clear head.

  When Fergus stopped weeping, he realised his mother-in-law was holding him in her arms and that her cheeks were wet too.

  She moved away and used a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. ‘Did Eileen say anything at the end, Fergus?’

  ‘Yes. She told me to go to Bram in Australia.’ He saw the terror on her face and gave her a quick hug. ‘And I’m to take you and Pa with me. I’d never do anything that took the boys away from you two, you know that. You’ve looked after them as much as Eileen has during the last year or two.’

  ‘Ah, you’re a good son to us, Fergus.’

  ‘I wish I really was your son, not just a son-in-law, Ma. My parents weren’t loving like you and Pa, no, not at all loving.’ Which was one of the reasons he’d left Ireland to work in England. It had been that or punch his drunken father in the face every time they quarrelled.

  But he’d followed his father’s example in one way, hadn’t he? Deagans always had a lot of children, wore their wives out with it. He’d thought he could do better. But it was hard to fight your own wife when she snuggled up to you in bed and begged for another child.

  His mother-in-law’s voice brought him back to the present.

  ‘Won’t it cost a lot of money to buy passages out to Australia?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ If he hadn’t promised Eileen, he wouldn’t even think of going.

  ‘Where will we find the money for that, Fergus?’

  ‘Remember how I wrote to Bram earli
er this year to say where I was, how I thought it was about time to get in touch with my family?’

  She nodded. He’d read her the letter before sending it. ‘And Mr Kieran at the big house answered your letter, saying your brother wasn’t living in Ireland now. I remember.’

  ‘Mr Kieran said he’d sent my letter to my brother in Australia. He said Bram had told him to do that if I ever wrote. He said Bram was doing really well there as a trader.’

  She frowned. ‘I never did understand what a trader does exactly.’

  ‘Buys and sells things, I suppose. But it must be different from being a shopkeeper or they’d call him that instead. He always was a clever devil, our Bram. But Da kept us home to help him in the fields, so neither of us managed much education.’

  ‘That hasn’t stopped you doing well in your work.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m good with machinery, but I’m still not good with words. Bram was much better than me with words.’

  ‘You should be glad your brother’s doing well.’

  ‘I am. Sort of. But I won’t lie to you, Ma. I envy him. And I can’t help thinking that maybe if I’d made more money, like he has, I’d have been able to get better help for Eileen. That doctor didn’t stay with her, just left her to bleed to death.’ He wiped his sleeve across his eyes as more tears escaped his control.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, lad. She was never strong, our Eileen. She was like me, had trouble carrying a child. But she never picked up again afterwards because she kept having more babies, and I only quickened twice, her and a boy who died after a few weeks.’ Alana sighed. ‘I’d have liked more children. We spoiled Eileen a bit, I know.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got two fine grandsons, at least.’

  ‘Three grandchildren now.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I forgot the baby.’ He put his arm round Ma and gave her another hug before going on with the tale, finding it hard to get the words out calmly.

  ‘It seems Bram arranged for Mr Kieran to advance the money for fares to anyone from the family who wanted to go out to join him in Australia. He said it was Bram’s dream – you know, to gather what’s left of the family there.’

  ‘That’s kind of your brother.’