Chapter Seven
The following Monday started well with the first iron for the Antiochus laid in the completed slipway. The sections of the keel were soon at the centre of a crowd of workmen aligning, supporting, and eventually riveting the separate pieces together. She stood watching and sometimes assisting in the activity with a great deal of pleasure―the work was well started and almost three weeks ahead of the estimate she had planned. The patented hydraulic cement had been a good decision of her father’s.
Later in the afternoon he came to her with a letter. “I think you should read this right away, my Dear. It is from the directors and major shareholders of the Stephenson Engine Works.”
Roberta regarded his troubled expression as she took it from him. She read quickly: yes, it was trouble.
“Why do they make such an issue of my marriage, Father? I have not yet inherited the business, and you are certainly not in poor health.”
“They feel their authority and ownership would be in forfeit when your husband becomes the owner of the works,” he answered. “These men are all commoners, as we are, or were, and they do not wish to be edged out by someone with the power of the House of Lords behind them.”
Roberta shook her head. “There is no way that they might. When Lord Bond and I spoke of the matter―not that we said more than a few words―he seemed pleased that he would have the advantage of bringing some of the country’s new industrialist brains into the ramshackle methods of the landowning aristocracy.”
“He did? Well, it still seems a valid concern to me . . . when he takes control of your inheritance.”
“I can sense an incipient quarrel between Tories and Northern Whigs brewing here, Father, but it need not be so. I see no reason why my husband will seek to exert any control over our business―he is wise enough not to meddle in something beyond his experience.” But a thought from the back of her mind came to her. On the day she left for Glasgow he had said something about his father wanting to know what pecuniary arrangements they had made for their marriage. There were none, but was this one they had missed? “Oh dear, we did marry in haste.”
Her father stared. “What do you mean?”
“We needed to secure a legal agreement about these business arrangements―and it was not done. The spy mission and the fate of our friends filled my mind.”
“Precisely. That is what my partners are saying. Will Lord Bond be easy to deal with? He is a generous man, is he not?”
“Too generous at times.” But she did not dare mention that it had been his father who had wanted to know their financial agreement. “When I see him next, I will ask him to sign an agreement with us that will satisfy both our partners and the Marquess.”
“That may not be as easy as you suppose. Financial agreements have parted many friends in the past if one should feel he has lost the bargain.”
“Then I will do all in my power to put him in a loving and generous frame of mind when next I see him. We can surely agree on some issue so far in the future.”
Her father looked at her doubtfully. “I will have to reply to this letter. I dare not tell them that there is no agreement at the moment.”
Roberta saw the quandary he was in. “Then I suggest you alter your will to place my inheritance into the hands of a trustee. We can then stipulate who the trustee or trustees must be.”
“A good idea, but his lawyers will soon see that the will was changed after the marriage.”
“Oh, Good Heavens, Father, what lawyers? Let us take what measures we may now and worry about dispute when it happens.” She threw her arms about him and kissed him, but knew she would not win this issue through innocence. Was Lord Bond able to sway his father enough that the Marquess would accept the existence of a marriage agreement younger than the marriage? Would the Marquess change his mind and decide to accept her marriage if it should prove profitable enough for his family? Did she want to barter the business for her happiness?
She had no solid knowledge what the shipyard might be worth once all this war construction was done; and would not until the Admiralty had seen her accounts and charges for the ships and accepted her extra expenses for the hurried construction. They were not known to be generous with the Crown’s money.
The following day saw the arrival of a much pleasanter letter, from Elizabeth, still with the Spiteful at Chatham. She took the letter to the library to read and sat at the writing desk.
Roberta looked first for any mention of the good wishes from Mr. Andrew Erskine she had sent on in her last but did not find it before she came to a postscript squeezed in diagonal lines at the bottom of the last page. Elizabeth was pleased but still of a mind not to offer any encouragement to the gentleman.
My dear Lady Bond, her letter had begun. She had obviously not followed the instructions Roberta had issued in the works about overdoing the formalities. After that Elizabeth asked when she might return to Scotland.
I must admit that I am beginning to feel like a cranky old schoolmarm among all these fresh faced lads. They all treat me as if I were their mother, and I am concerned that my years are multiplying more as the days go past. When they first arrive, they receive my words of instruction as they might a sermon issuing from the mouth of a donkey, but by the second voyage they are fearful of making a mistake if they should carry out a task with the slightest deviation from my instructions.
I have remonstrated with Commander Worthington that he should advance one of our ‘old timers’ with two months experience beneath his belt to take my responsibilities afloat while I remain ashore with our little schoolroom in a corner of the docks with the lads just arrived . . . but he just laughs. He exhibits little favour for classroom learning over experience, which I must own to being his strongest quality as a commander, but I am becoming suspicious that he keeps me around only that we may sometimes speak of the Stephenson Shipyard and of you, who are always in the forefront of his mind.
His sense of humour and equanimity are his most endearing traits, and I would be your most dangerous rival for his approbation if you were not already married. Unfortunately he sees no delight in other female company―with his eyes so focussed upon the one he has lost.
Roberta stopped reading in favour of staring out of the nearest window at a shower of rain.
Elizabeth’s letter seemed to extend through another page at least of her praise of Commander Worthington―and with what intent? It should not matter in the least now she was a married woman that her friend found the gentleman so interesting. Perhaps she should encourage her to set her cap at him.
But did Elizabeth mean by these praises a pertinent pursuit of the womanly interest and sympathetic consideration of the marital discussions she had hinted at when they had exchanged the few words in the Great Cabin of the Medusa after the escape from Antwerp? Did she, Roberta, still see a need for a trusted woman friend with whom to share secrets and opinions? Not if they all were cast around their common agreement of the qualities of a man not her husband.
Would she be pleased to see the two marry? What of poor Erskine?
There was one issue that she needed to put to rest, but she shied away from stating the substance of it. Were she not already married she might have enjoyed discussing their male acquaintances, and indeed found such conversations profitable in substance and humour, but she almost found herself now in a marked disfavour of continuing the topic―even in a letter. Did she want to share Lord Bond’s indiscretions with anyone? She was perfectly capable of settling her own decisions on the manner of her marriage and the way it should develop.
But she should not cast her feelings to Elizabeth as in any way a censure of her welcome correspondence. She still looked forward to having Elizabeth return to Clydebank, when they might resume the close and loving relationship they had always shared. And she must certainly not give Elizabeth any intimation of a wish not to hear more about her relationship with Mr. Worthington. She had to admit that she did have a care for his future happiness.