At last the morning of the confrontation arrived!
The meeting was to be held in the board room of the Gregg & Kerr Shipbuilding Company on the third floor of the brick building overlooking the river and the shipyard to the left. It was a bright, sunny morning, and Donald and Becky entered the big room with its shining oak table and fifteen chairs.
Bart Woods was already seated at the head of the table. His head was in his hand as he studied a number of documents spread in front of him. When they came in, he lifted his head to greet them.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
Donald held a large file of papers under his arm. He told his father. “The lawyers for both sides and the president of the steel company are all on the way here.”
“They should be on time. I dislike tardiness,” Bart said sternly.
“Yes, father,” Donald said. And pulling a chair out for her part way down the table, he suggested, “This might be a good place for you to sit.”
“Thank you,” she said with a tremulous smile and sat in the chair.
Bart glared at her, “I can’t imagine why you felt you must be here, Rebecca.”
She said, “I do have considerable stock in the company, Bart.”
“Agreed,” Bart said. He looked strained. He had not come to visit her since the death of James. That report the morning afterwards had marked the last time he’d set foot in her house.
Donald, seated on the right of his father, spoke up, “I think it is proper for Mrs. Gregg to protect her large shares in the company.”
Bart eyed him with disdain. “How formal you’ve become, son? There are only we three here. Surely you might call her Rebecca or even Becky. I know you do that often.”
His son blushed furiously. “I’m trying to preserve the spirit of the occasion, father. We are not here as family or individuals, but as officers of the company board. Being formal helps maintain that kind of atmosphere.”
“I see,” his father said dryly. “Having risen to this position from the streets, I do not have your suave manner of conducting these business matters.”
Before Donald could make a reply, the others came filing into the room: Mr. Wilowby, attorney for the firm, and his young assistant, Mr. Sneck. Then there was the lawyer for the steel company, an elderly, bald man named Stockford, and he had his assiciate, a Mr. Yardley, to back him up. The last man to slowly enter the board room was Davy Brown. He bowed to Becky and nodded to the others.
Donald, on his feet, said, “If you would please sit at the end of the table opposite my father in the chairman’s seat.”
Davy Brown sat in the designated chair. At the same time Bart Woods raised his eyes to meet his. It was a tense moment. Then Davy nodded slightly to Bart, and Bart returned the nod. The lawyers for Davy sat on his right and left. And the legal people for the company sat at the head of the table near Bart.
Bart glared about him. “I move we begin the meeting.”
Donald read the minutes of the previous meeting, and they were approved. Then various routine matters were brought up. After these were cleared away, Donald rose with some uneasiness and addressed the group.
“Gentlemen and our lady shareholder, this is both an urgent and important occasion for us. The moment has come when we can no longer put off the facing of our largest problem—loss of contracts for building ships. If we are to continue and prosper, we must expand our yards and move toward the construction of steel ships.” He sat down.
There was a tense moment, and then Bart lifted his eyes from his papers and spoke, “I think the meeting this morning is a waste of all our time, unless we wish to briefly go over what the company has done and is doing.”
There were rustlings of documents about the table and Donald, looking angry, rose again, “I say let us put aside all other business until the matter of conversion of the yards is settled!”
Becky spoke up, “I second the motion.”
The motion was passed!
Bart glared at her and then said, “As the managing director of this company for more than a quarter of a century, I would like to settle this matter for once and all. Gregg & Kerr came to true greatness under my management and with the introduction of the building of iron ships. It is my belief that we should continue with the construction of iron ships and let others go in for this new fad of steel if they like.”
Mr. Wilowby adjusted his pince-nez and cleared his throat. “Speaking for a minority share owner, I would like to ask how we can make a profit building iron ships, when fewer are being built each year and the competition for those few grows greater!”
Bart glared at the lawyer. “We have now in our dock and under construction for the Kent Line, one of the largest iron ships ever on our stays. I secured this order against competition from America and from Scotland. We won the bid, gentlemen, and if we launch this vessel successfully, there would be the ordering of many more from the same company.”
Donald was on his feet quickly. “I would like to make some slight comments. Our bid was so low on this ship we are bound to lose money on its construction. The figures in so far bear me out. You need only consult them. Second, the Kent Line is itself in such poor financial shape that only a few firms around the world were willing to bid for their work.”
Mr. Wilowby spoke up in his dry voice again, “In the words of another of the smaller shareholders, desperation is the word to cover our position.”
Bart scowled at him. “Even if we are desperate, we cannot switch to steel construction. We have neither the capital nor the physical means for such a change.”
From the end of the table Davy Brown spoke up in his deep voice, “I believe, Mr. Woods, that is where I come in. I personally own the steel company of which I speak. I am willing to exchange stock with your company and merge our two firms. I am further willing to advance needed working capital for the changes required in the shipyard, and I will be content to have the company continue under its present management, which includes Mr. Donald Woods.”
Mr. Wilowby’s wrinkled face took on a brighter look as he said, “You are so certain of the success of the project, sir?”
“I am,” Davy said firmly. “I will bring with me a number of contracts from Australian shipping companies with which I’m associated.”
“I am not interested, Mr. Brown,” Bart said cuttingly. “And so we may accept that the company is not interested.”
Mr. Wilowby jumped up and lost his pince-nez and busily had to retrieve them. With them balanced on his thin nose, he said sharply, “Out of order! Speaking for the few shares I represent we are wholly for the merger.”
Bart snapped, “The few shares you represent do not count. That makes you the one out of order!” Mr. Wilowby sat down with an angry exclamation.
Donald glanced nervously at his father and then at her. He rose and said, “I must take my stand. I have a certain lot of personal shares left me by my grandfather. I go on record as joining them with the minor shareholders.” There was applause at the table from Mr. Wilowby and his assistant, and dead silence on the part of Bart.
As Donald sat down, Becky rose. She ignored the look of alarm on Bart’s haggard face and the pleading in his eyes. She said, “I suppose it seems odd for a woman to express her opinion at such a meeting. But after all, our England is ruled over by a Queen!”
“Hear! Hear!” Mr. Wilowby said, still stinging from Bart’s reproach.
Becky managed a small smile. “I have right to vote all the share owned by my late husband, Mark Gregg. I know how much he wished this company to prosper and grow. It was a matter dear to his heart. One might say his life was dedicated to it. But when the time came, he gave way to the opinions of Mr. Woods, who saw the value of iron plates for ships, and my late husband turned his voting stock over to Mr. Woods in a statement signed on his sick bed, knowing that he would die and wishing to assure that this firm would live.”
She glanced for a moment at Bart and saw that his mouth had gaped open a little. She went on, “I now feel impelled to carry out the same action. This time against Mr. Woods and for his son Donald, and our new partner, Mr. Brown. I assign my voting stock to the cause of steel, and that leaves Mr. Bart Woods in a minority position.”
She sat down to murmurs of approbation. Davy’s eyes were shining with delight, and Mr. Wilowby leaned over and personally congratulated her. “A fine address, madam!”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
There was silence and then Bart Woods spoke up bitterly. “I see how cleverly this was planned. And I admit to a minority position. So the firm of Gregg, Kerr, and Brown will come into being. My name has never been on the masthead of our notepaper, nor on the building. But I believe, nevertheless, that I have made a mark in the shipbuilding history of my time.”
“None will argue about that, sir,” Mr. Wilowby said.
“Thank you,” Bart said with sarcasm. “I will continue as managing-director until the Kent Line ship is off the stays. Then I will turn the office over tomy son, Donald Woods, whom I’m sure you will all support.”
There was applause at this point, and then a motion that the meeting be adjourned. The formality of the meeting ended, and the lawyers chatted amoing themselves before preparing to leave.
Donald was in consultation with Mr. Wilowby and Davy Brown came straight to her. “You were a champion, lass. You have a firm head on those pretty shoulders.”
“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” she said, turning to where Bart still sat alone at the head of the table. He was staring at his papers, he was either too shocked or weary to move.
Davy Brown at once advanced to him and in what seemed a generous gesture said, “Let us shake hands! In a way, you were the one who started me on the road to power and wealth.”
Bart looked up at him, his haggard face a grim mask of defeat. “That was not my intention, sir, so I cannot accept your hand.”
Davy sighed and dropped his hand. “As you wish! But I hold you no ill will. The account is settled.”
Bart nodded. “Yes. I would say you settled it today and well!”
Davy turned from him and came back to her. He said, “You heard him. There is no hope of any friendship.”
“Give him time,” she said quietly. “This had been a terrible reverse for him. This shipyard is his life, and you have taken it from him.”
“His own fault,” Davy said.
“True,” she agreed. “But still hard for him to bear.” She paused, then added, “I think it would be best if you and your lawyers went. He may have something to say to me.”
Davy looked worried. “Don’t let him flog you with harsh words, Becky. You only did what was right.”
“I hope so,” she said.
“Then I’ll be going on,” he said. “Me and my fine team of lawyers. They consider themselves the pride of the Victorian Industrial Revolution, and they can’t put a candle up to you!”
Davy went on to say good day to Donald, and then he and all the lawyers left. Donald stood for a moment at the far end of the table and regarded his seated father and her uncertainly. She gave the young man a nod to go, and he nodded back. He left with the giant file of papers under his arm.
Now they were alone! The bright light shone mercilessly into the room! She advanced down the length of the table with uncertainty. She halted by him.
“I’m sorry, Bart,” she said.
He raised his eyes to her. “Do you know why I didn’t get up?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Had I done so, I’d have become sick. “That’s the sort of shell of a man I’ve become!”
“You have a right to feel badly,” she said. “But it is for the best.”
“Yes,” he said with a a deep sigh. “It is always for the best, isn’t it? Whatever we really want to do!”
“I didn’t want to go against you.”
His eyes met hers and there was pain in them. “I didn’t think you would, even when I saw you here. And you knowing all I have done! All I’ve been guilty of! I still had no thought you might betray me!”
“Why did you think I had come?”
“To observe. Perhaps, in my desperation, I fancied you would back me.”
Softly, she said, “I wish I could have.”
“I lost you today, Becky. I’ve really lost you!” He seemed to sob out the last words.
Tears blurred his eyes. “No, Bart. I love you. I told Davy Brown that. I will always be at your side!”
“Not after today,” he said sadly. “You may think you feel love for me. What you feel is sympathy, and I don’t deserve that!”
“Bart!” It was an agonized plea. She bent and put an arm around him and kissed him.
Patiently he pushed her away. “I want to be alone here for a little,” he said. “It has been the scene of my greatest triumphs and now my most total disaster. I have many things to think about.”
“Very well,” she said. “You know where I am, and you know I will be waiting.”
He said nothing, but the expression on his worn face told her that it was truly the end for them. To hide the tears that rushed to her eyes again she turned and ran from the room.
Donald met her downstairs and anxiously asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I shall manage. I have my carriage.”
“What about him?” he asked.
“He’s at a low ebb.”
“I know.”
“Don’t intrude on him,” she said with a sigh. “Give him time to somehow come to terms with it all. Then he’ll be all right. Whatever else he may have been, or is today, there is a wondrous strength in Bart.”
Donald said, “I’ll vouch for that. Depend on it. I’ll not disturb him.”
Becky’s prediction proved correct. Once Bart Woods had recovered from the shock of the meeting, he went about his duties at the shipyard as usual. He worked hard for the completion of the last, great iron vessel the line would be building. He treated Donald like a business associate, but not like a son. He was polite, but in no way warm or understanding.
As for Becky, she found herself deserted by him. She knew this from the start. Bart Woods had a pride as large as his massive body. That pride had been badly punctured and he could not come to share his love with her ever again. She kept hoping that it would change, that one day his angry pride would pass and he would relent and make the journey to her door. But weeks went by and this didn’t happen.
Then Donald and Julia came to see her one evening. They were both clearly ill at ease, so she gave them some sherry and sat them in her small parlor and waited for them to tell her what was troubling them.
Julia’s lovely eyes were sad. She said, “Why don’t you come and visit us? Father is so lonely.”
Becky smiled. “I’m sorry. I’ll place you at the top of my list when I begin visiting again.”
“You must. It is stupid to shut yourself off from all of us, as you’ve been doing.”
Becky said, “I’ve had a lot of thinking to do.”
Donald frowned. “You’ve let that business at the office bother you too much. Father is better now. He’s working just as he used to.”
“Is he, really?” she said.
Donald looked uncomfortable. “Well, he’s not truly the same. But he does do his work. It’s at home he worries me most. He and mother rarely ever spoke. But now he mostly ignores me.”
“He is still angry?” Becky said.
“I think so,” he said. “I saw a letter on the desk in the hall, which was put out with the rest of the mail for the maid to take to the post office. In father’s handwriting, there was a letter addressed to Anne in Paris.”
Becky was surprised. “I’ve never known him to write her!”
“He asked me for her address one day,” Donald said. “That made me wonder. It must have been so he could send the letter.”
Quietly she said, “I suppose he feels Anne the only one who hasn’t betrayed him. It’s natural he should reach out for someone.”
“I think it’s sick and selfish that he should write to your daughter behind your back and probably try to turn her against you,” Donald said. “And against me as well.”
“I wouldn’t be afraid of that,” she told him. “I think you’ll find the letter has little to say about us. Your father always had a special feeling for Anne, and I think he’s sorely missed her lately.”
Donald frowned. “I don’t understand him. He’s a strange man!”
“We are all a little difficult to understand,” she said ruefully.
Julie complained, “Donald, you’ve talked about everything but why we are here!”
“I know,” he said, frowning.
“Go on,” the pretty dark girl urged him.
“I will,” he said. Then turning to Becky he continued, “I guess you’re not going to believe what we have to tell you.”
She smiled. “I think I know what it is.”
“What?” Julia asked.
“You and Donald are hoplessly in love and want to get married!” Becky said.
Julia blushed. “Is it so obvious?”
“I’m afraid so,” Becky said. And she went to the girl and hugged her. “I’m so happy for you both!”
Donald said, “What about Anne? I feel like a heel!”
She went to Donald and kissed him. Patting him on the arm, she said, “Anne will survive this all right. She has her Count André. And he’s really very nice. But you should write her a short note and tell her how you feel. Do it at once!”
“It’s hard to do,” Donald worried.
“It must be done,” Becky said firmly. “Let Julia help you with it.”
“If he likes,” Julia said willingly.
Becky asked her, “How does your father feel about the match?”
“He’s given us his blessing, but he doesn’t expect Donald’s father to show up at the wedding.”
Becky said, “You never can tell.”
As soon as Anne received Donald’s letter, she sent one to her mother. It was brief and said, “All is well! I’ve accepted André! We’re coming to see you next week. We must try and make England especially pleasant for him!”
Becky smiled and cried a little at the same time. So it was settled, and the two she loved so much need never know the truth. She wanted to have Bart with her so they could go over it all and laugh and talk. But there was no Bart. She was alone now.
According to Donald, his father had taken to long night walks. Sometimes he went as far as the docks. This was a dangerous practice with Bart in such a frail state, and the number of criminals prowling the docks. There were assault and robbery cases almost every night. But Bart subbornly had refused to listen to anyone and kept having these midnight strolls.
Becky had a frightening theory. She believed that he went out deliberately seeking danger, hoping to be attacked and perhaps killed. He was weary of life and so threw himself open to this needless danger.
Then Anne and her young count arrived. Becky was beside herself with joy at having two young people in the house for a while. She had been lonely, with only the occasional visit of Donald or Julia to cheer her up.
As soon as she and Anne had a moment to themselves, she asked her about Donald’s letter. “What did he finally write to you?”
Anne laughed. “It was so apologetic and intense. And I really didn’t care. I’d made up my mind to marry André.”
“Good! He’ll make a fine husband,” Becky told her daugher in the privacy of their bedroom, where women’s talk could be shared openly.
“I hope he is happy with Julia. She sounds nice,” Anne said.
“You’ll like her,” Becky said. “Her father is a dear friend of mine. And he is going to be a partner in the new firm.”
Anne’s pretty face clouded. “Oh, that!” She gave her a troubled look. “That must have been really bad!”
She nodded. “It wasn’t easy.”
“You and Donald voted against poor Uncle Bart!”
“Yes. We betrayed him. But for his own good. He doesn’t think so, of course.”
Anne said, “He wrote me.”
“Did he?”
“A long letter. It was touching,” Anne said. “He spoke of his loving you and his pride in Donald. And then he said something that I found truly touching, he told me he’d always loved me as his own daughter. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“It was very nice.”
“I wrote back,” Anne said, smiling sadly. “And I told him that since I’d never known my father, he had always been a father figure to me. And that I also loved him dearly. I apologized for not marrying Donald and hoped it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
“I must see him soon.” Anne said. “Poor old thing! You’ve all turned on him and neglected him.”
Becky reminded her, “He can be terribly cruel and proud when he wishes.”
“I know,” Anne said gently. “But, mother, he’s old and he’s been badly hurt.”
She rose quickly, not wanting to display tears on this first night of having her daugher home. She went to the door and said, “I’ll check on André and see if he’s comfortable in his room.”
Anne laughed. “He will be. André can be comfortable anywhere!”
The pounding came on the front door in the middle of the night. Becky’s housekeeper answered the door and then came to rouse her.
“What is it?” Becky asked, sitting up sleepily.
“It’s a servant from Mr. Woods’ house,” the woman said, holding her robe close around her. “The shipyard is on fire!”
Anne had been awake. “The shipyard?”
“Yes. It is on fire,” the housekeeper said.
“We must go down there,” Becky said. And she told her housekeeper. “Thank the servant and ask him to get us a carriage to go down to the yard. We’ll be ready in ten minutes!”
And almost exactly ten minutes later she, Anne, and a sleepy André were in the carriage on the way to the docks. The blaze could be seen long before they reached the water’s edge. The flames rose high in the sky and could be viewed from many parts of London.
When she reached the wharf, Becky was the first one out of the carriage. She ran through the crowds which had gathered in search of Donald. She finally found him giving instructions and information to one of the fire chiefs. When he finished, and the man in the red uniform and gold helmet ran off to follow his instructions, he turned to her.
She looked up into his tired, soot-covered face and said, “Where is your father?”
“I don’t know,” he said, turning to gaze at the fire. “He was here. A terrible night for him. His last ship gone up in smoke!”
“What happened?”
“No one knows yet. It started down below somewhere and spread before it was noticed,” Donald said. “It’ll be a total loss. And she didn’t even get off the stays!”
“Are we insured?”
“Insurance will cover most of it,” he said. “But it’s my father who will be hurt most. This was his last personal effort.”
“I know,” she said. “I must find him!” And she began moving among the host of strangers, thinking she saw Bart somewhere and then finding it was someone else. Then she recognized one of the watchmen and went to them.
“Mrs. Gregg!” the man said, lifting his cap respectfully. “A terrible night.”
“It is,” she said. “Have you seen Mr. Bart Woods?”
The man looked upset. “I have, ma’am. I saw him just after I got here.”
“Where?” she demanded, “Please tell me. I must find him!”
The old man looked sadly towards the blazing ship. “I don’t think you will!”
“Why not?” her voice rose in panic.
“The last I saw of him he was walking alongside the yard; making straight for the ship, and her all flames from end to end! I shouted to him, but he paid no heed to me! Went straight on and I swear, you may not believe this, he went on board her! And that’s the last I saw of him, or ever will if I know rightly!”
Had it not been for the crisp night air and the desire to get back to Donald, she would have fainted. She swayed a little, and the old man stared at her in alarm.
“You all right, ma’am?” he asked sharply.
“Yes,” she said in a faint voice. “I will be. Just let me get away!” And she turned her back to the flames, heat, and smoke and began a desperate search for Donald. She found him again where the fire chiefs were conferring and clutched his arm. “Donald! Listen to me!”
“What?” he turned to her; she saw the fear in his face.
“He’s on board that ship!” she said hysterically. “The watchman saw him go! He tried to stop him, and Bart wouldn’t listen!”
Donald nodded. “I guessed he’d done it when we couldn’t find him.” His sooty face was highlighted by a sudden burst of flame as a large section of the burning vessel collapsed.
• • •
Winter came to London, and then another summer. The firm of Gregg, Kerr, and Brown had new yards—business was prospering. Donald and Julie married and bought a new house not far from her father’s estate. He left his mother to live with a widowed cousin and the servants. She was so deep in spiritualism that she scarce had any time for the world of living in any case.
The body of Bart Woods was never found. In lieu of a burial, a special plaque was erected on the face of the office building in his honor. Anne and Count André were married in Paris and made their home there. She was already pregnant, and she confided to her mother that if it were a boy, she would surely call him Bart.
Becky and Davy Brown found themselves much as they had been at the start—they were both free and alone. But life had wrought many changes in them and in their views of life. Becky still loved Davy truly; the flame had ebbed over the decades, but there was still a spark there.
Davy invited her out to Tenby Hall for the weekend and promised that Donald and Julia would be joining them. But first he took her for a stroll in the gardens to show her some of his fine new flower beds. They paused by the big fountain in the middle of the gardens and smiled at their reflections in the rippling water.
Becky, looking at her slightly overweight figure, said with a rueful smile, “Hardly the girl who carried trays in the tavern!”
Davy chuckled. “I wouldn’t want that girl now. She’d be far too young for me.”
“What about me?”
“You’re just exactly right,” Davy said, embracing her. “And so you always will be for me!” She knew the circle had been completed—she was returning to her first love. The perilous loves that had brought her this far were already fading into memories—some bitter, some sweet!