The Best of Sisters (26 page)

After waiting for what seemed like hours but was probably only half an hour, Eliza was shown into a wainscoted office.

‘Miss Bragg to see you, Mr Miller.’ The clerk bowed out of the office, closing the door behind him.

The young man seated behind the desk stopped writing and raised his head. A look of recognition lit his face and he stood up, smiling. ‘Miss Bragg, we meet again.’ Moving quickly around the large mahogany desk, he held out a chair for Eliza and the scent of expensive cologne and bay rum brought back vividly the awful events of last evening. She sat down suddenly as her knees gave way beneath her. Although his face had been disguised with a mask of soot, she would recognise that voice anywhere.

‘You’re the bloke who saved me when the wall come tumbling down.’

‘I only did what any man would have done in similar circumstances. If I’d realised what a lovely young lady I’d plucked from the jaws of
death, I might not have left so quickly, Miss Bragg.’

His flippant tone was making Eliza feel distinctly uncomfortable. His expensive clothes and his self-assured manner were those of a gentleman, and she felt at a definite disadvantage in the shabby mourning gown that she had snatched from the cupboard early this morning. She had not given it a second thought then, but now she was acutely aware that it was old-fashioned, the black dye had faded into green-tinged streaks and it smelled strongly of mothballs. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap, Eliza angled her head. He was young and arrogant, totally self-assured and yet there was something about him that was not unattractive. But she had come here on a mission, and she was not going to allow him to intimidate or patronise her. ‘My business is with Mr Aaron Miller what owns the warehouse.’

‘I’m Brandon Miller. My father is at a meeting in the City but I’m sure I can be of assistance, especially when it involves a beautiful lady in distress.’

Eliza studied his face. She was used to dealing with men in the hard world of commerce, but she was finding it difficult to categorise Brandon Miller. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather speak to your father. He knows me.’

A flicker of annoyance momentarily wiped the
urbane smile from Brandon’s face. ‘My dear young woman, I’ve spent four years studying ancient Greece at Oxford and I’m more than capable of handling a small matter like this.’

Eliza tossed her head. ‘I’m sure that will be very useful if you deal with a lot of old Greeks, but we gets all sorts of foreign sailors coming ashore. You’d have done better to learn to parley French or Italian in my opinion.’

Brandon’s eyes opened wide and then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘My God, Miss Bragg, you’re a one to be sure.’

Rising to her feet, Eliza gave him a frosty look. ‘I can see I’m wasting your time. I’ll come back another day when Mr Aaron is in the office.’

He motioned her to sit down. ‘No, please. Tell me what you came for.’

‘My business is with the organ grinder, not the monkey.’

Brandon’s laughter echoed round the oak-panelled room. ‘I’ve been called lots of things in my life, but never a monkey.’

‘The show is over, Mr Miller. I’m going.’

His smiled faded and he leapt to his feet. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve obviously caused you some unintentional offence. You must forgive me, Miss Bragg, but I’m not used to dealing with young ladies in business.’

Eliza hesitated, undecided whether to make a
dignified exit or to plead her case. Asking for help did not come easily.

He came round the desk and held out a chair. ‘Please sit down and tell me why you came.’

She hesitated. He was too young, too good-looking and too full of himself for her liking. She was used to dealing with down-to-earth sea captains, quartermasters, rope makers and merchants. She had come prepared to speak to Aaron Miller, who might be a wealthy corn merchant and ship owner, but had the common touch. He was well known in the London Docks, where he conducted his business in person rather than through a series of managers. His son was another matter. He had obviously been raised as a gentleman, but his arrogant attitude irritated Eliza. She decided that it did not sit well on a man of business, and she steeled herself to resist his undeniable charms.

Brandon motioned her once again to be seated and Eliza stared at his fingers gripping the back of the chair. Last night those hands had pulled her to safety and held her; she remembered their touch with a shiver that was not altogether unpleasant. ‘I come to see your dad. It’s a business matter. I ain’t looking for charity.’

‘I can assure you that I never thought any such thing. If my father promised you assistance, then I’m sure he would trust me to give you any help and advice that you need.’

There was nothing for it, Eliza decided. The situation was desperate and she needed to store what was left of her stock in a secure place before nightfall. She sat down and, taking a deep breath, she launched into her appeal. ‘I need a place to store the stock in my yard that escaped the fire, and a horse and cart to shift it.’

Brandon perched on the edge of his desk. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘And I want to rebuild the chandlery with the sail loft above it.’

‘Now that’s another matter. To rebuild would cost a lot of money.’

‘I know that, but I had a deal in mind that might benefit us both.’

‘A deal?’ Brandon slapped his hand on his knee, chuckling. ‘You are a remarkable young woman, Miss Bragg.’

There he was, patronising her again: the conceited, toffee-nosed young puppy. Eliza clenched her hands in her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms to stop the hot retort that sprang to her lips. Forcing herself to sound calm, although she couldn’t quite prevent a tremor in her voice, she looked him in the eyes. ‘If your company will lend me the money to rebuild and restock, then I’ll guarantee to supply your dad’s ships at a rate that he won’t get nowhere else in London.’

He did not reply at once. He raised himself
from the desk and walked over to the window, where he stood staring out while he appeared to be considering her offer. Eliza hardly dared to breathe, willing him to speak and put her out of her misery. With difficulty, she held her tongue.

He turned slowly, eyeing her with a wary expression. ‘This is a most unusual situation. Over what period would you repay the loan?’

‘I couldn’t hope to repay nothing for the first year. Then, when I’d got the business going properly, I thought we could work out a suitable arrangement regarding repayment and interest.’

Brandon’s lips twitched. ‘But until then you would supply our ships with chandlery at a reasonable rate?’

‘If it’s so funny, then perhaps I’m wasting your time.’

‘Forgive me, Miss Bragg, but yours is a most unusual request. Tell me how you came to be involved in what is normally a man’s world?’

‘I was raised in the chandlery. I might not have had the advantage of a public school education, but I grew up in the East End and I know what’s what.’

‘I’m sure you do, and you are extremely good-looking as well, which must be an advantage.’

‘Look, mister. You can save the flowery talk for your upper-class ladies. I’m offering you a good deal and I don’t give a damn whether or not you think I’m pretty. I need an answer, yes or no.’ For
a moment, Eliza thought she had gone too far. Brandon was eyeing her with a mixture of respect and a flicker of irritation. It was easy to imagine that he was used to getting his own way, especially from those who he considered were the under class. Well, she was no one’s lackey and if she failed to get financial backing from the Millers then she would go elsewhere. Folding her arms across her chest, Eliza waited for his answer.

‘I can let you have storage space and the necessary transport, but as to the loan, I’ll have to speak to my father about that.’ Brandon went to his desk, sat down and wrote something on a sheet of paper.

‘Of course.’ Eliza fought to keep the note of sheer relief from her voice. She was glad that he had his head bent over the document so that he could not see that, now the ordeal was over, she was trembling.

‘There. This gives instructions to my foreman to allot you a suitable space in the warehouse, where you may store your goods until such time as you are able to retrieve them. It also gives permission for the use of one of our drays and a driver.’ Brandon handed the note to Eliza but snatched it away before she could take it, holding it just out of her reach. ‘A smile would be nice, Miss Bragg.’

‘If I was a man would you ask me to smile?’

A spark of genuine amusement replaced the teasing glint in Brandon’s dark eyes. ‘If you were a man we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

Torn between wanting to grab the note from his hands, the desire to wipe the grin off his face and the need to save her business, Eliza somehow managed to sketch her lips into a smile.

‘There, that didn’t hurt much, did it?’ Brandon handed her the note.

‘Thank you.’ Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Eliza rose from her seat with as much dignity as she could muster. She was about to leave the room when the door opened and Aaron entered the office.

‘Miss Eliza. My clerk told me that you had asked to see me. I was so sorry to hear about poor old Ted. He was a good man and a craftsman; he’ll be sorely missed.’

‘Miss Bragg came to us for help, Father,’ Brandon said smoothly. ‘She has a business proposition for us, but I’ve told her that the decision rests with you.’

‘Well, my dear. Last night I offered you my assistance and Aaron Miller doesn’t go back on his word. Come to my office, the pair of you, and we’ll discuss it over a glass of Madeira, or a cup of coffee if you’d prefer it, Eliza.’

Two hours later, Eliza arrived back at the chandlery seated on the cart beside the driver.
Her elation at reaching an agreement with Aaron was tempered with disappointment. He had agreed to lend her the money to rebuild the property, but only to the height of one storey. Without Ted as sailmaker and with the increasing number of steamships coming into use, he could not, he had said, as a man of business, warrant the expenditure on a sail loft that might soon be outdated and unprofitable. Eliza’s heart sank as she saw Davy standing in the yard talking to Arnold. They had parted on a row this morning and now she was the bearer of bad news; it would seem that she had not tried on his behalf and that was just not true. She had done everything but beg Aaron to extend the loan to cover a second storey and sail loft, but he had been adamant. As the driver drew the horse to a halt, Davy came towards her with a conciliatory grin on his face and this only made Eliza feel worse. Dear Davy, always so kind and good-natured and now she was going to have to dash his hopes of taking over the business; it seemed dreadfully unfair. She held out her arms and allowed him to lift her down from the cart.

‘I’m sorry.’ They spoke the words in chorus and then laughed.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Eliza said, smiling up at him. ‘I was short-tempered. It was my fault.’

‘I was being pig-headed as usual and I should have had more thought for you, Liza. After all
you’d been through.’ He took something out of his pocket and held his hand out to her. ‘Ma found this on the floor in the pub.’

The gold brooch glinted in his palm and Eliza picked it up with a gasp of relief. ‘I thought it was lost for ever.’

‘And you’ll wear it for me?’

‘I will, Davy. When the mourning period for Ted is over. I will wear it. I promise.’

‘Ahem,’ the driver coughed.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, mister.’ Eliza gave the driver an apologetic smile as she slipped the brooch into her pocket. ‘Arnold, Dan.’ She waved her hand to attract their attention. ‘You can load the goods on the cart. It’s going to a safe place until we can reopen the shop.’

Dan gave a whoop of joy, and Arnold managed a lopsided grin as they began hefting the barrels onto their shoulders.

‘How did you get him and his wagon?’ Davy demanded. ‘And where’ve you been all this time, Liza?’

Taking him by the arm, Eliza moved aside to let Arnold and Dan get on with the work of loading the cart. ‘We need to talk, Davy. I’ve got some good news, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news too.’

‘There’s only one thing for it now, Liza,’ Davy said, walking slowly by her side as they made their way back to Hemp Yard. ‘I’ll have to find a shipmaster what’ll take me on as sailmaker.’

‘Oh, Davy, I’m so sorry.’ Eliza tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘I tried me hardest to make Mr Miller see that it would be in his best interest to build a sail loft above the shop, but he wouldn’t have it.’

‘I know you did, and I love you all the more for it, Liza.’

‘Don’t say that. I’ve told you before, I ain’t interested in romance.’

‘You might feel different if it was that Brandon Miller chap showing an interest in you.’

‘Don’t talk soft.’ With an exasperated sigh, Eliza pulled her hand away and was immediately sorry for her impatient gesture. She moderated her tone, trying to make a joke of it. ‘What would I want with a lairy cove like him? He’s so full of his own self-importance and his blooming Oxford education, learning about old Greek things. I got no patience with his sort.’

‘Bleeding hell!’ Davy was not listening to her and he stopped short, pointing his finger at two figures in front of them, one supporting the other as they weaved drunkenly from side to side in the street. Carters and draymen shouted streams of invective as the pair narrowly escaped being run down. ‘It’s me dad,’ Davy said, breaking into a run.

Picking up her skirts, Eliza followed him. She reached them just as Davy hooked his father’s arm round his shoulders.

‘Do you know this man?’ The well-dressed, bearded gentleman, who had been attempting to guide Arthur’s drunken steps, turned his head to stare at Davy.

‘It’s me dad, sir. Where did you find him?’

‘In Gutter Alley, dead to the world. A pitiful sight.’

‘Pitiful, my eye. He’s a disgrace. It would have served him right if you’d left him there and let the rats gnaw off his finger ends.’

‘That’s not a very Christian attitude, young man.’

‘Maybe not, sir. But we’ve had to live with his drunkenness for as long as I can remember. I’ve watched me mum scrimp and save to feed us nippers with no help from him, the old bugger.’