Page 11 of All is Fair in Love
The man collected and inked a stamp, then affixed it to the front of Poppy’s paperwork. He signed and dated it.
I know how these things work.
While he completed a separate receipt, Poppy dipped her hand into her coat pocket. As the clerk handed over the completed record of lodgment, she slid some coins across the counter to him. “For your trouble, my good man.”
He quietly took the coins.
Transaction complete, Poppy gave a nod, and headed for the door. She was almost outside when a sudden thought sent her racing back to the counter. “One last thing. Could you please tell me when the winning bidder will be informed?”
The clerk glanced up from counting his coins and nodded. The money clearly had softened his attitude. “Officially it will be when the notice is printed in the Port Gazette mid- January. But the custom here at London Docks is to let the winner of a tender bid know privately a week or so before that. Which in your case, Captain Basden, would mean that the successful bidder should expect to hear something just after the start of the new year.”
“Oh, that is good news. Thank you.”
At least she wouldn’t have to wait long to know if she had secured the spice contract. Win or lose, she would have her answer soon. The prospect of securing the contract put Poppy in a much happier mood.
“I owe you a freshly baked apple pie for all your assistance,” she said.
“Thank you, Captain Basden, that would be very generous of you.”
A hopeful Poppy made her way back to the quayside. As she drew close to the row of warehouses, she noticed an elegant carriage standing out the front of number twelve. When the door of the warehouse opened, Poppy hurried her steps.
A tall, white-haired gentleman appeared and made his way toward the carriage. For a moment, Poppy thought he might be an elderly man. His shock of white hair caught her eye. But his stride, which was sure and confident, was that of a young man.
She held up her hand and waved to him. “Hello!”
He, gave one brief look in her direction, shook his head, and climbed aboard. Poppy caught a glimpse of a haughty glare through the window as the carriage passed her on its way out of the docks. Hands on hips, she stood and watched as it travelled through the front gate and turned right.
“How rude. I was just trying to be friendly.”
If that was the owner of number twelve, it certainly went a long way to explaining the situation with the barrels and ropes. The arrogant man clearly thought he owned the dockside. Perhaps he even viewed her arrival as that of an unwelcome interloper.
Poppy softly chuckled. She couldn’t wait to see what the pompous ass would make of things when come tomorrow morning, he found his discarded junk once more tossed back in front of his warehouse.
When she reached the front of number fourteen, Poppy slipped off her coat and set to work. Ropes went first, then the barrels.
By the time she finally headed back to the Empress Catherine, having given up on the idea of seeking a hot supper, the area in front of her warehouse was clear. Her back ached, but the job was done.
The gentleman next door might well be full of himself, but he hadn’t dealt with Captain Poppy Basden before. She had spent much of her life waiting for her father to arrive into port and show her the slightest amount of attention.
While those long years had been painful, and at times lonely, the lessons they had taught her still ran deep. If it meant her moving the barrels and ropes every morning for the rest of her days, she would do it.
And a smile would be on her face as she worked.
My snow-haired friend, if you seek to take me on in a game of wills, you will find that I have endless patience.
Chapter Seven
Francis sat back in the seat of his carriage and fumed. It had been a long trying day. First with the bank, then the new neighbors, and finally with a cancelled shipment. He couldn’t decide which of the three vexed him the most.
Actually, I can. It’s the bloody neighbors. How on earth did they take over the warehouse?
To top it all off, a lady of the night had tried to hail him outside the front door of his warehouse. He would be having firm words with the port authority people in the morning. The last thing he needed was for the local street walkers to start touting their business along the North Quay.
Cheeky minx.
There were plenty of unofficial brothels in the area, all discreetly situated in nearby houses where the needs of passing sailors could be met. The girls who worked the streets had the area around Spitalfields market well staked out. No one had any call to be crowding the docks. It wasn’t good for business.
As far as Francis was concerned, everyone had a right to make a living—just as long as it didn’t interfere with his plans.
