Hopefully they can also recommend a respectable place where I can get food at this hour. I am utterly famished.
Buttoning up her coat, she grabbed the papers and headed for the weather deck of the Empress Catherine. Up on the deck, she stopped and took in the sight.
London Docks was set out in a large square grid formation. On either side of it was a series of long, low-roofed pavilions, all stacked high with cargo. The end in which her warehouse was situated, faced out toward the River Thames and the entrance to the docks.
It was a busy place, with ships moored up to three abreast in some places. Poppy counted another fifty ships at anchor alongside one another in the middle section of the main dock. All these ships were waiting for an available berth so their cargos could be unloaded.
She glanced up at the smoky haze which sat low in the sky over the city, a grey cloud created by the thousands of fires burning in London’s chimneys. Fortunately, when the smoke reached the river, the wind whipped it away leaving most of the air above the docks clear.
Poppy took in a deep breath. The air was clean enough, but it lacked something. She nodded to herself. She knew exactly what it was; it was the fresh, salty tang of the ocean. The River Thames was in fact an estuary, a saltwater extension of the North Sea, but it had an unpleasant brackishness about it that the tide couldn’t ever wash away.
Living at the London Docks would mean an existence somewhere between the land and the sea. It wasn’t perfect, but she had made her choice. If she wanted a home, she had to make sacrifices.
“It’s the start of a new life. It makes sense that you are a little afraid,” she whispered.
The deck of the Empress Catherine was devoid of any crew, the men having gone to drink with Jonathan. Some of them would likely return later this evening while others would find themselves a local brothel in which to spend the night. The sailors had the same routine with every call into port. Drink, get drunk, then seek out the comfort of a warm and willing woman. As long as the seafarers had a coin or two in their pocket, they were happy.
She didn’t give much thought to where Jonathan might end up tonight. Where he went and with whom, when they were in port, wasn’t something they had ever discussed.
For a moment, Poppy pondered the fact that it didn’t bother her, but like many things about Jonathan Measy, she found it impossible to have a care. Giving a disinterested shrug, she headed for the gangplank.
On the way to the superintendent’s office, she passed by the warehouse. It was late and the area was not well lit, but even at a distance she could immediately spot the problem.
The barrels and ropes which Jonathan and the crew had shifted earlier in the day were back in front of number fourteen. The next-door neighbors must have moved them.
Why would anyone do such a thing? It’s obvious our warehouse is occupied.
She was tempted to go and knock on the door of number twelve and have a polite word, but the front door was closed, and she couldn’t see any lights shining through the windows. At this late hour, it was more than likely that everyone had gone home for the day.
“I shall take it up with them in the morning,” she promised.
Making herself known to the neighbors was on her list of things to do but banging on their door and demanding that they move their barrels and ropes wasn’t quite the way Poppy planned on making their acquaintance.
Who knows? They may not have realized that number fourteen is no longer vacant.
Giving the neighbors the benefit of the doubt, she headed toward the nearby superintendent’s office. As she stepped through the door, Poppy gave a sigh of relief. There was only one other person in front of her in the queue.
At the end of a long, hard day, all she wanted was to go back to the ship, have a quick wash, and then crawl into her tiny bed.
Sleep. Oh, yes, that would be bliss.
“Next.”
Poppy stirred from her standing snooze and approached the counter. She handed over her documents. “I am submitting a bid for the spice tender, which closes at end-of-day today. I trust the bids are sealed and kept secret.”
The clerk, who was not the same one Poppy had dealt with earlier, considered her for a moment, then he frowned. “Yes madam, the bids are kept secret. But I’m not really sure if women are actually allowed to put bids in for contracts. You might need to go and find your husband.”
She may have been having a touch of a nap only moments before, but the man’s words, coupled with his condescending tone, immediately brought Poppy fully awake. Her shoulders snapped back, and her spine straightened. She held his gaze.
“I am the captain and owner of the Empress Catherine. I have sailed the seven seas since the day I was born. I have been at the helm of ships as they rounded Cape Horn six times, and I have successfully navigated the Cape of Good Hope twice. Men eagerly sign up to work on the ships I command.”
Her blood was getting up, and with it her temper. When it came to customs officials, being polite had never gotten Poppy anywhere. No matter the port or the country, males seemed to only listen when she raised her voice. I hate having to be this way with people. Why can’t we just be polite and respectful?
The clerk shuffled the papers about on the counter, clearly looking to be rid of the feisty woman as fast as possible.
Poppy pointed to the document. “It has been signed and noted. The Basden Line Shipping Company, owner of warehouse number fourteen, North Quay, is officially placing a bid. I request that you complete and stamp a notification of receipt for me. Please.”
She placed a hard emphasis on the please, ensuring that the clerk understood she was not only here to conduct business but that she wasn’t in the mood to argue with him.
