Poppy, you fool. You shouldn’t have given the other clerk those coins last night. They must now see you as an easy touch for cash.
She was going to have to stamp down hard on that and quick smart.
A red blush rushed to the clerk’s cheeks. “Please don’t get the wrong idea, miss. I mean, Captain. I am only here to warn you. I have nothing against the Saunders family, but if I was being honest, I would suggest that young Mister Francis could do with being taken down a peg or two.”
Now the story gets interesting. Do tell me more.
Poppy could confess to being just as intrigued by dockside gossip as the next sailor. “Why? What has he done?” Apart from dumping his stuff in front of my building.
“Mister Charles Saunders, who is an honorable man, is due to retire shortly. Francis will be taking over the family business. To say that he has been strutting about like a peacock of late would be an understatement. He is not a bad chap, but he is a little too eager to show everyone that he is as good, if not better, than his father. If you get my meaning.”
Now things made sense. The young pup was trying to mark out his territory, but rather than lift his leg and pee on her doorstep, Francis Saunders was using the barrels.
I know exactly how that feels.
Poppy nodded. She wasn’t angry—rather, she felt a sense of understanding. Trying to stake her claim as a woman in a man’s world was a constant battle. There were many men who simply refused to take orders from a female, ship owner or not.
“Have you come to warn me or is there something else?” she replied. Information rarely came without a price.
The clerk dropped his gaze to the floor. It was clear he was having second thoughts about this visit. Perhaps he had set out from the superintendent’s office with the intention of asking her for money, but now, having spoken to her, he seemed more than a little uncertain of himself.
The man shrugged but wouldn’t meet Poppy’s eye. She took that as a good sign. If he had come seeking a coin, this would have been the perfect opportunity to put out his hand.
“Thank you for coming to talk to me today. I appreciate your candor. And I will respect that this conversation goes no further,” she said.
Her words were crafted with care. She would no doubt have to deal with this man in the future. And the spice contract was yet to be announced.
“Could I perhaps bring you some cinnamon biscuits? I will be hoping to bake some in the next day, and you look the sort of chap who likes to have something sweet with his tea.”
He gave a quick nod. “Thank you, Miss Basden. I mean, Captain. Well, I had better be going. I have work to do.”
As the clerk headed for the door, a question dropped into Poppy’s mind. “This Mister Francis Saunders. Could you possibly describe him to me? I mean, if we encounter one another along the wharf embankment, I would like to be prepared.”
The man nodded. “He is easy to spot. Very tall, with a shock of white hair. Mister Charles is French, and rumor has it that Mister Francis was gifted the Norman side of the family. The original Viking bit.”
“Thank you.”
The rude man from last night had indeed been the self-important Francis Saunders.
I’ll give him filthy looks.
Poppy opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine. She checked that no one was in the vicinity, then beckoned for the clerk to follow. “Before you leave, do you know where I could buy some supplies? If I am to bake you those cinnamon biscuits, I shall need some flour and butter.”
“Spitalfields market is a half hour walk from here, but there are a few grocers along the way who sell goods. If you head out the front of the docks and turn right on the Ratcliffe Highway, there is a grocer just past the draper’s shop.”
Excellent. The fireplace inside the warehouse might not yet be ready for use, but the small stove onboard the Empress Catherine could be fired up to bake biscuits. “Thank you for your warning about the neighbors. I shall pop by your office in the morning with your reward.”
With a tip of his hat, the man beat a hasty retreat toward the entrance to the Superintendent’s Office.
Poppy, meanwhile, pondered his words. “Francis Saunders wanted this building. Well, he is too late. The Basden Line Shipping Company owns it. And I am going nowhere.”
Poppy could only hope that the well-connected and wealthy Radley family members would respect her rights to live peacefully at the docks. The warehouse was now her home, and she would defend it to the bitter end.
No one, not even a self-important son of nobility, was going to take it away from her.
Chapter Twelve
An hour later, Poppy was returning from the local grocer with ingredients for her cinnamon biscuits. The grocer in question sold all manner of produce, which to her relief meant she would be spared the long walk to the market each day. She immediately asked to have an account arranged with them.
