The front door opened and Jonathan marched in. “Everything is off the ship, and the last of the crates will be brought up shortly,” he announced.
Inside the warehouse, the heady aroma of cinnamon now replaced the stench of neglect. The cargo had been carried upstairs to the third floor and was safely stored. This left the second- and ground-floor main rooms empty. There was ample space in which Poppy and Jonathan could work. And, for the foreseeable future, live.
Jonathan wiped the sweat away from his brow. “Oh, and we cleared all those barrels and things away from around the front door and our side of the wharf pavilion. It looks like the neighbors had taken over the extra space for their unwanted stuff.”
Poppy had first noticed the odds and ends dumped outside her warehouse when she returned from the superintendent’s office. She hated clutter. Messy decks were dangerous. A good captain always kept a weather eye on the safety of the crew.
“Thank you; we need to keep our part of the wharf clear. I suppose our neighbor has encroached on our property because the warehouse has been empty for such a long time. But I expect that whoever they are, they will soon realize we have taken possession, and will no doubt make suitable accommodations,” she replied. Poppy couldn’t blame the neighbors for having used the extra space while it was available. If she had been in their position, she would likely have done the same.
The front of the warehouse was earmarked for some potted plants and perhaps even a small garden bench. Poppy planned to sit outside each morning and enjoy the sunshine while sipping at her coffee and observing the latest arrivals into port. Little touches and special moments would go a long way to making the warehouse feel more like a home.
I wonder if curtains would be going too far. Floral curtains, with a matching tea set. That would be nice.
She stirred from her thoughts of decorating. There was still plenty of other work left on her current to-do list—work she would love a hand in getting finished.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asked.
Jonathan had the money to shout the crew drinks, but Poppy was quietly hoping that he could see there was still plenty of work to be done.
His gaze roamed lazily over the dust piles that Poppy had swept up and for just the briefest of moments, she thought he might offer to stay and help. If he did, then she would be able to get to work on the all-important spice tender submission.
“I’ll be off to the Prospect of Whitby, and an ale or three,” he replied, patting his jacket pocket. The clink of coins echoed in the empty space.
Of course, you are off to the nearest tavern. Why would I expect any different?
Her future husband wasn’t one for doing anything more than the minimum which was asked of him. For a moment, Poppy simply stared at Jonathan. If they did marry, she was going to be left to do the lion’s share of the work both with the business and any family they might have.
For the second time that morning, she questioned her father’s choice of Jonathan as her intended spouse. Poppy was blind to whatever George Basden might have seen in him.
Perhaps that is the truth. There is nothing. Jonathan was simply a means to an end.
It was a sobering thought.
There was no point in arguing with him. “Could I ask you to try and not be all sheets to the wind when you get back? There is still a lot of work to do. I was hoping to be able to get this place cleaned up and ready for us to move in,” she replied.
She hated the pleading in her voice. On land, she wasn’t Captain Basden, she was merely Poppy, and her authority could be easily challenged.
Jonathan gave a pained sigh. “You can’t let me have a day with the lads? We are in London and the cargo is all upstairs. Just leave the rest of it until tomorrow. The dirt and mess will still be here.”
And there was his answer. As far as Jonathan was concerned, he was already halfway to the waterside tavern and ready for a long afternoon of heavy imbibing. If things went as they usually did when the crew was in port, Poppy would be fortunate to see him again before sometime late tomorrow. And even then, he wouldn’t be in any condition to help her.
Reliability was not Jonathan’s strong suit. The pattern in their relationship was already well set. She could just picture a future where constant disappointment would eventually breed bitterness and resentment between them.
The little voice in the back of her mind whispered the warning it had long been offering—a warning she could no longer ignore.
You need to do something, and that doesn’t include marrying this man.
But worrying over what she was going to do about Jonathan would have to wait. Poppy had an important business proposal to prepare and cost. Winning the contract was her topmost priority.
“Have a good afternoon with the lads. Give them my thanks for all the hard work,” she said.
She followed him out of the warehouse. While Jonathan headed toward the entrance to the docks, Poppy made a beeline for the gangplank and the captain’s cabin of the Empress Catherine.
I need that contract.
If she could secure her financial future, then she might well be able to address the issue of Jonathan Measy—and how she was going to get him out of her life.
Chapter Five
