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Robert peered out of his office window and frowned at the lowering sky. The morning had been bright and golden, but now mid-afternoon looked like twilight. A bank of clouds was already building to the west, piling up in a ridge to block out the sunshine, turning the sky a drab, monochrome grey. It might all come to nothing, but he’d have to keep one eye on the horizon. A sea storm could blow up in minutes and, if it did, they’d need to work quickly to cover the dry docks and batten down the workshops.
He glanced towards the gates, distracted by the arrival of a carriage. His carriage. Damn. He swore softly under his breath, torn between conflicting emotions of frustration and excitement, wondering what strange impulse had possessed him to invite Ianthe to visit the shipyard that day. He’d been under no obligation to do so. She hadn’t learnt to swim properly yet and there was no rush to show her around, yet he’d heard himself issue the invitation at breakfast as if his brain weren’t in charge of his mouth. It hadn’t helped that she’d been wearing her new blue-and-white striped dress, his favourite of their recent purchases, with her hair scooped up in a loose chignon that made her features look softer and her doe eyes even bigger and more captivating, like pools of rich toffee gazing at him across the table. She seemed to have gained weight in the past week as well, her cheeks filling out and taking on a healthy glow he hadn’t seen there before. Somehow the thought of spending a whole day away from her had seemed far too lo
ng to contemplate.
He moved away from the window and rolled down his shirt sleeves, vaguely discomforted by his own eagerness. She was becoming a distraction. There were a thousand things he ought to have been doing that past week, and yet he’d spent his time organising picnics and swimming lessons instead. He ought to have been drawing up legal papers and visiting the bank, but he’d felt strangely unfocussed, unable to concentrate, thinking about his wife far too often for comfort. He ought to have been closing the deal with Harper and yet he’d had to remind himself even to think about it. He wasn’t sick—he wished he could explain such uncharacteristic behaviour so easily—but whatever the matter with him was, it seemed to have started on the beach, in that moment when she’d asked what he wanted and he’d realised he wanted to kiss her.
He’d found himself asking the same question repeatedly over the past couple of days, telling himself that the answer was obvious—Harper’s shipyard. That was what he wanted, what he was working towards, what he knew how to get—it was the whole reason he’d married her, for pity’s sake! She was a means to an end, not an end in herself. And yet on its own, somehow the shipyard didn’t seem like enough any more. As if there was something else he wanted as well. Something he wanted more.
No. He pushed open the front door, dodging around some barrels as he strode purposefully across the yard. He wasn’t going to think about that. He was probably just nervous about the dinner he’d arranged for the following night. Harper was ready to sign the deed of sale, he could sense it. A good dinner, arranged by his respectable wife, with Giles and Kitty there for support, and the yard would be his. That was surely all he was worried about. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to fall in love with a woman he’d married for business reasons. Love was for fools. Love caused pain. It had brought his mother nothing but suffering. He didn’t, couldn’t care for her. Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
‘Ianthe!’ He raised a hand in greeting, resenting the tightening sensation in his chest as she turned to smile at him.
‘Oh, Robert. Your driver was just telling me there might be a storm coming.’
‘He might be right.’ He took another look at the sky. It seemed even darker than it had a few minutes ago.
‘It was sunny when I left.’
‘Sea climates are unpredictable, especially when the weather’s been warm like this.’
‘Is it a bad time to visit? I can always come back another time.’
‘No,’ he heard himself answer incredulously. It would make a lot more sense for her to visit another time, but now she was there he felt strangely reluctant to let her go again.
‘If you’re sure.’ She looked around the yard, craning her neck with curiosity. ‘Are all these buildings yours?’
‘These four workshops and the two dry docks over there. We have our own loft for sail-making as well, but when I buy Harper’s it’ll be twice the size.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled, suddenly unable to contain his enthusiasm. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’
Eagerly, he led her across the yard and into the largest, barn-like workshop, stopping beneath a giant grey hulk.
‘What is it?’ Ianthe looked between him and the hulk uncertainly.
‘You tell me.’
‘It’s metal. Is it a ship’s hull?’
‘Exactly, but made entirely of iron. When it’s finished it’ll be the first full steam ship we’ve ever built. One of the first in Whitby.’
‘It’s huge! How long until it’s ready?’
‘Four months maybe.’
She looked impressed. ‘So won’t you build any more wooden ships at all?’
‘A few smaller ones, perhaps.’ He led her outside, past a group of surprised-looking metalworkers, to one of the dry docks. ‘Here’s where we still work in wood. This cat’s almost finished.’
‘Cat?’
‘It stands for coal-and-timber ship. Most people call them colliers, but Whitby cats are famous. They’re shallow with wide beams, easy to pull on to the shore.’
‘What are they doing?’ She gestured to where two men were working on the deck with mallets and chisels.
‘They’re caulking the planks, driving oakum into the seams to make them watertight. It’s a skilled job. Too much or too little pressure and the planks leak.’
