The Trader's Dream

Book 0: The Traders

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Bram Deagan dreams of bringing his family from Ireland to join him in Australia, where he now runs a successful trading business.

But when a typhus epidemic strikes Ireland, it leaves the Deagan family decimated. And, with other family members scattered round the world, it is left to Maura Deagan to look after her orphaned nieces and nephew.

Forced to abandon her own ambitions, and unsure whether she is ready to become a mother-figure to three young children, Maura recognises that their only hope is to join Bram in far away Australia.

So they set sail on the SS Delta, which will carry them there via the newly opened Suez Canal.

It is only when a storm throws her and fellow passenger Hugh Beaufort together that Maura realises this journey may also give her a chance to pursue a dream she set aside long ago — to have a family of her own. That is, until someone from Hugh's past threatens to jeopardise everything.

Release date: October 11, 2012

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 432

Sample

Bram Deagan watched his assistant check that the Bazaar had been tidied up properly at the end of the day. He couldn’t help marvelling sometimes that this spacious store was his. Two years ago he’d come to Australia with a little money and a few goods, risking everything to set up as a trader, bringing in goods from Singapore.

His gamble had paid off so quickly, he felt breathless sometimes. He was selling some goods himself and allowing other people to rent stalls in his Bazaar or let him sell their goods for a percentage. What upset him was the thought of his brothers and sisters living in poverty in Ireland, those who were married as well as those still at home. He knew only too well how hard their life was.

He turned as Isabella came into the Bazaar. Forgetting about business, he moved towards her, holding out one hand. Oh, he was a lucky fellow, he was so! He’d found himself a wife in Singapore, and now he had a baby son and an adopted daughter.

Isabella took his hand and they stood there smiling fondly at one another like a pair of young lovers, instead of a happily married couple of thirty-two.

‘Are you too tired to take a stroll with me in the last of the evening sunshine?’ she asked. ‘Sally will look after the baby.’

‘Never too tired to spend time with you, my love.’ He nodded as his assistant came to stand nearby. ‘Go home now, lad. You’ve worked hard today and deserve your rest. I’ll finish locking up and let the night watchman in later.’

As Bram and his wife strolled along the street, he took a deep breath and put his hopes into words. ‘Our Bazaar is doing so well, Isabella. I can hardly believe it. I just wish . . . Well, you know I have another dream and . . .’

She finished it for him. ‘You want to bring your family out to Australia and help make better lives for them.’

‘Some of my family. Not my parents.’ His father had tried to coerce his sister Ismay into marrying a man she hated, even condoning rape to force her into it. Just thinking of what his father had done made Bram feel sick with disgust.

Isabella’s voice was soothing. ‘No, of course not, my darling. But Ismay’s happily married to Adam now, so everything has turned out for the best. And since Dougal and Adam have bought another ship together, well, things are going to be even better, aren’t they, with more regular shipments of goods?’

He nodded. No use dwelling on the past. ‘Do you think my other brothers and sisters will want to come to Australia? Would you mind if I suggested it to them and got permission to sponsor them?’

She laughed. ‘Fancy asking me if they’ll want to come, when I’ve never even met them. And no, of course I don’t mind you bringing them out here.’

‘Ah, you’re a wonderful woman. I do love you.’ They stopped walking to smile at each other again. If they weren’t in the street, he’d give her a hug. Ah, he gave her a quick hug anyway.

A little flustered by this public display of affection, she pulled away. ‘Stop that! How many of them do you think might come, Bram?’

‘The more the better. I doubt they’ll all come.’ He grinned. ‘And even if they do, I won’t expect them to live with us.’

She frowned. ‘I hope they don’t all come at once. We’re not rich.’

‘We’re rich by their standards. And that’s partly thanks to you. Your silks are selling so well. You’re a very good businesswoman, and thank goodness I have you to do the accounts.’

‘I love silk and Xiu Mei sends me some beautiful lengths.’

‘It was a lucky day for me when you went to work for Mr Lee in Singapore.’

‘I was lucky too. The Lees are lovely people. I’m glad we’re still dealing with them. Just one thing, Bram. We’ll need to buy a new house before any of your family arrive. We’ve been thinking about it for a while. Time to act.’

He loved her so much, he’d buy her the moon if he could. ‘We’ll do it soon.’

‘I know you don’t want to move. We’ve been very happy in our little cottage.’

‘We have. The new house won’t be the same, however grand it is.’

‘Nothing ever stays the same, Bram. But given your position in Fremantle trading circles, you do need a better house.’

‘I’m not a member of the elite. Bateman, Marmion and the Samson brothers nod to me in passing, but I don’t even want to be as rich as them. I’d have to neglect my family to manage businesses that big and I won’t do it.’

‘It’s a wise man who knows when he’s happy.’

‘You’re happy too, aren’t you?’

‘You know I am.’

‘So, I’ll write to Ireland and ask Kieran Largan, the landowner, to put my offer to all my brothers and sisters. Then maybe he will help any of them who want to come, as he did my sister Ismay.’

‘I’d have thought you’d write to your family directly.’

‘Most of them aren’t much good with the reading and writing, and anyway, I can’t send a letter to the house, because my father would probably throw it away unopened. I don’t even know where my married brothers are living now.’ He paused and smiled dreamily. ‘I don’t think all my brothers and sisters will come here, though I wish they would. Just imagine it, the nine of us together in Australia – even the little ones, like Padraig, Ryan and baby Noreen. No, that won’t happen, more’s the pity. But some will come here, surely?’

He started walking again, with her arm in his, saying softly, ‘I can dream of that, can’t I? Dream of having some of my family living near me?’

In Lancashire, Maura Deagan, senior housemaid at Brent Hall, cast a quick look over the drawing room, nodding approval. The new maid was a hard worker and had learned her job quickly, thank goodness.

Maura turned as she heard footsteps, nodding to the butler who joined her in the doorway. She always tried to slouch when standing next to him, because she was three inches taller than him, taller than most of the indoor servants, the only tall person in her family that she knew of.

‘You have a knack for finding good maids, Deagan, and for training them too.’

‘I do my best, Mr Pearson.’

‘The mistress wishes to see you. She’s with the housekeeper.’

‘I’ll go at once. Thank you for letting me know.’

She found Mrs Brent sitting with Mrs Jerrold, who was on very good terms with the mistress. Both of them smiled warmly at Maura.

‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Brent said, with one of her fluttery waves of the hand.

Maura knew better than to take an easy chair in the presence of her mistress, so sat bolt upright on the edge of a spindly chair.

‘Miss Walton has written to give notice. Her mother is no better, so she will have to move back home permanently to care for her.’

Maura tensed, not wishing ill to Miss Walton, but hoping this meant what she thought.

‘I’d like to offer you the position of Assistant Housekeeper in her place, Deagan.’ The mistress cocked one eyebrow and waited.

Maura couldn’t help beaming at her. ‘I’d be delighted to accept, ma’am, and I promise you I shall do my best to give satisfaction.’

The housekeeper nodded approval. ‘That’s good. I’m certain you’ll do a good job, Miss Deagan.’

Maura nodded. Addressing her as ‘Miss’ showed that she’d risen in the servants’ world. She would eat her meals with the senior staff after this.

‘Now . . . you’ll need to move into the Assistant Housekeeper’s bedroom, so if you can pack Miss Walton’s things for us, we’ll send them to her.’

‘I’ll see to that today, ma’am.’

The housekeeper made a gesture of dismissal, so Maura stood up and left the room quietly. But she was unable to resist twirling round for joy once she’d left the family’s part of the house.

‘You got the job, then?’

She turned to see the butler smiling at her. ‘Yes, I did, Mr Pearson.’

‘You’ll be housekeeper here or elsewhere before you’re through, Miss Deagan.’ He smiled and walked on.

She certainly hoped so. It was her dearest ambition and she was working very hard to achieve it. Not that she minded hard work. She went to examine the bedroom that would be hers from now on. Miss Deagan’s room. A place of her very own. She’d done it, climbed up another rung of the ladder.

She’d come to Brent Hall as a junior housemaid after her husband died, and had known within days that she’d found a safe place at last. You shouldn’t be relieved at someone’s death, but she had been. Vincent had been her family’s choice and they’d nagged and browbeaten her into accepting him.

But he’d been even duller to live with than she’d expected, though at least he’d never ill-treated her, as some men did. That was probably because he was too lazy to bother thumping her, just as he’d been too lazy to bother her much in bed, which was probably why he hadn’t fathered a child.

That last thought was part sadness, part relief. If she’d been left with a child, she’d not have been able to take advantage of the opportunity to make a new life for herself. She’d come to Lancashire before she told her family what she was doing. The doctor’s wife had found her a place as maid at Brent Hall. It was a good distance from Shilmara and the north-western part of Ireland, far enough that they couldn’t stop her doing what she wanted.

She’d sent money to her parents when she first came here, mainly for her mother’s sake, but after they’d died a few years ago she’d refused to send anything to her brothers. Sean and Eamon especially would have wasted it on drink.

She kept sending letters every year, though. It seemed wrong to lose touch completely with your family.

Well, reminiscing wouldn’t get the work done. She ordered Miss Walton’s trunk brought down from the attics, and had packed it within the hour. Then she brought in the maid of all work to clean out the room thoroughly, just on principle. This time she didn’t have to ask anyone for clean sheets, because managing the bed linen was now one of her tasks.

By nightfall, she had her own possessions in place. She didn’t have much: a few books, a couple of good ornaments she’d bought second-hand during her annual week’s holiday, which she’d spent in Manchester last year, having a fancy to experience city life. There was also a Bible.

Father Patrick hadn’t approved of anyone in Shilmara besides him reading the Bible, so of course when she was given one at Brent Hall, as all the servants were, she’d started to read it gradually, in between reading any other book she could get her hands on. The words in the Bible were so beautiful she had to go slowly and sometimes ask Mr Pearson or Mrs Jerrold what they meant.

She didn’t hesitate to do that, because she wanted to improve herself. She’d listened carefully to how the master and his family spoke as well, and now felt she had only a hint of an Irish accent.

In the evening the housekeeper came up to check that everything was all right, bringing her an old spirit burner and matching kettle, somewhat dented. The family had no more use for it, but Maura was delighted because she’d be able to make herself a pot of tea whenever she wished.

If she stayed here at Brent Hall for the rest of her life, she’d be more than satisfied. It was a large house, with twenty indoor servants. The family had lots of visitors, who brought their own servants, so there was always something going on and new people to chat to after work. Maura did so hate to be bored and idle.

Perhaps she’d look around for a position as housekeeper somewhere else in a few years’ time. Who knew where that might take her?

But she’d never, ever marry again, even to fulfil her old dream of having children of her own. She looked in the mirror on that thought. She was thirty-five, with threads of grey in her dark hair at the temples, getting past the age of child-bearing anyway.

You couldn’t have everything in this world. Some people had almost nothing. She should be content with the comfortable life she’d made for herself. And she was . . . most of the time.

Since it was the first fine day for a while, Kieran Largan decided to get some fresh air and sunshine. In Ireland you could only rely on two things about the weather: it would soon change and rain was never far away. Still, the rain made the place beautifully green and lush as long as you raised your eyes above the mud.

He rode round his own acres first, gazing up at the hills on the other side of the lough. The water was sparkling in the sunshine today and a light breeze was riffling the surface. He turned his gaze to the fields closer at hand, where his horses and cows were grazing peacefully. All was as it should be in his little kingdom.

Skirting the woods, he let his mare pick her way delicately along the path that led to the village.

The three cottages he’d built in the past year were a sight to gladden any landowner’s heart: neat and tidy, weatherproof, with gardens full of summer flowers and vegetables. He’d made sure they were offered only to good tenants who would look after them. And he’d also insisted they kept their own bodies and clothes clean, as well as the cottages. He didn’t want the new places infested with lice and fleas.

He wished he could afford to build better homes for the rest of his people, but thanks to his father’s bad management, he had to be careful with his money.

Reluctantly Kieran made his way into the village itself. He’d promised his wife Julia that he would speak to Father Patrick. Again. The priest didn’t believe in educating girls and was making a nuisance of himself at the little school which Julia paid for with her own money.

Before Kieran inherited the estate, the girls had fulfilled their educational obligations by learning to chant the alphabet, read simple words, count up to a hundred and do plain sewing for an orphanage run by some nuns – when the girls bothered to turn up, which wasn’t nearly as often as they were marked present.

And his father had not only allowed this, but encouraged it.

No chance of letting the boys and girls share a school in Shilmara, even now, because Father Patrick would throw a fit and forbid it in church.

Unfortunately, the man couldn’t let well alone with the girls and regularly erupted into the school to check on what was going on. And the priest would often accost Kieran to complain about the schoolmistress, or the lessons, or anything else he could find to pick on. What a sour-tempered fellow he was! Not a good example of a modern priest.

Kieran had had a word with the bishop’s secretary only the previous month about getting someone younger assigned to the parish, but they said they couldn’t move Father Patrick, because the old man had been there for forty years.

Speak of the devil. He braced himself as Father Patrick stumped out of the church and stood waiting for him, arms akimbo.

‘You’ll do me the favour of having a word with that young besom of a schoolmistress, if you please, Mr Largan.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘She’s teaching those girls compound arithmetic now, as if simple sums aren’t enough. She’ll addle their brains, so she will, and then what sort of wives and mothers will they make? And she doesn’t have them saying their prayers often enough. They’ll grow up into heathens like her.’

‘Miss Drew isn’t a heathen; she’s just not a Catholic.’

‘And what is that but a heathen?’

‘We’ve had this argument before.’ Kieran suddenly grew so angry about the priest’s interference that he added sharply, ‘I came here today to ask you to stay out of the girls’ school from now on, Father. Let Miss Drew get on with her work. She’s a very capable woman and my wife is supervising what she does.’

The old priest stared at him incredulously, then seemed to swell up, anger turning his face a reddish purple colour. ‘If I can’t go into that school, then neither will those poor little girls,’ he roared. ‘Their parents will listen to me and keep them away from contamination.’

‘The law says all children must attend school. There’s been no attempt to ensure there was a proper school for girls in all the years you’ve been parish priest, so I think you have nothing to complain about if my wife takes charge of their needs.’

The priest opened his mouth as if to let out another bellowing complaint, then clutched his chest, his eyes rolling up. The world seemed to stop moving for a moment and Kieran could only stare aghast as Father Patrick fell like a log and lay there, his belly jutting up, one arm outflung.

Suddenly jerking into action, Kieran yelled for help, dismounting to kneel by the still figure. But he could see at a glance that the priest was beyond help, as ugly in death as he had been in life. He reached out to close the staring eyes.

The villagers crowded round, exclaiming and pushing.

‘Stay back.’ He chose two men and told them to carry the body back to the tiny presbytery, where the housekeeper, Kathleen Flynn, was standing at the door, waiting for the man she’d served for over thirty years.

It was the first time anyone had ever seen her weeping.

Unfortunately, the body was so heavy, they had to ask another man to help them. Whoever had gone hungry in this poverty-stricken village during the bad times, it hadn’t been Father Patrick.

A week after they buried the priest, the sickness appeared in the village. At first no one thought anything of it, beyond a brief sadness when a couple of children and old Bridie Malone fell ill and died, because children and old people were always at risk.

But then others fell ill, people of all ages, many of whom had seemed to be in good health. Some of them died too.

Terrified of whatever it was passing to his own wife and small children, Kieran brought in the doctor from Enniskillen to ask his advice.

The doctor examined the sick people and came up to the house, standing outside and asking that Kieran come and speak to him there.

‘Keep your distance, Mr Largan!’

‘What on earth is it?’

The doctor spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Typhus, I’m afraid.’

Kieran’s heart sank. ‘How has that come about? Do you know how it starts?’

‘We do have some idea. Medical knowledge is always improving. It’s passed through lice, usually. Body lice and less often, head lice. Dirty houses and people let it sneak in and then they in turn spread it to others.’

‘I see.’ Kieran remembered his obligation as host. ‘Can we offer you some refreshments before you go? We can bring something out here, if you prefer it.’

‘No, thank you. There have been several similar calls, so I fear we’re in for an epidemic of typhus in the district. I’ll be checking myself for lice each day before I join my own family. Such a bore but at least I have the facilities set up to do that in my stables. Do you have somewhere to check and delouse people?’

‘Yes, in a room off the laundry. But it’s only needed usually for new servants. My wife makes sure our house servants keep themselves clean. I’m keeping an eye on the tenants of my new cottages, but I can’t do much about the other cottages or the people in the village, especially those with absentee landlords.’

‘Pity, that. But if you can take some extra precautions, you’ll be doing yourself and the village a favour. I fear this is likely to be a bad outbreak. Buy the poorest people some clean clothes, if necessary, and make sure they wash them and their own persons and change their clothes regularly. There are plenty of garments for sale second-hand at the market in Enniskillen. Ask the new priest for help. People will always listen to a priest.’

‘They haven’t sent us one yet.’ He’d had to bring in a priest from the next village to say the last rites for those who died and that man had been reluctant, making sure to keep his distance from people.

‘Well, let’s hope your new priest arrives soon, Mr Largan. You’ll need all the help you can get. In the meantime, you’ve young children of your own, so you’d better keep your family and servants clear of the village for several weeks, until there have been no more cases reported for two or three weeks. And afterwards you’ll have to find some way of cleaning up the whole place permanently if it’s not to happen again. Maybe you should consider building a washhouse and a bathhouse too, in the village.’

‘Good idea.’ It wouldn’t cost a fortune. He’d manage it somehow.

The doctor looked at Kieran sympathetically. ‘It’s hard to be faced with this, I know. You’re a good landlord and doing your best for your people after years of neglect.’

‘Well, at least you seem clear about what we should do. That’ll help.’

‘I’ve lived through it before. We had serious outbreaks of typhus in Ireland after the potato famines of the forties, and it still crops up from time to time. Watch out particularly for people with running noses, a cough, vomiting or a high fever. Some get a rash of red spots on the trunk, arms and legs.’

Fear settled in Kieran’s heart as he watched the doctor’s man drive his master away in the smart little gig. If anything happened to his family, he didn’t know how he’d face it.

He decided to write to the bishop again, asking urgently for a new parish priest to help deal with this, emphasising that there was no one now to give the final rites and bury people decently.

Three days later Father Hilary O’Neill arrived in the village in a cart loaded with trunks and odd items of personal furniture. He smoothed his black cassock as he stared round, feeling the weight of responsibility for his first parish settle on his shoulders.

As he’d been told, the presbytery was easy to find because it had a cross on the roof and stood next to the church. Both were small, but were neat enough structures, built of the local stone. The church had a couple of small stained glass windows which would brighten it up, he was sure. He did love a stained glass window with the sun shining through it.

He walked up to the front door of his new home and hesitated, not sure whether to knock or just go inside. He didn’t want to startle the housekeeper.

The matter was solved for him by the door being opened by a thin, elderly woman with a pinched mouth.

‘I’m the new parish priest: Father Hilary.’

She didn’t attempt to smile, but crossed herself. ‘Heaven help you, then. ’Tis a bad time for you to arrive, Father. You haven’t touched anyone yet, have you?’

He looked at her in surprise at this final comment.

‘There’s typhus in the village and the doctor says it comes from lice. You’ll find no lice in this house, but there are all too many elsewhere, so I don’t want you bringing them in.’ Her scornful sniff said what she thought of the people in the village. ‘I’m Kathleen Flynn, Miss, housekeeper here.’

The house was immaculate, but Kathleen peppered her tour with so many instructions about what he should and should not do that by the time it was over, Hilary was already certain he couldn’t live with the woman.

‘Remember not to go near anyone till the epidemic is over,’ she repeated as she finished showing him round.

‘If someone needs me, of course I’ll go to them.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘But you might bring the typhus back with you!’

‘I’m sure I can wash myself each day and check the seams of my clothing.’

She shook her head and walked away, muttering.

Later that day a man rode up to the presbytery. Kathleen appeared in the priest’s study without knocking. ‘’Tis Mr Kieran, the landowner. He won’t be coming into the house, not till the epidemic is over.’

Hilary watched the man for a moment longer from the window, noting how easily he sat in the saddle as he waited for someone to come out to him. He was quite young, though older than Hilary, and had a kindly expression, not an arrogant one, thank goodness.

‘What are you keeping him waiting for?’ the housekeeper said in her shrill voice.

Hilary went outside and introduced himself.

‘I’m sorry for not dismounting to shake your hand, Father. I will help you in any way I can, though.’

‘I understand,’ Hilary said. ‘Is there somewhere in the village to nurse the sick? In case a lot of people succumb?’

‘Not really. The only buildings of any size are the church and the two schools, and the schools aren’t very big at all, just one room each.’

‘Then we must take people into the church, if necessary.’

‘If you need money, ask me. And once this is over, I’ll make sure we clean things up properly, I promise you. I hope I’ll have your help and support with that?’

Father Hilary nodded. ‘Oh yes, you will for sure. I can keep an eye on the village for the time being, with your permission. If things get bad, I’ll send for some of the nuns I’ve worked with who look after the poor. They’re wonderful with the sick. I’ve never succumbed to anything before, so shall put my trust in the Lord that he’ll continue to protect me. And you can be sure that if I come to the big house, I’ll wash myself first and change my clothes.’

The man on the horse smiled at him suddenly, a very sweet smile. ‘I think you’re the breath of fresh air we need for this parish, Father Hilary. May I wish you a very warm welcome, in spite of these sad times.’

Which was a good start to the day, Hilary thought, as he watched Mr Kieran’s horse trot away.

That evening Kathleen presented Hilary with a burned offering of a meal, slamming it down on the table with a scowl. He pushed the plate aside. ‘Can you do no better than that?’

‘I’ve been busy. It takes a lot of work to keep a house clean in times like this, if others won’t take care.’

‘And we’ll be even busier if the epidemic continues. I can’t eat this. I presume you have some bread and cheese? If not, I must go and beg one of my richer parishioners for food.’

She continued to glare at him. ‘There’s bread and jam.’

‘That’ll do for tonight.’ He glanced at her sour face and decided he didn’t want to live with her. He always did have trouble turning the other cheek to people who upset him. But it would look bad to dismiss her, so he tried a bit of cunning. ‘I shall need your help from tomorrow setting up a soup kitchen for the poor. We must all lend a hand while the typhus is in the village.’

‘What?’ She made a throaty noise of revulsion. ‘No! I’ll not do it. I’m not going near them till it’s over.’

‘I must insist.’

‘In that case, I’ll have to give notice. I’m too old to change my ways and I’ve no wish to risk catching my death from those feckless folk.’

‘They’re all God’s creatures. We can’t turn away from their needs.’

She sniffed. ‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ve a brother who will take me in till I find another place. I’m owed some wages. Father Patrick died suddenly.’

‘Let me know how much.’

He didn’t protest about the amount she named, which he was sure was larger than the reality. He took the money from a cash-box he’d found in the desk, a box with more money in it than he’d expected in such a poor parish. Well, he could put it to good use once he was sure it belonged to the parish and not Father Patrick himself.

He wasn’t sure how he’d find another housekeeper, but the Lord would surely provide.

The butler stopped Maura on her way to luncheon in the servants’ hall. ‘There’s a letter for you, Miss Deagan. Well, I think it’s for you. Wasn’t Phelan your married name?’

‘Yes. But I reverted to my maiden name after my husband died, as I told Mrs Jerrold when I started here.’ She looked at the envelope he was holding out, feeling apprehension run through her. Letters from Shilmara were written by the parish priest on behalf of her brothers, usually to give her bad news. The first one after she’d come to Brent Hall had been to say that her parents had died. Father Patrick had added the hope that she wouldn’t change the arrangements for sending money to help her family, since times were hard.

She’d been too late to attend the funeral, so had merely written back to her brother Sean saying she was sorry their parents had died, but she wasn’t going to send any more money. She needed to save as much as she could for her own old age. She didn’t want to be dependent on anyone again, not ever.

There had been no replies from any of her brothers. Which didn’t surprise her. They hadn’t had much education. Her nephew Bram could write, but he was in Australia. Two of her other brothers had emigrated to America a while back, followed by their children and families. The priest had written to tell her about that each time. So many people were leaving Ireland. Cruel, it was.

She took the envelope from the butler reluctantly, studying the writing on the envelope. It was very neat, nothing like Father Patrick’s untidy scrawl, and she didn’t recognise it. On the back it said Fr Hilary O’Neill, Shilmara. Had they a new priest in the village, then? She hoped so.

‘You think it might be bad news?’ Mr Pearson asked gently.

‘It’s the only reason anyone from Shilmar. . .