Sea Mistress by Iris Gower

as it made her money.
    The accountant was very efficient, he worked diligently over the regular books but Bridie did not wish to trust anyone entirely. So she kept her own accounts.
    Paul might not be aware of it, but lately, Bridie had taken to relegating the cargos on board his ships with the less profitable loads. Instead of letting him take the long haul trips to China and India, she had manipulated matters so that he took the short runs to Bristol and Ireland. These brought in little return but strangely he made no protest, indeed, he seemed happy to accommodate her wishes. What he failed to realize was that her fortune was growing and his was diminishing; it was one way of keeping her husband in line.
    If there was any bitterness in the way she thought about him, she chose to ignore it. Paul was being unfaithful, she was sure of it. Oh, it would be difficult to prove, he was too careful to allow any evidence of his infidelity to become apparent. But he was not the shrewd business man he believed himself to be, or else he trusted his wife implicitly, because while he was betraying her, she was finding ways to arm herself against his possible desertion.
    She doubted he would go so far as to cause an open split in their marriage, he wanted the regard of his sons, his fine home, the acquiescent wife he supposed Bridie to be. Well, she was not so gullible, he would find that out one day to his cost.
    She pored over the books for a time, adding figures, making calculations and then, carefully, she closed her desk and locked it. Let Paul Marchant try to get one up on her and he would learn that she was not such easy prey as he imagined.
    She wandered into his room; this last trip he had made an excuse to take one of the other bedrooms for his own so as not to disturb her. Disturb her indeed! Did he think she was a fool?
    Systematically she searched through the drawers; there were his clothes, his underwear, his socks and in the wardrobe his pristine shirts hung stiffly in a row. She smelled them, wondering if she could detect perfume on the fine linen but no, they were freshly washed, there was nothing but the scent of soap and the hot iron.
    At the bottom of his wardrobe she found an old cloth bag that he’d left behind this trip. She had bought him a new one, ashamed of the shabbiness of the one he usually carried, finding it distasteful for a man in his position to be so careless of his possessions.
    On an impulse, she picked up the bag and carried it to the bed. Perhaps she would find his notebook again and this time make more sense of it. In the depths of the battered bag, she found a jacket which Paul must have overlooked. She pulled it free of the bag and as she did so she heard a crackling in the pocket. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she took out the piece of paper and unfolded it.
    If she had hoped to catch him out, to prove his infidelity, she was disappointed, there was nothing written on the slip of paper but the time of the outgoing tide from Swansea docks.
    But wait, it wasn’t in Paul’s hand, his writing was strong and bold, with large loops and curls. This was small, cramped, the handwriting of a woman. On an impulse, Bridie thrust the paper in her pocket and glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. There was over an hour yet before the ship sailed, why had her husband left too early? He had a master to see to the preparations for hauling anchor and preparing the ship for sailing. Well, she would take a look down at the docks, try to find out just what Paul was up to.
    Ellie walked towards the docks feeling the softness of spring cool her hot cheeks. Shortly, she reached the entrance to the harbour where the pier jutted out to sea like a long arm reaching for the distant shore across the water.
    The scents of tar and rope mingled with the overpowering smell of the fish market as she walked rapidly past the open shed where the fishermen had displayed their wares. A few housewives and serving