Benjamin eyed her surreptitiously. She was slender, with a straight back, and almost too tall for his taste. The wind played with her hat and the lace flounce of her dress that stuck out from under her light coat. Her blonde hair blew a bit around her face, but he was able to see her lashes and her elegant nose. Her delicate white skin and wind-reddened cheeks intensified his impression that this English rose belonged at an elegant ball rather than at the loud and dirty Port of London.
“Well, Mr. Hopkins. What’s your verdict, having examined me so intensely? Do you judge me with a businessman’s eye, assessing the same way you do barrels of rum and sacks of coffee? Do you deem me a pretty but useless package?” Her tone was mocking but her look was searching.
“F-f-f-forgive me,” he stammered. “But if I may say so, you are a balm to the eyes of any man, and it would never occur to me to compare you to a barrel of rum or a sack of coffee. That would insult not only your beauty but also your integrity, which you have once again demonstrated to me.”
“What a shameless flatterer you are, Mr. Hopkins!” she said, shaking her head.
Benjamin wisely decided to dispense with any further compliments. “Turn left up ahead and then go along the high brick wall.”
Sibylla guided the gig from the frontage road onto a narrower path running parallel to a canal that connected the Thames with the West India Docks.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed as they passed a hall from which emanated the pounding noises of steam engines. “This place is nearly as busy as Oxford Street.”
“And the urgency to unload wares is the same, only in much greater quantities,” Benjamin added.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Now I understand why my father always says that the port is London’s raison d’être.”
Three-and four-mast barques—big, stable West Indian ships—were lined up close to each other. The entire dock was on a peninsula, the Isle of Dogs, surrounded on three sides by a wide bight in the Thames. Thirty years ago, the West India Docks were built as part of the first commercial harbor installation in London separate from the river, with two large basins that could accommodate a total of six hundred boats and were connected to the Thames by a sophisticated system of canals.
“Here, on the east side, is the entrance and exit passage for the ships,” Benjamin explained to Sibylla. “First, they go to the import dock to unload their freight. Then they go on to the export dock to take new freight on board, and then on to a wider canal to head out into the world.”
“How marvelous to think that, thanks to these ships, people all over England are able to enjoy coffee, tea, and sugar from the Caribbean.”
Benjamin nodded absentmindedly, his mind back on the young woman’s letter. “Surely it must have been very urgent news that prompted a respectable young lady to set foot in this place?”
“Nicely put, but still much too inquisitive, don’t you think?” she retorted.
Miffed, he turned his attention to some gulls fighting over a dead fish and missed Sibylla’s amused glance. She looked at him sitting there sulkily, leather briefcase cradled against his chest. His face was pleasant, if a bit soft. His eyebrows and eyelashes were fair, his eyes light blue, his lips small, and his nose rather long and protruding. He was clean shaven with neat sideburns, an impeccably knotted cravat, and highly polished shoes, all of which suggested a penchant for luxury and vanity.
Some of her previous suitors had attempted to treat her like a child. Others had offered advice and, when she did not obey, retracted it in indignation. One had even acted impudently with her, and she had boxed his ears. It had been this questionable candidate who spread the rumor that Sibylla Spencer wanted to control the men in her life.
Ever since leaving the Lady Eleanor Holles School for Young Ladies at sixteen, Sibylla had been expected to marry and start a family. No one seemed to take into account her wishes, which were to experience life in all its richness and to see the world’s wonders with her own eyes. Left to her own devices, she would not marry for a long time. But she was twenty-three now and almost all of her friends were married with their own children while she was still at home, living by the same rules as her sixteen-year-old half brother, Oscar. She was well aware of the fact that an unmarried woman was treated the same as a child. Perhaps marriage was indeed the only way to win more freedom.
She guided her carriage past the eastern gate to the docks to get behind the wall surrounding the entire area.
“This letter is from my half brother, Oscar,” she began without prompting. “He says that he’s going to be able to play in the cricket match against Harrow on Sunday after all. He’s been working very hard to be able to do this. And now he wants us to stand on the side of the field and cheer him on, of course.”
“Of course,” Benjamin echoed. Though flattered that Sibylla had shared the content of the letter after all, he could not make out why this message was important enough to warrant her urgent trip.
“I could have waited until this evening to tell Father the news, it’s true,” she continued. “But we have all wished so fervently for Oscar to make it onto the team. As a child, he was weak and so often ill that Father feared seeing his company without an heir. And besides,” she said, with a mischievous smile, “I was in the mood for a little adventure.”
At a click of her tongue, the mare picked up speed. In no time, they had left behind the fire station, the barrel makers, rope makers, and cabinet makers, the passenger waiting area, the wood merchants’ offices, a blacksmith’s, and the stables for the workhorses, and arrived at the ledger house. The building housing the offices and administration of the West India Dock Company was a striking edifice, with its yellow and maroon bricks and shiny copper roof. It held not only the conference room for the partners, but also a writing room, a canteen, and offices for harbor police and dock security. There was a group of gentlemen standing under the arches, engaged in intense discussion. While Sibylla recognized several members of the dock association, she did not see her father.
One waved animatedly as he rushed over. “Dear Miss Spencer, what on earth are you doing here? Your family is well, I hope? Surely nothing has happened at home?” He scowled at Benjamin as though he were to blame.
“Everything is fine,” Sibylla replied curtly. “Is my father still here?”
The man shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He has gone to the dock to ensure that we have enough warehouse space for the merchandise coming in from Morocco. I can send a messenger, if you’d like.”
“Many thanks, but I’ll go myself.” Sibylla clicked her tongue and the mare began to pull. As they reached the west gate of the docks, she turned to Benjamin. “Would you like me to let you off anywhere in particular?”
Benjamin responded with a look of indignation. “Surely you don’t think I would leave you alone? Your father would have my head!”