Benjamin looked around nervously. But Richard Spencer and his daughter had long since disappeared into the warehouse.
He and Brown had a long history of cheating the shipping company in petty ways. They’d make a few barrels of rum or sacks of sugar, or maybe a few sacks of tobacco or coffee, disappear while the ship was still on the river, and then sell the goods illegally. Benjamin would simply tell Spencer that the missing merchandise was rotten, damaged, or had gone overboard at sea.
“You’d better run along behind your master like a good spaniel, Hopkins.” Brown laughed. “Collect your reward.”
Benjamin shot him a look of annoyance, then headed for warehouse three.
“Who would have thought the two of us would go not only for a ride today but a swim as well?” Benjamin called a few minutes later, drying his hair behind a stack of brown sacks.
“This situation seems to amuse you to no end, Mr. Hopkins. I prefer to bathe at home in clean, warm water.” Sibylla’s head appeared from behind a wall of bulging burlap sacks labeled dos Santos—Café da melhor qualidade.
“So a dip in the harbor basin was not the little adventure you had hoped for?” Benjamin quipped, encouraged by her teasing tone.
Sibylla’s eyes roamed the large hall in search of her father. In vain. She began to examine Benjamin. His body, though concealed up to his waist by coffee, was bare. His shoulders were narrow, his skin pale, and his wet hair thin. His appearance in no way aroused in her the consuming desire experienced by the heroines of the romance novels she occasionally borrowed from her stepmother.
She sneezed again. “There is a draft in here,” she stated, turning away from Benjamin and stuffing her wet hair under the bowler hat a dockworker had brought her along with a striped flannel shirt; a pair of rough-textured, dark blue cotton pants; and an oversized pair of boots.
“The air has to circulate,” Benjamin explained, pointing to the louvered windows. “Light and warmth spoil coffee and destroy its aroma.”
Richard had taken them to the second floor of warehouse three and sent all of the workers outside. Having assured himself that his daughter and Benjamin were not changing clothes behind the same sacks of coffee, he had walked to the other end of the hall, which measured at least one hundred feet in width and twenty feet in depth, in order to inspect a new delivery.
Sibylla bent over to try to lace up the heavy boots. Benjamin, now dressed, stepped out from behind his stack. “It would be an honor for me to assist you, Miss Spencer.”
She hesitated at first, but then accepted his offer with a smile. “That’s very kind, thank you.”
He heaved a sack onto the floor for her to sit on, then kneeled before her. His fingers did not touch her as he got to work, and yet this action seemed much more intimate than earlier in the harbor basin, when he had held her above water.
“There is still some algae in your hair,” he said softly.
“Where?” she asked, just as softly.
“Here.” He reached up and pulled it from the strand of wet hair that had slipped out from under the hat.
“Ahem.” Richard was standing behind them.
Benjamin scrambled to his feet.
Richard looked his daughter over with a furrowed brow. “You look frightful! I will have the cover put up on the carriage for your ride home lest someone recognize you.”
But she did not look frightful to Benjamin at all. At first glance, she might have been mistaken for a man. Her soft features, however, betrayed her indisputable femininity. His heart began to beat faster as he rushed to help his boss into his coat.
All the rustling of papers and scratching of pens at the shipping company’s counting house came to a stop the moment Benjamin stepped over the threshold. Fifteen unabashedly curious pairs of eyes took in the sight of his peculiar getup.
Benjamin smiled. He’d always rather liked being the center of attention.
“What happened? Why are you dressed like that? Where is Miss Spencer?”
Benjamin stopped the questions with a wave of his hand. He relished keeping his coworkers in suspense and knew the tale of his adventure was sure to spread like wildfire anyway. This way, he’d appear a hero to his coworkers and the soul of discretion to the Spencers.
At last, Donovan, ever proper, admonished everyone to get back to work and leave Hopkins alone.
It was with some reluctance that the buyers and scribes, bookkeepers, and clerks finally returned to work.
The door to the counting house opened and Richard Spencer stuck his head in. “Hopkins, would you please come into my office for a minute? Donovan, have two cups of tea sent in.”
The boss’s office was a large square room. In front of the window stood a desk with an inkwell, pens, folders, and a gas-powered desk lamp, rather than one of the old oil lamps in the office next door. The boss also worked seated comfortably at his desk instead of standing like his clerks. The walls were lined with shelves filled with documents and scrolls of paper containing ship designs and, on one wall, there was a cabinet, secured with three locks, in which money and important documents were kept. A simple rectangular table with four chairs stood in one corner.
From the workshops in the courtyard below, muffled voices, hammering, and sawing could be heard.
There was a knock. An apprentice entered, placed a tea tray on the table, poured the steaming brew, and was gone.
“Please, be seated,” said Spencer, motioning to the table. He was an imposing man, with his meticulously trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and a corpulence bespeaking a fondness for fine food and wine. His eyes were clear and penetrating under their bushy brows.
Benjamin happily obeyed. This, after all, was the first time in thirteen years’ employment that he had been invited to tea with the boss.
Spencer stirred his tea several times, took a sip, and came straight to the point. “How many barrels did we lose today?”
“Six, sir,” Benjamin replied anxiously. But seeing Spencer nod, he ventured to add that the insurance company would surely compensate them for the loss.
“Excellent, Hopkins, excellent.” Spencer seemed well pleased. “Go ahead and add the four barrels we lost from the Unicorn last year. What are we paying such horrendous premiums to those cutthroats for, anyway?”
Benjamin nodded but wondered about the real reason he had been summoned. Had there been too many losses in recent months? But he was taken unawares by what Richard Spencer said next.
“My son is taking part in his first cricket match next Sunday.”
“Your daughter had mentioned it, sir.”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Ah. So you know. Very good. Then perhaps you will join us at St. John’s Wood on Sunday and cheer the boy on. I’m sure my daughter would be pleased to see you.”
“It would be my honor, Mr. Spencer!” Benjamin shot out of his chair to take a bow. “It would be a great honor to see your charming daughter again.”
Spencer emptied his cup. “That’s settled, then. See you on Sunday.”
Chapter Three