Free Regency Christmas Gifts by Carla Kelly Page B

front of a warehouse with the
gate open. She looked inside and saw wagons and carts in front of
what looked like loading docks. She had never been anywhere like
this. Over the wide gate was a sign. “Beazer and Son, Maritime
Victuallers,” she said. “Thomas, what is this place?”
    “ It’s a highly successful business
run by an old diamond in the rough name of Rob Beazer. The ‘and
Son’ part is difficult, because his son died a few months ago.” He
pointed to a tidy-looking cottage next to the building. “Rob and
Meggie live there. Rob said he would be inside the
warehouse.”
    She wanted to pelt him with questions, but she
decided to hold her tongue and trust the man. He had her by the
hand now. She gave his hand a squeeze, whether to reassure him or
her, she did not know. Startled, he looked down at her and squeezed
back.
    They went inside the warehouse, which smelled
of dried herring, coffee beans, leather, salt pork and other
pungent odors she could not identify. Sitting at a tall table
midway through the building was a little man who looked up when
they came closer. He hopped off the high stool and just stood
there. Mostly he looked at her.
    “ Mrs. Poole, this is Rob Beazer. He
has been providing quality victuals through at least one long war,”
Thomas said. He took a deep breath. “He needs a clerk and I have
brought you here. Rob, meet Mrs. Mary Ann Poole.”
    What have you done, Thomas Jenkins? she
thought, dazed with the magnitude of his concern for her. With the
fumbled delivery of a package, her life had undergone a sea
change.
    But here was Rob Beazer, holding out his hand.
She was ready to curtsy, but she gave him a firm handshake
instead.
    “ I’m going to stand over here by the
window and you two can talk,” Thomas said.
    Her first instinct was to ask him to stay close
by, but this was business and he knew it. So did she. If she
entered this man’s world, she had to prove herself. Drawing herself
up, clasping her hands at her waist so they would not tremble, she
told Mr. Robert Beazer what she knew of handling correspondence and
filing, and doing rudimentary bookkeeping. She assured him she was
never late to work and she could put in whatever hours he
required.
    “ I would imagine yours is a business
where flexibility is a virtue,” she said. “You probably need to
receive goods at all hours, and disburse them in similar fashion,
considering tides and all that.”
    “ It was worse during the war,” he
told her. “There were days when Meggie brought my meals here and I
slept on a cot by the loading door. I don’t miss those days. You
could do that sort of thing, if needed?”
    “ I could. I have a daughter who is
seven, but she is reliable.” She glanced at Thomas, whose eyes were
on her. “Mr. Jenkins can vouch for her mathematical abilities, too,
even though she is young. I would probably like her to check my
figures.” She smiled then, suddenly at ease. “Perhaps yours, too,
sir.”
    He laughed at that, and then he was silent. He
stepped back as though to observe her more carefully. She stood
straight and as tall as she could make herself.
    “ I’ve never hired a female clerk,”
he said finally. “No one on the dock has, to my knowledge. Would
you be uncomfortable working around men? You’re such a pretty
lady.”
    “ I am a widow trying to support my
daughter,” she replied. “My husband died at Corunna and I need this
job.”
    “ No drinking? No swearing?” he
asked, and she could tell he was teasing her.
    “ Never,” she said, biting off the
word. “I write with a bold hand and my penmanship is probably
better than any man’s.”
    He turned and walked away, and her heart sank. I will not cry when he turns me down , she thought, and put
her hands behind her back because they were shaking too much. She
would have given the earth just then for Thomas Jenkins to put his
arm around her, but this was her interview, her moment.
    Beazer stood a moment by the front door.