Rachael wrung her hands together. ‘Oh, you wait till his father gets in. He’ll tan Evan’s hide from this side of the village to the other. Aye, and Cadoc Beadle’s if he’s responsible.’
‘Where is Earnest?’ asked Isaiah. ‘He should be back from the shift by now.’
‘Doing a double, isn’t he? Too much for a man his age. It’ll be the death of him.’
‘Mam!’ Gwilym’s embarrassment was edged with annoyance. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’
‘Let’s get going to Cadoc’s.’ Idris was aware they were taking up precious time, minutes that might make all the difference to finding the boys or not.
Gwilym lifted his jacket from one of the dining chairs. ‘He lives on Islwyn Street, doesn’t he?’
‘Aye, the house at the end,’ said Idris. ‘He’s a fitter on our shift, so he should be back now.’
The three men stepped out onto the street. Abraham hurried down the hallway, agile for his age, pulling his jacket on.
‘Grancher, you don’t need to come,’ said Gwilym.
‘I’m not going to Beadle’s, look you, I’m off to the allotment. They’ll wonder why we’re all missing. I can tell them what’s happened, maybe get a few people searching that way.’
‘Good idea, Mr Owen,’ said Idris.
* * *
Anwen reached the edge of the allotments behind McKenzie Cottages. Tom stood beside her as they observed the progress being made. A pile of slaughtered seedlings sat in one corner of the field, ready to make compost. The sadness that threatened to engulf her was lifted by the sight of the effort being made by the group of old men there, grown as it had since news of the calamity.
‘They’ve done well in the short time, clearing and replanting,’ said Anwen, feeling awkward that Tom was still standing there with her. He could have stayed helping in the bottom field opposite Alexandra Street, but no, he’d followed her round like some kind of deputy.
They’d had a pleasant walk by the Rhymney river on Whit Monday, the rain holding off as they’d passed across grass and under leafy trees, talking of their childhoods. His had not been so very different to hers. And, true to his word, he had not tried to kiss her. It was almost like having a stroll with Gwen. That’s what she’d told her father she was doing. Almost like having a stroll with her – but not quite.
‘They have done well,’ he confirmed, glancing across the field. ‘Where is that chap who normally leads here? The one with a chip on his shoulder.’
‘Idris, you mean?’ She’d never admitted to Tom that Idris was the man who’d jilted her. She scanned the field. Sure enough, he was missing, as was Gwilym. ‘Probably got back late from their shifts.’
There was a pause before he said, ‘What do you think about coming to see the film with me, then?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
He tilted his head back and tutted. ‘I swear you’ve not been listening to a word I’ve said the last ten minutes.’
‘I was thinking about what we’re growing and harvesting next. It’s important.’ She really could have done with walking around on her own to think these things through. ‘What were you saying about the film?’ She tried to concentrate as he replied, putting her new private queries about Idris’s absence to one side for the moment.
‘They’re showing Bella Donna in Tredegar. It’s set in Egypt, romance and intrigue and murder. Thought it might appeal to you.’
Her eyes were searching the path, wondering if Idris would arrive while they were there. ‘I’m not sure I have time at the moment.’
‘Maybe The Exploits of Elaine are more up your street. Damsel in distress and all that.’ He laughed raucously at this thought.
‘I found the one we saw a bit daft.’ She spied a shock of white hair on the path below. ‘It’s Gwilym’s grancher… Mr Owen!’ she called, waving.
He had soon rounded the path and caught them up, sprightly for his age, but a little breathless. ‘Anwen. Gwilym and Idris won’t be coming today, not unless they locate Evan, Jenkin and the others.’
‘Evan and Jenkin?’
‘Aye. I’ll explain to you all at the same time.’ He called up to his fellow gardeners, beckoning them to come to the path. They tramped down, the younger men arriving more promptly than the older. When they had all gathered around, he explained what had happened.
Anwen was the first to comment. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s terrible. Do you think they really would have gone?’
‘I dunno,’ said Abraham. ‘I can only hope they’re playing silly beggars, but time will tell. If you could all keep an eye open we’d appreciate it. Now men, I believe we’ve got work to be getting on with.’
They trudged back to where they’d been working, Abraham following on.
Tom rubbed his hands together. ‘In the absence of their usual leader, would you like me to take charge here?’
She hesitated. She didn’t want to offend him, but neither did she want him thinking he could take over simply because of his class. ‘No. Many of these men are retired and don’t respond to the authority of bosses anymore.’
‘I suppose that’s fair enough.’ His pouting bottom lip belied his statement.
Anwen called, ‘Mr Owen!’
The older man returned down the slope. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Not at all. I’d just like you to be in charge in Idris’s absence, if that’s all right with you.’
He scratched his head. ‘Me in charge? That’ll be a first. But I knows my veggies and how to grow them, so I guess I’m not a bad choice.’
‘Thank you. I’m going back to the other field to get on with the work there,’ she said. ‘I’ll let them know down there what’s happened about the boys.’
She strode off, not waiting to see if Tom was following, though he soon caught her up. Her heart lay heavy, imagining the grief Idris must be experiencing over his missing brother. Tom had soon found other things to talk about. Anwen let him carry on uninterrupted.
* * *
Cadoc Beadle’s house was the last one on Islwyn Street, at the end of the village and side on to the hill. Idris led the way, keen to question the scout master, at the same time trying to control the excesses of his aggression. Jenkin wasn’t going to be dispatched on the first ship to the Front. There was training first, months of it. And they might have been sent away from the recruitment office. Better not to get too heavy handed. Calm down. It wasn’t doing his heart rate any good as he experienced the familiar dizziness.
At number thirty-one Islwyn Street, despite his words of warning to himself, Idris banged furiously on the door. There was no reply.
Isaiah grabbed his arm as he was about to bestow a second volley of knocks. ‘All right now, bach, I think the whole street would have heard the first time.’
Idris noticed the woman next door peeping round her doorframe. Next he heard a top window of the same house open and saw a man peering out.
‘He’s not in,’ said Gwilym. ‘Let’s go.’
‘No, wait a—’ Idris started.
He hadn’t finished before the door opened and Cadoc stood there, a tall, portly man in his forties, shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair, a slightly greying ebony and currently wet, was combed back. He put his round spectacles on to look at them. ‘What’s all this then? Can’t you give a man time to get decent after a shift?’
‘Where are they, Beadle?’ Idris blurted out, pre-empting his father, who’d opened his mouth to speak but wasn’t quick enough.
‘Where’s who?’
‘Our boys,’ Isaiah got in quickly. ‘Jenkin and Evan. George, Emlyn and Cyril. We found a note to say they’d signed up. You’re doing that is, filling their ’eads with heroic nonsense.’
Beadle stepped back a fraction. ‘I – I don’t know anything about them signing up. I’ve never encouraged that. Just thought it was an opportunity to get them fit, spur them on to be like our brave boys fighting in the trenches.’
Isaiah leant forward, nostrils flaring. ‘Isn’t
it enough for them to be like our brave men working in the mines? Have you read the papers lately?’ He lifted each finger in turn. ‘German advances, Bulgarian invasions, a battle in the Tyrol, Ypres, East Africa, the Turks, Verdun still raging on? And that’s the tip of the iceberg. Heroism? Bloody madness.’
Idris, with his own arguments planned, was stumped by his father’s intense passion.
‘I know that.’ Cadoc considered the trio, panic in his blanched face.
Maybe he thought they were going to beat him up. Idris considered it an opportunity to take advantage of his fear, to make him spill the truth, if he really knew anything. ‘Come on Beadle, what office did they go to?’
‘I – I honestly don’t know.’ Cadoc’s hand shook as he placed it on the door, maybe ready to close it. ‘Whatever they’ve done, they’ve done it off their own bat.’
‘We’d better not find out you’re behind it then.’ The hinted threat was a last attempt by Idris to extract information.
‘I’m telling you, I know nothing!’ Cadoc’s voice ended on a squeak.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ said Gwilym. ‘We’re getting nowhere here. Reckon we should go to the recruiting offices.’
‘Very wise.’ Cadoc closed the door immediately.
‘It’s all right, the show’s over now,’ Isaiah called to the inquisitive neighbours. When they’d disappeared he said, ‘There are three of us, and three local recruitment offices. Reckon we should split up and go to one each.’
‘The walks to Pontlottyn and Rhymney are easy,’ said Idris. ‘Tredgar’ll take over an hour. I’ll do that one.’
‘Okay bach, if you’re sure.’
‘Come on. The quicker we set off the quicker we’ll find them.’
* * *
‘My goodness, how terrible for their families.’ Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee, sitting at the kitchen table at McKenzie House with Anwen. ‘If I’d known at the time, I’d have driven the men to the recruitment offices. So, they had no luck?’
‘No,’ said Anwen. ‘A recruitment officer at Tredegar reckoned he’d seen some boys fitting the description, but a colleague had turned them away. Pontlottyn and Rhymney offices denied any knowledge.’
‘Do you think they could be mistaken for eighteen-year-olds?’
‘Not really, though Jenkin is tall for his age. Some eighteen-year-old boys look very young, so they might take that into consideration.’
The grandmother clock in the hall rang out half past the hour. ‘That’s my break done,’ said Anwen. She gathered the empty cups and plates.
‘There’s no hurry. Have a longer break for a change. You’ve worked hard since Rose left.’
Something about Elizabeth’s demeanour told Anwen there was more to this invitation. She’d been aware of someone arriving at the house just after they’d sat down. Elizabeth had been adamant at the time that someone else would answer the door to them.
Anwen put her crockery back on the table. ‘All right.’
‘Let’s have another drink and we can discuss our project. Farmer Lloyd has several chickens he’s rearing for us. We need to work out where we’re keeping them and what we need, though Mr Lloyd is able to help with some of that too…’
And so the conversation drifted on until the clock finally struck eleven and Elizabeth said, ‘I suppose we’ve had long enough. And it’s time for me to think about lunch. I’ve enjoyed searching the recipe books and discovering new dishes. Cooking is quite an art.’
Anwen thought it probably was if you had a well-equipped kitchen and enough ingredients to use, but she wasn’t about to crush Elizabeth’s enthusiasm. She was impressed at how Elizabeth had risen to the challenge, along with Mrs Meredith.
‘It’s my parents’ bedroom you concentrate on today, isn’t it?’
‘After I’ve finished in the hall.’
‘Why don’t you start on the bedrooms now? You can go back to finish the hall later if you have time – after all, it had its proper clean yesterday.’
She wasn’t sure what Mrs Meredith would have to say about that, but Anwen didn’t argue.
Back in the hall, she was halfway up the dark wood staircase, about to turn the corner, when she heard one of the downstairs doors open, either the dining room or the drawing room. She hunkered down and peered through the spindles, her curiosity overriding her sense of propriety.
‘I hope this is the last we will hear of this matter,’ came Mr Meredith’s voice from down the corridor.
‘Of course. I gave my word,’ came a female voice, just before a figure appeared, her attire bright to the point of garish.
The woman leant round to pick up an unfurled umbrella from the stand by the door. Polly Coombes. Had she come for the cook’s job? Polly straightened herself then leaned towards the mirror over the console table. She fiddled with her hat before doing up her lightweight jacket.
It was then Anwen noticed it. The small yet unmistakeable bump bulging through the blouse and skirt. Polly Coombes was pregnant.
She began to open the front door. Tom came into view, rushing to push it shut. He was properly attired, jacket and all.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You do promise not to mention this to anyone.’
‘I’ve already told you and Mr Meredith, Tom. Even my parents haven’t got the father’s name from me.’
‘Make sure you keep it that way.’
Anwen’s stomach plummeted. Tom was the father? Of course he was. The way Polly had greeted him that day they’d been lunching in the garden, there’d been an intimacy about it. Idris had been right. Even Tom Meredith, a good-natured lad who cared little for class, could not be trusted. The whole affair was nauseating. Yet in many ways she couldn’t care less. He’d acted true to type, as had Polly. Perhaps she’d hoped to marry into money but instead she’d been paid off. She didn’t seem worried about it.
‘Are you threatening me, Thomas Meredith?’
‘You’ve got your money, and that should be the end of it.’
She pushed Tom’s hand away and left abruptly. He leant his forehead against the closed door. Anwen took the opportunity to sneak the rest of the way upstairs, making sure the housekeeping box did not rattle. She had reached the top and was about to step onto the landing, when footsteps came galloping up behind her.
‘Anwen?’ Tom said, surprise in his voice.
‘Sir?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘About to clean your parents’ bedroom, sir.’
‘What’s all this sir business?’
‘I’m at work, sir, it’s only proper.’
She carried on, stopping at the Merediths’ bedroom door to open it. Tom was instantly behind her.
‘I didn’t hear you go through the hall while I was there. How did you get to the stairs without me seeing you?’
‘When I went through you were leaning against the front door. You obviously didn’t see me.’
‘You were on the stairs already, weren’t you?’ The colour had drained from his face.
‘I don’t know what you mean. I came from the kitchen as you were leaning against the door.’
‘You saw Polly, didn’t you?’
Anwen didn’t reply, instead opening the bedroom door and taking the housekeeping box in. She thought he would go off to his room, or back downstairs. But he followed her in.
‘These things happen, Anwen. She made herself available. Men are simple creatures who have energies they need to release sometimes.’
An unwanted image invaded her mind, of him releasing his energy with Polly Coombes. She shuddered, banishing it immediately. ‘If you don’t mind sir, I need to get this room finished before lunch as I have other duties this afternoon.’
‘Please, don’t let it make any difference to our friendship. You have still to tell me if you will accompany me to see Bella Donna at the picture house.’
What was wrong with this man? How could he be so insensitive? ‘No s
ir, it would not be seemly for me to accompany you.’
‘But what’s happened with Polly has nothing to do with me.’
‘No, I suppose she got pregnant all by herself.’
‘I mean—’
‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind…’
His shoulders drooped as resignation filled his face. ‘I will leave you to your work.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
So that was the end of that. Whatever that had been. You couldn’t just be friends with a man, and certainly not when he was of a higher class than you, let alone anything else. She took the wax polish from the box, loading up the cloth before wiping it furiously across the top of the drawers.
Let that be a lesson to her, she thought to herself.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Come on now, Idris mun, losing yourself in the allotment will help you forget the problem for a while.’ Gwilym sat opposite his pal at the kitchen table.
‘That’s what I’ve told him,’ said Meg, lowering the clothes airer from the ceiling. Her manner was terse, as it often was when she was hiding her distress about something.
Idris wished he could absent himself upstairs but knew he would open himself up to yet more badgering.
‘It’s pouring with rain today and no one will be on the allotments, so why are you going on about it? I haven’t got time, I’ve got to keep searching.’ Idris slumped his body over the newspaper he’d been skimming when Gwilym had arrived, hoping it would give him some clues, yet not knowing how. He’d been using this excuse to avoid socialising since Jenkin went missing.
‘But there’s nowhere else to look,’ Gwilym persisted. ‘You’ve been to all the recruitment offices in the area, even Bargoed and Merthyr. You’ve scoured the countryside from here to Rhymney, Tredegar, Bedwellty and New Tredegar. What are you going to do now, investigate the training camps?’
Idris got to his feet. ‘That’s it! I’ll go to the camps, take Jenkin’s school record, prove he’s not old enough. I could travel on the train to Kinmel Bay, he’ll likely be there as that’s where they’re—’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 25
