Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘I worry what being locked up will do to Idris. He’s not well as it is, and terribly down with it.’

  Elizabeth put her umbrella up, sharing it with Anwen. ‘Don’t worry my dear, I’m sure it won’t be for long.’

  However long or short, Anwen feared it would have a detrimental effect on Idris and pull him even further away from her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anwen stepped with relief from the rain into her warmer scullery. At work, Tom had been out all day, rescuing her from the awkward situation of having to ignore him, or worse, having to talk to him so as not to appear rude in front of the family. She had not seen Elizabeth either. Mrs Meredith had gone out just before noon, highly irritated.

  Mamgu had not called from the kitchen as she normally did. She must be upstairs with Mam. She’d go up and keep them company for a while before having a bite to eat and getting ready for chapel this evening. The choir were practising for a forthcoming gymanfa ganu. She loved singing the sacred hymns in these festivals. Through all these thoughts was laced the worry over Idris. What if the scout master never woke up? What if he woke up and remembered nothing? Whatever the outcome, this was no time for faintheartedness.

  When she reached the hall, two things happened at the same time. Someone knocked at the door and another person clattered downstairs. Her father, dressed in a smart shirt, waistcoat and jacket, with ironed trousers, stood by the newel post. That the whole ensemble was new was odd in itself. Where had he got it and where would he be going in it?

  ‘Answer the bloody door, then. Don’t stand there gawping at me.’

  Anwen did as she was ordered, recognising Hywel’s silhouette through the glass before unlatching the door.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Madog shouted.

  ‘I’ve come to see my sister.’ Hywel’s retort was as barbed.

  ‘I don’t care anyway. I’m going out. You can do what the hell you like.’ He picked up a cap from the hatstand and slapped it on his head.

  Hywel squeezed his body against the wall to allow Madog’s bulk to pass, yet he was still treated to an elbow in the stomach. He made a protest call of, ‘Watch it!’

  ‘Shut your yap,’ was Madog’s closing comment as he escaped through the door and banged it shut.

  ‘His manners get worse,’ said Hywel. He hung a worn-out jacket on the stand, revealing a collarless cream shirt tucked roughly into dark brown trousers patched at the knees. ‘How are you then, cariad?’

  ‘Better for seeing you. I was about to go up to Mam. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Maybe later. I’ll come up with you first. I heard about Idris. Terrible business. Don’t think for a moment he did it.’

  Enid was sitting up in bed, staring out of the window. She didn’t move until Anwen said, ‘Mam?’

  Enid released a heavy sigh. ‘I’m glad you’re back. Oh, and Hywel. There’s lovely.’

  ‘Where’s Mamgu?’

  ‘Your father sent her packing. Came in here, he did, and told her to get out. She argued but he got aggressive, so she went.’

  Anwen sat at the bottom of the bed. ‘Has he been pestering you in any way?’

  ‘Just going on and on about Idris beating up Cadoc Beadle and what a lucky escape you had.’ Her chin drooped onto her chest.

  ‘Idris didn’t beat him up, I’m sure.’

  ‘No. But your father was as pleased as Punch about it, saying it was fair retribution for jilting his daughter. His daughter, as if I played no part in your existence.’

  Hywel stared out of the window. ‘Talking of Cadoc Beadle and the scouts who tried to enlist, Isaiah told me that Christopher Williams’s name was on that list in Jenkin’s letter, but that he didn’t go in the end.’

  ‘No, Christopher’s been ill, apparently,’ said Anwen. ‘Though Esther claims he was never going to go in the first place.’

  ‘Ill, is it? Whatever he’s had he must have passed it onto Edgar. Not been in work these past two days, he hasn’t. Been so much better without him strutting around, harassing the men about filling more trams, as he has been recently. If he let them get on with it, maybe they would. Violet reckoned there was a hullabaloo coming from the house as she passed it earlier. Probably Esther fed up with having the old goat under her feet.’

  ‘She’s as much an old goat as he is,’ said Enid.

  Anwen took this information in, trying to recall something similar she’d heard recently. That was it! ‘Abraham Owen said his friend heard a row going on there the day that the note was found. When he mentioned it to Esther, she claimed the row was next door.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Enid, brighter now. ‘So maybe she did discover that Christopher was planning on enlisting, and the row was about that.’

  It all fitted. But how did it help Idris? ‘If only he hadn’t broken off our engagement, I could have helped him cope with things. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been in this trouble now.’ The whole situation became too much for her. She placed her forefinger and thumb around her nose, trying to stem the tears.

  ‘Oh cariad fach,’ said her mother. ‘What could you have done when he was determined to finish it?’

  ‘I should have persisted with him!’ Even as she said it, she realised it was unlikely to have made a difference. Her desperation to have him back, to help him, had her floundering around to find a solution, any solution.

  ‘We can try to help him now,’ said Hywel. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure how.’

  Anwen lifted her skirt to wipe her eyes. Melting into a soppy, weeping maid was not going to help anybody. ‘I’m going to change and go to choir practice.’

  ‘It’s a little early, fach,’ said Enid. ‘And you need something to eat.’

  ‘I’ll have it when I get back.’ She got up from the bed and left them to their own conversation. She needed some time on her own to think things through. Later, she could talk to people at chapel about what happened two days ago, find out if anyone saw or heard anything. First she’d talk to anyone out on the allotments as she passed, see if they had any information.

  Closing her front door, Anwen saw two women working on the field opposite, chatting together over crates of vegetables. She was about to join them when she saw Elizabeth advancing from the opposite side. Anwen carried on, meeting Miss Meredith in the middle of the allotment between the cauliflowers and onions.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Anwen. ‘How are you?’

  Elizabeth’s expression was weary. ‘I’ve had better days, as has my mother. And this so-called summer weather is so depressing. Do you have a few minutes to spare?’

  ‘Yes. Choir practice doesn’t begin until quarter to eight. What is it, Elizabeth?’

  ‘When I told Tom I was driving to Tredegar this morning, he asked to accompany me, as he had some business there. When we arrived I left him to it, while I visited the shops and took coffee with Charlotte. When we met up again at twelve he told me he’d been to the recruitment office to enlist.’ She swallowed hard. ‘He said it was only a matter of time before the doctor discharged him and he’d have no medical exemption.’

  Anwen’s heart sank. ‘Oh Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I’m afraid this may be my fault.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘That day that Polly Coombes came to the house, I guessed he was paying her off for… well, you know. Tom asked me to the theatre. I refused to go, of course.’ She omitted to mention their trip to the cinema and the walk by the river. ‘A few days later he asked me again. I told him what I thought of him and suggested he was spoiled and needed to grow up, and said that perhaps he should enlist as he seemed well enough now. Especially as even fifteen-year-old boys were willing to fight for their country.’

  Elizabeth lowered her voice even though the other women were too far away to hear. ‘So you know the story of Polly Coombes. That is unfortunate.’

  ‘I saw her condition. Tom realised I’d overheard them. He can’t just go around putting girls in the family way, then move onto th
e next. Don’t get me wrong, Elizabeth, I have no interest in a relationship with him, but that is not the point.’ She wanted to make sure Elizabeth didn’t suspect any romantic interest on her part. She shuddered at the thought. To think she’d once found him so charming.

  ‘I see. You deduced that Tom was the father, then.’ A little relief came into her face. She was perhaps thankful he wasn’t telling all and sundry. ‘I wouldn’t blame yourself for him signing up. Tom does as he wants. And you were right. As much as I hate that so many are being sent to their deaths, he has idled for too long. He expects money and acts in an undignified fashion. I’m sure he’ll pass the medical now. Our mother, of course, is distraught. So, here I am, escaping Mama’s weeping and wailing, ready to lose myself in horticultural pursuits. I don’t suppose there’s any news about Idris.’

  ‘No. He’s still at Rhymney police station. And Mr Beadle still hasn’t regained consciousness the last I heard.’

  ‘Oh dear, what’s to be done?’

  ‘I thought I might talk to people here, and at the choir this evening. See if they heard or saw anything.’

  ‘It can’t hurt, can it? The police don’t seem eager to find anyone else who might be responsible. Good luck, Anwen.’

  ‘Thank you. And I am sorry about Tom.’

  Both their smiles were strained as they parted company and went their separate ways.

  * * *

  While washing up after her morning break the next day, Anwen hit on an idea. Why didn’t she visit Cadoc Beadle in hospital? She only had Sergeant Harries word for it that he hadn’t woken up, repeated again when she’d come across him this morning on the way to the Big House.

  All day she listened out for the chimes of the grandmother clock as she went about her business. She was thrilled when, at five-thirty, Mrs Meredith announced she could leave early. They were dining out with friends that evening, a ‘last supper’ as she put it. Tom was due to leave for training the next day.

  By half past six she had arrived at the hospital and was speaking with Ellie Campbell, the staff nurse. Anwen had changed into her Sunday best, complete with her coat and a small, flat-brimmed hat she’d borrowed from her mother.

  ‘You’ve come to visit Mr Beadle, is it?’ said the nurse, retying the long white apron she wore over her blue dress. ‘There’s nice. He’s only had two brief visits from the police so far. You’re Anwen Rhys, aren’t you, from the allotments? Are you a relative of Mr Beadle’s?’

  Anwen was afraid this might be a stumbling block. ‘No, but my brothers were scouts in his troop. They had a great admiration for him and always said he treated the boys kindly. I want to repay the favour, knowing he has no family in Dorcalon.’ She hoped this would satisfy Nurse Campbell.

  ‘How very kind. He’s this way.’ She led Anwen down a corridor and into a room with six beds, three on each side, all occupied. The tang of carbolic and iodine caused Anwen to wrinkle her nose. Someone was snoring softly. At the end of one row Cadoc Beadle lay on his back, eyes closed, devoid of his usual round spectacles. One eye was tinted purple and green. The other had a cut across the eyebrow. There were other bruises to his face and a cut on his chin that had partly healed.

  ‘He hasn’t been very receptive so far, but talking to him might help. It often does.’

  Anwen sat in the chair indicated by the nurse, who promptly left to attend to a man calling from the opposite side of the ward.

  ‘Hello Mr Beadle. It’s Anwen Rhys. My brothers, Geraint and Tomos, used to be in your scout troop. They used to enjoy their evenings in the hall.’ On and on she went, talking of the activities she remembered them doing.

  From the ward door, Nurse Campbell smiled encouragement at her before leaving. Anwen amazed herself with what she could find to say once she got started. At one point she stopped, sure she’d heard a soft grunt from Mr Beadle, carrying on when nothing further occurred. Half way through an account of Tomos getting caught up in knots when he tried practising the ones he’d been taught, there was a disturbance on the other side of the door. Anwen took no notice of the raised voices at first, convinced the scout master’s eyes had twitched. As she leaned over to check at closer quarters for further movement, two figures burst through the door: the nurse and Esther Williams.

  Mrs Williams, pushing the nurse away, hurried down the ward to Cadoc’s bed.

  ‘Why are you here comforting him, you stupid girl?’

  Anwen sprang up, an urge to do battle strong after the rude interruption. ‘I am here, Mrs Williams, because no one else is and someone should be, to hear what Mr Beadle has to say about his assailant when he awakes.’

  ‘We all know it was Idris Hughes.’

  ‘But it wasn’t him.’

  ‘I saw him myself, bold as brass, on Mafeking Terrace that Monday afternoon. Angry as the devil, he was.’

  ‘So you’re this so-called upstanding member of the community who reported him?’ She should have known.

  ‘My husband told me it was the right thing to do, to come forward.’

  ‘Because he hates Idris. But Idris would never do this. And did you actually see him go up to Mr Beadle’s house then?’

  ‘I don’t care about Cadoc Beadle and what happened to him or who did it! It serves him right, is what I say.’ The genteel edge that normally coated Mrs Williams’s accent was gone. In its place was a strong Valley’s inflection which became increasingly high pitched. ‘His stoopid posturing about patriotism and the war has driven my poor Christopher away. He went overnight. Yes, to enlist who knows where! You said his name was on Jenkin Hughes’s letter, so it’s his fault too. Of course, it would be him, brother of that detestable Idris.’

  ‘That is enough, Mrs Williams,’ said Nurse Campbell. ‘I have patients here who need peace and quiet.’

  ‘So you did know he intended to go before,’ said Anwen.

  ‘We found his note and stopped him. Locked him in his room, we did.’

  That’s what the to-do, as old Mr Owen had put it, had been about, and the argument Violet heard. ‘So he wasn’t ill.’

  ‘I must insist you take this argument outside the hospital please.’ Nurse Campbell’s voice had become more insistent.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving,’ said Esther. ‘It’s enough to see he’s still unconscious. With any luck he’ll never wake up.’ She marched away, back down the ward.

  Before she reached the door, a deep male voice from one of the beds called, ‘That’s it, bugger off you old bitch,’ the last word descending into a hacking cough.

  Esther halted by the door briefly before swinging it open and leaving.

  ‘Really, Mr Jones!’ said the nurse to the wayward patient. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Rhys, but I’ll have to ask you to leave. My patients have been disturbed enough today.’

  ‘Of course, I quite understand.’

  Nurse Campbell accompanied her back down the corridor. ‘Such a bad business with the boys and Mr Beadle. I’m so glad there is someone who cares about finding out what really happened. I’m told the police have not made many enquiries.’

  ‘No, because they’ve arrested an innocent man whose only crime was to be seen in a nearby street when it’s possible Mr Beadle was attacked.’

  ‘That’s what I understood from my neighbours, who are friends with the Owens. I know they don’t believe it either.’

  At the reception Anwen said, ‘Thank you for letting me see Mr Beadle.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Good luck, Miss Rhys. And if I can, I’ll let you know when Mr Beadle wakes up.’

  ‘Would you? Thank you so much.’

  Anwen left the hospital, strolling up Station Road to the centre of the village. She came up short, just before reaching the McKenzie Arms, struck by a notion.

  Hywel had said Edgar Williams had been off sick. It had been three days now. In fact, his going off sick must have roughly coincided with the time Beadle was assaulted.

  She hurried off, not to chapel, but to find Hywel and Gwilym.

/>   * * *

  Anwen was having second thoughts, standing outside the Williams’s home, Uncle Hywel banging on the door. They should have gone to get Sergeant Harries first, told him of their suspicions. Yet… Anwen wasn’t even sure she could put into words her deep-seated misgiving. The police hadn’t been terribly helpful around here lately.

  ‘Do you think they’re out?’ said Hywel.

  ‘No,’ said Gwilym. ‘I saw the curtain twitch. Perhaps we’ll leave it and tell Harries.’

  ‘No!’ said Anwen. ‘I want some answers and I think we’ll get them here.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Hywel. ‘There’s something fishy going on in this village, and this attack on Beadle is connected.’

  Anwen pushed past the men, knocking ten times, then repeated it. Passing people had started to gather round the gate. A couple next door on one side peered over from their path.

  Anwen heard the door creak and watched it slowly open to reveal Esther, sporting a velvet jacket and a large-brimmed hat with a feather. ‘What do you lot want?’ Her imitation of Margaret Meredith had been restored. ‘I’m due out on my rounds as Guardian. I have to do these despite my poor Christopher having gone missing. And I have no wish to speak to any of you.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Anwen, ‘because we’ve come to speak to your husband.’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘The hell he isn’t,’ Hywel snapped. ‘He’s been off work three days, ill with the flu we’ve been told. So why would he be out?’

  ‘He – he’s at the hospital.’

  ‘No he isn’t,’ said Anwen. She barged past Esther, who, not expecting it, stumbled out of the way easily.

  Gwilym called, ‘Anwen!’ but followed her in with Hywel regardless.

  Edgar wasn’t hard to track down, sitting in the kitchen as he was, slumped on the table. It soon became apparent why. He lifted his head, bleary-eyed, trying to focus on them. On the table beside him was a bottle of whisky, three-quarters empty.

  Esther scurried in behind them, shouting, ‘How dare you barge into my house! I’ll tell Sergeant Harries, you see if I—’