Sweet Rosie

by Iris Gower

  Llinos felt weariness seep through her. ‘Yes, we’ll call her after your sister, Charlotte. It’s a lovely idea.’ She closed her eyes. She was so tired. She felt the late sun on her face and with the hum of voices, hushed now as a background, she slept.

  ‘She had a bad time, then, Watt.’ Maura pinned up her long red hair, twisting it into a bun at the nape of her neck. In her grey gown and with her chatelaine of keys hanging from her belt, she was once more the efficient housekeeper. ‘Still, she must be well over it all by now, lying abed for weeks is a privilege given to the rich.’

  Maura’s lips tightened. ‘I was up and about only days after my baby was born.’

  Maura had lost her child when she was at her most vulnerable and alone, carrying the stigma of a deserted wife.

  ‘Still an’ all it’s sad for Llinos to lose her daughter after waiting so long. But she’s got her boy and to be sure Llinos Mainwaring is a woman with more than her share of God’s gifts.’

  Watt lay across the bed, wondering if the stern-looking woman standing before the mirror was the same one he had just bedded. Maura was older than he by a few years and she was an enigma, a woman of depths, depths he had not yet plumbed which was probably the reason he remained loyal to her.

  He loved Maura and, though he could never make her his wife, he would always love her. It was strange to think that Maura was still married to a man who lived far across the sea in America. She seemed to pick up on his thoughts.

  ‘It doesn’t matter a jot about Binnie Dundee.’ She glanced at him. ‘You’ve been more of a husband to me than ever he was. Now get up and get dressed, you shameless man or you’ll tempt me back into bed again.’

  ‘If only,’ he said, feeling aroused at the warmth in her eyes. ‘I can never get enough of you, Maura, my love.’ They were fortunate that they could be together so often. Eynon Morton-Edwards was a good employer and a kind man. He turned a blind eye to their illicit affair. He welcomed Watt into his home as though he was an equal.

  In return Maura had been good to Eynon. When his wife had died it was Maura he had chosen to care for his daughter. When the child was older it was Maura who selected the best tutor for the girl. She did all this as well as seeing to the smooth running of the Morton-Edwards’s household.

  ‘Get up, you lazy idle wretch!’ Maura leaned over and poked Watt’s chest. ‘Come along now, we’ve both got work to do, we’re not privileged like the idle rich, remember!’

  Reluctantly Watt slid from the bed. He stood for a moment at the window, staring out at the long garden and the river beyond. ‘You are pretty privileged if you ask me,’ he said. ‘Look at this room, fine bed, rich drapes, good paintings on the wall. You are valued in your job here, which is more than I feel in mine at the moment.’

  ‘Ah well, I’m older and wiser than you, lad.’ She pushed him playfully in the back. ‘And, remember, Eynon is far wealthier than Llinos Mainwaring even though she married a rich foreigner.’

  Watt was aware of her watching him as he dressed. He smiled at her as she stood neat and ready for duty, impatiently waiting for him.

  ‘You never did like Llinos, did you?’

  ‘Sure, I don’t care one way or another about the woman,’ Maura said icily. ‘She seems happy enough with the Indian fella but it’s not the sort of life for a lady, is it?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t care one way or another about her?’ There was a touch of asperity to Watt’s tone that was not lost on Maura.

  ‘Go on, defend her!’ Maura’s colour was high. ‘You’re like a little lap dog around her. I just don’t understand you.’

  ‘I’m not a lap dog,’ Watt said. ‘I’m grateful to Llinos, she gave me a home when I was alone. I love her like a sister.’

  Maura’s shoulders were stiff. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Watt relaxed suddenly. ‘You’re jealous!’ he said. ‘You are actually jealous of my affection for Llinos Mainwaring.’ Laughingly, he swept her into his arms and threw her on the bed. ‘You silly goose!’ He leaned close to her, his fingers twined in her red hair. ‘I love Llinos like a sister, I love you like an eager lover should love the woman of his dreams.’ He kissed her and though she wriggled a little, her mouth was warm against his. Finally, she pushed him away.

  ‘Sure an’ now I’ll have to comb my hair again!’ She pretended to be angry but the glint in her eyes told him she was mollified.

  ‘Right then, I’ll be off back to Pottery House.’ Watt allowed his arm to linger around Maura’s shoulders. ‘Will I see you tonight?’

  ‘You’d better!’ She touched his face lightly and her features were softened with love. Watt’s heart beat faster; she made him feel ten feet tall. He was loved and that was the most precious gift any woman could give a man.

  The kilns above the pottery wall shimmered with heat and Watt, approaching uphill towards Pottery Row, watched, without really seeing it, the cloud of mist rising from the ovens. As he drew nearer, the sharp smell of turpentine and lead oxide brought a wave of nostalgic memories. Watt had worked at the pottery as a child; he had come from the workhouse and his first job had been collecting the shards of pottery, cleaning up the yard and acting as a dogsbody for all the other workers.

  Watt smiled; now he was manager, handling imports of china clay, ordering the raw material for the work. He had the power to hire and fire. He was a fair man and so long as folk gave their best, that was enough for him.

  As Watt neared the house, Joe emerged holding his son by the hand. Joe was a handsome man; he stood tall and powerful, his long black hair framing a strong-boned face. But today there was an air of sadness about him; a drooping of the shoulders that was uncharacteristic of the man. Joe usually dealt with life’s blows with fortitude and courage.

  ‘How is Llinos feeling today, Joe?’

  ‘She’s much stronger now. Go talk to her, Watt, I’m sure she won’t rest until she begins to take charge of the pottery affairs again.’

  Watt entered the house, the sun shone across the hallway in a slant of warmth. The hall and stairs were richly carpeted now, unlike the old days when threadbare rugs were the only luxury Llinos could afford. The curving banister shone with polishing and Watt sighed in contentment. Pottery House was his home and though it was not as palatial as the home of Eynon Morton-Edwards, it suited him just fine.

  Llinos was sitting near the window of her bedroom; the sun was sending shards of light across her face and Watt’s gut contracted, she had a pureness of features that brought an ache to his heart. Her face lit up when she saw him.

  ‘Watt, I’m glad you’re back. Come and tell me about the pottery, how are the new patterns coming along?’

  He stood at her side, staring down at her. ‘You are still very pale,’ he said. ‘It’s not long since you lost the baby. You’d better concentrate on getting well again and leave the potting to me.’

  Llinos rested her hand on his arm. ‘Isn’t it time you were getting married and having a brood of children of your own?’ she asked quietly. He met her gaze; he hid nothing from Llinos.

  ‘You know life is not that simple for me.’

  ‘I know. But you are like the brother I never had. I care about you, Watt, I can’t bear to see you wasting your life on a woman who can never really be yours.’

  He moved away. ‘Llinos, you’re overstepping the mark, what I do in my private life is my own business.’ His gaze softened as she lowered her head. ‘Look, I can’t help how I feel, can I? I’m in love with Maura and none of us can choose who we fall in love with, can we?’

  She nodded, accepting his point, she herself had married a man most people, including her father, had considered unsuitable.

  ‘I only want what’s best for you, Watt.’

  ‘Well try to accept that Maura is best for me, she is the only woman I’ll ever love. I didn’t know what love was before she and I . . .’ His voice trailed into silence, he was thinking of Lily, his first love, Lily the talented painter; Lily, the gir
l who had betrayed him, betrayed them all.

  The silence stretched on and, in the way that women have of knowing a man’s thoughts, Llinos touched his hand. ‘You are right. We must forget the past, put all of the bad things that have happened out of our minds. That’s something Joe doesn’t seem able to do. Is he acting strangely, Watt?’

  ‘He’s acting like a worried husband! He adores you and so do I.’ They smiled at each other. They had shared a great many bad times, which was why Watt could never leave Pottery House and seek a more lucrative post somewhere else.

  ‘I’d better let you rest.’ He moved to the door. ‘We can talk later if you feel up to it.’

  She looked up at him. ‘I’ll be up to it! I need to get back into the swing of things, it’s pointless sitting brooding all day. It’s time I got back into harness.’

  As Watt left the sunlit room, he sighed. Like Llinos he had had his share of problems but he was a happy man now, all thoughts of the past were well and truly behind him.

  Lily Wesley walked through the soft grass of the gardens that surrounded Portland House. The riot of roses ran over the arbour arch, drooping petals, ready to fall as though tired of their full-blown heaviness.

  She sat on the garden seat and looked back at the house. It was not a large house, just a cottage really. Its name implied a much grander establishment but Lily loved the place; she had been secure there these past three years.

  She had married a good man, a man so old she thought he would be past all the urges that seemed to rule men. She had been mistaken. Tom Wesley had been a vigorous man despite his years. But she had endured and now he was dead. And she was the new owner. She smiled to herself: she was a woman of property, as good as Llinos Mainwaring any day. Better, because she had married a respectable Englishman and Llinos had married a savage.

  Briefly, Lily thought of Saul Marks, the man who had taken her virginity. She had thought she had loved him, thought he was going to take her to the heights of society, but she had been wrong. Still that had been an unhappy time of her life; now she was the Widow Wesley, respected in the small community of Lougher. She felt happy and secure living in her own cottage that faced the might of the great estuary where wild ponies grazed on mossy banks, sometimes up to their thin flanks in water.

  She rubbed her arms; the sun was dropping away beyond the horizon, the evening was growing chill. It was time she went indoors and lit the lamps. Reluctantly, she turned her back on the garden, so peaceful, so quiet.

  The cottage was well planned. The large sitting room opened out into a dining room and, at the other side of the passageway, there was a small study. Beyond was a large airy kitchen. Above stairs, there were three bedrooms, all of a good size. So much room for one woman.

  Lily wandered into the study; it was there that her husband had kept all his business papers. Tom was a methodical man and so it had been no surprise when Lily had learned that there were no outstanding bills to pay. She felt alone, lonely for the first time in her life. There seemed no direction, no purpose any more. Looking after Tom had been her work, something she was good at. A girl came in to clean every day and Lily, with a little effort, had learned to be a modest cook.

  Thinking of cooking made her realize she was hungry. There was some cold ham in the larder and a few slightly over-ripe tomatoes. The bread was freshly baked that morning and Lily sat down to what would have been a feast in the days when she had worked at the pottery as a painter.

  Seated at the table alone, she realized she actually missed Tom. He had been a big man, a genial man. He had been happy, asking little of her except that she cook his food and warm his bed when required. That was something she had come to accept; though she never enjoyed the intimacies of the bedchamber.

  She was clearing away the dishes, folding up the big damask tablecloth, when there was a knock on the door. She hesitated, wondering who could be calling on her at this time of the evening. She tidied her hair and pressed down the creases in her black dress and walked along the coolness of the passage.

  ‘Yes?’ She stood a little inside the front door looking at the man who waited on the step. She could not help noticing there was a large bag at his side and his clothes were dusty as if he had been travelling.

  ‘Good evening.’ He lifted his hat. ‘I’m sorry to call so late and without warning but the journey has taken much longer than I had anticipated.’

  He spoke nicely, with a cultured English accent, and Lily looked at him, wondering what he could possibly want with her.

  ‘Can I help you, are you lost?’ she asked hesitantly. He was clearly an educated gentleman and Lily had never overcome her sense of respect, amounting almost to awe, of anyone with learning.

  ‘I think you can. I’m James Wesley, Tom’s nephew.’ He moved past her into the passage and put down his bag. He dusted his hat and hung it on the hallstand before slipping out of his coat. ‘I expect he’s told you all about me. I’m afraid I have been something of a thorn in his side.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ There was something like panic in Lily’s voice. ‘This is my house and I can’t have you staying here. It just would not do, you must see that.’

  He walked through into the sitting room and dropped into the big chair that had been Tom’s.

  ‘Sorry, little lady, this is my home, I’m here to stay and I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.’

  Lily sank into a chair and stared uncomprehendingly at him. How could he threaten to take her home away? She swallowed hard; her new-found security was vanishing like a mist before her eyes.

  ‘But he left the house to me,’ she said. ‘I was Tom’s wife, you must know that. We were married all legal-like in the village church.’

  ‘I’m sure you were.’ James smiled not unsympathetically. ‘But, you see, I am the only male heir. This is my property now.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t expect you to move out at once, of course, especially not at this time of night, so we’ll just have to put up with each other for the time being.’

  He smiled and dimples appeared in his cheeks. ‘Indeed, if you choose, you may stay here indefinitely, providing we find a live-in maid to satisfy the proprieties.’

  Lily breathed a sigh of relief, at least she had time to think, time to consult Mr Brentford the solicitor who handled Tom’s affairs.

  ‘I’ll make up the bed in the spare room with fresh sheets,’ she said. ‘The place isn’t aired, of course. There’s been no fire for some time in there but the weather has been warm enough, I dare say.’

  ‘That’s kind of you,’ he said. ‘That will do for tonight but when we are a little more organized, I’d like the main bedroom, the one that looks over the estuary. That was always a favourite of mine, that view, something you cannot buy.’

  His cheek took her breath away but for the moment she held her tongue. Mr James Wesley might be the legal heir to Tom’s possessions and he might not but, in any case, as the widow, Lily was sure she must have rights too.

  Later, when she climbed into bed, it was strangely comforting to think of James asleep in the other room. On an impulse, she had put a vase of greenery on his window sill; tomorrow she would pick fresh flowers. She snuggled down under the sheets. Now that the shock was wearing off, she realized it might not be a bad idea to have a male protector about the place and James was a very personable young man. When she drifted off to sleep, it was with a smile on her lips as she dreamed of James slipping a gold band on to her finger.

  Llinos was pleased with the revamped firebird designs. The bold tail feathers of the bird were painted large on the dinner service that was meant for one of the richer families of Swansea. To have her own pottery wares on the tables of the élite was something she had always dreamed of.

  ‘You look better today, my love.’ Joe had come into the room on silent feet. Her father used to say that Joe was creeping about the house but her husband was naturally quiet, his movements, his voice, his every action contained. Joe had an inner strength about him
that made people respect him in spite of the superstition about his origins that still abounded among the townspeople.

  ‘I am feeling better, Joe.’ She held out her arms to him and he drew her close. She loved him and wanted him as much as she had on their wedding night. He would always thrill her, even when they were both old and grey he would always be handsome in her eyes.

  ‘You are pleased with the new, bolder patterns, then?’ Joe held her in his arms, his long silky hair brushed against her cheek like tender fingers.

  ‘I think you are a man of vision, my husband,’ she said softly. He smiled and put her away from him. He stood near the door, his hands thrust into his pockets.

  ‘Ah, you think I can do no wrong. You are biased in my favour which is what a good wife should be.’

  ‘And you have been everything a good husband should be.’ Joe had been at her side constantly since she had lost the baby and yet she sensed something in him, a withdrawing of himself from her, and it troubled her. But she must let him be free; she could not tie him to her apron strings; Joe had never been that sort of man.

  Llinos made up her mind, it was time she took charge of the pottery again. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll go back to work. Now I’m feeling so much better I need something to do with my time.’

  Joe nodded his approval. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear, now I know you are on the mend and I can breathe easy.’

  Llinos forced herself to smile; he seemed eager to go. ‘And you can have a drink at the club with the men. Oh, don’t think you fool me for one minute, Mr Mainwaring, you have been chafing at the bit these past weeks!’

  ‘Of course I have!’ He opened the door. ‘I think it’s about time I asserted myself. I shall go to the club tonight and there will be no complaints from you, madam!’

  As Llinos watched from the window, Joe strolled along the drive, turning only once to wave to her. When he was out of sight, she returned to the drawings and took up a pencil. But she was thinking about Joe and how happy they had always been together. Was the death of their daughter going to change that? Perhaps she had taken everything for granted, had been too happy in her marriage. She shivered and bent over the paper, staring at it blankly. She was worrying about nothing. Joe loved her, would always love her. If nothing else in this world was safe, their love was.