by Iris Gower
CHAPTER TWO
The paint shed was quiet; the artists were engrossed in their work of decorating the china. Looking down the long table that was littered with pots of spirit and discarded colours, Llinos watched as Watt demonstrated to one of the newcomers how to fill in the latest designs. He worked with bold, confident strokes of the brush, bringing into being the riot of red and gold feathers of the firebird design.
Llinos, wrapped in a paint-stained apron, her sleeves rolled above her elbows, moved closer. ‘You haven’t lost your touch, Watt.’
He made a face at her as she went on past him. Llinos ignored him.
‘Good morning, Pearl, how do you like the new designs?’
‘Morning, Mrs Mainwaring.’ Pearl was inclined to be formal when other, less senior, workers were in earshot. She brushed her face with the back of her hand and left a streak of rust paint across her cheek. She put her head on one side, examining her painting. ‘Not a bad design, though some think birds are unlucky.’
‘That’s just silly talk!’ Llinos smiled. ‘The china is selling well, birds or not.’
‘How’s my Rosie shaping up as a maid?’ Pearl asked. ‘Pity the girl hasn’t got her mam’s talent with a brush, isn’t it?’ She laughed good-naturedly.
‘Rosie’s doing very well,’ Llinos said. ‘She’s as good a worker as her mother any day. She has a much sweeter nature though!’
Pearl laughed, her head flung back, her dark hair escaping from her cap. She was not one whit offended by Llinos’s jibe. They knew each other well; Pearl was a trusted overseer, her tongue sharp sometimes but her heart always kind.
‘How are you keeping, Pearl?’ Llinos did not need a reply. ‘That’s a silly question, you look fit as a fiddle.’ It was true; Pearl was blooming with health. Her cheeks were full, her large breasts straining the material of her apron. She laid her hand on her rounded stomach.
‘He’s kicking like a mule today,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ll be glad when he’s out, I will indeed!’
‘Gossiping again, Pearl!’ Watt rested his hand on Pearl’s shoulder. He caught Llinos’s eye and winked. ‘You shouldn’t be so active in the nights, Pearl, you need to get some sleep at your age instead of fooling about with Will Shepherd all night!’
‘Hey watch your tongue!’ Pearl’s eyes were full of humour. ‘You’re not too old to get a slap across the earhole, mind.’
‘I think you asked for that, didn’t you, Watt? Well, I’d better get on.’
‘Excuse me, Llinos,’ Pearl said quietly, ‘can I just say it’s good to see you back at work? Mind, we’re all that sorry you lost the little girl.’
At the mention of her baby, Llinos felt tears burn her eyes. She swallowed hard; she had cried enough, now it was time to get on with her life.
‘Like everyone else, I must count my blessings, mustn’t I?’
‘Aye, you’re right enough.’ Pearl had been widowed over a year ago and the death of her husband had affected her deeply. But now Pearl was happy again, living openly with her man, declaring she would rather have a ring through her nose than on her finger.
As Llinos moved along the rows of tables examining the pottery she smelt the oxide and the tang of paint. Like Pearl, she was glad she was back at work:
Llinos was tired by the time she left the sheds. She made her way back across the yard longing to kick off her boots and rest. She glanced up at the sky. It was the end of September but the sun continued to shine with the warmth of high summer. She stood for a moment closing her eyes, thinking that her baby would never see the sunshine, never feel the breeze on her face.
Around her were the sounds of pottery life, men calling from the kilns, the chink of saggars being stacked, young voices of yard boys picking up the discarded clay. Llinos was trying to put on a brave face for the world but her arms felt empty and there was a hollow feeling inside her whenever she thought of the baby.
It was good to walk into the cool privacy of the house. She took off her apron and washed her hands in the china bowl in the kitchen before hurrying upstairs to the room where her son was having his lessons.
Lloyd looked up at her, a smile on his face. ‘I can do my sums good now, Mammy.’ He held up his book and showed her the rows of neat figures.
‘He is a very bright boy, Mrs Mainwaring.’ Eira was young to be a governess. She came from a good family and had been well educated but her parents had died within weeks of each other, leaving her orphaned and penniless. While Llinos had been confined to her bed, it had been Eira who had taken care of Lloyd.
‘I have a favour to ask, Mrs Mainwaring,’ Eira said brushing the chalk from her fingers. ‘You know the family who used to work for my father before he died? Well they are feeling the pinch. Bryn Rees is sick, he can’t find any other work and the children haven’t got enough food to eat. I’d like to help them if I can.’
‘What can I do, Eira?’ Llinos said. ‘You know I’ll help in any way I can.’
‘There seems to be a great deal of food wasted here,’ Eira said. ‘I wonder if I could take some of the leftovers to the Rees’s, it would help a lot.’
‘I’ll speak to Cook about it.’ Llinos rested her hand for a moment on Lloyd’s head. Thank God he would never have to go hungry, not while she lived and breathed. ‘You get on with your work now, Lloyd, your father will be proud of your progress; I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when he comes home.’
But Joe did not come home that night. He sent a messenger to tell her he had decided to stay the night at the Gloucester Hotel in town. He was acting strangely since the baby died. But who could blame him?
Weary and heartsore, Llinos retired early. It was lonely in the large bed without Joe, she missed the warmth of his body against hers. She wanted him to take her in his arms and make love to her but he had not touched her since the death of their child. Llinos knew he stayed away from her out of consideration for her delicate condition but now she wanted life to return to normal and that meant becoming Joe’s wife again in every way.
There was a letter on her plate in the morning. Llinos picked it up fearing it was from Joe. Quite what she expected him to say she was not sure but she had a feeling of apprehension that would not go.
But the letter was from the bank. The manager was asking her to call and see him on a matter of some urgency. Llinos threw it down, unconcerned about the matter but at least it gave her an excuse to go into town. She would call at the Gloucester Hotel and see Joe.
She asked for the carriage to be brought to the door for ten-thirty and, after breakfast with Lloyd, she dressed in her good clothes and stepped out into the yard. The carriage was waiting for her. The driver raised his hat to her and held open the door, holding her arm to help her up the small carriage steps.
She smiled her thanks. ‘Morning, Kenneth, I need to go down to the bank.’ She turned to look at him. ‘It seems like we’re in for another fine day.’
‘Yes, Mrs Mainwaring, summer’s going on forever. The bees don’t know what to do about it, the honeycombs are still overflowing.’
Llinos climbed into her seat, straightening her skirt. She was now the society woman dressed in the latest fashion, with her bonnet trimmed with glossy feathers. Once settled, Llinos looked back at the house and the buildings beyond.
Her father had built the pottery from nothing and at first it had been small with only the minimum of workers. Now it had expanded, grown richer, more profitable, employing more than three hundred men and women.
Beside it stood the larger Tawe Pottery that once belonged to Eynon Morton-Edwards but was now in the hands of a consortium of businessmen. Her own pottery, renamed since her father’s day, would never rival the Tawe Pottery for production but, as for quality, the Merino was equal to any in the country.
The coach trip to town took her past the winding River Tawe, the rushing waters of which turned the wheel of the grinding house. The river was calm now in the dreaming sun but when winter came the waters could rise and
rush, bringing chaos to the inhabitants of nearby houses.
The streets of Swansea were busy with traffic; small carts vied with large carriages for space at the roadside. Llinos looked out unseeingly, waiting for the driver to take her to her destination. She reached into her bag and drew out the crisp folded letter. She had read it several times but still did not know why the manager wanted to see her.
Llinos looked at the letter again but was still no wiser. One thing she was sure of however: she did not much like the abrupt tone of the request for her to call. But then the manager was new, young, eager to make a mark. She would reserve her judgement until she had spoken to him.
Llinos wondered if she should have seen Joe first and asked him to go with her but decided it was up to her to conduct her business alone. When she did see Joe they had some serious talking to do. She had made every effort to get over the loss of their baby, but had he?
She was kept waiting at the bank, something that would never have happened in the old days. She sat back in the uncomfortable chair, trying to relax, but with the thought of Joe’s strange behaviour pressing in on her it was impossible. She pushed the thought away, determined to occupy her mind with other things.
Back at home, Lloyd would be at his lessons, his new art tutor struggling to teach him how to draw. Lloyd was impatient with the slow progress he was making, he preferred to be working with his hands, to fashion little figures and animals in wood, so realistic you felt they would bite if you got too close. He was a strange mixture, her son, practical like his grandfather and yet with something of Joe’s intuitive way of thinking.
‘Mrs Mainwaring, Mr Sparks will see you now.’ The clerk held the door open for her and Llinos walked into the office, impatient to get the business over with as quickly as possible. She suddenly felt the need to be back home in familiar surroundings. Perhaps she would not try to find Joe at the hotel after all. It might be much better to talk to him in the privacy of their own home.
‘Please sit down.’ Mr Sparks was younger even than Llinos had imagined. His hair was slicked down close to his head making his nose appear more prominent than it really was. He was not an attractive man.
He flicked through some papers, keeping Llinos waiting. She was beginning to grow impatient; anyone would think she was here as a supplicant not as a successful businesswoman.
‘Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Sparks?’ she asked at last. ‘I am rather busy you know, I do have a business to run.’
His head jerked up as though she had said something shocking. ‘I am aware that your time is precious but then so is mine.’ He sounded as aggrieved as he looked.
‘Well then, shall we get on with it?’ Llinos folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to gather his wits.
‘I would normally deal with Mr Mainwaring,’ he said, ‘but in the circumstances . . .’ He sighed and put the papers down, pressing out the creases with thin fingers.
‘What circumstances are those?’ Llinos was beginning to find the man offensive. She took a deep breath, trying to keep calm.
‘Well the man is a foreigner.’ Mr Sparks spoke abruptly and with such arrogance that Llinos wanted to hit him. Would people never accept Joe for what he was?
‘I can see you are prejudiced against anyone not born in this country,’ she said icily, ‘though I cannot understand it.’
‘It’s not a case of prejudice but more of expediency,’ he said. ‘I feel I might not make myself plain to someone from another culture.’
‘My husband is doubtless more educated than you, Mr Sparks. He is certainly more considerate of the feelings of others. Another thing, he is probably far wealthier than you could ever hope to be.’ She knew she was foolish to let the man goad her into defending Joe, he did not need defending to anyone.
‘If you are not going to get to the point of this interview,’ she said, ‘I think. I had better leave before I lose my temper completely.’
‘No need for that,’ Mr Sparks said hastily. ‘It’s just that one of my very good customers, and a dear friend into the bargain, is interested in your little pottery.’ He beamed as if he had handed her a precious gift. ‘My customer is very influential and he has made a fine offer.’ He shuffled some papers on his desk. ‘He is heading the consortium which owns the Tawe Pottery.’
Llinos was puzzled. She doubted Mr Sparks would have any friends, influential or otherwise. The man was simply a manager in a small town bank. ‘What makes you think I want to sell my “little pottery”?’ she asked icily.
‘I have been instructed to give you a very good price.’ He smiled ingratiatingly. ‘There would be a little something in it for me of course. It makes perfect sense. The larger Tawe Pottery would absorb your business and most of your workers. We would all come out of the deal much the richer.’
Llinos stood up; her hands were trembling and it was an effort to keep them clenched at her sides. Her very instinct was to strike out at the man’s arrogant face.
‘You must agree’, he failed to see the warning signs, ‘that the pottery business is not a suitable occupation for a lady.’ He continued digging his own grave. ‘I’m sure now that you are, well, a mature lady, you will wish to spend your time in a more feminine pursuit.’
‘Don’t say another word,’ Llinos said in a low voice. ‘I have no intention of selling the pottery. I don’t know why you would even think such a thing.’ She moved to the door. ‘Furthermore, I object to you calling me in for such a trivial matter. It would have shown more courtesy on your part if you had sent me a communication in writing and then I would have been spared the irritation of this meeting.’
Mr Sparks was nonplussed; it seemed he had been expecting to meet a submissive little woman, to browbeat her, then to give her the benefit of his sage advice and expect her to snatch at it eagerly. He was grossly mistaken.
‘I did not mean to irritate,’ he said defensively. ‘I thought you would be delighted at such a good offer for your business, more than it is actually worth in my opinion.’ He hesitated. ‘Wouldn’t you even like to know the price that was offered?’
‘No I would not. As for your opinion, it’s hardly informed, is it?’
‘But, madam, I am a bank manager, it is my business to be informed.’ He coughed. ‘I have taken the trouble to check your profits and losses accounts and your pottery is not so successful that you can turn down such a good deal out of hand.’
Llinos stood before the desk, her patience exhausted. She leaned forward and Mr Sparks jerked away from her as if frightened. ‘You presume too much, you little upstart!’ she said. ‘Do you realize that my late father and the owner of this bank were great friends? One word from me and you would have no job.’
He was suddenly white-faced. He stood up, drawing himself up to his full height, and stared at her resentfully. ‘There is no need for threats, Mrs Mainwaring,’ he said. He had a point.
‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘but there is no need for you to patronize me just because I am a woman. I ran the pottery almost single-handed before you were even a clerk in the bank. Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing and my business is fine, thank you.’
‘Well, let us hope it remains that way,’ he said and Llinos looked at him long and hard. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the inkpot on his desk, his eyes refusing to meet hers.
‘Who is issuing threats, now, Mr Sparks?’ Llinos let herself out of the office. She was blind with fury that she should be treated like a fool, patronized by a man who was so bigoted and prejudiced that he dared to look down on Joe. He was not fit to clean Joe’s boots.
She could not face seeking out Joe at the hotel; she had suffered enough upset for one day. ‘Take me straight home, Kenneth,’ she said to her driver. She had a headache coming on, she was trembling, she had not fully recovered her strength. Mr Sparks had caught her off guard, piercing her normal reserve with his insolence. He had obviously been given a bribe to persuade her to sell and, bragging about his power
s of persuasion, now he had fallen flat on his face. Llinos knew she had made an enemy that morning and, if she read Mr Sparks correctly, he would not hesitate to take his revenge if ever the opportunity arose.
Joe walked across the farmlands he had bought when his son was born. He had no need to work at anything; his father had left him so well provided for that he need never work again. But Joe was not used to being idle. Back home in America he had learned the ways of his tribe. He had helped, even as a child, to build stockades and repair the broken beams of the lodges. He had respected the laws of the Mandan tribe. Until he had married Llinos. Then he had smashed those laws into tiny pieces.
But he could never forget that part of him was white. He had been sent to an English school, he had learned new ways. He had learned his lessons well, both in the classroom and on the playing fields of the Merton School for Young Gentlemen. And then he had gone to war.
Joe had, in a strange way, enjoyed the fight against Napoleon Bonaparte. On the fields of France and Belgium he had been in his element, using his tracking skills and his native intuition to beat the man who single-handedly threatened the peace of Joe’s world.
Joe had been batman to Lloyd Savage; they had become companions, forging a bond and a mutual respect for each other that rose above rank. But Lloyd had not wanted Joe as a son-in-law, indeed he had done everything he could to prevent the marriage. And yet, at the end, Lloyd had been happy enough that Joe would be there to look after Llinos when he had gone to his heaven.
Joe paused, looking down the hillside towards the rolling fields. The sea beyond sparkled like diamonds in the sun. Why did men seek material riches when there were riches all around in nature for them to enjoy?
