Sweet Rosie

by Iris Gower

  ‘Not even Watt Bevan?’ Rosie did not look at her mother.

  ‘Especially not Watt; he’s a fine man but he’s a man like any other and will take his pleasure of you if it’s offered for free.’

  Pearl stopped walking. ‘Well, talk of the devil!’ Watt was near the pottery gates, talking to one of the delivery men. Piles of bags weighted the cart, which dipped perilously at the back, threatening to discharge the load into the roadway.

  ‘Day to you, Watt,’ Pearl said, ‘got some more clay, have we? About time too, the stocks are getting pretty low.’

  ‘Better, Pearl?’ Watt came towards them, a sheaf of papers in his hands. He peered at Pearl and shook his head. ‘You don’t look well to me, a bit white around the gills.’ He smiled. ‘Why didn’t you take the day off?’

  ‘I told her that,’ Rosie said. ‘But mam’s stubborn, she won’t listen to nobody, especially me.’

  Watt smiled at her. ‘You’d better get up to the house, Rosie,’ he said pulling a curl of her hair, ‘Mrs Mainwaring might be needing you.’

  ‘Well it’s Mrs Mainwaring who sent me to our mam’s, so there!’ She liked Watt but she did not intend to take orders from him. ‘Don’t you try to be all bossy with me, Watt Bevan.’ She smiled up at him and he made a face at her. Rosie tried to imagine him touching her breasts, taking liberties with her and the thought brought rich colour to her face.

  ‘Why are you blushing, Rosie?’ Watt teased. ‘Seen a young lad you fancy, have you?’ He looked around as though expecting to see one of the apprentices, knowing full well that Rosie’s attention was fixed on him.

  ‘Clever boots!’ She flounced past him. ‘See you after, Mam,’ she said as she made her way towards the house, her colour still high. She was becoming a woman and she was beginning to feel the stirrings of passion except that, being young, she mistook them for love.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I want to leave him!’ Alice Sparks was a woman in her prime. Her hair was styled with a middle parting, curling at the sides of her face. Her clothes were cut from the best cloth and her boots had the sheen of the best leather. She stared up at Eynon, her eyes large.

  ‘I don’t think I can stand Edward’s meanness for a moment longer. You see the clothes I’m wearing? He has bought none of them. My father gives me an allowance from which I have to see to all my needs.’

  They were seated in a back room of one of the inns in Parkmill, several miles away from Swansea. It was a place that was made for clandestine meetings. The windows were small, the panes filled with thick glass making it difficult to look inside. There were private corners where lovers could have comparative privacy. ‘Edward is so mean that he makes me live in that dreadful little house he rents. Apart from which he’s a spiteful man and he hates everyone, including me.’

  Alice looked very beautiful in the half-light. Her dark hair sprang in curls around her fine-boned face and her small hands were clasped together on the table top. Even Eynon himself could not be unaware that she looked very much like Llinos Mainwaring.

  ‘There would be a scandal if you left him,’ Eynon warned. ‘I doubt if any of the “proper” women of the area would ever welcome you into their homes again.’

  Alice tossed her head. ‘I don’t care a fig for that sort of woman.’ The slender column of her throat was enhanced by the low-cut neck of the gown. The waist was nipped in just below her white breasts. She was a beautiful, spirited woman and yet the last thing Eynon wanted was to be responsible for her. To live with her was not in his scheme of things. In any case, there would be such a scandal they would have to leave Swansea and Eynon had no intention of doing that.

  Alice seemed to sense something of his feelings; she tried to push Eynon into a decision. ‘You must do something soon, Eynon,’ she said. ‘I have a nasty suspicion I’ve fallen for a baby, your baby.’ She looked at him, archly anticipating his questions. ‘I know it must be yours because I’ve been turning Mr Sparks away from my bed these past months.’

  That was a lie. The reason she had taken a lover in the first place was because Mr Sparks did not care for bedroom activities. Eynon knew that as well as she did.

  ‘Are you sure, Alice?’ There was a constriction in his throat; he had a sense of history repeating itself. His first wife had come to him with just such a claim. He had married her and in due course the child was born. He liked to think that Jayne was his own flesh and blood; he loved her dearly but he would never be sure if he was her natural father.

  ‘I’ll do my best to help out financially, of course,’ he said. And that he felt was his duty done. Alice Sparks was a married woman; a woman he would hate to live with on a permanent basis.

  ‘But, Eynon, I want to be with you, to share our child with you, don’t you understand that?’

  ‘Might I suggest you would be better off sticking it out with the man you married.’ He spoke so firmly that Alice looked at him in surprise. ‘I think I’m right in saying that your child is Edward’s, at least in law,’ he added.

  She seemed nonplussed. ‘You don’t want to live with me?’

  ‘Not to live with forever. It’s best to be honest about these things, isn’t it?’ He waited for her to speak but she remained silent.

  ‘You see, Alice, I’m in love with someone else, someone I can never have.’ He shrugged. ‘Any other woman pales into insignificance beside Llinos Mainwaring.’ The moment he said her name, he knew it was a mistake. Alice pounced on it as if the knowledge was a weapon she might be able to use sometime.

  ‘The wife of that half-breed? I don’t believe it! Heavens, Eynon, haven’t you more pride?’

  ‘Pride, what can you mean?’

  ‘She’s been to bed with that . . . that foreigner! How could you be in love with her? It’s not proper.’

  ‘It’s no worse than going to bed with you,’ Eynon challenged. Alice looked at him frostily.

  ‘At least my marriage is a respectable one,’ she said huffily. ‘Mr Sparks is a particular man, he takes good care of his health and he washes regularly.’

  Eynon could have laughed if the matter were not so serious. ‘Meaning that Joe doesn’t? Look, Alice, Joe is a rich man in his own right; he is an educated, cultured man. He is well respected by the more intelligent members of society.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard. At least Mr Sparks does not indulge in affairs, he has too much respect for himself, unlike you and your friend the Indian!’ Alice did not see the trap she was making for herself.

  ‘Well then, if I have no respect for myself, where does that leave you? I think you had better follow my suggestion and go back to Mr Sparks.’

  ‘Well from what I heard, the dear sweet Llinos Mainwaring has been discarded in favour of another woman.’ Alice’s tone was spiteful.

  ‘I would not take kitchen gossip too seriously, Alice, because more often than not you are the subject of it.’

  ‘Take me home!’ She snatched up her gloves and waved them in her face in an effort to cool the hot colour that had turned her cheeks an unattractive shade of red. ‘I will not spend one more minute in your company, Mr Morton-Edwards!’

  ‘Well,’ he almost smiled, ‘you will have to if we are to share my carriage, for I have no intention of walking back to Swansea.’

  On the way home, he was aware of Alice fuming beside him. She refused to look at him and did not reply to any of his remarks. ‘Stop here!’ she commanded and Eynon tapped his stick at the driver.

  ‘You are still a little way from the centre of Swansea,’ Eynon warned. ‘It will be a long walk, I hope you understand that?’

  ‘I understand more than you think,’ she said waspishly. ‘Good day to you, Mr Morton-Edwards.’

  He watched for a moment as she stalked away, her skirts swaying beneath her coat. He wondered where on earth she had got the story about Joe and another woman. Still, she was not to be taken seriously. He wondered briefly if she was having a child. He doubted it; her sort of woman would stop at not
hing to get what they wanted.

  He told the driver to get under way and settled back in his seat closing his eyes. It seemed his little peccadillo with Alice Sparks was over and done with and for his own part, it was not a moment too soon.

  Watt held Rosie’s hand as they walked along the river-bank. The sun was shining, the birds were singing in the leafy trees and the sound of the water was like a melody. It was good to be with a nice-looking girl who made no demands on him.

  Watt still missed Maura; it seemed only the other day that he had buried her in the cemetery on the hill. He sometimes felt he would never get over her but, for all that, he needed company. And Rosie was good company, she made him laugh.

  ‘It’s nice here, I like you to bring me down by the river,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s quiet and we can be on our own without a crowd around us.’

  Watt nodded without speaking. He liked the river too; the soothing sound of it over the stones at the water’s edge seemed to ease the ache inside him.

  ‘My mam don’t mind us courting,’ Rosie said and her words brought Watt up sharp. He stopped walking and looked down at her. She smiled her cheeky, dimpled smile. ‘It’s all right, don’t start running away, “courting” is Mam’s word, not mine. She doesn’t mean anything by it, Watt, it’s just that she knows she can trust you to behave, not to play fast and loose with a girl.’

  ‘Rosie,’ Watt said softly, ‘I was in love with Maura, I suppose I still love her. I’m just not ready for anything serious, not yet.’

  ‘Neither am I!’ Rosie laughed and pushed him away. ‘I’m young and free and you’re an old man, Watt Bevan.’

  He smiled as she ran away from him beneath the trees. He supposed he was an old man compared to Rosie and him still in his early twenties. But then he had gained a great deal of experience in his short life. He had been an orphan, had worked from the age of nine at the pottery. He had travelled the great Atlantic Ocean and most important of all, he had loved and lost. All of it together made for a mature mind, so he liked to think.

  He saw Rosie peep out from behind some bushes, like some woodland creature. She was so pretty, her skin freshened by the breeze to a becoming pink and her eyes shining with fun. She was good for him, there was no doubt about that, but was he good for her?

  He pretended he had not spotted her and strolled past the bushes, hands in pockets, gazing up at the fluffy clouds. He heard a rustle and then she pounced on him, her momentum and the flurry of her arms and legs bearing him to the ground.

  ‘Help!’ he called, ‘I’m being attacked by villains! Call the constable someone.’

  ‘Hush!’ Rosie put her hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t be so daft, people will hear you and come running and what will they think then?’

  ‘They’ll think why is that hoyden lying on that poor defenceless man?’ Watt said enjoying the soft weight of her body a little more than he should.

  She scrambled away from him, holding out her hand to help him up. He tugged and she fell in a heap against him. He kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm and responsive. He let his mouth linger on hers, it was not what he meant to happen, he was acting like a heel and yet, as her warm arms wound round him, he was tempted to allow the kiss to go on.

  ‘Hey!’ He pulled himself away from her. ‘What’s this wanton woman doing leading me astray?’ He addressed the tree tops and the clouds. ‘There’s me taking an innocent walk and I’m attacked by a hussy. I ask you, trees, is it safe for a young man to take a walk these days?’

  ‘Stop being daft!’ Rosie smoothed down her coat and ran her hands through her hair. Her bonnet lay on the ground and she picked it up, dusting it against her sleeve. ‘Come on, Watt, Mam’s expecting us for tea and she don’t like to be kept waiting, mind.’

  ‘Oh I know Pearl of old!’ Watt said ruefully. ‘Rules the paint shop with a rod of iron does your mam and the Lord help anyone who crosses her. She even frightens me!’

  ‘Liar!’ Rosie said, her eyes shining with laughter. ‘Last one home fetches in the coal!’ Her hair flying, she raced back the way she had come and, more slowly, Watt followed her.

  Pearl had a good fire burning in the grate and the house smelt of freshly baked bread. Watt followed Rosie into the kitchen where. Pearl was brewing a pot of tea. Willie was dozing in the chair beside the fire, his fiddle across his lap. Pearl dug him in the ribs.

  ‘Wake up, Willie, we’ve got company.’ She was looking pale and drawn but she smiled happily at the couple. ‘About time you came home, we’re all starving waiting for you.’

  Watt sat in the chair Pearl pulled out for him and looked at the snow-white cloth, the dish of raspberry jam and the thin slices of buttered bread. ‘This looks like a feast for a starving man,’ he said warmly. He liked Pearl, he was comfortable with her. She understood the pottery, knew the work better than most. Pearl was a woman he could rely on.

  ‘It’s not much, Watt.’ Pearl put the pot on the stand. ‘But it’s all good home-made food and you’re welcome to share it with us.’ She turned her head. ‘Willie, come on, boy, take your place at the table or do you want me fetching and carrying for you?’

  Willie nodded good-naturedly and did as he was told. He always did. Rosie sat down beside Watt. ‘Where are the boys, Mam?’ she asked, her interest centred on the slice of bread she was transferring to her plate.

  ‘When I saw you and Watt were going to be late I sent them over to Aunt Vi’s. She called over the back wall to say they were having tea there, thank goodness.’

  Pearl still looked far from well, Watt thought; there were shadows under her eyes and she seemed to be thinner about the face.

  ‘You all right, Pearl?’ he asked quietly and Pearl nodded. Watt glanced at Rosie, she seemed oblivious to her mother’s tiredness. She lifted the slice of bread and bit into it with obvious delight, her white teeth making indentations in the soft jam. Over her jam-stained mouth, her eyes sparkled at Watt.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Watt asked and Pearl threw her daughter a swift glance before answering.

  ‘I’m just a bit worried, love, but I’ll talk to you about it at work, it doesn’t concern anyone else, see?’

  He did see; Pearl had a problem she did not want to discuss in front of Rosie or Willie. He nodded. ‘Aye, fair enough.’

  When they had eaten all the bread and jam and emptied the teapot twice over, Rosie cleared away the dishes.

  ‘Remember to put the butter on the cold slab, now,’ Pearl admonished, ‘and cover the dish to keep the creatures off it.’ She took the pristine cloth from the table and folded it, careful to keep to the same creases. ‘Saves on the ironing,’ she said.

  After tea, Willie took up the fiddle and played a haunting tune that reminded Watt of Maura. He was glad of the dimness of the candles as moist tears came to his eyes. He could almost see her, smell the scent of her; would he ever forget her?

  It was almost dark when Pearl’s sons returned to the house. The kitchen suddenly seemed crowded, the boys arguing who should drag in the tin bath. Watt guessed it was time he left.

  ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’ He kissed Rosie. ‘Are you coming back to the house now or shall I go on ahead?’

  ‘I’ll stay with Mam for a bit,’ Rosie said. ‘Help her to get the boys to bed. If you see Mrs Mainwaring though, tell her I won’t be long.’

  Watt patted Pearl’s shoulder. ‘Now if you don’t feel better tomorrow, take time off, no-one will mind.’

  As he made his way back to the house he wondered if he was becoming too friendly with Rosie, giving her false hopes. But then she was a sensible girl, look how she had stayed to help her mother. Anyway, she knew he was still pining for Maura, he had told her often enough. He gazed up at the sky, darker now, and felt tears smart in his eyes. ‘Maura, if you are looking down at me from heaven, I want you to know I miss you like hell!’

  As if in reply, the clouds parted momentarily and a shaft of moonlight illuminated his face. Then it was gone, back beh
ind the clouds from where it had come. ‘Thank you, my love,’ he said softly.

  ‘I do not understand what you are saying, Alice.’ Edward Sparks sat in the stuffy drawing room of the small terraced house he was so proud of. His chair was nearest the fire, he liked to think he was master in his own home.

  ‘I’m telling you that Eynon Morton-Edwards and that Llinos Mainwaring woman are, well sleeping together.’ She was seated opposite him, her feet – small slender feet – propped up on a cushioned stool.

  ‘Sleeping together?’ he said as though the words were foreign and he had never heard them before. He could be so obtuse at times.

  ‘Fornicating!’ She almost shouted the word at him. ‘Is that clear enough for you, Mr Sparks?’

  ‘Language!’ he said. ‘No need for vulgarity, Alice, I know what you mean by sleeping together, I was merely questioning the veracity of your statement.’

  ‘I was in the glove shop, you know I’ve become quite friendly with Mrs Morgan the proprietor, she told me about it.’ Friendly was too strong a word for the association she shared with Mrs Morgan but the woman was a good source of gossip, meeting everyone from ladies to maidservants as she did.

  ‘Mrs Morgan saw them together, said they were looking into each other’s eyes in the way that lovers do. Another thing, that Indian man, the husband, he has a new lady love, out of town somewhere. Their maid was sent to Swansea to pick up some linen cloths; it seems the girl was more than willing to gossip about the strange ways of her master.’

  Edward rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. The Mainwaring woman thought she was a cut above me. I did not like her attitude at all. You know she actually insulted me.’ He sniffed. ‘No-one insults Edward Sparks and gets away with it. There I was, trying to guide her, as a good bank manager should, expecting her to accept a very good price for the pottery. Do you know, my dear, the woman was too stupid to see it.’