by Iris Gower
He looked over his wife’s head. ‘I do agree with you about one thing, Alice, for that woman to marry a foreigner tells us a lot about her lack of moral rightness.’
It was something that her husband was actually agreeing with her. Alice looked at him, seeing the balding head, the mean mouth and narrowed eyes and wondered if she had ever disliked a man so much in her entire life. And she had a problem. She was with child. It was not Edward’s child.
She was well aware that Eynon Morton-Edwards chose not to believe her but the truth was her husband had not come to her bed for many months. It was not through any lack of trying on her part but Edward seemed not to need the physical release that played so important a part in her own make-up.
She looked at him carefully; somehow, she had to lure him to her bed, he had to believe the child she was carrying was his. Perhaps at supper she could urge him to drink a little more than usual in the hope of rousing his dormant libido. She sighed inwardly, libido was too strong a word for it, Edward’s attempts at sex were fumbling, inept. No sooner had he started than he finished, leaving her frustrated and sleepless.
That evening Alice took care with her appearance. Mr Sparks did not like displays of vulgarity, as he called the fashion for low-cut bodices. The gowns she wore for him had to be made with excessive modesty, too high across the bodice to be elegant. So perhaps a little guile was called for.
At the supper table, Alice kept surreptitiously filling her husband’s glass, careful not to overdo it; she did not want him falling asleep half-way through his duties. She smiled and flattered him until even she felt she was flattering him too much but, being a vain man, he drank it all in, a superior smile on his face.
‘I don’t think it will take you long to be top dog at the bank,’ she said, her eyes wide with feigned admiration.
‘Senior manager, Alice. The use of the words “top dog” are vulgar and are a careless use of the English language. As wife to a bank manager, you must be circumspect at all times, please remember that.’
‘I will, Edward,’ she said humbly. She paused for a moment, watching him drink the mediocre wine that he insisted went well with the beef dish they were eating. He was so pompous, so lacking in real style. A man from poor beginnings who had made a good marriage, that’s all he was and he dared to teach her how to behave. Still, she needed to keep her acidity in check, at least for now.
‘I wonder, Edward,’ she said softly, ‘if you would be considered more suitable as a senior manager if you were a father.’ She looked down in false modesty at her hands. ‘I know you don’t like me to speak of such things, it is not delicate, but I do think that to father a child gives a man standing in the community.’
He was silent for a long time, considering her words. She did not look up, afraid that the habitual look of displeasure that crossed his face whenever she mentioned anything remotely sexual would put her off the act itself. She must think of it as a necessary chore, something that must be done for her own self-preservation.
Damn Eynon Morton-Edwards! If he had been an honest man he would have swooped her up and run off with her, treated her to a much more luxurious life than Mr Sparks could ever provide. But she would miss him, no doubt about it. Eynon was a good, considerate lover, always thinking of her needs before his own.
Her husband’s voice startled her. ‘I think you have a point, Alice.’ His tone was cold, he had no real interest in her and she knew it. She knew she was too much for him, her drive too strong. He needed a woman who would be grateful for a quick coupling, who wanted no more than her husband’s release. Well, he had chosen a red-blooded woman and that was his mistake.
‘I would be obliged if you would come to my room tonight, Alice.’ He rushed the words out as if in themselves they were dirty. He emptied his glass and gestured for her to leave him. ‘We shall retire early.’
Alice left the dining room and wandered into the kitchen. The house Edward had rented for them was small and the kitchen reflected that fact. There was the cook and one maid, no men servants and, coming from a well-to-do home, Alice felt that she had come down in the world.
‘Evening, Mrs Sparks.’ Cook looked up from her task of rolling pastry for next day’s pies. ‘Can I get you anything?’
In her father’s house Alice never associated with the servants but here, in the cramped conditions of the misnamed Pleasant Row, she had no-one else to talk to.
‘A glass of sherry would go down nicely, Cook,’ Alice said. Cook looked over her shoulder and addressed the girl standing at the sink.
‘Did you hear, Martha? Fetch the bottle out for Mrs Sparks and be sharp about it.’
‘All right, Mrs Johns, I’m going as quick as I can.’
Cook grimaced as the girl went into the pantry. ‘Not very bright but works ‘ard,’ she confided. ‘Special occasion, is it?’ She nodded to the bottle that Martha placed on the table. ‘The sherry, it’s not like you to drink strong liquor, if you don’t mind me saying.’ She looked at Martha. Well, get a glass, you stupid girl! Mrs Sparks can’t drink it without.’
Alice looked at the cook; she was a woman of about fifty with grey hair and a careworn expression. On her plump finger she wore a gold band; she had been married once, had enjoyed the sins of the flesh no doubt. Alice shook her head.
‘Mr Sparks is in a happy mood tonight.’
‘Oh I see.’ Cook frowned. ‘I spects you need fortifying then.’
Alice sighed inwardly. It was Edward not she who needed the courage found in a glass. He was always anxious to get the act over and done with. He was a strange, pinched man and Alice would never have married him if her father had not given her an ultimatum. It was either marry or go live on the streets. Her father was tired of her wild ways and vowed never to give her another penny unless she made a respectable marriage.
As the wife of Edward Sparks, Alice’s father gladly paid her an allowance, enough at least to keep her out of his way.
She finished her sherry. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and see to Mr Sparks.’
Once upstairs, Alice searched for her most modest night attire. She knew Edward by now; he would lift the hem of her gown, climb upon her and carry out his task as coldly as if he was filling in a balance sheet. There would be no pleasure in it for her, except the pleasure of knowing she was fooling her husband.
She crossed the landing into Edward’s room. It was larger than her own room with a big window facing the shallow valley below. At one time the view might have been, as the name of the row suggested, pleasant. Now the outlook was ruined by a coal shaft cutting across the greenery like a scar.
Edward came into the bedroom smelling of porter. He divested himself of his clothes and slid into the bed beside her. His feet were cold as they touched her flesh and she resisted the urge to draw away from him and call off the whole silly episode. She resented him taking his quick release at her expense. But it was necessary, she must just grit her teeth and put up with it, her one consolation being it would not last long.
He was so predictable. He lifted her gown to just above her waist, not touching her breasts in the way Eynon did. Eynon enjoyed her breasts; he told her they were beautiful. Edward would never know, he never got that far.
He jerked away above her in his usual ragged manner and she scarcely knew he was there. He must be so small a man in every way that his efforts made no impression. Mr Pencil, she should call him instead of Mr Sparks. The thought made her want to laugh but she stifled the feeling, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. And then, he was falling away from her, panting as if he had run a marathon.
He never asked her if it had been good for her and that was just as well or she might have been tempted to tell him the truth. She made to slip out of the bed but his hand on her arm stopped her.
‘Stay,’ he said and it sounded as if he were commanding a disobedient puppy. ‘I might want to try again later. I think it would be just as well to make sure that you get with child, the sooner the better.’
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Alice stared up into the darkness. Edward never made love by candlelight, it was not modest. ‘Very well, Edward,’ she said meekly. Then she turned her face into the pillow. Edward could do what he liked; even if she was asleep it would make little difference, she would not even stir. Once she had safely delivered the child, there would be no more. From now on, Alice Sparks would please herself regarding what she did and with whom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Joe’s absences from home grew more frequent. Sometimes Llinos thought he had taken her cutting words at face value and moved in with the other woman. She had tried to appease him and, on his brief visits home, to talk to him but nothing Llinos said or did made any difference to the way he behaved.
Llinos spent more time at home, leaving the pottery in Watt’s capable hands but even that seemed pointless now. She missed her work. At least it had helped to fill the days that were becoming increasingly empty without Joe. Even Charlotte was running out of excuses for her brother.
The evenings had fallen into a pattern: with Lloyd in bed, Llinos would sit with Charlotte sewing or drawing, both of them making desultory conversation avoiding the topic that was uppermost in both their minds. Llinos found it a strange life for a woman used to working and to sharing her life with her husband.
It was when Charlotte found Llinos crying one evening that she broached the subject of Joe’s strange behaviour. Even then, her words were guarded.
‘Joe will be able to explain himself, just give him time.’ She rested her hand on Llinos’s shoulder. ‘I know it’s difficult for you to understand but Joe is not like other men.’
‘Not capable of being faithful to his wife, you mean?’ She stopped speaking abruptly, there was little point in upsetting Charlotte.
‘It can’t be another woman,’ Charlotte said but there was no conviction in her words. ‘Joe loves you, he loves his son, too. He’s never shown the slightest interest in anyone else. In any case, who could it be, ask yourself that?’
‘You must admit he’s changed, Charlotte,’ she said. ‘Ever since I lost the baby things have not been right between us. These days Joe seems a different man to the one I married.’ Llinos stared into the fire. ‘Do you think he blames me for the baby’s death, Charlotte?’
Charlotte coughed to hide the tears that were forming a knot in her throat. ‘It was a terrible thing you losing your little girl but I don’t see how Joe can blame you. He’s upset, he’s recently buried his mother and that coming on top of the loss of the baby must have affected him deeply. Perhaps we should make allowances for him, Llinos.’
Llinos put down her drawing pad and walked to the window. She parted the curtains and stared into the darkness of the night. The pottery towers loomed in ghostly silhouette against the moonlit sky. A soft rain had begun to fall and ran like tears along the window-panes.
‘Perhaps I’m not prepared to make allowances any longer,’ she said. ‘A woman needs the support of her husband when a tragedy happens. Joe has done just the opposite, he’s left me to wallow in despair alone.’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlotte looked desperately unhappy. ‘I just don’t know what to say to you. I don’t understand Joe any more than you do but he’s an honourable man, we both know that.’
‘Honourable or not, the next time he comes home I’ll make him talk, make him tell me what is going on. He’ll have to give me some straight answers or our marriage is finished.’
‘No!’ Charlotte said quickly. ‘Please don’t issue ultimatums to Joe, I don’t think he would take kindly to that.’
Llinos turned to look at her. ‘And I don’t take kindly to being a deserted wife!’ Her tone was sharp and she immediately regretted it. ‘Oh, Charlotte, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you.’ She put her arms around the older woman. ‘Please take no notice of me. I’m a jealous, spiteful woman and right now I don’t like myself very much.’
‘Be careful.’ Charlotte held her hand. ‘Don’t push things too far with Joe, you might ruin what you have with him.’
Llinos returned to her chair. ‘At the moment, Charlotte, I have very little with him, surely you can see that?’
‘I know.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘Just be patient a little while longer, that’s all I’m saying.’ She got up with painful slowness, the wet weather was making her bone ache worse. ‘I’m going to my bed.’ She tried to smile and Llinos realized how fragile Charlotte really was.
‘I’ll come with you.’ She took her sister-in-law’s arm and helped her up the staircase towards the bedrooms.
Llinos was only half-asleep when she heard the bedroom door open. She was immediately alert, breathing in the familiar scent of Joe with a wash of longing. She tried to speak to him, to beg him to love her again but pride held her silent as he crossed the room, walking past the bed without pausing.
The door of the dressing room closed behind him and Llinos let out her breath. It was over; her marriage was dead and it was high time it was buried.
Lily stared out of the window into the small garden of the house in Pleasant Row and watched the rain running down the window-panes. She was grateful to Watt Bevan; he had been kind to her. She knew he did not forgive her for her past mistakes but nevertheless he had found her work at one of the nice houses in Pleasant Row off Broad Street. Lily sniffed; working as maid to the bank manager’s wife was not much suited to her talents but Watt had put in a word for her at the Tawe Pottery and as soon as a vacancy occurred she would be employed there as a painter.
Lily did not like Mrs Sparks; she found her to be a difficult mistress, a woman with a very high opinion of herself. She was expecting a baby and anyone would think no woman had ever carried a child before.
Lily wanted nothing more than to shake the dust of the Sparks’s household off her feet but for now she needed a roof over her head and regular food to put in her stomach. All things considered, coming to Pleasant Row had proved a good move especially as her small store of money was running out.
She had become weary of sharing a damp room with Betty in the run-down lodging house on the edge of town. Betty had cried as Lily packed her small bag and, just for a moment, Lily had felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving her there. But still she could not hold herself responsible for the girl; Betty had to make her own way in life.
Lily thought of her bedroom in the Sparks’s house, it was sparsely furnished but at least it was warm and dry and the air did not stink of stale urine and men.
‘Lily, wake up, girl!’ Cook was holding out a basket towards her. ‘You’re supposed to be going shopping down the market, why are you standing there like you was made of stone?’
Lily felt like telling Cook what she could do with her shopping basket but thought better of it. Mrs Johns could make her life difficult if she had a mind to. Lily took the basket and moved to the door just as the bell in the scullery rang out the strident summons. She looked back and hesitated and the bell rang again.
‘Better answer it, girl,’ Mrs Johns called, her voice sharp. ‘Mrs Sparks don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Cook had told Lily how Alice Sparks had come down in the world, pushed into a loveless marriage by a father who could not handle her wild ways. Well, Mrs high-and-mighty Sparks was not a toff now, she was just the wife of a very ordinary man who owned nothing but a position in the bank.
With a sigh, Lily slipped off her coat and walked through the passage to the sitting room. The house was not very big, not much better than Lily’s own marital home had been but that did not stop Mrs Sparks putting on airs and graces.
‘Lily.’ Mrs Sparks sounded petulant. Her condition was not yet showing, her waist as slim as Lily’s, but she was acting as though she was the most delicate of invalids. ‘Bring a footstool for me, there’s a good girl.’
Lily hid her irritation; the woman had called her back for a trivial task that she could easily have done herself. It was Lily’s afternoon off and she still had the shopping to do before she was free to plea
se herself. How she hated the job of waiting on such a spoiled brat of a woman.
‘Lily,’ Alice Sparks said, ‘tell me, why do you look so sad and weary all the time, have you had a difficult life?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘You’re a widow I understand?’
‘Yes.’ Lily was surprised; Mrs Sparks had not taken much interest in her personal life in the few weeks she had worked there.
‘Yes, Mrs Sparks, sadly, I am a widow.’
‘Well, then, didn’t your husband leave you provided for?’
Lily shook her head. ‘No. He thought he had,’ she said, coming quickly to the defence of her late husband. ‘Then a long lost relative turned up, a male relative.’
‘Oh, dear, did he turn you out?’
‘I left of my own accord.’ Lily forgot her usual reserve in her anger. ‘He wanted me to behave like a whore!’
‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Sparks appeared shocked and yet there was a strange sparkle in her eyes almost as if she found it all too amusing for words.
‘I don’t think James intended to make money out of me,’ Lily said, but, on reflection, that was just what James had intended. Lily was to sleep with men for money, to prostitute herself for James’s benefit. There was a bitter taste of anger in her mouth.
‘Men are mean and cruel, they don’t know the meaning of love. They think you are just there to satisfy their wicked lust,’ she said bitterly.
‘Oh, I don’t think you are being fair, Lily,’ Alice protested. ‘I’m sure the gentleman intended to treat you with respect.’
Lily was about to speak but stopped herself abruptly. There was no sense in letting her tongue run away with her. ‘Well, I felt I had no choice but to leave,’ she said, her head down.
‘Isn’t that always the way?’ Alice said dryly. ‘We women always bear the brunt of a man’s foolish actions.’
Lily imagined Mrs Sparks was talking about her delicate condition. Still, in Lily’s eyes Mrs Sparks was a pampered rich woman with too much time on her hands.
