by Iris Gower
‘Give me a day or two,’ she said at last. ‘I will have to think seriously about your offer, I know that.’
‘Of course, Mrs Mainwaring.’ John’s harsh tone had softened. ‘I can see the position you are in but I am offering you a way out. You could stay in the house and live on the money I’d pay you for the pottery.’
Llinos shook her head, she knew and he knew that as things stood the pottery was worth very little. There were too many outstanding debts to be paid off. It would be an uphill struggle for anyone who took over from her. Perhaps John Pendennis did not realize that. ‘It will be difficult for anyone to make the business profitable again,’ she said truthfully.
‘I do understand that,’ John replied. ‘And I understand how you must be feeling. I am not a total waster, you know, I have lived through bad times myself.’ He paused.
‘Look, when I was eighteen I was cheated out of my inheritance.’ John’s expression was sombre. ‘My father fell sick, he was on his deathbed when we were thrown out of our house.’
Llinos looked at him warily. He had her at his mercy; why was he seeking her sympathy?
‘It was the middle of the night,’ John continued. ‘This man, an enemy of father’s, sent his bailiffs to throw us out into the cold night air. My father could barely stand. I begged Treharne to let us stay at least until morning but the man was ruthless.’ John sighed as if the memory was still painful.
‘I took my father to a lodging house, I managed to scrape together enough money for one night. But my father died anyway.’
He looked directly at her and his eyes were shadowed. ‘I was frightened. I ran away and left him there in that mean house for strangers to find.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Llinos said. She turned to look at him. ‘I can’t think straight, just give me a little time, will you?’
‘Of course.’ John nodded. ‘And I would like to apologize for trying to force you into selling the pottery, that was wrong of me. I would like you to know it was none of my doing that the dreadful caricature of you appeared in the paper.’
Llinos walked towards the window and stared out. John might not be the villain she imagined him to be. He had suffered as she had suffered.
‘All right, John. I’ll sell,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in putting it off. I’ll get someone to draw up the documents as soon as I can. If you are sure I can still live here, that is.’
‘I’m sure,’ John said. ‘And you won’t regret your decision.’ He forced a smile. ‘At least you will know that I will do my best to make the pottery viable again.’ He shook her hand and made for the door.
Llinos followed him. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she said. ‘Just as soon as I can make arrangements.’
She watched as he strode away towards the road. He was walking with his usual confident air, head high, shoulders straight. Appearances were deceptive; underneath his assured manner was a man who was vulnerable, who blamed himself for the way his father had died.
As she closed the door, Llinos bit her lip in an effort to stop the tears. What good was crying? She was a woman alone and she needed to survive in the best way she knew how.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘But, Polly, you can’t be thinking of leaving Jem!’ Lily stared at her friend aghast. ‘You’d be giving up all this, the fine house, the servants, everything.’
‘At the moment I am just thinking about it.’ Polly smiled. ‘Just in case, I’ve salted away quite a bit of money. And I’ve got some lovely jewels as well.’ She smiled. ‘Now let’s change the subject.’
‘Yes?’ Lily spoke warily knowing that Polly was about to say something outrageous.
‘Lovely painting this.’ Polly stood before the picture of woodland and landscape that Lily had always admired. ‘I’ve got a buyer for it.’
‘Hey!’ Lily said indignantly. ‘You can’t do that, the painting isn’t yours to sell.’ She watched as Polly lifted the picture from the wall.
‘It’s not yours either and that Matthew don’t know the value of it, do he?’ She laughed, staring at the canvas. ‘Aye, this is going to give us a little bit of security, Lily, and you need it as much as me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lily asked. ‘I don’t need anything. Matthew looks after me perfectly well.’
‘Aye, he does now,’ Polly said. ‘But what about when his old gel passes on, what then?’
‘Well, as you said, he might marry me when he’s free.’
Polly shook her head. ‘No he won’t love. I’ve found out he’s very friendly with the father of that awful Alice Sparks. They get on well, two rich old men together. They visit each other at least once a week, I’m surprised you didn’t know that about Matt, you don’t talk to him much, do you?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘Anyway, now it seems old Matt’s taken a shine to Alice.’ She shrugged. ‘No accounting for taste, mind.’
‘But that’s not possible, how would Matthew get to know her? Alice Sparks is a married woman.’
‘Don’t you know anything!’ Polly was exasperated. ‘Alice Sparks has gone home to her father, supposed to be for a rest after losing those babies but I reckon she’s got wind of the trouble at the bank and has left the old bugger Sparks in the lurch.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Lily said sulkily. ‘In any case, what good is Alice Sparks to Matthew? He can hardly marry her and I don’t see her agreeing to be his mistress, not if her father is as rich as you say.’
‘You always was a bit on the dull side when it came to life as it is.’ Polly smiled. ‘Rich people, well they have ways of making someone like Edward Sparks disappear.’
The thought of Edward Sparks disappearing was not such a bad idea. Lily remembered Mr Sparks and his whining voice well. He had treated her like dirt when she was his maid. He had a maddening way of looking down his long nose at people. ‘How do you mean he could disappear?’
‘Gawd!’ Polly sighed. ‘I knew you was daft but I didn’t think you were that soft in the head. Sparks could have an accident, you know.’ She drew her hand across her throat in a cutting gesture.
‘No, Matthew would never be involved in anything like that.’ Lily shook her head, Polly was talking a lot of rubbish. The thought of Matthew doing anything underhand was absurd.
‘We’ll see.’ Polly left the room, clattering upstairs to the studio singing tunelessly as she went. She returned a few minutes later with the picture Lily had painted.
‘See, perfect.’ Polly hung the painting on the wall and Lily had to agree that it was a pretty good copy. As yet though it was far from perfect, there were glaring mistakes in the brushwork. Still, her painting was improving every day. The thought cheered her, if Matthew did ever cast her aside, she could always find work.
‘Thank you for the compliment,’ Lily said dryly, ‘but I still can’t let you sell Matthew’s property, it would be far too risky.’
‘Don’t try to boss me around, my girl.’ Polly sounded determined. ‘I’m going to sell the painting whatever you say so you’ll just have to put up with it.
‘Don’t go acting so hoity toity, now, we got to look out for ourselves in this life. Don’t you realize you could be discarded like an old shoe any day?’
‘Do you really think Matthew is tired of me then?’
‘You never know what’s round the corner, love, specially if you don’t have a gold ring on your finger.’ Polly twisted her own wedding band thoughtfully.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lily said. ‘But you wouldn’t think seriously of leaving Jem, would you? Especially for a waster like John Pendennis?’ Lily felt uneasy, worried by Polly’s hints that Matthew might be getting tired of her. It seemed safer to change the subject.
‘That John Pendennis is nothing but an adventurer who is after all the money he can lay his hands on. You must be out of your mind to trust him.’
‘Well, put it like this, I trust him so long as I’m holding the purse strings. But I am getting tired of Jem, I’m young yet and I don�
��t want to end up nursing a sick old man.’
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos I can’t abide anyone being sick. And John, well, he’s handsome and talks nice and he’s so good in the sheets.’ She laughed wickedly. ‘He can make my body sing like no other man ever could.’
Lily sighed; there was no arguing with Polly when she was in this mood. ‘Well it’s your life and you’ll do what you want whatever I say.’
Still, she would not mind changing places with Polly. Lily would never leave a secure marriage for a Johnny-come-lately like Pendennis. Jem might be old but he was generous and he really loved Polly. For her friend to throw away all that would be madness. She tried one more time to make Polly see sense.
‘Why not stick it out with Jem? You said yourself he’s very old. Look at all the money you’d have and that lovely house. If you must have John keep him as a lover.’
Polly nodded. ‘Aye, you could be right, girl.’ She sank down into a chair still staring up at the fake painting on the wall.
‘But there’s more to John than meets the eye. He lost his wife and his baby when he was in America. That’s why he came home, he couldn’t bear to live with his sad memories.’
That did not sound like the John Pendennis Lily had met. John was a man of iron. Anyone without money or influence was beneath contempt in his eyes. He had a burning ambition to make himself rich but Polly, usually so hard-headed, could not see that. Everyone said that love was blind but she never thought it would happen to Polly.
‘You’re used to living in luxury, Polly, I hope John has got plenty of money,’ she said innocently. Of course she knew he had nothing. If John was rich why was Polly paying out for a house for him, buying him clothes, a good horse, setting him up like a gentleman?
‘Yes of course he’s rich, he came back from America with fistfuls of gold but his money is tied up.’ She winked at Lily. ‘John’s got plans, big plans, he’s going to buy the Mainwaring Pottery.’
‘Oh?’ That was an interesting piece of news. ‘What’s he going to use for money?’
‘Don’t be more stupid than you can help!’ Polly said angrily. ‘I’ve told you he’s got money.’
‘And are you putting money into this scheme?’
Polly smiled slowly and tapped her head. ‘I might be in love but I haven’t gone completely off my rocker. No, I’m not putting any money into the scheme, it’s all down to John.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lily was sceptical. ‘I bet you anything you like that he’ll ask you for money to “tide him over” or something.’
‘Well, if he does then I’ll believe you that he’s after my money.’ Polly was suddenly serious. ‘I am in love for the first time in my life, Lily, but I’m not so gullible that I can’t see the signs.’
‘Signs?’
‘Yes, bloody signs!’ Polly leaned back against the chair, her eyes closed. ‘I know I’m paying for everything right now, John’s clothes, his keep, everything but I’m giving him the chance to prove to me he’s telling the truth, that he’s got money. If he can’t do that then it’s curtains for him.’
‘What about leaving Jem?’ Lily asked reasonably. ‘Once you’ve done that, the die is cast.’
‘You underestimate me, love,’ Polly said, opening her eyes and sitting up straight. ‘John is to get his money today, or tomorrow at the latest. If he does, I’ll think about leaving my husband. Until then, I’m staying put.’ She laughed but without humour. ‘As I said, I may be in love but I’m not ready for bedlam just yet.’
Lily shook her head she would never understand the workings of her friend’s mind. Polly was clever, and hard-headed when it came to money, but she had a softness about her now that worried Lily.
‘Have you ever been in love, Lily?’ Polly said lazily. ‘I mean so much in love that you melt when a man kisses you and you feel as though all the rainbows in the world are gathering in your belly when he makes love to you?’
Lily shook her head. ‘No, thank the good Lord!’ She would never let her heart rule her head. Look at Polly: for all her bravado she was not the strong woman she appeared to be. Lily hoped in her heart that John Pendennis would fail to live up to expectations. She had no wish to lose Polly’s friendship, and lose it she would, as sure as the sun rose in the morning, if Polly left Jem.
Lily could see the scene now, Jem distraught, Matthew comforting him, telling him that Polly was no good, that her list of lovers was numbered in dozens. Then Matthew would tell Lily that she was not to see Polly again or even to speak about her. Lily would be forced to obey Matthew or lose everything.
She was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden rapping on the drawing room door. The maid peered into the room with large eyes. ‘A gentleman to see you, Mrs Lily,’ the girl said.
Lily was puzzled; no-one ever called on her, certainly no gentleman. Matthew saw to that.
Polly was on her feet at once, her eyes wide with anticipation. ‘Show him in, girl!’ she said sharply.
‘Polly, what’s going on?’
Polly put her finger to her lips and composed her face into a smile of welcome as a tall, elegantly dressed man was shown into the room.
‘Ah, Mr Robinson, how good of you to call,’ Polly said sweetly, her cultured accent back in place. ‘Come to see the painting, have you?’
The man bent over Polly’s hand and kissed it. He scarcely glanced at Lily. ‘I have indeed, dear lady,’ he said smoothly.
‘And here it is.’ Polly waved her hand towards the genuine painting standing now against the wall. ‘Please examine it, take your time, these things can’t be hurried, we all know that, don’t we, Lily?’
Lily closed her mouth tightly; she could have killed Polly. How dare she take control? How dare she offer Matthew’s property without so much as a by your leave?
‘Take it to the window, Mr Robinson, see for yourself the exquisite detail, the brushstrokes, the fine texture of the oil.’
She was talking like an experienced collector. Polly must have been doing her homework well. She had read anything she could find on the subject of art and on the particular artist whose work she was planning to sell. Her next words confirmed what Lily had been thinking.
‘This is one of the artist’s finest paintings, I’m sure you, Mr Robinson, as a discerning collector, will see that for yourself.’
Mr Robinson studied the painting for what seemed an eternity. He held it to the light and peered through a silver-handled glass that enlarged the minute detail. At last he nodded, satisfied.
‘I will take it and at the agreed price,’ he said smiling. ‘And here, as you requested, is the money in cash.’
He drew a heavy bag out of an inner pocket of his coat and Lily could hear the coins jingling inside.
Polly thanked him graciously, putting the bag on the table as though careless of its contents. ‘Might we offer you refreshments, Mr Robinson?’ she asked solicitously. ‘You must be thirsty after your long coach ride.’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Boucher,’ he said. ‘I want to make it home before nightfall. I don’t want anything to happen to my prize.’ He tapped the gilt frame of the painting.
‘Ah, I see you have a copy here.’ He stood before Lily’s painting and studied it carefully. ‘Not badly executed but done by an amateur.’ He smiled. ‘Though a gifted amateur of course. Is this your work, Mrs Boucher?’
‘No, no.’ Polly shook her head. ‘My friend Lily, here, she is the artist. You might have seen her drawings in some of our local journals?’
‘Ah indeed. Pleased to meet you, madam,’ he said. ‘If ever you need work, don’t hesitate to come to me. Mrs Boucher here has my address.’ He looked back at the copy. ‘With practice you could become extremely good. A little studying, a little more finesse and your paintings could well be saleable.’
He bowed and left the house carrying his purchase as though it was the most precious thing in the world to him. Lily was suddenly triumphant, Polly had been right to sell the painting. If
Matthew was cultivating Alice Sparks, Lily would need to look out for herself; the more money and assets she could amass, the better she would be prepared for the future.
Rosie stood at the fresh grave and raised her bowed head to look at Alice. Mrs Sparks had claimed to hate her father but now she was actually crying.
‘He never loved me.’ Alice stared at the grave adorned with a white marble headstone and threw a flower onto the newly turned earth. ‘I wish he could have cared about me, Rosie, I wanted him to love me but he never did. I tried every trick I could think of to make him notice me. All I succeeded in doing was to turn him more against me.’
It had been a shock, the sudden death of the old man. Alice’s father had seemed in robust health, had eaten a hearty supper before he went to bed but in the morning the maid found him dead.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sparks,’ Rosie said gently. ‘It’s hard for you to come home to try to make amends, only to lose your father like that.’
Alice sighed heavily. ‘At the end Daddy must have cared about me because he made sure I would inherit his wealth.’
This was the third time they had visited the grave in as many days. It was as though, even now, Alice was seeking her father’s approval. Rosie felt sorry for her; Alice had never been loved for herself. Even Mr Eynon Morton-Edwards had cast her aside when he no longer wanted her.
‘Come on,’ Rosie said, ‘let’s go home, it’s getting cold here.’
‘Poor father.’ Alice allowed Rosie to draw her towards the gates of the cemetery. Outside, on the dusty lane, the elegant coach was waiting to take them back to the house.
‘Your father reached a good age, remember,’ Rosie said. ‘I know it’s not much comfort but he went when he was in good health and enjoying life.’ She touched Alice’s arm. ‘And you had come home to him, what more could anyone ask?’ Rosie bit her lip. ‘My mam died too young,’ she said softly.
‘I know,’ Alice touched her hand. ‘We’re both alone now, we’ll just have to look after each other, won’t we?’ She was forgetting that Rosie had a husband. Even if Watt was now a husband in name only, Rosie was still married to him.
