Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  She snuggled into the warmth of his body and closed her eyes, and when she fell asleep, she dreamed that she and Jamie owned the whole of the land spreading above the town of Swansea and that she had given her husband fine sons to till the soil. And in her dream, giving birth was beautiful and painless, the way Fon would have liked it to be.

  It was a good dream, and in the morning she woke Jamie, kissing his mouth, rousing him to hardening awareness of her as his arms encircled her. ‘I dreamed we had sons, Jamie,’ she said softly.

  He held her close, his hands caressing her with skill, even though he was scarcely awake. ‘I’ll do my best to make that dream come true, colleen,’ he whispered against her neck. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

  She sighed in apprehension; not yet, her mind cried, she didn’t want children yet, not until she was ready for them.

  But as he kissed and caressed her, she closed her eyes, surrendering herself to him with a feeling of joy. Everything was going to be all right, of course it was; nothing could hurt them, now or ever.

  Will stared at the busy Cardiff street, aware of the strangeness of the place, of the rapid progress of carriages that jostled between the crowds of people, scarcely giving them time to jump clear of the striding hooves and spinning wheels. The noise was incredible; voices were raised of necessity, and everywhere people seemed to be making wide gestures with parasols, walking sticks, or even their arms, as though to emphasize what their voices were failing to express.

  He came to the huge shop where Hari Grenfell had a boot-and-shoe counter and pushed open the door of Bell’s Emporium with a sigh of relief. At least indoors it was moderately quieter than the street outside.

  The shop was something of a bazaar, crowded with ladies in large gowns picking with inquisitive fingers at displays of headless dummies draped in elegant clothes set in an alcove bearing the legend ‘Costume Room’.

  Further into the long room, almost right at the end, Will could see a small desk at which an elderly lady sat writing painstakingly in an open ledger. This must be the owner. He had not yet met her; she was strangely elusive, and most of his time in Cardiff had been spent in finding himself suitable accommodation.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said politely, and after a moment the lady looked up at him, spectacles perched on the end of her aquiline nose, grey hair hidden under a scrap of lace.

  ‘Yes?’ she enquired, a trifle coldly. Will’s smile froze; it wasn’t going to be much fun working with such a dragon, he decided.

  ‘William Davies – I’m Mrs Grenfell’s manager,’ he explained patiently.

  Her frosty gaze didn’t waver, though she rose to her feet and stared at him more closely. ‘And I am Mrs Bell,’ she said, as though he should fall back in amazement at the revelation.

  Seeing that her words had very little effect on him, she waved her hand in dismissal. ‘You’d better run along downstairs, then, hadn’t you?’

  She watched him as he looked about him for the stairwell.

  ‘Over there, behind the curtain,’ she said impatiently.

  Will bowed and, with a sigh of relief, left her and made his way down the stairs.

  He gazed round him with a feeling of dismay. If Hari thought that her stock would sell here, then she was sadly mistaken. This place was dark and silent, with no windows and very little lighting. To tempt a customer into such a dismal place would be the work of a genius.

  Will made a quick inventory of the stock and saw that virtually nothing had sold in the few weeks since Hari had placed it here. She was wasting her money by renting the premises in Bell’s Emporium, and he would have to tell her so as soon as possible.

  He returned to the main salon and confronted Mrs Bell. ‘I’m not pleased,’ he said evenly, and almost smiled as her greying eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ she said in annoyance. ‘Let me tell you, young man, that your Mrs Grenfell is privileged to have part of my very successful store. I could have let that spot many times over, don’t you realize that?’

  ‘I doubt if you could have let the space as anything other than a storage area,’ Will said firmly, ‘and once I apprise Mrs Grenfell of the facts, then I’m sure she’ll wish to make other arrangements.’

  Mrs Bell fanned herself with her hand. ‘Such audacity!’ she said, her coolness vanishing. ‘Come with me to my private rooms. I have something to say to you.’

  Will followed her upstairs, determined to hold his ground. Hari would be better off cancelling the deal altogether than continuing to throw money away on such a useless venture as this had turned out to be.

  Mrs Bell’s quarters were light and airy, handsomely furnished and smelling of beeswax polish. ‘Sit,’ she said commandingly, and Will good-naturedly seated himself in the chair she’d indicated.

  ‘What would please you, then, young man?’ she asked, leaning back in a deep, plushly upholstered chair. ‘I mean, would you like the front window, perhaps, for a display?’ She was being sarcastic, but Will smiled at her, realizing that she was not quite the dragon she’d first appeared.

  ‘That would be a good start,’ he said, quietly. ‘Mrs Grenfell’s window displays are a feature that would attract a great deal of attention.’ He paused. ‘But then I’m sure you know that.’

  ‘Ah, but would Mrs Grenfell travel here personally?’ she said quickly. ‘I hear she has a husband and a child to care for. She’d scarcely wish to move about the country, would she?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Will conceded. ‘But she has a protégée, a lady so talented that you must have heard of her.’

  ‘Must I?’ Mrs Bell sounded dubious. ‘Who is this protégée?’

  Will’s throat was dry. ‘Her name is Mrs Eline Harries. She designed the ladies’ boots and shoes with a wide removable cuff – I believe the line was called the cloak boots and shoes?’

  ‘Ah.’ Mrs Bell’s attention was caught. ‘Tell me a little more about this Mrs Harries. Has she got any ties that would keep her at home?’

  ‘She’s a young widow,’ Will said. ‘She has no children, and I think I could persuade her to come to Cardiff, at least for long enough to set up a window display.’

  Will was by no means sure he could do any such thing, but matters could not be allowed to rest as they were – Hari would never sell her stock. In any case, he was looking for an excuse to see Eline, to talk to her; he had missed her more than he’d ever thought possible.

  ‘Very well.’ Mrs Bell capitulated so suddenly that Will was thrown off guard.

  ‘You mean you want to have Eline, here, to actually do a window display in one of the big windows?’ he asked, and a small smile etched the edges of Mrs Bell’s mouth.

  ‘That’s what I mean. Now go away, young man, and don’t come back until you have something more than criticism to offer me.’

  Will found himself out in the street, walking aimlessly along through the crowds. His mind was racing: return to Swansea again, try to see Eline and persuade her that this would be a fine opportunity for her – but would she listen?

  He was afraid she might be involved with this man Temple; at least that’s what Gwyneth’s words had implied. Gwyneth. Will took a deep breath. He had been foolish to take the girl to bed. It had all happened on a whim; he was feeling angry at Eline, and the wine had made his blood race. Gwyneth was a very attractive girl, after all. Still, excuses were no good. God knows what she would expect of him now; total dedication and fidelity, no doubt.

  What had made matters worse was that Gwyneth had not been the well-practised woman of the world he’d anticipated. He’d lain with her thinking her experienced and ready for an hour’s dalliance as he was. It had come as a shock to find that she was a virgin and he was the man who had taken that away from her.

  He had been weak, he admitted it. The feeling of having conquered the world that lying with a woman invariably brought him was too much to resist. He was human, a full-blooded man, and when Gwyneth had been so warm, so loving, he had ta
ken her eagerly. The knowledge that she wanted him so badly had been a balm to his pride and release from the emotions so long contained. But at what cost, he wondered ruefully.

  Later, when Will had made his way back to his small suite of rooms in one of the narrow back-street boarding houses, he quickly packed a small bag. He would spend a few days in Swansea this time, explain to Hari the problems of the shop in Cardiff and tell her how he intended to remedy them. Then he must see Gwyneth, make his apologies, beg her to forget that the incident ever took place. Then, only then, could he feel free to approach Eline with his proposition.

  If Mrs Rees, his landlady, was surprised at his sudden departure, the coins he pushed into her hand quickly mollified her. She agreed that she would keep his rooms aired and ready for his return, and, no, she would allow no-one else the use of them in his absence. This last promise he took leave to doubt, but there was no pinning down a lady the like of the redoubtable Mrs Rees, who was more used to whores and their casual amours than she was to respectable businessmen.

  Glancing behind him at the tall grim building, Will knew that he must find more suitable rooms once he was settled; and of course somewhere must be found for Eline, if she agreed to come to Cardiff.

  He felt in a light-hearted mood as he strode along the street. He was going home to Swansea, if only for a short time, and soon, very soon, he would be seeing Eline.

  ‘There, that’s the last of the tatties picked.’ Tommy’s voice was hoarse with weariness, and behind him, Fon picked up a small potato that Tommy had missed.

  ‘Here,’ she said, smiling, ‘pop this into your sack. There’s nothing going to waste on this farm.’

  ‘Duw, missis, you got sharp eyes,’ Tommy said, thrusting the potato into the mouth of the sack. He lifted it up on to his thin shoulder and carried it towards the waiting cart.

  Fon watched him move towards Jamie, who was up on the cart, with his son at his side, rearranging the sacks of vegetables in order to make more room. Jamie rubbed his arm across his forehead, and his thick dark hair stood up on end, accentuating his broad forehead and fine-boned jawline.

  Her heart ached with love for him. She couldn’t wait for the quiet times in the evening when they were alone together in the farmhouse. Soon all that would end; Tommy would be moving in with them, taking the small bedroom next to Patrick’s. Then the only times they would have alone would be when they were in their bed.

  Tommy’s mother had moved out of her cottage earlier that day, taking her small daughter with her. Once Tommy had cleaned up the little place, it would be occupied by the labourer Jamie had taken on to help with the extra land.

  Fon’s spirits sank. How could they afford the extra expense? The labourer had a wife and a young family; they would all expect to live on what Jamie could pay. It was a bad time to be taking on extra responsibilities, just when farming seemed to be meeting with hard times.

  ‘Let’s get these tatties put down,’ Jamie called to Tommy. ‘We’ll get them in the old shed and cover them with grass, and next week we’ll be down the market with them.’

  Fon sighed; of course they needed an extra hand. There would be more work with the sheep, for a start. The animals would have to be sheared before long, and Gary could not manage it all alone.

  The cows in calf still needed close watching, and now Jamie was proposing to spend some time in the market, he would be worn out with it all.

  She followed the slowly moving cart to the hollow of land to the rear of the farmhouse, where Jamie was resting the potatoes. Patrick, sitting at the back of the cart, clung to her hand, and Fon saw that he was chewing on an earth-covered potato.

  ‘Uch a fi,’ she said, scoldingly, ‘Fon’s got to wash that before you can eat it, and cook it in the pot on the fire too, otherwise it’ll make your tummy bad.’

  Patrick gave up his prize without resistance and toddled after the horse and cart, his plump legs working like pistons as he tried to keep up.

  Fon left Patrick with Jamie while she saw to the stew and cut up huge chunks of freshly baked bread for the evening meal. She sang as she worked, determined to stop worrying about the future of the farm. Jamie was a man grown; he was more experienced at farm matters than she could ever be, and perhaps he was right, risks sometimes needed to be taken. And yet she couldn’t help but see the figures in the accounts book and how alarmingly the costs were rising above the profits.

  Later, she took advantage of what might be one of her last evenings of privacy before Tommy came to live with them and stripped to the waist, washing out her long hair in the tin bath in the kitchen.

  She sensed rather than heard Jamie come up behind her. He cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed the nape of her neck.

  ‘You are so beautiful, colleen,’ he said softly.

  ‘Don’t!’ she reacted instinctively. ‘Patrick will see.’

  Jamie kissed her again. ‘No, he won’t, I’ve put him to bed, where he obligingly fell fast asleep almost at once. I’ve got you in my power now, Fon, my colleen, and I am your husband, and you will remember that you promised to obey me in all things?’

  ‘I promised,’ Fon said smiling. ‘But let me dry my hair, Jamie, it’s dripping all over the place.’

  He turned her over on her back and set her gently against the softness of the blanket he’d put ready on the floor.

  ‘Ah, got all this planned, have you?’ Fon pushed the wet hair out of her eyes and saw Jamie poised above her. He smelt of fresh soap and water, and his hair, too, was hanging in wet strands across his forehead.

  ‘You fool!’ she said tenderly, and then he lowered himself towards her, and she gasped with the suddenness of it, and then she was no longer laughing but clinging to him as though she would never let him go.

  It was dark when Fon opened her eyes. She sat up in bed wondering what had woken her. Then she heard the sound of banging coming from somewhere at the back of the house.

  ‘Jamie!’ she said urgently. ‘Wake up, something’s wrong!’

  He was out of bed in an instant, pulling on his trews. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! It sounds as if the bull is loose again, and in a fearful temper, by the noise of him.’

  Quickly Fon pulled on her skirts. A cold fear gripped her as she remembered the way the bull had of looking at her with evil eyes.

  It was difficult to see in the darkness, and she heard Jamie’s voice calling urgently for her to stay back, out of harm’s way. She held her shawl around her shoulders, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw that Jamie was making for the shed where he’d stored the spare tatties.

  She heard his voice shouting at the enraged animal, which had somehow become trapped inside the shed. Already some of the wooden sides were splintered into fragments, and, as Fon watched, the bull broke out of the shed and careered off across the fields.

  ‘Jamie!’ she called, running frantically across the ground, ‘are you all right?’

  He was standing where the door of the shed had once been. In one hand was a piece of wood with which, she guessed, he had fended off the bull; in the other was the lantern, which Jamie was holding high above his head.

  Before him, the ground was stamped into nothing but a bed of turned-up soil; the potatoes were gone, crushed into nothingness.

  She flung herself into his arms and held him fast. ‘Jamie, thank God you are all right,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Aye.’ His tone was dull. ‘I’m all right, but the tatties have gone, and, worse, so has the Black Devil.’

  He led her away from the ruined shed. ‘This was purposely done,’ he said. ‘There is no way the bull could shut himself inside the shack and close the door.’

  ‘But who?’ Fon asked in bewilderment. ‘Who would do this to us?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ Jamie said, ‘but I intend to find out.’

  Fon felt a chill of apprehension. Someone, it seemed, hated Jamie enough to wish him harm. She shivered as he led her back to the farmhouse, glancing b
ehind her at the darkness. Somewhere out there was an enemy; but what face did that unknown enemy wear?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Eline stared at the trees surrounding her, at the great lake where the swans glided elegantly along the surface of the water, at the soft clouds above her head, anywhere but along the pathway where, at any moment now, Will would come walking towards her.

  He had asked to see her, and Eline, opening his letter, had felt hope surge through her. Her hands had been trembling as she’d read his signature, and in that moment, she realized how very much she had missed him.

  Common sense told her not to see him again, but she had been unable to resist the opportunity of being with him, seeing his handsome face, watching the way his mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at her; then she could pretend, if only for a few moments, that everything was all right between them.

  Her hopes were false, because his letter had been formal enough; he needed, it said, to talk to her about business. Eline told herself she was foolish to feel such disappointment at the lack of any warmth and personal communication in his words, but she had agreed to speak with him.

  Perhaps, she thought hopefully, the business proposition was simply a ploy, an excuse for them to be together again. She loved Will; she wanted to live out her life with him; why not tell him so and test his reaction? If he turned her down, then at least she would know where she stood.

  Something caught her eye, and looking along the path she saw the tall, familiar figure striding towards her. She would know those broad shoulders and that easy stride anywhere. Now that she had set eyes on him, her gaze seemed fixed on him; she couldn’t look away and she didn’t want to. She drank in the sight of him, the square jaw and strong mouth. How she longed to feel that mouth capture hers.

  Then he was there, beside her, seating himself, not too close and yet not leaving too much distance between them. His eyes were unfathomable, and suddenly Eline found that she was frightened; how could she ask him a direct question about his feelings for her? She simply was not brave enough.