The following morning, Cadwalader did not rise and disappear as he promised. He was curious to see the woman who feared him without exchanging a word with him. He hid from everyone but Olwen.
‘You promised to go!’ she hissed when she went to the barn to make sure he had gone. ‘Now you’d better stay and I’ll bring you some food to see you on your way.’ Her disobedience alone was reward enough, but Cadwalader’s grateful thanks gave her satisfaction too.
It was late evening before he departed, taking with him a pack of food supplied by a nervous Olwen. What he had seen of the comings and goings of the house was of great interest to him and there were a few surprises. For the rest of the day and throughout the night he pondered on them.
* * *
Emma was pleased with the result of her dinner party. Both Walter and John called again and they both seemed interested in Daisy. She sympathized with Pansy, but warned, ‘Pansy my dear, you must be more amusing, more light-hearted. I won’t have either of you being too familiar with young men, of course, not even those whom we know well like John Maddern, but you must try and – shine, dear.’
‘I don’t mean to take everyone’s attention from you, Pansy, I really don’t,’ Daisy said anxiously. ‘In fact I give Walter to you with my best wishes!’
‘Daisy!’ Emma warned. ‘Don’t be so condescending to your sister!’
‘I was joking, Mamma, Pansy knows I was joking,’ Daisy protested. ‘Pansy would be too discerning to take someone like him!’
‘Of course she would, but,’ wondered their mother, ‘when I have arranged for so many young men to meet her and she finds none to her liking, I am curious to know what kind of person she would choose! I confess that sometimes I despair of ever finding out.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Pansy smiled, ‘I really am most content here with you and Dadda.’
‘And we are happy to have you both with us – at an age when most girls are flown the nest, building homes of their own.’
The barbed comment didn’t go unnoticed by either of the girls and they shared a secret smile.
‘We love having you here, never think different but,’ Emma went on, ‘we don’t want you to settle so deeply into a world arranged by us that you miss the opportunity of a husband and beautiful daughters of your own.’
She spoke to both of them, but it was at Pansy she looked as she spoke, believing that Daisy’s ability to attract men was lacking in the quieter, gentler sister.
‘You must recommence your dancing lessons before winter keeps us in for weeks on end, Pansy,’ she said firmly. ‘And I’ll have no arguing.’
* * *
The gifts of food continued to arrive at Olwen’s door and although her parents would not offend the young man by refusing or returning them, they knew that the sign of affection did not please their daughter. Enyd too found the idea distasteful.
‘He is such an aggressive looking man I don’t like to think of him wandering about here at night, especially when Spider and Dan are at the alehouse enjoying themselves, and I’m here in this delicate condition, with only Mistress Powell to protect me,’ she whined.
Dan promised that he would not leave her to sing at the alehouse even though it meant a few extra coins to put into their small savings.
‘You only worry because of the child,’ he said. ‘A woman fears more when she has another life to think about. Brave you’ll be when the baby is safely with us.’
Olwen listened to the complaining and the reassurances and wondered what Enyd would find to complain of when the baby was no longer an excuse. She thought that for Dan, the years ahead might be less contented than he had hoped when he had taken Enyd to the church to make her his wife.
* * *
It was to Daisy that Walter gave the news that Pitcher’s application had been approved by the Postmaster General in London. She had agreed to go to Neath with him and take tea with friends of his. On the way home, sitting in a coach he had hired to take them, he told her that the letter had arrived that morning with Ben Gammon.
‘But why didn’t you say earlier?’ she said after telling him how pleased she was and thanking him for putting her father’s case so successfully.
‘I wanted to delay the pleasure of seeing your delight,’ he said. ‘It was like holding an unopened parcel, knowing what was inside, wanting what was inside, but stretching the anticipation until it was impossible to wait a moment longer.’
‘Dadda will be so pleased,’ she said.
‘I wouldn’t be upset if you showed your pleasure by kissing me,’ he said, looking deeply into her eyes.
She touched his cheek in the merest brush of her lips and turned away.
‘I think I will do as you did and wait until Dadda is sitting quietly with Mamma and casually tell it,’ she said.
‘Daisy, will you come with me to church on Sunday morning?’ he asked, soberly.
‘That I cannot,’ she shook her head with earnest regret. ‘We worship as a family; even Violet, who is married, still comes with us.’ Then she took pity on him, and added, ‘But you could perhaps come with us?’
‘I will call for you on Sunday, and until then, I will dream of you,’ he said.
Daisy could not keep the news to herself for a moment. She burst in through the door of the alehouse and called excitedly for her parents.
‘Mamma, Dadda, come quick I have such news!’
Emma ran down the stairs her hand over her heart. Surely the stupid girl hadn’t said ‘yes’ to a man like Walter? No, she couldn’t! When she saw Daisy’s flushed face her worst dread seemed to have become a fact. Through her disappointment, in a kaleidoscope of fractured images she thought of the choice between Daisy marrying Walter or staying a spinster. Of how she could build him up to sound more important than he really was. Of how she could best discourage Daisy before people had heard of how the friendship was growing. Of how far below her aspirations for her daughters she had fallen. With a fixed smile on her face, she held her breath.
‘Dadda, you have been granted permission to collect the Post!’ Daisy said, holding out the letter and hugging her father.
Emma cried, loudly and in an unladylike howl. The relief of not having Walter to explain to her friends was such a joy that she hardly took in the real reason for Daisy’s excitement. When she did, she cried again.
‘My dear daughter! Now you can say goodbye to that common person and we can forget all about him!’
* * *
Kenneth was most upset when Pitcher went over to tell him the change of address for the receiving house. He gave vent to a long list of expletives that startled even Pitcher, who had been an alehouse keeper for most of his life. Pitcher stood there while the man attacked him verbally, and thanked heaven that Kenneth was a small man and unlikely to attack him physically.
‘I won’t say I’m sorry,’ Pitcher said when he was given a moment to speak. ‘The way you’ve taken advantage of Barrass would make that a lie. And the fact that I wanted this for myself and went all out to get it would make an apology nonsensical. But if I can help in any other way to make up for your loss, then I will. I can’t say fairer.’
‘Barrass won’t be sleeping with us any longer, mind, you can tell him from me that he’s a traitor!’ Kenneth said as Pitcher walked down the bank and towards the alehouse. ‘And tell him he won’t get any more food either!’
‘All right, man! I’ll tell him! That’s if he hasn’t worked that out for himself!’ Pitcher shouted back. ‘You damned old fool!’
‘Ungrateful louse!’
‘Maggot of sour apples!’
‘Friend of traitors!’
Emma went across later that day, and she stepped back as the door opened, unsure of her reception. But Ceinwen just nodded and gestured for her to enter with her usual vague welcome.
‘Can I come in?’ Emma asked hesitantly.
‘Of course come in. I thought to come and see you,’ Ceinwen said, ‘but decided it’s best to let things betwee
n our men cool down a bit. Glad to see you though.’
‘I’m sorry we’ve taken the bit of weekly money from you, Ceinwen, truly I am,’ Emma said, inspecting the chair for dust before sitting down. ‘There was no choice really. Pitcher and I want to build our business up and we needed the post to increase our trade. It’ll make a greater difference to us than it did to you, you must see that?’
‘For sure,’ Ceinwen nodded. ‘I don’t think badly of you. I’m certain that Kenneth would have done the same if he was wearing your hat. The truth is, Emma, it’s a good chance for me to make him find a job where he has to work! Never did much, especially not since young Barrass took to helping him, just strutted around looking important and getting under my feet.’
The two women chuckled and spent a pleasant hour discussing the uselessness of men, and when Emma left, she slipped a few shillings into Ceinwen’s hand.
‘I’ll see you have that every week, to make up for your loss,’ Emma said. ‘Even if we did do you a favour!’ Still chuckling, she hastily hid her face when she passed Kenneth walking up the bank.
‘Dared to come and say you’re sorry?’ he said sarcastically. Unable to trust herself to speak, visualizing some of the stories she had just heard from Ceinwen, Emma tightened her lips together to hold captive her laughter, and nodded.
* * *
On the first day that the letters were collected at Pitcher’s alehouse there was trouble. Barrass handed the leather bag to Walter as usual but instead of letters sliding out on to the desk, when the bag was uptilted, it was empty.
‘The mail, Barrass?’ Walter asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me that there were no letters for today’s collection? Seems I needn’t have bothered to transfer the business, the need has completely dried up. In your pocket are they? That’s against regulations, mind.’ Walter looked at Barrass when there was no response and saw that the lack of letters was a complete surprise.
‘But – I put them there myself,’ Barrass gasped at last. He took the bag and stared into it as if by sheer belief he could make the mail appear. Walter began to demand explanations but Barrass ignored his questions and frowning, tried to visualize a point at which the letters could have been taken. It was Kenneth. It must have been Kenneth. A revenge for having the business taken from him. But when?
Taking the rest of the Gower mail, he left Walter assuring him the matter would be resolved immediately, but with no idea where to begin. When he set off on his journey, he left Pitcher organizing the local children into a search party that showed every sign of becoming a fun day for all.
The children and those who had nothing better to do set off with clear instructions on the area in which they were to look, but within moments of leaving Pitcher, groups began to gather and many did nothing more energetic than sit just out of sight of the alehouse and play games before returning with pretended exhaustion to claim the money Pitcher had promised them for their help.
The letters were found in the quarry, held down with a large stone and unharmed. When Barrass went to tell Kenneth they had been found he thought the man showed no surprise and a lot of satisfaction.
‘There’s no point in telling Daniels, but I am sure Kenneth did it to try and show Walter you aren’t capable of managing the mail,’ Barrass said.
‘Watch him, boy,’ Pitcher warned. ‘Watch him.’
* * *
For the first time since she began work at Ddole House, Olwen was glad of the rule which made her walk to church with the family when they were there, and the rest of the staff. Without that protection, she could see no way of preventing Madoc from walking with her, boldly and openly declaring his interest in her. The plan of sending Dan to thank Madoc for his gifts no longer kept him away. He began the habit of meeting her as she left Ddole House and walking her home. He attempted to take hold of her hand but this she avoided by the simple expedient of gathering flowers and filling her hands with them.
To his comments she answered as briefly as she could, never adding anything to extend a conversation.
‘Surely anyone else would see at once that his attentions were unwelcome?‘ she sighed to Mistress Powell. ‘Besides the uneasiness which I feel when I’m with him, there’s the added problem of Barrass,’ she went on gloomily. ‘If the gossip makers begin to talk about our regular meetings, Barrass might believe that I’ve stopped loving him and doing as Mamma and Dadda want, looking elsewhere for a husband!’
‘Love is always a mixture of gloom and melancholy as well as happiness, dear child,’ Mistress Powell said with a chuckle. Lowering her voice she added, ‘As you see if you bend your ear in the direction of Enyd.’
‘I would never be such a complaining scold if Barrass were my husband!’
‘No, Olwen, I don’t think you’d ever be that.’
* * *
With the summer bringing long days and short nights, deliveries of goods from across the water arrived long after midnight. Even after they had been landed, there was still the problem of getting them to the customers. In winter few ventured out of doors except to visit the alehouses and inns. In summertime, children spent hours after their work was done wandering through the fields and woods, adults sat and enjoyed the warm evenings, and the result was that movement, without everyone knowing what you were at, was all but impossible.
Markus called at Ddole House one day to discuss with William and Edwin the best way of arranging deliveries and the collection of money.
‘We’ve never used the post,’ William said. ‘With Kenneth’s sharp eyes watching and him so disloyal to his neighbours it was always too much of a risk. Kenneth, and the fact of so few letters making ours too obvious. But with Kenneth gone and the increase in the number of letters of late we might reconsider. Barrass has in his bag sometimes as many as thirty, and I have been writing regularly to some of our – friends – with the intention of creating a habit. I think we can send money inside a letter.’
Markus was not sure, but he agreed that starting with a few, they could at least try it.
‘Barrass would have to know,’ he said, ‘and that boy I do not like. Refused straight out to carry our letters separate from the rest. Such impertinence for one so young. The boy wears his morality like Emma Palmer wears a new hat; with the price still attached! Yet morality and young girls is something aside. Who does he think he is?’
‘He’s young, and that isn’t a crime, it’s something he will outgrow as we all have,’ Edwin said. ‘And for myself, I wish he would go somewhere else to do his growing!’
‘If we do it, it will have to be as normal post and that is very risky you must agree. He would have to be given a false name on his book for the sender, or the money could be traced back.’ William disliked Barrass too, but was honest enough to know that they needed his cooperation.
‘I had in mind a false name for the recipient too!’ Edwin said. ‘Don’t worry about Barrass. I think we can be sure of his loyalty.’ Together the men worked out a way they could deal with the plan safely.
‘Next we must talk to Barrass and explain how he will help,’ William said. ‘He will have to be told everything so he can be prepared for any trouble.’
Barrass had long ago decided that if he wanted to be an accepted member of the small community he had to support them in all their activities and that meant accepting that the extra income from the boats was essential to the comfort and financial stability of most of the families. Without the shillings earned by taking part in the deliveries, most families would have been hard put to survive on the small wages the men and women could earn from the local farmers.
Barrass had never directly benefited from the illegal trade, refusing both contraband and payment when he had been forced to assist them, but rather than be an outsider, he had agreed to support them with his silence. Carrying the payments from customers was a step deeper into involvement. But he agreed.
* * *
Markus walked the cliffs with an ease that surprised sighted p
eople. He had spent a childhood scrambling over them, exploring every bend and fold in the grassy slopes and learning the shape of the rugged shoreline better than most knew their nearest field. When he had been blinded, the scene had become etched on his mind and from memory alone he walked without hesitation, carrying a stick which he appeared not to need, an ill-tempered expression on his face that prevented all but a few foolish strangers offering him assistance.
His servant, who sat outside his porch until instructed to follow him, usually knew the moment there were any changes in the cliff paths. During his free time, he would walk the paths and places used by Markus and note any slight alteration.
Weather broke up the hard earth and rain sent it tumbling down the slopes. Rocks were sometimes removed for building or during children’s play. Holes appeared and became deeper. Every change was reported and the servant, who was known only as, ‘him by the door’, would take his master and allow him to examine the alteration to the terrain so there would be no need for further help.
The fine weather had meant that children had been out in the evenings, allowed by their parents to have an hour or two of freedom before going to sleep, and several of them had begun to make a den high above the gulleys where Dan and Spider set their traps for lobsters.
Not knowing about this, Markus walked briskly across the top of the steep slope at the edge of the small fields where crops waved like a reflection of the sea below. He fell over an abandoned stone, crashed awkwardly against a pile of rocks and lay, stunned, for several minutes.
He crawled across the stones and branches the children had gathered for their play, disorientated by the fall, his head bleeding profusely where he had caught it on a jagged rock. He lost his walking stick and was afraid to risk standing in case he was closer to the edge of a further fall. Fearfully, he stayed on his knees and gradually made his way towards his house. The breeze rising from the sea on his left was his only clue to his position, and it wasn’t until he was on the narrow path, with hedges of blackthorn on either side of him, that he found his place in the dark world he inhabited.
The Posthorn Inn Page 21
