by Iris Gower
Geoffrey smiled. ‘I’ll let my father know, he’ll be so proud to have an heir.’
Sarah felt the weak tears come to her eyes, it seemed that her husband’s approbation was more important to her than she would ever have guessed.
Emily looked down at the papers in her hand, a smile of joy on her lips.
‘You look like the cat that got the cream,’ John said softly and Emily held out her hand to him.
‘She’s ours, Pammy is really and truly our daughter, John, now no one can take her away from us.’
John took her hand in his. ‘I know, love, and I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for our Sarah. What sort of mother gives up her first born in such a way?’
‘You are a dear, sentimental man,’ Emily said indulgently. ‘Look, love, Sarah was too young when she had Pammy, she wasn’t ready for the responsibility of bringing up a child properly. Sarah was not able to forge a bond with her baby then, but this time it will be different, she will love her new son to distraction, you’ll see.’
John’s face brightened. ‘Aye, she seems proud of him, all right and he’s a fine boy, healthy and with such lungs on him, he’ll be a tenor in the choir, if I’m any judge.’
Emily felt a stirring of pain within her, she was very conscious that she could never give John the son he so obviously wanted. She rose and looked at herself in the elegant mirror that hung over the fireplace; she was a young woman, in the prime of her childbearing years, it wasn’t fair that by some freak of nature she could not have a child of her own.
For a moment, her joy at having adopted Pammy was swamped by feelings of frustration, then she pushed the dark thoughts away.
John, as always, sensed her mood. He rose and took her in his arms, cradling her close to him. ‘You are all I ever wanted, Emily,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’
She touched his cheek lightly and a great sense of happiness filled her. ‘I do know, my love.’ She put her arms around his neck and clung to him telling herself that she should count her blessings, she was the luckiest woman in the world.
Sarah held her son close, coaxing him to suckle at her breast. His small, rosebud mouth sought and found and he clamped on to her with such determination that Sarah laughed out loud in joy.
‘Look at him, Geoffrey,’ she exclaimed, ‘he will grow up a fine child, he knows where to find his nourishment, all right.’
Geoffrey was fascinated by the boy, he stared down at his son in wonder and Sarah exulted at the feeling of power that Geoffrey’s softened attitude gave her.
‘Geoffrey,’ she said softly, tentatively, ‘come here.’ She held out her hand and Geoffrey drew nearer the bed touching her fingers lightly with his own.
‘Will we have more children, Geoffrey?’ she asked him quietly.
‘Perhaps,’ he said reaching out a finger to touch his son’s petal-soft cheek.
‘Geoffrey,’ Sarah looked at him pleadingly, ‘couldn’t we try to make a good marriage together? Our son deserves parents who will be close and care for him.’
Geoffrey looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes. ‘Sarah, I must confess that I have a new respect for you after witnessing your bravery during childbirth. I want us to have a successful marriage as much as you do.’ He paused and rubbed his forehead. ‘I must be honest with you, however, I can never love you as a man should love a woman, I do not have that power within me. You must accept that I am different from other men, I have other needs, it is something I can’t help and in any case wouldn’t change.’
He smiled without any of his usual sarcasm. ‘I will be good to you, Sarah, as a friend is good. I will provide for you and our son and I would fight to the death for both of you if you were in danger.’ He shrugged. ‘That is all I can promise you.’
Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. ‘Very well, Geoffrey,’ she said with new determination, ‘I will try to be a good wife and I will be a good mother, that I will promise you.’ If there was regret in her voice, Geoffrey chose to ignore it.
There was a knock on the bedroom door and Sarah covered her breasts quickly.
‘It is my father,’ Geoffrey said, a pleased smile on his face, ‘the old boy can’t keep away from his grandson.’
Old Mr Frogmore seemed rejuvenated, his face lit up as he saw the picture of an apparently happy family scene, his son sitting at the bedside of his wife and child, his hand holding that of his wife, his other hand on his child’s cheek.
‘You don’t know how happy you have made me, both of you.’ His glance encompassed Geoffrey and Sarah then came to rest on the sleeping face of the baby.
‘May I hold him?’ he asked and Sarah smiled, gently handing over her son.
‘Be careful with him, he has just been feeding, don’t shake him about too much.’
Old Mr Frogmore’s eyes misted with tears as the baby waved indignant fists at him, eyes screwed up as though trying to see into the distance.
‘He’s so handsome,’ Mr Frogmore said raggedly, his voice trembling, ‘so very handsome.’
He handed the baby back to Sarah and made a visible effort to control his emotions. ‘What are you going to call him?’
‘We thought, Jack Winford after you, father,’ Geoffrey answered quickly and Sarah, catching his warning glance, remained silent. On reflection, she rather liked the names, just as she liked old Mr Frogmore. ‘Winford is a fine, strong name,’ she said softly. ‘I’d be honoured to call my son after you.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Father,’ she added almost shyly.
Mr Frogmore seemed to swell with pride. ‘I will keep my promise and sign over to you some money and lands at once, Sarah. Some securities I will put in trust for my grandson so that his future is assured.’
He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a long velvet box. ‘In the mean time, this little bauble is for you, my dear.’
Sarah’s gaze softened, her father-in-law was so kind to her. She prized open the box and saw glittering within its plush interior a necklace of emeralds and diamonds which matched both her earrings and the ring Geoffrey had given her.
‘I wish I could say they were family heirlooms, my dear,’ Mr Frogmore said, ‘but I must admit I came by them in London a few years ago.’ He smiled drily. ‘I do believe they once belonged to your step-mother, Mrs Emily Miller. As they say, it’s an ill wind that blows no good.’
Sarah felt momentarily sorry for Emily, to have lost such priceless gems must have hurt unbearably. But then Emily had made a great fortune, she could afford to buy all the gems she wanted now, so why feel sorry for her?
‘They are beautiful and I will treasure them,’ she said and lay back against the pillows suddenly tired.
‘I will leave you to rest, now.’ Mr Frogmore was nothing if not perceptive. ‘Conserve your energy, my dear, you must look after yourself so that you regain your strength quickly.’
He left the room and Geoffrey smiled at her in approval before following his father from the room.
Sarah looked down at the sparkling emeralds and diamonds and then at the face of her sleeping son and for the first time in her life, she knew that possessions were worthless baubles, that the real riches of life came only with love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘Well, I say we ought to run her and her gallery out of the neighbourhood.’ Nina Parks’s strident voice echoed among the people gathered in the church hall. ‘That Eline Harries has brought nothing but ill luck to this village from the moment she came here.’
‘How is getting rid of the gallery going to fill the bellies of our children?’ It was Carys Morgan who broke the uneasy silence. She looked down at the child in her arms, her expression anxious.
‘My little one is wasting away under my very eyes,’ she said brokenly, ‘and my Sam drinking what little money we have. He is hoping the drink will take away the pain and shame.’
‘What has Eline Harries ever done for us?’ Nina demanded, hands on hips. ‘What has she brought to this village? She’s an outs
ider and she’s bringing in other outsiders to look down their noses on us.’
Nina paused, her anger gathering momentum. ‘What do the outsiders care that we starve while they buy pictures costing enough money to keep us in food for a year? Why should we put up with it? Answer me that.’
‘Eline gave me a job,’ Carys said, ‘and I was daft enough to listen to your grumbles and pack it in. Why didn’t I stick to my guns? I don’t know. After all, I was bringing good money into the house.’
‘Aye and your man would have been more ashamed than ever, then, wouldn’t he?’ Nina Parks said bitterly. ‘His wife kotowing to the likes of her, it’s not right.’
‘Well, you’ve got her cottage, haven’t you? Didn’t turn that down, mind,’ Carys said with some of her old spirit.
‘That was given to me by Joe,’ Nina retorted sharply, ‘I was really wife to him, especially at the end, she did nothing but run away from the thought of hard work and the suffering of her man.’
Carys rose abruptly from the hard, upright wooden chair upon which she had been sitting.
‘Well, if you call this a meeting then I’m a Dutchman,’ she said. ‘I thought we were going to talk about ways around our problems, instead all we’ve done is throw mud at Eline Harries. Drinking sour wine I call that, pure jealousy because she’s making a success of things.’
Carys made her way slowly to the door and once outside stood looking along the street as though wondering what to do. The child in her arms cried fretfully and Carys put her cheek against the little boy’s head, it was burning as though with a fever.
She turned and hurried towards home; the sooner she got the baby into the house, the better, she should never have brought him out in such bitter weather and him with a bad cough on his chest.
The fire was burning low in the grate when Carys entered her house and she quickly pushed another log into place. Thank God that at least the wood from the trees was free not like coal which the merchants thought was gold-dust these days, the price they were charging.
Carys put the child into bed and set to work rubbing his small chest with goosegrease. A bit of warm flannel wrapped around her son’s small body seemed to ease the rattling cough and soon the child fell into a gentle sleep.
Carys boiled the kettle and made herself some hot cordial of dandelion leaves, sipping it gratefully. She would have loved a cup of tea but there was not even a dusting of leaves in the once full tin.
Carys felt herself sway, she was so weak, it was days since she’d had anything to eat, her last meal was nothing but a crust of stale bread.
Sam had been given the only bit of cawl in the house for his dinner but now the pantry was empty and not even Carys’s ingenuity could produce a meal from nothing.
She must have dozed a little in her chair for she sat up startled to hear the rattle of the door latch. Sam came into the kitchen and Carys noticed the deep lines of worry around his eyes.
Reluctant to add to his misery, she held her tongue about the baby and instead, handed him a drink of cordial.
‘What to eat, girl?’ he asked, his voice low, his shoulders, once so proudly held, slumped as he leaned over the scrubbed table.
‘I was just going up the road for something,’ she improvised quickly. She took her shawl from the back door and rested her hand for a moment on Sam’s bent head. ‘I won’t be long, love.’
In the chill of the street, she hurried towards the gallery, her mind suddenly made up. She would ask Eline most humbly for her job back.
The gallery door stood open, the front window, enlarged now, was filled with paintings. Ships rode out storms on green and grey seas and sails billowed as though they were real not simply paint on canvas.
From inside, Carys heard the sound of voices, cultured and low and she hesitated in the doorway, embarrassed at intruding. Hunger growled in her belly impelling Carys to go inside. From the back of the house came the succulent smell of food and Carys leaned against the wall, suddenly overcome with faintness.
‘Carys, what is it?’ She heard the voice as though from a distance and then she was being led to a chair in the hot, steamy kitchen behind the tea rooms and there on the large hob bubbled a cauldron of soup.
‘I was just going to have something to eat,’ Eline said matter of factly, ‘I hope you’ll share some with me, Carys, because Penny here thinks she’s working for a family of ten!’
The girl at the stove turned around, her face beaming. ‘Mind,’ she said, ‘Mrs Harries lets me take the leftovers home with me, tells me to make too much, she does.’
Suddenly, without any warning, Carys found herself on the verge of tears knowing that there was no job – Eline had found someone else to clean for her and who could blame her?
‘Good God, Eline, there’s enough soup there to feed half the village,’ Carys said, gulping at the lump in her throat, ‘they’d give their eye teeth for the chance of such a feast.’ She couldn’t now tell Eline why she had come.
Eline sighed. ‘Are things really that bad?’ she said ladling out a bowlful of the steaming soup and putting it on the table before Carys.
‘They couldn’t be worse, that’s for sure.’ Carys took up her spoon and looked longingly at the plate of thick crusty bread.
Eline seated opposite her, pushed the bread across the table before picking up her own spoon and beginning to eat.
Carys felt she had never tasted anything so wonderful in all her life. The bread melted in her mouth and the hot soup seemed to hit her stomach with a feeling of warmth.
Eline watched her; Carys knew she was staring even though Eline kept looking discreetly away and not catching her eye.
‘You’ve given me an idea,’ Eline said at last, ‘what if I have some soup taken to the church hall? The villagers can come there to eat whenever they want.’
She rose to her feet, obviously impatient to put her plans into action. ‘I’ll get on to everyone who I think has influence and we can all help to pay for the food.’
‘Oh, Eline,’ Carys said, ‘it would save our lives if you did that.’
Carys finished her soup and rested for a moment against the back of her chair, feeling a renewed sense of energy sweep through her. ‘I must get back,’ she said, ‘Sam is starving and the baby isn’t well but thank you for the soup, it was lovely.’ She hesitated, not wanting to ask for charity but Eline read her mind.
‘Look, I’ll put out a few jugs full of soup and we’ll take it down the road to your place, it won’t take a minute. We can spare it, there’s plenty here.’
Within minutes, Carys found herself out in the roadway with Eline at her side. She felt elated, her belly was full and now Sam would eat too.
‘Why did you come to see me, Carys?’ Eline asked softly and Carys looked at her doubtfully before answering.
‘Oh, I was just passing, like, and I felt a bit bad so I came inside, I hope you don’t mind.’
‘You came for your job back, didn’t you?’ Eline didn’t wait for a reply. ‘And thank goodness you did. I’m going to need another pair of hands, believe me, I’m so busy I don’t know if I’m coming or going.’
‘What would I be doing?’ Carys asked gripping the jug close to her, imagining how Sam would relish the thick vegetable and meat soup.
‘Well, I’d like you to serve the teas to the visitors,’ Eline said quickly. ‘Penny is good at cooking but not so good with people, she gets very nervous when there are ladies in fine dresses around. Would you like the job?’
Carys smiled widely. ‘When shall I start?’ she said cheerfully.
Sam was upstairs when Carys led the way into the kitchen. Carys put down the soup feeling a sudden sense of forboding.
‘The baby,’ she said, her breathing suddenly restricted, fear running through her like wine. She hurried up the stairs unaware that Eline was behind her and burst into the bedroom to see Sam bending over the bed.
‘Thank God you’ve come,’ Sam said and he was white to his lips. ‘The ba
by …’
Carys pushed him aside and leaned over her son listening for the breathing that had become faint and ragged.
‘Go for the doctor, Sam,’ Eline was saying, softly. ‘Tell him Mrs Harries wants him to come at once.’
Carys, looking at the pallid face of her child, knew that it was too late for doctors, weeks of near starvation had taken their toll and her baby was too weak to fight the racking cough any more.
As though in a daze, Carys was aware that the doctor had come and was ministering to her child but she sat motionless in the chair, staring at anything but the face of the baby.
‘His chest is very badly congested,’ the doctor said and Carys, looking up at him, saw him shake his head.
She rose and went to the bed and picked up her son feeling the small head fall heavily against her breast. He was so beautiful, so perfect, and Carys had waited so long for him, it wasn’t fair that he should be taken away from her.
The baby sighed softly, just once and became heavier in Carys’s arms. ‘He’s gone,’ Carys said tonelessly, ‘my baby’s gone from me,’ she looked up at Sam, ‘and it’s all because of stupid pride.’ The bitterness in her voice hung heavily in the silent room.
Carys spoke again, her voice low. ‘If I hadn’t given in to the feeling in the village against Eline Harries, I’d have been earning money working in the gallery and this would never have happened.’
Her voice rose. ‘We’d have had food in plenty and my baby would be alive. I’ll never forgive myself for this, Sam, never.’
She felt Sam trying to take the baby from her arms but Carys held her child firmly. ‘No, leave me alone with my son,’ she said, ‘just leave me.’
The room was empty then and that’s how it should be, Carys knew that, no one could share in this moment of desolation, she had to endure the pain alone.
She bent her head over the child and kissed the still-warm skin and her eyes burned with hot tears that she would not, could not, shed.
