Stolen Moments

by Rosie Harris

  Marie refused to leave her family.

  ‘So where do we live? You can’t go on working much longer,’ he protested, eyeing her swollen body.

  ‘There’s plenty of time yet.’

  ‘I’ll not have you giving birth underground. We can’t go on sharing half a room with your sister either once the baby’s born, so what else is there for us?’

  Tight-lipped, Marie refused to comment.

  In desperation, cap in hand, Dai went to Crawshay Bailey’s home, to Ty Mawr itself. He was turned away and told to see the agent. Knowing how pointless this would be, Dai waited day after day, haunting the gateway, hoping that sooner or later he’d be lucky enough to catch the ironmaster. When he managed to intercept Crawshay Bailey’s carriage he clung on to it, oblivious to the coachman’s whip as it lashed his shoulders and drew blood from his cheek.

  Crawshay Bailey, resplendent in morning coat and top hat, heard him out in silence.

  Three days later, when he was told by the agent that he could run one of their ale-houses, Dai couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  He felt sure that moving into the Bull with Marie would solve all his problems. The hours were long but the work was easy. He hated the system under which the ale-house was run and despised himself for being a master’s man, but it was a safe haven and he determined to pocket his pride and his principles until their child was born.

  After that he’d do his best to persuade Marie to move back to Govilon with him. He could see it all in his mind’s eye. Their cottage with his son growing up and playing in the fields alongside, fishing the stream, gathering wild flowers, helping him in the garden.

  But it was not to be.

  Marie came to term early and lost the baby. Dai blamed it on the fact that she’d still been working underground, harnessed to a coal tram, and that had induced the early labour.

  Knowing there could never be another child, he’d said no more about moving back to Govilon. He understood that Marie needed her family around her.

  By the time he was twenty-five, Dai Roberts was set and stolid in his ways, a physically maimed man, bearded and grim-faced. Sharp-eyed too, he ran a well-ordered ale-house, but confided in no one.

  Marie, soured after her miscarriage, became fat and blowsy. She drank heavily, taking nips from the spirit bottles when his back was turned and topping them up with water when he started marking the bottles.

  Her liver began to fail. By the time she was thirty, her skin was as yellow as the sulphurous pall that hung over the valley, her once bright eyes bleary and unfocused. Her legs became so swollen that she could barely stand on them.

  Marie took to spending most of her time sitting at one end of the bar, nodding and smiling at the men as they came in, her speech too slurred and her senses too fuddled for proper conversation.

  She’d just turned forty when she died.

  Dai Roberts didn’t mourn. He regarded it as a happy release for both of them.

  At last free to return to Govilon, he found the desire had gone. Instead, he brought his widowed mother to live with him at the Bull. She cooked and cleaned but kept in the background, refusing to help out in the bar.

  Dai accepted this stoically and hardly noticed that as the months passed she became more frail and did less and less about the house. Then came the morning when, finding his breakfast wasn’t ready, he went to her room and found he couldn’t waken her.

  Once again he thought of starting afresh, but he’d been at the Bull for so long that he couldn’t imagine any other kind of life. He knew every man that came in and, as time passed, their sons as well. He was well respected and had earned their trust. They knew he never cheated them no matter how drunk they might be and that he kept a wary eye on the agent on payday to see they received what was due to them.

  Eyebrows were raised when Kate arrived on the scene.

  Dai Roberts had never shown any interest in women. Some of the older men who remembered the accident at the ironworks muttered darkly as to the reasons. They said that was what accounted for the way his wife, Marie, had turned from a bright, sparkling-eyed young woman into a gross, overweight slut.

  At first many had thought Kate was just another of the Irish women, shipped in like cattle by the masters as cheap labour. After a couple of days they’d revised their opinion.

  ‘Quite the lady!’ they grinned as their eyes followed her straight back and lithe movements. They admired the dark glossy curls, they tried to catch the vivid blue eyes and many of the younger ones schemed and dreamed about taking her up Coity.

  Kate smiled disarmingly but said little as she moved amongst them. She served their beer, provided bread and cheese, meat, or a bowl of hot cawl when it was ordered, but turned a deaf ear to their suggestive quips and invitations. She felt safe, confident that Dai Roberts would not allow any of them to molest her.

  He found her presence soothing. She was pleasing to look at and he liked her low soft voice with its West Country burr, so different from the sing-song lilt of the women of Blaenafon.

  Alone in his bed at night he found himself wondering about her background. She’d told him so little. He knew she was looking for a man called Owen and he surmised she must be pregnant and this man was the father. He didn’t share her optimism about finding him. There were so many men named Owen.

  It wasn’t until she told him she intended moving on at the end of the week that the idea had come to him. He’d been astounded by his own temerity and had persuaded her to stay on for another week to give him time to consider his idea in more detail.

  The more he thought about it the sounder it seemed to be. It would provide him with a companion and a willing worker. It would give Kate a roof over her head when her baby was born and a home to bring it up in.

  He was so excited at the prospect that he wanted to grab her by the arm and watch her blue eyes shine with relief as he unveiled his plans. He’d marry her, so that things would be legal between them, provided she was prepared to accept that he would be husband in name only.

  The thought that she might provide the son he’d always longed for inflamed him. The fact that it was from another man’s seed was of no consequence. The child would be brought up as his, known throughout Blaenafon as Dai Roberts’ boy. He’d name him Rhys, after his own father. Rhys Roberts! It had a fine ring to it.

  He tugged at his beard anxiously as he planned his approach to Kate. He’d need to be careful. She was proud, that one, and independent.

  Still, he liked a girl with spirit.

  Chapter 25

  Halfway through her second week at the Bull, Kate became aware of growing restlessness amongst the men and it worried her. A wrong word or a jogged elbow would start a fracas. Fists flailed; heads were cracked open with tankards; chair legs, or even iron bars, were swung in anger.

  Dai Roberts blamed it on the fact that the men had just been paid six weeks’ money so they were all drinking more ale than they could handle.

  She had seen her Uncle Charlie in his cups and knew how men’s tempers could flare up, making them say and do things which they regretted once they had sobered up again. But Charlie’s lapses were nothing like the anger that erupted amongst the men of Blaenafon.

  From mumblings Kate overheard she knew the constant propaganda, urging them to support the Chartists and fight for better working conditions, was having an effect. When their tempers were roused all their misfortunes bubbled to the surface, making them as fiery as the conditions most of them worked under. It was as if their very souls were blackened by the fumes and degradation they suffered day in, day out.

  The more aware they became of how they were being exploited, the greater their anger and frustration. She kept asking herself what the outcome would be if they clashed with the bosses while they were feeling so incensed. Was this what had happened at Fforbrecon, after the cave-in? she wondered.

  Kate still couldn’t understand why David had never written to Helen. Remembering his sweet promises, their gol
den moments together, she couldn’t believe he had put all thoughts of her from his mind so easily. He had always been so punctilious and considerate and would know she’d be anxious for news.

  She sighed as she sat back on her heels to rinse out the floorcloth in the pail of soapy water at her side, marvelling at the strange quirks of Fate. If Helen’s letter hadn’t fallen into Morgan Edwards’ hands she would have been mistress of Machen Mawr by now. It seemed hard to imagine living in comfort, never wanting for anything; pampered, waited on by servants, and sheltered from the harsh realities of the life she now saw all around her.

  Living in luxury provided by the sweat and toil of small children, she reminded herself, and the idea was so repugnant that she felt a rush of relief that things had turned out as they had done.

  It would have been such a terrible mistake to have married Morgan Edwards anyway. She shuddered at the thought, closing her eyes to shut out the memories. It seemed unbelievable that she had even contemplated such a step. Looking back she knew it had been fear. When Dr Davies had implied that she was pregnant, all she could think of was what would happen to her and her baby.

  She shuddered again as she wrung out her cloth and swabbed at the floor. It would have been a terrible mistake. Not only would it have put an end to her hopes of ever being reunited with David, but it would have sentenced her to a lifetime of unhappiness. A living lie since her heart belonged to David. She felt guilty about forsaking Mathew but she was sure Olwen Price would do all in her power to comfort him.

  ‘Daydreaming about that fellow of yours again?’ Dai Roberts probed. He drew himself a tankard of ale and leaned against the bar to watch her work.

  ‘Can’t you keep off the floor until it’s dry,’ grumbled Kate, scrubbing round his feet.

  ‘I reckon he’s one of the gentry!’ Dai Roberts mused, shuffling out of her way.

  ‘What if he is?’ Kate wrung out her cloth and mopped up the soapsuds.

  ‘Wasting your time going looking for him if that’s the case, believe me.’ He spat morosely on to the floor.

  ‘I’ve just cleaned that!’

  ‘They’re no different than a working man when it comes to rolling a wench in the hay,’ he pronounced, taking a long swig of ale and running his tongue over his lips to remove the froth.

  Kate concentrated on her cleaning, wishing he would go away.

  ‘Mind you, most of the boyos round here cough up and pay for their pleasures, not leave the girl to fend for herself.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Daro! They tie the knot, which is more than can be said for most of the toffs.’

  ‘Really!’ Her cheeks burning, Kate turned away, her head high, refusing to confide in him.

  She knew Dai Roberts was right. Dallying with a maidservant was considered fair game by most of the gentry. And if a baby resulted then at best they’d marry the girl off to one of their labourers, at worst send her packing to the nearest poorhouse.

  David hadn’t been like that. He hadn’t just been amusing himself. He’d told her how much he loved her.

  Has he also told Penelope Vaughan that he loves her? asked a voice inside Kate’s head. Did his silence mean he’d dismissed his flirtation at Bramwood Hall from his thoughts? Was he so busy planning the wedding his father had set his heart on that he hadn’t had time to write to Helen? Kate wondered miserably.

  ‘If you’re set on going to Fforbrecon then talk to Llew Lloyd,’ Dai Roberts prompted. ‘He knows every move made at Fforbrecon… and the name of every man or boss who has ever worked there.’

  ‘You mean he works there?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘No, but his brother was foreman there until the cave-in. Poor dab! Terrible end!’ He shook his head morosely and refilled his tankard.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘After the explosion the owners refused to let anyone go near, see,’ Dai Roberts went on. ‘They wouldn’t even make sure if the men trapped were dead or not. They waited two days for news.’

  ‘That’s terrible!’ gasped Kate.

  ‘Bitter about it is Llew. Mind you, he has cause to be since he now has his brother’s widow and four kids to look after.’

  ‘Which one is Llew Lloyd?’

  ‘Big chap with greying hair and a curly beard. Shoulders on him like a bull. He’s in here most nights.’

  ‘I’ll talk to him, but it won’t make me change my mind about leaving here,’ Kate told him determinedly. ‘So you’d better have my money ready at the end of the week.’

  As she busied herself in the kitchen, Kate thought about what Dai Roberts had said. She had often listened to Llew Lloyd talking to his cronies. He was a spirited agitator, always urging the other men to join the Chartists. He was the one, she recalled, who had been talking about an uprising bigger than anything ever seen before. Men from Benefit Lodges in Blaenafon, Blaina and Nantyglo would all be taking part. They’d muster at Pontypool and there they’d be joined by men from unions the length and breadth of Wales.

  From what she’d overheard all they seemed to be waiting for was a signal from the leaders.

  So much intrigue and espionage, so much at stake for so many men. It was hardly likely that he’d have time to talk to her about David Owen, let alone go with her to Fforbrecon.

  Not unless…

  She remembered how much David had hated mining and his reluctance to have anything to do with it. After all she’d seen and heard she could understand his feelings. If the cave-in had been the reason his father had sent for him, she tried to reason what she would do if she was in his shoes.

  She was sure David would have tried to do something to help the men, even if it had meant opposing his father. A frisson of excitement ran through her. Could he have joined the Chartists? She’d heard the name Owen mentioned often enough.

  A plan began to form in Kate’s head. Preposterous though it was, she brooded on it, mulling it over until she could think of nothing else. She wasn’t sure if her nerve would hold, or if she could carry it out without giving herself away, but she felt it was worth a try.

  That night when Llew Lloyd came into the Bull she put herself to the test.

  ‘You’ve been sent to help us?’

  The doubt in Llew Lloyd’s voice sent a frisson of fear through Kate but she steeled herself to meet the sharp dark eyes.

  ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘A man called Owen. I’m to meet him again in Newport.’

  He stared searchingly, the grim lines of disbelief around his mouth slowly relaxing.

  ‘Free with your information, aren’t you,’ he snapped. ‘How do you know you can trust me?’

  ‘He described you well. I’ve been watching you for over a week to make sure I had the right man.’

  ‘So why’ve you not spoken out before?’ asked Llew Lloyd, running a hand through his grey hair until it stood on end, giving him a wild look.

  ‘I had to be sure, you know that! A word in the wrong ear and where would we all end up?’

  ‘Is this where he said you’d find me?’

  ‘Either here or a cave, halfway up Coity.’

  ‘He gave you directions to the cave?’ Llew Lloyd’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘I was only to go there if I couldn’t contact you any other way,’ she told him in a low voice.

  ‘You’re not from these parts?’

  ‘I’ve come from Wiltshire,’ she sighed softly.

  ‘What are you doing here then?’

  ‘You’ve heard of the Tolpuddle Martyrs? My uncle was one of them…’

  She left the sentence unfinished, letting him think whatever he wanted, and felt a glow of satisfaction when he nodded understandingly.

  ‘Is that proof enough for you?’

  ‘A tea party compared with what we are planning,’ he told her scathingly.

  ‘’Tweren’t to them,’ she flared. ‘Six of them were sentenced to seven years’ transportation.’

  ‘Including your uncle?’
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br />   ‘No. Uncle Charlie was too wily,’ she boasted. ‘Vowed he’d get even with them one day, though,’ she added, her eyes shining. He was suddenly a hero, a champion of ideals instead of being an evil, licentious man she’d once feared and then despised.

  ‘Poor man, he was never the same afterwards,’ she embroidered. ‘The shock of it all killed his old mother. She trembled every time there was a knock on the door in case they’d come to take him away.’

  ‘And what part did you play in all this?’

  ‘I was little more than a child, barely fourteen!’

  ‘So why do you want to be involved now?’

  ‘I… I loved my granny dearly and it broke my heart to see her shaking with fright and wasting away from fear. I made my mind up there and then to do what I could to put food in the bellies of the starving and roofs over their heads. And I’m as determined now as I was then,’ she added so fervently that she convinced herself of her sincerity.

  ‘Fine talk, but how can you help?’ Llew Lloyd stared at her questioningly, as if reluctant to accept her involvement.

  ‘I’ll do whatever you ask of me,’ she told him eagerly.

  ‘There’ll be no women on the march. Only men who can fight,’ sneered Lloyd.

  ‘You’ll need someone to prepare food…’

  ‘They’ll bring their own bite. We’ll refresh ourselves at the ale-houses along the way.’

  ‘I can help in a hundred and one ways,’ persisted Kate.

  ‘Can you leave here without him knowing?’ he jerked his head towards Dai Roberts.

  ‘Whenever you need me. This place has served my purpose; it has led me to you.’

  Llew Lloyd took a long swig of his ale, watching her shrewdly from over the rim of his tankard, then rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth.

  ‘Have you spoken to Owen since you’ve been in Blaenafon?’

  ‘And put both our heads into a noose?’ she retorted scathingly.