by Rosie Harris
Morag had been so kind that she didn’t want to upset such a united family, and it was obvious that Iestyn was less than happy about her being there. She looked around helplessly, listening to the murmur of their voices in the room above her, wondering where Morag had hung her cloak.
Before she could make her escape, Morag came back downstairs. There was an air of happiness about her that showed in her step and in her bearing. She had obviously dispelled Iestyn’s concern about their visitor and she was once again queen of her domain.
‘Come, sit up at the table, Kate,’ she invited. ‘We can talk while we eat,’ she added as she lifted the lid from the tureen of bubbling stew, filling the room with a delicious, savoury smell. ‘Iestyn is just tucking Dafydd in bed. He’ll take the armchair and I’ll sit opposite you.’
‘Everyone in Newport has been talking about the terrible happenings at Westgate Square but I never once heard it mentioned that there were any women marchers,’ Iestyn commented when they were all served and he had said grace.
‘I wasn’t exactly marching,’ Kate told him. ‘I rode on the cart that followed the marchers.’
Iestyn stared at her in silence, his dark eyes piercing. ‘They… they thought I could help if any of them were wounded.’
‘So, what happened? There were certainly plenty of them injured,’ he remarked in a dangerously soft voice.
‘There wasn’t much I could do,’ Kate bit her lip, shaking her head sadly. ‘I tried to warn them when the military started to fire but it all happened so fast. The soldiers didn’t even take aim! They just fired at random into the crowd…’ she broke off, shuddering at the memory.
“There were a great number injured!’ Iestyn persisted. ‘More than twenty killed and over fifty badly hurt. Shot in the back some of them…’
‘I saw Kate try to help one man who’d been shot,’ interrupted Morag. ‘I was watching from the window. He was lying in the square but when Kate went to him, one of the soldiers pushed her away with the butt of his gun.’
‘They left him there on the ground, lying in mud and filth, crying out in agony,’ Kate said angrily. ‘It was terrible to hear him and not be able to help.’
‘It’s been a dreadful defeat for the Chartists,’ Iestyn sighed. ‘I tried to come home earlier in the day to make sure Morag and Dafydd were safe, but the roads were so jammed that it was impossible. Men were streaming out of town, trying to get back to the Valleys. Impossible. And then there were the wounded to attend…’
‘You mean you took some of them in…’ Morag stopped, putting her hand over her mouth as Iestyn frowned at her. Then she shook her head and smiled at him. ‘Kate and I have talked most of the day, she thinks like us on these matters. It’s safe to speak openly in front of her.’
‘I hope you’re right, my love,’ sighed Iestyn. ‘With all that has happened today one cannot be too careful.’
‘I do understand,’ Kate told him quietly. ‘Morag is right, though. I did try to help the wounded. One man who was badly injured, his head pouring blood, was crying out for water, but they wouldn’t let anyone go near him. The soldiers threatened to shoot me unless I moved back and it would have been pointless to argue with them.’
‘No, you did right.’ His eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘You can still help with the injured though.’
Kate looked at him uncertainly.
‘Unless we find someone to tend their wounds many of them will die,’ he said impatiently.
‘So you do know where some of them are being sheltered,’ Morag exclaimed breathlessly.
Iestyn nodded, his glance darting from Kate’s face to Morag’s and back again.
‘But where, Iestyn? How many are there? Are you going to bring them here, we have enough room to take one or two…’
‘No, no! That would be both foolish and dangerous,’ he frowned. ‘The details have already been taken care of, that was why I was late home,’ he added, his hand reaching out to cover Morag’s in a reassuring way.
‘We must go to them!’ Morag pushed back her chair. Her green eyes were shining and there was a fanatical eagerness in her voice. ‘I want to help!’ she declared.
‘No!’ Iestyn’s hand rested on her shoulder, pushing her firmly back on to her seat. ‘It’s not safe for you to become involved. Your place is here… looking after Dafydd.’
‘But…’
‘Morag, please!’ Though his voice was harsh, his dark eyes were pleading.
Morag’s mouth tightened and her green eyes grew moist but when she spoke, her voice was warm and acquiescent.
Kate felt deeply stirred by the understanding between them. Their closeness was touching. Though each was strong-willed and decisive they were prepared to give way and compromise in order to please the other.
When Iestyn looked questioningly at her, Kate turned away. She had regretted joining the marchers almost from the moment she’d set out. As they’d jolted through the cold, wet night, she’d had plenty of time to realize that such a wild-goose chase was unlikely to help her find David.
The fighting had terrified her. The noise, the smell of gunpowder, the agonized screams of the injured and the pleas and groans of the dying had left her thoroughly shocked. Only Morag’s kindness had brought her out of that nightmare and back into the normal world. Now, all she wanted to do was find David.
She’d planned it all in her mind as she’d sat in front of the fire nursing Dafydd. Everything had seemed so clear, so straightforward. She knew she’d been foolish not to go directly to Llwynowen when she had first arrived in Wales. Now she intended to waste no more time. She wouldn’t go back to Blaenafon, not yet at any rate. She’d go straight to Llwynowen. If David wasn’t there then she would speak to his father and insist on being told where she could find him. If she said she knew Helen, then surely he’d tell her what she wanted to know.
If she let herself be distracted from her purpose by Iestyn’s request it could be too late. David may have already tried to reach her at Machen Mawr and, finding she’d left there, may have decided he would never see her again.
As a result he might already have gone ahead and married Penelope Vaughan!
She didn’t want to contemplate that. David was the only man she would ever love. If she lost him then all her hopes for the future, all her dreams of happiness, were shattered.
There would be no alternative but to return to the Bull!
The thought of marrying Dai Roberts sent shivers of distaste through her, but she supposed she should be grateful for the offer. As long as he kept to his promise that she need be his wife in name only, then at least she’d have a roof over her head.
‘Well, Kate. What about it?’ repeated Iestyn, the challenge in his voice bringing her back to the present. ‘You say you came with the marchers so that you could nurse any men who might be injured. Well, I know where there are twelve of them who right now are desperately needing help.’
‘Say no! Decline. Tell him you have other plans,’ a voice inside her head prompted.
She desperately wanted to refuse. Her throat felt dry, her lips moved but no sound came, the right words eluded her.
She looked round the warm, comfortable room, remembering how Morag had taken her in, and made her part of the family, even though she was a complete stranger.
Now she was being asked to do something in return, so how could she demur.
‘Yes, I’ll help.’
Even as she spoke her heart felt heavy, knowing that with every passing day her chances of finding David lessened, or even if she did find him it might already be too late.
Was Fate once again taking a hand? she wondered.
Was she sighing for the moon? Had she as little chance of David marrying her as she had had of being a teacher?
Perhaps her grandmother had been right to believe the vicar when he said everyone had their rightful place in the scheme of things. When she’d left the Manor she was so confident that she had managed to better herself, yet she’d been
impeded by countless events she’d not foreseen.
Ever since she’d tried to find David there had been so many obstacles in her way that it was as if she had no will of her own any more.
She sighed resignedly. Another day, another week, could it really matter?
Chapter 30
The low-ceilinged attic over the print works, where Iestyn Lewis took Kate later that night, resembled a hospital.
Twelve seriously injured men lay on improvised beds. Their torn clothing was caked with mud, the stench of blood filled the air. Some were delirious, others only semi-conscious, the remainder trying desperately to suppress their groans and cope manfully with their pain.
Half a dozen pairs of willing hands were already helping when she had arrived with Iestyn. Men who fully supported the Chartist cause even though they had not played an active part in the uprising earlier that day. They’d rallied round, and were helping to feed the men, tending their wounds, and making them as comfortable as possible.
They accepted her presence without question.
‘Fortunate indeed!’ exclaimed Dr Elwyn Pugh when Iestyn explained who Kate was and how she came to be there. ‘She can tend to these men while the rest of us go about our daily business in the normal way.’
‘That way no one will suspect what is going on,’ enthused Samuel Etheridge.
He’d been on tenterhooks ever since agreeing with his colleague John Partridge that the wounded could be hidden in the attic over his printing works in the High Street.
‘I’ll be holding surgery and making my daily rounds the same as usual, so that as many people as possible see me out and about,’ confirmed Dr Pugh, ‘and I suggest the rest of you conduct yourselves in the same way.’
‘Behave as normal, remember,’ urged Etheridge.
‘Take an interest in what’s being said, though, and what is happening, that way we can keep abreast of events,’ added another voice.
‘And the dead? What has happened to them?’ Iestyn asked anxiously.
‘They’ve been taken care of,’ Dr Pugh assured him. ‘All twenty bodies are safe and they’ll be buried in St Woolos’ churchyard.’
‘We can do no more for them.’
‘God rest their souls.’
‘These men here are our concern now,’ affirmed Dr Pugh.
‘How are we going to feed them?’ asked Iestyn.
‘I’m prepared to provide what meats I can, but they’ll need other food,’ commented Will Preese, the butcher from Commercial Street, wiping the back of his hand across his sweating brow.
‘We’ll need clean linen for bandages, too,’ Eynon Roberts murmured, his long, thin face haggard with strain.
‘You’re right there, mun. Still bleeding like pigs, some of them!’
‘I’ll bring along more medication and bandages, all in good time,’ promised Dr Pugh. ‘Here,’ he handed over a bottle of laudanum and a flask of whisky to Kate. ‘The laudanum is in very short supply so use it sparingly.’
‘Is that all we have to keep them quiet?’ Samuel Etheridge muttered nervously as the men’s groans and cries sounded all around them.
‘There’s no need to be so concerned,’ the doctor told him. ‘Their cries are hardly likely to be heard above the rattle and clatter your printing presses make.’
They muttered and argued amongst themselves for a further ten minutes or so, then one by one they left, slipping out discreetly after checking there was no one in the street outside who might recognize them.
They were eager and willing to help but concerned for their own safety and that of their families. They were all men of standing in Newport, running independent small businesses, with plenty to lose if anyone suspected them of helping the Chartists.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Kate?’ Iestyn asked, his dark eyes anxious. ‘Heaven knows when you last slept.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kate assured him, ‘I’m fine.’
‘We’ll have to wait until dark tomorrow before it is safe for any of us to come back.’
‘I can take care of things here until then.’
‘Keep away from the windows and don’t let anyone in,’ he warned, patting her shoulder encouragingly.
A high wind was clearing the clouds from the sky as Kate closed the heavy back door of the printing works behind Iestyn, barricading it as she’d been told to do. Her limbs ached with tiredness as she climbed back up to the attic.
She walked slowly between the beds, checking that each man was as comfortable as possible, giving sips of watered-down whisky to those who were conscious in the hope it would help them sleep, or at least ease their pain. The laudanum she put to one side for emergency use only.
There was not even a chair in the room so she sat down on a pile of straw, leaning her back against the wall. She struggled desperately to fight off the fatigue that paralysed her limbs and made her eyelids heavy. She knew she was slowly sliding and slipping, until she was stretched full length on the floor, but was powerless to stop herself. The last thing she remembered was that she mustn’t fall asleep in case any of the men needed her.
It was many hours later when Kate woke to a chorus of groans. November rain was battering the tiny window through which she could see storm clouds lumbering across the sky. The room was rank with the smell of blood, urine, excrement and vomit, making her stomach churn.
She scrambled up, shaking the straw from her gown, pushing her hair back from her forehead and running her fingers through the tangle of her black curls. Her skin felt tight, as if it was stuck to the bones of her face. She longed to dip her hands into a bowl of water and splash it over her skin, but there was no water left and the only damp cloth in the place was stained with blood.
Kate picked her way between the beds, wiping sweat from a brow here, vomit from lips there, straightening the meagre covers, trying to lessen each man’s discomfort.
Her ministrations were met with sighs and moans. Many clutched at her dress, pleading with her to ease their pain.
She had no idea what time it was, but since the presses in the workshop below were rumbling and clattering, she assumed it must be at least morning. It would be hours before anyone would arrive with fresh supplies for the men.
The time passed with the slowness of eternity. The effect of the whisky and water had long since faded and most of the men were now in dire distress. Hunger and thirst added to their agony and she felt helpless, knowing there was nothing she could do to ease their predicament.
Those well enough to understand the situation tried to console the more seriously injured, talking to them, endeavouring to keep them from crying out for fear their voices might be heard above the clamour of the printing shop.
Those sufficiently clear in the head to recall all that had happened and where they were talked bitterly about their defeat, and the way they’d been taken by surprise outside the Westgate Hotel.
They felt let down.
They’d not expected to be fired on, having been assured that the military from Brecon Barracks were on their side.
Some blamed the Redcoats, calling them traitors. Others upbraided John Frost, Zephaniah Williams and the rest of the leaders for being so gullible as to trust those in a service governed by the gentry.
‘And where are our leaders now?’ was the question on most of the men’s lips.
Kate had no idea. She could only beg them to be patient.
‘When Iestyn Lewis or one of the others returns, then doubtless they’ll bring us the very latest news,’ she told them.
‘What if they don’t return?’ Twm Oliver, a puddler from Blaina, demanded. A bullet had entered the flesh of his right shoulder, shredding the muscle, leaving his entire side paralysed. He lay huddled in an ungainly heap in his own filth, refusing to let Kate tend him.
‘They will be back, of course they will,’ Kate assured him.
‘But when, my lovely? When?’
‘They’ll bring food and drink and some more bandages. Dr Pugh will
be coming, too, with more whisky and laudanum.’
‘They’ll be risking their necks,’ pointed out Jed Jones, who had already lost one arm in a pit accident before the uprising and now had part of his right leg shot away. ‘There’s foolish they’d be to do that for such a bunch of old crocks!’
‘Diawlch! They can’t just leave us here to die! Blind I am, see,’ sobbed Walli Penrhyn. ‘And all for nothing.’
Walli was sixteen. His elder brother Daryth had talked him into joining the Chartists. When they’d set out on Sunday night they’d let Walli march at the head of the column. It had made him feel he was a man at last.
‘They let him carry the Blaina benefit club banner because he was the youngest one on the march,’ the man lying next to him told Kate as she dripped the last dregs from the laudanum bottle between Walli’s lips to quieten him.
Her heart ached as she looked at Walli. The blast of shot had not only blinded him but had shattered the top half of his face.
‘All for nothing!’ Walli Penrhyn’s strangled cry echoed her own feelings.
Why had she got involved with the Chartists, she asked herself, as she fought her own growing hunger, as impatient as the injured men for Iestyn Lewis and his friends to return. No one had persuaded her, she reminded herself. She had come of her own volition, her head filled with nonsense that it would lead her to David.
She sighed at her own foolishness.
True, she sympathized with the Chartist cause, and believed they should have the rights they sought, but it wasn’t her fight, after all.
It wouldn’t give women the right to vote, she thought angrily. And she couldn’t claim that she was doing it for David. He already possessed all the rights the Chartists were trying to claim. He and his family owned land and property, so he already had a vote and was qualified to become a Member of Parliament should he so wish.
She sank down on to a pile of straw as waves of nausea swept over her. She felt too weary to move. She tried to push away the doubts that crowded her mind like threatening ghouls. Time, like her money, was running out. Her life since she’d left Bramwood Hall had been a series of mistakes. She had experienced one disaster after another. She felt vulnerable, fearful of what the future held in store. She might even have to end up accepting Dai Roberts’ proposal.
