Stolen Moments

by Rosie Harris

  The women’s pleasure in such adequate accommodation was marred by Tomos Vaughan’s unexpected visits. He would walk straight into any one of the terraced cottages, at any time of the day, without warning. It had earned him the nickname of Vaughan the Nose.

  ‘Not even allowed to live as you wish within your own four walls,’ the women grumbled.

  They bitterly resented such intrusion, especially those who broke the strict tenancy laws imposed by Tomos Vaughan and took in a lodger. They did it to eke out their meagre earnings, even though it led to over-crowding and their children having to sleep as many as four to a bed.

  ‘It’s the only way to find enough money to pay the exorbitant rent he charges us,’ they argued when they were found out.

  ‘Tell them it’s time to send another child to work,’ he would instruct the agent. And the youngest, just four or five years old, who until then had spent his time happily playing, would be dragged bleary-eyed and snuffling to earn his fourpence a day minding a truck or opening vent doors.

  ‘Wicked, so it is, that a child not much more than a babbi should have to work in such conditions,’ the women grumbled. Yet none dared to defy Tomos Vaughan, knowing that if they did they might find themselves homeless and their entire family out of work.

  Penelope was her father’s daughter. Her harshness with both the domestics and the stableboys was widely feared.

  From what he knew of his son’s character, Tudor ap Owen reflected, Penelope would be the ruling force in their household after they were married.

  David was certainly a gentleman, and although he admired his son’s fine manners and polished way of speaking, Tudor ap Owen secretly wondered whether perhaps the boy suffered from too much learning. Here he was, almost twenty-three years of age, and had never done a day’s work in his life. In fact, he was more interested in reading poetry, or becoming a teacher, than in earning money.

  The time had come to change all that, he decided, and, anxious to have a marriage contract drawn up between the two families, he invited Tomos Vaughan to dine with him at Llwynowen as soon as he’d despatched David to Fforbrecon.

  The two men were past-masters at bargaining. Both knew what the other wanted and they played their cards carefully. Tudor ap Owen’s invitation was acknowledged but Tomos Vaughan regretted that he was not free to dine for several weeks and suggested a date in early December.

  Tudor ap Owen fretted about the delay. By then winter snow might make the roads impassable, or he himself might not be well enough.

  His fears proved unfounded, however, and when he at last greeted his guest, Tudor ap Owen felt that the culmination of all his plans was in sight.

  They enjoyed their meal in perfect harmony.

  Tudor ap Owen had selected the finest wines from his cellar and instructed his cook to prepare dishes he knew his guest favoured.

  The table groaned under the magnificent spread.

  Barley broth was followed by trout freshly caught from the stream that flowed through his land. A succulent roast of lamb, venison pie and boiled capon were accompanied by roast potatoes, baked parsnips and boiled carrots. To follow there were tarts made from gooseberries and plums that had been preserved in wine, and the fresh clotted cream served with them was from his own dairy. On the cheese-board that ended the meal was a selection of crumbly Caerphilly and biting blue Stilton.

  When the port had been passed between them for the third time, Tudor ap Owen suggested they should retire to the drawing room and enjoy a pipe and a fine brandy that he’d been saving for the occasion.

  Mellowed, but still aware that so far they had not touched on the reason for their meeting, Tudor ap Owen made the opening gambit by explaining why David was not dining with them.

  ‘I’ve sent him to Fforbrecon,’ he explained. ‘There were a great many things to be sorted out following the cave-in.’

  ‘I heard you lost a number of men in that explosion.’

  ‘Yes! It was necessary to seal off the gallery afterwards.’

  ‘The men agreed?’

  ‘Not at first. That’s why I sent David along there. Eloquent, the boy is. Had them back to work the next day.’

  ‘And he’s still there?’

  ‘I told him to stay on for a few weeks until he knew how things are run.’

  ‘There’s rumours that they’re making demands for shorter hours and more money at Fforbrecon,’ Tomos Vaughan pressed.

  ‘More money and less hours! The entire mining enterprise will collapse around our ears if owners give in to such foolish demands,’ snapped Tudor ap Owen, taking a mouthful of brandy and swilling it round his mouth before swallowing.

  ‘There’s unrest in all the coal and iron mines throughout Ebbw Vale,’ sighed Tomos Vaughan, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke. ‘Things have reached a point where plain, blunt talking has no effect.’

  ‘The men are possessed of the devil, or so it seems!’

  ‘And now they’re demanding to be paid in silver! They complain because the money we’ve had specially minted for their use can only be exchanged in company shops.’

  ‘Shops run for their benefit!’ exploded Tudor ap Owen angrily. ‘The whole situation is getting out of hand.’

  ‘To my mind, it’s these agitators from London who are to blame. They’re inciting the workers into rebellion by telling them that they are being exploited.’

  ‘I put a stop to such nonsense at Fforbrecon by forbidding Chartist supporters to hold meetings on any of my premises,’ stated Tudor ap Owen. ‘I’ve stopped them from congregating in any of the pits or at any of the ale-houses I own in Blaina, Nantyglo or Blaenafon.’

  ‘It hasn’t stopped them from meeting out in the open.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A cave on Blorenge, a sheltered niche on Coity, even down on the canal bank they gather in their half-dozens,’ Tomos Vaughan told him.

  ‘The Chartists are the worst sort of agitator,’ grumbled Tudor ap Owen.

  ‘They want the workers to fight not just for more wages, or improved working conditions, but for the right of all men over the age of twenty-one to be able to vote in a secret ballot.’

  ‘They’d even have working men sitting in Parliament if they had their way,’ Tudor ap Owen said grimly, thumping the arm of his chair to emphasize his point.

  ‘I blame it on this newfangled notion of universal schooling. Labouring men don’t need to waste their time learning to read and write. Working skills are all they need to know.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tomos agreed grimly, ‘children should be sent to work, not to schools.’

  ‘The sooner they come to grips with the reality of life the better workmen they turn out to be.’

  ‘Every one of my foremen started work when they were five or six and look at them today,’ Tomos Vaughan stated.

  ‘Sound men of good judgement.’

  ‘Their energies have been channelled into earning their living.’

  ‘No time for idling their days away or poaching and getting into trouble.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Tomos Vaughan heatedly. ‘These young agitators are products of the newfangled ideas about education. Letting them attend school until they are ten or twelve simply fills their minds with all kinds of nonsense.’

  ‘It hasn’t taught them economics though,’ Tudor ap Owen declared angrily. ‘How can the owners hope to give their shareholders a fair return on their investments if the turnover is frittered away on higher wages?’

  ‘Very few complained about their lot until these Chartists’ meetings started,’ agreed Tomos as he refilled his pipe from the aromatic-smelling jar on the table beside him. He studied the long golden strands thoughtfully. ‘Discontent started in Yorkshire with the handloom weavers.’

  ‘Then it spread to Somerset, then to the stocking makers in Leicestershire and the nail makers in the Black Country,’ put in Tudor.

  ‘Now, the “People’s Charter” has become the battle cry of the discontented.’


  ‘It was one of the reasons I had to send David to Fforbrecon,’ Tudor ap Owen confided. ‘My patience is exhausted with their nonsense.’

  ‘I don’t suffer fools gladly, either.’

  ‘If I had to deal with them, then like as not I would lose my temper and sack the lot of them, every man, woman and child.’

  ‘It would be ruination to your business if you did,’ Tomos warned.

  ‘They’d come crawling back in next to no time. I could afford to wait longer than any of them,’ scoffed Tudor ap Owen. ‘Men are no different to animals; hungry bellies would soon bring them to heel.’

  He paused to refill their glasses with brandy.

  ‘On my doctor’s advice, I decided the time had come to sit back and let David handle the situation.’

  ‘Why not! He’s had the finest education money could buy. He will have been taught the art of skilful debate at university, so he’ll know precisely how to talk to these dissidents,’ reflected Tomos.

  ‘If he can confound them with fine speeches they might accept defeat more quietly. No sense in sending my blood pressure soaring.’

  ‘Quite right. Give yourself a heart attack and the scoundrels would regard that as a victory for their cause.’

  ‘So I thought I’d let the boy have his head. I decided to put the matter entirely in his hands and I told him to stay on at the Company house at Fforbrecon for a while, and find out at first hand how the work force is organized. It will show him where his responsibilities lie.’

  As he tipped back the last drop of brandy in his goblet, Tomos’ eyes narrowed. He knew they had at last reached the real reason behind their meeting.

  It was several hours later before every detail had been thrashed out to their mutual satisfaction. Both men drove hard bargains. There was so much at stake.

  ‘Can that be the time?’ frowned Tudor ap Owen, his tone querulous as he peered across at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. With much fumbling, he drew out his gold hunter and checked the hour again. ‘Almost two in the morning!’

  ‘I trust my coachman’s not frozen to death!’ granted Tomos as he pulled himself out of the deep armchair, staggering slightly, and stretching out a hand to hold on to the mantelshelf to steady himself.

  ‘Sitting in front of the kitchen fire drunk more likely,’ growled his host as he tugged on the bell pull, summoning a manservant to see his guest on his way.

  Tired but content, Tudor ap Owen remained in front of the dying fire long after Tomos Vaughan’s carriage had crunched its way down the gravel drive. It had been a rewarding evening. Tomorrow he would speak to his solicitor and have the necessary documents drawn up ready for signing, and then a wedding date could be fixed.

  Chapter 38

  Dr Elwyn Pugh was both surprised and relieved to find that his colleague, Dr Rhys Pendric, was already at the Howells’ house when he drove up with Kate and Owen Jones.

  He had sent Huw Jenner into Abergavenny to alert Pendric that the man they had been sheltering at Tretower had regained consciousness and knew who he was and also had a fair idea of how he had come to be injured.

  ‘Now be sure and tell Dr Pendric that I am moving this man out of the tower right away,’ Elwyn Pugh repeated.

  ‘Tomorrow would be soon enough, I would’ve thought,’ argued Jenner. ‘Not good for a man who’s been at death’s door to have to face the night air.’

  ‘And it’s not good for him to stay where he is without food or fuel,’ retorted Elwyn Pugh.

  ‘I don’t mind providing both seeing as it will be for the last time,’ protested Huw Jenner. ‘I’d prefer that to riding all the way to Abergavenny at this time of night. It might snow at any minute and…’

  ‘Precisely. Another reason for moving Owen Jones back to the Howells’ place in Fforbrecon right away.’

  ‘I’ll take your message, doctor, if you insist, but I can’t promise that Dr Pendric will ride over to Fforbrecon to meet you. He’s a sick man, too, see. That’s why he asked you to help look after this man in the first place, remember.’

  ‘He’ll come providing you give him my message correctly,’ retorted Elwyn Pugh with more conviction than he felt.

  The temperature had dropped several degrees since he had set out from Newport and, as Huw Jenner had prophesied, flakes of snow were beginning to fall. Apart from the fact that he had brought no supplies whatsoever with him, there was the added hazard that in another twenty-four hours, if the weather worsened, it might be impossible to even reach the tower.

  ‘Do you need a hand to get him into your trap before I leave?’ volunteered Jenner.

  Elwyn Pugh hesitated, then reluctantly accepted the offer. As far as he knew, Owen Jones hadn’t yet stood up on his feet so he would certainly need all the assistance possible to get him along the passageway and hoist him up into the cart. He wasn’t sure that he and Kate could manage on their own.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait a few more days, until Owen Jones is stronger?’ protested Kate when the doctor told her what was happening.

  ‘No! There’ve been developments… it is better this way.’

  He didn’t trouble to explain but he knew from the flicker of fear in her blue eyes that she thought it was her safety he was concerned about. He’d let her go on thinking that, then she’d comply more readily.

  ‘You can be on your way to Abergavenny with Dr Pendric now,’ he told Huw Jenner as soon as they’d settled Owen Jones on the cart and covered him over with blankets. ‘I’ll hope to see you both in Fforbrecon within an hour or so.’

  ‘You may see the doctor there, but you’ll not see me again,’ Jenner told him sharply. ‘When I’ve alerted the doctor I’m back home to my bed. Daro! More than my life’s worth to get mixed up in this lot.’

  ‘That’s between you and Dr Pendric,’ Elwyn Pugh told him curtly. ‘Just one thing more. Remove any evidence that this place has been in use. Clean out the fireplace, remove the chair, make sure nothing is left behind, not a trace that anyone has been living here.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I’ll see to it all tomorrow,’ Huw Jenner told him impatiently.

  * * *

  The ride to Fforbrecon was slow and tedious. Owen Jones groaned at every bump in the rutted road. In spite of being cocooned in blankets he shivered violently and the cold night air made it increasingly painful for him to breathe.

  ‘Have you nothing you could give him to ease his distress?’ begged Kate.

  ‘We’ve not far to go now.’

  ‘Are we taking him to your house at Newport?’

  ‘Heavens no! We’re only going a few miles down the road. Just as far as Fforbrecon,’ he added quietly.

  ‘You mean we’re taking Owen Jones back to his own home?’

  Her eyes glinted blue in the whiteness of her face and he heard the tremor in her voice and wondered why she seemed so startled by his statement. Before he could question her, Owen Jones claimed her attention and the moment was lost.

  After that they had travelled in silence, each occupied by their own thoughts, until they stopped outside the Howells’ terraced house.

  Prys and Megan came out to meet them. They asked no questions. Quickly, silently, they bundled Owen Jones out of the cart and into their living room. They were relieved to find that Dr Pendric had indeed already arrived. Prys settled him into an armchair drawn up by the fire then stood back to allow Dr Pendric to examine him.

  Megan fussed round Elwyn Pugh and Kate.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, cariad, but I can see you’re frozen to the bone,’ she crooned as she helped Kate off with her cloak. ‘Drink this, my lovely, you’ll soon be warm,’ she promised, handing Kate a mug of tea.

  ‘And you, Dr Pugh. Would you like a spot of something stronger in yours?’ she asked with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Normally we wouldn’t have anything of this sort in the house, but Dr Pendric brought some whisky with him. For medicinal purposes, you understand.’

  ‘Most welcome.’ Elwyn Pugh held out his
cup and Megan poured a liberal tot into his tea. ‘I think Kate might benefit from a drop as well.’

  ‘Of course, if she can take it. Me, I can’t stand the stuff.’

  ‘What about Owen, doctor? Is he allowed any?’

  ‘Well diluted it will do him good,’ Dr Pendric assured her. ‘Steady his nerves as well as warm him up.’

  ‘I’ll soon have some hot cawl for you all,’ promised Megan, placing a large iron saucepan over the glowing centre of the fire. She lifted the lid and a delicious savoury aroma filled the air as she peered inside and stirred the contents.

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ Elwyn Pugh told her. ‘We have to decide what our next course of action is to be, that’s why I asked Dr Pendric to meet us here.’

  ‘Food first, mun,’ insisted Prys. ‘Starving I am,’ he laughed. ‘It’s well past our normal time for eating, see.’

  ‘If that’s settled then I’ll lay the table,’ stated Megan. Refusing Kate’s offer of help, she bustled to and fro, spreading a starched white cloth over the red chenille cover on the table in the centre of the room.

  ‘I don’t know how we’re all going to sit down. Be a tight squeeze,’ apologized Prys as he moved the chairs around.

  ‘Owen must stay in the armchair by the fire,’ ordered Dr Pendric. ‘Megan or Kate can feed him later.’

  ‘Right you are. Now the rest of you, come along. I shan’t call you again,’ scolded Megan.

  ‘There’s no need to call me. The smell of your cawl floating up the stairs was signal enough, Megan. I’m absolutely famished and…’

  Kate’s gasp of astonishment was echoed by the man who had entered the room. For a moment they both remained frozen to the spot. Kate’s heart seemed to miss a beat, then her pulses raced as she stared at the wraith-like figure in the doorway. Was it David or was it an apparition? she asked herself. He was so thin. Even his face had changed. The wide mouth, the fine aristocratic nose were unmistakable, but a recently healed scar extended from one side of his forehead right down the side of his cheek.