by Rosie Harris
‘Love! Utter balderdash. What has love got to do with it! You are destined for each other…’
‘No, Father. Both you and Tomos Vaughan are quite wrong. To you, this marriage is nothing more than a business merger. When I marry it will be for love.’
‘I refuse to listen to such meaningless diatribe,’ Tudor ap Owen shouted heatedly. A bulging vein pulsed at his temple. Colour suffused his face and neck then drained away leaving him a ghastly grey. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow. He clutched at his chest, his breath rasping, then he slumped and fell heavily to the ground.
Kate was on her knees at his side in seconds, struggling to loosen his cravat so that he could breathe more easily. Elwyn Pugh, his face grave, felt for Tudor ap Owen’s pulse and took immediate steps to revive him. The entire household was roused and David despatched one of the grooms to fetch his father’s personal physician.
While they waited for Dr Glanmor Wynne to arrive, Tudor ap Owen, who was unconscious, was carried to his bed. Dr Pugh and Kate did all they could to make him comfortable.
* * *
When Dr Wynne arrived, Elwyn Pugh suggested that David and Kate should go downstairs and eat the meal that had been prepared for them.
They had only just sat down at the table when a maid came in to tell them that David was needed upstairs.
Kate toyed with the food before her, anxious to know what was happening, desperately trying to resolve what she ought to do for the best. She was exhausted and dispirited. Although she had found David, after all that she had witnessed it was impossible for her to stay on at Llwynowen, yet the thought of returning to the Bull filled her with despair.
As David and the doctors came into the dining room she resolved to ask Dr Pugh if he would let her ride with him back to Newport. Morag had said she would always be welcome at their house, so perhaps she could spend a few days with them until she could make other arrangements.
‘We hoped you would be willing to stay here and nurse Tudor ap Owen,’ Elwyn Pugh frowned when she made her request.
‘Do you think that would be wise?’ she questioned. ‘He ordered me to leave his house!’
‘Dr Pugh speaks very highly of your capabilities,’ Glanmor Wynne told her.
‘Yes, but after what has happened? It was partly because I was here that…’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself for my father’s attack, Kate,’ interrupted David. ‘I’m the one who upset him by refusing to go along with his devious schemes.’
‘Do you want me to stay, David? If you do, then I’ll be more than willing.’
‘Right, that’s settled,’ declared Dr Glanmor Wynne, nodding in a satisfied manner. ‘I shall look in later today to check the patient’s progress,’ he stated as he prepared to take his leave.
‘Perhaps we’ll meet again, Kate.’ Dr Pugh held out a hand. ‘I will let Morag know where you are.’
‘Tell her that one day I’ll come to Newport to see her,’ smiled Kate. ‘And will you tell her I’ve found David?’ she added shyly.
* * *
‘You are quite sure you want to stay, Kate?’ questioned David when they were on their own. ‘Dr Pugh mentioned you were anxious to return to Blaenafon.’
‘Only because I’ve left my belongings at the Bull, the place where I was working before I joined the march to Newport.’
‘Don’t fret about that. I’ll send a man over to collect them for you. But why on earth did you join up with the Chartists?’
‘I came to Wales to look for you, David, but I was afraid to come to Llwynowen in case I was turned away. Then I had this feeling that the Chartists would lead me to you.’
‘I suppose in a way they did bring us together,’ he admitted, drawing her into his arms.
Hungrily, his lips covered the curving fullness of her mouth. Memories of their idyllic days at Bramwood Hall, days filled with laughter and sunshine, came flooding back with an almost unbearable sweetness. Their embrace became more ardent. Their longing for each other almost overcame their sensibilities.
Reluctantly, Kate broke free.
Her longing to stay in David’s arms was every bit as great as his was to hold her, but the fear that someone might see them in such a compromising situation deterred her.
‘We must be prudent. It will only be another weapon against me,’ she warned David as she moved out of the circle of his arms. ‘If we are patient, we still might win your father round to accepting my presence here.’
‘I doubt it!’ His voice rose. ‘He will probably disinherit me because I’ve refused to capitulate and marry Penelope Vaughan,’ he muttered morosely.
‘We will still have each other,’ she whispered.
‘No home, no money…’ he shook his head. ‘That’s not the sort of life I could ask you to share with me.’ His eyes blazed, his body shook as he became consumed by despair.
‘Hush! Calm yourself, David.’ She tried to console him with tender kisses, although she was near to tears herself, unable to bear the agonizing doubts that assailed her.
‘You are so unworldly, my sweet Kate,’ he groaned, freeing himself from her embrace and walking to the window.
She felt helpless as she watched him struggle with his inner torment. Rage and frustration seemed to consume him.
‘We would manage, somehow,’ she murmured. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work.’
‘Are you suggesting you would keep me?’
‘No, but I have a wonderful idea of how we could both work together,’ she exclaimed eagerly. ‘Do you remember you once told me that you envied William Barnes, who used to be my schoolmaster?’
David stared at her blankly.
‘Don’t you see, David?’ her face glowed with excitement. ‘We could follow his example and open our own school…’ Her voice died away as she saw the expression in his eyes and sensed that once again she was sighing for the moon.
Chapter 40
Tudor ap Owen was an irascible patient.
Dr Wynne, worried in case any undue exertion might bring on a relapse, insisted that his patient remained in bed for almost ten days.
‘You might be as strong as an ox, but you are human, even if you hate to admit it,’ he pronounced when Tudor ap Owen rebelled against such treatment.
‘I’ll never make any progress shut away up here.’
‘If it was mid-summer then perhaps I would permit you to sit outside for a short time each day, but in winter your own bedchamber, where you are away from any draughts, is the best place for you to be.’
‘Poppycock! How can I organize things from a sick bed!’
‘You seem to be managing well enough,’ Glanmor Wynne told him drily. ‘You have a first class bailiff to look after your farm, an overseer and an agent to take care of your mining interests, so nothing is likely to be overlooked or neglected even if you are confined up here for a month!’
‘Even the best of workmen need supervision, and there are plenty of other matters that need my attention.’
‘Then let David see to them.’
‘And who is going to make sure that I am properly looked after if he is away from Llwynowen on business?’ Tudor ap Owen scowled.
‘The same person who has done it ever since you have been ill. Kate!’
‘Bah! A children’s nanny. What does she know of my needs?’
‘Plenty, I should imagine! She has been listening to your constant demands for over a week now. Any other woman would have walked out long before this, or insisted you mended your ways,’ observed Glanmor Wynne.
Tudor ap Owen glowered but made no answer. He knew his old friend was right. He was behaving in an unreasonable manner, yet never once had Kate shown the least sign of anger or resentment. For the first three days and nights she had sat by his bedside the entire time.
Even after it had been confirmed that his temperature and pulse were back to normal and all he now needed was bedrest, she had still remained on call, sleeping on a makeshift bed in his dressing room.
He had mad
e sure she was there by ringing the handbell on his bedside table three or four times each night. Without fail she arrived within minutes, candle in hand, anxious to attend his needs.
During the day she was just as attentive, coaxing him to eat and making sure he took his medicine. A dozen times a day she would plump up his pillows or straighten his bed and ensure he was as comfortable as possible. When he became fractious, she read to him and he was pleasantly surprised by her fluency and the expressive tone of her voice.
Several times when it was dusk and he had objected to having the lamps lit, she had recited verses from memory. There had been ones he had enjoyed in his youth, as well as poems that she told him David liked, written by a chap called William Barnes who had been her schoolmaster when she was a child in Wiltshire.
Reluctantly, Tudor ap Owen had to admit he had grown to like Kate Stacey. He no longer regarded her as a mere servant, though exactly what her position was in the household he found it impossible to define. He was ready to concede, to himself only, that she had an inborn grace, as well as a great many other qualities, that Penelope Vaughan lacked.
He was also aware of the tremendous influence she had over David. He realized that she was the one who had motivated David into shouldering the responsibility of both Fforbrecon and the estate. His efficiency in this direction he found surprising. He had never credited David with such latent talent and he was astute enough to realize that once he picked up the reins again it might undermine David’s enthusiasm.
He knew he was straining Kate’s patience by playing on his supposed frailty, especially when he acted testily, and grumbled or snapped at her, but some inner malevolence seemed to take possession of him. The more he tried to be reasonable the more cantankerous he seemed to become.
He lay back in his canopied four-poster contemplating the situation, pondering why she did not rebel. She had plenty of spirit and was never afraid to argue with him, yet she continued to accept his uncertain temper with such sweet tolerance that it often made him ashamed of his outbursts.
Realizing that he was not listening, Kate laid the book she had been reading aloud to one side and walked across to the window. She stood there looking out, lost in thought.
In the distance, the stark ridge of the Blorenge mountain lay wreathed in mist, the bushes in the carefully tended garden immediately below sparkled with hoar frost and the grass looked as though it had been lightly dredged with fine sugar. Christmas was only a short while away and her heart ached to be back in Wiltshire. If only she could turn back the clock to the days of her childhood, when Christmas had meant carols and the smell of a plump chicken roasting in the oven and plum pudding with a sprig of holly in it to follow. There had been jollity and feasting at the Manor but she had spent most of Christmas Day up to her elbows in hot greasy water, washing the never-ending stream of dishes that came down from the dining room where the Sherwoods entertained as many as thirty guests in high style. Afterwards, she had been too weary to take part in the jollity below stairs and had crept off to her attic bedroom clutching a mince pie and had fallen asleep eating it.
As his gaze fixed on her, Tudor noticed there were fine lines of weariness around her vivid blue eyes and a droop to her lips.
She looked both tired and despondent and he pondered on how he could keep her in his employ even though her nursing skills were no longer needed.
She had made it clear that she had seen through his ruse when he refused to leave his bedroom after Dr Wynne had stated he was well on the road to recovery. He wasn’t sure that she understood the reason, though.
‘A week ago you were complaining because Dr Wynne said you must stay in bed,’ chided Kate. ‘It’s mid-morning now, the drawing room is aired and there’s a fire in your study, so why are you refusing to get dressed?’
‘Because I’m not ready to do so,’ he growled.
‘Why aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘Your valet has shaved you and laid out your clothes.’
‘I don’t feel like getting up.’
‘If it’s too much trouble to get dressed then sit out in your armchair for a while,’ she persisted, fetching his dressing gown and holding it ready for him.
‘For heaven’s sake, leave me alone, or do something useful.’
‘What is it you want done?’
‘I want to dictate a letter. Can you write, girl?’
A vivid flush spread from her cheeks to her throat.
‘You know I can write… and read,’ she told him angrily. ‘I attended school until I was fourteen and my schoolmaster wanted me to become a teacher,’ she added with dignity.
‘Good. Then ring for some paper and pens to be brought up from my study and you can act as my amanuensis.’
Morning dictation became a regular occurrence. Her penmanship was impeccable, her spelling perfect, yet his praise was negligible. Instead, he kept her waiting by his bedside while he scrutinized each document.
His eyes narrowed as he finished signing the letters and glanced over at her. She was putting on weight. Her figure was far more shapely than when she had arrived. Over-eating at his expense, he thought irritably.
Unaware that he was watching her or that she was silhouetted against the window, Kate gently massaged the small of her back, trying to ease the dull ache which was growing worse with each passing day. She attributed it to the uncomfortable bed she had been given and wondered how much longer it would be necessary for her to go on sleeping in Tudor ap Owen’s dressing room.
If only David would stop prevaricating and tell his father that they intended to marry, then surely she would be given a bedroom of her own and treated more as one of the family.
Tudor’s deep growl of anger made her turn.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, solicitously hurrying to his bedside and laying a cool hand on his brow.
‘Not with me!’ He watched her through half-closed lids, waiting to see her reaction, surprised that she could remain so calm. He studied her figure surreptitiously as she stood close by his side. His pulse raced as he planned what to say next, wondering if she would deny it.
He couldn’t understand how he hadn’t realized the facts sooner. It was the answer to all that had been puzzling him, the reason why she was so amenable, willing to put up with his capricious moods. She was currying favour, trying to make herself indispensable so that she wouldn’t be turned out.
His mind worked feverishly. He would bet any money that was why she had come to Wales looking for David. His temples pounded. This was the outcome of the long holidays David had spent at Bramwood Hall. All his explanations about studying, and how he needed to stay near the university, had been so much poppycock.
With his sister’s connivance, he’d been philandering with this girl, Tudor ap Owen thought, enraged. No wonder George Sherwood had advised him to send for David, and had been so ready to turn the girl out.
He choked at the thought, feeling that he had been duped. To have taken her into his own house, let her nurse him, to have felt grateful to her for what she had done for him. To have regarded her as being of a higher status than one of his own servants because she was well mannered and had some schooling. He groaned with mortification at the way he had been deluded.
‘Are you sure you are all right, you look very upset.’
The concern in her voice and in her blue eyes sent the blood pounding through his temples. He brushed her hand away from his brow as though her very touch seared his flesh.
‘The truth. I want the truth. I will not be hoodwinked a moment longer,’ he railed loudly.
She frowned, perplexed, shaking her head so that her abundance of black hair moved like a dark cloud around her shoulders.
‘Are you expecting my son’s child?’
Colour slowly suffused her face, spreading from her neck to her cheeks, then draining away completely leaving her face ashen. There was a haughty gleam in her blue eyes. Her lips tightened as though in anger but she said nothing and held her head proudly.
He stared nonplussed. He had been prepared for tears, for heated denials, for anger even, but her dignified silence left him discomfited.
‘Well? What have you to say?’
He felt a stirring of guilt as he remembered the way he constantly summoned her to his presence, had her running backwards and forwards, up and down stairs. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming need to protect the child she was carrying, knowing it would be the grandson he yearned to have.
‘Why have I not been told?’
‘There is nothing to tell, and if there was it would hardly be any of your business,’ she told him quietly, her chin rising in a gesture of defiance as her level gaze held his unwaveringly.
His defences crumbled. She wasn’t what he had planned for his only son, but he had to admit she had tremendous courage and was behaving with considerable dignity.
His initial anger that she had made herself agreeable, tried to curry favour with him because she needed shelter and a home for a child, he now dismissed as being unworthy. If he was completely honest he would admit that far from endeavouring to placate him she had remained unassailable. She had tolerated his whims with good humour, she had nursed him with infinite care. What more could he possibly want, he asked himself. What cause had he for being upset in any way? Yet he wasn’t content to let her think she’d won so easily.
‘If you are hoping David will marry you, just remember that there is a long-standing agreement with Tomos Vaughan for my son to marry his daughter.’
‘And you would hold him to an arrangement made before he was old enough to understand what such a commitment entailed?’
‘Fine words. They solve nothing. It’s a question of honour… family honour.’
‘You would sacrifice his happiness for family honour!’
The contempt in her voice and the look of derision on her face made him inwardly cringe. He lay back on his pillows, panting for breath, groaning faintly.
Immediately she was by his side, feeling for his pulse, loosening the neck of his nightshirt. The scorn had gone from her voice as she spoke soothingly, entreating him to rest.
