by Rosie Harris
She had so looked forward to being able to confide in Helen that she was devastated when she realized that her future sister-in-law was a pale shadow of the woman she had parted from a few months earlier. Completely dominated by her husband, Helen seemed to be incapable of voicing any opinion of her own.
She felt dismayed and suddenly fearful that if she conformed to what was expected of her she might eventually become as submissive as Helen.
Living in a grand house, wearing beautiful clothes, eating sumptuous meals, and having servants to wait on her and a carriage to ride out in didn’t have to become a balm to one’s conscience, she told herself firmly.
Whatever happened, she resolved, she would go on trying to improve conditions for those who were forced to work in the pits, especially the young children.
Chapter 42
Kate dressed with care. Her gown of blue and grey patterned silk, with its full skirt falling from a high waist, was not the latest fashion but she had chosen it because it was one of her favourites. Around her shoulders she wore her blue cashmere shawl, pinned high on one side with her grandmother’s cameo brooch.
She brushed out her shoulder-length curls, smoothing them back from her forehead and gathering them in a chignon at the nape of her neck. She studied the effect with satisfaction. She looked pale but composed. It was going to be the biggest confrontation of her life and she knew it might even ruin her chances of marrying the man she loved so dearly. If she was to live at peace with her own conscience, however, it was something she must not shirk. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before going downstairs.
Everyone else was already in the dining room and she felt as if she was standing outside herself and seeing the entire gathering through a stranger’s eyes. She marvelled at how complacent and self-satisfied they all were. None of them seemed aware that their expensive clothes and luxurious surroundings resulted from the sweat of workers who lived in squalid conditions, and suffered grinding poverty.
She took stock of them dispassionately. Tudor ap Owen with his snow-white hair and pointed beard exuded a patriarchal air of authority. He was fully recovered from his illness and it had in no way affected his physical vigour. His hazel eyes were clear, unwavering and probing.
Standing beside him, Sir George Sherwood, with his red face and heavy jowls, looked boorish and overbearing. His light blue eyes were half hidden under hooded lids and his straight, sandy-coloured hair was brushed relentlessly to one side to reveal his high, dominant forehead.
Kate felt a wave of sympathy for Helen. She appeared to be in such awe of him, speaking hesitantly as if afraid she might say something of which he disapproved, and darting anxious glances at him whenever one of the girls spoke. Her round face looked crumpled and she kept chewing nervously on her lower lip. She looked staid and matronly in her dark green dress. Her fair hair, already showing wings of grey at the temples, was drawn back from a central parting into a tight bun that was far from flattering.
Beth had lost her coltish grace and was awkward and self-conscious, flushing uncomfortably when spoken to and appearing to be too tongue-tied to reply.
Mary had changed, also. She had grown plump and was wearing a pink satin dress that was so tight around the waist that it looked as if she was bursting out of it. The ruffled neckline accentuated the roundness of her face; the short, puffed sleeves made her arms look fat.
Kate let her gaze linger on David. His face was still gaunt and his eyes shadowed by what he had endured. For a moment her nerve almost failed her. Dare she speak out in front of his entire family, knowing how much it would distress him? she wondered. Yet she knew it was her last chance to let them all know of her deep-rooted concern and appeal to them to take steps to change the order of things.
And if they refused?
She closed her mind to such an eventuality.
She was sure that in his heart David agreed with her and realized that there would always be unrest at Fforbrecon until working conditions were improved.
Her opportunity to put her theory to the test came at the end of the fish course. As the plates were cleared and the chablis was replaced by claret in readiness for the meat course, George Sherwood began to speak disparagingly about the Chartists. Likening them to the Tolpuddle Martyrs, he advised his father-in-law to lobby for action to be taken when the trial of John Frost and his accomplices took place in Monmouth early in the new year.
‘Every one of them must be hanged,’ he urged. ‘Transporting them to Van Dieman’s Land would be foolhardy since if the blackguards ever return they would only stir up more trouble. Once an agitator, always an agitator.’
‘But what makes them agitators in the first place?’
There was an uneasy silence and Kate felt all eyes on her. Sir George’s face became as red as the glass of wine he held in his hand. Kate ignored David’s warning frown, aware only of Tudor ap Owen’s unwavering stare.
‘Greed and discontent! They’re always trying to ape their betters, never content with their lot,’ blustered Sir George.
‘And do you know what their lot is?’ demanded Kate.
‘Know what it is? Of course I do! We are all put on this earth with a specific purpose,’ he pronounced sanctimoniously, ‘and theirs is to work.’
‘And yours to be their master?’
‘Someone has to be in authority and extend a guiding hand, so naturally it falls to those of us who are educated to exercise that right.’
‘And exploit the workers? Make slaves of them! Force women to give birth below ground amidst the dust and debris of a coal mine! Compel children who are barely weaned to work in the mines and older children to be treated little better than animals…’
‘Kate! That is enough!’
The fury in David’s voice halted her passionate flow. Their gaze held. His, angry and confused, as if ashamed of her outburst. Hers, flushed and determined.
She clutched at the arms of her chair, knowing she was trembling from head to foot. She felt exultant because she had brought the matter out into the open.
‘Such an outburst is outrageous, coming as it does from someone who was once in my employ,’ Sir George exploded, his eyes bulging with fury.
She had not intended her onslaught as an attack on Sir George, since she knew he was not one of the main offenders. His servants worked long hours, and were expected to be at his beck and call at all times, but they were well fed and properly housed.
‘It was not directed at you, Sir George,’ Kate said quietly.
‘So it was meant for me,’ growled Tudor ap Owen, testily.
‘Father… please. Kate spoke hastily… without thought. She meant no discourtesy.’ David’s voice trailed away as his father cut in.
‘Discourtesy? No, perhaps not. Accusation, yes! Continue, Kate. Let us hear more of my heinous crimes. You’ve obviously given a lot of thought to the matter.’
Kate felt the silence that followed his words closing in around her like a trap. Her throat was so dry that she was unable to utter a word. Yet this was the chance she had been waiting for. If she didn’t speak up now then the opportunity would be lost to her forever. Once she was married to David she would be expected to support him no matter what he did. With a shaking hand she reached out for her glass of wine. The rich smooth fire steadied her nerves. It also cleared her throat and clarified her thoughts.
‘I am speaking of what I know,’ she said firmly, her eyes meeting Tudor ap Owen’s inscrutable gaze. ‘I have seen little children of four years old who have been maimed for life because they were unable to get out of the way of loaded trucks after they’d opened the safety doors to let them through. Children of the same age, forced to spend as many as twelve hours at a stretch, huddled in a dank, dark tunnel, completely alone, and who were whipped if they fell asleep from exhaustion. Boys of nine and ten who have lost an arm or a leg through spilling molten metal over themselves because they didn’t have the strength to lift the ladle properly.’
; She paused and took another sip from her glass.
‘These children are sent out to work because their parents need the extra pittance they bring home in order to survive! Little girls, of seven or eight, harnessed to a coal truck by chains and forced to crawl on their hands and knees to pull it along. A younger brother or sister helping to push the carts up the inclines to ease the load on the older child’s back. And should the tram run backwards, it will go over the younger child, maiming it for life! The more fortunate ones die,’ she added bitterly.
‘This is very unsavoury talk, Kate, in front of two young girls,’ Helen protested.
‘Perhaps they should know where the wealth they enjoy comes from,’ Kate retorted.
‘Kate, you have said more than enough,’ warned David.
‘Let her continue.’
‘But Father…’
The atmosphere in the room was tense. Kate knew all eyes were on her, each with its own message: David pleading for her to stop, Sir George glaring hostilely, Helen bewildered, the two girls wide-eyed with astonishment, Tudor ap Owen inscrutable.
There was so much she wanted to tell them to put right that she didn’t know where to begin.
‘They are not even provided with decent homes to live in,’ she declared balefully. ‘The squalor is unbelievable. Three and four families sharing a two-roomed house that has only one cooking grate and no sanitation. Children sleeping four to a bed, covered over by rags.’
‘Perhaps if the men didn’t drink their wages away they could afford better living standards,’ interrupted Sir George aggressively.
‘They drink because they are dehydrated after working a fourteen-hour day down the pits or in the iron furnaces. They drink to overcome their despair. And they drink because the owners pay out wages in the ale-houses,’ Kate said angrily. ‘The agent always arrives late and since the men are allowed to drink on tick until he gets there, they’ve not only run up a bill but are so fuddled that they don’t notice if he swindles them out of their rightful monies…’
‘Is this true?’ Tudor ap Owen’s voice lashed out.
‘It’s true. And what money the workers eventually carry home is minted in your own coin so it can only be spent in Tommy Shops!’ she asserted scathingly. ‘Company shops where you charge half as much again as they would have to pay in the shops in Brecon or Abergavenny! Oh yes,’ she added bitterly, ‘the owners make sure that every penny they pay out is returned to their own coffers by one means or another.’
‘And what do you propose should be done about all this?’ questioned Tudor.
His voice was so reasonable and he sounded so genuinely concerned that for a moment Kate forgot he was an owner. As she met his level gaze it was as if there were just the two of them in the room and he was asking her advice.
She took a deep breath, knowing that this was the moment she had hoped for, the chance to expound her theory on how life could be improved for the families in Ebbw Vale and the Top Towns.
‘It can’t happen overnight,’ she began cautiously, ‘but every family should have a house to themselves.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No, but better living conditions should be top of the list so that family dignity can be restored. Higher wages and better working conditions are equally important. There must be shorter working hours for the women and no child under twelve should be employed down the pits or in the ironworks. Pregnant women should not be expected to work underground and should not have to return to work for at least a month after giving birth. Wages should be paid out each week so that families do not run themselves into debt. The shops should become cooperatives and any profits ought to be shared out amongst the workers.’
‘Fine talk,’ blustered Sir George. ‘And where is all the extra money to fund all these highfalutin ideas coming from? If the men work fewer hours there will be no profit in it. And as for children under twelve remaining idle, that will lead to nothing but trouble. What will they do with themselves all day, may I ask?’
‘Owners will provide schools and it will be compulsory for the children to attend. They will learn to read and write so that they have a better understanding of what is happening around them.’
‘Breed a new race of agitators you mean, don’t you!’
‘Not at all!’ Boldly Kate held his gaze as she voiced her opinion. ‘Discontent is spawned by frustration. The Chartists have gained support because they understand the needs of working men and have spoken up on their behalf. Their leaders have risked their lives in order to make the voice of the people heard.’
‘I really don’t think this is a fitting conversation for two impressionable young girls to listen to,’ protested Helen, frantically fanning herself. ‘I really think I should take them into the drawing room,’ she added, pushing back her chair and making to rise from the table.
‘Stay where you are! It won’t hurt them to learn something of the harsh realities of life,’ dictated Tudor ap Owen.
‘It will certainly show them their precious Miss Stacey in a different light,’ sneered Sir George. ‘Now that you have all listened to her highly radical views, perhaps you understand why it was necessary for me to dismiss her from Bramwood Hall.’
‘I knew very little of such matters when I worked for you,’ retorted Kate, her eyes blazing. ‘It wasn’t until I came here to Ebbw Vale that I saw and experienced the things which have shocked me so deeply.’
‘Yet you are willing to marry one of the owners and doubtless you intend to enjoy the luxuries derived from such exploitation,’ Sir George gibed.
Kate’s eyes sought reassurance from David, aware that she had placed him in an invidious dilemma. If he agreed with her views he would antagonize his father. If he sided with his family then he was openly rejecting what she had just said.
Tudor ap Owen looked quizzically from one to the other of them.
There was a long pause. He waited patiently, his face still inscrutable. It seemed that everyone around the table was holding their breath, waiting for her answer.
‘I am marrying David because I love him,’ stated Kate. ‘I hope that perhaps one day he will come to understand how desperate the situation is and do something to improve conditions for his workers. When he does, then perhaps other owners will do likewise.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘It would be wonderful if he could set up a school so that all the children in Ffobrecon and Blaenafon could learn to read and write. I would like nothing better than to help him in such a project.’
‘Right. Well, if that is settled perhaps the main course can be served,’ Tudor remarked, ringing the small silver handbell on the table in front of him.
Kate ate mechanically, her eyes downcast. Her outburst had drained her and, it would seem, had not achieved anything. David had neither supported her nor expressed any opposition to her opinions. Her dilemma had not been solved.
Chapter 43
Kate and David were married at St Mary’s church in Fforbrecon, ten days before Christmas.
It was a bright cold day. The sun shone and a thin covering of snow gave the occasion a touch of fairytale magic. Kate, wearing a gown of pale champagne velvet, edged with cream swansdown, looked regal as she stepped down from the ap Owen carriage.
Pale but composed, she paused by the lychgate, while Beth and Mary, looking delightful in their bridesmaid’s dresses of peach velvet trimmed with white fur, stepped forward from where they had been sheltering to join her.
Then, very sedately, they walked behind her carrying the long train of Honiton lace.
Kate felt a frisson of fear as the waiting crowd of shabbily dressed men, women and children pressed forward. For one frightening moment she was back in Newport on the day of the Chartist rising, being pushed and jostled by an excited crowd. Her ears rang to the remembered sound of pistol shots ringing out over the heads of the thousands who had thronged Westgate Square. She shut her eyes to blank out the carnage that had followed, the agonized pleas and groans of the dying, the shrie
ks and screams of the injured.
She felt herself swaying and placed her hand on Sir George Sherwood’s black-coated arm for support. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself as they entered the church.
The past was over, she reminded herself as she heard the music peal out. Today was the beginning of a new life. She was crossing the divide; from now on she, too, would be regarded as one of the gentry.
‘There’s still time to turn back.’
Her grandmother’s voice filled her head, admonishing her, warning her to remember her place.
‘There’s they as must serve and them that has t’be served. Parson says we all ’ave our rightful place in life and your’n m’girl is to serve.’
It had been her grandmother’s constant admonishment.
Serving didn’t necessarily mean being a servant, she told herself rebelliously. As a servant she’d have no power to change things or help anyone. As the wife of a coalmaster her influence would be considerable and could be used to benefit a great many people. Surely that was a form of serving.
David wasn’t a hard-hearted tyrant, but a man who was ready to listen to reason. He’d already admitted he couldn’t be ruthless like his father. Given time, once he was in charge at Fforbrecon colliery, she was confident she would be able to persuade him to relax some of the harsh conditions imposed on the workers there.
The church was packed. Every seat was occupied. Titled personages and owners, the Hanburys, the Baileys, Sir John and Lady Guest, the Thomases and the Hills, sat alongside local dignitaries and tradesmen.
Kate saw them as a rainbow-hued collage as she walked down the aisle. Top-hatted, frock-coated gentlemen in fine-cut suits and quality calfskin boots, accompanied by their wives and daughters dressed in elegant gowns, their bonnets lavishly trimmed with fur, feathers and flowers.
Her eyes focused on David waiting at the altar steps. Although still thin and pale from his ordeal, he cut a handsome figure in his black cutaway coat worn over light grey trousers, an exquisitely embroidered satin waistcoat and a frilled white shirt.
