by Iris Gower
Llinos ate a leisurely breakfast of toast and honey, and later did her rounds of the pottery sheds, telling herself that she could come back here any time if she missed the old place. Eynon had suggested putting the pottery up for sale but Llinos balked at the idea: she preferred to leave Watt in charge of everything. He would manage without her: since Joe had died she had left most of the business to him anyway.
Llinos sighed. Marriage to Eynon meant giving up more than the pottery: it meant giving up her personal freedom too and now, with the wedding day drawing near, she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
She made her way into the painting shed and watched as one of the decorators worked on a transfer pattern, filling in the colours by hand with great delicacy.
‘Morning, Llinos, you’re looking happy. Thinking about your husband-to-be, are you?’
Llinos turned to see Watt standing over her. His hands were streaked with paint and there was a dab of colour on his cheek. She drew him towards the door. ‘I think I’m getting cold feet,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Will I like being a wife again, after all this time?’
‘Wedding nerves,’ Watt said. ‘Everyone gets them, Llinos, or was your first wedding so long ago you’ve forgotten that?’
‘Hey, cheeky!’ Llinos slapped his arm playfully. ‘I’m not that ancient!’ She sobered. ‘Oh, Watt, am I doing the right thing?’
‘Of course you are, Llinos. You’ve known Eynon since you were both children.’ He smiled. ‘You know you love him and it’s obvious to everyone, even me, and I’m pretty dense when it comes to feelings – or I was once.’
‘You’ve always given me the right advice when I needed it.’
‘And I’m giving you good advice now, Llinos. Marry Eynon, put all your doubts to one side. I think this marriage will be the making of you.’
‘All right. I’ll pretend I’m a young girl again, marrying my first love. It’s a bit of a stretch for an old lady but if I try hard enough I might just succeed.’
‘Rubbish! Anyway, you’re as beautiful now as you were when I first set eyes on you.’ Watt smiled down at her. ‘I was nine and you were about sixteen. I thought you were beauty, spirit and intelligence rolled into one. Had I been born in more privileged circumstances I’d have wanted you for my own.’
‘Oh, Watt, you’ve never said anything like that before.’
‘Well, I’m older and I know that in Rosie I’ve got the best wife any man could want, but now I can express my appreciation of you as I never did when I was young. I suppose I understand the world a little better. That’s what getting on in years does for you.’
‘Oh, Watt,’ Llinos kissed his cheek, ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you all these years. You’ve been my right-hand man always.’
Watt laughed. ‘Except when I was off on my travels, but I was always glad to come home.’
‘And I was always glad to see you. Now, enough of that, I’d better get indoors and sort out some more patterns. After today it will be your job to make up fresh designs. We need to be a bit more modem now to keep up with other potteries.’
‘I hear you, boss.’ Watt smiled.
Llinos gave him a playful slap and left him to get on with his work. As she walked slowly back to the house she was feeling more at ease with herself: as Watt had pointed out, it was natural to feel nervous at the thought of being married again, especially at her age. Still, she would make Eynon a good wife and they would share their last years together and be happy.
Bull Beynon walked into the shed where one of the engines of the Great Western Railway stood idle. The inspection was to be carried out by Mr Steel, an engineer who was more experienced than himself.
‘Morning, Beynon. You’ve kept the rolling-stock in good condition, I’m glad to say, although in this weather it’s difficult to inspect anything properly. Your reputation precedes you – we all know you treat this railway of yours as if it was your own child.’
‘Morning to you, Mr Steel. I’m glad we meet with your approval.’ Bull spoke easily: he was always at home with other men who loved the railway. ‘What’s this talk about bringing in the narrow gauge, though? Is there any substance in the rumour?’
Mr Steel scratched his beard. ‘Aye, there’s talk, but that’s all it is right now. I can’t see the broad gauge being replaced for years yet.’
‘So, you think it will come one day?’ Bull thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘It would be a mistake. The wheels of an engine running on a narrow-gauge track won’t be as stable as they are on the broad gauge.’
Mr Steel sighed heavily. ‘We know that, Beynon, but the powers-that-be have different ideas. Anyway, my job’s done for now. Let’s go and have a beer in one of your excellent taverns, shall we?’
Bull led the way out of the shed and indicated the Terminus Inn, a short distance from the yard. The men fell into step and Bull mused on what Steel had told him. Why, he wondered, did folk have to interfere with something that was working perfectly well? Brunel had invented the broad gauge and he was a man who knew what he was doing.
The public bar was almost empty, though a haze of smoke drifted in the air and the smell of stale tobacco permeated the room. ‘I’ll sit by the fire, Beynon, and you call the landlord over. We’ll have a good draught of ale to oil our wheels.’ He laughed at his own joke, and as soon as he sat down he refilled his pipe, pushing the tobacco into the bowl with practised fingers.
Bull called the landlord, then sat on the old wooden settle beside Steel. ‘It’s a filthy day and the rain’s getting worse.’ Bull frowned. Katie had gone into town this morning with the baby. He hoped she would cut short her shopping trip and take a cab home.
‘Well, at least we’re in by the fire, Beynon. No need for us to prolong the inspection, not with a man like you in charge.’
The landlord brought the drinks, which saved Bull making a reply; praise always embarrassed him. The beer was dark and bitter, just as he liked it, and he drank with relish.
‘I’ve been asked to speak to you this morning, Beynon,’ Steel said, wiping the white froth of the beer from his moustache.
Bull looked at him, trying to read his expression, but the man’s head was lowered and it was difficult to guess what he was thinking. ‘Speak to me about what?’ he prompted.
‘How would you like to be a magistrate at the Sessions, Beynon? Swansea needs men of character like you to sit on the bench.’
Bull was taken by surprise. This was not what he had expected. He rubbed his chin, giving himself time to think. ‘What would it entail?’ He didn’t want to be involved in anything that took him away from his work on the railway.
‘Well, you’d be expected to make decisions that are fair and just. It’s no easy thing to commit a man to prison. It wouldn’t take up all your time – you would still have your job on the railway. As you get older, though, you might find it easier to be a judge than a railwayman.’
Bull couldn’t see that time ever coming, but he needed to give the matter serious consideration. He would speak to Katie and see what she thought of the idea of her husband sitting in judgement on those less fortunate than himself. ‘I’m very flattered but I’d like time to think about it,’ Bull said slowly. ‘I love my work on the railway and I never did see myself ever going for something like this.’
‘It would be a great step up for you and, as I said, we need men of your sort.’
The two men drank in silence. After a time Steel put down his tankard. ‘I’d better be going. I’ve got a report to write and that’s a job I hate.’ He stood up and laid his hand on Bull’s shoulder. ‘Don’t move, you just sit here and finish your drink, then go home and talk to your wife. Bull,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I want you to take the job – it’s an honour you deserve.’
Bull sat for a long time staring into the fire. He knew that Steel was right: being elected a magistrate was a mark of honour the town bestowed on a man who was seen to be honest and true. Usually men of education and high birth
formed the judiciary, and Bull had come from the working people of the town. Still, he would wait to see what Katie had to say about it. She was a fount of common sense and would tell him exactly what she thought. He finished his beer and got to his feet.
At the door of the inn, he collided with a woman. He held her away from him in embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘Bull! Watch where you’re going – you nearly knocked me off my feet. I’m quite shaken up.’
‘Rhiannon, it’s you.’ He looked down into her flushed, rain-damp face with strange feelings running through him. Her eyes gleamed like dark gems and her hair curled in tendrils from under her bonnet. She had never looked more beautiful. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you back inside and we can shelter from the rain for a while.’
He moved towards the fire, but his place had already been taken by an old man with a dog so Bull led the way to a corner seat. He lifted his hand to the landlord and asked for two hot toddies. When the drinks were put on the table, he risked a look in Rhiannon’s direction. ‘What are you doing out in this weather, anyway?’ he asked. Suddenly he felt the urge to kiss her moist lips. ‘You women will brave any weather to do a bit of shopping, won’t you? My Katie was coming to town this morning but I hope she’s stayed indoors.’
‘How is Katie? Is she keeping well?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘I haven’t been up to see her lately.’
‘She’s loving every minute of being a mother, and I’d say she’s very well indeed.’ Bull spoke lightly. ‘But what are you doing in town?’
‘I just came to order some provisions for the hotel.’ She was talking fast, and Bull knew that she was as affected as he was by their chance meeting. The mention of Katie’s name had not eased the tension between them: rather, it had heightened it. ‘You’ve got a good position in the hotel, I understand, so why don’t you send one of the servants to run the errands?’ he said. ‘If you’re in charge you should make other people do some of the hard work.’
Rhiannon smiled, and he thought again how beautiful she was.
They finished their drinks in silence and Bull put down his glass. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back home,’ he said uneasily. ‘Which way are you going?’
‘To the Paradise Park.’ Rhiannon was looking up at him through thick, dark lashes. ‘I suppose, as we’re going in the same direction, we might as well walk along together – that’s if you’re not ashamed to be seen with me.’
Bull drew her to her feet and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Never say that to me again, Rhiannon.’ His voice was stern. ‘I wasn’t ashamed when I lived with you and I’m not ashamed now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rhiannon said quickly. ‘It was wrong of me even to suggest it. You’ve never been a man to put on airs and graces and I’m sure married life and a grand job are not enough to change the real Bull Beynon.’
They walked in silence for a while, and Bull couldn’t help but remember the days and nights they had spent together in the small hut at the side of the railway track. They had been happy times . . .
‘You’re quiet, Bull,’ Rhiannon said. ‘If you want to go on ahead, please don’t feel you have to wait for me.’
‘I like walking with you.’ He felt he owed her an explanation. He and Rhiannon had always been honest with each other. ‘It’s just that I feel a bit guilty, a bit disloyal to Katie, because I still enjoy being with you.’ He felt it was a clumsy explanation.
Rhiannon smiled up at him, with a sparkle in her dark eyes. ‘We still care a little for each other, Bull, because we were close, weren’t we?’
He didn’t know what to say. She was right, of course, but he didn’t want her to look on his words as encouragement.
‘It’s all right, Bull.’ She had read him well. ‘We’re friends and we’ll always be friends. I know there’s nothing else for me where you’re concerned, and I don’t hope for anything other than your liking and respect.’
He was relieved: he felt that he had cleared the air with Rhiannon and now he could afford to enjoy her company. ‘You always were a woman with a great deal of common sense,’ he said, and touched her arm lightly.
‘Bull!’ The soft, unmistakable voice of his wife drifted across the road towards him and Bull looked up, startled.
He saw Katie’s happy face as she held their baby, wrapped in the Welsh shawl, firmly to her breast. Bull’s face suffused with colour, and he felt guilt like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Suddenly the road was filled with traffic, horses drawing vans, hansom cabs and, drawing ever nearer, the midday mail coach to London. He saw Seth Cullen hovering behind Katie. He seemed to be holding her back but then she stepped into the road, her eyes fixed on him. ‘Katie, watch out!’ he called. It was too late. She stumbled and fell onto her knees, her face a blur as she stared at him. He met her eyes, then rushed towards her through the traffic.
The four horses drawing the mail coach were hurtling along the road. Bull cried out his wife’s name, as if the power of his voice could hold the coach at bay. The horses, frightened by the noise, reared and their hoofs lashed the air.
‘Dear God, no!’ Bull was unaware of hands holding him back, and watched in horror as Katie was struck down by flying hoofs. For a few seconds the coach jerked forward as the driver struggled to bring the animals under control and then the air seemed still as Bull stared at the limp body of his wife.
As he closed the distance between them, his legs felt as if lead weights were dragging him down. It seemed an eternity before he reached her, fell on his knees and took her in his arms. The baby was still and silent, wrapped against her lifeless body.
‘Katie, my love.’ He looked down into her face and saw a trickle of blood run from between her lips and make a trail along her jaw. ‘Katie, speak to me.’ He touched her lips with his, as if to breathe life into her, and then he became aware that hands were reaching out to him trying to draw him away. He shook them off.
‘Move aside, everyone, let the doctor in, for pity’s sake.’ It was Rhiannon’s voice, but Bull only dimly recognized it. The doctor, young, fresh-faced, a man Bull had never seen before, knelt beside him.
‘I’m Dr Frost,’ he said. ‘Let me see if I can help. Is this your wife, sir?’ he asked Bull, who nodded. He couldn’t speak.
The doctor lifted Katie’s limp wrist, then tried to listen to her heart. After a moment he shook his head. He turned his attention to the baby, then rested his hand on Bull’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for them. They are beyond human help.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bull said dully. He knew what the doctor meant but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
‘Your wife and child are both dead. Let these good people help you take them to the mortuary. There’s nothing else you can do.’
‘No!’ Bull said. ‘I’m taking them home. My wife and baby are not going to lie alone in a house of death.’
‘But you can’t carry both corpses.’
‘Corpses?’ Bull winced. He turned to look over his shoulder. ‘Rhiannon, carry my son to my house.’
She came at once, white-faced, with tears on her cheeks. She took the limp infant without a word and hugged him close to her breast. Bull picked up Katie in his arms to take her to their home, where she belonged.
As he walked away he did not see the crowds of onlookers or hear the excited talk about who had been at fault. No one had been at fault except him: he should have been with her, he should have kept her safe. He closed his eyes for a moment and then tears, salt and bitter, began to run down his cheeks splashing onto the face of his dead wife, his tears mingling with her blood. His love, his reason for living, was gone and it was all his fault.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SETH STOOD AT the edge of the cemetery, watching as Katie Beynon and her baby were laid to rest side by side in the ground. ‘I tried to stop her running into the road,’ Seth muttered. ‘I did, I tried my best.’
At his side, his cap in
his hand, was his uncle Tom, his grey beard trembling in the cold wind blowing across the gravestones.
‘Poor little thing,’ Seth said. ‘The poor child didn’t deserve to die like that.’ He leaned against a tree. ‘Damn this leg of mine! Sure the Blessed Virgin knows the pain I’m in from my poor stump but I deserve it for not saving Bull’s wife and child. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be alive today.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Tom said. ‘And haven’t I tried to tell you that more times than I can count?’ He clicked his tongue against his teeth in exasperation.
‘It don’t help none telling me that. I was so close to her I should have been able to stop her. Well, it’s too late now.’ Seth took a last lingering look at the small group of people around Katie’s grave. As he turned away there were tears on his cheeks.
Rhiannon stood a little distance from the grave. The mourners had gone and she was a solitary figure in the gloom of the cemetery. She saw the flowers at the foot of the wooden cross. ‘Poor Katie.’ She bit her lip, knowing how Bull must be suffering at the loss of his wife and child.
She took one more look at the fresh grave, then left the cemetery. She must put Bull Beynon and his tragedy out of her mind, think of other things. But the scene haunted her. She felt again the heaviness of the dead baby against her breast, saw the haunted look in Bull’s eyes as he carried Katie back to her home. ‘Stop it!’ she said softly. ‘Just think of something else.’ She focused her mind on the hotel: it was shaping up well, with the ground-floor work almost finished. But it was hard to get the tradesmen and their apprentices to move quickly.
She had kept on one of the navvies to do the labouring – Seth Cullen, with his bad leg, needed the work more than any of them, and he seemed to get along well with Sal; she often saw them talking together.
