by Iris Gower
‘Never mind,’ Rhiannon said. ‘We’ve set things in motion. It won’t take long for all the paperwork to be sorted out and then I can deal with the bank for you.’
‘That will be a great relief,’ Mrs Paisley said.
Rhiannon could see Mrs Paisley was very tired. ‘I’ll call us a cab – don’t argue, my feet are aching and I can’t face the walk back to the Paradise Park.’ It was an excuse and both women knew it, but Mrs Paisley made no protest.
Once settled against the leather seat of the cab the old lady closed her eyes and even Rhiannon felt lulled by the sound of the horse’s hoofs clip-clopping against the cobbles. She watched the crowds strolling past outside the shops as they drove along. It was a fine afternoon and it seemed the whole town was enjoying the sunshine. Then she saw Bull, his tall, broad-shouldered frame unmistakable among the lesser mortals who thronged around him. She leaned as far out of the window as she dared, trying to see his face. When she did, her heart caught in her throat. There was a look of such utter sadness about him that tears came to her own eyes. She wanted to leap out of the cab, run to him, take him in her arms and kiss away the pain etched into his features. But she could do nothing except watch him, knowing that it was Katie he wanted in his arms.
She watched until Bull vanished from sight. Why was life so complicated? She had felt joyful, happy that her future was secure and now, with one glimpse of Bull’s sad face, she was in the depths of despair.
The cab jerked to a halt outside the hotel and Mrs Paisley opened her eyes, coughing a little. ‘Are we home already?’
Rhiannon nodded. She climbed down from the cab and held on to Mrs Paisley’s arm, steadying the older woman as the horse jerked forward in the shafts.
‘My head feels strange,’ Mrs Paisley said, ‘as though there’s a heavy weight inside it.’
Rhiannon studied her carefully. She was rather pale and her hands trembled. ‘Come on,’ she swallowed her unhappiness, ‘we’ll have a nice cup of tea and you can put your feet up – we’ll soon have you feeling as sprightly as a spring chicken.’ She led the old lady towards the door of the hotel.
It was dim in the foyer as the lamps had not yet been lit for the evening. Rhiannon breathed in the scent of the place, the old leather, the beeswax polish and the roses in the bowl on the table, and felt comforted by it all. She might not have Bull by her side, she might never have a husband or children, but at least she had her pride in herself.
‘That’s strange.’ Mrs Paisley pointed to the door of her office. ‘I could swear I locked it before we went out.’ She looked at Rhiannon, her face grey with fear. ‘I left the money in there.’
In the office nothing seemed to have been disturbed. The desk was closed and the key was still in the small hidden drawer where Mrs Paisley kept it. All the same, Rhiannon thought it best to check everything. ‘Look in the box, Mrs Paisley. Let’s make sure the money is all there.’
Mrs Paisley unlocked the drawer and took out the tin box. Its key hung from her belt and the older woman glanced fearfully at Rhiannon before she turned it in the lock with trembling fingers: She flipped open the lid and gave a gasp of horror. ‘The money’s gone!’
‘Now, keep calm, Mrs Paisley. Perhaps you put it somewhere else. Sit down and try to think clearly. Did you hide it in one of the other drawers?’
Mrs Paisley shook her head. ‘I know I put the money in the box, but you have a good look, Rhiannon. I’m getting old and maybe forgetful.’ There was an edge of hope in her voice, but as she sank into a chair she was ashen and her face was twisted in pain.
Rhiannon searched the desk slowly and methodically, knowing all the time that her efforts were in vain. The total takings gathered in the weeks the hotel had been open had disappeared.
‘It’s not here. The money is gone, Mrs Paisley,’ she said softly. ‘Try not to worry about it, we’ll soon sort it out.’ Her words rang hollow even in her own ears. The money was needed for supplies of food, for the staff to cook it, and for a million and one other things required to keep the hotel running smoothly.
Rhiannon became aware that Mrs Paisley was gasping for breath and clutching at her breast as though in pain.
‘What is it, Mrs Paisley? What’s wrong?’
‘My chest – it’s hurting as if the flames of hell were in there.’
‘I’ll get the doctor,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Now try to be calm, Mrs Paisley, everything is going to be all right.’
She rang the bell frantically, and soon Sal ran into the room. ‘Fetch the doctor, Sal, and be as quick as you can.’
Sal needed no second bidding: she took one look at Mrs Paisley’s grey face, twisted in pain, then turned and fled.
Rhiannon poured some water from the jug on the desk and held it to Mrs Paisley’s lips. ‘Have a sip of this.’
But Mrs Paisley shook her head, and as Rhiannon replaced the jug on the desk she turned in time to see Mrs Paisley slip to the floor.
Rhiannon bent over her, not knowing how to help.
‘I can’t breathe.’ Mrs Paisley scrabbled at the neck of her gown.
Rhiannon loosened the collar with trembling fingers. ‘The doctor will be here soon, don’t try to talk.’ She lifted the woman’s head onto her lap but she could see that Mrs Paisley was very ill. She felt a sense of panic that the money was gone – and a drawer was full of bills to be paid. With Mrs Paisley so ill, it would be up to Rhiannon to sort out their financial problems. Could she do it alone?
‘What a time for me to fall sick, girl.’ It was as if Mrs Paisley had read her mind. ‘I’m going to leave you with a lot of work, Rhiannon. Do you think you can manage on your own?’ Her voice faded and Mrs Paisley closed her eyes. ‘I’m that tired, girl, I think I could die of it.’
Rhiannon felt a stab of fear. ‘Don’t talk like that. You’re not going to die – I won’t let you.’ She heard the front door slam and thanked God – Sal had returned with the doctor.
He was young, handsome and intelligent. He took in the problem at once. He knelt at Mrs Paisley’s side and listened to her heart. After a moment he nodded. ‘It’s bed for you, my lady.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You’re not to climb those stairs. Your heart is racing so hard you’d think you’d run ten miles. It’s a bed downstairs for now, and that’s an order.’
Rhiannon sent Sal to fetch the workmen who were still tidying up in the yard. The furniture was moved and a bed installed in the office. The men worked with a will, for all of them had learned that Miss Rhiannon was a fair employer and rewarded them for their efforts, not like the gentry who took everything for granted.
While Violet and Hetty undressed Mrs Paisley and made her comfortable in her bed Rhiannon went to the door with the doctor. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor . . . ?’ Now she looked at him properly and realized that he was the doctor who had been present at Katie’s death.
‘Dr Frost, Richard, and I’m glad I was available. Don’t worry about your mother now, she’s had a nasty turn with that heart of hers, but with care she’ll outlive a great many of us.’
He held out his hand and Rhiannon took it. ‘Please send me your bill and I’ll see to it.’ How she was going to do that without any money she had no idea, but Rhiannon didn’t want anyone, let alone the young doctor, to know that for the time being she was penniless.
He smiled warmly. ‘Good day. I’ll call in to see my patient tomorrow.’
The admiration in his eyes was unmistakable, but Rhiannon ignored it: she was in no mood for a flirtation. ‘Thank you, Dr Frost.’ She didn’t wait to watch him walk away but closed the door and leaned against it with her eyes closed. How would she manage now? She had a sick old lady on her hands, guests to be cared for, and no money to speak of. She straightened her shoulders. She had been in worse situations than this and worked her way out of them. She would find a way out of this dilemma somehow. ‘But how?’ Her words echoed hollowly across the foyer. Right now she must see to Mrs Paisley and any other problems she would put out o
f her mind until the dear old lady was on the mend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘WE’RE NEARLY THERE.’ Llinos leaned out of the carriage window and stared at the Cornish countryside rolling past, a green, lush land so like Wales that she immediately felt an affinity with it. She had visited Cornwall before some years ago, but had forgotten how lovely it was.
‘Thank goodness for that!’ Eynon said. ‘The noise of the train is enough to give a man a headache – give me my own horse and carriage any time.’
The train drew to a halt at the station. It was decked with flowers, and the doors and windows of the station buildings were brightly painted and welcoming. As Llinos stepped onto the platform she felt the warmth of the sun on her face and she tilted her head to look up at Eynon. ‘Now aren’t you glad I coaxed you to come away on holiday?’ She did not dare tell Eynon the real reason for their visit: if he knew she was looking for Jayne’s lover he would be so angry. Watt had been unable to deliver her note to Guy – soon after she had seen him he had been taken ill and had cancelled his planned trip to Cornwall.
Eynon put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her. ‘I’m happy to be anywhere in the world, my love, so long as it’s with you.’
The only transport available was a pony and trap and Llinos watched as Eynon negotiated the terms with the red-cheeked owner. The man nodded when he was handed a purse of money, beamed at Llinos then gave her a helping hand into the passenger seat.
She spread her skirts around her ankles aware of the cooling breeze coming off the sea. This was where Cornwall differed from Wales: the sea was rolling in from the English Channel with heavy waves pounding the rocky shores. At home the sheltering arms of the Bristol Channel cushioned the waves most of the time so that they licked the five-mile stretch of Swansea Bay like the tongue of a kitten.
On the rare days that storms occurred, the wind and cloud over Mumbles Head gave a distant warning of the danger to shipping. Then the boats of the oyster-catchers dropped anchor as close to the shore as possible, knowing that the oyster beds would be impossible to fish when the tide was running fast and angry.
‘We’re here, Llinos.’ Eynon’s voice jolted her from her thoughts and she smiled up at him, blinking a little in the sunshine. ‘You were far away then. What were you thinking?’ he added.
‘Just how lovely it all is.’ She put her hand on his cheek. ‘And being with you makes it all so much lovelier.’
Eynon smiled fondly and as he helped Llinos down the steps of the trap, he bent to plant a kiss on her cheek before he turned to the waiting groom. ‘Give the animal a good brush down and stable him for me, there’s a good lad.’ He put his arm around Llinos’s shoulder. ‘What were you really thinking?’
Llinos waited as the groom touched his hat and led away the sweating horse, then waved her hand vaguely in the air. ‘I was thinking about Swansea and the oyster-fishing. Beautiful as Cornwall is, I suppose I’m homesick.’
Eynon put his hand under her elbow and led her into the hotel. ‘I’ve booked us in for a few days but if you want to go home just tell me.’ Eynon nodded to the uniformed boy waiting to take his luggage and handed him some coins. ‘The bags are on the step.’
The hotel was small but comfortable, furnished with homely sofas and colourful curtains. At the desk a small moustached man inclined his head and consulted the pages of the book he held before him at an angle. Llinos hid a smile: anyone would think he was going to burst into song.
‘Ah, yes, Mr and Mrs Morton-Edwards, you have the best room in the hotel.’ He handed Eynon the key. ‘I’ll see to it that the lad brings your bags to your room right away, sir.’
The room was not over-large but it was bright and airy, with windows to the side and to the front overlooking the bay.
‘I’m going to have a rest, Llinos, all that travelling has worn me out.’ Eynon patted the bed. ‘Are you going to keep me company, my love?’
His meaning was clear and Llinos laughed. ‘Go on with you, Eynon! Anyone would think you were an eager young bridegroom, not an old married man!’
‘Well, I’m certainly eager,’ Eynon said, ‘and less of the old, if you please.’
‘I’m going for a walk,’ Llinos said, ‘I need some fresh air. Then perhaps I’ll join you and have a rest before dinner.’
Eynon sighed, ‘Just like a woman to keep a man waiting.’ He stretched out on the bed. His hair, still pale gold, flopped over his brow giving him a boyish look.
Llinos smiled at him. ‘You really are very handsome, you know.’ She bent and kissed his lips. ‘And just think, waiting will be good for you – it will make you all the more eager.’
She left the room just as the boy was bringing up the baggage and she held open the door for him to pass. She waited on the landing for him to emerge and when he’d closed the door behind him she motioned to him to wait.
‘I’m looking for someone and you might be able to help me.’ She took out the address Watt had given her and deliberately walked away from the door of the room, not wanting Eynon to hear what she was saying.
‘I’m trying to find a Mr Guy Fairchild. He’s down here on business, I believe.’ She held out the paper. ‘Can you tell me where Rose Mount House is situated?’
The boy looked down at his feet. ‘Don’t know, sorry, madam.’ He scuffed the toe of one shoe with the other. ‘Mr Hopkins on the desk might, though.’
‘Thank you.’ Llinos walked down the stairs, holding up the hem of her dress with one hand, the other on the highly polished banister. The man at the desk was no help at all. He shook his head vaguely when she mentioned the name of Guy Fairchild. Nor had he heard of Rose Mount House.
‘What about Mr John Pendennis, then? Do you know of his whereabouts? I know he lives here in Charlestown.’
The man looked up at her sharply. ‘Oh, yes, I know about Mr Pendennis, and so does everyone else in town. He lives a few streets away, just down the hill from here.’
‘Mr Pendennis is not liked hereabouts?’ Llinos asked.
‘His methods of doing business are not liked and if your friend, this Mr Fairchild, is connected with him he won’t have many friends in these parts either.’ The man scribbled an address and handed it to Llinos. ‘Be careful, Mrs Morton-Edwards, and whatever you do don’t give business to Pendennis because you’ll surely be cheated and robbed.’
Llinos stepped out of the hotel into the warmth of the early evening sunshine. It was all so beautiful that the sight took Llinos’s breath away.
Outside the hotel a pony and trap was waiting to take visitors to the harbour. Llinos nodded to the driver and climbed aboard, seating herself with care for the ride down the hill might be a bumpy one. The driver clicked to the horse and the trap lurched into motion down the steep hill to the harbour where the china clay was loaded onto ships to sail to places like Swansea to serve as the raw material for making pots. The smell of it was enough to make her homesick and Llinos wondered why she involved herself in other people’s business.
At the dockside, she stepped down from the trap and gazed around her. ‘Will you wait for me, please?’ she said to the driver. He touched his hat and took out his pipe. Llinos went up to one of the men attending to the loading of a ship. ‘Excuse me, do you know where I can find Mr Pendennis, please?’
The man gave her a sour look and nodded to where a man in a well-cut coat, with greying hair, was standing at the quayside.
Llinos walked up to the man. ‘Good evening, John,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember me?’
He frowned, not at all pleased to see her. ‘Yes, I remember you, Mrs Mainwaring. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s Mrs Morton-Edwards now, John, and you can tell me where I can find Guy Fairchild. I want nothing else from you.’ She saw the lines etched into the man’s face and knew that, in spite of his prosperity, he was not happy. Her tone softened. ‘How is life treating you, are you still with Lily?’
‘Lily?’ Pendennis looked as if he’d fo
rgotten the woman with whom he had run away. ‘Oh, she died some years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry for me. I’m a rich man now and I don’t want or need anyone’s pity.’
‘All right, John, but I need help. I have to find Guy Fairchild.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t discuss the reason with anyone but Mr Fairchild.’ She moved a little away from Pendennis and leaned over the harbour wall, watching as a ship was loaded: chutes projected from the side of the dock enabling the thick, heavy clay to slide straight down into the hold.
‘Anything in it for me?’ Pendennis’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked up at him quickly.
‘All I want is to find Guy Fairchild. I’m not here to do business, I’ve left the pottery now, as you probably know.’
‘Aye, I did hear something about it from Watt Bevan when he was down here, but he didn’t say much. We never were the best of friends, were we?’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘As for Fairchild, the last I saw of the man, and that was several weeks ago, he was staying at Rose Mount House. It’s a small place on the other side of the bay.’
‘Is it within walking distance?’
Pendennis looked at her with a spiteful smile. ‘Not for someone your age. I’d take a pony and trap, if I were you.’
Llinos ignored the remark. ‘I heard you were doing business with Mr Fairchild. Surely you know if he’s still in Cornwall?’
‘Mr Fairchild and I didn’t agree on certain matters and he might well have left Charlestown by now, for all I know or care.’
‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to give my driver directions to Rose Mount House.’
‘I told you, it’s over there on the other side of the bay. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve business to attend to and you’re wasting my valuable time.’ He turned away from her and Llinos returned to where the trap was waiting. ‘We’ll drive round the bay,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask directions to Rose Mount House when we get there.’
