by Iris Gower
Rhiannon knew the old woman was right, but she patted her hand and got to her feet. ‘Well, I’d better talk to Mrs Jones or we won’t be having any dinner tonight.’ She looked down at Mrs Paisley. ‘Shall I help you to your room?’
Mrs Paisley shook her head. ‘No, I’ll just sit here for a while, enjoy the busy atmosphere of the Paradise Park.’
Rhiannon crossed the elegant foyer and made her way to the back of the hotel and the stairs leading down to the kitchens. By now Mrs Jones would have planned dinner, leaving Rhiannon to write out the menus.
It wasn’t long before Rhiannon was obliged to call again on Dr Frost’s services: one of the Powers children had fallen sick and though Rhiannon thought the child had enjoyed too many of Mrs Jones’s sweets, and perhaps a little too much sun, she nevertheless felt the doctor should see him.
Richard Frost came at once and Rhiannon watched as he bent over the little boy and examined him carefully, pulling down his lower eyelids, taking his pulse and listening to his heart. At last he straightened, a smile on his face. ‘It’s nothing that a little bed rest and abstinence from the sun won’t cure.’ He clicked his bag shut and smiled at the anxious Mrs Powers. ‘May I suggest that he eats only plain food for a few days? No sweet stuff, nothing too rich.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. Please send my husband your bill – and thank you once again for putting my mind at rest.’
Rhiannon led the way out of the room and Richard Frost followed her. On the landing she turned and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly, Doctor, I’m very grateful. You handled that little boy so well, I was very impressed.’
He held her hand for a moment. He was quite a small-built man, standing only a few inches taller than her, but he had a presence that was difficult to ignore.
‘You are very kind, Miss Rhiannon.’ He hesitated. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your Christian name but it’s the only one I know.’
‘I’d be delighted for you to drop the Miss, and simply call me Rhiannon. As you’ve gathered, everyone calls me by my first name and I’m happy with that. And we know each other well enough now to be informal, don’t we?’
He beamed down at her. ‘I would like to know you a great deal better, if I might be so forward as to say so.’
‘You’re very kind, but I’m always so busy with hotel business. However, I imagine we’ll see each other again before too long. I anticipate a flurry of families arriving for the summer holidays and little ones are always falling sick, aren’t they?’
Richard Frost looked disappointed. ‘Well, then, I hope to see you before too long.’
He left the hotel, and as Rhiannon watched him walk away, she wished with all her heart that she could respond to his undoubted attraction to her. She sensed he would not be able to overlook her previous way of life. It would take an unusual man to do that, a man like Bull Beynon.
Llinos stood outside Rose Mount House and hesitated, wondering if she should go inside. It was a pretty place with good thatch on the roof, and the roses round the door provided a riot of colour that did the heart good. Hearing footsteps, she glanced over her shoulder and a smile of relief appeared on her face. ‘Mr Fairchild, I’ve been looking for you,’ she said quickly, worried that her courage might fail her. He was well dressed, in clean fresh linen and well-cut narrow trousers.
Now he smiled, and he was so charming that Llinos could see why Jayne had fallen in love with him. ‘Mrs Morton-Edwards, what a coincidence meeting you here.’ He took her hand and bowed over it politely.
‘It’s not really a coincidence,’ she admitted. ‘I came here with the sole intention of finding you.’
‘Oh?’ A wary expression crossed his face. ‘And what could you want with me?’
She glanced round and gestured to a seat half hidden behind an overhang of trees. ‘Can we sit down?’
‘Very well.’ He seemed reluctant to talk to her.
Llinos could understand his feelings of suspicion. He must have heard the gossip that she had once been Dafydd’s mistress. Perhaps he believed she’d come here to warn him to keep away from Swansea. ‘I’ve come on behalf of Jayne, my stepdaughter,’ she said quickly, as she sat down and arranged her skirts. ‘Please, Mr Fairchild, listen to what I have to say and then it’s up to you which course of action you take.’
‘I’m listening.’ He spoke grimly, but he took a seat beside her and swivelled sideways to face her.
‘It’s about Jayne,’ she began, and wondered how to go on.
‘I gathered that much.’ Guy Fairchild’s voice held a touch of sarcasm.
Llinos decided to speak plainly. ‘When Jayne told you she was going to give her marriage another chance, she lied. Dafydd had a pistol concealed in his pocket and he had threatened to shoot you if Jayne didn’t succeed in sending you away.’
Guy Fairchild frowned. ‘She sounded convincing enough to me. In any case, the idea of the man threatening to kill me sounds a bit farfetched, doesn’t it?’
‘I suppose it does, if you don’t know Dafydd well, but I’m telling you the truth. Since you went away Jayne’s been kept locked in her room, unable to go out even into the garden.’
He digested this piece of information for a moment. ‘I don’t know what to think. Is Dafydd capable of such cruelty? I admit I find it hard to believe.’
Llinos looked at him in silence for a moment, wondering how to convince him. ‘Have you never seen Dafydd in a fit of rage, then?’ She’d heard the story, as had everyone in Swansea, about Dafydd horse-whipping Guy to within an inch of his life.
‘Yes, of course I have, but what a man does in anger is very different from what he does in cold blood.’
‘Well, I assure you that since the day of my marriage to her father, Jayne has been kept prisoner in a house Dafydd bought especially for that purpose. Her father has been to see him more than once to urge him to be reasonable, but the law seems to be on Dafydd’s side in this. Jayne is his wife and she should be obedient to him.’
Guy kicked at a stone lying on the pathway. ‘Is this really the truth, Mrs Morton-Edwards?’
‘It is.’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I even went to see Dafydd myself, to ask him to release Jayne, but I don’t think my words carried any weight.’
‘And are you here alone, or is your husband with you?’ Guy looked up at her, his eyes steady as they met hers.
‘I’m with my husband, but Eynon thinks this is a little break away from our worries. He doesn’t know that I promised Jayne I would try to find you.’
At last Guy nodded. ‘I believe you, Mrs Morton-Edwards, but what am I to do? If she’s imprisoned as you say, how can I rescue her?’
‘I should have thought that a man with your intelligence could work that out for himself.’ Llinos knew her tone was impatient but she felt like shaking him into action. ‘Wat until Dafydd is about his business – he travels the country sometimes, doesn’t he? Then you can seize the opportunity to get Jayne out of that terrible place and take her anywhere in the world you choose to go.’
He took her hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Morton-Edwards. I’ll set off for Swansea this very day and I’ll get Jayne away from Dafydd, don’t you worry about that.’
He got to his feet and Llinos looked up at him. ‘Good luck, Mr Fairchild,’ she said. He gave a little bow, then walked across the grass and into Rose Mount House without glancing back.
Llinos sighed. Now she would have to go back to Eynon – he would be wondering where she’d gone.
He was sitting on the sea wall outside the hotel and in the evening sun his pale hair gleamed like gold. His face brightened as he saw her approaching.
‘Where has my lovely wife been, then?’ He rose to greet her. ‘I was getting quite worried.’
‘No need to worry about me,’ Llinos said. ‘I’m well able to take care of myself.’
He took her hands in his. ‘Yes but you’re a lovely woman and you shouldn’t be out alone. It isn’t proper.’
She slipped her arm through his. It was not going to be easy to tell Eynon her real purpose in coming to Cornwall.
Once inside the hotel, seated on one of the large, comfortable sofas with two glasses of brandy on the table before them, Llinos took his hand. ‘I brought you here under false pretences,’ she said. ‘I came here to find Guy Fairchild and to tell him the truth about Jayne’s decision to stay with Dafydd.’
Eynon frowned but said nothing. Llinos swallowed and looked down at her fingers, held in Eynon’s warm hand. ‘Guy is going back to Swansea straight away. He’s going to do what we couldn’t do and rescue Jayne from the prison where Dafydd’s keeping her.’
‘I think I guessed as much,’ Eynon said, his voice low. ‘And you never do anything without giving it a great deal of thought.’
‘You’re not angry with me?’
He bent and kissed her lips. ‘I’m sad you didn’t confide in me before, but I understand that you wanted to help Jayne get away from Buchan.’
Llinos leaned into his shoulder. ‘You know something, Eynon?’ She glanced up at him.
‘What?’
‘I love you very much indeed.’
‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Llinos Morton-Edwards.’ And then, regardless of the other people in the hotel foyer, he bent down and kissed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AS THE CAB drew up outside her father’s elegant home Jayne glanced behind her, worrying even now that Dafydd was following her and would take her back to her prison.
She pushed open the arched front door and stepped into the hall, breathing in the scent of beeswax, admiring the fine curve of the staircase. She had come home. She felt almost faint with relief as she closed the door behind her.
A steward she didn’t recognize came into the hall. ‘Is Mr Morton-Edwards at home?’ Jayne asked, pulling off her gloves finger by finger, impatient with the man for staring at her as though she was an intruder.
‘Might I ask who is enquiring, madam?’
‘I am Mr Morton-Edwards’s daughter. What is your name?’
‘I’m Saunders, madam, and forgive me for being forward but how do I know you are Mr Morton-Edwards’s daughter? He left no instructions that we were to expect you.’
‘My word is good enough! Now, ask someone to take my boxes upstairs and have the maids prepare a room for me. Any of them will confirm my identity. Where is my father? Why isn’t he here?’
‘He and Mrs Morton-Edwards are taking a short holiday.’ The man divulged the information as though it was being dragged from him. ‘I’m in charge of things here, madam, and I need proof of your identity.’
‘All you need is my word,’ Jayne said, in a dangerously quiet voice. The man stared at her for a long moment. ‘I need my room now.’
‘I’m sorry, madam, but I was instructed to take care of things while the master was away and I was not prepared for a visitor.’
‘Well, I’m here now and you can take your orders from me. Otherwise you may pack your bags and leave. Is that understood, Saunders?’
‘Very well, madam.’
‘You may call me Mrs Buchan,’ she said, ‘and, Saunders, ask a maid to bring me a hot drink.’
The man bowed and departed, and Jayne went across the hall and into the drawing room, feeling betrayed that her father was away. It was as if no one in the world cared about her – but that was absurd. Her father had been trying to bring her home ever since his wedding day. He had quarrelled with Dafydd, even threatened violence, but none of it had moved Dafydd to mercy.
Then a thought struck her. She rang the bell and Saunders appeared at once, as though he’d been waiting outside the door expecting her to run off with the family silver. ‘Where has Mr Morton-Edwards gone?’ she asked.
‘I believe the master is holidaying in the West Country, Cornwall – that’s it, Cornwall.’ He spoke as if Cornwall was the back of beyond where all sorts of unmentionable things might happen.
Jayne bit her lip. Guy had gone to Cornwall. Was that a coincidence or was her father trying to find him for her? ‘When is he coming back?’
‘I believe he’s expected this afternoon, madam.’
‘Very well, you may go,’ Jayne said shortly.
She looked around her at the familiar room. It was strange but wonderful, too, to be back in her father’s house. The rooms seemed bright and sunny after the grim surroundings of the grey stone building where Dafydd had kept her prisoner.
She wandered to the window and stared out at the spacious gardens, not seeing the overhang of trees or the elegant statues lining the drive. She was imagining herself and Guy locked in a passionate embrace.
Their meetings had been so transient that perhaps she’d imagined he loved her. It might be that he had found another lady by now. Men were fickle: she’d learned that from her husband.
Bull sat in the high seat with two other magistrates overlooking the chamber where the court was in session and stared at the poor wretch standing before him. The man was accused of stealing a pig from a neighbour. It seemed he had killed it, cooked it and eaten the evidence. As he stared at the thin, ragged man Bull couldn’t find it in him to condemn him. The only evidence presented to the court was a set of pig’s trotters, and the word of the pig’s owner. For Bull that was not enough to condemn a man to prison.
He listened to the drone of the accused man’s voice: he was attempting to explain that he didn’t like pork, and Bull could have laughed, if it hadn’t been for the terrified look on the fellow’s face.
Bull was getting accustomed to sitting in judgement at the petty sessions and most of the cases, like this one, were of a trivial nature. One man had been accused of selling his wife but the woman was such a shrew that Bull would have given her away if she’d been his wife.
Occasionally he witnessed real tragedy in the courthouse and found it hard to deal with. One such case involved a man accused of murdering his child for money, and Bull had spent days deliberating, trying to stem his anger when his gut instinct told him the man was guilty.
Another case that worried him was that Tom, Seth Cullen’s uncle, had been accused of stealing money from the Paradise Park Hotel. The evidence was so trivial that, although he believed the man was guilty, Bull dismissed the case.
He became aware that the court had fallen silent now. The man before him hung his head waiting for Bull, the bench spokesman, to decide his fate.
‘Because of the lack of witnesses in this case, but taking into consideration the loss of a pig to the farmer, I have decided that the accused work a week without payment on his neighbour’s farm.’ Bull stood up, indicating that the session was over, and went into his room at the back of the court. He took off his robes and hung them up, feeling he would rather do a good day’s work on the railway than sit in judgement on poor folk who had little or nothing to live on.
Outside in the street he took a deep breath of fresh air and began to walk in the direction of the beach. He felt he needed to breathe the clean sea air and settle his mind before starting on the draft report he was writing for one of the railway engineers.
As he turned the corner he came face to face with Rhiannon. His heart lifted at the sight of her: she was neatly dressed, her hair pinned up under a fashionable hat, and the warm colour in her face told him she was happy to see him. ‘Rhiannon, I’m glad to see you looking so well and prosperous – I hardly recognize you, these days.’ He took her hand and gazed into her dark eyes. She was so beautiful, so breathtakingly lovely, that he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close to him.
‘And you, Bull, so posh I’m half afraid to speak to you.’
He looked down at his finely cut coat. ‘I don’t look like this when I’m working on the railway, as well you know.’ He realized he was st
ill holding her hand and released it reluctantly. ‘I’m going to the beach, will you walk with me a little way?’
Rhiannon hesitated, then nodded. ‘I’d like that, Bull. I feel in need of a rest from the hotel and a little time off won’t hurt.’
They walked in silence and Bull could imagine how they looked: a pair of well-dressed citizens out on a morning stroll as though there was nothing better to do. How different they looked from what they had once been.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Rhiannon said softly.
He looked down at her. ‘How?’
‘I’m thinking the same thing as you. I’m remembering the old days when we didn’t have much money and were so happy and content with our lives. I would love to go back to those days, if only for an hour.’
Bull was silent. He didn’t want Rhiannon to entertain any false hopes about their relationship. What they’d once shared was gone: it had happened in a different lifetime, before he met Katie. At the thought of his beloved wife, a great sadness came over him; he could never replace her.
‘Isn’t that what you were thinking, Bull? What good times we enjoyed when we were together?’
Her soft voice held such entreaty that Bull relented. ‘Yes, but we can’t resurrect the past, can we?’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
If there was an edge of disappointment in her voice he chose to ignore it. ‘Still, everything is going well for you now, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, the hotel is doing well, we have families coming to stay, and I can see that the Paradise Park will be the best hotel in Swansea one day.’
He saw her glance up at him and resisted the urge to meet her eyes.
‘I’ve even got a follower, a respectable man, a doctor. He’s new in the area and needs to build up a practice. He and I have an arrangement. He treats the guests in the hotel should they fall sick, and that helps both of us.’
Bull digested her words in silence: it unsettled him to think of another man in Rhiannon’s life. He swallowed his feelings and made an attempt to speak lightly. ‘Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?’
