by Iris Gower
Hari Grenfell squared her shoulders. ‘Mrs Hopkins,’ she said slowly, ‘if I can help you with a purchase of shoes or boots, that I will gladly do. What I will not do is listen to gossip concerning one of my girls.’
Bethan rose to her feet, her cheeks suddenly hot. ‘It is not gossip!’ She fanned her face with her gloved hand. ‘The harlot took my husband from me, twisted his mind against me. If you are not careful she might do the same to you one day.’
‘I see.’ Hari Grenfell studied Bethan’s face as though memorizing each feature and Bethan turned away from her clear gaze, suddenly self-conscious.
‘Someone like that cannot be trusted with any man. If you can’t see that, then perhaps I should withdraw the investment I made in your business.’
‘Perhaps, Mrs Hopkins, it would be wise of you to leave my shop now.’
Bethan stared at the woman unable to believe her ears, the commonly spoken Mrs Grenfell was throwing her out. She calmed herself, knowing that she must return home and speak of her anger to Elizabeth. She would understand, she always understood and she would know what the suitable punishment for such an outrage should be.
‘I cannot be involved any longer in this foolish scheme of yours,’ Bethan said scornfully. ‘I see you are obdurate, unable to listen to good advice, so on your own head be it.’
Bethan was aware that the woman was accompanying her to the entrance of the emporium; around her were the signs of trade and Bethan sniffed. She saw fine hats, delicate gloves, elegant shoes and, for a moment, she was sorry that she had not bided her time, given herself a chance to really look at the assets this woman possessed. One never knew when such information might be useful.
‘I won’t forget this slight, Mrs Grenfell.’ Bethan stood for a moment looking past the woman’s shoulder, so angry that she longed to strike out physically. But that would not do, a lady never lost her dignity, whatever the provocation.
‘I’m sure you won’t, Mrs Hopkins, and neither will I,’ Hari Grenfell said quietly.
Bethan climbed into the carriage and sank back in the seat feeling suddenly weak, all this effort for nothing, her advice had fallen on deaf ears. She drew off her gloves with short stabbing movements of her fingers, anger flaring through her. How dare such a woman turn her, Bethan Hopkins, away from the door? Well, she would be dealt with, of that there was no doubt. Mrs Hari Grenfell would pay for the insult, just as all who crossed Bethan Hopkins must pay.
Back home, she hurried into her room, flinging off her hat and coat, stamping her feet for the maid to build up the fire, taking her ire out on anyone who ventured into her path. At last she was alone, lying in the darkened room, a cloth watered with cologne across her brow.
‘Elizabeth, what shall I do?’ she said softly. Elizabeth came into the room silently as she always did but Bethan knew she was there by the sudden lowering of the temperature. It was as though a window had been opened and a gust of icy air had fallen over the bed.
‘She was hateful to me, Elizabeth.’ Elizabeth soothed her, telling her the woman was of common stock, nothing better could be expected of her. She was probably possessed of easy morals herself.
‘What shall we do to punish her, Elizabeth?’ Bethan asked in a whisper and she was answered, as always, with sound advice. She must study the woman and her means of financing her business, learn the weaknesses and strengths of her affairs, look into her marriage, see what damage could be done there. And then, when she was fully armed, strike Hari Grenfell in the heart.
‘Yes, I see,’ Bethan said, nodding her head. She knew how to hurt the woman, it was easy, really, trust Elizabeth to put her finger on the correct solution. Bethan must take away all the things Hari Grenfell held most precious in her life, it was as simple as that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Catherine felt chilled in spite of the warmth of the deeply carpeted showrooms. Near the door sat a group of customers trying on boots. To her right, Doreen was carefully arranging feathers on a velvet hat. It all seemed so normal that, for a moment, she could not comprehend what Mrs Grenfell had told her.
‘Bethan Hopkins came here and threatened you?’ she asked incredulously. She looked at Mrs Grenfell’s calm face and wondered at her composure. ‘Why now? Whatever there was between Boyo and me has been over for some time. And why threaten you?’
‘Mrs Hopkins is a little … unbalanced, I think,’ Hari said carefully. ‘You know what they say about hell having no fury and all that, well, it’s true in Bethan Hopkins’s case.’
‘I’m sorry for her, in a way,’ Catherine said quietly. ‘I don’t expect her to forget what’s happened or to forgive, she’s been hurt and she’s striking out at anyone in her path, but I think she is taking her revenge too far. It seems she wants to hurt not only me but anyone who is kind to me.’
She saw Hari Grenfell frown. ‘Don’t waste your time being sorry for her, she wanted me to fire you from your job. She is a bitter woman, a dangerous woman. I think you should be on your guard against her.’
Catherine looked up at Mrs Grenfell anxiously. ‘You don’t think she would harm any of us, do you?’
‘I think she might try. As I say, she is unbalanced.’ Hari Grenfell moved towards the stairs. ‘Anyway, try to forget about her for now, just be careful.’
Doreen watched as Mrs Grenfell disappeared up the stairs and crossed to where Catherine was standing. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ Doreen caught her arm. ‘Catherine, why are you looking so dazed? Not bad news is it?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘No, it’s just that Mrs Hopkins has tried to get me the sack.’
‘The old witch!’ Doreen caught Catherine’s arm. ‘Come on, it’s time for a tea break. Let the other girls carry on for a while, I need a sit-down, my feet are killing me.’
She drew Catherine into the small quarters at the back of the building and pushed the kettle onto the stove. ‘It’s too bad of that cow to try to get you the boot like that, I hope Mrs Grenfell told her where to go.’
Catherine sank into a chair. ‘Bethan Hopkins had the nerve to threaten Mrs Grenfell with goodness knows what if she didn’t sack me. What I don’t understand is, why now when it’s all over between me and him?’
‘The nerve of the woman.’ Doreen quickly made the tea and poured out the fragrant liquid, spooning a liberal helping of sugar into Catherine’s cup. ‘Come on, drink up, you look as white as a ghost.’ Doreen sat down. ‘The old cow, she’s done her worst and it didn’t work, you still got your place here, snug as a bug, you are.’
Catherine was thoughtful. ‘I don’t think Bethan Hopkins has done her worst, not by a long chalk. I wouldn’t put anything past that woman, she’s taken my farm from me, hasn’t she? She’s poisoned Liam’s land. What might she do to Mrs Grenfell?’
‘Well, don’t let her bother you,’ Doreen said. ‘The old cow will get her comeuppance, one day. God do not sleep, mind.’
Catherine smiled suddenly. ‘Aye, you’re right, it’s daft to worry about what might happen, there’s enough to be going on with, what with us two sharing a lover.’
Doreen picked up a small silk cushion and aimed it at Catherine’s head. ‘Shut your mouth, you, I don’t have no lover. Well, perhaps just one and he’s mine, all mine, so don’t go getting any ideas on that score, madam.’
She sank into a chair, blushing like a girl. ‘Don’t it sound grand: a lover, so romantic.’ She stared at Catherine ruefully. ‘That’s not what other folks would call it though, is it? I’d be a whore, a slice out of a half-eaten meat pie. Still, so long as Meadows don’t get to hear of it, I’ll be all right.’
‘He won’t hear of it, don’t worry, how could he? Everyone thinks Jerry Danby is my gentleman caller.’
‘I hope so, Cath, I really do hope so but you don’t know Meadows as I do, he ‘as a knack of knowing everything that goes on round Swansea. Anyway, drink up, girl, we’d better be getting back to work or we’ll both be getting the order of the boot.’
Later that evening, Catherine was sitting quietly in the kitchen of number four Watkins Street when the door was pushed open with such force that it screeched against the hinges and banged against the wall.
Meadows came into the house, stinking of ale, his eyes narrowed as he looked around the kitchen. ‘Where’s that bitch got to now? I’ll strangle her if she’s out gallivanting.’
‘If you mean Doreen, she’s working late, she has a special hat to finish by tomorrow.’ Catherine was tense, watching the man’s every move, she did not trust Pete Meadows one inch.
‘Damn and blast, I felt like a bit of fun, an’ all.’ He came closer. ‘I suppose you would do, any port in a storm as they say.’
‘Get out of here,’ Catherine said in a low voice. ‘If you come any nearer, I’ll scream blue murder, get the neighbours in, they’ll all see you for what you are: a man who can only get a woman by force.’
‘You scrawny bitch! I’ve taken enough cheek from you!’ He lashed out with his bunched fist and Catherine ducked instinctively so that the blow passed harmlessly over her shoulder. Off balance, Meadows fell, cracking his head against the fender. For a moment he lay unmoving and Catherine stood hand to her mouth, wondering if he was dead.
He began to groan and turned over onto his side, a trickle of blood running from his temple. He lurched to his feet and stared around him, his eyes feverish. ‘I’ll pay you back, bitch, I’ll get even with you if it’s the last thing I do.’
He leaned against the small dresser, heaving against it until the china plates fell to the floor with a crash. Meadows smiled as if the act had given him pleasure and then, systematically, he began to destroy everything in the once-neat kitchen.
Catherine edged away from him, he was drunk beyond reason, there was no knowing what he would do next. She tried to make for the door but he was blundering about like a charging bull. He took up the teapot, hurling it against the wall. Catherine watched in terror as a stain spread outwards on the patterned wallpaper. He turned towards her, his face a mask of hate. ‘Now to deal with you, you dirty whore!’
Catherine screamed, backing against the wall. Suddenly the room seemed full of people. Doreen, white-faced, was pushing through the debris towards Catherine, with her was Liam, with Jerry Danby close behind him.
‘All right, sir, calm down now, this can do no good. Let me take you back to your lodgings so you can sleep it off.’ Jerry Danby moved confidently forward expecting his superior officer to go with him quietly. He was mistaken.
‘Bugger off. Do you think I’d take orders from a green bastard like you?’ Meadows’s voice was slurred but his meaning was clear as he picked up the poker from the hearth and lifted it above his head.
Liam moved sharply, catching Meadows’s hand, twisting it hard. Meadows struggled grimly, clinging to the poker, he was a strong man and maddened by drink, he was dangerous.
A silent battle of will and muscle was taking place and Catherine stood frozen to the spot, too frightened to make a sound. She knew if Liam lost the struggle he would be battered mercilessly with the heavy iron poker.
Meadows’s face was red, streaked with sweat, his eyes bulging as he exerted all his strength. Liam had his back to Catherine, she could see the veins in his hands stand proud as he struggled to take the weapon away from Meadows.
‘For God’s sake, Pete, give up before someone gets killed.’ Doreen’s voice carried to where Meadows was grappling with Liam and momentarily, he was distracted. Liam twisted the man’s arm with such force that a sickening crack reverberated through the kitchen.
Meadows fell to the floor screaming in pain, the poker rattling into the fireplace beside him.
‘You’ve broken my arm, you Irish bastard!’ He stared up at Liam, his mouth contorted, his eyes filled with venom. ‘I’ll get you for this, you see if I don’t.’
He struggled to sit up against the wall, clutching his arm. ‘What are you waiting for, Danby, arrest this man; he’s attacked me, injured a police officer, why don’t you do something?’
Jerry Danby was barely able to conceal his disgust, his face grim, he helped Meadows to his feet. ‘I’d better get you to the hospital, sir,’ he said through his teeth. ‘It seems to me that you had a slight accident here in your wife’s home. Bit of damage done to the place, sir, don’t know who will be liable to pay for that. Perhaps this incident is a case of “least said, soonest mended”, think so, sir?’
Meadows seemed to have sobered up a little with the pain, he glanced around him, seeing the havoc he had wreaked and his lips twisted into a sneer. ‘All right, you load of twicers, you might think you’ve got me beat but Pete Meadows never forgets. You lot better watch your backs when you walk in a dark alley, because I might just be there behind you.’
He followed Jerry to the door and, as a final gesture, kicked it shut behind him.
‘Thank God he’s gone.’ Doreen picked up a chair and sat down on it suddenly as though her legs would not support her.
‘Liam,’ Catherine moved towards him, her eyes anxious, ‘are you hurt?’
He had a bruise above one eye but he was smiling cheerfully. ‘I’m fine, sure enough, takes more than a drunken bully to put one over an Irishman.’
Catherine put her arms around his waist hugging him, filled suddenly with relief. ‘Thank God for that.’ She leaned against his shoulder and he smoothed her hair from her hot face.
‘You all right, colleen, he did not get too near you did he?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘You came just in time,’ she smiled wanly. ‘My knight in shining armour, well, almost.’
‘What do you mean, “almost”?’ He tilted her face up to his and she struggled to smile through the tears that welled, burning behind her eyes. Now that the danger was over, she realized just how frightened she had been.
‘Well, look at you, torn shirt, tangled hair, not exactly Sir Lancelot, are you? Still, you’ll do until something better comes along.’
Doreen spoke suddenly. ‘I don’t think I can stand living here, not after this.’ She was close to tears and Catherine went to her side, hugging her warmly.
‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll get this place tidied up in no time.’
‘It’s not just that,’ Doreen looked around her with dull eyes, ‘it’s him, Meadows, coming here, taking “his rights” as he calls them. I don’t think I can put up with it any more.’
Liam busied himself picking up the dresser and stood it against the wall. He stared around him at the smashed plates and broken furniture. ‘Look, why don’t I take you two back with me to Ireland for a few days? A bit of Irish luck might be just the thing you need.’
‘It’s a fine idea but will Mrs Grenfell give us time off?’ Doreen said doubtfully.
Catherine began picking up pieces of china, stacking them into the coal bucket. ‘It might be the solution to all our problems,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Meadows will have time to calm down and if I’m out of the way perhaps Bethan Hopkins will leave Mrs Grenfell alone.’
‘All right, you’ve convinced me.’ Doreen rose tiredly to her feet. ‘We’ll get this place tidy in the morning, for now, I think I need to get myself a good night’s sleep.’
Liam smiled down at Catherine and winked like a conspirator and Catherine returned his smile, feeling closer to him than she had ever done before.
He reached out and rested his hand on her hair as she crouched over the coal bucket, full now of shards of china. Suddenly, Catherine felt lost, it was all too much for her, all this emotional turmoil, this questioning of herself and her own feelings. She had fought against the memories of Boyo holding her in his arms, making love to her and yet, sometimes, in the stillness of the night, she could not help remembering the happiness she had shared with him.
The fields of Ireland were growing lush with the onset of spring. Flag irises stood queen-like at the edge of the marshlands. The air was clean and fresh.
‘Duw, nearly as lovely as Wales, is this country of yours
Liam.’ Doreen took in a deep breath and stared around her in wonder. Towards the west, she saw the blue of the sea merging on the horizon with the sky. ‘No wonder they say this is a land of little people and magic and all that sort of thing.’
‘Glad you appreciate it, madam,’ Liam said gravely. ‘We do our best to please our visitors. You know who I mean, those barbarians from across the water.’
‘Oh, you!’ Doreen flipped at him with her hand. ‘You can’t believe that Ireland, lovely as it is, is half as good as Wales, you can’t be that dull.’
‘Well, I suppose you do miss the stink from the works, the coal dust, the …’
‘Shut up!’ Doreen sank down onto the grass and glanced back over her shoulder at the tall presence of the convent behind them.
‘Wonder how Cath is getting on in there.’
‘You could have gone in with her,’ Liam said. ‘Not like me, the nuns won’t let a man anywhere near the inner sanctum.’
‘I should think not.’ Doreen looked up as Liam sat beside her. ‘Not many good men about the place, are there? Rotters the lot of you, that’s what I thinks anyway.’
‘Well, isn’t there at least one exception?’ Liam’s voice held a teasing note. ‘Jerry Danby seems a decent enough sort.’
‘Oh him?’ Doreen’s assumed indifference covered the sudden jolting of her heart. What was wrong with her? She was like a young, green girl, in love for the first time. Did she really think she stood a chance of a lasting love affair with such a handsome man? Perhaps, even now, with the width of the Irish Sea between them, Jerry was walking out with some other girl. She bit her lip and Liam touched her arm.
‘What’s wrong, colleen? Why so worried, think he’ll find another woman?’
‘You a mind-reader or what?’ Doreen looked up at him and suddenly she knew this was a good man, a man she could talk to, a man who would not put his tongue to gossip. ‘I love him, Liam, that’s the long and the short of it, damn and blast it, I love the man.’
‘From what I’ve seen, the feeling is mutual.’ Liam spoke softly.
