by Iris Gower
Katie did as she was told and her high boots patterned the slabs of the floor with dampness.
‘Oh such a buck you’ve never seen in your life,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘Always wanting to kiss and cuddle so he is but it don’t do to give in right away.’ She sank into a chair, crossing one slender leg over the other and lifting her skirts to the fire’s warmth. ‘I shall hold out against his coaxing so I will,’ she asserted. ‘Tell him no until he makes me an offer of wedded bliss all proper like.’ Her eyes were suddenly misty.
‘But it’s so hard to refuse the man when me insides tell me he’s mine and I’m his and nothing between us can be wrong.’
Mali warmed the brown teapot. ‘Be careful Katie,’ she said soberly. ‘If you end up full with child your dad will throw you out into the street.’
Katie seemed unperturbed. ‘To be sure an’ don’t I know that? But I won’t have no babe, I know better than to be caught.’
Mali laughed sceptically. ‘Aye, so that’s why your mam and dad has four of you is it? Told them how to do it proper like did you?’
Katie sighed softly in exasperation. ‘Me ma and dad is supposed to have a babe whenever they lay together, that’s our religion and for sure you’ve know us Murphys long enough to understand that much, Mali Llewelyn. Course it don’t always happen ’cos I’ve heard them often enough rollin’ around in that creaky old bed of theirs.’ She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her slender hands cupping her chin.
‘Don’t go on for long though, Ma cries and Dad starts to snore and it’s all over and done with like a dog and a bitch in the street.’ Her voice held a trace of disgust and Mali shook her head at her.
‘You’re a cat, do you know that? Talking about your mother and father that way, you should be ashamed, mind.’
Katie shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Maybe I should but I pray to the Blessed Virgin that it won’t ever get like that for me and Will.’ Her smile became soft and she seemed to be dreaming of experiences that were beyond Mali’s understanding.
‘But then Will loves me.’ She sat back in her chair as though ashamed of her own tender words. ‘An’ we do know how’s not to have a babe, so there.’ After a moment’s silence she relented. ‘Want me to tell you about it?’
‘Aye, I suppose you will anyway.’ In spite of herself, Mali was curious to know more. Katie seemed to be so much older than she and infinitely wiser in the ways of the world. But not for anything would she show that she was impressed.
‘Now don’t you be after tellin’ anyone.’ Katie made a wry face. ‘I don’t know what Father O’Flynn would say if he knew. Not that I care a shamrock leaf for him, he has a side-piece himself so he has.’
‘Katie, for shame!’ Mali could hardly believe that the young open-faced priest who visited Katie’s house with unswerving loyalty could be so deceitful.
‘Tis true!’ Katie was indignant. ‘And who can blame him? He’s only human after all.’
Mali poured the tea. ‘Well get on with it, soon you’ll be saying you must get off home and I still won’t know any more than I did when you came in through the door.’
Katie leaned forward with the air of a conspirator. ‘Tis like this, the boy, when his moment of crisis comes, casts his seed to the ground just as it says in the Bible.’ She giggled. ‘It can’t do no harm there for sure enough you never see babies growing in Clover Meadow do you?’
A coal shifted in the grate and Mali rose to mend the fire. Outside the rain had ceased and the streets glowed dull grey in the lamplight except when the shooting, upward sparks from the works turned the wet cobbles the colour of blood.
Katie sighed. ‘Well, I’ll tell you this, me and my Will shall be wed as soon as there’s enough dibbs to pay the priest.’ She hugged herself and her eyes were alight. ‘I’ll have a fine cottage and keep it like a new pin, so I will.’
Mali made a wry face at her friend. ‘That’s just like you telling me all your news and not asking about me.’
Katie looked at her sharply. ‘Why, what have you been up to, miss sly boots?’
Mali savoured her moment of triumph, she knew that Katie did not really believe anything exciting could have happened to shatter the dullness of her life.
‘Mr Richardson copper boss came to see me,’ she said importantly. ‘Walked into this very kitchen, large as life.’
Katie smiled. ‘And twice as handsome and I know, for sure haven’t I seen him with me own eyes?’ She paused and stared at Mali with a look of disbelief. ‘But then what for would Mr Richardson come to see you? Tis tales you’re tellin’ me, makin’ it all up so you are.’
Mali smiled. ‘Well that’s all you know.’ She tweaked her skirt into place and smoothed out a crease, aware that Katie was waiting impatiently for her to continue.
‘He came to ask Dad to go back to the works because they can’t do without him. Best copperman in the row he is and everyone knows it.’
Katie’s eyes were wide. ‘Well go on, what else happened, did he try to smarm around you?’
‘No he did not, he’s too much of a gentleman for that sort of thing.’ Not even to herself did she admit the disappointment of his sudden leavetaking. Something of her feelings must have shown in her face for Katie was suddenly serious.
‘You watch him with both eyes, Mali,’ she said softly. ‘His sort has only one use for girls like us and that’s to have our skirts above our head as soon as tis possible.’
‘Trust you to spoil it all for me.’ Mali spoke furiously. ‘He’s a real gent, I tell you, he’s not at all horrible like you try to make out.’
‘Sorry I opened my trap,’ Katie said stiffly. ‘Just trying to warn you so I am.’ After a moment she relaxed.
‘You are such a babe on times, Mali and I don’t want to see you getting into trouble. Let’s forget Mr Richardson, shall we?’
Mali sat in silence for a long moment and at last she looked up at Katie, her eyes appealing. ‘It’s a job I want,’ she said. ‘I just can’t sit around here all day, now that Mam’s gone.’ She tried to smile unwilling to admit how near to tears she felt.
Katie stared at her doubtfully. ‘And do you want me to ask at the laundry for ye? Tis like the cauldrons of hell in there sometimes with the steam ruinin’ your hair and the smell of dirty washing making you sick to your stomach.’ She shook her head. ‘Your mam showed you how to be clever with figures and you write your letters real fine, the laundry’s no place for you.’
Mali stared at her imploringly. ‘Please Katie, I need to earn money of my very own.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘In any case, I can’t remain at home, sitting in here by the fire like an old lady, I’ll go out of my head.’
Katie nodded. ‘All right, I’ll be after askin’ for you first thing in the morning but tis no promise I’m making, remember, just puttin’ in a word I am.’ She brushed back her long hair, drying now into bright curls.
‘I’d best be goin’ or Dad will be bawlin’ for me all along Market Street and down Copperman’s Row. When he starts they all hear him, sure they do.’
Mali did not relish the thought of being alone, she wanted to reach out to Katie and beg her to stay but she could not expect her friend to risk Tom Murphy’s anger. At the door, Katie paused.
‘Now, I’m goin’ to give you good advice me girl, don’t you go lying with any man in Clover Meadow for you’re the sort who falls for a babe straight off.’ A smile illuminated her face, softening the sternness of her words. Without waiting for a reply, she let herself out into the street.
Mali made a face at her reflection in the brass of the fender. It was unlikely that she would ever be asked to go to Clover Meadow, she thought ruefully. And yet there was a fluttering inside her as she felt again the touch of Sterling Richardson’s hand upon her own.
Restlessly, she clicked open the latch on the door and stared out into the cobbled street. The rain had vanished as quickly as it had come and from an open doorway further along the row she heard the sound
of the accordion played with more vigour than skill. Dai End House was in one of his festive moods, as he often was at closing time. Soon, he was likely to be joined by others coming home from the public bars and perhaps an impromptu dance would take place.
Mali took her old grey coat from the peg on the back of the door and on an impulse stepped out into the night. She left the door ajar so that light spilled warmly onto the cobbles. No one needed a lock, not in Copperman’s Row.
‘Evening, girl.’ Dai End House was a chimneysweep but now he looked strangely clean, with his hair slicked down from a middle parting and his face fresh over the collar of his striped shirt. He sat in the doorway, his accordion moving restlessly between his fingers as though picking out a tune of its own volition.
‘’Evening, Dai.’ Mali nodded her head to him. ‘Just going for a little walk, perhaps meet Dad coming home from the public.’
‘A man needs his ale at times like this,’ Dai said softly and the music he played was like the mournful sound of a woman crying.
The haunting strains of the accordion followed Mali as she turned the corner into Mexico Street. The large bulging windows of the Mexico Fountain stared down at her, the gaslight falling softly onto the roadway. On tiptoe, Mali strained to see within the smoke-filled room.
A long bar of polished wood dominated the taproom. It was covered with heavy glass bottles and tankards of ale. Six brass handles sprouted from behind the bar, and the landlord, a bluff man in a stiff collar, was still drawing up foaming beer from the barrels below in the cellar.
It was some minutes before Mali could make out the figure of her father and she recognised him in the crush of people by his abundance of thick, springy dark hair. With a shock, Mali realised he was not alone, his head was bent as he talked to a woman who was wearing a cheap fur around her neck and a dingy feathered hat upon suspiciously bright hair.
Mali’s heart sank like a stone. Davie was falling into the hands of a no good, a woman of the streets who would rob him blind and doubtless give him the pox in return. Before she could stop to think, Mali pushed open the doors and strode into the heat and stink of the bar. Davie saw her and dropped the bottle he had been holding; it splintered in the sawdust to the cries of derision from the bystanders.
‘I’ve come to fetch you, Dad,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘There’s something important I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Get off home, girl,’ he said roughly, and Davie’s green eyes looked at her as though he didn’t know her. ‘Go on, this is no place for the likes of you.’
‘Nor you, Dad,’ she said fiercely. ‘Come home, please.’ She tugged at his arm once more but he resisted her easily.
‘There’s bossy you are.’ The woman turned towards Mali, hands on hips. She was quite young, Mali realised, though her heavily floured face and the dark lines drawn over her eyebrows gave her an appearance of hardness. ‘Go on, run off home like a good girl as your dad wants you to.’
‘Leave me be, Mali,’ Davie urged, his face red with embarrassment. ‘Go on now, don’t make a show of yourself and of me too.’
‘Your dad is big enough and man enough to make up his own mind, so push off home.’ She leaned closer to Mali. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
‘Now, now Rosa.’ Davie put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘She’s not meanin’ any harm.’
Anger burned white hot inside Mali. ‘I’ve got something very important to tell you Dad,’ she said clearly. ‘But if you don’t want to hear it then stay with your whore, see if I care!’
She ran out into the darkness just as a shower of sparks rose high into the sky, turning the heavy clouds to a bright vermilion. The smell of sulphur permeated the streets and Mali coughed, her hand pressed against her mouth. She hurried past Dai who was still playing his accordion, and once inside the cottage she closed the door with a bang.
Her hands were shaking as she pushed the heavy kettle back onto the hob, away from the last of the fire’s warmth. She poked down into the coals, riddling the ashes, knowing they would soon fade and turn into grey dust. She sank into a chair, staring at the dying embers, her mind numb. She still could not believe that her father would take up with a street girl so soon after Mam’s death, it seemed like a nightmare. Surely he could not care for this Rosa? And yet he had looked down into her face as if she was beautiful and good just as Mam had been.
Mali still held the poker between her fingers when the door opened and her father entered the kitchen with Rosa at his side. Davie appeared hangdog, refusing to look to where Mali now stood but the woman with him stared around her insolently.
‘He says I can stay here tonight.’ Her red lips curved in triumph. She edged Davie into a chair and then straightened the fur collar around her thin neck.
Fury such as she had never known before rose within Mali. How could Dad bring home this whore so soon after Mam’s death? She moved forward menacingly.
‘You’ll stay under this roof over my dead body, slut!’ She heard the words, clipped and hard, force themselves from between her clenched teeth. This was a part of her self she did not recognise and furthermore did not like.
‘Davie, your girl wants to chuck me out into the streets.’ Rosa pouted, seeming a little uncertain of herself now. ‘And after all the comfortin’ I’ve done an’ all.’
Mali stared at her. ‘And after all the drinks you’ve had on him. Your sort doesn’t do anything for nothing.’
Rosa turned on her. ‘And what do you know about my sort?’ she shouted. ‘You with your nice warm kitchen and enough food to go in your belly every day, you make me sick! Look at you, never done a hand’s turn in your life and you a woman grown, there’s a pity you aren’t married with a string of kids around your neck, you might know a bit then.’
‘And you’d have the coast clear to move in with my Dad, is it? Well I’m telling you once, get out of this house while it’s still decent and respectable before I put you out.’ She waved the poker in the air and Rosa fell back a step or two.
‘I’m going,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be back, Miss hoity toity, and then we’ll see who’s got the upper hand.’
She flounced through the door, pausing to look back at Davie who was hard put to keep his eyes open. His great hand was slumped on his chest and his cheeks were red, a heat caused by the ale, Mali reasoned, for the fire had gone down into grey ash now and the cold draught from the doorway chilled the room.
‘I’ll be seeing you, Davie boyo,’ Rosa said and with an angry tweak at the brim of her dingy hat, she clattered away down the cobbled street.
Mali subsided into a chair. She had won but how permanent the victory would be she could not say. Rosa seemed an uppity sort of person and she would not let go easily, not once she had her hooks into a fine man like Dad.
Davie was suddenly awake, his head raised as he stared unseeingly into the blank fireplace. His big hands clenched together and his lips made a straight line of self disgust. Mali went to him, kneeling beside him, putting her arms around his neck, ignoring the scent of cheap perfume that clung to his clothing.
‘Good news, Dad,’ she said softly. ‘Mr Richardson called when you were out, you’re to have your old job back, can’t do without you, it seems, best ladler in Sweyn’s Eye, you are.’
Davie was silent for a long time and at last, Mali looked up into his face. As she stared at her father, her entire being seemed to dissolve for there were tears glinting on his rugged cheeks.
‘It’s going to be all right, Dad.’ She buried her head against the warm hollow of his neck. ‘Don’t cry, no need for crying mind, everything is going to be just fine and dandy, you’ll see.’
Chapter Four
The early morning light cast a pale glow over the town as Sterling rode his horse down the hill and away from the gates of Plas Rhianfa. Ahead of him lay the works, crouched along the dull, metallic line of the river, the chimneys already sending flames high into the sky. Sterling shivered and it was with a feeling of r
elief that he rode in through the gates and slid from the saddle, handing over the reins to the young stable boy before striding across the frosty cobbled yard.
It was warm in the office after the biting cold of the street outside and Sterling made his way towards the tall stove, drawing off his gloves, eager to warm his hands. The works manager sat in his customary seat near the old stained desk, tweaking the ends of his waxed moustache, looking as though he was a permanent fixture in the works, part of the furnishings.
‘Good morning, Ben, damned cold out,’ Sterling remarked conversationally but the old man did not reply and when Sterling glanced sharply in his direction, Ben was staring down at the pen in his hands.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sterling asked at once and Ben raised his head.
‘Reversing engine’s broken down again,’ he said gloomily. ‘Can’t roll any copperplate until it’s fixed.
Sterling concealed his impatience. ‘Had anyone to look at it?’ he asked and Ben shook his head.
‘Twill cost a pretty penny, can the firm stand the expense?’
Sterling shrugged off his topcoat.
‘It’s a case of needs must when the devil drives,’ he said grimly. Damn it, did everything have to go wrong at once?
‘What else?’ he asked and Ben brushed back his thinning grey hair moodily.
‘Two of the furnaces are choked up, need a good clean out, they do, haven’t been seen to these many months. Another thing, this last batch of ore is nothing but gangue.’ He ran a finger inside his stiff collar as though it was suddenly too tight for him. ‘Travers is to blame, no eye for copper, no feel for it.’
Sterling seated himself in the straight-backed leather chair and tapped the desk with his fingers. ‘What you are saying is that Glanmor Travers is no good at his job, Ben.’
The old man pursed his lips as though unwilling to allow the words to spill forth, his face reddened and his pale eyes behind his glasses stared intently into the flames of the stove.
