Copper Kingdom

by Iris Gower

  ‘Your brother was with them too, Mr Richardson,’ a voice from the back of the crowd called. ‘Saw Rickie Richardson large as life, I did, coming out of the sheds just before the explosion.’

  Sterling felt himself grow tense. ‘Who is that?’ He peered through the darkness as one of the boys from the rolling mill came reluctantly forward. Sterling grasped his shoulder in a fierce grip.

  ‘Jed, it’s you. Now I know you for an honest lad but think hard, you’re sure it was Mr Rickie that you saw?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure Mr Richardson, he came out of the sheds alone and then I saw those other two men come out after him, slipped past the gatehouse in the shadows they did but my Mam had chucked me outside while she had a row with Dad and I had nothing to do but look around me, that’s how I saw the three of them.’

  ‘Good enough.’ Sterling felt sick even though he smiled at the boy. ‘As I said, leave it all to me and get off home to your beds. I’ll speak with you again in the morning and perhaps we can sort it all out.’

  ‘Why don’t you get the bobbies up here, boss?’ Jed pushed back his cap and scratched his head. ‘I’ve heard they can find clues even in ashes.’

  Sterling smiled. ‘You’ve been listening to too many stories, my boy. Go on, off with you.’

  Wearily Sterling walked back to where the Ascot was standing outside Sam Herbert’s house. He saw to his dismay that the headlamps had been broken and that there was glass all over the road. He sighed heavily; who could blame the people for being angry when one of their own was dead and two more injured?

  He managed to drive the automobile back through the town – he knew it must be past midnight but he could not wait until morning, he had to have it out with his brother right now, tonight. He would wring the truth from Rickie one way or another.

  It was bright moonlight as Sterling drove along the roadway leading to Plas Rhianfa. As he drew nearer to the house, he saw that there was a light in one of the upstairs windows though the lower rooms were in darkness. He moved around to the back of the great building, knowing that some of the servants would be still up and about.

  ‘Master Sterling, you did give me a fright, knocking the door like that and walking in so unexpected.’ Carrie was wiping her hands on her apron and she nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

  ‘Is anything wrong, are you sick or something?’

  Sterling forced himself to smile naturally. ‘Sorry to upset you, Carrie. No I’m not ill, I’m just looking for Rickie. Is he here?’

  ‘Why bless you your brother’s been in bed these few hours since, had some sort of sick headache, he did, said he wanted nothing to eat and wasn’t to be disturbed until morning.’

  ‘I see. Well if he should be about, don’t tell him I’m here, I’ll surprise him.’

  Sterling made his way quietly up the stairs. He did not want to awake his mother and have to answer the barrage of questions she would undoubtedly throw at him.

  He opened the door of his brother’s room and looked inside, sighing heavily as he saw that the bed was empty and had not been slept in. He sat down before the dying embers of the fire, feet stretched out before him, drinking in silence.

  His childhood had been a good one, he’d had few problems then and did not realise that, so soon, he would be responsible for the running of the company. He stared into the small flames that rose from the ornate grate and wondered where the closeness that brothers were supposed to share had gone, or had it never existed between himself and Rickie? It was difficult to say.

  After about an hour, he lit a lamp and as he blew out the lucifer, he heard a step on the landing, and Rickie came into the bedroom.

  ‘Good night to you, Rickie. Where have you been until this hour, courting some lovely young girl or planning to blow up more of the furnaces?’

  Rickie paled visibly and his hands were trembling as he thrust them into his pockets.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said quickly. ‘What’s all this about blowing up the furnaces?’

  ‘You mean to say you didn’t know?’

  Sterling’s irony was not lost on Rickie, he flushed and looked away. ‘Well I did hear some talk about it in the town but I don’t see why you should start accusing me.’

  Sterling moved closer to his brother and stared at him as though he had never seen him before. His brother’s face was weak, his mouth drawn down at the corners like that of a petulant child, but then perhaps it was not entirely his fault, he had not been allowed to face the world like a man but had been shut away in some namby pamby school all his life.

  ‘You were seen,’ Sterling said coldly. ‘Seen leaving the works shortly before Travers and that ruffian Cullen left, and just before the explosion occurred. What do you expect me to think?’

  Suddenly Rickie turned on him. ‘Just leave me alone will you, I don’t want to look at you or see you or talk to you. I hate you, don’t you understand that? I’ve always hated you and even if I have done the things you accuse me of, you’ve got no proof or you’d be here right now with a constable.’ He turned his back on Sterling and his voice was low. ‘Just get out of my room, do you understand, leave me alone.’

  Sterling had driven halfway to town and was almost at the door of the Mackworth Arms when he suddenly remembered he had left Mali waiting for him in his room, He sighed softly, she would understand when he explained things to her. Such a lot had happened to him in the last few hours, he had learned that Mali loved him and that his own brother hated him. All in all, it had been quite a night.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Dean Sutton sat in the dining room with the warmth of the early morning sun on his face, waiting for his groom to put in an appearance. It seemed that Gray had something urgent to tell him that couldn’t wait until Dean had breakfasted.

  There was a knock on the door and then Gray entered the room his blond hair sticking up around his head, his eyes alight with self importance.

  ‘There was an explosion last night at the copper works,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Sounded like the clap of doom it did Mr Dean, and sparks shooting high into the air as though the end of the world was coming, terrible it was.

  ‘My Mary, Big Mary as some calls her, she was like a heroine, ran into the gates of the copper works with no thought for herself, just to see if there was anyone hurt.’

  ‘And was there?’ Dean wished that Gray was less of a raconteur and more of a plain-speaking man for there was no hurrying him and Dean was impatient to know exactly what had occurred.

  ‘One dead sir, poor old Sam Herbert, too old he was to be working really but he was kept on to make tea and suchlike and be night watchman whenever he felt like it, which was most nights because poor old Sam had the gout and couldn’t sleep anyway.’

  Gray paused for breath and Dean rose from his chair and moved to the window, staring out into the sunlit gardens. He had spent less time than he should have on the business of the copper works of late because he had been involved in setting up a chain of drapery stores across the country, and very successful they were proving to be. It seemed that however poor, most women had a taste for fripperies and a new bonnet.

  ‘Two men injured as well, helping to install the new furnaces they were,’ Gray continued. ‘One lost a hand and the other will be off his rocker for the rest of his life I spects with half the furnace inside his brain.’

  ‘What a God awful thing to happen,’ Dean muttered, ‘is someone trying to spike our guns, I wonder?’ He was thinking out loud more than asking a question but Gray was only too ready to answer him.

  ‘No doubt of it, sir, those furnaces don’t explode, not when there’s nothing boiling away inside them they don’t. No, some one put a stick of dynamite in there, and the poor sods putting the furnaces together copped it.’

  Dean wondered what had been going on up there at the works. Though he was not very keen on the changes Sterling wished to make, and doubted the young man’s ability to imple
ment them, he did at least feel that he would recoup the money he had invested in the company.

  He had decided to step in only if things went badly wrong and that they seemed about to do now. Perhaps some time he would have to take a look for himself, but not today. This morning he was going to see Bea again, they were going out for the day and he would treat her to some fresh sea air at a small secluded bay a few miles along the coast.

  They had planned to take a picnic and Dean glowed when he thought of the way Bea had warmed to him recently. And yet she was still subdued, much of the time, her eyes dull, her laughter noticeably lacking. He’d tried to bring her out of herself and on rare occasions he had succeeded; then she had seemed for a brief instant to be almost the high-spirited Bea he had always known.

  ‘What’s going to happen, Mr Dean?’ Gray was still hovering, waiting for some reaction, and Dean turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Well, I’d say it’s all up to the young Mr Richardson to sort out,’ he drawled. ‘Though if you can find out any more about the incident, Gray, I should be very pleased to hear it.’

  Later, as Dean drove the horse and trap away from the house, he looked down towards the town and saw the familiar main street stretching away like a crooked question mark against the surrounding landscape. Further away, on the other side of the valley, lay the copper works, huddled darkly against the yellow line of the river Swan. It was strange, Dean mused, how he had come to love this place that was as different from his own wide-spread country as a mouse was from an elephant.

  He knew that if Bea would marry him, he would be content to settle here for good, build up his own empire, bring up his sons to follow in his path. So some might call him a shopkeeper instead of a man of industry, but he had decided long ago that he would not put all his eggs in one basket.

  It was only a short drive from Dean’s home to the large old house jutting out of the hillside where Bea Cardigan lived. In the early morning sunshine the bricks were mellow, almost gold, and the turrets on the roof gleamed green, the copper strippings eroded by the rain that fell more in this country of Wales, Dean thought, than anywhere else in the world.

  Bea was ready and waiting and the basket of food was being carried out to the cart by the maid who seemed so attached to her mistress.

  Dean had deliberately cultivated Bertha, buying her sweets, bringing her ribbons, knowing that she was in her mistress’s confidence. It did no harm to keep the servants sweet, they could be very enlightening when it came to the affairs of their betters.

  ‘Bea, honey, you look very charming today.’ His words were an understatement for Bea looked good enough to eat in a soft summer skirt and a blouse that revealed her smooth arms and throat. He resisted the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, for she would run like a startled filly if he did not move carefully.

  ‘And you look very handsome, Dean.’ Bea smiled with her lips but there was no light in her eyes. She sat demurely beside him while Bertha straightened her mistress’s skirts before climbing into the trap herself. Dean made a mental note to speak to the maid for now the time seemed right to start questioning the girl about what was troubling Bea.

  Dean knew he had a persuasive tongue when he wanted to turn on the charm and he had softened the maid up very nicely; he felt sure she would trust him now.

  ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day, Bea?’ he said as he jerked the reins, startling the horse into movement. Bea smiled up at him but her eyes were hidden by the brim of her hat and he could not see the expression in them.

  ‘Yes, beautiful.’ She echoed his words but there was no animation in her voice. Dean was genuinely worried, he had realised that women had moods and periodic sicknesses that sent some of them off into a swoon but with Bea it was different, it seemed her very spirit had been broken.

  He glanced at her sideways and saw the smooth line of her cheek and love for her swelled powerfully inside him. He knew he would kill for her if anyone threatened her.

  The curving road at last led them to the little bay that was sheltered beneath the jutting rocks. Tall trees overhung the sand dunes and down along the small, worn footpath was the rolling sea, blue and shimmering in the warmth of the sun.

  ‘Come on, Bea, honey.’ Dean lifted her down from the trap. ‘You can take off your pumps and dig your toes into the warmth of the sand. Perhaps later you’d like to paddle in the sea, they say salt water is good for horse’s hoofs so it must be good for your little feet.’ He laughed and Bea allowed herself a smile but she freed herself from his arms almost immediately and turned to Bertha.

  ‘Can you manage the basket or shall we let Dean carry it for us?’ She spoke lightly but her voice cracked as though she was on the verge of tears. Bertha shook back her hair and picked up the basket easily.

  ‘There’s no need to worry, Miss Bea, I carried so many coal scuttles when I was a kitchenmaid that this basket don’t seem like nothing.’ She held it before her and made her way across the sand. Bea took Dean’s arm and followed more slowly.

  ‘Are you not well, honey?’ Dean asked anxiously. ‘You’re so quiet lately, not your usual self at all.’

  Bea’s eyes stared out across the blue stretch of the ocean as though seeing pictures that were exclusive to herself. She was locked in her own world where no one was allowed to penetrate.

  ‘I’m all right, Dean, just under the weather, that’s all. You know I had a bout of fever some time ago that left me a little weak.’

  Dean did remember the weeks in the heat of June when she’d been confined to her bed, very well indeed. He had not been allowed to visit her for James had been very strict about that sort of thing, old-fashioned even. There was no place in an unmarried lady’s bedroom for an outsider and Dean had been forced to abide by James’s wishes.

  He had contented himself with sending fruit and flowers almost every day, realising more and more that Bea meant everything to him. His only wonder was that he’d let all these years go by without giving voice to his feelings. No doubt he had been too busy building his life, making his future as secure as possible, which was one of the reasons why he had branched out into shops in latter years. Security was something that meant a great deal to him.

  He believed that the turning point as regards his feelings for Bea had come on that day months ago when he had seen how attracted she was to Sterling Richardson. Determination had grown within Dean not to give her up without a struggle. But happily, she seemed to have got over her infatuation, certainly she never spoke of Richardson or appeared to have much to do with him these days.

  ‘There’s a lovely spot over there just among the rocks,’ Bea said gently. She sank gratefully onto the blanket Dean spread for her, looking up at him with limpid eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, I get so tired these days, I don’t know why.’

  As she leaned against the warm stones looking up at him Dean was swamped with tenderness. He sat beside her, taking her hands in his.

  ‘Let me take care of you, Bea,’ he said urgently. ‘I’d make no demands and you’d be mistress of your own home. Please don’t answer me right now, just think about what I’ve said.’

  ‘It’s sweet of you to offer me marriage, Dean,’ Bea said softly and he leaned towards her, resting his cheek gently against hers.

  ‘I’d be very honoured if you would think about it,’ he replied.

  Bertha was a little way off, looking among the rocky pools, but Dean knew that the maid was keeping a watchful eye on her mistress. He liked that. Bertha loved Bea as he himself did.

  ‘But Dean, you don’t know anything about me.’ Bea’s voice broke and he resisted the impulse to draw her into his arms. ‘I’m not what you think.’ She continued to speak, though each word seemed dragged from deep inside her. He put his big hand gently over her lips.

  ‘To me, you’re the sweetest, loveliest creature that ever walked on this earth,’ he said earnestly. ‘I love you, Bea, can’t you understand that?’

  She shook her head
wearily. ‘Don’t speak of it any more now, Dean, let me just enjoy today and think about the future when I’m feeling stronger, will you?’

  ‘Of course honey, I brought you out here to give you some sunshine and some peace. Why not lie there in the sun while I go and look around the headland, see what’s over there?’

  It was an excuse of course to leave her alone. He moved away and stared out to sea; faintly on the horizon he could see the coast of Devon lying softly against the cloudless sky. He kicked at a stone buried in the sand and his eyes were misted with tears. He had never thought of himself as a soft man and yet here he was all keyed up over Bea Cardigan.

  After a while, he retraced his steps and saw that Bea had been persuaded to go down to the water’s edge. Bertha was holding her arm and the young girl screamed excitedly as a wave covered her shoes. Dean stood watching them and a determination built up within him to find out the root of Bea’s unhappiness and if possible to tear it out.

  They ate cold chicken and thin slices of bread and afterwards drank wine in the shelter of the rocks, for the sun was high now, beating down upon the golden sand with a fierce intensity. Bertha began to snore and with a smile, Dean moved nearer to Bea, taking her slim hand in his own strong fingers.

  ‘It could be like this all the time you know, Bea honey,’ he said softly. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

  ‘That sounds very tempting, Dean. I think I would enjoy being your wife but just give me time to think, wait until I’m stronger and then perhaps by the autumn I’ll be able to give you an answer.’

  With that, Dean knew he had to be content but he felt sure that she would eventually agree to marry him and in the meantime he would begin refurbishing the house, bringing it up to the standard a lady like Bea would expect, for he readily admitted that just so long as he was comfortable, he had made no efforts to improve his surroundings.