Copper Kingdom

by Iris Gower

  They would need a nursery wing later on, he thought warmly, and his fingers clasped Bea’s more tightly. Yet he would not rush her, he told himself, his thoughts and dreams and hopes he would keep to himself, for the time being.

  Bertha opened her eyes and looked around her anxiously. She sat up brushing her skirts, taking off her shoes and tipping the sand out of them.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Bea?’ she asked. ‘Not getting too hot are you?’

  Bea smiled. ‘I’m feeling very well, thank you Bertha, and if it is a little hot that’s only to be expected at high summer.’

  Bertha got to her feet at once. ‘I’ll bring some water to freshen you.’ She took a bowl from the picnic basket and began to make her way down to the water’s edge.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Dean said. ‘Won’t be a minute, Bea, you just stay in the shade, all right?’

  ‘Go on the two of you,’ Bea said with a wave of her hand. ‘You are treating me as though I was a child. I won’t shrivel up in the heat, don’t worry.’

  ‘Here, give me the bowl.’ Dean reached out a hand but Bertha shook her head.

  ‘No sir, I’ve got me boots off now and I’ll be able to go further into the water than you would. Don’t want to spoil them nice shoes, do you?’

  The breeze was blowing in from the sea now, soft and gentle, bringing with it the tang of salt. Dean watched Bertha’s stocky figure as she ploughed through the sand in front of him and tried to think of the right words to broach the subject of Bea’s troubled manner.

  ‘You know I’m very fond of Bea, don’t you Bertha?’ He felt that the words were inadequate but he could not voice his innermost feelings to a servant. ‘I know there’s something bothering her and I want to help her if I possibly can, I would do anything for her and she can’t go on the way she is now or she will be really very sick indeed.’

  Bertha turned to look at him, her eyes were anxious and she was biting at her lip worriedly. ‘I don’t know what’s the right thing to do, sir,’ she said. ‘I can see Miss Bea is not herself for she used to laugh a lot and enjoy ordinary things and now she’s so sad all the time and I fear she’ll go into a decline.’

  ‘Well trust me, then,’ Dean said persuasively. ‘You can’t speak to her father or you’d have done so already, so you’ve got to put your faith in someone. Who better than me who thinks as much of your mistress as you do?’

  Bertha sighed heavily. ‘All right, sir, I’ve got to talk to someone ’cos I’ve been that worried, it’s making me sick too. I’ll tell you the little I know and I can only hope and pray I’m doing the right thing.’

  Dean felt jubilant. ‘Of course you are, Bertha, I can help Bea and someone must before it’s too late.’

  Bertha put the bowl down on the sand and the water sucked and washed around it as though trying to push it over. Bertha rubbed her hands on her skirt and looked out across the sea as if even now she was not sure of herself.

  ‘I know she was in love with Mr Richardson.’ Her voice was halting, hesitant, and Dean stood back feeling as if he’d been dealt a body blow.

  Dean well remembered seeing the affectionate way Bea had once looked at Sterling but he thought all that was over with now.

  ‘What makes you say that, Bertha?’ he asked without betraying any emotion. She glanced up at him quickly as though sensing something of the turmoil within him.

  ‘I accompanied Miss Bea to Mr Richardson’s new house several times,’ she said and her dark eyes were unreadable. ‘And to the Mackworth Arms,’ she added slowly.

  Dean heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Well then, that’s not so terrible is it?’ he asked with forced brightness. ‘Nothing improper about visiting a friend so long as Bea had you for company.’

  He saw Bertha purse her lips and felt she was about to go on but then she glanced back to where her mistress was seated and her shoulders seemed to straighten.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘I just felt there had been some sort of silly quarrel between them,’ she said lamely. ‘I know Miss Bea does not wish to keep company with Mr Richardson these days.’

  Dean frowned in bewilderment. ‘But surely you would have heard them quarrel?’ he asked and Bertha’s eyes slid away from his. She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know sir, it was very crowded up at the new house sometimes what with workmen and such. I think the row may have been something to do with the decorating and all that.’

  Dean smiled. ‘I suppose such things are important to a lady, though I can’t see why myself.’

  He caught Bertha’s arm. ‘Is that all, are you sure you’re telling me everything?’

  The young maid’s face was suddenly wary. ‘Yes that’s all, sir,’ she said. ‘I’d best get back to Miss Bea. See, she’s looking out for me.’

  Dean watched her run up the beach and followed more slowly. There was something about the girl’s explanation that did not ring quite true. And yet, in her weakened state perhaps Bea saw normally trivial happenings in a more serious light.

  ‘You’ve been a long time.’ Bea was holding out her hand to him, and smiling he went to her side. Her face turned towards him was lovely and fragile, the face of a woman who could do no wrong. Whatever the truth of the story Bertha had told him, of one thing he was sure: Bea was blameless. And the thought of Richardson giving her even one day’s pain made his gorge rise. The day of reckoning with Mr Sterling Richardson was coming, he decided, and it was coming fast.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The summer sun was shining in through Mali’s window as she awoke to the sound of the church bells ringing through the still morning air. She sat up quickly, brushing back her tangled hair. Her heart was beating swiftly for she had been dreaming that she was standing before the deacons being harangued because of her lustful association with the copper boss. Her hands trembled as she pushed the patchwork quilt to one side, stepped out of bed and stood for a moment before the window looking down at the streets outside.

  Children were scrambling about in the cobbled roadway playing with a hoop, and the breakfast smell of salt fish overpowered even the stench from the copper works. The Catholics were going to mass, faces bright and fresh washed, the women with shawls covering their hair in spite of the warmth of the sun. All in all it was an ordinary Sunday. But not for Mali.

  She washed in cold water from the china bowl on the marble-topped table and dressed quickly, trying to push the pain and turmoil of her thoughts into the background of her mind. Today she would clean the house from top to bottom, polish the brass, wash the floors and to the devil with what Dad would say about resting on God’s day.

  From outside, she heard Dai End House playing hymns on his accordion and the haunting melodies filled her with renewed sadness; she sank down on the bed, her hands over her face, and the tears slipped between her fingers, salt and bitter.

  She loved Sterling, loved him so much that it wrenched and tore at her being. She had thought for one magical night that he returned her feelings but then he had simply walked out of her life and left her alone and deserted in the room at the Mackworth Arms.

  She had hoped again briefly that there was some justification for his absence when she heard from Katie about the explosion at the copper works. But then she counted up the hours and realised that he’d still had time to come to her at the hotel and he had chosen not to. She had been a fool even to imagine that she could be anything to him but a flossy, a night’s diversion.

  There was no point in wallowing in bitterness, she told herself briskly, she must go downstairs, cook Dad his breakfast. He was sure to be hungry as he inevitably was after a Saturday night spent drinking.

  She bit her lip. Davie had not been the same to her since she’d returned home with her blouse torn and confessed to him that she had been with a man. Her back still ached with the bruises inflicted by the strong leather belt her father had used on her. Worse than the beating was the fact that her father had condemned her without a fair
hearing. But then how could she ever justify what she had done? She, like many a woman before her, had fallen in love with a man who was merely trifling with her.

  She had been a gullible fool and should have heeded Katie’s warning, for hadn’t the Irish girl told her that men like Sterling wanted only one thing from a working girl and that was to bed her. She must have appeared naive, even stupid, believing that he really cared for her. Well, she had learned her lesson now and would not be caught again.

  She hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen and took her apron from the line, tying it firmly around her waist. There was the fire to light and the ashes to riddle and sticks to fetch in from the yard all before she could boil up the kettle for a cup of tea.

  She stood for a moment in the silence of the sunwashed room. Since her mother had died, there had been nothing but change and Mali knew she could never go back to being the girl she once was.

  She longed for her mother in that instant, ached to be comforted, held in warm caring arms. She needed a kind voice to tell her that she had not been a bad girl, simply a foolish one.

  But there was no point in wanting what she could not have. She must be strong, stand on her own two feet, for she was alone now.

  She set to work and soon had the fire glowing behind the blackleaded bars of the grate. She carried the kettle to the back yard and filled it to the brim for Dad liked endless cups of tea when he had salt fish for breakfast. At the other side of the hob, she put the fish on to boil and wiping her hands in her apron, she went outside and strolled along Copperman’s Row.

  She looked at the familiar cobbled road as though she had never seen it before. Dai End House was sitting in his doorway, his hair slicked down, his collar shiny white, and he played his accordion as though he was in love with the instrument.

  The children had vanished from the streets now for soon they would be scrubbed and dressed in Sunday-best clothes and sent off to church or chapel with Bibles under their arms, each one of them eager to earn for their goodness a small picture of the Lord suffering little children to come unto Him.

  Mali told herself she was growing vinegary and bitter but for all that, the chapel at Pentre Estyll would not see her today, or any other Sunday for that matter.

  A policeman came into sight wheeling his bicycle, his face red, for the day was growing warmer. Her heart dipped as she realised that the man walking beside him was Sterling Richardson. He was hatless and was wearing a light jacket and he looked so handsome that pain exploded within her like a thousand fragments of shattered glass.

  Hurriedly, she returned to the cottage, slamming the door behind her. It took her a few moments to regain her breath for her heart was pumping as though she had been running.

  She heard sounds of movement from upstairs and knew that Dad was rousing himself. She hurried to the hob and stirred the salt fish but her mind was not on her task.

  ‘Sterling.’ She whispered the name softly, reliving the way he had held her in his arms, taken possession of her so tenderly that she could have pledged her very life that he loved her. Suddenly tears were brimming over and running down her cheeks.

  The stinging cold of the water she dashed on her reddened eyes seemed to bring her to her senses. What use was crying? What was done was done. She set out the plates for breakfast, determined to act as if nothing was wrong.

  Davie came into the room and stood staring at her uncomfortably. He moved to the fire and peered down into the pot.

  ‘Ah, there’s lovely that smells, Mali.’ His tone was conciliatory, for they had not spoken to each other in days. Mali turned to him, smiling tremulously, and he rubbed at the roughness of the bristles on his chin, his green eyes not meeting hers.

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to say to you.’ He stood stiffly now, hands thrust into trouser pockets. Mali shook her head pleadingly.

  ‘Don’t go on at me about how bad I am, Dad,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t bear it if you scold me any more.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ He coughed in embarrassment. ‘And I’m sorry I took my belt to you, Mali, first time in my life I ever hit you.’ He shook his head to and fro, his brow furrowed, and Mali went to him, her arm around his big neck, silent in her anguish, longing for comfort from him.

  After a moment, he put her away from him. ‘I got to tell you, Mali.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Rosa is coming to live with us. It’s only fair, mind, for I’ve made her promise to stay off the streets, see.’

  ‘What?’ Mali could hardly believe her ears. ‘That no-good flossy living under my roof, oh Dad, how could you?’ Mali sank down into the kitchen chair as Davie put his fingers warningly to his lips.

  ‘Hush, she’s upstairs now, getting dressed.’ Davie had the grace to look sheepish. He moved over to the window and stared outside though it was clear he was seeing nothing.

  ‘A man gets lonely, Mali,’ he said. ‘Not only for bedding a woman but for a lot of other things besides. Try to understand, will you, girl?’

  ‘It’s “girl” again now is it?’ Mali felt her anger grow and rise within her so that she could hardly contain it. ‘And don’t talk to me about understanding because I’ll never understand how you could put a flossy in my mother’s place.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘What else is Rosa going to give you but bedding, tell me that? Is she going to cook and clean for you and wash your clothes? Well I’ll say this for you, Dad, you don’t waste no time in comforting yourself with whatever is going, a woman any man could buy for a few shillings. Is that what you are going to bring into this house as your wife?’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Davie’s voice was harsh. ‘It’s my choice and I’ll stick to it and if you don’t like it, there’s the door.’ He turned swiftly as she gasped in horror. ‘I don’t want it to be like that, Mali, but if you make me choose then it’s got to be her. Look,’ he spoke pleadingly, ‘you’ll be gone soon anyway, married to some respectable boy, if you don’t spoil your chances that is. I’ll be alone then or haven’t you thought of that? Your husband won’t want me hanging around that’s for sure.’

  Mali picked up her shawl and draped it over her shoulders. ‘Right then, get that whore out of bed and let her cook the breakfast and bring in the coal and sweep the floor.’ She could hardly see, so blinded with anger and pain was she. ‘I’m going out to think things over.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere else to live for it’s certain I won’t share my kitchen with that – that prostitute!’

  Once outside, she hurried away towards the canal and so did not see Sterling go to the door of the cottage and knock loudly. She was blind to everything but her own outrage and pain and it was as though the whole world had turned against her.

  She sat for a long time watching the sunlight dancing on the turgid waters of the canal and so absorbed was she in her own thoughts that she failed to see Katie come up alongside her and settle on the grass, legs straight out in front of her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mali?’ Katie’s soft voice startled her and Mali looked up quickly, unable to conceal the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Ah, love, what is it?’ Katie’s voice was low. ‘I’ve never seen you cry before, not even when your ma died.’

  Mali swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know, Katie, perhaps it’s all my fault but there’s so much gone wrong I don’t know if I can explain.’

  ‘Well take your time, there’s no one hurrying you and that’s for sure.’ Katie pushed the shawl from her head and her red hair gleamed rich and bright in the sunlight.

  ‘Dad’s brought Rosa to live in our cottage,’ Mali said at last. ‘Going to stay with us for as long as she keeps off the streets, isn’t that just fine? A whore for a mother, a flossy who has known nothing but men since she was twelve years of age.’

  Katie was silent, plaiting the fringes of her shawl together, her hands busy, her eyes staring downwards.

  ‘Well don’t you think that’s awful?’ Mali demanded, amazed that her friend wasn’t lift
ing her eyes to heaven in horror.

  Katie shrugged. ‘There’s worse things than that, Mali, and sure I tink Rosa only put the tin hat on things. There’s something that hurts you much more than that now isn’t there, do you want to tell me all or are you goin’ to let it fester like a sore inside your guts?’

  Mali’s shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, there’s more,’ she said. ‘Much more, but I don’t know how to say it.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to, I can read it in your eyes, you’ve lain in Top Meadow, or somewhere like it and with that boss man Sterling Richardson.’

  Mali did not attempt to deny it. She shook her head dumbly and it was some moments before she could speak.

  ‘I believed he loved me.’ Her voice seemed to come from a great distance. ‘When he took me in his arms it was all so . . .’ she shook her head helplessly. ‘Well, I thought he meant to marry me. I should have had more sense.’ She threw a piece of twig in the water and watched it spinning aimlessly in the slowly flowing water.

  ‘If sense came with love there’d be no one making fools of themselves,’ Katie sighed. ‘This happens all the time, Mali, you’re not the first and sure won’t be the last to be taken in by a handsome face.’

  The two girls stared at each other for a long moment and then Katie put her arm round Mali’s shoulder, hugging her close.

  ‘I should have put a stop to it when I saw Mr Richardson driving you away in that fine automobile of his. I might have guessed he wouldn’t take you straight home, not him. But why did he run out on you so quick then?’

  Mali closed her eyes. ‘He said he was going to get me a blouse, this was after . . . after we’d been together.’ She lifted her head and looked desperately at her friend.

  ‘But Katie, while he was with me, he was so wonderful, I can’t tell you what it was like.’

  ‘They can put on a fine enough act when they want something.’ Katie spoke sadly. ‘Offer you the sun, moon and stars if it gets them what they want.’