by Iris Gower
It was good to be in the warmth and the noise of the Murphy kitchen and even Tom seemed amiable, his voice gentle as he chided his sons.
‘Come sit down my little colleen,’ he said kindly to Mali. ‘Rest a bit and Mammy will give you something good to warm your belly.’
Katie went upstairs to change from her Sunday clothes and returned a little later wearing a skirt that was darned and patched and kept only for working in.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ she said, ‘Big Mary sends you kind thoughts, I only remembered about it when I put on me old skirt.’ Katie sat down near Mali and smiled at her. ‘Mary says the laundry needs you so hurry back.’ She sighed. ‘I think it might be better for you to be in work rather than sittin’ at home alone just now.’
Mali nodded. ‘You’re right, and tomorrow I’ll be back at my desk whatever happens.’
Katie appeared doubtful. ‘Perhaps that’s a bit too soon, for sure you need a little time to get over . . .’ she paused and shook her head. ‘Well it’s up to you sure enough.’
Jess Murphy banged a plate on the table. ‘Come on Katie, stop babbling and help me bring in the food, it’s only bread and cheese but all home-made, fresh and good. There’s a couple of cakes in the tin, you can bring them out later.’
It was pleasant to simply be one of a crowd, to sit and eat the fresh crusty bread and drink hot sweet tea out of a cracked cup and simply not have to think of anything at all, and Mali felt the tension that had gripped her all day slowly ease away.
After they had eaten, Katie placed little Sean on Mali’s knee and smiled down at her. ‘You just hold the babby and Mammy and me will do the washing up. Soon the boys will go up to bed and then we’ll all have a bit of peace.’
Mali looked down at the plump little boy in her arms and for the first time realised that she wanted her baby, he would be a boy, she felt sure of it, he would be handsome and fair, with dimples in his cheeks.
Suddenly, she was very tired, the events of the past days seemed to catch up with her and she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
‘Katie, I think I’ll go home now,’ she said softly. ‘I’m very grateful to you for all the hospitality you’ve shown me, and I don’t know what I’d have done without you to keep me company at the cemetery.’
Katie went with her to the door. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’ she asked. ‘For sure I’ll come and sleep down on your kitchen floor if you want someone with you tonight.’
Mali shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right, Rosa will be there, though I expect she’ll have a few hours in the public bar of Maggie Dicks or the Mexico Fountain before she comes home.’
Katie frowned. ‘You want to tell her to get out, especially now, there’s no reason why you should have to put up with her, no reason at all.’
Mali rubbed at her eyes tiredly, dusk was falling and she felt as though she wanted to crawl into her bed and sleep the clock around.
‘I suppose you’re right but I’m too tired to think of anything now, I’ll talk to Rosa in the morning, I promise.’
It was cold in the street and from down the row, Mali heard a woman singing soft and beautiful. Other people were happy, she thought tiredly, families were together wrapped in the warmth of well-lit kitchens; it suddenly seemed that she was the only one in the whole world who was alone.
She opened her door to darkness. The fire burned low in the grate and Mali knew that if she hurried, she could save it. She threw off her coat and put some sticks into the dying flames, watching them kindle with a sigh of satisfaction. When she lit the gas lamp, all at once the room seemed transformed and Mali did not feel quite so alone.
She placed coals carefully on the sticks and coaxed the flame by fanning it with her hand. Soon the fire glowed into life and Mali sank back on her heels and sighed. She looked around her at the untidy kitchen. Dishes lay greasily in the sink and the table could do with a good scrubbing, she decided, for there was salt spilled in the crevices between the wood and tea stains marred the whiteness of the boards.
It did Mali good to be occupied, for her feeling of tiredness had disappeared. Perhaps all she really needed was to be alone and instead of pitying herself for her solitude, she should be grateful, at least she had a roof over her head which was more than many folks could say.
A new thought struck her then. This cottage she was so fond of was Sterling Richardson’s property, he could tell her to leave at any time he chose. She brushed back her hair wearily, she could not dwell on such thoughts, not just now, she would face those problems when she came to them. It was just like her mother used to tell her, ‘Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.’ It sounded like words from the good book, only Mali could not be sure.
She filled the kettle and put it onto the blazing fire. She would have some tea and then go to bed.
As she sat at the table a little later, with a cup in her hand, she wondered what was different about the small kitchen. She looked round curiously and began to realise that none of Rosa’s possessions lay cluttering the room as they usually did. That was strange, very strange. She lifted her head and sensed that the house was well and truly empty of everything connected with Rosa.
Mali hurried upstairs and into the bedroom, pulling open the cupboard, moving aside Davie’s clothes; she went to the chest of drawers but the tattered fur collar, the dingy battered hat and all the rest of Rosa’s possessions were gone.
Slowly, Mali descended the stairs and returned to the kitchen. She did not blame Rosa for running out, she understood that Davie’s death together with the news of the forthcoming baby was all too much for the girl to take in her stride. In a way it was a relief to have Rosa off her hands.
A sudden suspicion entered Mali’s mind. She moved to the dresser and lifted the tea tin, holding it close to her for a moment, taking a deep breath before prising the lid open.
The tin was empty, not a farthing remained. All the money collected by the men from the Mexico Fountain together with the hundred pounds compensation had vanished. Mali dropped the tin to the floor with a clatter.
‘Oh, Rosa, how could you?’ she said and the words fell into the silence like a cry.
Chapter Thirty-one
Sterling knew that the new order for zinc wire should have made him the happiest man in Sweyn’s Eye. If he could fulfil the demand from Coopers, which was a huge industrial company situated about twenty miles away from town, then he would be solvent once more. He would be in a position to discharge his debts and to expand the zinc foundry so that it would be a real money-spinner.
And yet there were memories lurking in his mind, thoughts of Mali Llewelyn, her green eyes wild and accusing, her soft body changed by the child she carried within her. But her accusations had been unjust, without foundation, and anger overrode any other emotion as he thought of their last encounter.
He rose from his chair and stared out into the cold January day and sighed heavily. When he had sent out his men to search for Davie Llewelyn, he had not expected them to have found him in such terrible circumstances. He had been dismayed to hear of Davie’s death and the manner of it was too horrible to think about.
He moved restlessly from the window, perhaps a walk in the fresh air might clear his head. He drew on his coat and glanced towards Ben. ‘I’m going out, keep an eye on things.’
Ben smiled and the ends of his waxed moustache lifted. ‘That new order is going to make us rich,’ he said. ‘Going to celebrate with a nip of something warming are you Mr Richardson?’
Sterling paused, Ben’s words bringing to the surface the triumph of his success. He smiled. ‘We do seem to have turned the corner, Ben,’ he replied.
Outside, the wind was keen and a rim of frost covered the cobbled yard, coating the rooftops of the huddled buildings so that it appeared to have been snowing.
He strode out briskly, looking up as the sudden burst of sparks from one of the chimneys illuminated the dullness of the day. The stink of sulphur pervad
ed the atmosphere and Sterling suddenly wanted to get right away from the Richardson Copper Company.
It had dominated his life in this last year since his father had died, he ate it and slept it twenty-four hours of every day. And his brother Rickie, who might have been helping, did nothing but frequent low bars, consorting with villains who would cut a grandmother’s throat for the price of a pint of ale.
He felt a fierce and burning resentment against his brother. If Rickie had pulled his weight, taken his share of the responsibility for the business, then Sterling might have had more time to live his own life. Instead he had been either cooped up in the office poring over books or attending auctions or chasing orders.
He turned the corner of the buildings and came upon the banks of coal that usually towered high into the air like miniature mountains. To his dismay, he saw that the stocks were alarmingly low. If he did not see to replenishing them at once, there would not be enough fuel to last through the winter months. Yet he was sure he had sent off the order as he usually did at the end of each month. What could have gone wrong?
He returned quickly to the office and Ben looked up startled as Sterling entered the small room, slamming the door behind him.
‘Ben, check on last month’s coal records,’ Sterling said quickly. ‘Either the suppliers have let me down or I forgot to send in the order.’
Ben glanced through the books swiftly and efficiently. ‘Ah, here we are, I remember now. Mr Rickie came into the office, told me that you wanted to give the contracts to some of the smaller pits outside town by way of a change. Only trouble is there’s no note of any response from them.’
Sterling sat on the edge of the desk. ‘Rickie came here telling you what I wanted done?’ he said incredulously. ‘Since when have I confided in him or when has he shown an interest in the business for that matter? You should have checked it out with me, Ben. In future don’t listen to anything my brother tells you.’
Anger was hot within him; Rickie must be up to something. Well he could just keep his nose out or he might have it pushed out.
Ben was looking crestfallen, staring down at his books, his mouth drawn into a straight line.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any real harm done,’ Sterling said more calmly. ‘I’ll get some supplies over from the Kilvey Deep. The last thing we want now is any hitches,’ he added. ‘Without coal we wouldn’t be able to supply Coopers with that zinc wire.’
He felt uneasily that he should find out what Rickie thought he was playing at, coming into the office out of the blue and issuing instructions the way he had.
‘I’m going to take the rest of the day off,’ Sterling said decisively. At the door he turned. ‘Remember, Ben, don’t take any further orders from my brother, is that understood?’
Ben’s face was long. ‘Right you are sir, I did think it strange at the time.’ He shrugged. ‘But Master Rickie is family . . .’ His voice trailed away and Sterling nodded abruptly.
‘I understand, Ben, but it mustn’t happen again.’
As he drove the Ascot up the hill, Sterling glanced towards the place where his new house now stood, ready for occupation. He was sick of his room at the Mackworth Arms and yet somehow he did not relish the thought of living alone as much as he once did. But it was time he moved in, for the house needed warm fires to light the rooms or they would become damp.
It did not take him long to reach Plas Rhianfa and it seemed a long time since he’d driven through the huge gates and along the winding drive to the great mansion that dominated the skyline. It gave him great satisfaction to know that the old place would remain in the family, the order for zinc wire would see to that.
He drew the automobile to a halt and climbed down from the driving seat. He stood for a moment drinking in the sight of the house where he had been born. One day his son would own it and he relished the thought.
Sterling walked round to the back of the house, towards the stables. He might as well enter by the rear door, he did not want his arrival to be announced by his mother’s delighted greetings, so giving Rickie a chance to get away before they could talk. Foxy whinnied softly from the stable and, smiling, Sterling moved to rub at the animal’s ears.
Voices speaking low from somewhere inside the wooden building made him pause, there was something in the half whispers that alerted him. He moved silently round towards the doorway and edged inside.
Through the gloom, he saw three men, one of them his brother Rickie, seated on boxes, heads bent forward.
‘It will finish him,’ Rickie was saying in triumph. ‘It’s worked out even better than I’d thought for without coal the order for this new zinc product he’s been making will go down the drain.’
Sterling could see now that Will Owens was facing Rickie and to his brother’s right sat Glanmor Travers, his face eager, his close-set eyes gleaming. The three of them were hatching some nasty little idea to put him out of business, obviously, but what was it?
‘I set the charge like you told me,’ Will Owens was saying in a low voice. ‘The whole shoot should blow sky high.’ His voice held a bitter satisfaction.
Sterling tensed. Suddenly his mind was crystal clear: the men had mentioned coal and an explosion, and all at once their conversation made sense. They meant to put the Cornish beam engine out of action and so flood the chain of pits from the Kilvey Deep right down into the valley.
He stepped out into the open so suddenly that the three men turned and looked at him as though he was a ghost. It was Owens who spoke.
‘Jesus Gawd, he’s heard the lot.’
‘Yes I heard the lot, damn you,’ Sterling stared at Rickie angrily, and a fine brother you turned out to be.’
‘Brother?’ Rickie’s voice was loud and contemptuous. ‘You’re no brother of mine!’
Sterling’s fist caught Rickie square in the mouth and he staggered back against the wall, blood running from his cut lip.
‘What have you done, you bastard?’ Sterling said harshly. ‘Where have you set this charge?’
Rickie spat blood into the straw and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Find out.’
Sterling’s anger was growing with each minute and he caught Rickie by the throat. ‘Tell me what I want to know or by God, brother or no, I’ll beat it out of you.’
He jerked Rickie to his feet and the two men stared at each other for a long moment.
‘That’s just it,’ Rickie gasped at last, ‘you are not my brother.’
‘What game are you trying to play now?’ Sterling’s grip tightened on Rickie’s throat.
‘It’s true, you are not Arthur Richardson’s child.’ His voice was rising hysterically. ‘You are a by-blow conceived from a sordid little affair between our mother and James Cardigan.’
From behind him Sterling heard a strangled gasp and turning, he saw Victoria standing in the doorway, her hand to her throat, her face white. By the expression in her eyes, Sterling knew deep down in his gut that what Rickie said was true.
‘Mother,’ he said softly, almost pleadingly, but she looked away from him.
‘Good heavens! I could hear the sound of you shouting from the house. Please boys, stop this fighting, I will not have it.’
Sterling saw her mouth move but he did not hear her words, there was a great bursting pain within him and it was as if the foundations of his life were rocking beneath his feet.
He hit Rickie again and again in an unseeing rage. ‘It’s not true, it’s just filthy lies!’
He heard Victoria cry out behind him. ‘Someone help me! James, I must fetch James.’
Sterling’s vision cleared a little. James Cardigan his father, surely it could not be? He was a Richardson, he had been born in wedlock, brought up as beloved eldest son, yet in a moment all the security of his childhood had been wiped out with a few bitter words.
But he was still the man Arthur Richardson had brought him up to be, he reasoned, and it was he alone who had saved the company from extinction. And no
one, nothing, could change the man he had become.
He gave a low growl and threw Rickie away from him and the younger man lay amid the straw moaning.
Glanmor Travers seemed suddenly spurred into action for the next minute he was through the door and running for his life. Sterling let him go but he knew he must marshall his thoughts, undo the harm Rickie might have done. It was Will Owens who had planted the charge, he was the one who must be dealt with now.
‘Owens, where is the charge planted and what time is it to go off?’ He stared menacingly at the younger man but Owens returned his look, his lip curled in scorn.
‘Do you want to try to beat it out of me, too?’ he asked fiercely.
Sterling tried to control the impulse to wipe the smile from Will Owens’ face. This situation needed cunning, not strength.
‘I’ll give you a hundred pounds if you show me where you set the charge.’ His voice rang out loud and clear and Owens’ eyes flickered with greed.
Rickie stepped forward quickly. ‘It’s too late!’ he cried. ‘Don’t be a fool Owens, you’ll never get there in time. Keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you.’
Sterling pushed Rickie aside. ‘Two hundred,’ he said desperately. ‘Just think what you could do with that sort of cash.’
He could see Owens hesitating. What he didn’t know was that the man wanted Sterling’s death even more than he wanted the money and the only way to get him on the spot at the time of the explosion was to pretend to go along with him.
‘Right, it’s a deal,’ he said harshly and Sterling smiled in bitter triumph at his brother.
‘You see, Rickie, you haven’t won, not yet.’
Rickie seemed to go wild then, he flung himself at Sterling, attempting to punch and hit him, his face contorted with rage.
‘Nothing belongs to you, by rights it’s all mine, I’m the true heir to the company, the house, the lot. Why should you get away with it all?’
