by Iris Gower
‘Don’t seem to be nothing broken, thank the good Lord.’ She rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘But there will be bruises inside as well as out. It’s rest in a good bed for you, my boy.’
She looked up at Llinos. ‘Where’s Ben? I’ll need his help to get Binnie into the house.’
‘I ’spects Ben’s gone to the ale house.’ Watt’s small voice carried across the shed just as the door opened.
‘Someone taking my name in vain? Well I went for a drink but I’m back now. What’s the trouble?’ He smelled of ale and the bitterness of wormwood. The Neath Inn was not renowned for its good brew.
Llinos pointed to where Binnie lay. ‘Mr Cimla’s handiwork,’ she said.
‘There’s been trouble here!’ Ben rubbed his chin. ‘I wondered why the apprentice lads were running hell for leather across the fields. That man’s mad, he needs horsewhipping, if you ask me.’
Between them, Llinos and Ben managed to take Binnie inside the house. Binnie drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware that he was being tucked into the comfort of Llinos’s bed.
‘What’s happened?’ Gwen came upstairs behind them, her eyes wide in the candlelight, her face pale, and her pregnancy beginning to show beneath the light material of her dress.
‘Your man’s been at ‘is tricks again, Mrs Savage,’ Celia said. ‘Get rid of him before he kills one of you.’
‘What’s happened? I didn’t know he’d been home. What is it, Llinos?’ Gwen rubbed her hands nervously over the small swell of her apron.
‘He’s beaten Binnie within an inch of his life, that’s what’s happened, Mother.’ Llinos could not keep the anger from her voice.
Celia shook her head as though warning Llinos not to upset Gwen. ‘Llinos, perhaps you’ll stay by here and help me. Go and have something to calm your nerves, Mrs Savage, you look awful.’
No-one noticed that Celia referred to Gwen by her first husband’s name. Gwen bit her lip but left the room and Celia turned her attention to Binnie.
It took almost an hour to bathe and clean the wounds on his face and body. The room smelled of witch-hazel and essence of laudanum but at last Binnie was resting easily.
Llinos rubbed her eyes; her back ached and her feet felt on fire. It had been a dreadful day, a wet, cold, empty day and now to return to find Binnie beaten like this was the last straw.
‘I hate that man, Celia,’ she said. ‘I could kill him myself for what he’s done to us.’
Celia lifted her brows. ‘My advice is to get your father’s musket at the ready in case that monster comes back here tonight, though if I’m any judge of ’uman nature, he’ll lie low till the dust settles.’
Llinos nodded, not bothering to say that the thought had occurred to her already. She watched as Celia walked stiffly to the door.
‘And I’ll have my payment now, if you please, Llinos, for I won’t set foot in ’ere when he’s at home.’ She held out her hand and Llinos nodded.
‘I’ll get your money, just wait a minute, Celia.’
Llinos went down to the kitchen to look in the tin where the housekeeping money was kept and, as she had expected, it was empty. She smiled bitterly, she was well used to Mr Cimla’s thieving ways by now and only a few pennies were kept in the house. She looked in her apron pocket at the few pence she had taken that day at market. At least there was enough to pay Celia.
When she returned to the yard, she put the money in Celia’s hand. ‘He’s had his last chance,’ she said. ‘Mr Cimla will not spend another night under my roof.’
Celia nodded as though she had heard it all before and ambled away. Ben was crouching beside one of the kilns putting coal on the fires; he looked over his shoulder at her approach.
‘How is the boy?’
‘Resting quietly,’ Llinos said. ‘I need some money to replace what I gave Celia-end-house. Will you fetch the pot for me, Ben?’
‘Aye,’ Ben nodded gravely. ‘I’ve hid it in the clay bin this time, I don’t think he’d want to mess his pretty hands by looking in there.’
‘Why did my mother get taken in by the man, Ben?’ Llinos bit her lip and the old man put his arm around her, hugging her to him.
‘There’s no accounting for a woman’s feelings, is there? Anyone with half an eye can see Mr Cimla’s no good to God nor man. If I was a bit younger I’d give him a hiding myself.’ He sighed. ‘I could speak to some of the men down at the alehouse if you like. Some of them would give him a good going over for the price of a mug of grog.’
‘No, leave it to me.’ Mr Cimla was only violent when there was no-one to resist him. He played on weakness, he thrived on it. Well, he would soon find that Llinos was not as weak as he imagined.
When Llinos returned to the house it was to find her mother sitting in the kitchen in tears. ‘Oh, God,’ Gwen said. ‘What’s going to happen to us? I’ve tried to love Mr Cimla, tried to be a good wife, but nothing I do pleases him.’
‘It’s not your fault, Mother, no use blaming yourself.’ Llinos drank a little of the hot milk her mother had poured from the jug. ‘Anyway, I don’t think he’ll come home tonight. Let’s go to bed, get some rest if we can. I’ll sleep in the small bedroom for tonight, Mother.’
‘I’ll fetch you a blanket,’ Gwen said. ‘It’s cold in there, we haven’t had fires upstairs for weeks now.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ Llinos said. ‘I’m so tired I think I’d sleep on the bare floor if I had to.’
Later, curled up in the narrow bed in the spare room, she lay awake in spite of her weariness. She listened to her mother’s light footsteps and the door of her bedroom closing and then a brooding silence fell over the house.
Llinos thought of Watt and the apprentices, hoping they had found enough courage to return and were curled up in the outhouse on their makeshift bed, and the image comforted her. If Bert Cimla did come home and start trouble then one of the boys could run for help.
She had looked in on Binnie before going to her own room. He was asleep and breathing heavily. She pictured Bert Cimla striking out at Binnie in a drunken fury and shuddered.
‘Dear Lord, keep Mr Cimla away from us tonight,’ she said fervently.
She slept and dreamt again of the man with blue eyes and long dark hair. He was calling her across mountains and seas, his hands held out towards her. She knew that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him, but she just could not reach him.
Llinos woke to the sound of a noise downstairs. She sat up, aware that someone was knocking on the front door. She was instantly alert but she saw the daylight shining in through the window and relaxed, realizing that it was morning.
By the time she had dressed and hurried downstairs, Celia-end-house was in the hallway and standing beside her was Binnie’s Irish girlfriend.
‘Top o’ the morning to you.’ Though the greeting was civil enough, the look on the Irish girl’s face was one of anger. Even in the early light she was beautiful, her red hair aflame, her skin white as fresh milk.
‘Come in, I expect you are wondering where Binnie is,’ Llinos said. ‘I’m afraid something has happened.’
‘What’s happened? Is Binnie all right?’
‘He’s going to be all right.’
‘What do you mean “going to be all right”?’ Maura’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. ‘I want to see him.’
‘That man’s not here, is he?’ Celia asked and Llinos shook her head.
‘In that case, I’d better see my patient. Let the girl come with me.’ The old woman led the way upstairs and into the bedroom and gestured to Llinos to open the curtains.
‘Mornin’, Binnie lad. Come on, sleepyhead, some of us folks get up early in the morning.’ She poured him a large measure of greenish liquid and Binnie, coughing, drank it.
Maura moved impatiently towards the bed. ‘Oh, my Lord, what’s happened to you?’ She sank onto the floor beside the bed and held Binnie’s hand. Llinos hung back, not wishing to intrude.
‘It’s all r
ight,’ Celia said, ‘the boy is not going to die, he’ll live to fight another day.’
When she had finished dressing Binnie’s wounds, Celia moved to the door, jerking her head for Llinos to follow. The door closed, shutting Maura in with Binnie, and Llinos moved slowly towards the stairs.
Celia put her hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, lovie, you’ll have a little fellow-me-lad of your own one of these fine days.’
Llinos shook back her hair. ‘After seeing my mother’s miserable married life, I don’t think I want a husband,’ she said bitterly.
‘Ah, all that will change when you meet the right man. I’ve seen it all before, you can’t tell old Celia nothing.’
Llinos was silent. She thought of the man in her dreams; he was beautiful and kind. He towered over her, the wisdom of the ages in his blue eyes. He gave her the most wonderful sensation of happiness. But then, he was only a dream, that was all he would ever be and suddenly, she felt like weeping.
Joe was breathless when he returned to the high point of the hill where the captain was waiting for him.
‘Part of the French army are camped astride the main Brussels highway.’ He sank down onto the ground, resting his back against the warmth of a rock. ‘Infantry men, a light cavalry corps and the Guard, in all about sixty-nine thousand men and above two hundred guns.’
‘Well done, Joe.’ Savage winced, he had twisted his ankle in a rabbit hole and his foot, inside his boot, was swollen to twice its normal size.
‘It looks as if the big battle will take place soon. So far, the three days of hostilities have not achieved much for either side.’
‘We must get back to camp.’ Savage attempted to rise and stood for a moment on one foot. His courage was not in question but it was clear that his injury would impede him.
‘You can’t walk in that state, Captain.’
‘You’re right.’ Savage sank onto the ground, his face white. Joe looked around for a tree in full leaf with stout branches and sliced through them with his knife. He placed the branches around the captain, effectively camouflaging him from any but the sharpest eyes.
‘Tell Wellington that Mont-St-Jean is the place to be, that’s where he should deploy his men.’
Joe nodded; he had come to the same conclusion himself. ‘I will not be long.’
He moved silently away without a backward glance. He could have told the captain that the battle would be won within days, that Wellington would prove his mettle and that the Prussians would change sides at the last moment. But he had held back, knowing that Savage could not quite come to terms with what he saw as Joe’s ‘prophesies’. But they were more than that, Joe had the certain knowledge of the events that would shortly occur at the place they called Waterloo.
He felt the breeze in his face, smelled the hot smells of a French summer and knew it was good to be alive. He smiled to himself; soon he would leave the soil of France behind him for good, for a new life was about to begin.
CHAPTER FIVE
Llinos knocked on the bedroom door and pushed it open to find Binnie already dressed in his freshly laundered shirt and breeches. Binnie’s condition had improved rapidly. He was young and healthy and his injuries were quick to heal, though Llinos could still see some slight bruising around one of his eyes.
Since the night of the beating, Bert Cimla had not returned to the pottery but Llinos kept the musket handy just in case.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Llinos pushed back the hair from Binnie’s face and examined the fading bruises.
‘Well enough to go back to Maura’s house,’ Binnie said. ‘Take a word of advice, Llinos, don’t let that man come anywhere near you, he’s insane.’
‘I know, Binnie, I hate him for what he’s done to you, and to me and my mother come to that.’ Binnie touched her shoulder and sighed. ‘I’d better go. You do understand that my place is with Maura now, don’t you?’
Llinos forced a smile. ‘Of course. I’ll drive you over to Greenhill, if you like.’
‘Thanks.’ Binnie had been moody and noncommunicative since the beating but now she felt they might just get back to the old footing.
As she drove away from Pottery Row with Binnie seated beside her, Llinos glanced at his set face and wondered what he was thinking. She could not help wondering if he was going out of her life for ever.
‘You will come back to work when you are fully recovered, won’t you?’
He was silent for a long moment. ‘Aye, I’ll come back so long as that man keeps away from the place. I swear I’ll be ready for him if he tries anything again.’ Binnie’s voice was low, strained, his anger almost tangible.
‘If once I started hitting him,’ Binnie said, ‘I wouldn’t know when to stop.’
When she reached Greenhill, Llinos looked around at the small houses and the narrow courts. She watched as a small boy urinated in the street, and wrinkled her nose.
‘It must be difficult to keep up standards in a place like this.’
Binnie looked at her. ‘Sometimes you sound such a snob, Llinos, do you know that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Llinos was angry, ‘but if these people have to use the middle of the roadway as a privy it’s no wonder that plagues and pestilences begin here.’
‘Go home, Llinos.’ Binnie lifted his small bag of possessions from the cart and climbed down into the road. ‘If you are too high and mighty to see the clean linen blowing on the washing lines and the gleam of the glass in the windows and the scrubbed steps then it’s time you found out what real life is all about.’
‘You think I don’t know?’ Llinos was hurt by his tone. ‘I work like a slave at the pottery, I do all the jobs that the apprentices do and more. I go hungry sometimes and when I fall into bed I ache so much I can’t sleep.’
Binnie rested his hand on her arm, looking up at her from the roadway, his eyes dark in his pale face. ‘I’m sorry, Llinos, I suppose I’m still out of sorts. I’ll see you soon, right?’ He walked rapidly away and without turning round, vanished into one of the houses.
After their exchange of angry words, Llinos thought Binnie might give in his notice but to her relief he resumed work the following Monday. His presence made the load lighter for Llinos but somehow the old spirit of camaraderie that had existed between them was gone. Binnie was respectful but that was all.
Llinos knew, with a sense of loss, that Binnie’s life had changed, he had grown away from her. The easy friendship they had shared had vanished when Binnie had fallen in love with Maura. It was obvious that the Irish girl was far more important to him than Llinos or the Savage Pottery could ever be.
They worked hard that week. Llinos, Watt, Binnie and the apprentices, as well as some of the women from the row, turned out a sizeable stock of pottery. Old Ben needed to work extra time to keep the fires alight in the kilns.
Much of the stock was needed to fulfil existing orders. At last, trade seemed to be picking up.
An enterprise the size of the Savage Pottery should be turning out a great deal more pottery than it was but at least now they were producing enough wares to make it a viable proposition.
On Saturday night, the workers had time off to relax and spend their wages in town. When everyone had left it was silent in the pottery yard, though the kilns still throbbed with heat.
Indoors, Gwen was finishing off a small vest she was knitting for the coming baby and Llinos kissed her mother’s cheek.
‘I’m going to bed, Mother, don’t stay up too long, you’ll strain your eyes working in this poor light.’
As soon as she climbed into bed, Llinos fell into a heavy sleep. It had been dreamless until she felt the touch of a hand on her arm.
In her dream she looked up into the face with the bronzed, clean-cut features; she saw the softness of long silky hair. Blue eyes above high cheek-bones looked into hers. He was shaking his head. She sat up abruptly and looked into the darkness, knowing she was being warned of danger.
She sat up in bed, brushing
back her tangled hair. She had been too tired to plait it before going to bed. She relaxed a little, she had been dreaming, that was all. It was a strange dream; it had left her feeling warm and yet frightened at the same time.
Even awake, she could still see him, feel him close. She breathed in the fresh grass scent of him. His presence lingered with her.
She climbed from the bed and opened her door and heard the sound of raised voices. Her mother was talking so loudly that she sounded hysterical. Then there was a lower voice, a masculine voice. Llinos felt a sudden sense of dread. Bert Cimla was here in Pottery House.
Llinos stood for a moment, shivering in the darkness. She pulled on a robe, opened the cupboard door and her hand encountered the cold handle of the musket. As she moved quietly down the stairs, the sound of shouting intensified.
The hall was in darkness. Breathing unevenly, Llinos felt her way towards the kitchen, her bare feet curling against the cold stone of the passageway.
She heard a scream and a slap and a sudden anger replaced her fear. Her searching fingers came in contact with the barrel of the musket and she took strength from the coldness of the steel.
As she approached the kitchen, she saw shadows flickering against the walls, grotesque, enlarged figures from a nightmare.
There was the sound of china smashing and another slap and then Llinos heard her mother’s voice, low, pleading.
‘Please, Bert, don’t hit me again, I’m carrying your child, how can you treat me like this, have you no feelings at all?’
‘You cheating bitch! You took away my rights as a husband, threw me out onto the street to starve and you talk about feelings!’
There was a thud. Llinos heard her mother whimper and then there was silence. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Her mother was lying spread-eagled on the floor, her head against the marble hearth.
Bert Cimla looked towards Llinos as she entered the room, his mouth drew back into a snarl. He took a step towards her and then she raised the musket.
