by Iris Gower
Suddenly he was on his knees, looking down at Gwen and trying to lift her. ‘Oh, God! I didn’t mean it. Gwen, come on, don’t be daft. Open your eyes, for God’s sake.’
Llinos felt as though events were unfolding before her like a series of pictures. Mr Cimla’s shirt hung open, his face was blotched with red, he was staring at the crumpled figure on the floor as though he did not know what had happened.
‘Get out of here.’ Llinos prodded his back with the musket. ‘Get out now before I kill you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Don’t you believe it!’
He lifted his hands in the air. ‘All right, I’m going. I’ve finished with you, with all of you. It’s about time I moved on and found a proper woman to look after me, not a namby-pamby weakling like her.’
He moved to the door and looked back at Llinos and he was grinning.
‘She’s not my wife.’ He pointed to Gwen’s still figure. ‘I’ve already got a wife. That kid she’s carrying is going to be a bastard, isn’t that funny?’
She heard his echoing laugh as he slammed the door and marched through the hall, and hated him. Llinos knelt quickly beside her mother. ‘Are you all right, Mam, can you get up?’
Her mother’s eyes flickered; they opened but they gazed upwards, dark pools with no light of recognition in them.
‘I’m going to fetch Celia-end-house, Mother,’ Llinos said in panic. ‘I won’t be long.’
Celia came to the door at once. ‘Oh Gawd, he’s been back, ‘as he? Thought I heard a rumpus.’ She looked at the musket still grasped in Llinos’s hand. ‘Got rid of him now, have you? Good for you, girl, good for you.’
Llinos needed to rouse Ben to help carry Gwen back to her room. Once she was settled in her bed, Celia began to examine Gwen carefully.
She looked at Llinos and shook her head. ‘It’s not good, she’s started to bleed. Looks like she’ll lose the little one.’
Llinos bit her lip. She could not help thinking that it was just as well if what Bert Cimla said was true about the child being a bastard.
‘Go on, you, get some rest, you look all in. I’ll sit with your mam, nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do, it’s all in the hands of the Gods now.’
Llinos woke from an uneasy sleep at dawn. She had made up a bed on the sofa in the sitting-room, the musket at her side, but there had been no sign of Mr Cimla. Llinos doubted they would ever see him again. He had realized at last that there were no more pickings to be had from such a poor family.
The kitchen was empty, the fire unlit, and Llinos felt a sense of gloom. Celia was still keeping an eye on Gwen; that in itself was a bad sign.
Llinos ran up the stairs to her bedroom and dressed hurriedly, then she went to see how her mother was feeling. She crossed her fingers as she had done as a child, willing everything to be all right.
Once in her mother’s bedroom, Llinos could see that all was not well. Her mother’s eyes were closed, her breathing was laboured. Celia was nodding in the chair beside the bed.
‘Mother.’ Llinos approached the bed and spoke softly. ‘It’s me, are you all right?’ Her mother did not respond.
Llinos touched the thin shoulder. ‘Please, wake up.’
She touched her mother’s brow; it was cold and yet beaded with sweat. Llinos was frightened. She could hear Ben and the boys outside in the yard and the normality of sounds seemed strangely unreal.
Celia opened her eyes and, like a cat, she was immediately awake. She lifted Gwen’s hand; it was limp, the fingers icy. She looked up at Llinos. ‘Better get the doctor, love.’
Llinos bit her lip. Things had to be serious before the doctor was called in. She wrapped herself in her cloak and left the house. It was going to be a fine day, the colours of morning were brighter now, the hedge roses splashes of brightness against the greenery. In spite of the sunny skies, she felt a sense of impending doom. Her mother was so sick she might die.
It was as if he was with her then, Joe. That was his name. She had no idea how she knew it but she clasped the name to her heart. His arm seemed to be around her, his dark hair brushing her face. He was tall, so tall. He had become reality to her. She felt the lightness of his kiss against her hair and then he was gone.
Was she going mad? Had the misfortunes of her family turned her mind? She began to run towards the doctor’s house as if the demons of hell were behind her.
‘What’s wrong, Llinos?’
She gasped as Binnie caught her arm. She looked at him, trying to adjust her thoughts.
‘Llinos, I was just on my way to work when I saw you rushing down the road like a mad thing. What’s happened?’
Her mind was full of confused images, she could not think straight.
‘Llinos!’ The sharpness of Binnie’s voice brought her to her senses. ‘What’s happened?’
‘My mother is sick, she needs the doctor.’
‘I’ll go and fetch him,’ Binnie said. ‘You go back home.’
Nodding dumbly, Llinos obeyed. Once back in the kitchen she occupied herself building the fire, placing coals so that the flames shot up the chimney. She could hear Celia’s light tread above her and knew she should go upstairs but she was afraid. A long time seemed to pass before Binnie returned with the doctor. Llinos waited as the heavy footsteps climbed the stairs. She wanted to pray but the words would not come. She put the kettle on the fire and put out cups and saucers, unaware of what she was doing. The clock ticked loudly, filling the room, and Llinos felt she could not stand the uncertainty any more.
When Celia eventually came for her, it was with reluctance that Llinos followed the old woman into the bedroom. A short, rotund man was standing near the bed, his bag open, a bottle of potion in his hand. As she watched, he dropped the bottle back into the bag and turned to face her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There was nothing I could do.’ Llinos nodded.
‘Thank you for coming, sir,’ Celia said. ‘I thought it only proper-like, in the circumstances.’ Celia saw the doctor out and Llinos stood looking down at the face of her mother. It was unfamiliar now, set as though carved from ivory. The stench of blood permeated the room and suddenly Llinos felt sick.
She left the room, closing the door silently behind her. She needed to get out, to get away from the spectre of death. She needed to walk.
The sea was edged with silver, sparkling with light where sea met sand. Her feet sank into the softness of the dunes as Llinos crouched onto her haunches. If she pressed low enough, perhaps she would disappear altogether. She closed her eyes, they felt frozen with dread and behind closed lids she saw her mother’s face, pale, smeared with blood.
‘Mam!’ Her voice was like the keening of a wounded animal. It carried on the wind, mingling with the cry of the seagulls. Her mother was dead and Llinos knew that the pain and anger she felt against Bert Cimla would be with her for ever.
She curled up in one of the dunes, closing her eyes, feeling the sun shining down on her. She wanted to sleep, to forget the awful thing that had happened.
He came to her and she was not sure if she was asleep or awake. Joe sat with her, brushing back her hair; she felt his presence, felt his largeness blot out the sun. It was late when Llinos left the beach. The silver had gone from the sea and the sand was no longer warm and comforting but full of shadows. She made her way back to Pottery Row, glancing towards the window of the house. She hesitated and then after a moment made her way into the pottery buildings.
The kiln was no longer alight but the residue of warmth from the brickwork was comforting as she leaned against it. The smell of the clay was all around her, the clay that had been her livelihood for as long as Llinos could remember.
She put her head in her hands and felt tears spill onto her fingers. Bert Cimla had come into her life and had changed everything. He had wooed Gwen Savage, tricked her into a false marriage and finally, he had destroyed her.
Llinos wiped her eyes on her skirt, knowing she could not stay in the yar
d for ever. There was no sign of Ben or the rest of the workers. Llinos guessed they were following the custom of respecting the dead by suspending work until the next day.
Slowly, she made her way into the house. She paused in the silence and saw the moonlight shining across the hallway. She heard the soft ticking of the clock and listened until the sound seemed magnified a hundred times. At last, she made her way upstairs.
The door of the bedroom creaked open and Llinos fought the fear that took away her breath. The floorboards protested beneath her feet, the sound strangely loud in the silence.
Her mother’s eyes were closed. A strip of linen was tied around her chin; the bow fastened at the top of her head looked strangely festive. There was no colour in her face and when Llinos rested her hand against her mother’s cheek, it was the cold of clay.
Llinos backed away from the bed and out of the room, ashamed of the fear of death. But it was not her mother lying there, it was a stranger. No, not a stranger, an empty shell of something that had been living and breathing only a short time ago.
She went into the sitting-room; it was warm, the fire still blazing in the grate. Celia or Ben must have stacked it high with coals. The fire would be company; she would rest next to it, listen to its voice as the flames licked up towards the chimney.
She felt suddenly weary and stretched out on the carpet, tucking her feet into her skirt. She was an orphan, alone in an unfriendly world.
She closed her eyes and felt him near. Joe, her lover, the man she had never met, never touched. But he was real, he was there with her. She would never be alone again.
CHAPTER SIX
‘We’ve come to offer our help, Llinos,’ Celia said. She stood at the back door and Llinos saw that she was accompanied by a deputation of women from the row.
‘Come in.’ She stepped aside for them to enter the kitchen and watched as the women seated themselves around the table.
‘I know that old Nora has gone home to her sisters and that you are alone,’ Celia said. ‘We can’t have that, oh no, indeed not.’
‘It’s kind of you to worry about me.’ Llinos felt at a loss, not knowing how to handle the situation. She stood near the fire and waited for Celia to speak again.
‘I have come with good news,’ Celia said, ‘the best news I could bring you. Mr Cimla has packed his bags and left town and good riddance to bad rubbish. Seems he’s found another foolish woman to prey on, a rich widow from the Uplands by all accounts.’
‘That is good news, Celia,’ Llinos said. ‘Shall we have a drink of port to celebrate?’ Llinos asked politely, but she was wishing the women would go away.
Celia nodded vigorously. ‘There’s a good idea now.’
Llinos left the room and the women stared after her. ‘Well, she won’t starve, not the daughter of Lloyd Savage.’ Mrs Ceri Cooper was an intelligent woman, dark with almost gypsy good looks. ‘She still got money, hasn’t she?’
‘How do you make that out?’ Celia leaned forward, her arms resting on her swollen knees.
‘Well, she got the pottery and all those buildings, they must be worth a bit.’ Mrs Cooper brushed back a strand of hair.
‘Why don’t she sell up and move somewhere modest-like? Anyway, you mark my words, there’s money about that family somewhere, I can smell it and I’ve a nose for that sort of thing.’
‘The captain had money, right enough,’ Celia said thoughtfully. ‘I heard tell he had holdings, shares and capital invested somewhere. I don’t quite know what all those things are but they have something to do with money. Still, can’t see any bank handing out cash to a young girl.’
‘Well, I still think she could sell up and move,’ Ceri Cooper said, folding her arms across her ample bosom.
Llinos stood in the sitting-room, watching the sun playing across the decanter of port. From across the valley came the sound of church bells. It was Sunday. She sighed and returned to the kitchen with the silver tray full of glasses filled with ruby liquid.
‘Please, help yourselves.’ She sat near the fire warming her hands, which felt cold in spite of the warm sunshine slanting through the windows. She did not know why the women had come. They said they wanted to help but when she’d entered the room, they seemed to be arguing about the possibility of her selling the pottery. She would never do that, this was her home and here she would stay.
Still, she was grateful to Celia, she could not deny that. It had been Celia who had ferreted out the cache of burial money hidden beneath the floorboards in the bedroom. Celia who had employed a carpenter to make the pine coffin devoid of ornamentation and Celia who had handed the left-over money to Llinos.
It seemed to Llinos as though her life had been taken over by Celia. The old woman had attended to the funeral arrangements with efficiency born of long practice. Gwen Savage, as she would always be known, had been buried in Dan-y-Graig cemetery, the grave marked only by a wooden cross.
The swiftness of it all left Llinos no time to grieve. She felt numb, as though her senses had become blunted. She had not combed her hair in days and the food Celia forced on her from time to time tasted like sawdust in her mouth.
‘What I want to know is what we’re going to do about buying our pots now.’ Mrs Millie Fishguard was frowning. ‘Broke my big basin only last night, I did, got nothing to mix up my bread in, poor show, mind.’
‘Don’t be so selfish, Millie.’ Celia’s voice was reproving. ‘There’s more important things to sort out now besides your pots.’
Llinos felt a surge of sudden impatience. How dare these women come into her house and talk as if she was incapable of thinking for herself?
‘I will be all right, I assure you.’ Llinos heard the strength in her voice and it gave her confidence. ‘I can work the clay, I’ve been doing it since I was seven years old.’
Celia nodded. ‘That’s true enough, lovie,’ she said, ‘but what about the cooking and cleaning? You can’t do everything.’ In spite of her questions, she looked at Llinos with a new respect. ‘And what will you do if Mr Cimla should put in an appearance again?’
‘I will deal with Mr Cimla with a loaded musket if need be,’ Llinos said. ‘As for everything else, I’ll manage.’
‘Well, what if I oversee things in by here, then. Keep an eye on you, watch you don’t come to no harm.’ Celia smiled. ‘A lady like you needs a chaperone, mind, and with old Nora gone to stay with her sister, you’re all alone with apprentices and workmen about the place and that’s not proper.’
‘That’s right enough, Miss Savage,’ Mrs Cooper said respectfully. ‘I’ll be glad if you can keep the pottery going, so will my Jim. I know he’s only a casual up here but he’s a good worker and strong.’
‘Jim has been a great help in the past few days. If it’s at all possible, I intend to keep him on.’
She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles in an unconsciously childish gesture. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll be glad of your help, Celia, at least for the time being.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Celia said and sipped her port with a satisfied look in her eye. It seemed the matter was decided and Llinos took a deep breath; it was time she took control of her life, she had wallowed in self-pity for long enough. If she did not assert herself now, her life would not be her own.
‘If you will excuse me, ladies,’ she said firmly, ‘I have work to do. Finish your port before you leave.’
Llinos left the room and made her way across the yard. It was quiet, no-one worked on Sunday, except old Ben who would, sometimes, stay behind to fire the kilns.
She looked around at the sprawled, empty buildings. This was her heritage and she would fight for survival in the business that her father had founded. Binnie had been one of the first apprentices to be taken on at the Savage Pottery and now he was in charge of it he seemed to have become strong and happy. Yet even though Binnie worked long hours at the pottery, he insisted on travelling home to Greenhill after work every night. And when he left, she felt
lonely and lost.
She realized that the yard was deserted. There was no sign of Ben, he was probably down at the alehouse near the Strand. The old man was not a heavy drinker but he seemed to enjoy the manly talk that he found only in the public bar of the Potters Wheel.
Llinos pushed open the door of the outhouse where the apprentices slept. It was empty except for Watt, who was lying asleep in the window seat. Llinos smiled and covered his slight form with a blanket. Tomorrow she would move the boy into the house, he would be company for her. She felt a surge of warmth, at least perhaps she could make life better for Watt and the other workers even if her own life seemed to be falling apart.
She retraced her steps towards the house. The rooms were silent, everyone had left, even Celia-end-house had gone. Llinos picked up some discarded knitting, the small garment on which her mother had been working, and hot tears burnt her eyes. The silence spread round her and grew and she felt frightened and alone.
That night as she lay in bed, staring out through the small window at the stars, she wondered if she would ever come to terms with her loneliness. Would she ever be happy again? And then it was as though a rush of air was sweeping over her. A voice seemed to speak inside her head telling her she would not be alone for ever. One day, she would find happiness and peace.
She held up her hand to the darkness. ‘Joe?’ she said, but all she heard was the sighing of the wind in the trees.
When she woke, she felt rested. She could hear Celia moving about in the kitchen, heard the rattle of china and she was glad of the sounds, they brought a touch of normality to her life. Today, she would wash her hair, cut away the untidy ends. She would smarten herself up, find some good clothes to wear. She was Llinos Savage and it was about time she remembered it.
She turned and faced the wall where early sunlight formed moving patterns and considered her future. She was a good potter. She had mastered the wheel when her legs had been too short to reach the disk that turned it. But running a pottery involved more than a potter’s skill. How long would the stock of clay last, lying now under damp sacks in the pottery? When it all was used, where would she order more?
