by Iris Gower
Binnie shrugged. ‘Right.’ He sauntered towards the door and as he passed the wheel where Watt was working pushed him playfully in the back. Binnie walked out of the shed but left the door open. As he stood in the slant of sunlight, Llinos could see that his shoulders were suddenly tense. His hands were thrust into his pockets, it was clear something was wrong.
Their voices rose and fell and when Binnie moved slightly to one side Llinos saw the faded bag resting at Maura’s feet.
‘She’s having his kid,’ Watt said, rubbing at his eyes. ‘Heard ’em talkin’ the other day. Looks like her folks chucked her out.’
Llinos stared at Watt in amazement. ‘For one so young you hear far too much.’ She spoke tartly. ‘Please fetch the shovel from the corner and put the dirt and wasted clay into the bin.’
Binnie came back into the shed; he was frowning. ‘She’s left home,’ he said.
Llinos was silent and Binnie shrugged. ‘Can she stay here, just for the time being?’
‘Well, I suppose so.’ Maura would have to lodge in Pottery House, she could scarcely be put in the outhouse with the men.
Llinos saw the troubled look on Binnie’s face. ‘Of course she can stay, for the time being. Come on, we’d better do something about making her at home.’
‘Thanks, Llinos, I’ll find a place for her as soon as I can, you have my word on it.’
‘I know.’ Llinos sighed. ‘She’d better have the big front bedroom, there’s a lovely view of the river from there. But Binnie’ – she added a note of caution – ‘I can’t afford to keep her indefinitely, you know how pushed we are for money in spite of the influx of funds.’
‘I understand,’ Binnie said. ‘Maura is cleaning for the vicar, she’ll bring home some money at least for the time being.’
Llinos led the way outside the shed, aware of Watt listening to everything that was being said. Maura stared at her from large green eyes; her mouth trembled. All the spirit seemed to be knocked out of her.
‘Llinos says we can live here.’ Binnie put a comforting arm around the Irish girl.
‘Sure and have you told her the truth about me?’ Maura asked, avoiding Llinos’s eyes.
‘I understand you’re expecting a baby?’ Llinos said quickly. ‘It’s none of my business but I suggest you try to find permanent accommodation as soon as you can.’
Llinos wondered how old the girl was, probably fifteen, sixteen at the most. The silence lengthened and Llinos realized that Binnie was waiting for Llinos to take the initiative. It was a good thing Celia was having one of her rare days off. Her presence in the house would have posed some difficulties. Having had an Irish husband who had left her for another woman she was not over fond of anyone from the Irish quarter of town.
‘Binnie, see Maura settled and then come back and get those saggars over to the kiln, we’ve still a great deal of work to do before we finish for the day.’ She was aware that her tone was curt but she could not help feeling she could do without any added responsibilities right now. ‘I’d better get back to work,’ she said.
Binnie returned a short while later and rested his hand on Llinos’s shoulder. ‘You don’t know how much this means to me,’ he said solemnly.
Llinos sighed. ‘That’s all right. Let’s get these pots over to the kiln and then Ben can seal the opening, right?’
It was late by the time Llinos threw off her apron. Dark clouds obscured the moon and there was a chill in the air.
‘Come on, Watt.’ She ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Come indoors, let’s see what we can find to eat.’
As she entered the house, Llinos was aware of a delicious smell of roasting meat.
‘I think Maura’s been cooking,’ Watt said. ‘She’s going to make us all fat if she has her way.’
The house was filled with the smell of a succulent roast, reminding Llinos of happier days when her mother was alive, before Bert Cimla swept into their lives, changed everything and vanished again.
The kitchen was filled with steam. Pots simmered on the hobs and the table was laid with the plates from the dresser, plates her father had made when Llinos was a child.
She looked at them for a moment, at the pale blue glaze and the symmetrical borders and knew what skill had gone into the making of them. Her mother had treasured those plates, never putting them to the practical purpose they were intended for.
‘I hope a bit of pork is all right, miss,’ Maura said in her soft Irish voice. She sounded submissive but Llinos knew that the Irish girl had a temper that matched that red hair of hers.
‘It’s more than all right, it’s wonderful.’ Llinos turned to Watt. ‘Go and wash your hands, they’re filthy.’
Watt retreated, grumbling beneath his breath. He paused at the door and looked back at the table wistfully.
‘Go on,’ Llinos said. ‘If we are to have a feast we must do justice to it.’
The meal was delicious. The gravy running over the meat and vegetables was rich and dark just like Gwen used to make it.
‘You’re a good cook, Maura.’ Llinos shook her head when Maura held the plate of meat towards her. ‘No, thank you. I’ve had too much already.’
‘Sure you’ve got room for a bit o’ pudding?’ Maura swung open the oven at the side of the fire and with the edge of her apron took a dish from inside.
The bread and butter pudding gleamed crisp and golden in the candlelight and Llinos smiled. ‘All right, just a little.’
Watt sat forward eagerly in his chair, hardly able to contain his impatience. His eyes were wide with anticipation and Llinos Smiled indulgently.
‘Can we afford to eat like this, Maura?’ she asked. The girl looked at her in surprise. ‘Oh, I’m not rich, I have to count the pennies,’ Llinos added.
‘Well, the bit of pork was a gift from the vicar,’ Maura said defensively. ‘And the pudding, well, that’s only eggs and milk and old bread with a bit of sugar.’
‘We’ll have to sort, a menu out some time,’ Llinos said. ‘But for now, I think we’ll have a cup of tea as a treat to finish off a beautiful meal.’
Maura, flushed with her exertions, rose to push the kettle onto the fire.
Binnie came into the kitchen and his face, old before its time, broke into a smile. ‘A good home-cooked dinner, wonderful!’ The frown eased from his forehead so that he looked like the young man he was. Too young for the responsibilities of fatherhood. Well, that was not her problem, Llinos told herself.
Later, as she helped Maura make up the bed in the guest room with fresh sheets, she sensed a reserve in the Irish girl that bordered on hostility. For all her words of thanks, Maura did not like Llinos and it showed.
‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ Llinos said stiffly. ‘But do remember that this is a temporary arrangement, you must find a place of your own before the . . . the baby comes.’
Maura straightened. ‘Sure and I’ll go now if it is any trouble to have me here.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Linos put her hands on her hips. ‘I am happy to help out but as I said before, I am not rich, I can barely afford to support myself, let alone anyone else.’
‘Right,’ said Maura. ‘I understand you, Miss Savage. Don’t you be worrying, I’ll find a place for me and for Binnie as soon as I can.’
Llinos raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you threatening to take Binnie away from the pottery?’
‘Well, wherever I live, he will live, it’s natural isn’t it?’ Maura’s face was set in hard lines.
‘It’s natural to have a ring on your finger before you talk about living together and having a family,’ Llinos retorted. She knew she sounded like a prig but something about the Irish girl set her teeth on edge.
‘Look, I’m sorry, this is really none of my business. What you and Binnie choose to do with your lives is up to you.’ She walked across the room and paused at the door.
‘Just remember, Maura, that Binnie has a good job here and fair wages. He might not have any of that if he looks
for work elsewhere in town.’
She saw Maura’s eyes widen and knew her jibe had hit home. Suddenly, she was ashamed of herself.
‘Maura, look, we have to get on as well as we can together, otherwise this is going to be an intolerable situation.’
Maura stared at her hands and her mouth trembled, and in that moment Llinos felt she was years older than the Irish girl.
‘I know I’m a spiteful cat,’ Maura said. ‘It’s just that I feel so . . . so strange.’ She sank onto the newly made bed and covered her face with her hands.
Llinos took a deep breath and sat beside the Irish girl.
‘You are bound to feel strange,’ she said. ‘You are away from home, you are going to be a mother, everything in your life has changed. It will be all right, Binnie is a good worker, I can afford to pay him so long as we keep up the output on the pottery.’ She looked down at Maura’s bent head and wondered how the girl could endure to be in such a shameful position. No wonder her family had thrown her out.
She rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for cooking such a wonderful meal, it was very much appreciated by all of us. Oh, heavens!’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘I should take something out to Ben and the apprentices, they haven’t had much to eat all day.’
Maura looked up eagerly. ‘Can I do it? I can make up some pork sandwiches and the bread and butter pudding will still be warm.’
‘That’s an excellent idea, Maura.’ As she crossed the landing to her own room, Llinos felt she carried a heavy burden on her shoulders. Her list of dependants seemed to be growing. It was true that Maura would bring in her own money for the time being but what would happen when she could no longer work?
Llinos moved to the window and looked out at the summer night. ‘Where are you, the man I dream about every night, why haven’t you come to claim me? Were my dreams just stardust?’ Her own whispered words startled her. Quickly she drew the curtains against the night, she must get some sleep, tomorrow was market day.
It was the next morning when Llinos heard a knock on the door and opened it to find Eynon standing outside, a bag in his hand. They had spent a great deal of time together lately and had become friends. Although she would never think of Eynon in a romantic way, Llinos felt he was a person she could like and trust.
‘You know we talked about me becoming a partner?’ Eynon said. ‘Well, I’ve discussed it with my friend Mr Francis and he thinks it is a wonderful idea.’ He followed her into the sitting-room and put down his bag. ‘Mr Francis believes your father has money in a bank in Cardiff. He tells me he can try to find out how you stand if you will write him a letter of permission.’
‘That sounds too good to be true.’ Llinos sank into a chair. ‘I’ll give him a letter of course but I don’t hold out much hope of finding myself heir to a fortune.’
‘Never mind. Just in case you do, I’d better get my claim in quickly,’ Eynon said. ‘I have brought the papers for you to look at. If you think it all fair and above board, sign them and thereafter you and I will be business partners. If that’s what you still want.’
‘Of course it’s what I want. If only you knew how glad I am to see you. I’ve been wondering where the next mouthful of food would come from. The money you loaned me is nearly all gone. Money vanishes once I start paying out wages.’
He patted her hand. ‘Well, look on the bright side, it could be that your troubles are almost over.’
She smiled. ‘I do hope you are right.’
‘The wound is healing well.’ The surgeon stared down at Joe’s side, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘I don’t know what miracle cure you are using but there is not a trace of infection.’ His fingers touched the scarred flesh. ‘Soon you will be as right as rain.’
Joe nodded. He knew that his remedies worked better than those of the doctor. Once he was strong enough, he had left the tent at night and gathered dead-nettles from under hedgerows. It was a paste made from these, not the ministrations of the doctor, that had healed him so quickly.
The captain had not been so fortunate. Both Savage’s legs were useless from the knee down. He had drifted in and out of consciousness for days. Now he had a fever that the doctors seemed unable to cure.
Later, Joe would slip out to the fields, fetch some roots and leaves of langue de boeuf. From these he would distil a potion that would reduce the fever. He would restore the captain to health, though nothing would give him back the use of his legs. Eventually, when they were both strong enough to travel, Joe would take the captain to his home in Wales.
‘We’ll be shipping out with the wounded in a few days,’ the doctor said. ‘A boat will take us to British shores, after that you men are on your own and God help some of you.’
‘I’ll take care of the captain,’ Joe said. ‘His family will be happy to see him again.’
Sounds of revelry drifted towards the tent. ‘The soldiers are celebrating victory over the French.’ The doctor smiled thinly. ‘Napoleon Bonaparte is finished, there will be no return from exile, not this time.’
Joe nodded, the little Corsican was beaten. There would be no joy in life for Bonaparte now that his battles were over. Before long, he would set his spirit free from his body and then the vultures, of the human kind, would fight over his remains.
Joe put his head down on his blanket and closed his eyes. He would sleep for a few hours, conserve his energy. Over the next days, when the captain was fit to travel, Joe would need to call on every bit of the reserves of strength he possessed.
The country of Wales was full of the shades of autumn. Trees magnificently garbed in reds and golds bordered the small villages. The sea, a mild peaceful sea, edged the land with rich azure, sparkling in the September sunlight.
‘We will soon be at your home, Captain.’ Joe guided the horse and trap towards the town of Swansea; soon, his guardianship of the captain would be ended, Savage would be with his family. In a way, it saddened Joe to think of parting with the man to whom he had grown so close. They were almost like brothers, or perhaps father and son would be more accurate, Savage being older than Joe by many years.
‘Smell the stink of the copper works?’ The captain’s voice carried from the interior of the trap to where Joe sat in the driving seat. It had been a source of great relief to Joe to realize that the captain had resources of money to draw on. They had stopped for several days at a place called Cardiff and there the captain had done business with well-dressed solicitors and bankers who had looked down their noses at Joe.
There, too, they had learned of the ‘marriage’ and the death of the captain’s wife. He had taken it badly, falling into a long silence, his head sunk onto his chest. But as they had journeyed towards Swansea, he had brightened.
‘Aye, there is still an evil smell about the town but I love the place.’
Joe looked towards the winding river marred by smoking, intrusive chimney stacks. ‘Swansea must have been beautiful once.’
‘Oh it was.’ The captain’s voice was regretful. ‘When I was courting my wife, the town was tranquil with only the beginnings of a manufactory to indicate what was to come. But we never foresaw the future of the town and perhaps that was a good thing.’
There was silence for a time and then the captain’s voice became eager. ‘Just turn up the hill here, Joe, the pottery is only about a mile away.’
Joe guided the animal with a gentle tug on the reins and the horse responded obediently. Joe discovered he had a way with animals when he was a child.
The rise of the hill was gentle but Joe leapt down from the driving seat. ‘I’ll lighten the load,’ he said, looking over his shoulder at the captain.
Savage sighed heavily. ‘I wish I could do the same, Joe, but there we are, I have come home to my child as half a man. I have no way of knowing how she will react.’
Joe did not reply. It was not for him to guess the ways of the people who belonged to the captain. And yet, in spite of himself, he was excited at the thought of meeting Llinos at l
ast. Would she be the woman of his dreams or had his imaginings led him astray? Well, he would soon know.
His nerve endings were alive as he guided the horse towards the outskirts of the town. Above him and following the line of the river, he saw the tall, oddly shaped chimneys of the pottery. And he knew, deep down within his being, that here, in this smoky town, lay his destiny.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eynon Morton-Edwards stared at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the ornate mantelpiece. He was not ill favoured, his hair was a fine colour and his eyes were honest and clear. What was it then that made his father dislike him so much? Was it his physical weakness, his artistic streak or the fact that his mother had died giving birth to him?
His father entered the room. He was dressed for riding and he slapped the crop against his boots as he looked at his son in disgust. ‘There you go, preening again. You should have been a girl, I’ve always said as much.’
Eynon felt his shoulders grow tense. ‘I know you have, I’ve heard the same refrain ever since I can remember.’
‘I blame your stepmother, she spoiled you rotten, dressed you in frills and furbelows. Silly bitch!’
Eynon flinched at his father’s lack of sensitivity. ‘Sometimes you can be so crude, Father,’ he said.
Philip’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘You young fool!’ He came towards Eynon and raised his whip, bringing it down across his son’s shoulders. The leather, cutting through the soft material of Eynon’s shirt, felt like a red-hot iron.
‘I’ll teach you to talk to your father like that!’ Philip hit him again. ‘I should have done this a long time ago, it might have made a man of you.’
Philip lashed out at him, but Eynon twisted away and caught the end of the whip.
‘That’s enough, Father,’ he said icily. ‘That’s the first time and the last that you raise a hand to me. I’m going out,’ he said. ‘I feel I need some fresh air.’
‘Clear off, then.’ Philip Morton-Edwards spoke sharply. ‘I can’t stand looking at you. I’ll never get strong grandsons out of you. I can only hope that Estelle does better for me than your mother did.’
