Firebird

by Iris Gower

  Was there a hidden meaning to his words? Could it be that he was subtly threatening her? Estelle shivered, watching nervously as Philip looked down into his glass.

  ‘My son seems taken with the Savage wench. By all accounts he’s been courting her for some time.’ He laughed drily. ‘She might even be able to persuade him to marry her, I bet that’s what she’s angling for.’

  He stared at his wife with open hostility. ‘That way, I might just get myself a child about the place again.’

  Estelle looked down at her hands, they were shaking. ‘But my darling, I will give you a son – in time.’

  ‘I doubt it! No, Eynon is my heir, he will carry on my name. And anyway, his mother’s family tied up her estate so that he should benefit from it.’

  She had not thought of that. She knew that traditionally the estate would pass to the eldest son of course but surely her own sons would benefit, too?

  ‘We’ll have children, I assure you, I’m a healthy woman. Even if we have daughters, you will be pleased, won’t you?’

  ‘You talk nonsense, woman! Don’t you understand anything? A man is judged by his male heirs. If you can’t give me any then I will have to look to another woman to do it.’

  ‘Eynon is a weakling, he will never father a son.’ As soon as the words were spoken, Estelle regretted them. Philip stepped towards her with a slow, deliberate movement and before she could move he had slapped her face.

  For a moment she saw nothing but a haze of lights against the darkness of pain. Her vision gradually cleared; she watched her husband refill his glass once more.

  ‘Get up to bed.’ He growled the words. ‘Get yourself ready for me, at least do something to earn your keep.’

  She hurried from the room and, lifting her skirts, took the stairs two at a time. She was afraid of Philip when he was in this mood. He seemed driven, as though by an inner torment. In some ways she could even feel sorry for him.

  She undressed quickly, waving away her maid. ‘Leave me.’ She did not explain, she did not have to. Becky knew these moods, knew when the lord and master of the household intended to claim his conjugal rights. Becky had witnessed the bruises on the body of her mistress more than once. In the morning she would bring witch-hazel, she would apply it as a salve, thanking the good Lord that she was a widow this many a year.

  Estelle shivered beneath the bedclothes, dreading the moment when Philip would come into the dressing-room next door. He would be undressed by his manservant, they would share a coarse joke at her expense and then Philip would stride naked into the room.

  She closed her eyes and shuddered, no decent woman should have to endure the humiliation she suffered at the hands of her husband. Tears trembled against her lids and she brushed them away. Crying would serve only to excite and inflame Philip, he loved the sense of power that her tears gave him.

  She closed her eyes tightly, praying that he would drink too much and fall into a state of oblivion as soon as his head touched the pillow. It was a false hope.

  She heard him next door, heard his voice and heard the laughter of his man. Then Philip came into the bedroom and bid the servant to light the multitude of candles in the ornate holders.

  The manservant glanced towards her. There was a knowing look in his eye, it was almost as though he could see her naked form beneath the bedclothes.

  Before the man had even left the room, Philip had thrown back the sheets. Then, without preliminary, he was kneeling astride her. ‘I will get me a child on you if it is the last thing I do!’ He ground the words between his teeth, spittle falling onto her face.

  ‘Please, Philip, you are hurting me!’

  ‘Not woman enough for me, eh? Why, the whores down Market Street could do better than you.’

  Estelle turned to face the wall, she would just have to pray that Philip’s lust was sated quickly. She was out of luck; it was a long, wearisome time before Philip lay gasping beside her.

  The blessed darkness folded around her and she lay still, frozen in fear, until she heard her husband’s deep, even breathing. Assuring herself that he was asleep, she climbed wearily out of the bed and in the dressing-room began carefully to wash herself.

  In the morning, Philip breakfasted early. He looked well, as though the excesses of the night had never been.

  ‘My dear son is coming to see me this morning,’ he said. ‘He was reluctant to pay a visit until he read my missive informing him that I wished to discuss Llinos Savage with him.’

  ‘Will he agree? To marry the girl, I mean?’

  ‘I think he will agree once he has heard what I have to say.’ When Philip laughed it was an unpleasant sound, and Estelle shuddered. Perhaps she should run away from Philip and his increasingly sadistic demands. What good were fine clothes, rich food and cool sheets to sleep in when it all had to be shared with a sadist?

  Eynon arrived as the servants were clearing away the remains of breakfast. She glanced at him and saw him frown in sympathy at the dark shadows around her eyes. She forced a smile and moved quickly out of the room.

  When Eynon had received the parchment inscribed with his father’s bold hand, his first instinct had been to throw it into the fire. After a moment, he had unfolded it and began to read. He knew then that he had to see his father, to try to protect Llinos from whatever mad scheme his father had thought up.

  ‘Sit down, Eynon,’ Philip said. ‘We might as well be civilized.’

  Eynon sat on the very edge of one of the plush chairs. ‘Well, Father, what about Llinos Savage?’

  He saw Philip smile. ‘I understand you asked the girl to marry you. I just wanted to say that I think it’s a splendid idea. I couldn’t be more pleased that you want to assure the continuation of the Morton-Edwards line.’

  ‘Marry Llinos? But, Father, surely you would have a daughter of one of the more illustrious Swansea families in mind for me?’ His sarcasm was not lost on his father.

  ‘None of them would have you.’ Philip spoke bluntly. ‘On the other hand, this girl, Llinos, she would consider you a catch. She seems to like you and she might be able to tolerate your . . . your . . . ill health.’

  ‘You think so, Father?’ Eynon heard the edge of anger in his voice and wondered why he had even bothered to give his father his time.

  Philip smiled expansively. ‘She’s a pretty little thing, this Llinos.’

  ‘Well, Father.’ Eynon rose abruptly. ‘Llinos refused me, didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘They all say no to start with. Women like to be wooed. Buy her gifts, shower her with diamonds. You inherited enough money from your mother’s family, heaven knows.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work, Father, I’m telling you.’

  ‘Look,’ Philip was growing angry, ‘time is running out, Estelle is getting older. I only have you to carry on my name, you must give me grandsons, make it up to me in some way for the disappointment you have caused me. If you don’t succeed, then I will ruin the girl, you understand me?’

  ‘I understand you all right! Llinos thinks I exaggerate your wickedness but if she stays in your employ long enough she’ll learn that I have spoken only the truth about you.’

  ‘But, Eynon, you are mistaken. Llinos is convinced of my goodness. I have won her over, she trusts me, she shares my ambition. And she knows how easily children fall out with their parents. Indeed, it is the case that all my employees hold me in high regard, don’t you know that? They think I’m the finest boss who ever walked on earth.’

  ‘They put on an act because you pay them well. And perhaps it’s only your so-called loved ones who see you as you really are.’

  His father gave him a long look and Eynon shifted uneasily. ‘I’m going, I need some fresh air. I should never have come. I might have known you and I wouldn’t ever see eye to eye.’

  Eynon left the house, resisting the temptation to slam the door shut behind him. He walked briskly along the banks of the river and past the pottery. It was a vast huddle of buildings, crowded beh
ind a high wall. The mill-house wheel was turning, making a mist of the crystalline water as it fell to rejoin the river.

  Llinos could be working in any of the sheds; she was so good at all aspects of pot making. She could design patterns, use glazes to great effect and she knew the firing inside out. Where was she? He must find her and talk to her.

  There was no sign of her. He realized that even as he approached one shed, she might be moving into another. At last he gave up the search. Later, he would go to the house where the female workers were lodged and talk to her there.

  Despair filled him as he walked up the hill towards home. His father was hateful, he seemed to find just the right way to hurt him. And yet the idea of marrying Llinos made him ache for what might have been if Joe had not come onto the scene.

  Yet perhaps his father was right, perhaps if Eynon used persuasion Llinos might come, in time, to consider him a good catch. Give her time to grow up a little and she might realize that a union with a half-breed, even one as handsome and charismatic as Joe, was out of the question.

  At least Llinos would be safe with him. She would not need to work in the sheds, at risk from other men, including his own father. There was a great deal they might share. But not love, she could never love him. Llinos loved Joe and would love him until she died. Still, he would accept the role of second best if it meant having Llinos as his wife. And yet, deep inside him, he knew it was only a dream, a dream that would never be fulfilled.

  ‘Why have you come to work here then?’ The question irritated Llinos, she was tired, she wanted nothing more than to sleep and perhaps to dream about Joe standing with her on the hillside facing the broad band of the sea.

  ‘Go to sleep, Janet,’ she said.

  ‘Aw, come on, jest talk for a bit. I don’t get much chance to talk to anybody.’

  ‘I’m tired, I don’t feel like talking.’ She turned over in the lumpy, narrow bed, her face to the wall. She stared at a grey patch where the whitewash had peeled away. She felt lonely, homesick. She wished for the days when she, Binnie, Watt and old Ben had worked to keep the Savage Pottery alive. Those were happy days. But those, she reminded herself, were days without Joe. Days when she had been sleeping, unaware of the rich hot blood that fired through her veins whenever she set eyes on him.

  ‘You know that old letch got an eye for you, don’t you?’ Janet’s voice was remorseless, keeping Llinos from sleep.

  ‘Shut up, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Mr Morton-Edwards got his eye on you, or I’m a Dutchman.’ Janet sniggered. ‘Ruined more than one wedger and pot girl, has our bossman.’

  Llinos sat up. ‘You are being silly, Janet, of course Mr Morton-Edwards is not interested in me. Even if he was, I am not interested in him.’

  ‘Makes no difference.’ Janet sat up and hugged her legs. ‘I remembers poor little Clare Brazil, lovely girl she was till he got his hands on her. Took her away to the infirmary they did, never saw her again.’

  Llinos shook her head. ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘’Tain’t nonsense. You ask anybody in the pottery, calls this ’is harem, they do. Just take care, what he says goes round here, mind.’

  Llinos sighed. ‘I’m too sleepy to argue.’ She snuggled down beneath the blankets and closed her eyes.

  ‘Promise you’ll take care and I’ll shut up and go to sleep.’

  ‘I promise,’ Llinos said but already she was drifting off into a rosy haze of dreams where she was with Joe, running free through the grass of a land she had never seen; bathing in crystal rivers, drying naked and shameless under the sun.

  Mr Morton-Edwards sent for her before work in the morning and Janet leaned over the scrubbed table and nodded knowingly. ‘Keep your hand on your halfpenny, love,’ she whispered so loudly that one of the other girls sniggered.

  Llinos tied back her hair and put on a fresh apron before walking the short distance to the big house. The manservant let her in the back door and instructed her to wait until she was sent for.

  The cook crossed the flagged floor of the passageway and stared at her curiously. Llinos bit her lip, she already felt humiliated, it was as though she was of no account. But then why should she be? She was simply a working girl now, one among many who slaved for the poor wages handed out by the clerk each week.

  At last the servant came for her and took her into the main part of the house. It was opulent beyond her expectations. Rich carpets hung on the walls. More carpets covered the floorboards, which gleamed with much polishing. If she had thought Eynon’s house was luxurious, it was nothing compared to his family home.

  She was led into a sitting-room where Mr Morton-Edwards sat at a large desk, a pen in his hand. She listened to the scratch of the nib and saw the quiver of the feather quill. She clasped her hands together, standing quite still in the doorway.

  ‘Do you know why I have sent for you?’ He smiled and he appeared so far from the monster which Janet had painted as to be absurd.

  ‘No sir,’ she answered crisply.

  ‘Well, I have been speaking to my son about you.’ He smiled and tapped the desk with his pen. ‘You know he is head over heels in love with you?’

  ‘He and I are friends. Eynon was wonderful to me when I was alone and worried about the fate of the Savage Pottery. I owe him a great deal.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He smiled and sat forward in his chair. ‘Well, you are very young and there is a great deal of time ahead of you to decide who you do, and do not, wish to marry but just in case you choose my son, I feel I must insist on you coming to live with Estelle and me. The house in Morton-Edwards Street is no fit place for the young lady I hope will one day become my daughter-in-law.’

  ‘But, Mr Morton-Edwards . . .’ She stopped speaking as he held up his hand.

  ‘Don’t say another word.’ Philip Morton-Edwards stared at her, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘How good is your penmanship?’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ she replied. She was wondering where the meeting was leading but her suspicions had faded. There was no sign that Mr Morton-Edwards had any unworthy ideas about seducing her, on the contrary. Janet, it seemed, had been talking nonsense.

  ‘I wondered if you would agree to write my letters for me, as well as working with Mr Wright, of course. There will be some correspondence with the court of King George.’ Mr Morton-Edwards smiled. ‘My humble pottery has been honoured by an invitation to make a special dinner set for the king’s table and my own writing simply will not do.’ He held up a sheet of paper and Llinos, seeing the untidy scrawl, smiled.

  ‘You are right, sir.’

  ‘There we are then.’ He seemed satisfied. ‘For heaven’s sake, get out of those working clothes. Dress in your usual manner, like the lady you are.’ He softened the words with a smile. ‘You will not be doing any of the menial work, leave that to others, my dear. Now, I’d better get on, off you go.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Llinos remembered to bob a curtsy and moved towards the door.

  ‘Oh, Miss Savage’ – he had turned away and his head was bent towards his paperwork – ‘You have not yet agreed to live under my roof. Just think, I would expect your father to pay any daughter of mine the same courtesy if the roles were reversed, would I not?’

  Llinos paused. ‘It’s very kind of you, sir. May I think about it for a little while?’

  He was silent for a long moment and Llinos wondered if she had angered him. ‘Very well. In that case, I shall expect to see you here, reasonably dressed, at nine o’clock in the morning. In the meantime, please feel free to take the rest of the day off.’

  It was strange to have the day to herself. Llinos walked up towards Poppets Hill, her favourite spot, and sat staring out to sea. She closed her eyes and thought of Joe, hoping to draw him to her with the strength of her thoughts. When she heard footsteps approaching over the softness of the grass, she lifted her head in expectation.

  She was ashamed of the way her heart sank when she saw that i
t was not Joe but Eynon coming towards her. He sank down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘What’s happened, why aren’t you at work?’

  ‘I have been given the day off.’ Llinos rested her head on his shoulder. Why was it she felt so safe with Eynon? She closed her eyes, smelling the sweetness of the soft grasses as the breeze rippled through them.

  ‘Binnie and Maura keeping well, are they?’

  ‘Aye, well enough. The baby seems a little better now and Maura is a fine cook. But I don’t want to talk about them.’

  Llinos lifted her head. ‘What do you want to talk about, Eynon?’

  ‘I want to warn you to be careful of my father.’

  ‘Not again. Why are you all so against him?’

  Eynon looked down at her. ‘So, someone else has been talking to you about him?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Llinos laughed. ‘Janet who shares her room with me thinks he’s the devil in disguise.’

  ‘Perhaps he is.’

  ‘Nonsense! Only this morning he asked me to work with him writing his letters, that sort of thing. He wants to treat me like the lady he believes me to be.’

  ‘Do not trust him, Llinos. What my father wants he gets.’

  ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’ Llinos was aware that there was a note of sharpness in her voice. ‘He is ambitious, that is why his pottery is flourishing. He loves success and goes all out to achieve it. I can’t see anything wrong in feeling that way.’

  Eynon frowned. He was staring out to sea, a look of deep unhappiness on his face. She felt a sudden affection for him. Whatever differences existed between his father and himself they were cause for pain. She put her hand on his cheek and Eynon took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  ‘Be careful, Llinos.’

  ‘You keep saying that! Is there something you are not telling me, Eynon? Does your father change into a monster with horns when the sun goes down or what?’

  He kept her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, I just do not like or trust my father. I love you, Llinos, I don’t want to see you hurt.’