by Iris Gower
It was the early hours of the morning before Hortense rose from the bed and sighed softly into the darkness. She lit a lamp and stood it in the window and Binnie sat up sharply as a great roar went up from outside the house.
‘That’s the sign they were waiting for,’ Hortense said. ‘Now they know I’m truly your wife, the celebrations will be over, they’ll all go home to bed.’
‘Come back here, wife,’ Binnie said. ‘Our celebrations are only just beginning.’
‘We’ve been betrayed,’ Lloyd said flatly and Llinos rested her hand on his arm as though she could protect him from his own pain. ‘The bastards have left me, all of them except old Ben and Jim Cooper have gone to work for that twicer Philip Morton-Edwards.’
‘Father, they were afraid, they almost lost their houses and their jobs. You can’t really blame them.’
‘I do blame them. Is there no such thing as loyalty any more?’
Llinos sighed. ‘We must think of a way of getting our workers back, Father.’
‘What can I offer them, Llinos? I have nothing more to give.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true.’ Lloyd rubbed his eyes. ‘I might as well lie down and die right now. I’m finished. Philip Morton-Edwards has won the battle.’
Lloyd was white, his face thin and drawn. Suddenly, he looked old and ill. He wheeled his chair away from her and along the corridor to his room at the back of the house. He closed the door against her with a snap of finality and Llinos put her hand to her lips, fighting back the tears.
Outside, the air was soft and warm but Llinos felt cold. She wrapped her arms around her body and stared at the empty sheds, at the silent yard which, at this time of day, usually thronged with activity. At the kilns, cold now, unused, the fires no more than ashes.
She squared her shoulders. She would speak to Philip, talk to him reasonably. She couldn’t believe he would have gone this far, not unless he allowed his wife to speak for him now.
As she drew her cloak around her shoulders, Joe came silently behind her and stood looking down at her. He shook his head.
‘You can’t reason with such people.’ He spoke gently. ‘They are bent on having their own way.’
‘I don’t think Philip is like that,’ Llinos protested. ‘I’m going to make one last attempt to talk to him, face to face.’
Joe said nothing and Llinos clasped her hands together.
‘Do you think I’m wrong? I must at least try to sort this out amicably.’
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Whatever you feel you must do, then do it.’
Llinos covered the short distance between the potteries with brisk steps, her mind in a whirl. Philip was a reasonable man, he would have to listen to her, wouldn’t he?
It was Georgina who greeted Llinos. She was sitting in the drawing-room, her eyes alight with malice. She did not rise, neither did she offer Llinos a seat.
‘I would like to see Philip . . . Mr Morton-Edwards. I have something I must discuss . . .’ Llinos began but Georgina’s tinkling laugh stopped her mid-sentence.
‘You must appreciate that my husband is a busy man. From time to time he needs to go away on business. Anything you have to discuss you shall have to discuss with me.’
Llinos felt anger surge within her but she struggled to keep a rein on her temper.
‘You have offered my father’s workers more pay, is that why they came to you?’
‘Of course it is. How naïve of you to even ask. In addition, they had their little hovels back rent-free so they came running. You did not expect loyalty from the lower orders, surely?’
‘I did not expect double-dealing from a lady,’ Llinos said tartly. Georgina’s eyebrows rose.
‘Oh, make no mistake, Miss Savage, I will look after my own interests, do not doubt it.’
‘When will Philip be back?’ Llinos asked desperately.
Georgina shook her head. ‘If I knew, I would not tell you. In any case, it makes no difference. You and your tin-pot manufactory are finished. Do you understand me, finished?’
‘Why are you so vindictive towards me and my father?’ Llinos asked. ‘What have we ever done to harm you?’
‘Grow up, Miss Savage, business is business and if your little place falls by the wayside that is no concern of mine. My only purpose in employing these people is to guard my husband’s interests.’
Llinos moved towards the door. ‘I can see there’s no point talking to you.’
Georgina rose to her feet in a sweeping movement and came towards Llinos.
‘You are not much of a businesswoman, are you? And certainly not much of a lady to consort with a half-breed however handsome he might be.’
Llinos smiled suddenly. ‘That half-breed, as you call him, is a man of substance. He has lands and a great deal of property in England. He is also very clever.’ She paused and her smile widened. ‘And, of course, unlike your husband, he is young.’
Georgina swirled away from her, the colour rising to her cheeks. ‘Please leave my house.’
‘Look.’ Llinos made one last attempt to appeal to Georgina’s better nature. ‘I want the pottery to survive because of my father. It is his livelihood and he does not deserve to have it taken away from him. But then, I can’t expect you to understand any of that, you have no finer feelings.’
She left the house and walked briskly towards Pottery Row; the sooner she was off Morton-Edwards’ land the better. As she crossed the opening to the yard of Tawe Pottery, she caught sight of Jim Cooper. He lifted his hat to her and she stood waiting for him to come closer.
‘Miss Savage, I’ve been trying to talk to the men, to get them back to work at the Savage Pottery. They are not all that happy at Tawe Pottery, some of them are grumbling already about Morton-Edwards not paying as well as expected.’
He fell into step beside her. Llinos smiled up at him. ‘Well, I’m grateful to you for trying, Jim. Grateful for your loyalty and support, I know it’s cost you dear.’
‘Well if them buggers don’t want to speak to me, then that’s their loss.’ He sighed. ‘It’s my missis feels it most. Loves a gossip she does and only Celia-end-house will bother with her.’
‘We’ll work something out, Jim, I’m sure.’
When she returned home, Joe was waiting for her. He took her hand. ‘Let’s walk to the top of Poppets Hill.’
A pale sun was shining between the clouds. Llinos looked up at Joe. He was magnificent. His hair swung to his shoulders, his head raised as though to see into the distance. His high cheekbones gleamed golden, splashed with light. Her heart moved with pride. Joe loved her. She was the richest woman in the world.
A carriage rattled past and Llinos was aware of faces. Georgina and her godmother were peering through the window at her. She smiled, no doubt they were discussing what a hussy she was, flouting convention by walking out alone with a man.
At the top of the hill, the roadway petered out and Llinos felt the softness of grass beneath her feet. Below her, spread out like a giant picture, lay the town. And beyond the huddle of buildings, the sea fanned out towards the horizon, blue beneath the unexpected sunlight.
‘It’s so beautiful.’ Llinos spoke softly. ‘The sun shining through the rain clouds, the sea sparkling as if hundreds of candles were alight beneath the water.’ She looked up at Joe.
His eyes met hers. ‘Nothing could be as beautiful as you, Llinos.’
‘Let’s sit here for a while,’ Llinos said. ‘Let’s forget the potteries, forget everything. Let’s just enjoy being together. We’ve had little enough time for that, goodness knows.’
They sat on a fallen log, Joe’s arm warm around her. Llinos sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.
‘This is the closest I’ll ever get to a heaven on earth.’ She closed her eyes. She would not think, would not worry, she would just enjoy the moment.
Lloyd turned his chair towards the window and looked outside at the bleak emptiness of the yard. H
e clenched his fist, the knuckles showing white. He had never felt so angry, so impotent. Philip Morton-Edwards had beaten him. The man had destroyed his trade, stolen his workers, ruined what was left of his life. He hated him with an intensity that brought sweat out in beads on his forehead.
He rubbed his face in frustration, sometimes he felt he would go mad. Here he was, half a man, he would never lie with a woman again, never know a woman’s love. He was a useless object, his life was not worth living.
His thoughts were racing, he wanted to kill Philip Morton-Edwards, to see him suffer, to see him lose everything.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his crazy thoughts. He turned away from the window and propelled himself along the passage.
‘Jim, what can I do for you?’
‘I’ve thought of a way out of this mess.’ Jim came into the room, a big man with huge arms and a chest like a barrel.
‘I’m listening.’
‘This morning, I took in some lodgers, five in all.’ Jim smiled. ‘Potters, they are, come down from up the North of England.’ He paused. ‘Seems there are too many potters up there and not enough jobs.’
‘Well I don’t know, Jim, we have stocks enough of pots, pots that no-one wants. Morton-Edwards has taken our markets from us.’
‘I know, but these men, they’ve brought with them new methods, more up-to-date than our own. Now we have access along the row again why not make one last stab at it? The folks of Swansea will jump at the chance of good solid tableware, I’ll bet on it.’
Lloyd felt his pulse run fast with hope. ‘Will these men defect to that bastard Morton-Edwards, though?’
Jim shook his head. ‘Not after what I’ve told them about the man. We have the beginnings of a good band of workers and in any case some of our old workers are ready to come back to us; Morton-Edwards is paying them less than you did.’
He looked at Lloyd, waiting for his reply. Lloyd smiled.
‘It’s certainly worth a try.’ He glanced up at Jim. ‘Well done, Jim! We’ll beat the old sod yet.’
Jim’s face was shining with satisfaction. ‘I’ve passed the word on in town that we need more workers, it won’t matter if they’re unskilled, they’ll be useful for the wedging and the fetching and carrying.’
‘Sit down, Jim, have a glass of porter. I think we should talk about a rise, it’s about time I appreciated you.’
Jim waited until Lloyd poured the drinks and then he leaned forward in his chair, his big arms resting on his knees.
‘These Staffordshire potters, they’ve brought some of the patterns with them. One of them was designing up in England, worked at several manufactories, all over the place, real experienced he is. He says there’s a good china paste that will not fracture in the oven and it’s more delicate than the rough earthenware we’re making now. Perhaps we should experiment with it.’
‘Make better porcelain than Morton-Edwards, my Lord, that would be something!’ Lloyd said. ‘Beat the man at his own game. I wonder if we could pull it off?’
‘We could if we could stop production at the Tawe Pottery for a week or so,’ Jim said. ‘We’d be in there, getting all the orders from the big houses. We could approach the inns in the area, the better ones are ripe for some new china.’
‘Yes, that would work if only we could find a way . . .’
‘What if I was to dam up the river?’ Jim broke in excitedly. ‘It’s high tide soon and the rains are coming if I’m any judge. As the Tawe Pottery is on the lower slope of the hill, we could flood the place, easy enough. It would do no lasting harm but it would sure as hell delay things a bit.’
Lloyd nodded. ‘Why not? Morton-Edwards has played enough dirty tricks on me to last a lifetime, it’s about time I paid him back in the same coin.’
Jim smiled. ‘I wouldn’t like to see his stock of clay when the water got to it!’
‘You’re a good man, Jim. I won’t forget you gave me your help when I most needed it.’
Jim drained his glass. ‘No need for thanks, Captain, you and me go back a long way. I’ll be off now and do a bit of reckoning on the tides.’
When he was alone, Lloyd returned to his spot before the window. The bottle kilns of both potteries were almost side by side but the Tawe Pottery, as Jim had pointed out, was on slightly lower land.
Lloyd looked up at the leaden skies; there was rain up there for sure. It could be the elements were on his side for once. He puffed on his pipe and sat back in his chair. Perhaps he was not so useless after all. He could still think, he had his brain, didn’t he? He could still reckon up the accounts, order materials, make out bills of sale. Sometimes he forgot things, sure, but a good manager would cover for him.
The Savage Pottery would survive, china would be produced once more, the ovens would be fired for baking, the yard would throng with workers. He raised his fist.
‘You will not beat me after all, Morton-Edwards,’ he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Georgina sat in the window staring out into the garden. She was well pleased with herself as she recalled her husband’s triumphant return home.
She had greeted him in the hall with arms outstretched, clinging to him, very much aware that he looked every minute of his fifty-five years. She pressed her lips close to his, closing her eyes, trying to force some warmth into her embrace. After a moment, she had drawn away from him.
After his journey, he had rested himself in bed for a whole day and now she waited anxiously for him to speak. She caught his arm.
‘Come, darling, tell me all that’s happened.’ Her tone was genuinely enthusiastic.
Philip led the way into the sitting-room and nodded abstractedly towards Mrs Sanders. ‘Afternoon, Catherine, have you been looking after my affairs while I’ve been away?’
She nodded, ascertaining that he required no answer, and he sank down into a chair and rubbed his hand through his greying hair so that it stood on end. He looked like some absurd wild man and Georgina sat opposite him trying not to look too closely at the lines that seemed to have deepened in his face in his short absence from home.
The taunts Llinos Savage had flung at her seemed to be graphically illustrated in her husband’s aged appearance. She thought of the half-breed Llinos had boasted about. He was tall, handsome and very rich. Indeed, her own lot was not, in comparison, such a wonderful one. Still, Philip could not last long. Soon, she would be free of him and free of his brat of a son, too.
‘Did you achieve anything?’ she urged, irritated by Philip’s slowness to volunteer information.
‘I did.’ He had taken a folded paper from his pocket. ‘This was signed and witnessed before a notary.’ He smiled and something of the handsome man he must have once been flashed into his face. ‘It testifies that my first wife deceived me, she was barren just like my second wife.’ He sounded bitter. ‘She took a child from the lower orders, from a family by the name of Cowper, and foisted him on me as my own.’
Philip spoke so convincingly that, for a moment, Georgina almost believed she was hearing the truth. But of course, it was all lies, a plot to throw Eynon out of the nest. Still, so long as Philip continued to be convincing, his story would be believed.
He held out the document and she took it with trembling fingers. It looked official enough, Philip must have offered the Cowpers a very large bribe indeed, enough to make their story believable in the eyes of the law.
‘Excellent.’ She handed it back to him, gleefully anticipating the moment when she would tell Eynon the news. She would not be able to restrain herself for very long.
She rode out that very evening, seated in the carriage with her godmother at her side.
‘We’ll show that brat of Philip’s just where he stands, God-Mamma.’ She spoke with satisfaction.
‘What if it’s true?’ Catherine said so softly that, for a moment, Georgina wondered if she had heard correctly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it’s very s
trange that you are Philip’s third wife and still there is no other child but Eynon. Could Philip be the barren one, do you think?’
Georgina laughed out loud, clinging to the door handle as the carriage bumped over the stony ground.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘Do you know, God-Mamma, I think you just could have hit the nail on the head.’ She righted her bonnet.
‘Well, if that is so, I shall make sure I get with child by some other man before much longer. And I think I will enjoy the experience, Philip is too old by far for me.’
It was at the door of his house that Georgina confronted Eynon. His servant had gone to announce her and instead of being invited in as she had expected, Eynon had come out to her, making it obvious she was not welcome. She did not mince her words.
‘You are a bastard.’ She spoke loudly enough for the servants within the house to hear what she was saying.
‘Philip has come home from England with proof that your mother was barren. You are a changeling, foisted on Philip. I always knew there was something strange about you.’ She laughed. ‘Now I understand what it is. You are from the lower orders, Eynon, what do you think of that?’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Eynon had become very pale. He leaned against the porch of his house and stared down at her with eyes that were shadowed.
‘Well, it’s true. The proof is with your father’s lawyer right now.’
‘With Timothy Beresford?’ He could hardly speak; she knew she had shocked him and she meant to thrust the barb deeper.
‘I don’t know how much your so-called mother’s family left you, Eynon, but whatever it is you will have to forfeit it. Perhaps you should try to make a good marriage before it is too late, before the whole world knows about your origins.’
He stared at her with something almost like pity in his eyes. ‘You must be a very unhappy woman, Georgina,’ he said, and then he shut the door in her face.
She was returning home in her carriage when she heard the sound of hooves pounding against the dry earth. The rider thundered past, coat-tails flying, and she recognized the pale gold hair and the slim form of Philip’s son. Eynon, it seemed, was riding hell for leather into town.
