‘The singing was beautiful, especially from the miners,’ Geraint said loudly. He lowered his voice as they instinctively headed for the quietest corner of the drawing room, furthest from the fire, ‘but Uncle Morgan delivered the service as if he were on an election platform. And he didn’t spare us at the graveside. We were there a full hour. The gravediggers looked too frozen to move, let alone dig, when he finally stopped sermonising.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘So am I.’ Despite his apparent composure Sali knew Geraint was as devastated by their father’s death as she, Llinos and Gareth were, but nine years in public school had taught him to conceal his emotions. ‘The man’s impossible. He said more about the wages of sin than the way Father lived his life.’
‘That is just his way.’ Sali forced herself to be tactful as she glanced around to check if anyone was listening in on their conversation.
‘He behaved as if he was preacher, minister and chief mourner rolled into one. Never mind that I’m the eldest son and you, Gareth, Llinos and I thought more of Father than him, or any of our damned aunts except Aunt Edyth –’
‘Geraint,’ Sali admonished, afraid that one of their elderly relatives would hear him swearing, on today of all days. ‘They will all be gone in a couple of hours,’ she reminded, dropping her voice to a whisper as Morgan entered the room.
‘And then what?’
‘We get on with the rest of our lives as best we can,’ she suggested bleakly.
‘No tears, Sali,’ Geraint warned, seeing her bottom lip tremble. ‘Remember how Father hated us to show any signs of weakness, especially in front of Uncle Morgan and the aunts.’
‘I’ll check Mari has everything ready in the dining room.’
‘Tell her she can’t begin serving quick enough for me. The sooner we get the tea over with, the sooner we can clear the house.’ Setting his jaw, Geraint left her and shook the hand of the man closest to him. ‘Hello, sir, thank you for coming to pay your respects.’
‘Miss Watkin Jones, I was hoping to pay my condolences before the service, but your uncle told me you weren’t receiving visitors.’ Mansel grasped Sali’s hand and pulled her out of the hall into the passageway that led to the kitchens.
‘That was my uncle’s decision, not mine or Geraint’s.’ She looked around to make sure they were alone.
‘I thought it might be. I know how close you were to your father and how much you loved him. I only wish there was something I could say to ease your pain but I remember how I felt when my parents died and words simply aren’t enough.’ He gave her a small, sad smile, and for the first time since she had been called into the Principal’s office at Swansea Training College to be told her father was dead, she could almost believe that life was still worth living.
‘There is nothing anyone can say, Mr James,’ she whispered, as Robert passed with an armful of coats.
‘When do you go back to college?’
‘The Principal told me to take as much time as I like. She said that sitting my finals would be a formality. My work is of a sufficiently high standard to gain me a pass without further study.’
He squeezed her hand as her eyes clouded. ‘If you need me or Aunt Edyth for anything, anything at all, day or night, you only have to send for us,’ he whispered earnestly.
‘I know.’ She grasped his hand with both of hers. ‘And thank you for your letter of condolence.’
‘I wrote another, but I wanted to be sure that you’d be able to read it in private ...’
‘Sali.’ Her uncle’s voice thundered down the passage. ‘Geraint told me you were seeing to the domestic arrangements.’
‘I am.’ Feeling a need to assert her independence, Sali left her hands clasped around Mansel’s. ‘Thank you again, Mr James.’
‘Please, Miss Watkin Jones, don’t mention it.’
‘Are you lost, Mr James?’ Morgan enquired pointedly, when Sali finally released him.
‘Not at all, Mr Davies, I know my way around this house as well as my Aunt Edyth’s,’ Mansel replied easily, refusing to be intimidated. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll pay my respects to Master Geraint, Master Gareth and Miss Llinos.’
As Sali turned the corner of the passage she glimpsed Mansel looking Morgan Davies coolly in the eye. She lingered just long enough to see her uncle step aside.
The kitchen was comparatively quiet, the preparation kitchen and the dairies beyond it, where the maids had set out tureens of lamb stew, ham sandwiches, Welsh cakes and urns of tea on long tables for Harry Watkin Jones’s employees and tenants, was even more crowded than Sali had seen it on the King’s coronation day three and a half years before.
‘Every single family in the town has sent a representative,’ Mari declared proudly as she stood at Sali’s elbow.
Sali’s eyes were so dry they hurt, but there was a lump in her throat that prevented her from speaking.
‘You want the soup on the table in the dining room?’ Mari prompted.
‘As soon as possible,’ she whispered hoarsely.
‘Your brother will want to speak to the tenants and miners first.’
‘I’ll get him.’ Sali fled the kitchen. Leaning against the door, she stole a moment to compose herself. As she glanced into the dining room to check the table was perfect enough to suit her eagle-eyed aunts, the hearse drew past the window. She had been forced to accept her father was dead, although she hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye to his body, but the empty etched-glass box drawn by eight black, plumed horses brought the shattering realisation that she would never see him again in this life. And given the injustice and cruelty of his passing, she was beginning to doubt the existence of a next.
‘My father would have been touched and heartened to have seen so many of you here today to pay your respects.’ Geraint’s voice rang out in the hushed preparation kitchen down the rows of men who had risen from the benches as he, Sali, Gareth and Llinos had entered the room. No one made a sound as they stood waiting for him to continue his address. ‘I am aware that some of you will be concerned about the future…’
‘Geraint, your guests are waiting,’ Morgan interrupted, from the kitchen behind him.
‘I have guests here, Uncle Morgan.’ Geraint didn’t even turn his head.
Sali shuddered when she saw their uncle’s face darken in anger. Logic told her she was being ridiculous. Her uncle had no control over their lives and his weekly visits were irksome rather than anything more sinister.
‘I will make an announcement as soon as I have spoken to my father’s solicitor,’ Geraint continued. ‘In the meantime, on behalf of my mother, brother and sisters, I would like to thank you all for your letters of condolence and your presence here today.’ He turned to Sali. ‘Is there anything you would like to add?’
Sali drew closer to Geraint for support. ‘It is a great comfort for us to know how well-respected Father was by his employees and tenants.’
‘Your father gave more thought and kindness to the ordinary miner and the people of Pontypridd than any other pit owner, Miss Watkin Jones,’ a voice said from the back of the room.
Overwhelmed, Sali took her sister’s hand. ‘If you’ll excuse us.’
‘Our deepest sympathy, Miss Watkin Jones, Miss Llinos.’ Lloyd Evans, the deputy manager, spoke for all the men.
Sali took Llinos’s hand and led her past her uncle, through the passage into the dining room. Owen Bull’s squat, corpulent figure blocked their path. Moving obsequiously among the elderly maiden aunts, he pulled out chairs for them, handed them their napkins and made polite small talk that sent them simpering like naive young schoolgirls. Sali was irritated to the point of wanting to slap his face. Recalling her father’s dislike of the middle-aged butcher, who had insisted on being addressed as ‘Councillor Bull’ since his election to the Town Ward nine years earlier, she wondered why he had been accorded a privileged place at the family table. Then she recalled that he was a senior deacon at her Uncle Morgan’s chapel.
When Owen finally took his seat, Mansel appeared at her side and escorted her to the chair she occupied at the head of the table, except on the extremely rare occasions when her mother left her sofa.
‘I moved the place names,’ he whispered, standing behind her and holding her chair for her while she sat. ‘Gareth is one side of you, I’m the other and I’ve wangled Llinos a place between me and Aunt Edyth.’
‘I believe this is my chair now, Uncle.’ Geraint took his father’s chair at the opposite end of the table.
Morgan stood at Geraint’s right hand and waited until everyone around the table had risen from their chairs. ‘For this food and all thy mercies, Oh Lord, we give thanks ...’
Mercies! Furious that her uncle should use such a word on the day of her father’s funeral, Sali shuddered uncontrollably for a second time. Then Mansel’s hand closed around hers under cover of the tablecloth. The strain of her father’s death was affecting her reason. With Mansel at her side and her brother taking her father’s place, she had nothing to fear. Nothing at all.
‘... To my valet, Tomos Edwards and my housekeeper, Mari Williams, the sum of two hundred pounds apiece, in recognition of their long and faithful service and the hope that they will remain at their posts in Danygraig House to serve my family as they have served me. To all other servants in my employ, the sum of five pounds apiece to provide for mourning clothes. To my colliery deputy manager, Lloyd William Evans, the sum of five hundred pounds and a five per cent stake in the Watkin Jones Colliery in recognition of his honest, hard-working service and the hope that he will remain with the Watkin Jones Colliery to serve my heirs as he has served me. To my beloved Aunt Edyth, all of my father’s photograph albums. To Mansel James, my silver cigar case, silver pocket watch and chain. To my wife’s brother, Morgan Davies, in his capacity as Treasurer of his Chapel, the sum of one hundred pounds to provide for new hymnals.’
Despite her misery, Sali smiled, as Mr Richards paused for breath. The dilapidated state of the hymnals had long incensed her father, but as Treasurer as well as Minister, Morgan had categorically refused to release a penny of the chapel funds to buy new ones, on the grounds that once bought and put into use, they would become as worn as the ones that were falling apart.
‘To my wife, Gwyneth Watkin Jones, I leave an annuity of four hundred pounds to be paid yearly until her death, when it is to be shared equally amongst our surviving children. Our home, Danygraig House, 28 Taff Street, is to remain her home for her lifetime, or as long as she wishes it.’
Mr Richards shuffled his papers and looked along the rows of assembled family and servants. Sali glanced at Geraint. He was as pale as Gareth and Llinos but his jaw remained firm.
‘To my daughters, Sali Watkin Jones and Llinos Watkin Jones, I leave all of my mother’s and grandmother’s jewellery, to be divided between them as they see fit and dowries of three thousand pounds apiece to be paid on their marriages. To my younger son, Gareth Watkin Jones, I leave my gold pocket watch, gold cigarette case, three thousand pounds, the two farms and all the properties I own in the town of Pontypridd with the exception of Danygraig House. The residue of my estate, including my father’s gold watch, gold cigarette and cigar case, personal jewellery, Danygraig House and investments in the Watkin Jones Colliery, together with all other colliery and miscellaneous investments and monies I leave to my eldest son, Geraint Watkin Jones in the hope that he will use his inheritance wisely for the benefit of his mother, brother, sisters, the employees of the Watkin Jones Colliery, Watkins Jones tenants and the townspeople of Pontypridd.’
Mr Richards again took a deep breath.
‘Should I die before my eldest son, Geraint Watkins Jones’s twenty-first birthday, at which time he will assume full control of his inheritance and responsibility for his brother, sisters and mother, I appoint my father, John Watkin Jones, and my wife Gwyneth Watkin Jones joint guardians of my children and my estate. Should my father, John Watkin Jones, predecease me before my son, Geraint, comes of age, I appoint my wife, Gwyneth Watkin Jones, and my solicitor, Richard Richards, joint guardians of my children and my estate.’
Sali heard Mari stifle a sob in the ranks of the servants behind her. Llinos was crying, large, soft silent tears that splashed down on to her black crêpe skirt, staining it white.
‘Thank you, Mr Richards.’ Morgan stepped up alongside the solicitor. ‘The servants are dismissed.’
Furious that his uncle had dared to give an order to the staff, Geraint rose from his chair and nodded to Tomas. The butler bowed and Mari curtsied acknowledgement. They stood either side of the double doors as the staff silently filed out. When the last one had walked through the doors, they followed, closing the doors quietly behind them.
‘Am I to take it, sir, that the colliery will continue to function under a new manager?’ Sali knew that Lloyd Evans was only twenty-five years old. He was the son of a collier, yet had the demeanour and bearing of a gentleman. Her father had recruited him from a mining school where he had studied engineering and promoted him from overman to deputy manager after only a few months, telling Geraint that if he was interested in taking over the colliery he would learn more about modern mining methods in a five-minute discussion with Mr Evans than any number of theoretical lectures from academics.
‘I have yet to discuss the matter with Mrs Watkin Jones, Mr Evans,’ Mr Richards replied.
‘I’d appreciate it if you would reassure the miners that their jobs are safe, Mr Evans,’ Geraint said. ‘I know I can never fill my father’s shoes, but I intend to assume his responsibilities. ‘
‘Not before you have finished your education, Geraint,’ Morgan reproved.
Sali clenched her fists and prayed that her brother would have the sense to remain silent in front of so many of their relations.
‘Mr Richards, I believe it is time for you to explain the content and import of the document you drafted and Mrs Watkin Jones signed yesterday evening.’ Morgan looked expectantly at the solicitor.
Mr Richards gave a small, embarrassed cough and laid his hand on an envelope at his elbow. ‘Being of delicate constitution, Mrs Watkin Jones has relinquished the responsibilities of guardianship of her children in favour of her brother, Mr Morgan Davies.’
Geraint grew even paler; Sali clasped his arm. She knew Llinos and Gareth were staring at them, but she doubted they understood the full implication of the announcement.
‘Can a mother relinquish guardianship of her own children?’ Edyth James questioned cautiously.
‘It is not common, Mrs James,’ Mr Richards prevaricated, ‘but given Mrs Watkin Jones’s ill-health, understandable.’ He pretended to study the papers set out on the table in front of him to avoid looking directly at Edyth – or Geraint, who wasn’t even attempting to conceal his fury.
‘What exactly does this mean?’ Lloyd Evans asked the solicitor.
‘This is a family matter, and as such, does not concern you, Evans. You may leave.’
Both Sali and Geraint blanched at their uncle’s off-hand dismissal. Their father had always insisted that his deputy and any miners who came to the house be addressed formally, and with respect.
‘Miss Sali, Miss Llinos, Master Geraint, Master Gareth, my sympathies.’ Lloyd went to the door. ‘Your father was a great man and the best employer a worker could wish for.’
‘Thank you, Mr Evans. I know that my father valued your professional judgement and I look forward to working with you in the future.’ Geraint held out his hand and Lloyd shook it.
‘I have papers for you to sign, Mr Evans. Would you call into the office in the next day or two? At your convenience,’ Mr Richards added.
‘I will, Mr Richards. Goodbye.’ Lloyd Evans closed the door behind him.
‘There are documents and settlements that require family signatures. Perhaps I could return at a mutually convenient time to attend to them,’ Mr Richards suggested diffidently, returning his papers to his attaché case.
‘Tomo
rrow morning at ten o’clock,’ Morgan replied.
‘So soon?’
‘Geraint and Gareth will be returning to school on Monday.’
‘We haven’t discussed our return, Uncle Morgan.’ Geraint offered the solicitor his hand.
‘There is nothing to discuss, Geraint.’ Morgan left his chair. ‘If you will excuse me, I must attend to my sister. I will see you out, Mr Richards.’
‘The gall of the man! You heard him, Sali!’ Geraint paced furiously to the cold hearth of their father’s study where he and Sali had retreated to escape the remaining aunts who had taken root in the drawing room. ‘Daring to tell me what to do in our father’s house! ...’
‘Hush, Geraint, he’ll hear you,’ Sali cautioned.
‘I don’t care if he does,’ Geraint raged. ‘He is only one of two guardians.’
‘Mr Richards is employed as our family solicitor. He will never make a stand against him,’ Sali reasoned. ‘Please, Geraint, in four and a half years, you will inherit everything.’
‘If Uncle Morgan leaves us anything to inherit.’
‘Gareth has the properties held in trust for him, you own this house, the shares in the colliery and all of father’s other shares and property. What can Uncle Morgan do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Geraint halted in front of the fireplace. Resting his hands on the mantelpiece, he stared down at the unlit fire as he set his foot on the coals. ‘But what I do know is that ever since I can remember, Uncle Morgan has disapproved of Father and the way we live. And now he is in a position of authority over us and in control of Father’s estate, I don’t doubt that he’ll exercise his power to change things to suit himself and humiliate us every opportunity he gets.’
‘Master Geraint’s just disappointed that he can’t fill his father’s shoes right away, Miss Sali,’ Mari consoled when she brought up a cup of cocoa after Sali had retired to her room for the night. ‘It is only natural. He sees himself as the man of the house, but he’s still a boy and he needs to get some more education before he can take over the pits.’ She picked up Sali’s crêpe dress from the back of a chair, opened the wardrobe and hung it away.
Beggars and Choosers Page 4
