‘And did he worry?’
‘Not enough to order a search, but he didn’t pass judgment on the way I poured his tea at four o’clock. But then, you are so much more sensible than I was at your age. I can’t imagine you behaving so foolishly or pouring Mansel’s tea any way other than how he likes it. Besides, Mansel is a very different man to his uncle. He is much more sensitive.’
‘I love him very much,’ Sali burst out solemnly.
‘I know you do, darling, and I’m sure you’ll be happy together.’
‘Mother said –’ Sali coloured at the memory of the ugly threats her mother had flung at her that morning. ‘She said ...’
Edyth waited patiently for Sali to finish.
‘She said that I would become an invalid like her if I had children,’ Sali finally blurted.
‘And you believe her?’
‘She told me she was healthy before she had children.’
‘That depends on what you mean by healthy. Gwyneth always has been something of a hypochondriac. If she so much as cut her finger she’d have hysterics and demand a maid run for the doctor. Her own mother was always imagining herself ill and I think she instilled the ridiculous notion in both Morgan and Gwyneth that women are delicate creatures that have to be constantly nurtured and cared for like hot-house plants.’
‘Father told me that you had children.’
‘A boy and a girl. Did he also tell you that they died in a diphtheria epidemic just like Mansel’s parents?’
Sali nodded in response to the bleak expression in Edyth’s eyes.
‘When Mansel moved in with Mr James and me after he was orphaned, I had reached a point where I no longer wanted to go on living,’ Edyth said simply. ‘Grief brought us together and it was Mansel who sustained me when Mr James died. It was his idea you live with me after your marriage, not mine.’
‘I know. We discussed it when he asked me to marry him. We both hoped you’d want us.’ Impulsively, Sali left her chair and grasped her aunt’s hand.
‘I think it is more the other way around. You two have given me far more than I have ever given you in terms of affection and consideration. Like most women of my age I have become self-centred and opinionated. I have also developed an alarming tendency to try to force people into doing things I think will be good for them. And before you contradict me,’ she eyed Sali sternly, ‘ask your Uncle Morgan what he thinks of me.’
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ Sali smiled. ‘He wouldn’t stop talking for hours.’
‘It’s good to see you smile when you talk about him.’ Edyth hesitated. ‘I don’t know what Gwyneth has told you, but the physical relationship between a man and a woman can be the most beautiful expression of love, especially between two people who care for one another as much as you and Mansel.’ She patted Sali’s hand. ‘There really is nothing to be afraid of when it comes to love – or childbirth.’
‘Thank you.’
‘For what, child?’
‘Always being there, to put things into perspective for me.’
‘I hope I’ll be there for you for a while yet.’ Edyth rose to her feet as the door opened. ‘And when it’s time for me to go, I know someone who’ll be waiting to take over.’
‘So, Aunt Edyth,’ Mansel blotted his lips with his napkin before tossing it over the remains of his apple pie and cream, ‘was the lunch to your satisfaction?’
‘Perfect.’
‘How polite of you not to tell me that the soup needed more salt and the beef was overcooked.’
‘Let’s just say that I like it rarer than you.’
‘I ordered a light meal as you have invited guests for dinner this evening. The cook tends to overdo the spread if we have company.’
‘Is that a complaint?’ Edyth asked.
‘Never! I wouldn’t dare risk injuring Mrs Plumb’s feelings. She might refuse to make me another Welsh cake. Coffee?’ He left the table. ‘I have everything ready to make it in the kitchen cupboard.’
Edyth glanced at her watch. ‘I haven’t time.’
‘Admit it,’ he teased. ‘You don’t believe that I can make coffee.’
‘I am sure that you can make it; whether or not it would be drinkable is another matter. However, I will have to investigate your talent another day. I received this earlier.’ Edyth pulled the letter Mr Horton had handed her from the side pocket of her skirt. ‘Mr Richards has asked me to meet him at two o’clock. Apparently there are one or two matters relating to the Mining Disaster Fund that need urgent attention. A widow with six children has appealed for money to pay her rent. If the matter isn’t settled by the end of the day, she and her children will be taken into the workhouse.’
‘You can’t help everyone, Aunt Edyth,’ Mansel reminded gently. ‘Gwilym James has contributed more to the last six Rhondda mining disaster funds than any other store or shop in Pontypridd.’
‘I know and Mr Richards knows, but a hundred and nineteen men were killed at the National Colliery in Wattstown alone last year, and thirty-three in the Cambrian at Clydach. Mr Richards has received petitions from the Catholic Priests in the area. Some of the widows and children of those men are in dire straits.’
‘The store’s charity account is standing at two hundred pounds. You may as well empty it,’ Mansel said philosophically. ‘But don’t give away too much of your own money. There’ll be another good cause next week.’
Edyth turned to Sali. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we postpone the rest of our shopping until another day. Unless that is, Mansel can help you to choose your china and silverware.’
‘Me?’ Mansel queried in astonishment.
‘Why not?’ Edyth enquired in amusement, ‘After all, you will be the one to use it.’
‘What do you say, Sali? If there’s time, we could even go on to the jeweller’s and look at wedding rings,’ Mansel suggested.
‘I’d like to.’ Sali looked to her aunt for confirmation that she wouldn’t be offending propriety by being seen in public with Mansel while she was still in mourning.
‘Your uncle couldn’t possibly object to you walking around town with Mansel in the middle of the afternoon so close to your wedding day,’ Edyth reassured. ‘And, as it’s a fine day, you could even go for a walk along the river if there’s time. Your uncle and I went for several walks there before we married. If I remember correctly, they were quite enjoyable.’ She picked up her handbag and left her chair. ‘I will send the carriage back for you.’
‘There’s no need.’ Mansel retrieved his aunt’s cape and hat from the drawing room. ‘I’ll walk Sali home when the shop closes. It will still be light and if there isn’t time to go for a walk this afternoon, perhaps we could go for one then.’
‘So long as you are both home before dinner is served. I left orders for it to be ready at eight.’
‘Sali?’ Mansel asked, as he draped Edyth’s cape over her shoulders.
‘A walk sounds wonderful. The winter seemed to last for ever.’
‘And not just for you, child,’ Edyth said. ‘Now remember, both of you, when it comes to choosing your china and silverware, listen to Mr Horton. He has an eye for quality.’
‘We’ll do that,’ Mansel agreed. ‘Coffee before we go downstairs, Sali?’
Realising that if she accepted, she would be alone with him, Sali looked to her aunt again, but Edyth appeared to be preoccupied with pinning on her hat. It was a decision she would have to make for herself. ‘Yes please, Mansel.’
‘Milk and two sugars?’
‘You know how I like it.’
‘I’ve made it my business to know all there is about you.’ He opened the door for Edyth. ‘Have a good meeting with Mr Richards, Aunt Edyth, and don’t worry about us.’
‘I won’t.’ She kissed Sali’s cheek. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’
‘So, finally, I have you all alone to myself.’ Mansel carried a tray into the drawing room and leered at Sali in a parody of a stage villain.
‘We’ve been alone
together before.’ Sali cleared a vase from the table, so he could set down the coffee.
‘Several times, but only when there have been other people behind the closed door likely to walk in us at any moment. It’s a long way down to the stock rooms, and,’ he lifted his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and pressed the catch, ‘at this time of day, all the behind-the-scenes workers are at lunch.’
‘I hope they enjoy their meal.’ Sali took her coffee and sat on the sofa.
‘You could at least pretend to be afraid.’ Carrying his cup, he joined her.
‘You’ll have to do a better Mr Hyde impression than that before I’d exert myself.’
‘You’ve hurt my feelings.’ He set his cup on the floor. ‘How about a kiss as compensation.’ Cupping her face tenderly in his hands, he kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I love you, Sali Watkin Jones, and a great deal more than you can ever know.’
‘I do know,’ she countered seriously. ‘The tribulations faced by Romeo when he wooed Juliet are trivial compared to what you’ve had to put up with from Uncle Morgan.’
‘I only wish that I could take the credit for overcoming his objections.’ He picked up his coffee and sipped it. ‘But all I’ve done is hide behind Aunt Edyth’s skirts. Face it, sweetheart, you are engaged to a coward.’
‘One I love.’ She sat back as he set his cup aside again and took her cup from her. He kissed her a second time, moving closer to her than before. She trembled as his hand closed around her left breast. The warmth of his fingers percolated through layers of clothing, sending a heady sensation, half thrill, half fear, coursing through her veins.
She shivered and he removed his hand.
‘I am sorry if I shocked you,’ he apologised.
‘No ... it’s ...’ She sensed colour flooding into her cheeks but she forced herself to continue. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure what’s expected of me ... What you expect of me,’ she amended. ‘I want to be a good wife to you, Mansel.’
‘When the time comes,’ he suggested dryly.
She raised her eyes to his. They had never looked bluer or more piercing. ‘Aunt Edyth told me that the physical act between a man and a woman can be the most beautiful expression of love.’
‘You asked her?’ He was clearly shocked.
‘No. With Mother being ill and Uncle Morgan being ... well Uncle Morgan, and both of them disapproving of us marrying so soon, Aunt Edyth suggested that I talk over any problems or questions I had about married life with her.’
‘And you asked her ...’
‘Not about that.’ Her entire body burned with embarrassment.
‘Then what?’
‘Mother said ... you know how she is.’ Perspiration trickled down her spine. ‘She blames her ill-health on my father ... on having children.’ Unable to look him in the eye, she stared down at her lap. He returned their coffee cups to the tray.
‘Sali, everyone in the town, except perhaps you and your Uncle Morgan, knows your mother’s illnesses are more imagined than real. Thousands of women all over the world have children, manage to be “good wives” to their husbands and still remain perfectly healthy.’
‘I know,’ she whispered, wishing that they had never embarked on this conversation.
‘Yet, you are still afraid of our wedding night?’ He returned to the sofa but sat at the opposite end. The gap between them yawned; a symbol of their sudden estrangement as her mother’s voice, vicious, venomous, filled her mind.
It may be all perfume, poetry and flowers between you and Mansel now, but it won’t remain that way. He’ll use and degrade you just as your father used, degraded and broke me.
‘I am sorry, Mansel.’
He lifted her chin with his fingers and forced her to return his gaze. ‘Aunt Edyth is right, it is the most beautiful expression of love between a man and a woman.’
‘You know?’ she muttered unthinkingly.
Ignoring her question he said, ‘If we did a little practising before the honeymoon, it won’t come as quite such a shock to you.’
‘Uncle Morgan ...’
‘Watches you like a fox watches a chicken penned in a coop.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘But you are here now.’
‘And everyone in the store will have seen Aunt Edyth leave and know that we are alone.’
A knock at the door startled her and she rose abruptly to her feet.
‘Come in,’ Mansel called, as she turned her back to the room and gazed out of the window.
A young girl wearing a khaki work overall opened the door to the corridor and bobbed a curtsy. She looked from Mansel to Sali and back to Mansel, ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’ve been sent to clear the food and the dishes.’
‘You are not disturbing us.’ Mansel left the sofa and lifted Sali’s coat from the stand. ‘Miss Watkin Jones and I were just leaving.’
The maid held the door open for them. Sali pinned on her hat and Mansel helped her on with her coat.
‘Do you think your uncle arranged for her to interrupt us?’ Mansel asked, when they waited for the lift to reach the top floor.
‘I don’t think so,’ Sali replied, before she saw his smile and realised he was teasing her.
‘If we don’t take too long deciding the china and silverware patterns that we are going to live with for the rest of our lives and then leave for the jeweller’s, who is to say how long it took us to choose your wedding ring? Or whether or not we stole an hour or two to walk along the river before we return to Aunt Edyth’s for dinner. Would you like a stroll?’
Sali knew he wasn’t simply asking her to accompany him on a walk. She thought of her Uncle Morgan, his cold, joyless life, and how he drained all pleasure and happiness from the lives of those around him. Then she recalled the pained expression her father had adopted whenever he had entered her mother’s room, his long-suffering silences when she had castigated him with catalogues of her ailments. And the expression on her Aunt Edyth’s face when she had said, ‘The physical relationship between a man and a woman can be the most beautiful expression of love, especially between two people who care for one another as much as you and Mansel.’
It had been obvious that she hadn’t been speaking about her and Mansel at all, but on a much more personal level. If only she and Mansel could build a marriage as strong as her Aunt Edyth’s and Uncle Gwilym’s had been. But no matter how she tried she couldn’t forget her mother’s warning.
He’ll use and degrade you just as your father used, degraded and broke me.
‘I’d love a stroll,’ she said, firmly relegating her mother’s words to the back of her mind.
‘Love aside, if I didn’t think you’d make me a good wife I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me, Miss Watkin Jones.’ He offered her his arm as the lift reached their floor and the boy opened the doors for them. ‘But then, no man wants a wife who is too good.’
‘Courtesy of your assistance, Mr Horton, it appears that Miss Watkin Jones has made all the choices that needed to be made.’ Mansel studied the mass of china, crystal and glassware scattered over the long counter in front of them.
‘I hope you didn’t think I was being too forward, sir.’
‘Not at all, Mr Horton.’ Mansel tapped two cigars out of his gold case and offered the under-manager one. ‘In fact, Mrs James recommended that we take your advice on both quality and pattern.’
‘I had no idea Mrs James had such confidence in my opinion, sir. Thank you.’ Mr Horton took the cigar and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit.
‘If you’d call an assistant, Mr Horton, I think Miss Watkin Jones is ready to place our order.’
‘I’ll take it myself, sir.’ Mr Horton held out his hand to the three assistants who had been delegated to help them. Within seconds an order pad was placed in his palm.
‘One seventy-piece Olde Delph, breakfast ware,’ Mansel looked to Sali. She nodded confirmation.
‘A wise choice, Mr James, traditional but a constant favourite and a
lways acceptable. Never quite in fashion, it will never be quite outmoded either. I assure you that you will never tire of it. Children love the pattern –’
‘Thank you, Mr Horton,’ Mansel interrupted, unwilling to waste a precious moment of his and Sali’s unexpected private time in polite chit-chat with an employee, albeit his immediate subordinate. ‘One seventy-piece Diana Wedgwood design for luncheon and everyday use, one white Royal Doulton porcelain dinner service –’
‘Banded with silver not gold.’ Mr Horton failed to keep the disapproval from his voice.
‘And one forty-piece English Poppy design tea service,’ Sali added, giving Mr Horton a shy smile.
‘A very modern service, Miss Watkin Jones. I only hope you will be as taken with it a year from now as you are today,’ Mr Horton cautioned.
‘If she isn’t, we’ll have fun smashing it, Mr Horton,’ Mansel chipped in flippantly.
‘Crystal, Mr James?’ Mr Horton enquired.
‘One set of Bohemian, one of fine English.’
‘Port, Sherry, Liqueur, Claret, Champagne, tumblers, half pint and quarter pint ...’ Mr Horton glanced up from his pad and Mansel nodded agreement. ‘Custards, finger bowls, ice plates,’ he continued, ‘Quart decanters ...’
‘Two dozen of everything in both sets, except decanters and we’ll take four of those in both.’
‘Water jugs, pint decanters and Claret?’
‘A dozen jugs, four pint decanters and two Claret decanters.’
‘Both sets.’
‘Both.’ Mansel was accustomed to making swift business decisions, but he had never made such speedy personal judgements before.
‘Carafes, salad bowls, fruit bowls, oval dishes, vases?’ Mr Horton enquired.
‘Half a dozen in each size, except small fruit bowls and we’ll take two dozen of those in both and a full canteen of the King’s pattern silver cutlery.’ Mansel opened his pocket watch. ‘If you’re finished here, Miss Watkin Jones, we can go on to the jeweller’s.’
‘All to be billed to Mrs James’s account, sir?’ Mr Horton asked.
Mansel did a speedy calculation. ‘The china to be billed to my aunt’s account, the crystal to mine, Mr Horton.’
Beggars and Choosers Page 9
