She paled and clenched her fists.
‘Do you recognise anything?’ he asked gently.
‘The cufflinks and cravat pin belonged to my uncle, Aunt Edyth’s husband. He left them to Mansel in his will. Mansel knew Aunt Edyth liked him wearing them, so he used them every day, as he did the watch.’ She reached out and stroked the pocket watch gently with the tip of her finger but made no attempt to pick it up. ‘Where did you get them?’
‘Connie’s husband won them tonight at cards.’ He took her hand into his. ‘Owen Bull staked and lost them.’
She gripped his hand so tightly he thought his fingers would break. ‘Owen! You went to see Owen!’
‘He didn’t know who I was. I didn’t speak to him about anything other than cards during the game. And, after seeing him trying to tear Albert’s throat out tonight in a room full of able-bodied men, I understand why you are afraid of him.’
‘He didn’t follow you?’
‘He was unconscious when we left. The landlady took exception to him trying to kill her customers.’
‘But if he guessed that you and I –’
‘Think, Sali, how could he possibly have guessed?’ He waited a few moments for her to compose herself. ‘Have you any idea how he could have come by this?’ He picked up the wedding ring.
‘No.’ She looked at the ring in his hand. ‘Mansel and I chose that together, or rather he chose it and because he liked the pattern so much, I went along with him.’
‘Have you seen the earrings and bangle before?’
‘The last time ... the last time I saw Mansel,’ she continued flatly, struggling and succeeding in controlling herself, ‘he told me that he had two surprises, which he’d give to me on our wedding night.’
‘He had the ring engraved.’
She was shaking so much she knew she would drop it if she took it from his hand. ‘Read it to me please.’
He read the inscription slowly and clearly: ‘“Mansel and Sali James, 28 July 1906. Brief is life but love is long.”’
‘It’s a quote from Tennyson’s “The Princess”. It was one of my favourite poems before my father died. In those days I was so happy I thought tragedy was romantic.’ She remained dry-eyed and unnaturally, terrifyingly calm.
‘The bangle is engraved as well.’
‘Would you read that to me as well please, Lloyd?’
‘It’s very personal.’ He wanted to hold back, because he already knew what it said.
‘Please.’
He didn’t even have to look at the words. ‘“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life! And if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”’
‘Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “Sonnets from the Portuguese”.’
‘I am so sorry, Sali.’ He tried to embrace her, but she remained rigid, upright.
‘I am all right,’ she murmured, very obviously anything but.
‘There is no shame in crying.’
‘You don’t understand, Lloyd. I have done all my crying. For over four years I haven’t known what to think. There were days when I honestly believed that Mansel had deserted me because he couldn’t bear the thought of marrying me. Now that I have seen his things,’ she covered the watch with her hand, ‘I know he is dead. He would have never handed any of these over willingly to anyone, especially a man like Owen Bull.’
‘He could have sold or pawned them. Owen could have won them at cards.’
‘Mr Richards was the last person to see Mansel and he said his wallet was full. Mansel told him that he’d forgotten to put the money he’d withdrawn from the bank for our honeymoon into the store safe. He wouldn’t have needed to pawn anything if he’d wanted to get away. If the money in his pocket hadn’t been enough, he could have taken more from the safe. He had the keys.’
‘What do you want to do about this, Sali?’
‘Visit Aunt Edyth first thing in the morning.’
‘Go to Pontypridd! You’re forgetting I saw Owen tonight. Please, let me go first and alone. Once I am absolutely certain that he is in the police station, I will come back for you. Then you can talk to your aunt.’
‘I want to be with her when she sees Mansel’s things and she has the right to know they’ve been found.’
Realising there was no way that he could talk her out of going, and remembering Owen had been unconscious and on his way to the workhouse when he had last seen him, he conceded. ‘I’ll go with you.’
‘No.’
‘It’s a Sunday. I don’t have to work.’ He looked keenly at her. ‘I won’t interfere. You can talk to your aunt in private. All I want is to travel down there with you and sit outside your aunt’s door in case that maniac hears that you are in town and tries to hurt you. And, please, for everyone’s sake, leave Harry with my brothers and father, just for the day.’
She looked at the jewellery. ‘Can I take these things to bed with me?’
‘Of course.’ He returned everything to the drawstring bag.
‘Thank you, Lloyd.’ She took the bag from him, left her chair and walked out of the door without a backward glance.
Mansel James might or might not be dead, but Lloyd felt as though he had just lost the woman he loved more than anyone else on earth.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘This is not up for discussion, Sali,’ Lloyd said tersely. ‘We will leave the train at Trehafod and hire a cab to take us to your aunt’s house. It’s no more than a sensible precaution and before you say another word, how many times do I have to remind you that I saw your husband lose his temper last night?’
Sali bit her lips and stared blindly out of the window of the train, seeing neither terraced houses nor the peaks of the slagheaps piled high on the mountains behind them. She was dreading showing her aunt Mansel’s things and she was also missing Harry. It was little consolation that he’d be well looked after. He had been excited at the thought of Mr Evans reading stories to him when Victor and Joey went to church, and going rabbiting with Joey and Victor later that afternoon. She finally turned to Lloyd. ‘I want to pay for the cab.’
‘Whatever,’ he said casually, wise enough not to start an argument. He glanced out of the window. ‘We’re almost in Trehafod. You’d better drop your veil.’
The cab that took them from the village of Trehafod into Pontypridd crawled at something less than a snail’s pace. Sali sat back as far as the seat would allow, glancing out of the window at intervals. Neither she nor Lloyd said a word until they reached Mill Street. She shuddered as they drew near, then to her amazement she saw that the entire area had been flattened right down to the river. Workmen were clearing the rubble and fires burned on the wasteland, stoked by wood ripped from the old outhouses.
‘There’s no going back, Sali,’ Lloyd said quietly. ‘Not for you or Harry.’
She sat back and continued to look out of the window. When they reached the burial ground behind Penuel Chapel she noticed a canvas awning had been erected over the grave behind her father’s and she covered her mouth with her handkerchief.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Mr Horton must have died. That is his family grave. His wife was buried the week Mansel and I were to be married.’
‘You were close to him?’
‘He was the under-manager in Gwilym James. Aunt Edyth and Mansel thought a great deal of him.’
Lloyd gripped her gloved hands. ‘I know this is neither the time nor the place but I want you to know that I love you very much and always will.’
‘Thank you.’
He couldn’t make out her expression beneath her veil.
‘No matter what happens, you only have to ask me to do something and I’ll do it, whatever it is,’
‘I know, Lloyd, and I’m grateful to you. For everything.’
When he had shown her the jewellery, he had felt as though she’d withdrawn to a place where he could no longer reach her. Now he sensed that she was saying goodbye to him.
�
�I can’t get any nearer the house than this, sir,’ the cab driver called down to them as he walked his horse into Edyth James’s drive.
Lloyd pushed the window down, and looked for signs of someone skulking behind the shrubs and bushes. The drive was packed with cabs, private carriages and a brake. As the cab driver heaved his horse to a halt behind the brake, Lloyd opened the door and jumped down. He pushed his hand into his pocket.
‘I want to pay the driver.’ Sali opened her purse and gave Lloyd all her loose change. He extracted a couple of coins and passed the rest back to her.
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ The driver took the money and tipped his hat. Lloyd folded down the steps and helped Sali on to the drive. Taking her by the elbow he walked her quickly and purposefully around the steaming piles of horse manure, towards her aunt’s front door. The outer door was open and when Lloyd rang the porch bell, Jenkins opened it on a scene of chaos.
People were milling around, filling the hall. Sali recognised a group of her aunt’s elderly friends talking in the corner next to the library door. Maids scurried between the kitchens and dining room with piles of cutlery, crockery and trays of cold food. Two uniformed policemen were sitting side by side on a settle that was far too small for people of their size. A man Sali recognised as the undertaker’s assistant was standing in the doorway of the study.
Before she had time to take in all the activity, Jenkins helped her off with her coat. ‘Miss Sali, it was good of you to come as soon as you heard the news. But then Mrs Williams and Mr Watkin Jones said you would.’
‘My brother Geraint is here?’ It said something for the butler’s state of mind that he had called her by her unmarried name.
‘Mr Watkin Jones has been here since midday yesterday. He has been a great comfort to Mrs James.’ The old man looked at Lloyd and despite Lloyd’s suit, trilby and cashmere overcoat, he dropped the formal ‘sir’ that he would have used to address a gentleman and spoke to him as he would have a tradesman. ‘Shall I announce you, Mr ... ?’
‘I only came to ensure that Mrs Jones arrived here safely. I will be in the hall if you need me, Sali.’ Lloyd walked over to join the policemen. If anyone could tell him what was going on, there was a fair chance they would know the most.
Too agitated to notice the butler’s condescending attitude towards Lloyd, Sali followed Jenkins.
‘Mrs James, Miss Sali is here.’
Sali stepped into the drawing room. Her aunt was half sitting, half reclining in her favourite chair next to the fireplace, Mari sitting on a stool beside her. Mr Richards and the doctor were on the sofa. Sergeant Davies, looking distinctly ill at ease, as he always did in her aunt’s drawing room, was perched on a wooden chair close to the door. The undertaker was standing at a respectful distance in the bay window and Geraint was in front of the fireplace leaning on the mantelpiece.
‘Sali!’ Geraint was the first to reach her. He swept her off her feet and hugged her. ‘Mari said you’d come as soon as you heard, but I didn’t think you’d dare risk it.’
‘You’ve grown.’ Sali held him at arm’s length so she could take a good look at him. ‘You are so like Father.’
‘I’ll be twenty-one next week and I want you and your son to come back home.’ He scowled. ‘Or rather to our home when we have one again.’
Too confused and upset to take in what Geraint had said, Sali glanced around in confusion and clutched the velvet bag in her pocket.
‘Sali ...’
She ran over to her aunt’s chair and kissed her cheek. ‘Why is everyone here?’
‘Because of Mansel.’
‘Mansel!’
‘Don’t you know?’ Geraint interrupted. ‘When the sexton opened Mr Horton’s wife’s grave yesterday morning to bury Mr Horton, he found a body lying on her coffin.’ He wanted to soften the blow, to make it easy for her, then he saw that she already knew. ‘The body was Mansel’s, Sali.’
‘The sexton recognised his hair. No one else in Pontypridd had hair quite that colour.’ Mr Richards moved on swiftly. Given the precarious state of Mrs James’s health, he had volunteered to try to identify the body as soon as he heard that it had been found and Geraint had insisted on accompanying him. Not even twenty-one, Mr Geraint Watkin Jones promised to turn out a very fine young man indeed and he blanched every time he thought of the disservice he had done him and his family.
‘The suit he was wearing had his personal label sewn into it and there was his wallet with his initials in gold on the corner.’ Geraint picked up the remains of a chewed, cracked, mud and water-stained leather wallet from the sofa table besides Edyth’s chair. ‘It was empty apart from a photograph of you, Sali.’
‘How did Mansel die?’ Sali’s voice sounded remote even to her own ears.
‘There were injuries to the back of his skull, Mrs Bull.’ The sergeant spoke for the first time since she had entered the room. ‘We think he was bludgeoned by someone who attacked him from behind.’
‘Would he have suffered?’ Sali turned to the doctor.
‘From the fractures in his skull, I think he would have been unconscious in seconds, and dead very shortly after, Mrs Bull.’ The doctor hoped that no one beside the sergeant knew that he was speculating. Given the condition of Mansel’s body and the length of time it had lain without protection in the earth it had been impossible for him to even hazard a guess as to whether Mansel James had been conscious when he’d been buried.
‘There’s something else, Sali.’ Geraint wrapped his arm around her and led her to a chair. ‘They found a pawn ticket beneath the body. Mr Goodman checked his records. It was for a walking stick brought in by Owen Bull.’
‘Then you know that Owen killed Mansel!’ She looked to Sergeant Davies for confirmation.
‘For the moment, all I’m prepared to say is that Owen Bull is a suspect, Mrs Bull. Apart from the pawn ticket, Mr Bull’s half-witted brother dug and filled in Mrs Horton’s grave, and everyone in town knew he did whatever Owen ordered him to. Some people even heard him babbling about secret ‘night funerals’ but didn’t realise it meant anything.’
‘Iestyn said something to me about a night funeral the morning I married Owen.’ Sali fought to keep her emotions in check when she realised that all the time she had been locked up, raped and beaten by Owen, Mansel had been dead, lying in an unmarked grave, and Owen had put him there.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind that Owen Bull had the opportunity and given that Mr James was carrying a large amount of cash that night, the motive. Every policeman in Pontypridd is out looking for him. We know that he was discharged from the workhouse early this morning, so he can’t be far. And you have my word, Mrs James, Mrs Bull, we’ll get him and get to the bottom of this.’
‘It is poor consolation, Sali,’ Mrs James whispered, ‘but Mansel died loving you.’
‘I know.’ Sali went to the sofa table, opened the velvet bag and tipped out the contents.
‘Mrs James,’ the sergeant approached the sofa table. ‘May I take these things and speak to the young man who brought Mrs Bull here? Naturally, I will give you a receipt.’
‘You want everything?’
‘Not the watch,’ he relented, when he saw how firmly she was holding it. ‘I know you will keep it safe, but should we charge anyone with the murder of your nephew it may have to be produced in court as evidence.’
‘You will find Owen Bull, won’t you?’
‘I will do everything in my power to make sure that whoever did this to Mr James is apprehended and pays the full penalty for his crime.’
‘Thank you.’ Edyth watched him gather the pieces together and replace them in the velvet bag.
‘Excuse me, Mrs James, Mrs Bull, gentlemen.’ The sergeant left.
‘When can I bring Mansel home?’ Edyth asked the doctor as she sank back on her pillows clutching her nephew’s watch.
‘Mrs James, I really can’t advise you to bring your nephew’s body into this house.’
‘Of course he has to come home.’ Edyth’s face was grey, but her eyes flashed with an anger stronger than her emaciated body.
‘The coffin will have to remain closed,’ the undertaker ventured, looking to the doctor.
‘I am old, not stupid, I understand that much,’ Edyth snapped. ‘Geraint, you will arrange for a service to be held in this house for Mansel and I don’t want that fool of an uncle of yours anywhere near here, or the chapel on the day that Mansel is laid to rest.’
‘Yes, Aunt Edyth.’ Geraint knelt at his aunt’s feet and took one of her hands into his, while hugging Sali who was sitting on the stool Mari had relinquished.
‘Mr James is being held in the mortuary in the Graig Infirmary pending a full post-mortem, Mrs James, but I could arrange to have the body released to you on the morning of the funeral. Then he can be brought here so he can lie in the hall for a service in the house before being taken to the chapel.’
Mr Richards wasn’t a demonstrative man but he could have hugged the undertaker for his solution to what might have proved to be an impossible problem.
‘Is that acceptable, Aunt Edyth?’ Geraint asked.
She nodded.
‘Would you like Mr James buried with his uncle, Mrs James?’ the undertaker asked.
‘Is there room in the grave for three?’
‘There is.’
‘In that case, yes. And you two,’ she looked from Geraint to Sali, ‘please note that I want to be buried with them.’
‘When the time comes,’ Geraint added.
She reached out and stroked Sali’s hair. ‘It won’t be long, not now that I know Mansel is with his maker. Will that doorbell ever stop?’ she complained peevishly, as it rang for the fourth time in five minutes.
‘Shall I ask Mr Jenkins to disconnect it, Mrs James?’ Mari asked.
‘You do that. And tell him to serve refreshments to those who are here on business and those who have come out of genuine kindness and concern, and to boot all the others out. And on no account is anyone in the house to talk to reporters from the Pontypridd Observer or Glamorgan Gazette. Not after all the rubbish they printed about Mansel wanting to disappear four years ago.’
Beggars and Choosers Page 42
