There was no sign of the police, or she noted despondently, Lloyd. But Mr Jenkins was standing looking lost and solitary at the foot of the stairs.
‘Mr Jenkins? Mr Jenkins?’ She had to repeat his name before he gave her his attention and she noticed that his eyes were red-lined, rheumy and glazed with tears. ‘Would you please watch over Mrs James with Mari?’
‘That is not my place, Miss Sali.’
‘I can think of no one more appropriate, Mr Jenkins. You knew my aunt longer than anyone else in the house.’
‘If you insist, Miss Sali.’
‘Mr Jenkins?’
‘Yes, Miss Sali?’ He halted on the stairs and turned to face her.
‘Have you seen Mr Evans?’
‘The person who accompanied you here, Miss Sali?’
‘Mr Lloyd Evans,’ she elaborated, so there would be no mistake.
‘He left the house shortly after you went upstairs, Miss Sali.’
‘And he hasn’t returned?’
‘Not to my knowledge, Miss Sali.’
‘You wouldn’t have turned him away by any chance, would you?’ she demanded.
‘Not without direct orders to do so, Miss Sali.’
‘And no one gave you those orders?’
‘No, Miss Sali.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Mrs James was quite specific in her instructions regarding her funeral, even down to the number of carriages and the hymns she wanted,’ Mr Richards explained. Sali sat on the sofa in the drawing room. Geraint poured her a brandy and topped up his own, Mr Richards’s and the undertaker’s.
‘Aunt Edyth was nothing if not methodical.’ Sali sipped the brandy and a weakening wave of warmth swept through her body. She had an intense urge to curl up in bed, pull the blankets over her head and go to sleep. But there was still so much to be done – and seeing Lloyd and fetching Harry were at the top of her list.
‘The last time we spoke about these arrangements, Mrs James thought there might not be anyone available from the family to bury her. Circumstances being as they were.’
‘Are there any decisions left for us to make, Mr Richards?’ Geraint asked.
‘If you opt for a double funeral for Mrs James and Mr Mansel James, apart from the inscriptions to be added to Mr Gwilym James’s tombstone, no.’
‘I think Mansel and Aunt Edyth’s names, dates, and possibly “Reunited in the Lord”,’ Geraint suggested.
‘Aunt Edyth would approve of that.’ Sali agreed, unable to think of anything more appropriate.
The undertaker finished his brandy and left his chair. ‘I will arrange for a casket to be brought over this evening. Mrs James wanted to be buried in a coffin identical to the one she chose for her husband. Would you like us to move her down to the morning room tonight?’
‘Yes, please,’ Geraint answered.
‘It is the room closest to the front door, so anyone wishing to pay their respects can do so with minimal disruption to the household,’ Mr Richards added for Sali’s benefit as he left his chair. ‘If you don’t want me for anything else this evening, I will leave now and return in the morning. You both look exhausted. It might be as well if you go to bed.’
‘I have to go to the Rhondda and fetch my son.’
‘Surely not tonight, Mrs Bull? It is nearly ten o’clock,’ Mr Richards remonstrated.
‘The people who are looking after him have to work in the morning. Besides, I promised him that I would return tonight.’
‘I can fetch him for you, Sali,’ Geraint offered.
‘He doesn’t know you.’
‘But if I told him that I was taking him to you, surely he would come?’
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Sali said flatly. ‘I have taught him only to trust the people he knows.’
‘In that case, I’ll tell Jenkins to order the carriage again.’
‘Don’t disturb him, he’s upstairs with Mari and Aunt Edyth. I’ll ask one of the footmen to tell the coachman to bring it around to the front door. Goodnight.’ Sali shook hands with the undertaker who walked out ahead of Mr Richards.
‘My deepest sympathy, Mrs Bull, I know how fond you were of Mrs James.’
Sali clasped Mr Richards’s hand a moment longer than necessary. ‘Thank you, Mr Richards, and not just for being the first on the scene whenever there is trouble in the family, but also for trying to help me when I was married to Owen. You can have no idea how much your visit to Mill Street meant to me.’
‘I was afraid that Mr Bull would hurt you after I left.’
Sali recalled the beating Owen had inflicted on her for offering Mr Richards tea, but said nothing.
‘I tried to help you too, Sali,’ Geraint protested after Mr Richards closed the door behind him.
‘I know, Geraint. It wasn’t meant as a criticism. And given that you were only a boy at the time and Mr Richards couldn’t do anything to stop Uncle Morgan marrying me off to Owen, or to make my life any easier when I was living with him in Mill Street, it was a hopeless situation.’
‘Until you ran away and Lloyd Evans took you in.’
‘His father took me in as his housekeeper,’ she corrected sharply.
‘Lloyd Evans must have loved that. Having the daughter of his old employer skivvying for his family. And don’t try telling me you had help in the house. I know how colliers live.’
‘Do you, Geraint?’ she asked coolly. ‘Do you really? Do you know what it’s like to work an eight-hour shift, six days a week underground and come up almost too tired to eat and yet scrape up enough energy to go on to evening classes to learn to read and write and all because you went down the pit instead of going to school when you were a child to earn a few pennies that your family desperately needed to survive? Do you know what it’s like to try to bring up children on a wage that barely buys enough food for one man and only enables you to rent a hovel without running water? Because there are plenty of houses in Tonypandy that aren’t fit for pigs to live in, yet have ten and sometimes more people living in them.’
‘My God!’ He stared at her in horror. ‘Father always said that Lloyd Evans’s Marxism would prove to be his downfall and now he’s infected you. You’ve forgotten where you come from, Sali. Along with everything else that Father taught us.’
‘You mean his lessons on how to treat our inferiors fairly and justly?’
‘Precisely.’
‘The working class aren’t pets, Geraint. And in general they are not inferior and in some cases a damned sight superior to the middle and upper classes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted and I have to get my son.’
Realising from her swearing that she was overwrought, he said, ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘Please yourself, but don’t mention Lloyd Evans on the way, or go into his house. The Evanses have been my family for the past year and I would hate to have to apologise for my own brother’s behaviour to them.’
Sali dressed in her outdoor clothes before going upstairs to see Mari and Jenkins. They were sitting either side of the bed, each sunk in their own grief. She warned them the undertaker would be arriving soon with the coffin, before returning to the hall. After checking with the footmen that Lloyd hadn’t returned while she’d been talking to Geraint, she went into the porch. Geraint was already there in his hat and overcoat, waiting. Although the gas lamps either side of the front door had been lit, they were turned down low and the porch and the front of the house were cast in shadow.
‘The coachman is taking a long time to bring the carriage around,’ Geraint complained irritably.
‘It takes time to harness the horses.’
‘Sali.’ He jerked his head towards the drawing-room window. ‘About what happened in there. We are both upset. And on the basis of what I’ve heard you’ve been through hell the last four years –’
‘We are both upset. Tell me, how are Gareth and Llinos?’ She deliberately changed the subject.
‘Fine, when I saw them in the summer. You proba
bly wouldn’t know either of them. Llinos is quite the young lady and Gareth the young man. They have both settled well in school and they spend most of the holidays with their friends and their friends’ parents. But then, Mother isn’t in a state to care whether we are in the house or not, and Uncle Morgan never did make much of a home for us. It was bad when Father died, Sali, but it became much worse after you left.’
‘Uncle Morgan ... he never ... never paid any particular attention to Llinos after I left, did he?’
‘What are you asking?’ Even in the darkness of the porch she sensed that he was staring at her.
‘He didn’t try to hurt her?’
‘He hurt you?’
‘Beat me when he discovered I was pregnant,’ she lied. It was strange how it had been easier to tell Lloyd the sordid details of how Morgan Davies had raped her, than her own brother.
‘He tried to beat Gareth once. During the Easter holidays after you left. I broke the walking stick he was using to hit Gareth on his own back, so he beat me instead. I was so ill Mari and Tomas had to send for the doctor. I have no idea what the doctor said to Uncle Morgan but he never touched any of us afterwards.’
‘You were badly hurt.’
‘The wounds healed. I don’t think about it any more.’
Sali knew Geraint was lying. He was no more able to forgive their uncle for beating him than she was able to forgive him for raping her.
‘At last,’ he sighed, as the carriage rounded the corner of the house. He stepped forward, opened the door and folded down the steps. He was handing Sali inside when a shadow moved in the distance at the bottom of the drive. The horses whinnied and stepped back, rocking the carriage. Sali slipped from the step and Geraint grabbed her as she fell.
‘Whoa ... steady ...’ The more the coachman struggled to control the team, the wilder they became. The carriage rocked precariously.
Sali recognised the coachman’s voice and it didn’t belong to her aunt’s coachman. She screamed to Geraint, ‘Get help from the house ...’
Before Geraint could move, the coachman booted his foot full force into Geraint’s face. Geraint crumpled on to the drive. The coachman jumped from the box and hurled himself on top of Sali.
She felt his hands close around her waist and fought with every ounce of strength she could summon, clawing at his fingers and cursing the leather gloves that covered her nails. She tried to kick out at his legs and he flung her to the ground, face down beside Geraint.
He dropped astride her back, and his hands tightened, choking the life from her. She tried to scream, to struggle but the lamplight grew dim and faded into blackness. The smell of wet earth, horse sweat, manure and the scent of geraniums filled her nostrils. The last thing that registered was the pain of the gravel biting into her cheek and lips.
‘Sali! Sali!’
Someone was shaking her violently. She wished they wouldn’t. She knew that if she moved she would be in pain and she didn’t want to be in pain. She wanted to remain where she was, warm, fuzzy and comfortable ...
‘Sali!’
Not comfortable. Her lungs were on fire, every part of her ached, but her back felt as though it had been broken. She tried to breathe but her throat burned. She gulped in air and choked.
‘Slowly, Sali, take it slowly. It’s all right. I have you, you’re safe.’
She was lying on the sofa in the drawing room. Lloyd was bending over her and she was conscious of other people hovering in the background.
‘Owen –’
‘Owen’s gone.’
‘You killed him?’
‘The police have him.’ When Lloyd had prised Owen’s fingers away from Sali’s throat he had been in a blind, murderous rage. But as soon as the footmen had rushed out to see what the commotion was and restrained Sali’s husband, he had been too concerned about Sali to trouble himself with the man. But that didn’t stop him from regretting that he hadn’t killed him.
‘Is Geraint –’
‘He’s unconscious, but Mari says he’ll be fine and we’re waiting for the doctor to come and take a look at both of you.’ Lloyd refused to address Geraint by name. He glanced at someone standing behind them. ‘If her bedroom is prepared, I’ll carry her upstairs. Then I’ll go and fetch her son.’
‘It sounds like you had an eventful time.’ Billy Evans poured three small brandies after Lloyd had given him a sketchy outline of the day’s events. ‘Joey, take this out to the cabman and tell him he’s welcome to come inside for a warm.’
‘I asked him. He wouldn’t leave his cab. He thinks Tonypandy is full of uncivilised striking miners waiting to steal his horse.’ Lloyd took the brandy and sat in his father’s chair next to the fire.
‘How is Sali, really?’ His father asked seriously, as Joey went to the door.
‘Battered, bruised. But,’ Lloyd grimaced, ‘not for the first time. I waited until the doctor had examined her. He said that both she and her brother will make full recoveries.’
‘And Owen Bull?’
‘As I said, in custody. If they don’t hang him for the murder of Mansel James, they can hang him for the murder of Mrs James’s coachman. The man had been bludgeoned to death with a log taken from the woodpile and his uniform stripped from him. As Owen was wearing everything except the poor devil’s blood-stained shirt, the police think he crept up on him when the man was harnessing the horses, killed him, then took his place with the intention of stealing the carriage and getting out of Pontypridd as quickly as possible after losing Mansel James’s belongings in that card game.’
‘You’d think the last place he would want to go to was Ynysangharad House.’
‘The butler said the loft above the stable hadn’t been used for anything since the coachman moved into the servants’ quarters in the house after Mansel James’s disappearance. The police held Owen there until the Black Maria arrived the last time he caused trouble at the house, so he knew it was empty. An old lady living alone with her servants – Owen probably thought it was the easiest place to steal a horse. After losing everything he owned in that card game he didn’t have the money to buy a train ticket, even if he’d been prepared to risk it. Christ! It makes my blood run cold to think that I took Sali there today. He could have been watching us as we arrived.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
Victor walked in carrying Harry on one arm, a small case in his free hand.
‘Uncle Victor’s packed all my clothes.’ Harry rubbed sleep from his eyes with his fists.
‘Has he now?’ Billy held out his arms and Victor sat the boy on his lap.
‘What about Sali’s things?’ Victor asked.
Lloyd finished his brandy. ‘I’ll pack them.’
‘Mam and I will be coming home again, won’t we, Uncle Lloyd?’ Harry looked wide-eyed and anxious.
‘For the moment, the important thing is that you and your mam are together. Now, don’t forget anything, and that includes your toys. Uncle Victor and Uncle Joey will help you put everything in bags.’
‘The fort and soldiers have to stay. Mam said they were only on loan.’
‘Tell you what, Harry, you can loan them in your new house as well. How about that?’ Joey opened the cupboard door.
Lloyd went upstairs and walked into Sali’s room. He lifted the valise down from the top of her wardrobe.
‘You packing everything of hers?’ His father stood in the doorway, watching Lloyd clear her hairbrush and bottle of cologne from the dressing table.
‘Everything.’
‘You don’t think she’s going to come back here?’
‘No.’
‘Lloyd –’
‘She’s returned to her own kind. That couldn’t have been made clearer to me today.’
‘Not by her, I know.’
Lloyd placed the last of Sali’s belongings into the valise and snapped the sides together. ‘Face it, would you be here by choice knowing what’s coming to this valley?’ When his father didn’t reply, he
said, ‘Ask Victor and Joey if they’ll take Harry to Pontypridd.’ He slipped his hand into his pocket and peeled a pound note off the roll he had withdrawn from the bank in the hope of bribing Owen into divorcing Sali. ‘And give them this to pay for the cab and the journey home. Tell them not to accept a penny from Geraint Watkin Jones.’
Realising Lloyd was adamant, his father took the money on the premise that any overpayment could be sorted out later. ‘You will say goodbye to the boy?’ he asked, as Lloyd fastened the lock on the valise.
‘Of course.’
Billy glanced into the room. ‘I’m going to miss her.’
‘We all are.’ Lloyd brushed past him and ran down the stairs.
Joey picked up Sali’s valise and the case containing Harry’s clothes from the floor of the cab, went to the door of Ynysangharad House and rang the bell. Victor left the cab and leaned back inside to lift out Harry, who had fallen asleep before they had left Tonypandy. He wrapped the blanket they had taken from Harry’s bed closer around him as he carried him to the porch door. They stood in the darkness listening to the sound of bolts being thrown back on an inner door, followed by footsteps and locks opening on the outer door. A footman peered out at them.
‘We’ve brought Harry,’ Joey whispered so as not to wake the boy. ‘Sali’s son.’
The footman stepped back and spoke to someone in the hall. A man came to the door, his face bloody and bruised. Behind him was a short, stout, middle-aged woman who resembled the housekeeper of Llan House so closely, Joey retreated into the shadows.
‘I’ll take him.’ The man held out his arms.
‘It might be better if I carried him inside.’ Victor sized up the situation and added, ‘sir’, which his father and elder brother would never have said.
‘I think it best the housekeeper put him to bed right away.’
Harry woke, took one look at Geraint’s bloody face and screamed.
‘It’s all right, Harry.’ Victor lifted the boy higher into his arms and Harry buried his head in his shoulder. ‘Your mam is here.’
Beggars and Choosers Page 44
