by Iris Gower
‘I expect so.’ Katie wondered briefly how she could bear to live in a strange household. Until her mother’s death she had been spoiled: as a treasured only child born late to the Cullen family she had been kept at home and not forced into labour like so many of the Greenhill children.
‘Well, you’ll find things strange at first,’ Cook said, ‘but you look the sort of girl who’ll soon settle in. You’re going to be an upstairs maid, lucky girl. Got your own room, haven’t you? The master must like you. He’s as good as gold, bless him.’ Cook refilled her cup but did not offer Katie more. ‘Shows us a bit of chwarae teg, you know, fair play. If we do our jobs well enough, he leaves us alone.’
As Katie put down her cup Cook looked at her impatiently. ‘Right, then, we’d better get sorted out. I’m Mrs Grinter but mostly I’m just called Cook. That little scamp doing the veg is Lottie, and Becky does the floors and such.’
The other maids glanced at Katie and nodded. Cook tapped her arm. ‘Go on, then, girl, and get your room sorted out, because after that you’re going to do a bit of work.’ She half smiled. ‘Nothing too hard, mind! You’ll start by dusting the lamps in the bedrooms. Go on, off with you!’
Katie made her way up the back stairs, wondering if she would be able to find her room. On the top landing she opened a door and realized at once that this was Cook’s: a large nightgown was laid out on the bed and a pair of enormous slippers stood on the floor.
She found her own up another flight of stairs, high in the attic. She knew it was hers because it was bare of personal possessions. She put her bag on the floor, took out her clothes and put them in a drawer. Some time soon she would have to go back to Greenhill for the rest of her things. Then she sank onto the bed. This was to be her home now, perhaps for a long time, until she married – if she ever did get married.
Her thoughts turned to Bull and his gentle kindness. He was a giant of a man but now she knew him he did not frighten her. Did he like her – really like her? Surely he must think something of her to ask her to meet him again. But he might have asked out of politeness. Katie sighed. Everything in her life was changing and she could only hope it would be for the better.
‘Bull, what are you standing down here by the track for? It’s starting to rain. I thought you was never coming home.’ The question startled him and he turned to smile at his woman. Rhiannon had been with him during the long months of work on the Great Western lines.
‘Just thinking,’ he said mildly. He never raised his voice to Rhiannon the way he did to the men who worked for him. Then he went on, ‘Just thinking that the work on the line isn’t progressing as it should. We’re at least three weeks behind.’
‘Well, love, you know as well as I do that some jobs always do take longer. It’s the weather as much as anything and no one can blame you for that.’
‘Still, it sticks in my craw that men like Seth O’Connor encourage the navvies to take time off on the lamest excuse. They claim they’re sick when they’re just full of beer and worn out with whoring.’
Rhiannon came closer, her eyes speaking volumes. ‘Well, Bull, a bit o’ that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’
He felt his loins begin to ache. Rhiannon had that effect on him. He stared at her, trying to analyse what it was about her that he needed. He felt affection for her, but not love. And she didn’t make him feel ten feet tall the way Katie Cullen did.
Rhiannon was lovely to look at even now, in her plain gown, the fullness of her breasts emphasized by her tiny waist. But she was a camp woman. She had been a camp woman when he met her and she had never pretended to be anything else. He wondered how many men she had slept with. She was only about twenty-two, with a fine skin browned by the sun and dark hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, but she had lived life to the full.
‘Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Bull?’ Her eyes slanted up at him. ‘Fancyin’ a bit of lovin’, are you, boy?’
‘Aye, but I’ve got work to do.’ He rested his hand on her shoulder.
‘What – now? It’s getting late, Bull, time you came home with me and let me look after you – like a wife would.’
Bull looked up at the dying sun, at the red seeping among the clouds that threatened more rain. More time lost, more days to spend living rough in a shed at the side of the track. ‘Don’t say that, Rhiannon.’
She hugged his arm. ‘I don’t really want to be your wife, I’m happy as I am.’ But she was lying, and they both knew it.
‘Go on you, make a brew and I’ll get back as soon as I’ve finished here.’ He needed to talk to the engineer: the next consignment of sleepers, bolts and screws had not been delivered, and no man could build a railway without the right tools. And later, when it was supper-time at the Big House, he would be seeing Katie again.
He found Cookson seated in the public bar of the Castle. The inn was crowded with navvies, and thick smoke filled the room, hanging like a pall over the heads of the drinkers.
‘Something wrong?’ The engineer indicated a chair. ‘Sit down and talk, man, I don’t like the look on your face.’
‘I need supplies.’ Bull sat opposite Cookson, aware of the other’s fine clothes, the crisp linen and good leather boots he wore. He rubbed his calloused hands along his moleskin trousers and vowed that one day he, too, would dress in fine clothes.
‘I know, and I’m making enough noise about them to wake the dead.’ Cookson smoothed his beard. ‘The materials are on their way, that’s all I can say.’ He waved to the landlord. ‘I’ll get you a beer. It’s time you relaxed a bit, man.’
Bull sank back in his seat. Cookson was right: he needed respite like everyone else. He closed his eyes briefly and a vision of the little Irish girl flashed into his mind.
‘Evenin’, sir, Bull.’
Bull looked up to see Dan O’Connor standing beside him. ‘Won’t take up much of your time. I jest wanted to say you did good to stop the men fussin’ that little girl. She was so frightened she was run over by a carriage, wasn’t she?’
Bull frowned. ‘It’s no thanks to your brother that she wasn’t killed. Your Seth was disrespectful to her, and if he acts like that again he’ll find himself out of a job.’
‘I know, and that’s why I’m offerin’ an apology, see? Seth don’t mean no harm – it’s just that the drink runs away with what little sense he’s got.’ He touched his forelock to Cookson. ‘Sorry to take up your time, sir, but I jest needed to have me say.’
When Dan had gone Cookson leaned forward in his seat. ‘I don’t know what he was referring to but I do know some of these navvies can’t behave properly around a decent woman.’
‘It was a young Irish girl, sir, Katie Cullen, sweet little thing, but no real harm done, I assure you.’
‘And that’s because you stepped in. You’re a good man to have around, Bull. I’ve got a lot of respect for you, and one day I hope to get you some kind of promotion. In the meantime, see the young girl in question gets an apology from me.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Bull said, smiling. Even if he was spotted hanging around the Big House he had the perfect excuse to do so now.
Katie saw him before he saw her. Bull Beynon was walking swiftly uphill and her heart lifted. She had escaped from the house without too much trouble although Cook had been more than a little suspicious when she said she needed some air.
‘Air?’ Mrs Grinter had sniffed. ‘Everyone knows night air does more harm than good. Still, I suppose this is one of your funny Irish ways.’ Mrs Grinter was never going to accept that Katie had been born and bred in Swansea.
Bull was coming nearer and Katie fell back into the shadow of the doorway. He did not see her until he was pushing open the back gate and walking up the path through the lavender bed.
As she looked at him now in the evening light she noticed that his hair was thick and springy, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal powerful arms. She felt a surge of triumph that such a man was even bothering to talk to her,
but that was quickly followed by common sense: he was so good-looking, so manly, that he probably had hordes of women chasing after him.
‘Evening, Miss Cullen,’ he said. ‘The engineer, Mr Cookson, asked me to give you his apologies for the men’s uncouth behaviour.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Katie felt disappointment. ‘I suppose that’s your only reason for coming all the way up here, is it?’
‘No, of course not,’ Bull said quickly, ‘I told you I’d be here and I always try to keep my word.’ He leaned against the wall of the house. ‘But if I’m asked any awkward questions I’ve got a good answer. I can hardly disobey my boss’s express wishes, can I?’
Katie smiled. ‘No, I suppose you can’t.’ She looked at him, not knowing what else to say. Why was she so stupid, so tongue-tied? She really wanted to make a good impression on him.
Suddenly the back door opened and Mrs Grinter was on the step. ‘What you up to, Katie Cullen?’ She stared at Bull in disapproval. ‘And who are you, might I ask?’
Bull smiled. ‘I’m Bull Beynon, foreman on the railway,’ he said easily. ‘My boss Mr Cookson was worried about Miss Cullen’s accident the other night and sent me up to apologize on his behalf.’
Mrs Grinter’s features softened. ‘Oh, I know all about the accident. Poor Katie was knocked down by Mr Morton-Edwards’ horses. That’s why he gave her a job, see?’
‘So the apology is accepted, is it?’ Bull was smiling and Katie could tell that Cook was charmed by him.
‘Well, yes, I suppose it is.’ Cook lingered on the doorstep. ‘I think Katie better come in now, though. Don’t do no good for a girl’s reputation to be alone with a man when it’s getting dark.’
Cook took her arm and Katie had no choice but to go into the house with her. She turned briefly to wave to Bull and then the door was closed.
‘He seems a nice man but you got to be careful of them navvies, whoever they are. Got a bad name, they have, as well you know. Now, girl, get off to your bed. You’ll have to start work proper tomorrow.’
Later as Katie lay and stared at the flickering candle flame on the washstand she felt like hugging herself. Bull liked her, he really did, and she was the happiest girl in all the world.
Bull was striding along the line away from the site of the blasting. Thankfully the rain had ceased in the last hour and he had been able to get some work done. He heard Seth O’Connor call a warning and looked up to see Katie Cullen coming towards him. ‘Damn it!’ He hurried towards her and took her by the shoulders. ‘Katie, what are you doing here? Don’t you know this is a dangerous area? We’re blasting rock any minute now, girl!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her face white. ‘This is a short-cut home. I have to collect the last of my things before the landlord lets the house to someone else. Am I really in danger?’
Bull was conscious of her sweet scent. ‘Of course you are. Come on, now, let me take you back to the road. You’ll have to call to the house later.’
He smiled, realizing that Katie was very aware of his hands on her shoulders: a rich colour had come into her face and she was looking at her boots.
‘How often do you get a day off?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Cook. What if I let you know when I get time off to fetch the rest of my things from Greenhill?’ She grinned. ‘Mind, I know what she’ll say – I’ve only just started work and I want days off already!’
‘I’d better arrange to meet you then, if only to stop you killing yourself on the workings here.’
‘I don’t want to give you any trouble. Look, I’d better go, I’ll see you again, I’m sure.’
Bull was disconcerted by her precipitous departure but as he watched her hurry away from him into the narrow streets of the east of the town, he knew that one day Katie Cullen would play an important part in his life.
CHAPTER THREE
Dafydd Buchan strode through the pottery yard, pushing back his unruly hair impatiently as he tried to imagine life as a married man. He paused in the vestibule of the offices and stared through the small glass window. He could see Shanni Morgan, head bent over a ledger, brow furrowed as she studied the figures on the page. Shanni had come a long way from her childhood, spent in the slums of Swansea.
Marriage suited her, he reflected. She had a bloom about her now that the rough edges had been knocked off the rebel child she once was, and the aura of a confident young woman had settled round her like a cloak. The change in the girl had been wrought by Llinos Mainwaring, who had educated Shanni and, more importantly, had told her always to hold her head high.
Llinos . . . His mind drifted to the days when he had lain in her arms, delighting in the passion he shared with her. She had been his darling then, and would always be his love. He would be with her now if he’d had the choice, but she had made her decision to return to her family and he had had to let her go.
He liked to think that she had left him and returned to her husband and child for duty rather than love. He knew that something magical was still between them, the attraction so heady, so irresistible, too strong a bond to break. The pain of her going had not left him and even now Dafydd yearned for her. Would he ever get her out of his mind, his heart?
He saw her in his dreams, smiling at him, sated and flushed with love. The thought of her brought the familiar heat to his loins, an urge to taste her sweetness, if only one more time, before he tied himself to Jayne Morton-Edwards in holy matrimony.
His eyes focused again on Shanni: tendrils of red-gold hair fell across her alabaster cheeks. As if attracted by his gaze she looked up at him and her face was illuminated with happiness. She was in love with him, had been from the time they first met. Even marriage to Pedr Morgan had not altered her feelings. She was a lovely girl with a fiery nature, but he would take Llinos Mainwaring before Shanni any day of the week.
He raised his hand in greeting and stood there for a moment, listening to the sounds of the pottery, which had brought him such satisfaction, more even than the farmlands he owned but had never worked – he had tenant farmers to do that for him.
Shanni made to rise from her chair but Dafydd was not in the mood for dalliance this morning. He had a fitting to attend and other matters to arrange so that his wedding should meet all expectations. Two of the richest families in Wales were going to be joined in marriage. It would not be a union made in heaven but Jayne was pretty enough, young, enthusiastic, and would probably be content with the outward trappings of a good marriage. And children, oh, yes, he wanted children – legitimate sons to take over his great fortune.
He was a man and he would find it easy to lie with his young bride. Besides, he needed relief from the pent-up feelings that plagued him day and night, and if that meant a darkened room and the image of Llinos behind his closed lids as he made Jayne his wife, so be it.
Swansea was bright with sunshine and it was market day: herds of cattle were penned behind wooden fencing in readiness for the sales that would take place later in the morning. Dafydd paused to inspect them. Some were from his own farmlands: they were well fed and strong, good animals for breeding as well as eating.
The tailor’s shop was housed in a long narrow building on the edge of the market, and as Dafydd let himself in a bell chimed, summoning Mr Perkins from the dimness of the interior.
‘Ah, Mr Buchan, your suit is almost ready. One more fitting and it will be finished.’ This man was the finest tailor in the whole of South Wales.
Grudgingly Dafydd allowed himself to be dressed in his wedding attire. He stared at his reflection in the long, speckled mirror, and saw himself as a man with an aura of youth still upon him although closer inspection would reveal lines of pain and disappointment around his eyes and mouth.
‘How is your brother, sir?’ Mr Perkins mumbled, through a mouthful of pins.
‘Not too well, Perkins. He was never strong but he can’t seem to shake off the fever he caught last winter.’
But it was mor
e than just the fever. Ceri had not been the same since the rioting back in ‘forty-three, when a crazed farmer had injured him. ‘I’m afraid, Perkins, that my brother grows weaker by the day.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir, sorry indeed.’ Mr Perkins slotted pins deftly into the turned-up cuffs of the jacket. ‘I hope he’s fit enough to attend your wedding, Mr Buchan. It would be a sad day if he missed such a glorious occasion.’
‘He’ll be there,’ Dafydd said, ‘but I think you’ll have to take in his suit a little. He has lost a great deal of weight in the last few months.’
‘Ah, poor man, and here am I with all this blubber!’ Mr Perkins clutched his stomach and shook it. ‘I sit all day, sir, and I love my food, and neither of those make for a trim figure.’
Dafydd wished Perkins would be quick about his business: standing in a gloomy room with the tailor fussing around him was not his idea of a good day. His thoughts turned to his meeting a few days ago with Jayne’s father. He resented the way the man had spoken to him, with barely concealed hostility. It seemed he would never be accepted as a suitable husband for Morton-Edwards’ precious daughter. But Dafydd knew that the root of the problem was that Eynon was in love with Llinos Mainwaring and would never forgive him for having become her lover. But Jayne could always get round her father.
It was with relief that Dafydd stepped back into the street where he smelt the rich aroma of meat pie and realized he was hungry. As he walked along the high street he felt the warmth of the sun on his face, and as the street broadened out he saw that the grass flourishing at the side of the road was dotted with wild flowers. It was good to be alive – and then he remembered his wedding. The euphoria vanished. Once he was married, Llinos would be lost to him for ever. But he must look forward now: Jayne was going to be his wife and one day she would bear him fine sons to take over his business empire.
