by Iris Gower
He didn’t speak and her anger boiled over. ‘That woman is the talk of the town, don’t you know that? She will never be allowed into polite society ever again, and all because of her affair with my husband. She is a harlot, and you are just as bad for getting involved with a woman of such low morals.’
‘Be careful, Jayne. Don’t overstep the mark or you will do more damage to our marriage than you realize.’
She wanted to beat him with her fists. He had stood beside her in the church, vowed to care for her and honour her. He had renounced all other women, but now she knew that those had been just words, and he had not meant them.
‘Is that a threat, Dafydd?’ She was frightened but her pride would not let her stop taunting him. ‘Do you really think you can make a fool of Eynon Morton-Edwards’ daughter and get away with it?’
‘And who is issuing threats now?’ He moved to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to calm down, and then you must think rationally about our marriage. If you want us to have a reasonable life together, you will learn to hold your tongue.’
He left her abruptly and she sank into a chair, tears flowing unchecked now that she knew the truth: he did not love her, had never loved her. Dafydd was her husband; he made love to her from time to time out of duty. All he hoped for from their union was ‘a reasonable life together’.
What was she to do? Speak to Papa? But that would confirm what he had thought all along, that the marriage had been made out of expediency not love.
She could talk to Papa’s friend, though: Father Martin had always been in Jayne’s life. He was a good man, a man of the cloth, and very wise. What a pity she had no women friends. Had Papa’s second wife lived she might have made a good confidante. Or would she? Even before Isabelle died she and Jayne had scarcely talked. Isabelle had been of the lower orders, and Jayne had never thought her good enough for her father.
She stood up and walked to the mirror hanging over the fireplace. She was young and pretty enough, with her pale hair and fine complexion, so any flaws Dafydd found in her must be in her character.
On impulse she rang the bell for the maid and almost at once Becky came in from the hallway, a duster still in her hand. ‘You wanted me, ma’am?’
‘Come along in, Becky, and close the door.’ For the first time Jayne heard her tone: she sounded haughty, as if she thought her maid a lesser being put on earth just to serve her. ‘I expect you’re busy getting ready for my father’s visit so I won’t take up much of your time.’
The girl’s face was tense: it was as if she was waiting for a rebuke from her mistress.
‘Don’t look so worried, you haven’t done anything wrong. I just wanted to talk to you.’ Jayne rubbed her wrists as if the cold had entered her bones, but it was her heart that was chilled, with pain and humiliation.
‘It’s my husband—’ She stopped. This was ridiculous – how could a maid, an unmarried girl, help her in her grief? She looked at Becky and knew it would be absurd to confide in her. ‘Be careful you marry for the right reasons,’ she said. The maid was looking at her as if she had grown two heads. ‘I mean, don’t marry in haste. You know what the old wives say about that, don’t you, Becky?’
‘I don’t want to seem cheeky or anything,’ Becky said humbly, ‘but I don’t want to marry anyone, not for a long time.’ She hesitated then rushed on. ‘I mean, it takes time to get to know each other – look at my mam and dad! They quarrelled all the time but it don’t mean they didn’t love each other, though.’
Jayne realized, for the first time, that servants were human beings, with thoughts and feelings. Still, she’d said enough. Becky had evidently heard her argue with Dafydd and there was little point in feeding the servants’ gossip even more.
‘Well,’ she spoke more briskly, ‘I just wanted to tell you that there is no need to put out fresh linen for the master. He will be dining out tonight.’
Becky nodded. The news was not unexpected: the servants had noticed that Mr Buchan was absent whenever Mr Morton-Edwards came to call.
When the door closed behind the girl, Jayne stood at the window, staring out over the gardens, the fields and the hills that rolled away into the distance. She was Dafydd’s wife. One day, God willing, she would have his children and they would bind him closer to her than any gold wedding band.
‘So there was an accident up at Pyle.’ Bull was sitting in front of the fire in his shack, his feet up on a stool. ‘Seems the line broke, and with the high winds and poor conditions, the engine toppled over. No harm done, though, no one hurt.’
Rhiannon was not paying much attention: she was hanging his clothes to dry on the makeshift line stretched across the narrow confines of the hut. He frowned, wondering how to break the news that he would be leaving her.
‘I’m going to be given a house.’
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her full breasts straining against the rough cloth of her gown. ‘Oh, aye, and who is going to give us a house, Bull? I’m not daft, mind. Nobody gives us anything for nothing, not folks like us.’
‘Well, it’s Mr Cookson’s doing.’
‘So, a manager gets a house instead of a shack, is that what you’re telling me, Bull?’
‘Yes, but there’s more I need to say, so come and sit here and stop fiddling with the clothes.’
Rhiannon sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. ‘All right, go on, I’m listening.’ She smiled up at him, as if humouring a child.
‘Things will have to change when I’m a manager.’ He knew suddenly that he should have talked to her a long time ago.
‘Well, I expect you will have to go away sometimes.’ Rhiannon sounded fearful, and Bull grasped now what he was about to do to her.
‘I expect I will, sometimes.’ He cursed himself for being a thoughtless fool.
‘It will mean the end of us, won’t it?’ Her voice was calm but her hands were shaking. ‘Bull, answer me, will I be coming with you to this house you’ve been given?’
He tried to imagine Rhiannon surrounded by respectable neighbours who knew she was a camp woman. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it might all be a pipe-dream. I’m supposed to be loaned one of the houses on the Neath road but nothing is sure yet.’
‘Bull,’ she gazed up at him yearningly, ‘I’m going to lose you, I know it. You’ll need a good woman to marry when you’re a respected manager, won’t you?’
He got to his feet. ‘We’re talking about something that might not happen. I’m going down to the Castle now because I need to talk to some of the boys about the work on the line tomorrow.’ He smiled down at her. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world to work things out.’
He left the shanty beside the half-constructed line and made his way onto the road. Rhiannon had been right: she would have no place in his future when he became a manager. Then he thought of Katie, and of how the way he led his life would affect her. She had no idea he was living with Rhiannon, and he knew she would be upset when she discovered that he was keeping a woman.
He should have been truthful with Katie from the beginning, he thought, and he should have made Rhiannon understand that he could never take her as a wife. But he did not want to think of Rhiannon alone in the hut waiting for a man who would never come home.
He heard the laughter, saw the welcoming light spilling from the Castle, and quickened his pace. He would drink with the men and forget everything except that he, Bull Beynon, was going up in the world.
Rhiannon stared into the hot coals of the fire, which glowed so fiercely that even the bars of the brazier seemed alight. So it was over. Bull was going to leave her and live on his own in a posh house.
She looked behind her towards the bed they shared. She had lain beside Bull for many months now, close as two people could be. He had been such a tender lover, so kind and respectful even though he knew of her past. She loved him as she would never love any other man.
The tears came then, running down her cheeks and splashing on to her work-roughened hands. How
could she bear to be separated from him, to lie in bed alone or, worse, to be passed from man to man? That life was over for her now, she could never go back to being a harlot as the price of a bed for the night.
If only she had borne Bull a child he would never have left her: he was too much of a gentleman for that. He would have married her and brought up their baby as respectably as he knew how.
Rhiannon went to the door and looked out at the chilly night. There were no stars and the skies were overcast, not even a hint of the moon showing in the darkness. The tears would not stop flowing and she wiped then away impatiently. What good would crying do her? It would not make Bull love her in the way a man should love a woman.
She strained to see in the darkness but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he would not come home tonight. She was frozen when she closed the door of the shack and crawled into bed to lie there shivering. This was how her life would be from now on, as a woman alone in the world with no one to care if she lived or died.
‘Bull, my love,’ she sobbed, ‘come home and love me just one more time.’ But the only answer was the wind sighing through the trees behind the track.
‘I know this will remain between us, Father.’ Jayne looked at the vicar’s plump, jovial face and smiled: even as he grew older Father Martin still managed to look like an overgrown baby.
‘Of course, my dear Jayne. Whatever you tell me is kept here.’ He tapped his broad forehead and then his heart. ‘I’m a man of the cloth, and it is my duty to keep confidences.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘Now, tell me what bothers you.’
‘You mustn’t say anything to Papa. I know you are his oldest friend but I don’t want him interfering in my life.’
‘Jayne, my lips are sealed, I promise.’ He sat opposite her, his arms resting on his sturdy legs; he looked so wholesome, so reassuring that Jayne relaxed.
‘It’s my marriage, Martin.’ She spoke in a low voice. ‘I don’t think Dafydd loves me. I think he married me because it was in his best interest to do so.’
‘What has made you feel like this?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, has Dafydd been unfaithful to you, has he been unkind in any way, is he neglecting you? What is it?’
Jayne shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s just that I have a feeling that things are not right between us.’
Martin leaned forward and took her hand. ‘Feelings come and go like the tide, Jayne, especially in women.’
Jayne smiled. Martin was not married so his experience of womanly behaviour was limited.
‘Ah, I can see you smiling but remember, Jayne, someone on the outside, like me, sees more than those who are in the midst of trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m in trouble and Dafydd doesn’t ill-treat me, and I don’t think he’s unfaithful to me, except perhaps in his mind.’
Martin held her hand more tightly. He was trying to be serious but she could see the laughter lines around his eyes.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘I’m not laughing – but tell me, Jayne, what man on God’s earth has not been unfaithful in his mind? Even I, Jayne, sometimes lust after a woman. It’s only human nature for a man to look at women and think carnal thoughts from time to time.’
‘Is it?’ Jayne was surprised by his answer. ‘I thought the Bible tells us that even carnal thoughts are wrong.’
Martin kissed her fingers playfully, his large belly quivering on his lap.
‘Well,’ Jayne continued, ‘perhaps I’m being silly but Dafydd does go out every time my father visits us and it makes me suspicious.’
‘Rubbish! It just means your husband is not comfortable with Eynon.’
‘So you think I’m being fanciful?’
‘You are a young girl, Jayne, and you know little of the ways of the world, but you must realize that a wife is everything to a man. He might have a mistress but if he is discreet no one blinks an eyelid. You must understand that it means nothing – a mistress never takes the place of a wife.’
Jayne did not like the idea that a man was almost expected to keep a mistress. She felt more confused than ever. Did Dafydd ever have the opportunity to be unfaithful? She supposed he did every day of the week – so why would he choose the evenings on which her father visited to go to another woman? He was more intelligent than that.
‘I am being silly, aren’t I? It’s just that I know Dafydd and Llinos Mainwaring . . . Well,’ she shrugged, ‘you know as much as I do about that.’
‘That’s in the past, Jayne.’ Father Martin was serious now. ‘I know Llinos, and I believe she would do nothing to hurt you.’
‘Do you really think that?’
‘Llinos is a complex woman who has done things that I can’t condone, but she is an honest soul. Believe me, now that Dafydd is married she will keep away from him.’
‘Thank you, Father Martin.’ Jayne hugged him. ‘I feel so much better for talking to you.’ She kissed his plump cheek.
He pinched her chin. ‘Now, get on home to your husband and next time I see you I want to know you’re happy.’
When Jayne left the manse, all her doubts about Dafydd and Llinos had vanished. If Father Martin was right, she had nothing to fear: Dafydd was her man and, as the vicar had pointed out, she was the one he had married.
She smoothed her hand over her stomach. Soon, very soon, she would be carrying Dafydd’s son, and when that day came, he would be bound to her for ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
In the office Shanni glanced up and saw that the light was going. She was alone in the building but she did not feel lonely: from outside she could hear the voices of the men working on the kilns, which needed to be kept at a constant heat until the pots were baked: the fires around the perimeter of the walls had to be kept burning throughout the night.
Shanni closed the account books and placed them on the shelf behind her with a sigh of satisfaction. She was proud of her work: she had come a long way from the pathetic young girl living in the slums of Swansea. She accepted that her climb up the ladder had been due largely to Llinos Mainwaring’s kindness, and she was grateful for all Llinos had done, but Shanni had made most progress through her own intelligence and effort.
Llinos had been given everything in life but had thrown it away to have a sordid liaison with Dafydd. It was true that Dafydd was handsome, and Shanni was attracted to him although she had never made love with him. But would she if he asked her? She pushed away the uncomfortable thoughts and put the rest of the papers in the desk drawer.
A sound in the outer office brought her to her feet. Who could be in the building at this late hour? The door opened.
‘Shanni?’ Dafydd’s voice was a shock, and Shanni felt his presence as warmly as if he had taken her into his arms. He stood in the doorway, bringing with him a breath of cold air from outside. ‘Why aren’t you at home with your husband?’
‘And why aren’t you home with your wife?’ The minute she spoke she knew she had said the wrong thing.
‘As your employer I don’t explain myself to you, Shanni,’ he said curtly, and she bit her lip, cursing herself for a stupid, tactless fool.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I was being facetious and I apologize.’
He smiled. ‘Llinos did a good job on you, Shanni!’
‘She helped me, of course, but I had the brains to learn my lessons well,’ Shanni protested.
‘Well,’ Dafydd came into the room, ‘I should tell you not to lose your temper, but with your red hair and sparks flying from your lovely eyes you look good enough to eat.’
Shanni opened her mouth then closed it again abruptly. He was flirting with her. Dafydd, the man she had loved for so long, was noticing her as a woman not just as an employee. Her nerves were tingling, and she was aware of his scent as he stood close to her.
He sat down on the edge of her desk. ‘I might as well confess that I get bored with my wife sometimes,’ he said. ‘I came down to the pottery fo
r something to do that did not involve domestic things.’ He smiled. ‘That’s my excuse for being here. What’s yours?’
‘Pedr is away on pottery business, as you well know, and I didn’t feel like going back to an empty house just yet.’
He looked at her seriously. ‘We never have been reduced to talking about domestic issues, have we? You and I were too involved in fighting the injustice of the toll gates while all my wife thinks of is the next supper party and which of her rich, spoiled friends to invite.’ He made a gesture of dismissal. ‘I’m being disloyal to Jayne. I’m not saying she’s brainless, not at all, but she concentrates on the trivialities of life.’
‘She’s been brought up that way.’ Why was she defending Jayne, Shanni wondered. She did not even like the girl. ‘I’m afraid her father indulged her too much. She’ll grow up, given time, I’m sure.’
Dafydd took her hand. ‘You’re a wise owl for one still so young, but you had to fight for survival, didn’t you?’
‘I certainly did.’ She thought of the slum where she had been born, Fennel Court: a lovely name for a dreadful, poverty-ridden place. ‘And you’re right, I should be grateful to Llinos Mainwaring. I’d still be living in squalor if it wasn’t for her.’
‘Come here, you look so sorry for yourself.’ Dafydd drew her slowly towards him. ‘You’re a bright girl and you’d have got out of the slums one way or another, I’m sure.’
He bent forward as if to kiss her but Shanni jerked away from him. ‘I know you’re flattering me but you shouldn’t, Dafydd. What are you trying to prove to me?’
