by Iris Gower
It clearly was not, Watt mused. Troy was a place in a story he had read about the Greeks, it was nowhere near America. He finished his ale and put some coins on the table.
‘I’d better get back, I’ve got an early start in the morning,’ he said.
‘Well, give my love to all them up at the row, Jim Cooper and his wife, all of them.’ Ben smiled toothlessly. ‘Tell them I miss ’em all.’
Poor Ben, his mind was going; Jim Cooper had died the night of the flood. The old man no longer knew dreams from reality. ‘I’ll do that, Ben.’ Watt rested his hand for a moment on the other man’s shoulder noting the jutting bones beneath Ben’s jacket with a feeling of pity. He had worked hard all his life to end his days living with a niece who found him nothing more than a nuisance. Surely life had more than that to offer?
‘Night, Bertie,’ he said. The man did not reply, he simply touched his greasy cap, his piggy eyes averted. As Watt walked home through the darkness of the streets, he suddenly felt a sense of depression rest on him. He was young and strong, and yet he was in a rut, no doubt about it. He wanted more, lots more, but somehow he did not quite know how to achieve it.
‘Watt!’ The voice was low and he looked around, wondering where it was coming from. ‘Up here.’
She was framed in the candlelight from her bedroom: Lily, the girl who had aroused the urges, the feelings of restlessness in him. Without pausing to think, he was climbing up the rough stone exterior of the house, clinging to the creepers until he was on a level with Lily’s lovely face.
He longed to kiss her. Her silky hair touched his cheek and he almost lost his grip on the windowsill.
‘Don’t let anyone see you or I’ll be thrown out of here,’ Lily said anxiously. ‘My landlady is very strict about men callers.’
He was glad to hear that, it meant that Lily was safe from predators. ‘Give me a quick kiss goodnight then, Lily.’ He was amazed at his own daring. She leaned over the sill and for a brief heady moment, her lips touched his, and then she retreated inside, closing the window and pulling the curtains.
Watt lowered himself back into the road and stood for a moment looking up at the moon, wanting to bay at it like a hound. A huge wave of exultation swept through him, he had kissed her, he had actually kissed Lily and she had allowed it.
His head was held high as he returned along Pottery Row towards the gates of the pottery. He felt ten feet tall, his heart swelled within his chest and he laughed out loud. He was buoyant, the world before him, his oyster. He could do anything he wanted to. He was a man.
Bert Cimla smiled to himself as he drank down his ale: it was a good thing young Watt did not remember him from his time at the pottery. Ah, those were the days; days when he had lived like a king. It was when Captain Savage was missing believed killed that Bert had moved in to marry Gwen Savage, charming her with his good looks and sweet tongue. She had been a silly bitch and that daughter of hers no better, but he had, for a brief time, enjoyed the good life. He had led a lazy existence with Gwen fawning over him.
Gwen had adored him, thinking herself lucky to get another man at her age. She had been no good between the sheets though he had made the most of it, taking possession of her whenever he felt like it and enjoying the way she gave in to any demand he might make. He would have liked to bed the girl, Llinos, with her small breasts and soft, young skin. But she had been too hoity-toity to return his enthusiasm and, when Gwen had died, Bert had been forced to flee from Swansea. Still, he was back now and if he could do Llinos Savage and that Indian husband of hers a mischief he would not hesitate. In the meantime he would sit by the fire and enjoy his drink and ponder on the time when he would have his revenge.
‘Well, Eynon, how is the porcelain selling?’ Llinos sat in the drawing room of Eynon’s house and regarded her friend steadily. He had become a stronger person since the death of his father. It was as though the flood which had extinguished the life of Phillip Morton-Edwards had released something in Eynon: a new strength of purpose, the desire to do well in the world of china.
‘The latest botanical designs have found favour with the London dealers,’ he said easily. ‘Though we still have a great number of breakages, over all the Tawe Pottery is doing very well. But then you know that, don’t you, shrewd little businesswoman that you are.’
She put her head on one side in an uncharacteristically flirtatious gesture. ‘I keep myself well informed, especially where my dearest, oldest friend is concerned. Tell me, have you met a lady-love yet?’
He leaned forward and took her hand in his. ‘You are my lady-love, always were, always will be.’
‘Seriously, Eynon, you must find a wife, settle down.’
‘Why must I?’
‘I don’t like to think of you alone, that’s why.’
He sighed. ‘I am content to be as I am. You know I’m doing some china decorating of my own, now, don’t you?’
‘Of course, you always were a fine artist.’
‘Ah, well, that’s a matter of opinion.’ He fell silent for a moment. His face in repose reflected a mood of sadness.
‘What is it, Eynon, what’s wrong?’ Llinos grasped his hands more tightly. ‘You aren’t sick, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine but I’m afraid Mr Wright is sick. It’s clear he will never work again.’ He frowned. ‘It’s his lungs, I think the china dust has something to do with it, the poor man can hardly breathe.’
‘But why should you think it’s the china? Many of us have worked in the potteries and if what you say is correct we should all be sick.’
‘Nothing is as simple as that, Llinos,’ he said gently. ‘Mr Wright is an old man, he might have a weaker constitution than most folk, there’s no telling.’
‘In any case you are going to shoulder the responsibility and pay for his keep for the rest of his life, is that it?’
Eynon nodded. ‘You would do the same, you know you would.’
‘I suppose so. Ah, here’s the tea.’ She looked up at the maid. ‘Thank you, Maura, put the tray down there.’
The girl did not obey, her eyes downcast, and Llinos knew she was not forgiven for her association with Binnie Dundee. It was as though Maura somehow blamed her for all the wrongs life had dealt her: the loss of her husband and even the tragic death of her child. In any event, Maura had never warmed to Llinos.
‘I’ll have to be getting home shortly,’ Llinos said, aware that Maura was still awaiting instruction from Eynon, the tray balanced in her hands. On no account was she going to take orders from Llinos. Ah well, a few more minutes with Eynon and Llinos would return home, make sure Father was comfortable for the night.
‘Please put down the tray, Maura, and thank you.’ He turned towards Llinos. ‘How is your father?’ It was as if Eynon had picked up on her thoughts and she smiled.
‘You are as bad as Joe, reading my mind like that. He’s all right, there’s no change in his condition, really.’
‘Poor Lloyd, I’m so glad I passed my shares in the Savage Pottery back to him when I did.’
‘That was a most generous gesture, Eynon, typical of your kindness.’
‘Well, I only came into the pottery to help out, you know that. I don’t need shares in your business, I have money enough of my own, more than enough.’
‘Still, it was good of you and I know my father appreciated it.’ She sighed and waited for Maura to leave the room before speaking again.
‘My father is talking of dying,’ she swallowed hard. ‘He asked Joe to help him. Oh, Eynon, I’m so miserable about it all.’
Eynon nodded slowly. ‘I’m so sorry, Llinos, but I think I can understand how Lloyd feels. He has suffered ever since he came back from the war. In spite of that, he has led a dignified life and he wishes his death to come easily and quickly. Who can blame him?’
‘But it’s asking too much of Joe, he can’t do it.’ She looked pleadingly at Eynon, begging him to understand but he shook his head.
; ‘Why not? He has the knowledge and the means to ease your father out of his suffering. I can’t believe that to be a bad thing.’
Llinos bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears; the trouble was, she half-agreed with Eynon. It wasn’t fair that her father should be dragging through his last days in pain, unable to perform the simplest tasks for himself. And yet she wasn’t willing for Joe to be the one to administer a fatal dose of medicine. She took a deep breath.
‘Well, let’s change the subject. I’m sorry, Eynon, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this.’
Eynon rose to his feet. ‘Look, let me come up to the house with you. I’ll go in and see Lloyd, talk to him. Perhaps in some way I can be of help.’
She was grateful. ‘Will you come up tomorrow instead? He will be asleep by now. Tomorrow you might be able to take his mind off his suffering for a while,’ she said huskily.
Unable to bear her pain, she rose, crossed to the window and stood looking out. The evening was dark with rain clouds covering the moon. She shivered, wishing for the spring, for the promise of fine days and sunshine, and perhaps for her father a release. But how could she think that, how could she wish him dead? She rubbed her eyes; she was confused, she was allowing the dullness of winter to dull her own mind. One thing she had determined on: while her father lived and breathed he would have the best care she could give him.
Eynon stood beside her and stared out into the night. ‘Why not let Joe do it, Llinos? It would be so much kinder.’
Llinos shook her head, too disturbed to speak. She couldn’t ask it of him; it would be against his principles. But she could do it, a small voice inside her said, she could ask Joe how to prepare the medication and just administer an over-large dose.
When she returned home Joe was sitting in a chair bathed in firelight. His skin appeared redgold, his hair had a sheen of blue-black. She smiled as he looked up at her.
‘Eynon is still in love with you, you know that, don’t you, Llinos?’
‘Nonsense! We are old friends, that’s all.’
‘Come here.’
She knelt on the rug before him and rested her head on his knee. She could feel his hand gently caressing her neck and she closed her eyes as a wave of happiness washed over her. She was so fortunate, so blessed to have a husband like Joe. He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear.
‘I want to take you to bed, Llinos.’
She rose in one swift movement. ‘You don’t have to ask twice.’ She held out her hand, he took it and together they left the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE LAST WEEKS of winter had been bitter but now it was as though spring had suddenly burst forth. Daffodils cast splashes like sunlight on grassy verges and the birds were flying in pairs, calling sweetly on the warmer air. And Lloyd Savage still lingered against his will in a world that held only pain.
‘Joe, get on with it, will you?’ Lloyd heard the irritation in his voice and regretted it, knowing that without Joe’s kindness he would be far worse off. The medication and the balm with which Joe covered the open ulcers on Lloyd’s legs provided relief which the doctor’s medicine did not.
Lloyd watched Joe’s hands; strong, lean, brown-gold in the spring sunshine. He was a fine man, a man of many talents. He was wealthy in his own right and yet Lloyd could still find it within himself to wish Llinos had married someone more suitable.
Joe looked at him. The blue eyes were piercing, it was as if he knew exactly what Lloyd was thinking. Lloyd shook his head as if to clear it.
‘Do you believe in an afterlife, Joe?’
Joe moved to the table and began to wash his hands in the basin. He took up a cloth and returned to the bedside before replying. ‘You know I do.’
‘Even with all the education your father provided you still believe in heathen ways?’ Lloyd felt the urge to ruffle the other man’s dignity.
‘Are Christians heathens then?’ Joe smiled. ‘They believe as I do that there is a great source of light and power out there, that humans are spiritual beings and need to spend time in contemplation.’
‘Do you have to be so sanctimonious?’ Lloyd demanded. ‘So damn superior all the time. Why have I no grandsons?’ His abrupt change of tack should have discomfited Joe but the man merely smiled.
‘The children will come. When the time is right, there will be grandchildren, have no fear about that.’
‘But I will not live to see them.’ Lloyd felt tears bum his eyes. His tone became conciliatory, pleading. ‘Joe, I need to die, why can’t you help me?’
‘You know why.’ Joe moved towards the window. ‘I shall have some hot cordial sent to you. You can take the draught I prepared for you, then you will feel better.’ He twitched the curtain aside and the sunlight slanted over the bed, pale but with the promise of sunnier weather to come.
‘Soon, you will be able to sit outside. You can watch the flowers grow, see the buds come to life, listen to the birds sing. Life is sweet, don’t wish it away before it’s time.’
When Joe had gone, Lloyd leaned back against the pillows. His legs were easier now, that was good stuff Joe had applied even though it was green and evil-smelling.
When Meggie came in with his drink he took it gratefully, knowing that soon his spirits would rise, the pain would ebb to a dull ache. These times were almost happy, until the pain began to bite again. But the times of respite were becoming shorter, the pain more fierce.
Llinos came into the room, her dark hair hanging like a cloud around her shoulders. Her skin glowed, her eyes were bright. He had to admit that, being in love suited her.
‘Why are you going around the place like a hoyden?’ he demanded. ‘Why haven’t you tied up your hair like any other decent woman?’
‘Oh hush, Father, stop being an old grouch, I’m not going anywhere so why should I dress up?’
He studied her figure, slim as ever beneath the high-waisted gown. Her breasts were pearly, fuller than they used to be but now she was a married woman, a fulfilled woman and he suddenly felt old and useless.
‘I wish I was young again,’ he said. ‘I remember when I was first in love with your mother. Gwen was so beautiful she clear took my breath away. Why did she marry that man? Bert Cimla was a scoundrel by all accounts. Why are women so wrong in their choice of men and why did my wife lose faith in me?’ He twitched the bedclothes in irritation. ‘She should have known I would come home to her. I always did.’
Llinos shivered, her memories of Bert Cimla were all bad. ‘Father, we had news of your death, remember?’ She adjusted the blankets and Lloyd shook his head.
‘She didn’t wait long to find someone else, though, did she? I loved her so much. I wouldn’t have gone to war but I believed it was my duty as a gentleman to fight that damned Napoleon.’
He heard his daughter sigh. Had he said all this before? His memory was not as sharp as it had been.
‘Don’t curse, Father!’ She smiled and touched his cheek. ‘Gentlemen do not give voice to oaths in the presence of ladies.’
He caught her hands. ‘I do appreciate it you know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I know you and Joe are well matched and I could not ask for a better son-in-law.’
She sat on the chair beside the bed still holding his hand. ‘But?’
‘But why didn’t you marry Eynon Morton-Edwards? Then the two potteries would have become one. Your fortunes would be merged, your knowledge, your skills. The Savage Pottery would have been the finest in the whole of Britain.’
‘It would not have been the Savage Pottery then, Father,’ she said mildly. ‘I’m sure Eynon would have wanted to keep the name of the Tawe Pottery, the way it had always been. In any case, I don’t love Eynon. You know that.’
He thought about it and nodded. ‘I expect you are right. Read to me, Llinos.’
‘What shall I read, Father? Some poetry, perhaps?’
‘No, read me something from the Bible. Find something comforting.’
He watched her move
to the bookshelf and take down the worn leather Bible. She returned to her seat and balanced the Bible on her knee. He heard the rustle of pages as she searched and closed his eyes, feeling the hot sun through the window as though it was high summer.
‘This is from the Epistle of James, Father.’ Llinos began to read. ‘“Blessed is the man who endureth temptation, for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him.”’
Lloyd was beginning to drift into sleep, it was soothing listening to his daughter’s voice. And the words she read seemed appropriate, he had endured the temptation to die for so very long. Wasn’t he due now for his ‘crown of life’? Was Joe merely comforting him when he encouraged him to wait for the spring buds, the sunshine, the promise of a few good weeks? Probably. More words drifted towards him but they were becoming distant, meaningless.
‘Let every man be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.’
Lloyd sighed and abandoned himself to the sweet, soft darkness.
Llinos woke abruptly. The warm sun and the soft breathing of her father had lulled her into sleep. She still held the Bible on her knee; how long she had been sitting there like that she had no idea. She became aware of Joe standing beside the bed, of the sheets drawn up over her father’s face. She looked up at her husband and he nodded.
‘Lloyd is dead.’
There were no tears to shed. She had wept enough when her father was alive. Llinos felt carved from rock; she did not want to think or feel, just to sit and stare at the white sheet which concealed the man who once was her father. A loving father who had lifted her high into the air, swinging the child towards the heavens, his eyes alight with love. The father who had laughed and played and then had gone away to war.
She took a deep breath. There were things to be done, she could not leave it all to Joe.
‘We’ll call the women in to see to my father,’ she said. She handed Joe the Bible and moved slowly to the window, pulling the curtains across, closing out the sunshine.
‘It must be Celia, Father would have wanted her.’ Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears.
