by Iris Gower
‘I’m so sorry, miss, I didn’t think, I was that upset.’
‘It’s all right, Meggie.’ Llinos spoke woodenly, her thoughts flying beyond the confining walls of the house, trying to reach Joe wherever he was. ‘Don’t cry, everything is going to be all right.’ She took a deep breath to try to steady her breathing.
‘Listen, Meggie, when Mr Mainwaring left this morning, did he say where he was going?’
‘No. I don’t know. I couldn’t look at him, miss, not after last night, not after them men took the captain away all because I blabbed.’
‘Think, Meggie, please try to think. This is very important.’
Meggie squeezed her eyes together as if closing her eyelids would enable her to think more clearly. It seemed to work. The maid opened her eyes and looked at Llinos with a glow of triumph in them.
‘I’ve remembered! He was going to see the judge. He was going to see Judge Cornwall, that’s the name he said.’
‘Good girl! Fetch my cloak, Meggie, and have the carriage brought around. I’ll go to see Judge Cornwall myself.’
Meggie moved to do her bidding with alacrity, happy to do all she could to make amends. At the door she turned. ‘Please, miss, while you’re waiting, try to drink some tea. I think it will make you feel better.’
Llinos stared through the window, impatient to be outside in the lightness of the day. Everything had happened so quickly: her father’s death, the baby and then this . . . this ridiculous situation, the foolish accusations levelled at Joe on nothing more than the suspicion of a servant girl.
Prejudice was at the bottom of all this. The suspicion voiced against Joe was the deep-seated, ignorant suspicion of anything foreign. Anger flared through her. How dare they treat Joe as if he were a criminal?
Her defiance faded and she clasped her hands together. The suspicion that poison had killed her father could turn into certainty. No-one in Swansea understood the ways of the American Indians or their methods of healing. If the doctor and his lot thought they had a case against Joe, it would lead to Joe being imprisoned waiting a trial and that didn’t bear thinking about.
She tried to imagine him in one of the small, dark rooms of the castle, surrounded by thieves and murderers, and shuddered. Joe was meant to be free, like the birds of the sky, a spirit flying above the rivers and mountains. He would die in prison. It could not happen, it must not happen.
She pulled her cloak around her shoulders with little care for her appearance. Now all her thoughts were with Joe.
She shivered, wondering what he was doing, what he was saying in his own defence. She felt tears bum against her lashes; weak tears, tears that would do no-one any good. She brushed them away impatiently and, pulling back her hair, tied it loosely with a ribbon. As she hugged her cloak around her, suddenly she felt small, insignificant. How could she pit her weak strength against the might of the men of Swansea who wielded such influence and power? She tried to think clearly. Should she see a lawyer? Perhaps she needed advice right now, someone to point her in the right direction. To lead her to the people who knew the law.
She did not remember walking out through the front door. She felt the freshness of the breeze on her cheeks and the sting of tears was there, bringing her to her senses.
‘What on earth is all this nonsense in the Cambrian?’ Eynon folded the paper over and stared at the article headed, ‘American-Indian suspected of murder.’
He looked up at the pink-faced man in clerical garb seated across the table from him. ‘Have you seen this, Martin?’
‘No, I haven’t had a chance to read the paper. Anyway, what’s important enough to distract me from my enjoyment of these devilled kidneys and hot bacon? I ask you!’
‘It’s Joe Mainwaring, they think he killed his father-in-law. It’s absurd!’
‘Ah, the husband of the beautiful Llinos is in trouble. I see you are still hopelessly in love with her, then?’
‘Martin, I asked you to visit in the hope your company would prove a distraction. The last thing I intended was that you focus my mind on what I may not have.’ Eynon threw the paper down on the table. ‘In any case, whatever I feel for Llinos, I certainly don’t want to see her husband falsely accused of anything as dreadful as murder.’
Father Martin bit into a round of toast, savouring the salty butter that melted on his tongue. He chewed in silence for a moment, his pale blue eyes staring out of the window as if trying to seek guidance in the light clouds.
‘Are you sure the accusation is false?’ he said at last.
‘Look, I know Joe, he’s a good man. He cared for Lloyd these past months as if he were a baby. No-one could do better for him than Joe did.’
‘And he didn’t believe in the mercy of a release from pain helped by his potions? Can you be sure about that?’
‘I am sure.’ Eynon spoke emphatically.
‘I see. Well in that case, dear friend, go and put in a word for the man. You are one of the richest men in Swansea so your word should carry more than a little weight.’
‘You are right of course. You are always right. Why I befriend you at all, I don’t know. After all, what are you? A poor servant of God and one who seems destined to be shuffled from one diocese to another.’ Eynon was smiling.
‘I could take offence, you know.’ Martin dabbed his lips with a spotless napkin. ‘But as you provide such good food and shelter I will not, at least not on this occasion.’
‘Very wise.’ Eynon pushed back his chair. ‘Will you excuse me, Martin? I shall take your advice for once and go into town and find out what this nonsense is really all about.’
‘Excuse you? I’m coming with you, dear friend. Would I allow you to walk into the lion’s den without a man of God at your side?’
‘You mean you fancy a look at the pretty cockle maidens selling their wares in the market, I suppose.’
‘That too.’ Martin heaved a great sigh of satisfaction and patted his rounded belly. ‘That was a feast for a king, it will last me until luncheon – maybe.’
‘And maybe not.’ Eynon led the way out of the dining room. ‘Carriage or horseback?’ he asked glancing over his shoulder.
‘Oh the carriage, definitely. You couldn’t expect a man to ride after such a feast could you?’
‘Come along then, you sluggard, the carriage it is.’
It was an unexpectedly sunny morning. Towards the horizon the sea glinted as though lit with a thousand candles. The sandy bay, curving like an arm towards the headland of Mumbles, appeared almost white, ruffled into small scallops by the feet of many fishermen.
Eynon leaned back against the cracked leather of the seat and stared musingly through the window of the carriage. Llinos must be beside herself with fear, she had never been parted from Joe since the day they had married.
The closely built streets of the town were quiet, the dominating presence of the castle casting shadows into the Strand. Perhaps even now Joe was languishing behind the grey stone walls, imprisoned by those who trusted nothing that was unfamiliar. But no, events would not move that swiftly. Formalities would have to be observed, the presiding judge consulted. A meeting of the influential men of the town, including himself, would be arranged, and he had been given no notice of such a meeting taking place.
‘Where shall we begin?’ Martin said and placed a plump hand over his mouth to stifle a loud belch.
‘I expect it would be wise to find out if Judge Cornwall is in town,’ Eynon said. ‘He usually lodges at the Castle Hotel with the frighteningly efficient Mrs Singleton.’
His driver, already primed, drew the carriage in at the entrance of the hotel and Eynon gestured for Martin to precede him.
‘You first, dear friend,’ Martin said apologetically. ‘I fear I ate too much breakfast and at any moment now there will be something of a high and maybe noisy wind filling your carriage.’
Eynon shook his head and stepped out onto the roadway. His friend was incorrigible. He was also a rebel, holding
some unorthodox views about the God he served. It was no wonder he was moved from church to church with some haste.
The judge, it transpired, was indeed in Swansea, having been summoned by the leading industrialists of the town. At this very moment, his clerk informed Eynon, the judge was in chambers and must not be disturbed.
‘It seems you have been forestalled,’ Martin whispered. ‘I think this matter might well be a serious one.’
Eynon had no doubt that it was serious. The judge had been sent for, that was indication enough that matters had progressed beyond mere accusations and suspicions. The piece in the Cambrian had mentioned that Lloyd’s body had been taken to the mortuary and was being examined for traces of poison. That the situation was serious was self-evident.
‘We’d better take the carriage and get round to the chambers, try to see the judge there. At least we can find out what’s going on,’ Eynon said.
It took only a few minutes to travel the short distance from the Castle Hotel to the chamber buildings near the docks. Eynon led the way inside and stared above the head of the clerk at the desk.
‘I wish to speak with Judge Cornwall,’ he said in clipped tones. The man looked him up and down before politely asking him to take a seat. Eynon sat beside Martin and fumed with impatience. He wasn’t used to being stalled by a mere clerk. After half an hour or so had passed with no sign of the judge appearing, Eynon rose and spoke to the man standing behind the desk.
‘Is the judge free yet?’
The man looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. ‘Judge Cornwall is still in consultation with several elders of the town, sir.’
‘Damnation! Why did you not tell me this right away?’
‘I am sorry, sir, I know nothing about the matter. I’m only trying to do my duty.’
Eynon returned to where Martin was sitting. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what is going on but I intend to find out.’ The clerk protested as Eynon strode along the corridor opening doors and peering through windows trying to locate the room where the meeting was being held. Once, he glanced through a high, outer window and the shadow of the castle fell over him like a warning of something ill-fated about to happen. He straightened his shoulders: nothing was going to happen to Llinos or to Joe, not if Eynon Morton-Edwards had any say in the matter . . .
‘In the name of all that is holy what is happening?’ Pearl’s voice rang out raucously in the cool spring air and Watt shook his head.
‘I wish I knew, Pearl, I wish I knew.’
She stood before him, her arms akimbo, hands resting on the shelf of her hips. Watt rubbed at his hair. ‘I don’t know any more than you do, Pearl. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, did he kill the captain or didn’t he? You must have some idea, an intelligent man like you.’
‘I wasn’t there when the captain’s body was removed from the house, Pearl. I can only speculate the same as the rest of you.’
‘Huh! A fine help you are. Well let’s “speculate” then. Everyone thinks Mr Mainwaring put Mr Savage out of his misery and why not, I say?’
‘Because it’s against the law and, in any case, Joe wouldn’t do it.’
‘How do you know?’ Pearl’s jaw jutted forward. ‘He’s a nice enough fella but he’s not one of us, is he?’
‘He’s half-white, half-American Indian, as well you know. That doesn’t make him a killer.’
Pearl shook her head and sighed heavily. ‘You are a young man, Watt, you don’t understand pain and suffering and please God you never will.’ She began to move away from him. Watt stopped her.
‘Wait.’ He caught her arm. ‘I know Joe, it is not his way to harm or kill anything. I think it’s against his religion or something.’
‘He went to war, didn’t he? Carried the captain halfway across them foreign lands from what I hear tell. If he loves Captain Savage that much, wouldn’t he put him out of his misery?’
‘I understand how you feel, Pearl, but if we go about saying any such thing Joe will be in deep trouble.’
Pearl took a pipe out of the folds of her skirt. ‘I’m not daft! I wouldn’t “go about” saying anything to do with this pottery or the folks in it. Credit me with more sense, Watt.’
‘Look, you’re entitled to your opinion, Pearl, and you’re a woman who knows when to keep her own counsel but I can’t speak for everybody in the paint shed.’
Pearl nodded. ‘I understand, Watt, and from now on I’ll keep my mouth shut on the subject.’
Watt was deep in thought as he moved around the shed ostensibly checking the pottery that was being decorated. He was worried; the captain was dead but unable to rest. His body had been taken away to the mortuary and this morning at breakfast there had been no sign of Joe or Llinos. He wished he knew what was going on. Had Joe been taken before the magistrates? If he was being accused of murder Joe could be in serious trouble.
He walked outside into the sunshine and stared up at the sky. It was blue with scarcely a trace of cloud, a sky more suited to summer than early April.
‘Watt!’ He heard his name and turned. John Pendennis stood in the door of the office building, his forehead furrowed.
‘What’s going on around here?’ John stepped out into the sunshine, his hair shining, his skin fresh with a healthy colour. He was a good-looking man all right, Watt thought a little resentfully.
‘Don’t ask me!’ he said. ‘I’m the last one to know what’s happening.’ He strode towards the gate, his hands thrust into his pockets. He needed to do something, but what could he do?
He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to see Lily staring up at him. Her smallness, the delicacy of her hands, touched a chord inside him. Still, he was in charge of the painting shed and she was taking time off from her work.
‘Yes, Lily, what is it?’
She appeared confused. ‘Well, nothing, I just wanted to see if you were all right.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry, I can see I’ve overstepped the mark.’ She turned away and he caught her arm, feeling the thinness of it beneath the cloth of her gown.
‘Lily, wait.’ He looked down at her. ‘I’m not all right. I’m worried and sick at heart. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us all. I think that Llinos will go mad if anything happens to Joe.’
‘No, Mrs Mainwaring is a strong lady,’ Lily was trying to reassure him. ‘She ran this place on her own when her mother died and her little more than a girl.’
‘I know, but things are different now.’ He led her a little away from the open door of the shed. ‘She’s not well.’
‘Poor Mrs Mainwaring.’
‘Look, Lily, don’t talk to anyone about this. I’ve given the same advice to Pearl.’
She lay a hand for a moment against her small breasts. ‘On my honour, no-one will hear anything from my lips.’
‘Hey, Lily, what’s going on here?’ Pearl’s voice rang stridently through the air. ‘Chasing after Watt is not a very maidenly thing to do, is it? What would your mam say?’
The rich colour rose to Lily’s cheeks. ‘My mam’s dead as you well know. In any case, I wasn’t chasing . . .’ her words died away. Watt intervened.
‘Lily needed to talk to me. About work.’ Watt’s voice was hard. ‘I know you are senior hand in the painting shed, Pearl, but I’ll ask you not to try to usurp my authority.’
A smile broadened Pearl’s face. Far from being offended by Watt’s tone, she seemed to derive some sort of satisfaction from it. ‘Ah, little love birds, is it? I thought as much. Well why don’t you let on that you’re walking out together, save everyone,’ she paused, ‘speculating about the two of you.’
Watt froze but only for a moment. A smile began at the corners of his mouth and spread to his eyes.
‘You’re jumping the gun as usual, Pearl, but it’s a fine idea. What about it Lily, will you allow me to come calling on you?’ His glance took in a smiling Pearl. ‘I assure you my intentions are strictly honourable.’
Lily looked down at her
feet. Her face was scarlet and she was breathing rapidly. It was Pearl who broke the silence.
‘Well, then, Lil, are you going to put the man out of his misery? Me too come to that!’
Lily took a deep breath and looked up for a moment into Watt’s face. ‘I would be honoured to have you as my gentleman caller.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
Watt felt exultant. Lily had accepted him. He knew what he must do now: his place was here, keeping the pottery running. ‘Right now, Pearl, shall we get back to work?’ Watt’s voice trembled, he was having great difficulty controlling the elation that was soaring through his blood. He ushered the women indoors, hoping that Pearl’s sharp eyes had not detected the obvious signs of his arousal. Lily’s demure shyness had excited him almost beyond endurance. He longed to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her rosy mouth, to touch the tiny globes of her breasts. He stopped his thoughts from travelling any further. He had work to do and it could well be that, for now and for some time to come, he would be in charge not just of the painting shed but of the whole of the Savage Pottery.
The office where Judge Cornwall sat was becoming more than a little crowded. The judge himself – a tall, ageing man with thick white hair and a moustache to match – was leaning back in his chair, trying to make sense of the case that had been placed before him. He shuffled his papers and then stared at the sea of faces watching him, waiting for his words of wisdom.
Llinos Mainwaring was seated across the desk, her eyes huge in her pale face. Beside her, standing with one hand on her shoulder, was her husband, his foreignness emphasized by the golden complexion and the fiercely dark hair that hung to his shoulders.
Judge Cornwall’s glance moved to the constable. Beside him the doctor stood with several of the elite of the town’s men of industry and, finally, the judge looked towards Morton-Edwards: influential and rich enough to buy the best defence in the legal world if he so chose.
It was a dilemma all right. The accused had come before the judge of his own free will; happy, it seemed, to answer any charge laid against him. He had been swiftly followed by his wife; a sweet-faced girl, articulate and intelligent but a mere woman when all was said and done. How much credence could be placed on the word of a woman in love?
