by Iris Gower
The silence in the room lengthened. They were all waiting for him to make some decision. He coughed and shuffled his papers once more.
‘So,’ he turned to look directly at the constable, a man he knew well socially, a man of standing, a Christian gentleman, ‘you say that a great deal of poison had been administered to Captain Savage, poison enough to bring about his demise?’
It was Dr Jones who replied.
‘That is the case, Judge Cornwall. The poison in small doses would alleviate pain but large doses such as were administered to the captain would most certainly accumulate in the organs and cause death.’
‘But, Judge, my father was a dying man, he was in terrible pain.’ Llinos looked up at the doctor. ‘Nothing else but Joe’s medicines brought my father any relief.’
‘The point is,’ the constable said heavily, ‘was the medicine administered in order to ease suffering or to bring about the untimely death of the captain? The latter seems to be the more likely, in my opinion.’
Judge Cornwall knew what he had to do. Even though his gut reaction was that the Indian was innocent, there was no way he could defend him against the formidable band of men who were his accusers. These men practically owned the whole of Swansea, one was even a member of parliament. He looked apologetically at Eynon Morton-Edwards, the man would have to do his worst. At this moment, he was on his own.
‘This is my judgement,’ he said heavily. ‘The accused should be detained within the castle walls until someone can shed more light on the matter.’ There, he thought, that was a fair compromise. Let Morton-Edwards call in some high-court lawyer from London to argue the case. All Judge Cornwall wanted was to wash his hands of the whole affair. Rather like Pontius Pilate, said a small voice inside his head. He rose from his chair and left the room, he was longing for a smoke of his pipe and a little relaxation. He was unaware that behind him, in the room he had left so abruptly, he had also left a woman, white-faced, racked with pains that signalled the end of her hopes and dreams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ROOM WAS small, about twelve feet square by Joe’s reckoning. It was also dark, the slit windows affording little light. There was nowhere to sit except the floor where layers of human excrement lay in various stages of decay. Quite clearly the place was never cleaned, not even sluiced down with water. It was a place that stank of despair.
From the moment Joe had been led into the room he had been aware of a dozen pairs of eyes watching him. He knew his good clothes were temptations to those whose coverings were mere rags. He also knew that his stature and his obvious physical strength were a deterrent to anyone planning an act of violence.
He moved from the doorway and walked around the small confines of his prison, noting the condition of some of his fellow inmates. One man lay moaning in pain, the sores on his body exacerbated by the friction of his involuntary movements against the dirty ground.
Joe removed his coat and rolled it beneath the emaciated figure so that the cloth afforded a little ease to the sick man. He felt someone at his shoulder and turned to see an old man staring up at him.
‘My dear sir,’ the voice was cultured, strangely at variance with the tattered appearance of the man, ‘your act of generosity is in vain. As soon as you sleep, the coat will be stolen, offered to the jailer as a bribe for food.’ He glanced down sadly. ‘In any event, I fear the poor soul is about to depart the body of this wretched fellow. Why not take back your coat?’
Joe shook his head, moved to a corner where the ground appeared a little cleaner, and sat down, his legs crossed before him. The old man rested against the wall, his bony hand scratching at his tangled hair.
‘Vermin,’ he explained. ‘The place is full of fleas and lice, not to mention cockroaches, but you get used to it. What are you in for? Debt, is it?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Murder,’ he said briefly. If he expected the man to recoil, he was mistaken.
‘And are you guilty?’
‘No, I am not.’
‘Ah, I thought not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘No-one is in this place but in your case I believe you’re speaking the truth.’
‘And you, what have you done?’ Joe asked.
‘I am a debtor, alas.’ The old man smiled, revealing gaps between his teeth. ‘Samuel Marks, at your service.’ He made a mocking half-bow. ‘A Jew and not another one in the place. So you see, my friend, you and I are foreigners together.’
He seated himself with difficulty beside Joe, his thin knees protruding from the holes in his breaches. ‘Have you family and friends, Mr . . .?’
‘I answer to Joe and yes, I have a wife. As to friends, I am not sure.’ His eyes searched the older man’s face. ‘Unlike you, I look foreign; my skin, my hair, all speak of my mixed blood. Such an appearance does not auger well for a man accused of any crime, let alone murder.’
‘And yet you speak like a gentleman,’ Samuel Marks said easily.
‘As do you.’ Joe smiled. ‘I don’t think there is any law that says a half-American Indian and a Jew cannot be gentlemen.’
‘I would say you have a point there, sir.’ Samuel Marks eased his thin bones into another position, trying vainly to find some comfort on the hard, cold floor of the castle cell.
‘I would like to put something to you,’ Samuel said, hunching over his knees, his thin hands clasped together as though in prayer. Joe looked at him with a wry smile.
‘You mean we can do deals in this fortress?’ He gestured around him and Samuel nodded.
‘We can make a mutually beneficial pact,’ he said. ‘I stay awake while you sleep and you stay awake while I sleep. That way we can protect each other.’
Joe nodded, knowing that he did not need protecting. He was used to sleeping with one eye open, used to feeling the enemy around him.
‘How do you know you can trust me?’
Samuel smiled wryly. ‘I used to think I was a good judge of character but even the most intuitive of us sometimes fail to sense danger.’ He paused, regarding Joe steadily. ‘But in your case, I’m going to go with my gut instinct.’
Joe acknowledged the man’s words with a nod of his head. ‘Someone close has betrayed you, then?’
‘My son.’ Samuel looked down at his lined hands. ‘My own son. He cheated me, ran off with the proceeds of my business.’ There was a hint of tears in his voice. ‘He’s illegitimate and he’s never forgiven me for it. What brought you here, sir?’ He looked directly at Joe.
‘The ignorance and prejudice of a silly girl,’ Joe answered.
‘Ah, women, the source of all man’s woes.’ Samuel sighed. ‘My great sin was falling in love with a Gentile girl. I would have married her but she ran away from me, hid her condition. Then it was too late, she died in childbirth. Still, I brought up my son as best I could even though he is not a Jew; the children follow the mother’s line, you see. Anyway, I’m rattling on like an old washerwoman here and you worse off than me by far. I am old, you are a young, lusty man; in here you will feel frustration burn you like hell fires.’
Joe did not reply. He leaned back against the dank stone and closed his eyes, seeing behind his lids a picture of Llinos, her dark hair flying, her arms held out to him. The pain of being separated from her would not be merely physical, it would go much deeper than that. He winced as he remembered his last sight of Llinos clutching her stomach, her eyes wide with fear.
He heard her voice then, as if she were in the miserable room with him. She was telling him to be brave, to be patient, she would set him free. He felt a breath against his cheek, the softness of her arms encircle him. She was here with him, her spirit joining with his, her love a shining sword that could sever any bonds. He felt the wind lift his hair, saw the softness of the contours of the hills. He watched the waves of the sea run into the shore; gently invading the golden sand, turning it almost amber.
‘You need to sleep,’ Samuel said quietly. ‘I will watch and wait. You will be safe with me.’
Joe do
ubted it, though he was grateful for the man’s kindness. He would rest and then he would reassess the events of the past weeks. That done, he could clear his mind of the debris of the past. Concentrate on getting out of here and starting his life anew.
The days passed in a slow succession of nightmare images. Fights broke out frequently; the men were hungry and thirsty and would kill for a slice of bread. Joe did not interfere. His own food, sent in by Llinos, he shared with Marks. No-one attempted to take it away from him. The set of his jaw and the light in his eye kept the others at bay.
‘Joe.’ Samuel Marks was sitting cross-legged, eating some stale crusts that he had saved from the previous day. ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’
‘Another one?’ Joe smiled.
‘You will be out of here soon, you have money, influence, you will be released soon and when you are . . .’ Samuel paused. ‘I want you to get me out of here.’ He took a deep breath waiting for Joe to reply.
Joe looked at the old man for a long moment and nodded. It was an easy promise to make; he had talked through the dark hours of the night with the old man, he liked and trusted him. ‘I will see to it.’
‘I don’t do my faith justice but I hate the shame of being thought a debtor. I will repay you, you know that.’ A rat scurried to take the last crust from his hand and nibbled delicately at the bread, brazenly staring at Joe as though daring him to snatch away his prize. Joe smiled, even rats had to eat.
He allowed his mind to travel beyond the walls of the stinking prison to his homeland in America, to the vast plains and the soft breezes that caressed the hills. Soon, he would be free and then he would not forget the old man sleeping trustingly beside him.
London was a sprawling place with a winding river that cut through the land like a knife. Street vendors called their wares in a language which Eynon barely recognized as English.
He left the offices of William Grantley, eminent lawyer and advocate, and stepped into the street. Tonight he would rest in the comfortable accommodation he had found for himself on the outskirts of the town. Tomorrow, Grantley, who had agreed to take up the task of defending Joe against the charge of murder, would travel with him to Wales.
Eynon looked around him, at the thick mist low over the buildings; the cluster of houses with smoking chimneys; the brightly lit tavern windows; the crowds thronging along the pavements. London, he decided, was a strange place. It was huge compared to Swansea and yet with a spirit of liveliness and gaiety about it that warmed the blood. He longed to be part of it.
He thought of his room in the inn, the emptiness, the silence, and decided to explore the unfamiliar streets rather than spend the evening alone. He turned into Gloucester Place. It was very different to the street of that name back home in Swansea. The roadway was more elegantly cobbled; wide steps led up to large, grand town houses with windows reflecting many lights. And yet Eynon sensed that those sturdy doors protected the inhabitants from any intrusion. It would not be here, in these respectable streets, that he would find conviviality and companionship. He was wrong.
A carriage drew up alongside him and the lawyer he had spoken with only a short time ago opened the window and stared out at him. ‘Going anywhere special?’
‘Mr Grantley! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,’ Eynon said cheerfully. ‘I was just taking the air before returning to my lodgings.’
‘My dear fellow, I can’t leave you to explore London alone, allow me to offer you hospitality. Now that we have met up by some happy chance, won’t you please accompany me to dinner with a little friend of mine?’
He smiled. ‘A fine lady is Elizabeth, full of fun and ready for anything. They say she was once the King’s mistress but of course that might simply be conjecture.’ He winked meaningfully.
‘It’s very kind of you but I really couldn’t impose.’
‘Not at all, my dear fellow! My little lady friend loves nothing better than to meet new, young blood.’ Grantley pushed open the door of the carriage. ‘Come along, I won’t take any refusal. I really think you should see a little bit of life before you return to your quiet abode in Wales.’
Eynon nodded and climbed aboard, sinking into the leather seat with a feeling that he was being coerced into something.
‘That’s the way,’ Grantley said. ‘I’m sure you will extend the same hospitality to me when I come to your fair town.’
The carriage jerked into movement, the whip cracking against the backs of the horses. Eynon relaxed, he might as well enjoy his evening, anything was better than sitting in his room alone.
Within a few minutes the carriage drew to a halt outside one of the tall, town houses with pillared porticoes. Eynon climbed onto the pavement and Grantley was quickly beside him. He mounted the steps and rang the bell. Even before the coach had pulled away, the front door swung open and the sound of laughter reached out like hands to draw the two men inside the warmth of the hallway.
Candles gleamed in high chandeliers, music rose from the drawing room and the waft of perfume was overwhelming. A pert maid took their outer clothes and a regal butler announced their arrival. Eynon followed Grantley into the crowded room and a glass of porter was put into his hand. At the piano a beautiful young woman was seated, her slim fingers running over the ivory keys. She glanced up and met his eye briefly. His heart moved within him at the darkness of her hair and the tilt of her chin that momentarily put him in mind of Llinos.
Eynon was aware of Grantley at his side accompanied by a lady who eyed Eynon as though he were a prize stud in a stable.
‘Handsome,’ she said, her head tilted on one side. She held out her hand and, bowing, he took it, noting the fine rings on the ageing fingers.
‘Eynon Morton-Edwards, at your service,’ he said.
‘Ah, a gentleman to boot.’ She smiled up at him in what she imagined was a seductive pose but she was old, at least forty years of age, as old as Eynon’s mother would have been had she lived.
‘Elizabeth,’ she said, ‘you are to call me Elizabeth, we do not stand on formality here.’
She led him to the chaise longue and sat beside him. He was now behind the pianist and he saw that her upswept hair was coming loose from its ribbons and curling sweetly on the nape of her neck.
‘You are interested in little Annabel, I see,’ Elizabeth sighed. Eynon felt his colour rise, he was not accustomed to such outspokenness. ‘Don’t blush, darling!’ Elizabeth chided. ‘Anyone would think you a virgin still. Well, you shall meet my daughter but remember, she is a respectable young lady. Annabel! We need to talk, darling.’
She gestured to a servant to refill Eynon’s glass and moved towards the piano. She spoke to her daughter in low tones and once or twice the girl shook her head. Eynon watched the little scene with interest; it was clear to him that the young lady was as strong-willed as her mother. He smiled to himself; in that way, too, she was very like Llinos.
After a few moments, Annabel left the piano and came to sit beside Eynon. Elizabeth smiled encouragingly.
‘Have fun, darlings. You young people are so hot-blooded these days, I’m sure you’ll find something exciting to talk about.’ She drifted away in a haze of perfume and, in a moment, was the centre of attention at the other side of the room. Eynon ran his finger around his collar.
‘You are embarrassed by my mother’s outspokenness.’ Annabel’s voice was soft, understanding, and Eynon turned to her with relief.
‘I am, rather,’ he said.
‘Well, don’t worry, she only eats a young man once a month.’ She smiled revealing even teeth. He realized that she was very pretty but not at all like Llinos. He sank back against the cushions relaxing a little.
‘There, have another drink,’ Annabel said, ‘enjoy yourself.’
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘No thank you, I will have to return to my lodgings soon or I’ll be locked out.’
‘We have plenty of rooms here, don’t worry, we won’t allow you to sleep on the streets
. Are you in love, Mr Morton-Edwards, or is that too personal a question?’
‘I am in love.’ He smiled. ‘And yes, it is personal. Please, you must call me Eynon.’
‘Eynon, a strange name, indeed.’ Annabel leaned against the cushions and the curve of her breast accidentally touched his arm. Eynon knew he was becoming aroused by her closeness. He sighed as he was handed another drink. ‘Perhaps I should be leaving, it’s getting late.’
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ Annabel said softly. ‘You don’t find me attractive?’
He smiled. ‘I might be in love but I am human enough to appreciate a beautiful woman when I see one.’
She blushed charmingly. ‘Do you really think I’m beautiful? Mother tells me my nose is too large.’
Eynon took a deep drink from his glass. ‘Your nose is perfect,’ he said. There was a burst of laughter from the other side of the room and Eynon saw that Grantley was enjoying himself hugely. Elizabeth was hanging on his arm, looking up at him adoringly. A servant filled Eynon’s glass to the brim and he took a sip of it, worried in case he spilt some on the sweet girl sitting next to him. His head was beginning to feel as though it was not part of him. Quite suddenly his spirits were high and he found the perfume wafting from Annabel’s soft skin most seductive.
She looked up at him. ‘Have you known many lady friends, Eynon?’ she asked. ‘I mean intimate friends, of course.’
‘I have known several ladies.’ He felt the heat of desire hit him, he longed to have a woman right now. He hoped his arousal did not show and yet, somehow, he was not embarrassed. He looked into the glowing red of his drink wondering if some secret ingredient was causing him to lose his inhibitions.
‘The ladies I took to my bed were not exactly ladies, of course.’ He surprised himself by saying this. ‘Not, not like you, Annabel.’
