by Iris Gower
‘Don’t look so worried, Llinos,’ he said softly. ‘Mr Grantley has everything under control.’
‘I have indeed, Mrs Mainwaring. Now, as I am on my feet, I will take my leave of you. I have work to do.’
Llinos rang the bell for the maid to show the lawyer to the door. When they were alone, she moved into Joe’s arms. ‘Are you sure the lawyer knows what he’s doing?’
‘I’m sure.’ As he kissed her he felt her heart pulsating against his chest. She was like a tiny, frightened bird; more the nightingale from which she took her name than the firebird he had met and married. She had suffered a great deal in the past months but Joe intended to see the smile return to her eyes and the lightness to her step.
‘Trust him, Llinos,’ he said gently. ‘Grantley is a good man and a clever one. He will make sure that my innocence is proved.’
The maid entered the room, her eyes downcast. ‘There’s a man here to see Mr Mainwaring,’ she said quietly.
‘Who is it, Meggie?’ Joe asked, releasing Llinos. The maid shook her head, refusing to look up at him. ‘I dunno, sir, he’s a stranger, a bit foreign if you ask me.’
‘Did he give a name?’
‘A Mr Marks, sir.’
‘Show him in, I’ll speak to him in the drawing room.’ Joe turned to Llinos. ‘It’s the man I met in prison. On my release, I paid off his debts. The man didn’t deserve to die in a hellhole like Swansea castle.’
He saw her flinch. ‘Please, don’t worry, everything is going to be all right, I’m sure of it.’
When Marks was shown into the drawing room, Joe hardly recognized the man. He was smartly dressed, his thin hair neatly combed. Joe took his hand and shook it warmly.
‘Good to see you, Samuel. Take a seat and tell me what’s been happening to you since you got out of prison.’
‘Quite a lot, as it happens.’ Samuel Marks seated himself and looked at Joe, his eyes damp. ‘I thank you from the bottom of my shrivelled little heart for getting me out of that place.’ He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. ‘And I’ve come here to repay you.’
‘There’s no need of that,’ Joe said quickly. Samuel Marks held up his hand.
‘I have no money but I do own land in America. It’s wasteland, overgrown with weeds, but there is a great deal of it and I want you to have it.’
‘Why didn’t you use it to buy your way out of prison?’ Joe asked, pouring a brandy and handing the glass to Marks.
‘I did, in a way.’
Joe returned his smile. ‘Did you?’
Samuel Marks inclined his head. ‘If you’d not agreed so readily to get me out of there I was going to offer the land to the jailer as an inducement but I couldn’t get hold of the deeds of ownership, not until I was free. I was not going to let my thief of a son get them, oh no! One day that land is going to be worth a lot of money; I feel it, deep in my blood.’ He turned his palms upwards. ‘But I’m old, I will not be here to see it. Still, you will and your family. So I’ve spent the days of my freedom sorting the legalities out.’
He took a folded parchment from his inside pocket. ‘Here, Joe, it’s all signed and sealed and properly copied by a notary. No-one, not even my son, Saul, could dispute your claim upon the land, even if he knew about it.’
Joe took the parchment reluctantly. ‘Are you sure about this, Marks? I have money enough, more than I need.’
‘The land is yours, you paid for it when you settled my debts.’
‘What about you, how will you live?’
‘Modestly, I fear.’ He smiled. ‘I will manage.’
Joe looked carefully at Samuel: in spite of his smart appearance, he was not a well man. There was a grey tinge to his skin and his eyes lacked lustre. The time he had spent in prison had taken its toll on him.
‘My needs are few: a roof over my head; a bite to eat; jug of beer now and then and I’m a happy man. You must not worry about me, Joe, I will be all right.’
Joe put the parchment into his pocket. He would consider the matter more fully when he had time to discuss it with his wife. In the meantime it would be lacking in humanity to allow Samuel to sicken and perhaps die alone in some mean boarding house.
‘Stay here with us, at least for the time being,’ he said. ‘We have plenty of rooms, as you can see. The house has been enlarged, we have more bedrooms than we can use.’ He smiled down at his wife, knowing she would be kind to the old man. She nodded. ‘Please stay, Mr Marks, we’d be happy to have you.’
Joe, seeing the uncertainty in the older man’s face, pressed home his point. ‘Let us at least offer you that small hospitality until you are better placed.’
Samuel Marks still hesitated. He twisted his thin fingers together and stared around him. Joe could see the longing in his eyes; the longing to be cared for, to be valued, to be with friends.
‘You know my beliefs are different to yours,’ Marks said. ‘The Jewish faith is not the same as the Christian way of worship.’
‘That makes no difference,’ Joe said. ‘Your beliefs are your own and whatever they are, I want you to stay.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘That’s if you can put up with being under the same roof as a man accused of murder.’
Samuel nodded. ‘In that case I’ll be honoured to accept your hospitality, Joe. I will go to my lodgings, pick up my small bundle of possessions and return.’
He smiled like a pleased child and the smile transformed the thin face: his eyes were alight and his whole demeanour changed. He was a man who was not alone in the world because now he had found a friend.
Eynon looked down at the letter in his hand and swallowed hard. The writing was soft, feminine, just as the writer was. The paper was scented and the fragrance took him back to the house in London, to the bed he had stared with Annabel. He saw again her small white breasts, felt the taste of her nipple in his mouth. But that was all past, a momentary rush of lust satisfied by a young woman he scarcely knew. Reluctantly he unfolded the letter.
My dearest Eynon,
I am writing to you in desperation. My marriage was called off at the last moment because of the sudden illness of the groom who has, since then, passed away. Now I find myself in a shameful dilemma: I am with child by you. I have told no-one, not even my mother. Please help me.
Annabel
Eynon allowed the paper to fall to the floor, a pulse beating swiftly in his throat. For a moment he felt only sheer panic; it was as though a noose was being tightened around his neck. He swallowed hard, trying to clear his thoughts. Would one night of passion bring about a pregnancy?
He walked to the window and stared out to the front of the house. Below him was the pottery, the kilns appeared to shimmer with heat in the sunlight. Beyond was the twisting River Tawe making its way swiftly to the sea.
‘What the hell am I to do?’ He thumped on the sill with his fist. The sun was hot through the window. Perhaps a walk in the fresh air would clear his mind.
The maid hurried to fetch his hat and stick, and Eynon strode away from the house, upwards towards the hills that surrounded the town. He was going to be a father, was the prospect so repugnant? No, but he would have wanted his son to be born to Llinos Savage. He would have wanted a child with her darkness of hair, her fine features, her beauty and strength. But Llinos was married now: she was Mrs Mainwaring. She was in love with her husband and she would never love another man the way she loved Joe.
He sank onto a grassy mound and stared outwards to the broad sweep of the bay. It was a clear day, a day of glorious sunshine. He was well and strong; he was young and rich; he had everything he wanted. Wouldn’t it be normal to have a wife and child? But then how could he be sure the child was his? Annabel had been a virgin when he had made love to her, there was no doubt in his mind about that, but she had come to his bed so readily. What if later she had gone to the bed of another man just as eagerly?
He could not think straight, he would need to talk the matter over with someone who could see th
e problem clearly. He returned home by the same route and saw no-one on the way. The town was quiet, folk were at work or else at the market in the heart of Swansea. The hills were soft and velvet, folding around him the dreaming silence of the day.
Once home he sent for Maura. She had been in his service for several years and had been elevated to the position of housekeeper. Since the betrayal of her husband and the death of her child she had become introverted, morose even.
‘Maura, come in and sit down.’ She had tied her glorious red hair into a bun and put a cap over it. Her gown, even on such a fine summer day, was dark and shapeless. She was a young woman still but she might as well have been an old maid for all she cared about her appearance.
‘I would prefer to stand, sir.’ She had become so formal, so different to the young, spirited girl she had once been, that Eynon wondered at his judgement in choosing her as the one in whom to confide his problems.
‘This is a personal matter, Maura,’ he said. ‘I want advice from a friend.’
She sat on the very edge of a chair watching without expression as Eynon picked up the letter that still lay where he had dropped it on the floor.
‘Read this and tell me what you think, please.’ He felt unsure, humble almost. Maura read the few words quickly and handed the letter back to him.
‘Sure, and isn’t that the oldest trick there is,’ she said flatly.
‘What? You think she’s lying?’
‘Definitely. You could be the father if you slept with the girl but then she was promised to another man, about to be married. Sure she’s nothing but a whore!’
Her condemnation was harsh but Eynon felt she could be right. She was only voicing his own suspicions.
He sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘What shall I do, Maura?’
‘Burn the letter and forget it.’ She looked at him shrewdly. ‘That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You sure as God is in His heaven don’t love this woman or you’d be hotfooting it to fetch her back here. A marriage without love is no marriage as I well know. You asked for my advice, now take it.’ She rose to her feet. ‘We need more linen, sir, the cupboard is getting low on pillowslips and bolster cases as well as sheets.’ Maura was once more the efficient housekeeper.
‘See to it then, Maura,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?’
She left the room, her head high; a broken, betrayed woman, old before her time. Binnie Dundee had a lot to answer for, he had ruined the girl’s life. Oh, he had done the honourable thing, he had married her, given their child his name, but a fat lot of good that did either of them. In the end Binnie had cleared off, left the country, gone abroad, unable to bear the ties of marriage to a woman he did not love. Was that the sort of future he would want or that Annabel would want come to that?
He poured himself a drink from the tray on the highly polished sideboard. He would go into the garden, enjoy the sunshine and forget Annabel ever existed. If he wanted a wife, he could have his pick. The matrons of the town were constantly inviting him to soirees, introducing him to their daughters. No, he did not want another man’s cast-off. Slowly he tore the letter into little pieces and threw it through the window, watching the summer breeze take the pieces and scatter them to the four winds.
Binnie Dundee stood at the side of his wife’s bed, holding her hand, staring down at her with such love that it threatened to burst from him. She had safely delivered another fine son; that was three in all.
Hortense smiled up at him, her rather plain face beautified by her happiness. ‘What shall we call him, honey?’ she asked. He touched her hair, it was damp from her exertions. He had watched her labour to bring forth their child, wished that he could take her pain. She was a strong, brave woman; a wife to be proud of.
Unbidden came the thought of Maura, her petulance, her continuous nagging. She was still his legal wife. He pushed the thought away into the recesses of his mind. No-one knew about Maura, no-one would ever know.
‘What about Matthew?’ he asked.
Hortense repeated the name several times. ‘Yes, I like Matthew. He will be everything a man could want to be: upright and good and so handsome that the girls swoon at his feet.’
‘Hey, don’t go on so otherwise I will be jealous of my own son.’
‘Silly boy.’ Hortense touched his cheek. ‘You know I can’t see any other man but you. You dazzle my eyes, you fill my heart with love.’
Binnie felt the tears bum. His wife was rarely sentimental. It was not often that she told him of her love but, now, in the weariness that followed childbirth, she was soft, vulnerable.
‘Let me sleep now,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘I have worked hard today. Me and Matthew, we both need to rest.’
He kissed her and tucked the sheet around her even though the day was warm and a hot breeze drifted in through the window carrying with it the scent of roses.
‘All right, I’ll come in later when you feel a little better.’
Outside on the porch Dan McCabe sat with his wife, both of them in their best visiting clothes.
‘Another fine boy then, Binnie, my lad,’ Dan said. ‘You planted the seeds well and I knew my girl would make some man a damn fine wife. You had the pick of the bunch all right. I only wish there were other suitors waiting around to take the two youngest girls off my hands. They’ll be old maids if no-one asks for them soon.’
‘You were right about Hortense,’ Binnie said. ‘She is the best wife any man could ask for and I’ve sired another son on her. What more could a man ask?’
‘How is she feeling now?’ her mother asked, brushing aside the men’s self-congratulations. ‘She tired?’
‘I expect so!’ Binnie said smiling. ‘The boy is huge, a ten-pounder or I’m a Dutchman. We’ve decided to call him Matthew.’
‘Ah, a good enough name coming as it does from the holy Bible,’ Dan said, nodding his head in satisfaction. ‘Goes well with Daniel and Jeremiah.’ Dan was puffed with pride that his first-born grandson carried his name. As if on cue the two young children hurled themselves around the corner of the house whooping and calling, their voices sharp on the soft air.
‘They’re playing at chasing Indians again,’ Dan said. ‘Boys! Stop that will you!’ Dan’s voice boomed out across the large garden and the children stopped their game abruptly.
Danny was three, a tall boy with corn-coloured hair and his brother Jerry was not yet two. He was the other side of the coin to his brother, dark and stocky, more like Binnie himself.
‘We was only playing, Grandpa,’ Danny protested. ‘I was a soldier and Jerry was—’
‘I know what you was playing,’ Dan said. ‘And I ain’t havin’ it, see? Them Indians belong here more than us, they are not animals to be chased from their homes and I want you to remember that.’
‘All right, Grandpa,’ Dan said good-naturedly. He found a spider and crouched down to examine it, his game forgotten.
‘Where’s the danged girl you employed to see to the boys?’ Dan asked and Binnie shook his head.
‘I don’t know, Dan, I’ll give her a shout.’ Just then a young girl came around the side of the house carrying two mugs of cordial.
‘Sorry, Mr Dundee,’ she gasped. ‘I was getting the boys a drink ’cos they was thirsty and they just ran away from me.’
‘If you can’t control them, Sandy, I must get someone who can,’ Binnie said mildly. ‘Now take the two of them indoors and wash their hands before they have their tea. And keep them quiet, their mother’s trying to get some rest.’
The thin cry of a newborn baby drifted to where the three were sitting and Mrs McCabe rose immediately to go to her daughter.
Dan looked at Binnie. ‘Like to get a beer?’ He lumbered to his feet. ‘This domesticity is all very well but I sure would like a change from it sometimes.’
The two men walked side by side, at ease with each other. Glancin
g at Dan, Binnie wondered briefly what the older man would think if he knew about Maura. Ah well, Wales was a long way away, far across the sea. Dan and, more importantly, Hortense would never know that Binnie Dundee was a bigamist.
‘You’re sure you don’t mind Samuel Marks coming to stay, Llinos?’ Joe said. She was sitting beside her husband, her hand in his.
Llinos smiled up at him. ‘Of course I don’t mind. But what on earth are you going to do with a parcel of land in America?’
‘We will send Watt and John Pendennis out there to do a survey on it. The two of them want to go to America so this is the perfect opportunity. Let them find out for me what the land is worth and if it’s a suitable place for founding a pottery.’
‘It’s really quite a coincidence, isn’t it?’ Llinos said softly. ‘I mean who would have thought that you would be given land out there when you had already thought of founding a pottery in America?’
‘Nothing is ever the coincidence it seems,’ Joe said, smoothing her hair from her face. ‘These things are all meant, all part of a plan.’
‘A part of the Great Spirit’s plan, you mean?’
‘Mock you may, Llinos.’ Joe pulled at her hair. ‘One day you will have to agree with me that I am right.’
‘Maybe.’ Llinos leaned against his shoulder. ‘Right now I’m just happy that you are safe here with me.’ She sighed. ‘I do wish that a date for the trial had been decided, the uncertainty is just awful.’
‘Put it out of your mind, Llinos,’ Joe said. ‘Grantley is handling everything: he is a good man, a capable man, we couldn’t ask for a better lawyer.’
‘I know.’ Llinos twisted around and cupped her husband’s face in her hands. His blue eyes looked into hers and she saw the shadow behind them and shivered with apprehension. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, my darling, nothing at all. We are here together now, today. This moment is all we have, all anyone has. The future is never a certainty, not for anyone. Let’s make the most of what we have.’
