Dream Catcher

by Iris Gower

  In the painting shed the smell of lead and oxide hung heavy. The doors had been closed against the damp and a thin light was all that penetrated the windows. A bad light for painting.

  Pearl greeted her, smiling widely. ‘Morning, missis, we’re doing fine in here, no need for anyone to worry about that. Not with Pearl in charge.’

  ‘I’m sure you are looking after things splendidly,’ Llinos forced a cheerful note into her voice. ‘Still, I expect you’ll be glad to see Watt coming back, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ Pearl said, ‘but not too soon, I hope. I’m enjoying myself, I like being in charge.’

  Llinos patted Pearl’s big shoulder. ‘And very good at it you are too.’

  Lily was working rapidly on a large bowl, painting a firebird at the deepest part of the centre. The colours were bright, the orange-red feathers springing out from the flat grey background. The black edging around the neck and the head of the bird gave a pleasing sharpness to the painting.

  ‘That’s very good, Lily.’ Llinos bent closer and when the girl turned and looked up at her, there was no warmth in her look.

  ‘Thank you, Llinos,’ she said, her voice devoid of expression.

  ‘What is it, Lily, are you all right?’ She was rather pale, Llinos noticed, her cheeks appearing thinner; perhaps she was sick.

  ‘I’ve just got a bit of a bad stomach, that’s all.’ Lily sounded defensive and Llinos looked at her in concern.

  ‘Have you been to see the doctor, Lily?’

  Lily hung her head. ‘No, miss, don’t like doctors, they poke you about and such. I’ll be all right, don’t you bother about me.’

  She turned away and continued to work, the angle of her shoulder effectively shutting Llinos out. Llinos felt irritated but what Lily did or felt was none of her business, the girl made that quite obvious.

  On her way out, she had a word with Pearl. ‘Is Lily all right?’ she asked quietly. ‘It’s just that she seems, well, offhand, as if she’s offended by something I’ve done or said.’

  ‘Duw, don’t take no notice of her, she’s like that with everybody. Thinks she’s a cut above the likes of me. Big-headed that girl is and on what I don’t know!’ Pearl shrugged. ‘She’s just an orphan living in lodgings, not a well set-up married woman like I am. Sometimes I feel like giving her a good shaking.’

  ‘Do you think she’s missing Watt? Could that be it?’ Llinos was anxious to find an excuse for Lily’s behaviour.

  ‘Bless you no! Lily’s the sort who keeps herself to herself. She thinks loving a man is something dirty, poor misguided girl.’

  Llinos took a deep breath. ‘Well, perhaps no-one has taught her anything different. Coming from the orphanage, I expect her upbringing was strict.’

  ‘Still, most girls got some feelings but not Lil, she shies away from a man, even a nice man like Watt. She’s going to lead a troubled life, is that one.’

  Llinos left the sheds and looked up at the leaden sky. It was still raining. For a moment she envied Watt, away in the sunny climes of America. But no, she would rather be here in Swansea than anywhere else in the world because Swansea was where Joe was.

  Watt stretched his long legs out before him, sighing with contentment. He was aware of the sunshine hot against the skin of his arms. Already he was beginning to brown, to look like a native of West Troy. Behind him, inside the house, he could hear the loud tones that Mrs French used to direct the coloured maids. It bothered Watt that the landlady spoke to the servants as if they were both deaf and stupid.

  John joined him on the porch, a large mug of coffee in his hand. ‘Well, what did you get up to last night?’ John was smiling but Watt had the feeling he was being patronized.

  ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘I danced with a sweet little girl and drank quite a bit but other than that, as I said, not much.’

  ‘No roll in the hay?’ John asked conversationally and Watt made a face at him.

  ‘No roll in the hay. You were right, as usual. The most I was allowed was an occasional squeeze of the hand and a quick goodnight kiss.’

  ‘I thought you were promised a good time.’ John was openly laughing and, after a moment, Watt joined in.

  ‘I found,’ he said, ‘that by a good time Leigh meant plenty of drinks and the chance to hold a woman in your arms while the music played. No wonder everyone round here is panting to get married.’

  He chose not to discuss his meeting with Binnie, that was something he wanted to keep to himself.

  ‘So you didn’t learn anything about the area, then?’ John asked, picking a fly out of his coffee with the tip of his finger.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Watt had learned a great deal, Leigh was a man who enjoyed talking. He talked about Binnie Dundee and his rich father-in-law Dan McCabe and how the pottery business had flourished even more since Binnie had joined the firm. One thing was clear: this was not the place to found another pottery. The land that they had been sent to survey was further inland, close to the river and the hills. He had asked Leigh about it and the man had looked doubtful.

  ‘That’s Indian country,’ he said. ‘They cling to what’s their own and who can blame them?’

  ‘But they don’t own the deeds to the land?’ Watt had asked. He had seen Leigh shrug his big shoulders.

  ‘Don’t know nothin’ bout no deeds but that land been Indian country since before I was born. They ain’t going to give it up without a struggle, see?’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ John asked. ‘I can almost see the wheels turning in your brain.’ Once again he was laughing at Watt.

  ‘I’m going out for a stroll,’ Watt said rising to his feet. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He was pleased with himself, he had kept his own counsel. It was good to know more than John for once.

  He walked down towards the main street, aware of the sun high above his head. He was meeting Binnie in the hotel on the corner and he wondered how Binnie would explain and excuse himself.

  Binnie was there before him, looking tanned and healthy. He was not a tall man but he was thick-set and had become muscular. He looked every inch the prosperous businessman in his light shirt and well-cut breeches.

  He led Watt to a quiet corner of the large, airy room and almost immediately a jug of fruit cordial was brought by a rotund, clean-smelling barman.

  ‘Here’s what you ordered, Mr Dundee,’ the man said. ‘My good woman made it up special, just as you like it.’

  So Binnie was not a man for hard liquor, that was rather surprising in the circumstances.

  ‘Watt, it’s great to see you.’ Binnie had not lost the accent of the Welsh people he had grown up with, but now it was smoothed by pleasant overtones.

  ‘It’s a surprise seeing you!’ Watt said, smiling. ‘But you’re looking great and happier than I ever saw you in Swansea.’

  Binnie leaned forward. ‘I am happy, Watt. I’m married to a wonderful woman and I have three fine sons. Business is booming, I’m rich now. What more could a man want?’

  ‘One less wife?’ An imp of mischief brought the words to Watt’s lips but he regretted them almost immediately. ‘I’m sorry, Binnie, that was silly of me.’

  ‘I just want you to keep quiet about all that,’ Binnie said soberly. ‘I know I’ve done wrong but I couldn’t set my feet in any other direction. I love Hortense in a way I never loved . . . any woman. I don’t think I ever loved Maura at all. How is she these days?’ He asked the question casually but there was a tension about his shoulders and the set of his jaw that was unmistakable.

  ‘She is still working for Eynon Morton-Edwards,’ Watt said. ‘And she is still as miserable as ever. Look, Binnie, I don’t blame you for what you’ve done and you can rely on me not to say a word about it to anyone.’

  ‘Not even Llinos?’ Binnie asked.

  ‘Definitely not Llinos,’ Watt said. ‘She really wouldn’t understand.’

  The two men sat in silence for a time and Watt took the opportunity to look around him. The
place was obviously reserved for the more affluent members of society. The walls were pale, the windows large but shaded with blinds. The floor carpet was rich and tasteful and the wide staircase sported an intricately carved banister.

  It was so strange coming here to America, a vast country by all accounts, and meeting the one man he had never expected to see again.

  ‘Llinos well?’ Binnie asked and it was clear that the subject of his own relationship was closed.

  ‘Yes, she’s fine.’

  ‘How many little ones has she got?’

  ‘None.’ Watt shook his head. ‘Poor Llinos, she lost her baby when—’ He broke off; it never did to reveal too much information, information that would explain his real purpose here.

  ‘The old man’s dead,’ he said. ‘Captain Savage passed away after a long illness. It was a kindness to see him go.’

  Binnie sighed. ‘Everything changes, nothing stays the same.’

  ‘That’s just about right.’ Watt drank some of the cordial; it was light and refreshing and the coolness lubricated the dryness of his throat. He wondered if Binnie was ever homesick. Even if he was he could never go back to Swansea, never see his old friends. They would ask questions and Maura, well, she would make demands. Binnie was better off staying put.

  He took a map out of his pocket, the map that outlined the land Joe owned. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me anything about it?’

  ‘Well it’s a pretty big spread of ground some miles west of here. Nothing there, mind, no town, no nothing. Only Indians. Why are you interested in it?’

  ‘I was asked to look at it, that’s all,’ Watt said. ‘Perhaps with a view to developing it.’

  ‘Not much chance of that.’ Binnie said. ‘The Indians wouldn’t like it. Useless land it is, too, barren. Won’t grow much there, I can tell you. You’re wasting your time.’

  Watt folded the map away, disappointed. He had seen the trip to America as a way to grow rich and now it seemed there was little chance of that.

  ‘Well, where would you say was a good place to start a pottery?’ Watt decided to take the plunge and tell Binnie at least part of the story. ‘What if I wanted to build a pottery of my own for instance. Where would I go?’

  ‘Well you’d need to be close to water and the land on that map you just showed me is as dry as a bone, scrubland. I would say somewhere near the upper Hudson regions would be my favourite, perhaps Albany or Saratoga.’

  Watt sighed. ‘Well, it’s only a dream. I don’t suppose I would ever have enough money to make pots out here.’ He looked up at Binnie. ‘What do you make in your place?’

  Binnie frowned. ‘Well they call it “whiteware”. It’s good stuff, sturdy and yet some of it is quite fine.’ He finished off his drink and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to Watt. ‘I gotta go but, if you want a job, you can have one in my place, just say the word.’

  Watt shook his head. ‘Thanks, Binnie, but I’m just visiting. Joe Mainwaring paid for the trip; he thinks it’s time to expand, branch out, something like that.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Binnie looked troubled. ‘Keep them away from Troy, there’s a friend. I don’t think my nerves would take another meeting like this.’ He pumped Watt’s hand. ‘I can only thank God that you understand what I’ve been through and you’re willing to keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘You need never fear anything from me.’ He stepped forward and hugged Binnie. He had been his friend since childhood and, meeting him again now, Watt felt he loved him like a brother. ‘Have a good life, Binnie.’

  He sighed as he sank back into his seat. It was a strange world all right, but at least now Binnie had set his life in order and who was Watt to condemn? He poured the last of the cordial and drank it in one gulp. He was hot and tired and, suddenly, he wanted to go home.

  ‘What did Mr Grantley have to say?’ Llinos felt nervous as she faced Joe across the expanse of hallway. She waited impatiently for the maid to take his coat and then linked arms with him. ‘Come into the sitting room, tell me everything.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be anxious about. He’s been digging up some dirt on our Dr Jones.’ Joe was frowning. ‘It seems there was some scandal about the doctor having concealed a suspicious death some time ago.’

  ‘I don’t remember anything about that,’ Llinos said thoughtfully. ‘Surely the gossips in Swansea would have had a wonderful time regaling each other with such a tale?’

  ‘It was before Jones came to Swansea, when he lived in Neath. Apparently an elderly widow died leaving him all her savings. The relatives were, understandably, angry and Jones left the area under a cloud.’

  Llinos digested this in silence; it reminded her chillingly of Mr Cimla, the man who had come courting her mother. Mr Cimla had charmed Gwen Savage and once he had her confidence, he proceeded to spend her money as if it was from an endless pocket. The pottery had almost gone under in the process. Gwen had paid the ultimate price for her folly, she had died at Cimla’s hand though it had never been proven.

  ‘Is Mr Grantley going to bring this up in court?’ Llinos asked. She saw Joe frown. ‘What is it, love?’

  ‘I asked Grantley to go to the man privately, tell Jones to withdraw all charges against me. I don’t want to see the doctor pay twice for the one folly.’

  ‘Sometimes, Joe, you are too charitable. What did Grantley say?’

  ‘That it’s far too late for that, the date has been set. I will be required to attend the next sessions.’ Llinos clung to him, her face against his shoulder; she was so frightened, she could not bear it if he was sent to prison again.

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you, Llinos, everything is going to work out fine. The case against me will be dropped, believe me.’ He tipped her face up and kissed her. She held him close, loving him, wanting to protect him from pain and worry just as he was attempting to protect her with his reassurances.

  ‘Sounds as if someone is having a good time.’ Joe lifted his head to listen. The sound of the piano tinkled through the hallway. He smiled at Llinos.

  ‘Someone plays very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s join them, it will cheer us up to have company.’

  As it turned out, it was Samuel who was seated at the piano, his old fingers running nimbly over the keys. Charlotte was sitting close to him, her chin in her hands, her expression wrapt.

  Sam looked up when they entered the room but continued to play. Charlotte made way for Llinos on the sofa. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’ she whispered. ‘That Beethoven sonata has been my favourite ever since I first heard it.’ She looked wistful for a moment. ‘Dear Letitia used to play beautifully, you know.’

  Llinos took Charlotte’s hand and held it tightly. The soft repetitive sounds of the music washed over her and she closed her eyes. That such beauty could be produced by the bent fingers of Samuel’s thin hands running across the keys was nothing short of a miracle. The piano had not been played in years.

  When the music finished a silence hung over the room, and then Charlotte snatched her hand away from Llinos’s and clapped vigorously. ‘Bravo, Samuel!’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘Bravo!’

  ‘You’re so talented,’ Llinos said rising to her feet. ‘Will you play us something else?’ Sam shook his head and rose from the stool.

  ‘Please excuse me, I’m a little tired tonight, perhaps some other time.’ He bowed to Charlotte. ‘It is you who bring out the music in me, my dear lady,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘When I am with you I almost believe once more in God. Now I’m going to bed, if you will all excuse me.’

  ‘Isn’t he wonderful!’ Charlotte enthused, ‘I am so glad we have become friends. Samuel has enriched my life with his knowledge and his talents.’

  Llinos met Joe’s eyes and smiled. It was good to see his sister so animated. It had been the right decision to bring her to live in Swansea. Here Charlotte had found a new lease of life.

  ‘I think I’ll go up, too, if you young ones don’t mind,’ Charlot
te said. Joe took her arm and led her towards the door.

  ‘How about I bring you a nice hot toddy to see you off to dreamland?’ Joe said and Charlotte looked up at him with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

  ‘All right, but if you weren’t my brother I’d suspect your motives, young man.’ They disappeared into the hall and Llinos could hear Charlotte’s voice as she climbed the stairs. Now Llinos was alone worries crowded back into her mind. Joe was going to the next sessions. What would happen then? Her stomach turned over with fear. What if, in spite of everything, he was found guilty? She put her hands to her head as if she could suppress the thoughts whirring around there. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the jail: the filth, the vermin, the darkness. It was too much to bear.

  ‘He will be all right,’ she said out loud. ‘Joe is innocent, they will not find him guilty.’ Even as she spoke she knew she was no longer convinced of the justice of the British courts. Joe had been wronged once. What made her think that he would find justice now?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JOHN PENDENNIS WALKED the broad, dusty street towards the edge of town determined to see the McCabe pottery for himself. It had been interesting to spend time talking to Binnie Dundee. The man was strong, well set-up and obviously well respected, but he was just a son-in-law, a man who had gotten lucky with a rich family. Now John needed to speak to the man himself, Daniel McCabe.

  The gates stood open and in the yard a group of small boys were picking up bits of clay and throwing them into a large bin. It seemed that the process of making pots did not vary much even on different continents.