by P W Hillard
“I don’t care how super special your department is, or how many papers you have from the home office,” he began, screaming at them over the roar of the water pumping from the fire engines, “I want you gone.” His face was beetroot purple, a mix of anger and breathlessness from his stomp across the courtyard. “Everywhere you go you cause chaos. Now your burning buildings down and getting limbs removed from my officers! I want you out of here. Preferably you can fuck off back to England.”
“We’re nearly done her Sir,” Jess said, stepping between the furious Inspector and the three men. “Then well be more than happy to get out of your hair.”
“I certainly fucking hope so. We should have handled this ourselves.” The Inspector pointed angrily at her. Jess couldn’t help but turn her gaze to the ambulance, which was pulling out of the courtyard. She dreaded to think what would have happened had the locals tried to deal with the problem. There would be a lot more like Aasif she thought.
“Well, we do need to requisition a car, if at all possible?” Jess winced as she made the request.
“Anything take anything!” shouted White, exasperated. “The quicker it gets you lot the fuck away from here the better.”
The passenger side door of the police car slammed shut, its bright yellow and blue standing out strikingly against the dour grey stone of the house. Jess rested her arms on the car roof staring at it. It occurred to her that through everything that had happened, this was her first time coming here, to the house that had started their ill-fated trip across county. Mark straightened his coat and adjusted his collar.
“Ok ready?” he said. “Follow my lead and we should be fine.”
Chapter 24
Rhiannon stared in the mirror, having polished it to a gleam, the light dancing across the room. She adjusted her pinafore, and straightened her hem, taking care to conceal her growing stomach, new life coalescing within. She lifted her chin. Maid she may have been, but Rhiannon took pride in her appearance, though it fostered rumours around the town that she had ideas above her station. She had brushed them off. She was a maid for now, but Merfyn was a gentleman of some renown, he had promised her marriage and he was bound to follow through any day now. To not keep his word would be unthinkable.
Rhiannon held her skirt up slightly as she trotted down the stairs. She turned a sharp corner at the bottom and wandered into the kitchen. It was warm, a gentle fire crackling within the oven. The flames danced before her eyes, growing stronger, more violent. She stared, her vision narrowing to a figure within the fire, it looked like a young girl, she screamed in agony.
“Morning Rhiannon!” said Gareth, the houses cook. Money from the mine hadn’t been what it used to recently, the entire staff having been reduced to just Rhiannon and Gareth. He startled her with his welcome, causing Rhiannon’s gaze to drift away from the oven. When she turned back it was a simple welcoming flame again.
“Morning Gareth,” she said half-heartedly. “Breakfast ready?”
“Nearly, just get those eggs boiling and then we’re good to go. Sleep well?” Gareth prodded at an egg submerged in a saucepan. It listed gently across the bottom. Rhiannon looked puzzled, it was an odd and possibly inappropriate question.
“I’m sorry?” she asked incredulously. “Whatever do you mean?”
“One of the lads in the fields stopped me as I walked up, had some tale about a woman wailing through the night. Claims it was a ghost but seeing as this is the only house for some ways and you’re the only woman in the house…” Gareth trailed off, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and concern.
“I was fine,” Rhiannon asserted. “Mr. Davies and I were in the house all night and heard, nor made, nary a peep.” She reached down and opened one of the cupboards that ran around the kitchen. From within she pulled out a white china plate, delicate blue patterning running around the rim. She sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so terse. I know you mean well.” Gareth nodded, he and Rhiannon had both lived in and around Pontypridd their whole lives and had known each other as children. Rhiannon had gotten him the job as cook, saving him from a lifetime of darkness and lung problems. She placed the plate on a silver tray Gareth had already laid out. “Those eggs done yet?”
Merfyn Davies sat in his parlour, newspaper open wide across his lap. Though it were only early morning he had dressed fully. A fine cut dark grey suit clung to him. It suited his face, which was ruggedly handsome. He turned the page, the paper rustling as he did.
“Any chance of some breakfast soon? Some of us have work to do today!” His voice was stern, the tone of a man so used to having his way that anything else was unfathomable. He folded the paper and set it down on the small side table next to him. He leant back in his chair scowling at the doorway, the tall sides of the green leather armchair covering him in shadow. A moment passed, and Rhiannon bounced in through the doorway, moving as quickly as her unwieldy dress would allow. “Breakfast is to be served at seven A.M. sharp! I have appointments to keep.”
“I am sorry sir, but to be fair it is only five past the hour.” Rhiannon placed the tray onto his lap, two egg cups sat on the china plate, a boiled egg in each. A row of thin sliced and toasted bread ran around the outside of the plate.
“And yet now I am expected to rush my morning meal so that I may keep my appointments. If you are ever to be lady of this house, you must learn to keep an orderly schedule.” Merfyn tapped a spoon atop one of his eggs angrily, the shell cracking from the blow. “Go gather your things, I would have you accompany me into the town.”
“Yes sir,” answered Rhiannon. She curtsied, then back out of the room. Once she was past the doorway she smiled giddily to herself and excitedly bounced up the stairs.
Rhiannon walked behind Merfyn, keeping as respectful distance as he led her through the town. What was once a tiny village had exploded in population over the last few decades, growing fat on the proceeds of coal. The newly built station dominated the town, its vast stonework carved into the hills themselves, the power of man over nature writ large. It seemed to stretch forever, trains of a length Rhiannon could scarce believe being filled with black stone, their empty wagons waiting hungrily. She stopped and watched. Spending all her time at the house meant she very seldom saw the fruits of Merfyn’s labour, the fuel of industry plucked from the ground. Industrialist. She liked that title, it seemed very modern.
“Keep up woman, we don’t have all day to be dawdling,” barked Merfyn clapping his hands together.
“Sorry sir, I was just admiring the station. It’s very impressive.” She trotted over to, being carefully to remain ladylike despite the increased speed. “I just find it so interesting, the trains coming and going.”
“Yes well, it’s not so impressive when you have to pay to use it. The charges are exorbitant. Anyway, come along, we have meetings to keep.”
Rhiannon followed across town, from one meeting to the next. She was made to wait outside for each, although from what she could tell Merfyn’s meetings involved him walking into a room, hat in hand, to be shouted at. His face reminded her of her fathers, begging for work on doorsteps. He had refused to work in the mines like everyone else. It terrified him, the thought of dying underground, to be forgotten by everyone. Rhiannon understood the thought, it was unsettling.
“Gods forsaken imbeciles,” muttered Mefryn as he slammed the door behind him. He stamped down the small stairway, the huge house behind him looming ominously, its heavy wooden black door a void in the white stonework. “There’s a new vein, I know it!” He stormed off down the street, seemingly forgetting Rhiannon was there. She walked briskly after him as he ranted to himself. “I just need funds to expand the mine! Idiots, do they not see a worthwhile investment when they see it.”
“Sir is everything ok?” She asked as she caught up behind him.
“What, oh, yes I’m fine,” replied Merfyn, adjusting his hat slightly. His face was bright red. “Come, let’s return home. I have had my fill of business for today
.”
The rest of the week the cycle continued. Merfyn would leave the house in the morning, only to return by midday, red faced and furious. He had stopped taking Rhiannon after the first day, leaving her to tend to the home on her own. Whilst the house was large, and she was the only maid, Merfyn rarely ventured out from his parlour so she often found herself with nothing to do. Consequently, the house gleamed. Every wooden, glass or metal object buffed to an overpowering shine by Rhiannon simply for something to do. Her pride was her mirror. It was a gift from Merfyn, full length and mounted on a baroque wooden frame. Rhiannon loved it, every morning she stood there, staring at herself in the mirror, watching the bump on her stomach slowly get bigger.
“Marriage!” she shouted, her voice trembling.
“Yes, that is what I said,” Merfyn said, his voice quiet and calm. “I am to be wed to the daughter of Dai Jones, he has a respectable business making coaches and their sundry attachments, for the horses and so on. Smart man, there will always be call for those. He is willing to invest in the mine, in exchange for marrying his daughter. Very shrewd of him.” Merfyn lifted the small teacup Rhiannon had brought in for him to his lips and took a sip.
“But you promised to marry me!” Rhiannon shook, her world shattering before her eyes. “What about our child? You promised!” Tears streamed down her face, her hands gripped tight into fists.
“You will be well… taken care of.” He placed the cup back onto the saucer, the delicate china rattling as he did. “I suggest you begin packing some things, it would be inappropriate to keep you on as a maid after this.” He lifted the broadsheet that was resting on his knees and opened it.
Gareth struck hard with the cleaver, severing flesh with a single strike.
“I’ll kill him,” he growled, throwing the strip of beef into a boiling pot. “You just say the word Rhi and I will, I swear.” He struck again with the cleaver, it sliced through the meat, sticking into the chopping board.
“No, no, don’t do anything…” she said, fighting through cascading tears. “You don’t want to lose your job too.” She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.
“My Job?” Gareth asked baffled. He threw another strip of meat into the pot. “If you think I’m working for him after pulling something like this, you’re as mad as he is. This is for me to take home.” He pointed at the bubbling pot. “I suggest you do the same, grab what you can and get out of here.”
“I can’t,” she stopped, trying to compose herself. “I can’t do that, he said he would make sure I’m looked after. If I left now I can’t imagine he would follow through.”
“Yeah like he followed through with promising to marry you?” Gareth stared at her, hands resting on the wooden table that dominated the kitchen. “He’s a different class to us Rhi, they’re all like this. Money first, even over love. You think he’ll suffer an expense like that.”
“It’s his child, how couldn’t he…” she trailed off, staring down at the table.
“Listen to me Rhi, leave. Walk out that door and don’t come back.”
Rhiannon awoke, earlier than usual. She slipped on her uniform, not bothering to examine herself in the mirror. She had stopped doing it weeks ago, it was too painful a reminder. She stepped over the large bag that held all her personal things. She had packed it, ready to leave, and yet every morning she got up, put on that uniform and went to work. The days were harder and longer now Gareth was gone, the cooking tasks adding to her workload which had grown considerably larger with the upcoming wedding. Everything was being replaced, the carpets, the furniture, the paint on the walls with some invention called wallpaper. Change was all around her, a swirling maelstrom of chaos in what had been a stable reliable life. Rhiannon stood in the kitchen, waiting for an egg to boil, watching one of the decorators stripping paint from the kitchen wall with a metal scraping tool. She watched as the grimy mint green paint peeled away. It had been there for as long as Rhiannon had worked at the house, it felt like her own life was being scrapped out of the place, the stones being shaken free of any trace of her.
“Seven A.M. what is so hard about that? It is not a difficult ask. It’s now quarter past the hour, I have been waiting fifteen minutes. Unacceptable. Me and my guest will now be late for our appointments. Again.” Merfyn stared at her, arms crossed.
“I am sorry sir, won’t happen again sir.” Rhiannon set the tray down on the brand-new table which sat in the centre of the parlour. The tray wobbled as she lowered it, heavy from the two plates, each with their own egg cups and toast.
“Apologise to my fiancé too,” he demanded.
“I am sorry my lady,” Rhiannon curtsied as she apologised.
“No need, I keep telling Merfyn he should replace the cook,” said the woman. She was short but thin, her face softly curved. She had long flowing black hair, which curled at the ends. She was beautiful, and a perfect match for Merfyn’s rough handsome features.
“As I said Myfanwy, I am replacing all of the staff at the same time. It will be easier to bring in a staff who have worked together already at another household. Rhiannon here shall be leaving us soon.”
“Is that true Rhiannon? A shame, I do so like you.” Myfanwy smiled, it felt fake, only the pretence of niceness.
“Yes, my lady. It’s fine, Sir had already lined up a new job for me at another house. He did promise to look after me.” She shot Merfyn a glare.
“Really! Well that’s so considerate Merfyn, how nice of you.”
“Gather your things.” Merfyn’s shadow stood in the doorway, moonlight from the landing illuminating him in a pale glow. Rhiannon stirred, sitting up in her bed. She blinked slightly confused.
“Sir?” she said, her voice hoarse.
“I said gather your things, you leave tonight, I have made arrangements.” His shadow moved oddly in the light, as though he wasn’t fully there.
“But it’s the middle of the night? Can it not wait?” Rhiannon asked, rubbing her eyes.
“No.” Merfyn stated. His voice was serious but quiet. It was sinister. He stepped forward into the room, out from the shadow. He was dressed oddly, wearing a set of rough-hewn woollen trousers and an ill-fitting shirt. They did not suit Merfyn. “Is this your bag?” he asked, pointing to Rhiannon’s prepacked clothes.
“Yes,” she said, still groggy. She turned, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers, their pale blue matching her nightgown.
Merfyn followed her down the stairs, his hand on her back, almost pushing her. He carried her case in the other hand, holding it up to his chest to not knock the walls and wake the house. He marched her out into the night air, its cold chilling her through the thin gown. He motioned for her to follow and walked around the house to its rear. Rhiannon followed, confused as to what arrangements he had made, to require a night-time flight. It had been raining, the wet mud squeezing between her toes.
As she rounded the corner she saw Merfyn, he stood with one of the cellar doors in hand, the ground a monstrous void before him. He motioned down at the all-consuming black with his head.
“The cellar? What’s going on?” Rhiannon shivered, holding her arms close to herself, trying but failing to ward out the cold.
“I’ve been taking money from, well everywhere. The mine profits, part of the investment, the money Jones has given me for the renovation. I’ve been storing it here. I promised I would look after you. We need to collect this before the carriage arrives to take you to your new home.” Merfyn unhooked the oil lantern they keep on the outer wall by the cellar and struck a match, using it to ignite the lantern. Its dull fire casting and orange glow, shadows rising over Mefryn’s face. “Come on, down you go, we haven’t much time.” Carefully, Rhiannon stepped down, into the blackness. There was an odd smell, sharp to the nose, like bad liquor. It smelt like the clear watery substance the decorators had been using to strip the paint from the walls. “For what It’s worth, I am sorry Rhiannon.”
Merfyn swung the case aiming to throw it down the
stairs. It was weightier than he expected, and it pulled him forward. The trousers he had borrowed from one of the decorators were too long for him and he tripped. Losing his footing in the wet mud he tumbled head first into the cellars stone stairs, his nose breaking as he struck them. The force of him falling shook the cellars doorframe, causing the door he had left only balanced open to slam shut behind him. As he fell the lantern came loose from his hand smashing onto the cellar floor. The turpentine burst into flames as he had planned. Rhiannon screamed, the noise muffled by the thick stone walls of the cellar. The fire spread outwards, Merfyn having been thorough in his planning. Slowly, painfully, they both burned.
Chapter 25
Mark stood before the house, Jess by his side staring at the doorway. The wind had picked up, the omnipresent fine mist transitioning to a full downpour. It soaked the ground, turning the dirt into a thick mud. They were alone, Dale and Rajan staying behind at the bakery to watch over the rift. The house seemed almost pathetic, its dull worn stone, thick with graffiti, its broken windows and door which hung agape. It was a shadow, the failed promise of shelter clinging helplessly to the hillside. Leading the way Mark stepped across the threshold and began to climb the stairs.
“Hello?” he shouted as he crested over the top of the stairs. “Anyone home? Jesus Christ!” At the end of the landing were too bodies. Mark thought he recognised them as the girl who got pushed through the window and her sister, though it was difficult to tell. Their bodies had been slashed, faces shredded, stomachs torn open. The hallway carpet was stained with blood, a great smear of it running along the wall as though one of the bodies had been thrown against it. One of the girl’s hands clutched her phone tightly. “I’m sorry girls,” Mark said crouching next to their bodies. “I should have warned you not to come back here.”
