Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  Brandon moved into the melting shop and stood for a moment accustoming himself to the noise and the searing heat. The air was acrid and it hurt to breathe too deeply of the smoke-laden atmosphere. But the men took it in their stride, working short shifts before the furnace mouth. Towels held over the lower part of the jaw and clamped between the teeth defeated some of the abrasive dust and a quick draught of ale or water kept the throat lubricated.

  On taking up the ownership of the Beaufort Works Brandon had cut the time of each shift by an hour. To his satisfaction, production had increased in spite of the shorter hours, which proved his theory that tired men did not work at their best. And in the last few months the blast furnaces equipped with Cowper’s patent stoves had turned out almost six thousand tons of pig iron a week, which for a small company was a not inconsiderable achievement.

  Brandon stopped and nodded to Joe Phillips, who was a rugged fifty-year-old and perhaps one of the most experienced of the workers. He was certainly the most vigorous in his demands.

  ‘Morning, boss.’ Joe did not smile and Brandon paused, knowing there was going to be some complaint or other.

  ‘What is it Joe?’ he said affably. The man was a solid worker and an honest man, well worth listening to.

  ‘All I want is a bit of chwarae teg, boss,’ he said. ‘Fair play is what the men in this foundry need and I’m the only one who will open my big trap and say so to your face.’

  ‘All right. Go on.’ Brandon concealed a smile.

  ‘Well, for a start, those steam hammers, bloody dangerous, they are. Weigh nigh on eight tons a piece, and need maintenance they do.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Brandon was suddenly alert, for accidents cost dearly in terms of manpower as well as money and he did not want to look for trouble.

  ‘Going awkward somewhere in the innards,’ Joe replied laconically. ‘Clogged up, I shouldn’t wonder, but it’s not my place to say so, mind.’

  Brandon ran his hand through his hair. He should have had all the equipment checked before he bought the place; there might be a great deal else going wrong and he had no capital for extensive repairs.

  ‘I’ll have the hammers seen to, Joe.’ Even as he spoke, Brandon recognised that he had been so impressed by the two new open-hearth furnaces in the melting shop that he had assumed everything else would be in good working order; it seemed he was about to learn differently.

  ‘Now is there anything else I should know?’ He felt the acrid sting of heat and dust blast into his face as one of the furnaces was opened. Joe nodded, unaware of the particles of metal drifting downwards in a shaft of sunlight.

  ‘It’s the cutting of the taw, boss. There’s one man doing small sheets of iron who is getting more wages than the fellow next to him who is working the bigger sizes. No sense in it!’

  ‘I’m aware of the discrepancy in the wages, Joe,’ Brandon said, ‘and I am trying to do something about it, but all I can say at the moment is be patient.’

  Joe tugged at the ends of his greying moustache, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Patience, it’s not a lot to offer the boys, is it, sir? Patience is not what those boyos are used to. Live hard and work hard they do, and need a good pocketful of money to make life worthwhile.’

  Brandon smiled and laid his hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘Things are going to improve around here, Joe,’ he said soberly. ‘You can take my word for it.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and the thought of the manuscript locked away in the bank safe gave him a feeling of immense satisfaction.

  He returned to the office and sank down into his chair, rubbing irritably at the dust on his face.

  ‘Get a brew going, Mark,’ he said. ‘My throat is like the Sahara Desert. How those men stand the heat for so many hours a day, I’ll never know.’

  Mark pushed the blackened kettle onto the stove. ‘They’re used to it,’ he said reasonably. ‘Most of them have been doing nothing else but work in the steel and tinplate since they were boys. It’s either that or go down the mines, nothing else round here.’

  Brandon studied the young manager in silence for a moment. ‘And what makes you different from the rest?’ he asked at last. ‘How did you escape the furnaces and the pits?’

  Mark’s youthful face was suddenly sober. ‘My mam scrubbed floors,’ he said simply. ‘Took in other folks’ washing; did anything so as to make money to get me an education. She died begging me not to go into the Morfa, the pit that killed my father and two older brothers.’

  In silence, Mark made the tea and as Brandon watched him he warmed to the young man. Mark had character and determination written clearly into his strong features; he neither asked for nor expected pity; he was merely stating facts. Brandon took the cup Mark held towards him and sipped the steaming tea thoughtfully. He believed he had a closer affinity with Mark than to his own brother. Which reminded him that tonight he had promised to take his father to Dean’s house. It would be a chore, not a pleasure, but Brandon would not willingly allow his father to see the hostility that existed – would always exist – between himself and Dean. He rose to his feet and placed the cup on the desk.

  ‘Look after things here, will you?’ He shrugged on his coat. ‘I’m taking the rest of the day off.’

  Mark nodded willingly. ‘You can trust me, sir.’

  Brandon’s gaze was level. ‘I guess I can at that,’ he said quietly.

  Then he left the office and strode out along the road. He had a great deal of thinking to do and he was at heart a solitary man. He loved the silence of the seashore in the early light of the morning with nothing but the cry of the seagulls overhead to distract him. But now it was late afternoon. The sun was dropping in a sky that was cloudless except where the issue of smoke from the conglomeration of works along the line of the river gushed upwards like an abuse.

  Yet it was the industry, the copper, the steel and tinplate that was the heart of the place. Sweyn’s Eye was growing fast, Brandon had seen that much in the six months that had passed since he had arrived in the town. Men needed the works and the works needed men; it was a union that could not be broken.

  But it could be improved and this was what Brandon meant to do. For example, he could push through the publication of the handbook which would help put the wage structure on a fairer basis. He realised that making reforms was not the way to gain popularity, but when had he ever worried about that?

  His thoughts took him back to the morning at the prison and determination grew in him to make Billy Gray talk. He was sure that the man was as guilty as hell; it was clear that through the young groom Dean had made yet another attempt to betray him. His bid to steal Brandon’s manuscript left a bitter taste in the mouth, but then Dean showed loyalty to no man or woman for that matter.

  His mood softened as he thought of Mary Jenkins, tall and statuesque. A proud woman, wearing her dignity like a cloak. There had been a fierce passion smouldering in her eyes, a dreamy sultriness not yet fully awakened that intrigued him. He would not be averse to taking her in his arms and teaching her the power of love, bringing the subdued sensuousness of the woman into full glory, for if he was not mistaken she was still virginal. And was there some element of revenge because she bore the same name as his first love, he wondered?

  Since Mary Anne there had been many women in Brandon’s life. He had enjoyed them, giving them his vigour and passion, but somehow nothing of his inner self had been touched. Perhaps it was a family trait, he mused, maybe the Suttons did not have it in them to give of themselves to any woman.

  But now Mary Jenkins had stirred a chord and it made him uncomfortable to think of her eyes looking into his. He moved on across the golden sand. It was about time he went home to the house up on the western slope of the hill, not too far from Ty Mawr where his brother lived. Brandon sighed, knowing that his father would be waiting impatiently for his return, excited at the prospect of bringing his two sons together now that he had at last forced them into agreeing to a meeti
ng.

  Not that there was the remotest chance of that happening, not in reality, but Brandon would go along with his father and indulge him in his dreams. He would pay lip service to a friendship that could never be, knowing there was nothing but enmity between Dean and himself.

  Brandon moved reluctantly away from the beach, thrusting his hands into his pockets and turning his back on the sea.

  * * *

  Mary had sat up on the hill with the cool breeze playing on her face for what seemed like hours. The sea far below rolled gently in onto the shore and the sun, moving lower now, slanted across the lush grass at her feet turning the buttercups to pure gold.

  There was an air of peace and tranquillity here up on the western slopes that soothed the mind and brought relief, for Mary’s thoughts had been in a turmoil when she had alighted from the tram several hours ago.

  No one had left the house, or even sent the uppity young maid to Mary with a message. She wrestled with her disappointment and anger, knowing she must leave the fine imposing house before she made a complete fool of herself, for her urge was to hammer on the door closed so finally against her.

  Yet there was a knot of pain inside her as she remembered the strange turquoise eyes of Brandon Sutton. She leaned back against the soft warm bark of the tree that spread sheltering arms above her head and tried to clear her mind, but it was an impossible task.

  ‘It’s soft in the head, you are, Mary Jenkins!’ she said aloud. Yet she remembered so clearly the way Brandon Sutton had looked into her eyes back there at the prison, almost as though he would fight her battles for her. As he had led her inside the gate, away from the taunts of the other women, staring down at her as though she was a lovely, desirable woman, she had felt herself to be so. She pushed the thought away, for this was the man who had put Billy behind bars. He must be a rogue and a liar into the bargain and she was a simpleton to give Brandon so much as a moment of her time.

  She rose to her feet reluctantly and stood for a moment looking down into the valley. She could see the line of the river and the huddle of buildings that squatted toad-like on the banks. Further away were the coffin-shaped docks with one tall-masted ship leaning drunkenly against the outward flow of the tide. She was achingly proud of her town; it was monumental in grandeur, with the shooting of sparks from the copper works and the blaze of lights from the foundries as the furnaces were tapped.

  There was dirt and poverty in abundance and as a young woman, Mary had been seized by a wish to help the unfortunates who lived in narrow alleys untouched by sunshine in the slum areas of the town – the slums from which by hard work she had managed to drag herself and her brother.

  She had often wondered why no one ever opened a shop that would bring the basic items of food such as flour and vegetables and also cheap tough clothing to the people at reasonable prices.

  The Cooperative Movement was the nearest thing to salvation for the poor, yet even that offered no solution to the problem of those who wished to eat today and settle the account on payday.

  She had often toyed with the idea of starting such a shop herself, but she had no resources. In any case, she had been busy working her way up to the position of overseer at the Canal Street Laundry. Mary prided herself that she could do every job herself from stoking boilers to ironing sheets, so when she had reason to reprimand a worker it was with a full knowledge of what difficulties were involved.

  She shivered a little as she stared around at the large elegant villas that turned away from the stink of the town and looked out to sea where the lovely waters of the Channel separated the coast to Wales from Devonshire. Here lived the privileged of the town, wealthy steelworks owners and copper bosses. It was difficult not to feel some resentment, yet Mary recognised that it was these same people who had brought prosperity to Sweyn’s Eye.

  She looked towards the turreted roof of Ty Mawr and with a firm set to her lips began to walk towards the Big House. If she could not talk with Brandon Sutton, then she could at least see his brother. The elder Sutton son had been Billy’s boss and a good one too as far as she knew. Surely he would do all he could to help the boy who had once served as his groom.

  The maid who answered the back door to Mary was reluctant to let her in, yet there was something in the stance of the tall composed woman that spoke of authority.

  ‘Wait by here. Mr Dean is expecting visitors, I don’t think he’ll be able to see you,’ she said at last. As Mary stood listening to the soft whinnying of the horses across the yard, she tried to picture Billy stepping out of his home above the stable one night and finding himself sucked into a whirlpool of misery.

  The girl returned after what seemed an endless wait and gestured for Mary to enter the house. She led the way along a narrow passageway past the kitchens that were bustling with activity and then Mary found herself in a spacious, well-lit hallway. She took a seat and linked her fingers in her lap while the maid stared down at her with large curious eyes.

  ‘Mr Dean says I’m to bring you a cup of tea; he’ll be some time yet.’

  After what seemed an eternity, Dean Sutton came hurrying down the stairs smiling at her. ‘Miss Jenkins, or shall I call you Mary? Come on into the sitting room, honey.’ He smiled down at her, a big rugged man with a large handsome head and a thick mane of hair. Mary knew him by sight, for he had been part of the fabric of Sweyn’s Eye ever since she could remember.

  ‘Sit down, Mary. I think I can guess why you’ve come; you’re worried about Billy, aren’t you?’

  Mary nodded, overawed by the luxury of the room. Carpet gleamed, set against the floor in jewel colours; the furniture was large and highly polished and everywhere there was an air of light and spaciousness.

  ‘Duw,’ she said at last. ‘There must be something an important man like you can do, Mr Sutton?’ She floundered a little, wondering at her own audacity, but though she was trembling she forced herself to continue. ‘Billy did nothing wrong, he was only looking after your interests, mind.’

  Dean sat beside her on the sofa and covered her hand with his own large fingers.

  ‘I know that, my dear, and I’ll do all in my power to see that any injustice is put to rights.’ He leaned closer. ‘My brother is a hothead, flinging accusations without waiting to consider matters. He had a down on Billy right away, sent that manager of his for the constable. He vented his spleen on the first person he saw.’ Dean paused a moment. ‘For my part, I’m sure that whoever it was broke into my brother’s office that night, it wasn’t Billy Gray.’

  Mary felt tears of gratitude rise to her eyes, but she held her head high and her face was impassive.

  ‘That’s a great relief to me, Mr Sutton.’ She spoke with more confidence now. ‘I’m so glad to know you’re on Billy’s side.’

  The door opened suddenly and she blinked in surprise. Brandon Sutton had entered the room and behind him an older man, tall and broad of shoulder, his hair grey yet with the same stamp of strength on his features. That the three men regarding each other silently were related by blood was obvious at a glance.

  ‘Father!’ Dean was rising to his feet, holding out his hands warmly. ‘And Dirk,’ his voice faded. ‘How good of you to come calling.’

  ‘Do you have to call me Dirk?’ The voice was clipped. ‘You know I prefer Brandon.’ Mary was unaware of the tension between the brothers; she was so angry with Brandon Sutton that she could not think straight.

  He had condemned Billy without a hearing and had refused to face her when she had called at his house. Yet he stood before her now, proud and arrogant, as though he had done nothing wrong.

  ‘You hypocrite!’ she said in a low voice. ‘How dare you go to the prison to see Billy when you were the one who put him there?’

  She strode towards the door, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Then Brandon was standing over her, his hand on the doorknob as his eyes held hers. It was Mary who turned away first.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said briskly. �
�Billy Gray was put just where he belonged by the force of the law.’

  ‘Oh, come on now, Brandon,’ Dean drawled. ‘Don’t try to deny that it was you who accused my groom of trespassing on your property and stealing your money.’

  Mary saw Brandon’s eyes narrow. ‘I don’t deny anything. Billy Gray deserves all he’s got and there are others who should be behind bars with him so just keep your mouth shut, Dean, no one is asking you to interfere in the matter.’

  ‘Come on now, boys.’ Old Mr Sutton moved forward: ‘This is supposed to be a pleasant social evening for the three of us.’ He looked icily in Mary’s direction. ‘Perhaps you would oblige me by leaving, young woman.’

  Mary lifted her chin and defiantly returned the anger in the old man’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, I’ll leave,’ she said. ‘But I’ll say this much first. Your son is a liar and is not fit to be in decent company.’ She moved into the hallway and as she glanced back over her shoulder, the three Sutton men were standing silent, like figures in a play. Mary let herself out into the cool of the early evening and as she made her way down the hill, there was a sadness deep and aching, growing within her.

  Chapter Three

  Mali Richardson stood near the window enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. The fragrant breeze drifted towards her, heavy with the scent of roses, and she felt a deep sense of peace. In her arms lay her young son, his bright head close to her breast. The boy was growing fast, she thought proudly and sighed softly, achingly aware of the happiness that had been hers since her marriage.

  The small chapel where she had stood with Sterling almost two years earlier was the one she had attended all her life. And it had not worried her unduly that she was even then big with child or that the wedding between copper boss and working girl had caused a sensation in the town. All she had cared about was the happiness that filled her being as she stared up at the stained-glass window depicting the Lamb of God and felt the coolness of the plain gold band on her finger.