The door opened, startling her from her reverie and Sterling entered the room. His bright hair was shining in the sunlight and Mali’s heart leaped with joy as it always did at the sight of her husband. She held out her hand towards him.
‘Come here, cariad,’ she said softly. ‘There’s something I want to tell you and it just won’t wait a moment longer.’
As Sterling sat beside her, leaning over to kiss the boy in her arms, the child stirred, golden lashes fluttering against smooth rounded cheeks. Tears burned her eyes as Mali felt the weight of Sterling’s head against her shoulder. She was safe and warm in the circle of his arms, the love between them almost tangible.
‘Don’t wake David,’ she said gently. ‘He’s only just fallen asleep, so now pay attention while I talk to you.’
Her voice was light and teasing and Sterling looked up at her, his violet eyes bright. ‘You’re getting above yourself, Mali, giving orders like a martinet. Who would think you were once a little skinny waif who fought like a she-cat outside the gates of the Canal Street Laundry?’
Mali smiled reprovingly. ‘I was never a skinny waif there’s a fibber you are, Sterling Richardson.’
He leaned back consideringly. ‘No, perhaps skinny is the wrong word. After all, you did provide a good show when you put Sally Benson on the floor like a champion fist-fighter.’
Mali felt herself blushing. ‘I suppose I must have looked like a hoyden,’ she said sheepishly, ‘but that girl was asking for it, mind.’
‘And she most certainly got it,’ Sterling said wryly, ‘and in the process your blouse was torn to shreds, which gave me ample opportunity to view the goods.’
He pinched at her breast playfully and Mali slapped his hand away.
‘Be serious, now, and let me get a word in edgeways.’ She smiled softly, unable to conceal her happiness as Sterling took her face between his hands questioningly.
‘All right, I can see you’re bursting to tell me; you look like the cat who ate the cream, so what is it?’
Mali’s colour was high; she felt exhilarated and, strangely, just a little nervous. She wanted to savour the moment and yet have it over and done with.
‘David is going to have a brother or sister,’ she said softly. Once the words were spoken, she felt a fluttering of apprehension. It was strange how she had never entirely shaken off the strictures of her upbringing. In the Llewelyn household, intimacies had not been encouraged. Anything to do with the flesh was put aside, spoken of only in whispers and childbirth was something to be got over with as little fuss as possible. Slowly Mali lifted her head and looked into her husband’s face.
‘Say something, Sterling, you don’t mind another babba round the place do you?’
As she fell unwittingly into the Welsh vernacular Sterling smiled. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ He moved away from her and thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘But I can’t help being concerned about you. After all, David is little more than a baby himself.’
Mali laughed spontaneously. ‘Well, you should have thought of that before you came to my bed with such eagerness every night.’ She blushed, knowing that she had always been as anxious to receive Sterling’s love as he to give it.
‘Come here.’ Her hand lovingly caressed the crispness of the hair at the back of his neck. ‘I’m a strong Welsh girl, remember? I’m just built for childbearing. Why, wasn’t little David born without scarcely a pain? So don’t be worried, now.’ She kissed his mouth. ‘Tell me you’re pleased or I’ll be grieving inside me.’
He smiled and to Mali it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. He was so handsome, his eyes alight, his gleaming hair falling over his brow, that she wanted to hold him close to her.
‘Of course I’m pleased,’ he said firmly. ‘But I’m going to insist that you take things easy from now on. This supper party tonight for example – I’ve a good mind to call it off.’
‘Oh, no, don’t do that,’ Mali said quickly. ‘It’s all arranged and I don’t have anything to do but enjoy myself. You really have no idea how easy my life has been since I married you.’
Sterling smiled. ‘Well, I should hope so, my wife has no need to lift a finger. Which brings me to the subject of the laundry.’ He stared at her, frowning a little, and Mali felt a sudden sense of unease. She watched in silence as Sterling moved across the room to stand near the ornate fireplace.
‘I’ve been wanting to say this for some time, Mali.’ His deep blue eyes regarded her steadily. ‘I want you to sell the business.’ He paused. ‘I might be old-fashioned, but I’ve never liked the thought of you working, especially now with the increased responsibilities you’ll have at home.’
Mali fidgeted in her chair and the boy on her lap stirred, his eyes fluttering open for a second before closing sleepily once more.
‘Let me think about it,’ Mali said at last. ‘The laundry means so much to me, Sterling, you know that. It gives me a sense of fulfilment to think of the way I’ve built it up into a thriving concern.’
‘But you’ll have all the fulfilment you want in looking after our children surely?’ His tone became softer. ‘I worry about you, Mali, you are not half as strong as you’d like to believe.’
She could read his anxiety plainly in the furrowing of his brows and she relented.
‘If it troubles you so much, then of course I’ll sell the laundry,’ she said brightly, but her heart was heavy and she felt somehow bereft. The business was so much more than a source of income, it was a symbol of her rise from poverty and despair. But Sterling was right – her first duty now was to her family.
‘You won’t regret it.’ He smiled at her from across the room and it was as though he had touched her with loving fingers. ‘I take a great delight in being able to provide whatever you want,’ he said. ‘And now that the copper company is running so successfully, there’s no need for you to burden yourself with responsibility for a business we don’t require.’ Mali was about to deny that the laundry was any sort of burden, but the words died on her lips at the loud imperious knocking on the door.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Richardson, but it’s time for Master David’s tea.’ The young nanny took the sleeping boy from Mali’s reluctant arms, carefully holding him against the starched whiteness of her apron. David opened his eyes and smiled at once, his green eyes still misted with sleep.
‘Thank you, Primmy.’ Mali rose to her feet, clasping her hands together, knowing that she would never become used to handing over her son to another woman. She forced herself to smile at Primmy as she left the room. She was a good nanny and fond of David, but rather inclined to take charge in a high-handed manner almost as though he was her own child.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sterling placed his arms around her waist and drew her close to him. ‘You look as if you had bitten into a peach, only to find it was bitter.’
‘You are too nosey for your own good, my boy.’ Mali wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, breathing in the familiar scent of him, a mingling of soap and fresh air and masculinity. It would do no good to tell him that she wanted her son with her at all times, wanted to bring David up at her knee, the way she herself had been raised. Sterling’s ways were those of the rich and it was a foregone conclusion that his children should have a nanny, a trained nurse who would take upon herself all the difficulties of child-rearing.
‘Come along, I think you should rest before supper.’ Sterling drew her towards the door. ‘I shall come and sit with you for a while, smooth your forehead if you like until you fall asleep.’
‘That would be nice.’ Mali held on to the warmth of Sterling’s hand as together they mounted the curving staircase. Plas Rhianfa was an elegant house, large and comfortable with ample room to bring up an enormous family. Mali smiled to herself, remembering the first time she had set eyes upon the mansion in which she was to spend her married life. It was such a far cry from the little house in Copperman’s Row where she had been born that at first she had felt she was living
in a palace. Strangely, it had not taken her very long to grow accustomed to spacious high-ceilinged rooms and servants who danced attendance on her every whim.
‘Come on, you look half asleep already.’ Sterling led her into the sunlit bedroom and drew the blinds across the windows. Gently he unfastened her gown and as she lay upon the softness of the bed, he settled himself beside her.
She reached up towards him, her arms warm as they clung to his neck, her eyes shining with an unspoken invitation. ‘Suddenly I don’t seem to be sleepy,’ she whispered.
Sterling held her close, his hand cupping her breasts, his breathing ragged. ‘Will I ever stop wanting you?’ he asked hoarsely and Mali smiled happily.
‘I hope not, cariad,’ she whispered.
* * *
It was much later when Mali was dressing for supper that she realised how tired she was. She studied her reflection in the long mirror that swivelled to and fro on a gilt stand. ‘Three months gone,’ she said aloud, turning sideways for a better view of her figure, smiling with pleasure to see that only the fullness of her breasts revealed any sign of her condition. But she was too pale, she decided, and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. She sighed, conceding that Sterling was right; she did need rest and the laundry was becoming too much for her. Not that she did a great deal of work there, it was mostly a matter of studying the books and checking the delivery dates against the records in the office.
The great bulk of responsibility was taken off her shoulders nowadays by Mary Jenkins. Mali smiled. Big Mary had been her friend ever since the days when she had stoked the boilers in the laundry wash house. Then she had thought of Mary as a martinet, for the overseer was strictness itself. But she was also fair; she had seen Mali’s potential and had encouraged her to rise from her lowly job to the position of office worker she eventually held.
Mali felt a pang of remorse, for in her own joy and excitement over the discovery that she was again with child she had neglected Mary. She had given her time off from work, it was true, but she should have done more. Seeing Mary on the tram so unexpectedly, she had recognised lines of strain in the strong features and pity had flowed through her for Mary was so much a part of the past. Mali stared at her reflection unseeingly now, unaware of the sadness in her face. She was back in the dust and the stink of Copperman’s Row and memories crowded uninvited into her mind.
When her father had died so tragically, seared and mutilated by the molten copper he was smelting, she had been in the depths of despair. However, the customers from the Mexico Fountain as well as the men from Maggie Dick’s public bar had rallied round her. They had made a collection for Davie Llewelyn, bringing her money as well as their condolences. The sum had been large enough for Mali to approach the laundry boss and ask if she could buy shares in the firm. He had accepted gladly, for Mr Waddington had become old and sick and was fond of Mali as well as being impressed with her business acumen.
Mali sighed, recalling that the money had been stolen before she could hand it over, taken by the floosie who had hoped to marry Davie. It had seemed then as though all her hopes and dreams were to come to nothing, but Mr Waddington had taken her under his wing anyway and on his death, she found he had left the laundry to her.
Mali shook back her long dark hair impatiently. Living in the past was not going to help her now; she had agreed to sell the laundry and, although it would be like losing a part of herself, she would not go back on her word. But whoever took over the business would have to abide by one stricture, which was that Big Mary be kept on in her present capacity.
The supper party was not all that Mali had hoped it would be. She had invited few guests, mostly with a view to repaying past hospitality, but had buoyed up her spirits with the hope that the evening would be a pleasure as well as a duty.
Now she glanced discreetly round the table. No one appeared to notice her; it was strange, she reflected, how alone she felt amid the chatter. Opposite her sat Dean Sutton and beside him his delicate wife Bea. Bryn Thomas, the old doctor who had attended Mali at her confinement, sat with his back half turned towards his waspish wife, though whether by accident or design Mali could not say. Marian Thomas, unlike her husband, had no sense of humour and her lynx-like eyes appeared to miss nothing of what went on around her. Then there was Grenville Sutton, Dean’s father; he was an unknown quantity as yet, though Mali had liked him on first sight. He should have been seated now with Sterling’s mother, but at the last moment Victoria had pleaded some minor indisposition and begged to be excused. In all honesty, Mali thought dryly, she couldn’t blame her mother-in-law one bit.
The immaculate white tablecloth was spread with fine silver that shimmered in the light from the chandeliers. The room was elegant, the furniture polished and gleaming, the carpet rich and deep. She was surrounded by luxury, but at this moment Mali felt she would rather be anywhere than playing hostess at Plas Rhianfa.
She sat back in her chair, content to remain silent while the men endlessly discussed business matters and the women enthused over the latest clothes displayed in Ben Evans’ window. She knew that however gushing Marian Thomas might be, she could never accept Mali as one of her own kind. Bea Sutton was different; she offered genuine friendship and, catching Mali’s eye, she smiled warmly.
That Bea’s health was failing was painfully obvious, for her bones jutted from beneath the soft silk of her gown and though the evening was cool, beads of perspiration formed above the too well-coloured mouth.
Bea held Mali’s glance, grimacing wryly as Marian Thomas chattered ceaselessly at her side. The men had fallen to discussing the possibility of a coming war and Mali shuddered. Placing her napkin carefully at the side of her plate, she rose.
‘Let us go into the drawing room, where we’ll be more comfortable.’ She spoke quickly, conscious of the broadness of her Welsh accent. None of her guests spoke as she did, even though to Mali’s knowledge most of them had been born and bred in Wales. The fine schools to which they were sent must have ironed out all traces of the language, she thought absently.
Bea slipped her hand through Mali’s arm. ‘You are looking particularly well tonight,’ she said gently. ‘If I’m not mistaken, there’s a special reason for that extra bloom in your cheeks?’
‘That’s very observant of you, Bea.’ Mali leaned closer: ‘You’re right, I’m going to have another baby.’ Bea smiled, though there were lines of strain around her mouth and Mali felt her heart constrict with pity. It was common knowledge in Sweyn’s Eye that Bea had once been in love with Sterling, had even carried his child. But that was before the awful discovery that Bea and Sterling were related by blood. Mali wondered why she had never felt any jealousy for the other woman in her husband’s life; perhaps it was because Bea was so genuinely warm and friendly.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Bea whispered, ‘and truly, it doesn’t hurt any more. It was all a long time ago and now I’m truly in love with Dean.’
Mali remained silent. To all outward appearance, Dean Sutton was likeable enough, yet some inner core of distrust plagued her. She could not forget the talk about his being involved in the explosion at the Kilvey Deep some time ago. The mine, which was owned by Sterling, had been flooded bringing disaster to the town. There was no proof that Dean was implicated in any way, just gossip whispered by serving maids from one house to another. But Mali would never forget the dreadful scene at the pithead, the dead and dying lying around the blackened earth and her fear that Sterling was among the victims. For that reason Mali could never feel it in her to offer friendship to the big American but his wife Bea was different; she was a warm and generous woman and it grieved Mali to see her looking so ill.
‘Come and sit down,’ she gently. ‘I’ll pour you some iced tea. There’s silly you were to come out tonight when the air is chilly, you should have stayed at home and got some rest.’
‘I’ll rest long enough when I’m dead.’ Bea’s words, though lightly spoken, carried conviction an
d Mali shivered.
‘Don’t talk like that Bea,’ she said reprovingly. ‘It’s like tempting fate.’
‘No need to tempt fate, Mali dear, it’s here knocking at my door.’ Bea smiled suddenly and lifted a strand of greying hair, tucking it into place absent-mindedly. ‘Enough of me. What would you like this time, another boy to keep David company or would you prefer a daughter?’
Mali returned Bea’s smile. ‘I don’t really mind. Perhaps a girl would be nice to dress in frills and fripperies but so long as the child is healthy, I shall not complain whatever it is.’
Mali glanced towards the dining room, wishing Sterling would join them. She found herself faintly uneasy without his presence to give her confidence.
‘Where’s poor dear Victoria?’ Marian Thomas moved nearer to Mali, a speculative look on her face. Her eyes were long, almost oriental and thick black brows met over a prominent nose.
‘I must say I thought she would grace us with her presence tonight. The poor dear has practically shut herself away since she had to move into that little house,’ she continued stridently.
Mali managed to smile, though the implication behind Marian’s words was that in moving to Plas Rhianfa, Mali had ousted Victoria Richardson from her rightful home. In fact, it had been Victoria’s choice that she moved but Mali was not prepared to explain herself to the doctor’s inquisitive wife.
‘Since the death of Bea’s father, Victoria has become a virtual recluse,’ Marian continued mercilessly. ‘It was all such a terrible shock to her, she and James were such good friends.’
Mali was angered by Marian’s lack of sensitivity in reminding everyone present of the affair between Sterling’s mother and Bea’s father, an affair which had caused havoc particularly for Bea herself.
‘Victoria keeps her own life very private,’ Mali said evenly, ‘and she doesn’t pry into anyone else’s business either.’
Proud Mary Page 4