Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  ‘Our Billy couldn’t wait to get out of Auntie’s house,’ Rhian protested. ‘Went into service as groom to Mr Sutton as soon as he was old enough. Why should I be the one to be left behind?’

  Mary sighed. ‘Well, don’t think you’re moving in here, my girl. There’s enough for me to do without another mouth to feed and another one to fetch and carry for. No, you be patient – stay with your Auntie Agnes and be thankful you have a roof over your head. As for the job at the laundry, that’s entirely up to you. I told Billy I’d look after you and I have done as far as possible, but wet-nurse you I shan’t.’

  Rhian rose to her feet, a rosy flush on her face. ‘Well, that Mr Sutton is a horrible old man, mind, he talks to us as if we’re daft. I don’t think I can stand it another day.’

  ‘Well, just think about this,’ Mary said firmly. ‘Jobs are scarce around these parts, what with all the strikes and so on, so you bite your tongue until you’re sure you can find something else to go to.’ She paused, regarding Rhian steadily. ‘Listen to me, now, for this is very important; I’m not allowed to visit Billy so you must go, no shirking it, right?’

  ‘I won’t forget.’ Rhian spoke truculently, then her face brightened. ‘I could always work in the tinplate, there’s plenty of jobs for picklers or openers.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I doubt it, Heath’s told me that men are being asked to take a cut in wages. Anyway, have you seen what happens to the girls who work at the pickling? The acid makes their teeth rot and fall from their head; that’s not a fairy tale, it’s a plain fact. As for the openers, they get more cuts than any of the men. But do as you like, I wash my hands of you.’ She moved to the door and opened it. ‘Go on off home, I’ll see you at the laundry – if you stay.’

  Rhian’s lip quivered, suddenly she put her arms around Mary’s waist and hugged her. ‘I didn’t mean to moan,’ she said. ‘I’ll work at the laundry and try to settle down with Auntie Agnes, if that’s what you want me to do.’

  Mary patted her hair absent-mindedly. What she wanted the girl to do was to grow up and stand on her own two feet.

  When Rhian had left, Mary felt restless. She stared through the window and felt the softness of the breeze ruffle her long hair which hung loose to her shoulders. She felt suddenly constricted – she must get out into the sunshine, away from her thoughts, all of which seemed unpleasant just now.

  Pulling a light shawl over her shoulders, Mary stepped out of the house, leaving the door ajar. Heath would be returning soon, anxious for sleep. He had insisted on going to work though he still coughed most of the night away. She smiled to herself at the thought that even after a long shift he found the strength to go up on the mountain with some girl or other.

  As Mary strolled along the cobbled road past the closed gates of the Canal Street Laundry a pain seemed to grip her and she had a sudden vision of the gates being closed to her for ever. But that was surely an absurd fancy? Mr Sutton would recover from his fit of anger and reinstate her; anything else was unthinkable.

  She found herself outside the prison and in a spirit of defiance, she knocked on the wooden door. It was Griffiths who answered and his face was like granite. Mary’s heart sank. The man did not speak a word, he simply slammed the door in her face and trembling she turned away.

  It did not take her long to reach her favourite spot near the docks. From the old quay she could sit and watch the ships lifting and falling with the incoming tide. She breathed in the scent of tar and salt and felt comforted by the familiarity of her surroundings.

  It was strange, she mused, that people constantly came to her for help and guidance, leaned on her broad shoulders and looked to her for support. Just because she was tall and strong! No one stopped to consider for even a moment that she might be in need of help herself.

  The church bells rang out melodiously over Sweyn’s Eye and Mary closed her eyes, leaning back against the warmth of the stone wall, wondering why it was that religion had never drawn her. In that respect she was different from so many of the townspeople, for it was a ritual to attend church or chapel at least three times on the sabbath. But even when revivalists swept through Sweyn’s Eye, convincing the backsliders to mend their ways, Mary had never indulged in the mass fervour which faded as soon as the preacher moved to the next village.

  Mary became aware of a shadow falling over her and glanced up to see a tall figure whose broad shoulders blocked out the sun. Her heart began to beat swiftly, the blood rushed into her ears and she felt she could hardly breathe.

  ‘So, Mary Jenkins, I find you occupying my favourite spot – are you waiting here to plead for Billy Gray?’ Brandon Sutton stood bareheaded, his dark hair curling about the collar of his crisp shirt. He wore no jacket and his riding breeches clung to the strong muscles of his legs; in his hand he held a riding crop and he looked every inch lord and master of all he surveyed. But not of me, Mary told herself as she rose slowly to her feet.

  ‘How dare you even speak to me after what you’ve done?’ She spoke more in surprise than anger.

  He took her arm. ‘I have done nothing.’ He propelled her away from the dock and towards a small grove of trees that clung precariously to the hillside. Mary tried to free herself but his hand held her firmly.

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, mind,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, don’t you understand?’

  The arch of greenery spread over them, cutting out the heat of the sun. Mary felt as though she had been placed in a bowl of dark glass which closed her in so that there was no escape.

  ‘I want to know why you are following me?’

  ‘I’m not following you!’ She glanced up at him. He was so handsome, so masculine, his hair curling crisply around his face. Quickly, Mary looked away from him.

  ‘You are so wrong about Billy,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You had him put in prison, that’s all I know, and he’s innocent.’

  He stood looking at her, not touching her now, his gaze compelling. Mary met his eyes almost against her will.

  ‘I can’t apologise for doing my duty,’ he said reasonably. ‘How can he be anything but guilty? He was at my brother’s house, he had some of my money on him; I had no choice but to send for the constable.’

  ‘Do you know how they treat him in there?’ Mary demanded, gesturing along the stretch of golden beach to where the prison stood grey and austere in the shadows. ‘They act as if he’s a mongrel to be whipped and they kick at his feet. Breaking his spirit they are and he’s an innocent man – it’s not fair.’

  She felt tears come to her eyes and blinked hard; she would not allow this stranger to see her distress.

  ‘I know all that.’ His voice seemed to touch her like soft fingers. ‘I don’t condone barbaric treatment even for a thief, so I shall speak to Griffiths, the man needs putting in his place.’

  There was conviction in his tone and Mary felt hope begin to warm her. She glanced up at him and slowly he smiled. They regarded each other steadily for a long moment, both wary like the adversaries they were, then Mary shook her head as though to clear it.

  Her feelings were a tumble of confusion. This was the man she thought of as her enemy, yet she could not deny there was an attraction between them, an invisible force that persuaded her to trust him.

  Slowly he lifted his hand and held it towards her. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s talk. I’m not a vindictive man and I’d like to help you in any way I can.’

  Without realising it, she placed her fingers in his, she and this stranger seemed suddenly linked together and a power seemed to flow from him. Then she shivered in spite of the warmth of the day and quickly withdrew her hand.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let’s walk around the hill and away from the town. I don’t want to be taken for a loose woman, mind.’

  She thought that Brandon was hiding a smile, for there was laughter in his voice when he spoke.

  ‘No one would take you for anything but a lady, Mary
.’ She glanced at him, but his face was turned away from her and she could not read his expression.

  ‘Tell me, why should Billy want to rob you and why, in God’s name, should he attack Twm-Nightwatchman?’ She was trembling as though she had been running through the lush grass for hours.

  ‘As I said, Billy had notes from my safe tucked in his pocket. My brother insisted that the Price men were on his property at his express orders, and it seemed that Gerwin Price had seen Billy running up the hill from the direction of my house – reason enough for the attack, I suppose.’

  Mary thought over his words in silence for a moment. ‘I don’t believe any of that foolish story and how can you?’ she asked almost pleadingly.

  Brandon shook his head. ‘You are only fooling yourself, Mary,’ he said patiently. ‘Of course the man’s guilty, it stands out a mile, it’s just that you don’t want to see it and I admire your loyalty.’

  Mary’s eyes studied his face, seeing the strength of his lean jaw and the firmness of his mouth, the way his hair curled around his forehead and over the whiteness of his collar. He was awe-inspiring, she thought fearfully and wondered how she dared to stand here talking to him as though they were equals.

  ‘You don’t know Billy as I do,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘He’s kind and honest, he wouldn’t steal from anyone – why should he when he had a good job with Mr Sutton? Been his groom for a long time now, you ask your brother what sort of man Billy is.’

  Brandon shrugged. ‘My brother is the last one I’d listen to,’ he said dryly.

  Brandon led her through the bracken and took her hand to help her over an outcrop of rocks, then they were facing the Channel and the coast of Devon seemed near enough to touch.

  He settled himself on the grass and after a moment’s hesitation, Mary sat beside him, placing her skirts neatly around her ankles, wondering if he was ever going to answer her question.

  ‘I have been writing a book,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a manual of tinplate sizes which would help to bring about a fairer system of wages for the workers. And because of that, it would be in the interests of some local businessmen, my brother included, if the handbook was suppressed. I believe that my brother sent Billy Gray to raid the office and steal my manuscript.’

  Mary felt her heart miss a beat. ‘You are wrong,’ she spoke fiercely. ‘It’s my opinion that the Price men were the thieves!’ He didn’t reply and she stared at him questioningly. ‘In any case, you’re a boss,’ she said briefly, ‘so why should you care a damn about the men?’

  Brandon’s voice was dry. ‘Just because I’m a boss it doesn’t mean I’m some sort of ogre. The fact is that I do care – is that so unusual?’

  Mary’s eyes were on his face, his eyes were clear turquoise and held an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. ‘It is around here, Mr Sutton.’

  He smiled and Mary’s heart seemed to lift; she felt as though she were floating high on a billowing cloud or sinking in the depths of the foaming sea. It was a strange sensation and she was not sure it was one she liked.

  She rose to her feet and stood for a moment pressing out the creases of her skirt, uncertain how to take her leave.

  ‘I must get back,’ she spoke awkwardly, ‘for there’s dinner to cook.’ She straightened the folds of her skirt, her eyes avoiding his. In a moment he was beside her.

  ‘I guess I’d better walk back to the road with you.’ He smiled lazily. ‘I wouldn’t like to see you cross the fields alone.’

  Mary felt absurdly happy and, as the breeze lifted her hair, as though she had suddenly become a free spirit.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘No one in Sweyn’s Eye would dare set on Big Mary.’ Her voice held laughter. ‘That’s what they call me behind my back, see, but I appreciate your offer of company all the same.’

  Brandon looked into her eyes. ‘Proud Mary would be a better name for you.’ He moved closer and for a moment she stood quite still, afraid that he would touch her and yet disappointed when he didn’t.

  ‘Is that an invitation I see in your eyes, Mary?’ His words were like a whisper and she felt her colour rising as she shook her head.

  ‘No, it is not.’ She tried to speak firmly, but her voice quivered. ‘I’m Billy Gray’s girl, remember?’

  The walk back across the fields was a silent one and it seemed to Mary that Brandon was once again a stranger. As she glanced at him covertly from under her lashes, he was austere, far removed from her and she shivered in spite of the sun on her back.

  ‘Well, goodbye, Miss Jenkins,’ he said formally as they reached the dusty ribbon of road that ran like a question mark from the beach to the centre of the town. He moved away quickly, his long strides eating up the distance between them.

  Mary’s heart was heavy, her step slow as she made her way back to Canal Street. With one word she had broken the friendship that was offered to her by the strangely compelling American. Yet she had been right to remind them both that the reason they were together was to talk about Billy.

  It had been only too easy to forget everything but Brandon’s turquoise eyes lit with admiration as he looked at her. He was a fine man, she thought, and unusual in his wish to help the men who worked for him. She felt exhilarated by him but that was something she must guard against in future, she told herself sharply.

  Heath had returned home when Mary let herself into the house. Sitting near the window, his head back against the antimacasser his eyes closed, he looked weary.

  ‘Too much tomcatting, boyo!’ Mary said sternly, but her brother saw right through her.

  ‘And you don’t blame me, do you, cariad? Because if I don’t do it now, there’s no likelihood of me doing it when there’s a wife hanging around my neck.’ He smiled and Mary’s heart contracted with love for her brother. They were very close, with an affinity that bridged the gap of years between them. When her mother had died giving birth to Heath, Mary had taken over the responsibilities of bringing up a baby at a time when she was little more than a child herself.

  She ruffled his hair. ‘How’s that cough, any easier now?’

  Heath shook his head. ‘Don’t worry so much, Mary, there’s nothing wrong with me – nothing that doesn’t ail any tinman in the Beaufort Works.’

  Mary began to set the table. The meat had been in the oven for hours and the aroma of it filled the kitchen.

  ‘Dinner won’t be long,’ she told him as she leaned over the hob to peer at the simmering potatoes. ‘What’s your boss like?’ she asked casually and Heath looked at her with shrewd eyes.

  ‘Brandon Sutton is a fair man, he thinks of his workers perhaps more than his profits.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t say what it is exactly but he’s not the same as the other ironmasters, he’s more like one of the boys. Why?’

  Mary turned away from him to hide the rich colour that was in her cheeks. ‘Well, he was the one responsible for putting my Billy behind bars. Guilty Billy was, so he says.’

  Heath frowned. ‘The boss has always been straight with me.’

  Mary glanced at her brother sharply. ‘He’s mistaken this time!’ She bit her lip, trying to calm herself and went on, ‘Mr Sutton is fairly new around these parts – is he trying to make a good impression, do you think?’

  ‘He’s been boss for as long as I’ve been in the mill,’ Heath replied. ‘True I never saw anything of him when I was in the wash room, but I can only speak as I find and I see him as a good man not concerned about making impressions.’

  Mary began to slice the joint of meat with undue vigour. She knew that Billy was innocent, felt it in her bones, yet Brandon Sutton had touched some chord deep within her; she could still feel the tingling awareness of his presence and see the tallness and the beauty of him in her mind’s eye.

  There was silence in the small kitchen except for the scrape of knife and fork against the plate. Outside the window, an insect droned in the stunted honeysuckle and sunlight patterned the room. Mary wondered at the feeli
ngs than ran through her; she was exalted, uplifted, perhaps the way some folk might feel when they had been to church.

  An uneasiness gripped her. She must not make up fairy tales in her mind, for it would be absurd for her to find pleasure in the company of a man who was an ironmaster. Brandon was as far removed from her as the moon was from the sun. In any case, she was Billy Gray’s woman and she must not forget it.

  She loved Billy, hadn’t they been promised to each other these five years past? Known each other since childhood and Billy never looking down on her because of her humble beginnings.

  Yet neither of them had felt ready to make the commitment of marriage and she wondered now why that was. Had there ever been passion between them? She had certainly never felt with Billy the way she had with Brandon Sutton, as though the world was opening out like a beautiful rainbow before her.

  ‘You’re not eating much,’ Heath’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘There’s work again tomorrow and you’d better keep up your strength.’

  Mary smiled at him. ‘I was thinking about Billy,’ she said and at least that was part of the truth. ‘Duw, I wish I could get him out of there, how he must hate being cooped up like an animal.’

  Heath shook his head. ‘He’ll survive,’ he said with the certainty of youth, ‘Billy is a tough man, they won’t break his spirit, you’ll see!’

  He rose from the table and went to the sink in the corner of the kitchen to splash water over his face and hands.

  ‘I’m off out,’ he said. ‘It’s too nice to sit in by here. See you later on, don’t wait up for me if I’m late.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘And let’s hope that old man Sutton sees sense and puts you back to work as overseer instead of treating you like a slave.’

  As the door slammed and a silence fell over the house, Mary put her elbows on the table and sighed deeply. She too hoped that Mr Sutton would have relented by now; she must work, for she needed the money for the upkeep of her home. She looked around her at the gracious house full of light and space, not at all like the hovel in which she had been reared.