Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  ‘Let your friends and families know that Big Mary will be doing her rounds as of tomorrow,’ she said loudly. ‘I’ll be selling everything from pins to undergarments and all at the best prices in town.’

  Mark hustled her into the house and Mrs Murphy moved back from the lace curtains at the window, her pale face flushed.

  ‘I want you to know that we’re proud of you, so we are,’ she said, her pale eyes glowing. ‘And I’m proud to have you beneath my roof – and I’m not a soul who gives voice to my thoughts very often.’

  As Mary sat at the table, unable to speak, the door opened and Katie came into the room carrying a cake high above her head.

  ‘Close your eyes, hold out your hands and see what God sends you,’ she said playfully. Mary obeyed and felt the coldness of the plate touch her fingers. The cake that Katie set so proudly on the table was a triumph of invention: baked in the shape of a van with Mary’s name piped across the top.

  ‘There’s clever of you, Katie.’ Mary found it difficult to speak. ‘I can’t cut it, it’s too beautiful.’

  Mrs Murphy gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t you say that, girl, otherwise me boys will be right put down. Been waiting ages for you to give them all a piece, so they have.’

  Mary’s eyes were blurred with tears as she pressed the knife home. It was a wonderful thing to have friends. And then, unbidden, came the thought of Billy, who had once been her love and was now locked away behind bars. She had almost forgotten his existence of late. Suddenly the happiness of the day evaporated and Mary felt sadness envelop her like a cloak.

  * * *

  The prison was grey, the yard windswept, the walls thick and unyielding. Billy Gray had finished his walk in the dullness of the afternoon and was being returned to the confines of his cell. Griffiths jangled the keys, his eyes speculative as they rested on him. There was no privacy here, Billy thought mutinously. Perhaps that was one of the worst aspects of prison life, that you could not even call your thoughts your own.

  ‘Lady here to see you,’ Griffiths said, a sly grin stretching his mean mouth. And yet unaccountably the warder’s attitude to Billy had been subtly altered of late. He was not kind – such a term in connection with Griffiths would have been absurd – but he was tolerable.

  ‘Mary Jenkins, is it?’ Billy asked with a faint hope lighting his heart. She had come to say that she still cared, that anything he might hear was just gossip. The hope died away as Griffiths shook his head.

  ‘No, I mean a real lady; Mrs Richardson, her that brings you such a lot of goodies. What is it you got to offer her, boy, have you got a big John Thomas?’

  Billy was embarrassed by the man’s coarseness. He turned his head away and refrained from answering.

  ‘Well, I take my hat off to you, I do, the only prisoner on the block to get private visits from a member of the fairer sex, you lucky bastard!’ He moved aside quickly as Delmai came into sight along the corridor. ‘Begging your pardon, Mrs Richardson, didn’t see you then.’

  He bowed himself away and closed the door and Delmai paused, smiling at Billy, her cheeks flushed, carrying with her the scent of the outdoors.

  Suddenly Billy longed to take her in his arms and rest his head upon her breast. He felt he needed the warmth of a woman and instinctively, he held out his arms.

  To his amazement Delmai came to him and rested her cheek against his. It was not a sensual gesture, but one that Billy found immensely touching. He had begun to feel like an outcast from civilisation, unclean. Delmai made him believe he was human again and he was grateful.

  They remained locked together for what seemed an age. Billy breathed in the fresh woman smell of her, felt her slight breasts resting against him and the slimness of her waist beneath his hand. His manhood stirred and embarrassed, he moved away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled sitting on his bed and looking down at his hands. She came and sat beside him, her fingers stroking his arms.

  ‘For what, holding me like that? I liked it, I like you Billy.’

  He would not look at her. She was sweet and innocent and even though she was married she was a lady and doubtless misunderstood his apology. She took his face between her hands and forced him to look up at her.

  ‘Billy, you wanted me. I’m flattered. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of.’ He did not speak and after a moment she sighed softly.

  ‘Billy, don’t allow your hopes to be raised too high, but I think I might be able to get you out of here before too long.’ She paused and half fearfully he looked into her face, wondering if she could be jesting with him. But her eyes were sincere and after a moment she nodded her head.

  ‘I’ve got a petition and lots of people have signed it, Billy. You see, I’m not the only one who thinks you were wrongly imprisoned.’

  Hope grew like the flame of a candle until it suffused him, engulfed him. He felt he would burst with hope and Delmai read something of his feelings, for she leaned forward suddenly and pressed her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, that of a friend… at first, and then, subtly, it altered.

  Billy was aware of Delmai’s breathing, quick and shallow. Her lips grew warm and her hands held on to his neck as though he was something very precious.

  She drew away, but her face was still very close to his as she looked into his eyes. ‘Billy, I think I’m falling in love with you!’

  He could find no words to speak; he felt in that moment that he loved her too, but there was a bewilderment in him. He had always been Mary’s man and she his woman. It was true she had never kissed him the way Delmai had, yet how could he shake off the habits of a lifetime?

  ‘Billy, do you feel anything at all for me?’ she asked wistfully and he looked into her eyes, knowing that her need for love and caring was as great as his. He nodded slowly and she touched his lips with her fingers.

  ‘Then you need say nothing. I am content.’ She rose to her feet and placed the parcel of food she had brought him on the table at the side of his bed.

  ‘I must go, but I’m working always for your release Billy. Just you remember that and don’t despair.’

  After she had gone, Billy sat and stared at the wall. He was still bewildered – even if he felt desire and something more for Delmai Richardson, what good could come of it? She was married and what’s more she was far above his station in life. His mind was a chaos of emotions all vying with each other – hope and trust that Delmai would succeed in freeing him and apprehension about what would happen once he walked through the prison gates.

  Griffiths peered in through the slit in the doorway and Billy winced as he heard the warder’s guffaw of laughter.

  ‘Been stirring things up, has that little lady,’ he said in amusement. ‘Or is that a cosh I see down your pants, boy? Well, make the most of it for it won’t last.’

  Billy felt a stab of fear. He knew he was rising to the bait, but he couldn’t prevent himself from asking the question.

  ‘What do you mean?’ His throat was dry and Griffiths took his time, enjoying the feeling of power.

  ‘Governor is stopping all women coming here to visit – causes a disruptive influence on the inmates.’ He sniggered. ‘I can see what he means now, boyo, and you’ll have to take yourself in hand.’ He laughed yet again at his own crudity.

  ‘Your lady love won’t be visiting again. They’re sending a clergyman around, and I don’t think your tastes have got around to that sort of thing just yet. Give it another few years and you’ll doubtless be as man-randy as the rest of them here.’

  He strode away, his footsteps ringing against the concrete of the passageway. Billy put his hands over his face and suddenly his feelings became crystallised. Rightly or wrongly he wanted and needed Delmai Richardson, and if she couldn’t free him he would hang himself from the highest tree in the yard.

  * * *

  Mary’s forays into the valleys always caused something of a sensation. On her arrival she would sound the horn loudly and by the time she reined Duk
e to a halt, there would be a crowd of eager women waiting to examine her wares.

  The van had been set out in the fashion of a mobile shop, with box shelves running the length of it. The villagers could select goods just as they would have done in any store.

  Stout undergarments sold well, Mary found, and calico chemises and stiff linen petticoats were always in demand. But sturdy trousers and shirts in good Welsh flannel seemed one of the best lines to carry and she sold out of them almost as soon as she could stock the shelves.

  ‘Hey, Mary, where’s the Welsh shawl you promised me for wrapping my baby in?’ Flo Lloyd was a tall, raw-boned woman, her eyes bright and black like the coal that was the life-blood of Clyne valley.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ Mary reached under her seat and took out a parcel. ‘This one is a present from me, it isn’t every day that a thirteenth son is born.’

  Flo flushed with pride. ‘Well, I didn’t expect that,’ she said softly. ‘There’s lovely, just look at the thickness of that wool, won’t you?’

  She discarded the washed-out shawl she had been using and wound the new one around herself, tucking one end under the softly sleeping body of her son and the other under her arm. The shawl became a support for the child, taking most of the weight on the woman’s back and leaving one hand free.

  ‘Suits you,’ Mary said cheerfully. ‘Now come on and look round the van and see what else it is you need for that family of yours.’

  Mary’s money-pocket set into her apron became heavy and by the time she climbed back into the driving seat, ready to move away, most of her stock had been sold. As she waved goodbye to the women of the valley, she sighed with relief. It was about time that she returned home, for she was tired of urging Duke to go forward and the horse seemed to be limping, she thought uneasily. But at least she could be well satisfied with the takings: she had done better than usual today, because she had coincided her visit with payday in the valleys. She brushed back her hair, which was slipping loose from the pins, and stared ahead into the growing darkness, her mind almost numb with fatigue.

  She was only a short distance from Sweyn’s Eye when she hit a bump in the road. The van jerked and shuddered and Duke whinnied sadly into the darkness. With a sigh, Mary climbed down from her seat. On inspecting the underside of the van, she found that a large boulder had jammed beneath the wheel. Even exerting all her strength, she could not budge it. She stared around the silent roadway and recognised that help would not be coming. She freed Duke from the shafts and patted the animal’s flank.

  ‘Go and eat some grass then, boyo, but not too far away mind.’

  There was very little stock left in the van and Mary stood for a few moments debating whether to carry the clothing back into town or trust to luck and leave it where it was.

  She looked up, feeling the touch of rain in the air and seeing the clouds scudding across the moon. She decided to leave well alone; it was doubtful that anyone would come along the lonely road at this time of night and even if they did, there was not very much left to steal.

  Fortunately the van had shuddered to a stop close to the towering wall of the cliff, allowing enough passage for anyone travelling the road in the morning. In any case, she could have some men out at first light to bring the van in and for now there was nothing for her to do but start walking.

  Mary whistled softly to Duke and realised with growing irritation that the horse had disappeared. Well, the animal would come to no harm until morning, she decided wearily.

  The pocket of money hung heavily from her waist and she drew her shawl close around her shoulders, covering the apron. She did not want to invite attack from footpads, especially as she was walking the dockland area where sailors of all nationalities threaded in and out of public bars, a continuous chain of human activity.

  As she crossed the bridge over the river, the water was fast-moving, dark in the faint light of the moon that peeped between scudding clouds. She hurried along, suddenly feeling nervous though she could not say why. Then she became aware of footsteps – heavier than her own, more measured – and glanced over her shoulder, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ She spoke the words out loud and they fell eerily into the darkness of the night. But she was a strong woman, she could fend for herself if needs be. Against a cudgel at the back of the head? her inner self asked.

  She saw the lights shining from the press building – renewed now, the wood new and strong and the roof felted and pitched. She was almost running as she neared the doorway, her heart thumping madly and her breathing ragged.

  Brandon Sutton opened the door to her frantic knocking and stood there tall and imposing, his head held at a proud angle, his shoulders with a lift that was so characteristic of him. Such was Mary’s shock at seeing him that she was speechless, unable to tell him why she was there at such an hour.

  At last she found her tongue. ‘Oh, it’s you, there’s sorry I am to hear of your father’s death.’ She blurted out the words in embarrassment and he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ he replied shortly. ‘But to what do we owe the honour of your company?’

  He stood back, inviting her in, curiosity clear to read in the turquoise of his eyes.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ he said dryly as she hurried past him. She glanced back into the darkness and Brandon’s face was suddenly alert.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong?’ he asked and Mary shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I think I was being followed. I could hear footsteps heavy and slow and yet I could see no one.’

  He went outside and Mary moved to a stool, sitting down gratefully with her hands clasped in her lap. A little later, Brandon returned.

  ‘There’s no one about now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you imagined it?’ The implication in his words was clear and she stared up at him, her colour rising.

  ‘If you think I came here deliberately to look for you, then think again, Mr Sutton.’ Her voice was full of sarcasm. ‘I wouldn’t cross the road to give you the time of day, so don’t go getting all conceited.

  He came towards her and caught her arms, drawing her to her feet. ‘All I know is that tales are told behind my back,’ he said roughly. ‘I’d like to believe your innocent eyes, Mary Jenkins, but I can’t.’

  She struggled to free herself from the iron grip of his hands but he was too strong for her.

  ‘I haven’t come here to spy on you, if that’s what you think,’ she protested. ‘My van hit a stone and Duke strayed away, so I had to walk home,’ She was aware of babbling and of how absurd her words sounded. ‘If you don’t believe me, look – here are my takings for today. I’d scarcely carry money on me if I was out to do a bit of nosey parkering, would I?’

  His hands slid round her waist as he drew her closer and smiled down into her eyes. ‘Then I can flatter myself that it was me you came looking for when you were in trouble?’ he said, his tone heavy with irony. Before she could move away, he bent until his mouth was above hers and she drew a shuddering breath, knowing that he was weaving his usual spell over her.

  ‘Let me go,’ she said, but her voice lacked conviction. He took no notice, but held her closer and it seemed an age before his lips claimed hers. She leaned against him, loving him so much that it hurt deep inside her. She had tried to put him out of her mind, but she had failed dismally. Not a day had passed, she realised now, without her thinking of him, holding to herself the knowledge of her love. Even if he never returned her love, it did not diminish her own feelings. She must have sighed softly, for Brandon was holding her away from him, an enigmatic expression on his face.

  ‘You are a strange woman, Mary Jenkins,’ he said. ‘Beautiful, capable of great strength and yet…’ He put her away from him and suddenly she felt cold, wanting to go back into the shelter of his arms, to hear his heart beating against her body, to breathe in the scent of him. Instead she looked away, afraid of revealing
her feelings.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ The words were spoken almost coldly and Brandon stared at her as though seeing her for the first time.

  ‘I admire you, Mary,’ he said. ‘You go your own way, letting no one hinder you.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve seen you drive that monster of a van like another Queen Boadicea and very lovely you looked too.’

  Mary felt her colour rising and was uncertain if he was laughing at her or not. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue, but he suddenly seemed bored with her presence, turned away from her and moved to the door at the far end of the room.

  ‘If you’ll wait until I finish here, I’ll see you back to your home. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for allowing someone to rob you.’

  She was alone then and she sank back onto the stool, staring at the wooden boards of the floor, seeing every knot, every piece of grain, studying the nail heads as though they were the most important thing in her life.

  She heard masculine voices from beyond the door and she ached with a great emptiness. She was a fool, she told herself. All Brandon had to do was to take her in his arms, pay her a few compliments and she would fall at his feet worshipping. She was confused, wanting him and yet knowing within herself that nothing could come of such an emotion but heartache.

  It was all very well for Brandon Sutton; she was a plaything to him, a release from his tensions, a ready doxy willing to lift her skirts at the crook of his little finger. And knowing all this, she still longed to be in his arms.

  It seemed an age before Brandon returned to the room. By now Mary’s head was swimming with weariness and disappointment, all she wanted to do was crawl away into bed and hide from the world. He smiled at her but his eyes were unreadable.

  ‘Mark’s told me he’s searching for some property for you,’ he said conversationally. ‘I understand he’s just found a place for you to rent.’