Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  As she hoped, he needed to go outside for firewood. Rhian was halfway across the room when Gerwin returned almost immediately with an armful of logs. She hung her shawl on the peg behind the door, pretending that was all she intended to do. He looked her over approvingly as she stood rigidly waiting for him to tend the fire.

  ‘You’re a pretty girl, what’s your name?’ he asked and she spoke quickly, afraid of offending him.

  ‘Rhian,’ she said and then could have bitten out her tongue for telling him the truth.

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said, nodding his head, ‘it will do very well.’ He smiled. ‘How would you like to be Mrs Rhian Price, doesn’t that sound good?’

  ‘Give me that water quickly,’ she said, trying to speak calmly, ‘otherwise I’m never going to get the place cleaned up.’ She pointed to the bottle of gin. ‘Have a drop more why don’t you? I’m sure you must be very cold waiting out there in the night air for me, the drink will warm you up a bit.’ Perhaps he would drink himself senseless, she thought desperately and then he might fall asleep. In the meantime, she would keep herself busy and clean up the awful mess, though her stomach was turned by the stale smell in the room.

  She scrubbed the table until her fingers were raw, but at last the wood showed from beneath the grease fresh and white in the lamplight. It took her longer to clean the floor and by the time she had finished her knees were sore and her back ached intolerably. Yet as she stood and surveyed the change her efforts had made in the small kitchen, she felt a strange pride. The fire glowed cheerfully in the grate and the kettle was singing on the hob. Gerwin must have sensed her feeling, for he smiled suddenly.

  ‘You see, it will be a nice house when you have finished. Come and sit by here and I’ll give you a cup of tea. I don’t want you to work too hard or you’ll think I’m a bully.’

  Rhian needed to rest, she had never worked so hard in her life. Yet she approached the table carefully as though moving close to a wild beast and jumped violently when his hand reached out to cover hers.

  ‘I’d treat you fine, like, if you’d stay with me,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want for nothing.’ She repressed a shudder, avoiding his eyes which were glazed with drink.

  ‘I’m sure you’d make a very good husband.’ She spoke carefully, as though rehearsing the lines. ‘Any woman would be lucky to have you.’ His grip tightened on hers. ‘Do you mean that, Rhian?’ he asked earnestly and swallowing hard, she nodded.

  ‘Yes, but may I go home now? Auntie will be worried about me.’

  He looked at her carefully and after what seemed an eternity he nodded. ‘Yes, I’spects you should go home. I’ll fetch your shawl.’

  He picked up her Bible and flipped it open, frowning as he tried to make out the name inscribed on the cover. Rhian stood stock-still, fear crawling over her like icy fingers.

  ‘Rhian Gray,’ he said at last, then his head jerked up. ‘Gray, you are kin to that Billy Gray, the one who killed my father!’ He gripped her arm and shook her roughly. ‘Don’t deny it, I can see it in your face. I knowed I seen you somewhere before.’

  Rhian had never been more frightened in her life, she thought she would fall into a faint for her head was swimming and the room spun around her. Gerwin lifted his hand and she felt a stinging blow catch her temple; lights spun inside her head, exploding like shooting sparks from the copper works and then she was on the floor, grasping at the table leg and trying to steady herself.

  He was crouching over her, his eyes blazing, a muscle in his face twitching. Rhian tried to crawl away from him, but he leaned on her arms, pinning her to the cold stone which was still damp from her scrubbing.

  Rhian shook her head, her body cold as though she was dying piece by piece. She knew what he intended to do and her mind rebelled. Her head fell back and her eyes rolled; she tried to scream but he placed one hand over her mouth, tearing at her clothing with the other.

  It was a nightmare without end and Rhian was past tears or hope. She lay still while he debased her and even the pain could not rouse her to action. At last he crawled away from her grunting like an animal. Without a backward glance, he stumbled to the stairway and she heard him curse as he tripped over the step.

  It was only the fear of his return, trickling slowly into her mind, that forced her into movement. She managed to rise to her knees and straighten her torn clothing, her movements jerky like a puppet with someone pulling the strings. Wrapping her shawl closely over her bruised breasts, she cautiously opened the door.

  The cold of the night air hit her like a burst of icy water and then she was hurrying away from the cottage, stumbling over the fields, the silent moon above her giving her light. She did not cry for her world had come to an end – she would never be a whole person again, so what use were tears? She kept close to the wall, like a cat slinking unseen around corners. She could face no one, could never speak of what had happened to her this night. The only way she could bear to live was to try and put it all out of her mind. But she knew that in the deep of night she would lie sleepless in her bed, reliving the nightmare that had come true.

  The house was silent as Rhian let herself in by the back door. Cautiously she lit a lamp and carefully and systematically, removed her clothing, wrapping the bloodstained garments into a bundle. Then she began to wash, the cold water stinging her torn flesh. The morning light was creeping in through the window by the time she felt able to go to her bed and search for the sleep that would not come.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A light powdering of snow covered the branches of the holly trees, lighting up the gardens like a scene from a Christmas card. Delmai stood looking around her as she entered the hall of Dean Sutton’s house, her hands tingling with cold even though she wore good leather gloves. She rubbed her fingers together and Bertha looked at her sympathetically.

  ‘Come in and sit by the fire in the drawing room, Mrs Richardson,’ the maid said kindly. ‘I’m sure Mr Sutton will not be long.’

  ‘Thank you, Bertha,’ Delmai said quickly. ‘I’ve come to commiserate with Dean over the loss of his dear father.’

  Bertha’s eyes were sad and there were touches of grey in her hair. ‘Aye, it’s a sad time for the master, what with him losing his dear wife not so long back and now this…’

  Delmai reached out a hand and touched the maid’s arm comfortingly. ‘I know it must be hard for you too,’ she said softly.

  As she sat near the fire she heard the sounds of the doorbell chiming in the hallway. She bit her lip; it seemed that Dean had other visitors and she had wished to speak to him alone.

  ‘Delmai, how wonderful you look! I’m sure you have shed pounds, my dear, and all the better for it.’ Marian Thomas came towards her, hands outstretched, an expression of curiosity in the narrowing of her catlike eyes. It was clear she was wondering just what Delmai was doing in the house of a man so recently a widower, and she a woman who had left her husband.

  ‘I’m feeling fine, Marian,’ Delmai forced a smile, ‘and you?’ Marian settled herself in an armchair near the roaring fire and peeled off her gloves. ‘As ever,’ she replied airily. ‘But tell me, how are you finding life down in Canal Street? Wasn’t that explosion in the laundry a dreadful affair – poor Dean, he’s suffered quite enough in the past few months, hasn’t he?’

  Delmai nodded, ‘Yes, he has.’ She felt ashamed that she had come as much to ask Dean’s help as to offer him sympathy, yet she thought he could do a great deal in the fight to free Billy Gray from prison. She reasoned that Dean, who had once been Billy’s employer, would have nothing but good to say of him and apart from that, he had some pull with the dignitaries of Sweyn’s Eye. It had seemed a good idea, but now she wasn’t so sure. In any case, how could she possibly broach the subject with Marian Thomas sitting there waiting to drink in every word she spoke?

  ‘Two funerals in as many months,’ Marian was saying. ‘What a dreadful blow for Dean to lose his dear father so quickly after poor Bea’s dram
atic death.’ Delmai inclined her head, not disposed to answer. She was busy with her thoughts, wondering how she might corner Dean and tell him about her idea of offering a petition to the governor with a view to reassessing Billy’s case. Her hopes of talking privately to him were completely dashed when he entered the room with Dr Thomas, who was talking in his usual ponderous way, putting his pipe in his mouth at every other word and sucking on it as though it clarified his thoughts.

  ‘Delmai, I’m delighted to see you!’ Dean came forward and took her hands and then turned to include Marian in his greeting. ‘I’m sure honoured to have two beautiful ladies in my drawing room.’

  Marian immediately engaged Dean in conversation and Dr Thomas sat beside Delmai, his kindly eyes resting on her.

  ‘And how are you, my dear?’ he asked in genuine concern. Delmai had the uncomfortable feeling that he understood a great deal more about her separation from her husband than he let on.

  ‘I’m well enough,’ she replied and feeling that she had been a little abrupt, she forced a smile. ‘Canal Street suits me, though I was very perturbed by the explosion in the laundry.’ She lowered her voice and the doctor nodded his head.

  ‘Bad business, that. It wouldn’t have happened if Mali had still owned the place. Scrupulous she was, and she had Mary Jenkins as overseer – a fine woman who knew her job down to the last degree. A pity old Mr Sutton saw fit to replace her.’

  Delmai’s eyes slid away at the mention of Mali Richardson. She was a remarkable woman and she had married the better of the two Richardson brothers, but Delmai could not help feeling that she was an upstart, a woman climbing above her station.

  Yet she envied her too, the realisation was like the moon suddenly appearing from beneath the clouds. What would she give, Delmai thought, to move out of her own class and marry Billy Gray? The idea was preposterous, and yet she could imagine herself being happy with the gentle man who had managed to awaken her feelings and without hardly even touching her.

  ‘You’re far away, Delmai, a penny for them!’ Dean was smiling down at her and Delmai glanced up at him quickly.

  ‘I was just thinking it’s about time I went home,’ she said as she glanced out of the window. ‘If it snows any more, I shall have all my work cut out to get down the hill.’

  As she had hoped, Dean saw her to the door. She paused in the hallway and took a deep breath.

  ‘You know how grieved I am about your father,’ she said softly, ‘that goes without saying. But apart from that, there’s a favour I’d like to ask you.’ She spoke as lightly as she could. ‘I think Billy Gray deserves to have his case reviewed, I’m convinced he’s innocent and I believe you are too.’

  Dean had a thoughtful look on his face which Delmai did not quite understand. ‘He’s such a fine man,’ she went on desperately, ‘and from the talks I’ve had with him at the prison, I’m convinced that he did not steal anything and wasn’t even at your brother’s premises. It was an accident of circumstances, that’s all.’

  Dean was staring down at the young earnest face before him without really thinking of the words she was saying. The idea of allowing Billy Gray out of prison was a tempting one if it only served to spite Brandon. He burned with frustration and anger when he thought of his brother taking all that should have been his, for in Grenville Sutton’s will he had left everything to Brandon. He would not stand for such treatment, though, and had already put the matter in the hands of his lawyer. Dean meant to contest the will and Brandon would find he had a fight on his hands.

  Apart from that, there were still times in the sleepless hours of the night when he ached for Mary Jenkins. At such times he felt he could cheerfully kill if only he could possess her. What a fool he had been to let her go when he’d had her under his roof and could have rid himself of the fever of wanting her, except that his pride had been hurt.

  But here was a way of spiking his brother’s guns, he thought with satisfaction. If Gray was let loose, God knows what he would do when he found that his lady-love had played him false. It was adding insult to injury that the man responsible for putting him behind bars was now bedding his woman.

  Dean smiled down at Delmai and rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Honey, I think you’re right,’ he said softly. ‘I shall do all in my power to help you free Billy and I’m only surprised I didn’t think of it myself.’

  As Delmai walked down the hill through the lightly falling snow, her mouth was curving into a smile and her heart was light. She would go home and have a drink of port to celebrate, for now – with Dean Sutton on her side – she knew it was only a matter of time before Billy was freed.

  Next time she visited him, she would have some real news for him and she could imagine even now the way his eyes would warm and his face come alive. Her heart ached and her arms longed to hold him. Then doubts rushed in – when he was free, would Billy be out of her grasp? If he returned to work for Dean Sutton, she would scarcely ever see him. How could she suddenly begin to visit Ty Mawr when she had not done so before?

  However, there was a solution. She could offer Billy a job herself; she could buy a carriage and he could be her groom instead of Dean Sutton’s. No one would take it amiss; she was a prison visitor, a do-gooder in many people’s eyes and all she could be accused of was taking her position too seriously.

  As for Mary Jenkins, she would pose no threat. Delmai was sure that she had turned Billy away from any thoughts of taking up his romance where it had left off. Mary was not the one for Billy, she was ambitious and proud and Billy needed love and gentleness.

  As she passed the laundry gates, Delmai shuddered at the desolation of the ruined building. No steam rose from the rooftops and no smell of dirty laundry being boiled. Large boulders lay strewn across the yard and one of the trees had been torn from its roots to lie like a gaunt skeleton in the gloom.

  Hurrying into the warmth and comfort of her house, Delmai did not know that she had given Dean Sutton ammunition in his fight against his brother. Had she been aware of the fact, however, it was doubtful whether it would have deterred her from taking the only course of action that was possible.

  * * *

  Brandon sat in his office with a sheaf of papers in his hands. He was frowning as he thought of the funeral, cold and stark, and of the cemetery that faced into the teeth of the winds coming in from the sea. He could still scarcely believe that his father was dead, and though in his heart he knew it was not Dean’s fault, he could not help but feel bitterness against his brother. There had been an angry scene at the reading of the will and Brandon had felt an urge to punch his brother’s face in fury until the pain that burned within him was extinguished.

  Mark stepped into the office and Brandon looked up quickly.

  ‘This is going to be better than the first handbook,’ he said with forced cheerfulness. ‘All that remains is for us to make sure it gets printed this time.’

  Mark nodded. ‘Aye, I’ll keep my eyes skinned; there’ll be no more fires, I’ll make damn sure of that.’

  Brandon ran his fingers through his hair so that it stood up thick and crisp, curling across his brow. ‘I’m going to get off home now,’ he said. ‘You keep watch tonight and don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll see to everything at the works.’

  He stepped out briskly across the fields, his hands thrust into his pockets for warmth. He should be feeling on top of the world, he told himself, since he was beginning to make headway at the steelworks, the profits though small were coming in regularly and now the handbook was almost completed. So why was there this niggling sense of discontent running through his veins?

  He needed a woman, he told himself, someone warm and passionate and yet who would not attempt to bind him with promises. Mary Jenkins sprang to mind at once and he smiled to himself, for she was more likely to send him away with a flea in his ear than take him to her bed.

  And yet the idea, once rooted in his mind, would not be shaken free. He thought of the cottage Mark had found for M
ary; he had said it was situated in the valley between the Town Hill and the Kilvey Deep. Without conscious effort, Brandon found himself heading in the direction of the valley and cursed himself for a fool. Mary would hardly be in residence yet, last time he had spoken to her she had not even known about the place.

  It was strange really how thoughts of Mary had haunted him. He had known many women, taken them into his arms, given of his passion until he was spent, yet never had he found a woman remaining in his thoughts so long after he had possessed her. Mary was passionate and yet she offered him more than mere sensuality – she offered him herself and he had taken of her freely. So different from the other Mary that there could be no comparison, he realised suddenly.

  Mary Jenkins was a remarkable woman, with a good business head and a quick mind. She had courage too and beauty, but even though she was all these things, Brandon knew there was another side to her. She had run to his brother with information – it must have been her, there could be no one else. Perhaps she had given Dean the benefit of her beauty at the same time. The thought stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him and Brandon once more cursed himself for a fool. His footsteps slowed and he almost turned back in his tracks, yet something within him urged him to go on.

  The cottage stood alone; it was unmistakeable, picturesque yet sturdy. The roof was covered in snow, the trees around lifting white fingers to the dark sky. The windows were ablaze with light and Brandon knew with a sudden lightening of his spirits that she was within.

  He paused, wondering if she had company. She would hardly be there alone, not a woman like Mary. Perhaps even now she was lying naked in some other man’s arms, and why shouldn’t she have lovers? The very thought set his teeth on edge.

  He walked around to the back of the small house and noticed the trail of smoke rising from the chimneys. The curtains were open and he saw Mary’s figure through the glass as she bent over the table. His mouth tightened; the settings were for two people.