Mary looked around at the opulence surrounding her and felt a great burden of guilt. What right had she to all this when out there in the streets of the town her own people were starving?
‘Don’t be a fool!’ she told herself out loud. Now she was in a position to help the folk who were living in poverty just as she had once been herself. She could afford to give the poorer of her customers the goods they needed on ‘tick’, the understanding being that they would pay when times improved.
She left the office and walked back down the broad elegant stairway towards the door, her head held high, and no one watching her would have known the mixture of emotions whirling within her.
Later, as Mary dressed carefully for the opening of the store, she found that her hands were trembling as she fastened the hooks on the back of her high-necked gown with difficulty and smoothed down her skirts, looking at herself in the long mirror of the wardrobe. She had fined down of late, she noticed; her waist was neat, her hips gently swelling. A mature woman she was now, and should have been long since married. She would be a success for she was bent on it, but she would have no one with whom to share her triumphs. Now was not the time for introspection or self-pity, she told herself; she should be at the Arcade before anyone else so that she could make any last minute alterations she might find necessary.
Her brother called to collect her and stood in the doorway smiling. ‘Are you ready, Mary?’ he asked.
She put her hands on his shoulders, drawing him inside.
‘You look so handsome in your best Sunday suit, boyo, I wouldn’t know it was my brother.’ She kissed his cheek and Heath smiled down at her, his eyes warm.
‘You look lovely yourself, Mary Jenkins,’ he said playfully and then he sobered. ‘I’m proud of you, mind. I know I don’t say a great deal about it, but there’s a fire in my heart that’s just blazing with pride because my sister has made herself rich and famous.’
‘Hardly that,’ Mary laughed, ‘and there’s sentimental we’re getting – anyone would think we’d been at the gin bottle.’ She fell silent for a moment and both knew they were remembering their early days when the gin bottle had ruled their lives.
Mary slipped her hand through Heath’s arm. ‘Let’s be off, we’re standing here wallowing like a pair of hogs in mud!’
The Arcade was ablaze with lights, the windows gleamed, the doorways stood open and already the hubbub of noise reached out like fingers into the night.
‘I’m late,’ Mary said anxiously and Heath caught her hand.
‘So you should be, the star always arrives last.’ He looked down at her. ‘Chin up, Mary, you’re a businesswoman now, better than half these toffs gathered here and don’t you forget it.’
As she moved into the lounge, she was accosted on all sides by eager faces; mouths opened and closed, offering her congratulations and as she reached the centre of the room, Nerys stepped forward with a huge bouquet of flowers.
Mary felt overwhelmed. She buried her face in the blooms and attempted to gather her thoughts enough to raise her voice and thank everyone for attending the opening night of the Mary Jenkins Arcade.
‘Well done!’ Mali was at her side, her eyes shining with happiness. ‘I always knew you would make a success of your life, Mary. You had a star above you, somehow, I knew it all that time ago when I first came to the laundry.’
Mary handed the flowers to Joanie. ‘Put them in water, there’s a good girl,’ she said and then turned and took Mali’s arm and led her away to one of the corner tables.
‘You haven’t done such a bad job on your own life,’ she said, smiling. Mali pushed back a stray wisp of dark hair, her eyes alight with happiness as they rested on her husband who was standing talking to Gregory Irons a short distance away.
‘I’m content,’ she said softly. Then she gazed at Mary once more. ‘But I married into wealth, you have become a rich woman in your own right and I’m proud of you. You really are a remarkable woman, Mary, and you deserve all the luck in the world.’
Mary giggled suddenly and put a hand in front of her face. ‘Don’t look now, but there’s Alfred Phillpot coming over to swallow his pride and say something fitting. He looks so pained you’d think his trousers were too tight for him.’
‘Miss Jenkins, felicitations! Everything here looks beautiful, you are to be congratulated.’
‘Thank you.’ Mary inclined her head and watched as the man backed away with undue haste.
‘I bet that dented his pride,’ Mali said in amusement.
They saw the man scurry away with a pained look on his thin face. ‘Dented more than his pride, dented his pocket too if you ask me,’ Mary said, smiling.
‘Wicked, that’s what you are, Mary.’ Mali hid her smiles behind her hand. ‘But he deserves to have to eat humble pie; pulled a few dirty tricks on you, didn’t he?’
‘He’s not important.’ Mary was watching Gregory Irons talking earnestly to Sterling and Mali followed her gaze.
‘I wonder what my husband finds to talk about to Mr Irons,’ she said lightly. ‘The lawyer is not one of Sterling’s favourite people.’
‘I think I know,’ Mary said, smiling. ‘Sterling is buying some shares in Brandon Sutton’s steel company. Giving him a helping hand, he is really.’
Mali looked puzzled. ‘No, you’re mistaken, Mary. I happen to know that Sterling has no intention of buying any more shares just now. He has sunk a great deal of capital in a new copper company further along the river.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘He was saying that if war came, God forbid, there would be a renewed need for copper.’
Mary stared at her in bewilderment. ‘But Mr Irons definitely said…’ Her voice trailed away as she recalled he had said nothing specific when she had asked if the new shareholder was Sterling Richardson; he had merely inclined his head, allowing her to believe what she wished. An uneasy feeling gripped her – the man was up to something, but what? Why should he care one way or another who bought Brandon’s shares?
‘My dear Mali and Miss Jenkins, how wonderful to see you both together like this, two successful – er – ladies.’ Marian Thomas was overdressed in a plush velvet of sherbet pink. Her hair was drifting free from its pins and she was slightly the worse for drink.
‘And what’s this I hear about your sweetheart, Miss Jenkins? Caused a stir by running off with poor Rickie’s wife, I understand!’ She shook her head. ‘No telling what the lower orders will get up to next.’
Mary rose to her feet and stood before the doctor’s wife, imposing in her anger.
‘I have always wanted to tell you this,’ she said quietly. ‘You are a bitch! And at this precise moment, you are a drunken bitch.’
‘Well! I’ve never heard the like of it in all my born days. I’ll cross you off my visiting list, Mary Jenkins and as for you, Mali Richardson, you never were on it.’
Before Mary could think of a reply, Mali was speaking for her. ‘Then you are doing both Miss Jenkins and myself a favour,’ she spoke decisively and Marian Thomas backed away, her face red.
‘I’m sorry for the doctor,’ Mali said ruefully. ‘He’s such a kind man but that wife of his – she’s lucky not to be burned as a witch.’
Mary smiled, her eyes twinkling. ‘That reminded me of the Mali I used to know, flooring that Sally Benson outside the laundry and you such a tiny thing!’
Mali returned to her seat and sighed softly. ‘Aye, it seems a lifetime ago and a great deal has changed since then. Who would have thought that we’d be sitting here in your fine big store, drinking your health in champagne?’ Mali raised her glass. ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world, but you know that, don’t you?’
As Mary tipped up her glass, she saw a broad figure shouldering his way through the crowd towards her and she stiffened.
‘Good evening, honey.’ Dean Sutton leaned over her hand, speaking smoothly. ‘I know you didn’t send me an invitation to your little shindig here, but I guess that was an oversight on your part, l
ittle lady.’
Mary was vaguely conscious of Mali making her excuses and vanishing into the crowd. ‘I think you’ve got a nerve coming here tonight,’ she said in a low voice, but Dean sat down in the seat Mali had just vacated and continued to smile at her.
‘I hear you’ve been trying to buy shares in my brother’s business.’ He twisted the glass between thick fingers as Mary, suddenly tense, gave him her full attention.
‘I don’t know how you’ve found that out, but in any case it’s none of your business.’ Her voice was low and in spite of her efforts it trembled. Dean’s smile widened.
‘Well, I made it my business. I went and bought those little old shares for myself. Got my brother hog-tied now, you must see that.’
Mary watched him carefully, her mouth dry. ‘What do you want me to say?’ She forced herself to speak calmly, but Dean was not fooled for an instant.
‘In love with my little brother, aren’t you?’ he said conversationally. ‘Must be, if you’re prepared to put your new business premises in hock in order to help him out.’
Mary felt he was playing with her and anger began to grow, bringing rich colour to her cheeks. Her impulse was to order Dean out of the building but she hesitated, for she might as well know the worst.
‘Is that all you’ve come here to say?’ she asked, striving to speak calmly. He ignored her question.
‘Ah, here is my brother now, talk of the devil!’
Her heart began to beat swiftly as she saw Brandon cross the room towards her, his face hard and his eyes like chips of ice as they took in the sight of Mary and Dean apparently having a cosy chat at the same table.
He stood before her, his face set and angry. ‘I’m just about ruined because of you!’ He spoke harshly, looking directly at Mary, and she put a hand to her throat in an effort to still the pulse that was rapidly beating there.
‘Brandon, you don’t understand…’ she began, but he silenced her with a sweep of his hand. ‘I understand that I’ve been double-crossed,’ he said loudly. People were turning to look at them and Mary moved towards him, her hand held out pleadingly.
‘Come to my office, we can talk more privately there,’ she said urgently, but he did not move.
‘Why did you do it, Mary?’ he said. ‘You knew I would never let the shares go to Dean and so you put in a bid for them on his behalf and like a lamb to the slaughter, I let them go.’
‘I did intend to buy the shares for myself,’ Mary protested. ‘But the banks wouldn’t allow me the money. I thought…’
Brandon shook his head. ‘There’s no point in lying to me, you were a front for my brother and I won’t forgive you for that.’
Dean rose to his feet and put an arm on Mary’s shoulder. ‘You know how close we are,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Why shouldn’t Mary help me?’ He held on tightly to her, but she managed to pull away from his grasp.
He smiled down at her almost pityingly. ‘You can’t have both of us, honey, so you might as well settle for me.’ He turned his attention to his brother once more, while Mary watched in dumb horror.
‘And listen to this, boy, you’d better forget that handbook you intended bringing out if you want your business to survive.’
Brandon’s eyes flashed and his chin jutted forward. ‘Are you daring to threaten me?’ he asked quietly. Dean shook his head.
‘Not at all, brother, I’m simply talking for your own good. I’m a chief shareholder in your business now you put your signature to the documents and it’s all legal and binding.’
Brandon moved closer to his brother. ‘You know damn well I’d never have signed if I had thought for one minute you were the buyer.’
‘Please, Brandon don’t quarrel, not here in public.’ Mary forced her way between the two men and Brandon shrugged and moved back a pace.
‘I won’t spoil your little party, Mary.’ His eyes looked into hers with such depths of bitterness that she wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to believe her, but she heard a giggle behind her and turned to see Marian Thomas enjoying her discomfort to the full.
‘Oh, get out of here, both of you!’ Mary turned and walked towards her office, her head high but her throat aching with unshed tears. If Brandon had so little faith in her, then it was better that they never saw each other again.
As she sat at her desk, the sounds of voices rose and fell. There was the chink of glasses and the noise of laughter and it seemed that the party was in full swing again. Mary put her head down on the desk and closed her eyes. This should have been her night of triumph and yet she had never felt more miserable in all her life.
Chapter Thirty-One
February was whimpering its way to an end with no relief from the rain that beat an incessant tattoo on the dull pavements. The small shops in the Stryd Fawr no longer hung boots from a string outside the coffin-shaped doors or displayed scrubbing brushes and zinc baths where people could stop and look at them. And the rain was only an additional obstacle for the small traders of the town, for there were twin enemies which carried more force than the weather.
The strike was reaching unprecedented proportions, the men organising a mass meeting at the recreation ground with the result that the womenfolk kept away from the small shops, for money was scarce.
The emporium opened by Mary Jenkins was offering unheard-of bargains to the wives of striking men: cut-price garments, food at practically giveaway prices and, worst of all, no rush to make payment. Small shopkeepers grumbled among themselves, putting together a petition to stop her, but Mary Jenkins had the audacity to say that the poor had been exploited for long enough.
Even the story of Rickie Richardson’s frantic efforts to find his wife took up only a small column in the local papers, for no one knew or cared where she had gone.
Brandon’s thoughts were with Mary, he could not help but admire her. Devious she might be, but she took care of her own and he could only respect her for that. And yet he could not explain even to himself the depths of anger and even surprise he had felt when he had found how she had tricked him into selling the shares to his brother.
It was a chance meeting with the lawyer’s clerk that had alerted him. Tanner was a thin pimply youth who had a fancy for hot toddies and when sufficiently full of them, every man was his friend. He spoke of Mary and of Dean both discussing shares in the Beaufort Steel and Tinplate Company with Gregory Irons.
And Brandon cursed himself for a fool for the happiness he had felt when he’d taken the lawyer’s word that Mary was investing money in his firm.
What made a woman pliant and responsive in a man’s arms one moment, only to turn to rend him like a she-wolf the next, he wondered. But he had told himself long ago not to try to understand a woman; he had learned that lesson young.
As Brandon made his way down the main street, he saw the long queue of women waiting with a variety of bowls and dishes in their hands for the soup kitchen to open. Even as he was about to pass, the doors were flung wide and he stood still, a mixture of emotions raging through him.
Mary was standing behind a long table, a thick apron wrapped around her waist. The colour rose in her cheeks as she saw him and for a long moment they stood like pieces of petrified wood, looking into each other’s eyes. It was Brandon who moved away, thrusting his hands into his pockets and edging past the press of anxious women heading for the long table.
He strode on towards the press, where Evo was still working on the handbook. The man had become increasingly reluctant to continue with the project and it was only the inducement of more money that spurred him on. When Brandon had announced his intention of leaving the Employers Association Evo’s face had been long with worry.
‘There’ll be trouble over this.’ He had spoken in low mournful tones as though there had been a death in the family. ‘Those toffs don’t let no one get away with being different, you’ll see.’
Brandon hadn’t even bothered to answer the man. The intention to print the book had broug
ht him to the brink of ruin, but the obstacles put in his way only made him more determined to succeed.
When Brandon arrived at the press, he knew with a sinking of his heart that something else had gone wrong. Mark and Heath Jenkins were there already, standing outside in the rain with faces puzzled and gloomy. Evo was almost wringing his hands in despair and as Brandon drew nearer, he caught his breath in anger. He looked at Mark and the manager shook his head.
‘Someone’s done a great job here, boss,’ Mark said fiercely, his eyes filled with anger.
Brandon moved nearer, seeing the sea of papers littering the floor and the machinery smashed beyond repair. Evo was swaying to and fro on his heels like a mother nursing a child. ‘Don’t ask me to get mixed up with the likes of this again, Mr Sutton, for I shan’t.’
‘Not a hope of salvaging anything from this mess,’ Mark said through his teeth. ‘Whoever it was did a good job.’
‘Caught sight of the devil who did it,’ Evo said glumly, ‘I’m sure it was Gerwin Price – I’d know that haystack hair anywhere.’
‘I’d like to strangle the bastard!’ Heath’s big hands were clenched together.
‘Price may have been the instrument, but whose hand wielded the weapon?’ Brandon said heavily. He stared at the wreckage before him in despair. Months of work had been ruined in one night and it seemed he would never get the handbook published. He was beginning to wonder if there was any point in continuing to try.
‘Will you give up now, Mr Sutton?’ Evo asked anxiously and a quick rage ran like a fever through Brandon’s veins.
‘I’ll be damned if I will!’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll start again as soon as possible. I still have my own original copy of the handbook and get it printed I will if it kills me. Mark, you can take it with you – go as far afield as you like, but get it published!’
Proud Mary Page 37