‘Sergeant Harries is here with a detective,’ said Twm, ‘having a look round. I heard them say the back door had been forced. They also found a pile of burnt books, as if they’d been put there purposefully to start the fire.’
‘My goodness,’ said Gwen, shaking her head. ‘Whoever it is, I hope they catch them quickly. I thought we’d got rid of people like that when they arrested Iolo Prosser, and the others.’
‘Aye. Fingers are pointing at Mrs Williams,’ said Twm, ‘I don’t see how she’d have the strength, really.’
‘If she needed strength Christopher might have helped,’ said Gwen, ‘being led astray by that gang.’
‘No, it wasn’t Esther,’ said Violet. ‘She’s got a mean tongue, but that’s quite different to setting a blaze.’
‘Well she’s been out around the Gardens several times today,’ said Twm, ‘telling anyone who’ll listen that she’s not responsible. Apparently she’s lost all her sewing work because people believe it’s her, especially since the police have been to her house. And Christopher’s gone off to stay with a friend at McKenzie Cottages, through shame, according to her, though he’s got nothing to be proud of. Up in court he’ll be before long for the veggie thefts, and no doubt fined.’
‘Well, that’s a point,’ said Violet. ‘Florrie mentioned yesterday that Christopher’s gang tried to steal books and were thrown out by Mr Schenck. I hope Sergeant Harries knows that.’
‘Knows what?’ said the sergeant, coming out of the charred front door.
With him was a miserable-looking man in his fifties, attired in a grey suit and bowler hat. He had a pencil moustache.
‘If you know anything, we’d appreciate you telling us,’ said the detective, peering at them with dark, beady eyes.
Violet wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to be questioned by this officious-looking man, nor have Christopher’s gang hear that she’d told on them.
As she hesitated, Gwen repeated the information.
‘We are already aware of that,’ he said dismissively.
‘And are you aware that Rose Pritchard, the butcher’s daughter, was rude to Mr Schenck not long ago?’
‘I’ll make a note of it, though I doubt it has any relevance—’
‘No relevance?’ Gwen interrupted. ‘But she’s a known thief. She stole from the Merediths when she was their cook, didn’t she, Violet?’
‘Yes. But she’s never been known to set a fire.’
‘If I need any more information, I’m sure Sergeant Harries here will question you again.’ He walked off, clearly dismissing them.
Constable Probert came running out of the building, his eyes bulging. His face had gone pale. ‘Inspector Strong, you need to come in here, now.’
The detective and Harries were soon following Probert back in.
The men working on clearing up gathered round the front door, muttering to each other. Soon, others who’d come out for afternoon walks were joining them.
‘Come on,’ said Gwen, dragging Violet towards the group. ‘They might have found some evidence.’
‘I’m not sure I want to,’ said Violet, anxious about what they might have discovered. But Gwen pulled her along, not to be dissuaded.
Five minutes later the policemen re-emerged, stony-faced.
‘What have you found, then?’ Twm Bach called. ‘Do you know who set the fire?’
The detective crossed the road and walked away down Gabriel Street.
‘There’s rude. What have they found, sergeant?’
Harries regarded Twm and then the rest of those gathered, his hands behind his back. Slowly he pulled one hand out and held aloft a pair of round spectacles. Violet clasped her mouth, feeling sick.
‘I fear we have found Cadoc Beadle.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
It had been six days since Hywel had helped out at the fire, and the first day he’d felt completely well. Being underground in the pit had been a struggle, the walls of the narrow passages seeming to close in on him, like the smoke in the bookshop.
He was in his three-piece suit now, having just returned from Cadoc Beadle’s funeral with Idris, Gwilym and their brothers. The scouts had formed a guard of honour in their uniforms, while both Jenkin and Evan had spoken movingly in the chapel about him. Brave, that was. He doubted he’d have done such a thing at sixteen.
The five of them sat in his kitchen now, being served cups of tea by Enid. Anwen sat next to the stove. On a blanket at the side of her chair was Sara Fach, chewing one of the wooden cubes she was playing with.
‘He was lucky, was Cadoc,’ said Enid, ‘that they recorded a verdict of death by misadventure, else he’d not have been allowed a Christian burial.’
Evan and Jenkin glanced at each other and Hywel knew they were thinking what he was, that it was more likely Cadoc had gone back into the fire willingly, that he’d wanted to die. Why else would he have returned? There’d been no one else to save. For what reason had he even been out that early in the morning when he hadn’t been out for months? He’d lived right at the end of the village but it was possible he’d heard the fire engine’s bell clanging, for it made quite a noise. Whatever the reason, he’d had no cause to go back into the building. How come nobody had noticed? Too busy with the casualties, no doubt. He’d not been happy since he’d woken up after his attack, that’s all Hywel knew.
Both boys were now looking down at the table, their faces a picture of misery. Cadoc’s death had hit them hard, what with him being their scout master since they’d first enrolled, and lately with their regular visits to him.
‘Were there many there?’ said Cadi, bringing in some potato bread rolls and some sliced corned mutton.
‘Aye, downstairs in the chapel was almost full,’ said Idris. ‘A lot of the young men have passed through his scout troup, including me and Gwilym here, though we weren’t in it for long. Not like these two.’ He indicated the boys.
‘I’ll miss him mun, I’ll tell you,’ said Jenkin forlornly. ‘I was hoping he’d get well and lead us again.’
‘The most fitting way to honour him is to do your very best at scouts,’ said Enid. ‘That’s what Mr Beadle would have wanted to see.’
‘I wish now we hadn’t gone banging on his door when the boys ran away to enlist,’ said Idris. ‘It can’t have helped matters.’
‘Mr Beadle never encouraged us to enlist,’ said Evan. ‘In fact, when we said to him we wished we could go to war he said there was time enough for that when we was eighteen.’
‘He did that,’ said Jenkin. ‘But it weren’t you what knocked six bells out of him, so you’re not to blame. It’s that Edgar Williams what’s responsible for his death, as sure as if he’d killed him at the time.’
‘Let’s not dwell on that,’ said Hywel. ‘Edgar’s locked up, so at least there was some justice.’ He took a sip of the tea that Enid handed him. ‘I don’t know about you lot, but since the sun is shining, and I’ve been either down the pit or indoors, I could do with a spell on the allotments, blow the cobwebs out.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Idris, taking a side plate from the pile and helping himself to some bread and mutton. ‘There’s lots to do. Are you coming over today, Gwilym?’
‘Not to the far allotment, no. I’ve got a job to do with the chickens here, getting that barbed wire in place round their run. I know they’ve caught the boys what stole the veg, but I’m not taking any chances. If someone comes in the dead of night, they’ll have to negotiate that little lot first. What about you boys? Do you fancy helping Hywel and Idris out?’
‘We’re helping at the bookshop,’ said Evan. ‘Once we’ve got it properly cleared, they can start rebuilding it again. Mr Breckon’s got us scouts organised on a rota.’
‘Mr Breckon!’ said Enid. ‘I forget he’s actually called Tomos Breckon. Always Twm Bach to everyone, he is.’
‘It wouldn’t be very respectful for us to call our scout master by his nick name,’ said Jenkin.
‘No, I suppose not. You’re good boys for helping out. I hear Mr Schenck’s been staying with Noah and Bethan since he came out of hospital three days back.’
‘That’s right,’ said Evan. ‘And Mrs Schenck was due out today, Mr Breckon told us. I think the pair of them will be staying next door for a while yet.’
Sara Fach chose this moment to have a little grizzle. She dropped the block she’d been holding and slumped a little. Anwen picked her up and placed her on her lap, smoothing down the white pinafore over her blue dress.
‘I dunno what’s wrong with her today. I’m afraid she might be going down with a cold. I was thinking of going over to the allotments myself, just across the road here, but I don’t want to leave her with Mamgu too long.’ Anwen looked pained as she said this. She joggled the baby on her knee. The little girl didn’t giggle like she normally did. Instead she lay against Anwen with her thumb in her mouth, eyes fluttering shut.
Hywel wondered if she was worried it was more than a cold. The baby looked perfectly healthy, but then so had Anwen’s brothers, Tomos and Geraint, before the consumption had stolen their lives as youths.
‘Don’t you worry about me,’ said Cadi. ‘And I’m sure it’s just the sniffles. I can pop over the road to fetch you if need be. She’ll probably want a nap soon anyway.’
Enid sat at one end of the table, her face puckered. It was the way she always looked when the conversation turned to Sara Fach. She still had no interaction with her at all, treating her like she wasn’t there, unless the baby came near her when she was crawling. Hywel could understand why she was upset, but she was only a baby after all. She’d certainly melted his heart and he was quite happy to refer to himself as ‘uncle’ when he spoke to her. Enid always humphed when he did this.
‘All right,’ said Anwen, ‘if you’re sure.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Cadi. ‘I love my time with the little sweetheart.’ She looked over at Enid with a small shake of her head. ‘Now eat up everyone, for I managed to scrape together enough ingredients to make some bakestones. I’m sure you’d all like one before you get on with your work.’
‘Thanks Mrs Rhys,’ said Evan. ‘I haven’t had once since, um, oh. Since Miss Meredith brought some to Mr Beadle in the winter.’ His head went down once more.
Hywel patted his shoulder. The quicker they ate up and got out to some activity the better.
* * *
Hywel had slept only fitfully since he’d gone to bed. He slid out now and clicked on the light before looking at the fob watch on the tiny homemade table. Five to three. Maybe he’d read his book, Frankenstein, try to free his mind of all that had been swirling around it. By all, he meant Violet.
He plonked himself on the bed. She’d been at chapel that morning, with Olwen the Ogre, who, as usual, was causing trouble, claiming she wanted to sit at the front because she had hearing problems. A likely story, given she seemed to overhear things only too well. Those who’d already secured the seats gave them up reluctantly. Violet’s face had flushed pink and she’d looked awkward.
Oh Violet, Violet, Violet. Despite what she’d said about Elizabeth, who’d sat with them this morning, and despite Olwen’s cruel act in reporting him to the police, he couldn’t stay angry at her. In his heart he knew there was something wrong. It was the look of tragedy deep in her eyes that went beyond losing Charlie.
If she’d had any other feelings for him beyond a friend, they’d certainly have flown now, since his harsh words to her. Yet what else could he think, other than that she was complicit in Olwen’s malice, if only by not sending her away? And now, even after her mother-in-law had tried to get him locked up, she still hadn’t sent her packing.
He placed his fingers lightly round his throat as the lump formed. What was the point of getting upset about it? He could do nothing, and if he attempted to help, it would make the situation with Olwen even worse.
A cup of tea, that’s what he needed, for his throat was dry. He’d be dog-tired come his shift, but he would be if he lay awake all night in bed too. After dressing he picked up the book, remembering now that he’d finished it before lying down last night. At least there were another two to be read on the bookcase in the front room, ones he’d borrowed from the Institute library.
While he waited for the kettle to boil, he went to fetch the Conan Doyle. He fancied a Sherlock Holmes mystery to fill his mind.
As he lifted his hand to pull it out, there was an almighty hollering from outside. He dismissed it as a fox initially, but it didn’t quite ring true.
The sound had stopped by the time he’d reached the curtain and pulled it back. He peered into the street, towards the allotment, but it was still too dark to see anything, despite a wisp of light appearing above the mountains. Perhaps if he turned the light off in the room he could— there it was again. It was a woman’s scream, he was sure of it. He ran to the front door.
He pictured Violet running across the field from Bryn Road, chased by Olwen spouting curses. Reading too much gothic fiction had stoked his already vivid imagination.
Out of the door, he picked his way across the road, his eyes still adjusting to the dark. It was chilly and he was only in his shirtsleeves. The noise of the distress rumbled on, becoming a piercing scream before he reached the other side. There was someone by the chicken run, he was sure.
He heard a door slam and was aware of someone else heading across the road.
‘Is that you, Hywel?’
‘Yes, Gwilym. What on God’s earth is going on?’
‘Thief, I reckon.’
That made more sense than his ramblings.
His eyes had now adjusted to what was in fact a dim light. He and Gwilym did a circuit of the chicken run, being careful of the barbed wire placed most of the way round. On the far side they stopped dead, looking down at the cause of the noise.
Someone else had not been so careful.
Rose Pritchard screamed once more on seeing them. ‘Bloody get this off me. I can’t move.’ She was sitting on the ground, her dress and shawl well and truly caught up in the wire, along with her boot which was entangled.
‘Shouldn’t have been trying to steal chickens then, should you?’ said Gwilym.
‘I wasn’t bloody stealing chickens; I was out for a walk.’
Hywel couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrous claim. ‘In the middle of the night? Don’t give me that.’
‘You’ve got away with too much recently,’ said Gwilym. ‘Mrs Meredith and Mr Schenck might not have pressed charges, but I will.’
Two or three other men had come out on the street now, including Hywel’s neighbour, old Mr Norris.
‘I’ll bloody press charges against you,’ said Rose, ‘putting up dangerous wire for people to have accidents in. Look at my hand bleeding.’ She lifted it up to show a nasty scratch.
‘Well it do serve you right,’ said Mr Norris. ‘We’re all witnesses to you here.’
‘Get me out!’ she screeched.
‘Not until I’ve fetched Sergeant Harries,’ said Gwilym. ‘If these gentlemen would be kind enough to keep an eye on you.’
‘Of course,’ said Hywel. ‘Though I don’t think she’s going anywhere.’
* * *
This was just like old times for Anwen on the allotments, her and Elizabeth chatting on a warm afternoon as they worked. Neither of them had spent much time here in recent months, what with Elizabeth’s job and Sara Fach. The two of them were hoeing a large patch, ready to sow seeds for early winter veg. Elizabeth stopped, took a deep breath and leant on her hoe.
‘Not used to the physical work now then,’ Anwen joked, ‘after sitting in an office for several months.’
‘It’s a nice change, being outdoors, especially on a sunny day like today. I can’t say I won’t miss making my own money, though. My parents’ monthly allowance to me always came with such a lot of conditions I felt free of while I was working.’
‘Can the man who came back to the job really manage, w
ith a blown-off kneecap?’
‘It’s the perfect job for him really. I don’t resent giving it back to him; I knew it would only ever be until the war ended. I just wish more of this work was open to women in the first place. We could do so many of the jobs that we’re denied.’
There she was, in crusading mood again. Anwen had missed that too. ‘After the war, the Suffragettes could restart their campaigning.’
‘I do hope so, for even with the prospect of votes for women over thirty, there is so much more to fight for. We’ve merely climbed the first couple of steps of a very long, winding staircase.’
And maybe she’d join in, Anwen mused. She wondered what Idris would have to say about it, though he was all for women having the vote and having better rights.
‘I was wondering,’ said Elizabeth, ‘about Violet. Have you spoken to her recently?’
‘I certainly have not,’ said Anwen, feeling guilty despite her resolve. ‘Quite apart from what she said about you, I’m frankly amazed she still hasn’t got rid of Olwen after that nonsense about Hywel.’
‘I wouldn’t take it out on her for too long. What she said hurt, I won’t deny it, but I can understand a little why she might resent me. The three of you have been friends for such a long time. At your wedding, I think she was put out that I helped Gwen get you dressed, and not her. I can understand that too. I hope, in time, she’ll come to trust me. I didn’t mention anything about it to my mother, as I didn’t want her sacking Olwen before she’d even started work and depriving Violet of money. I imagine she’s in a difficult position, with Olwen being willing to work and helping her out with finances. She needs friends.’
‘Gwen is still popping round and went to the children’s parade with her.’ Anwen had been a bit miffed about that. ‘Though Gwen’s not around so much now, with her having a young man.’
Elizabeth leant forward with interest. ‘Who would that be then?’
‘I don’t really know anything about him.’
‘How curious. Look, there’s Gwilym coming over, all clean and changed. Probably going to check on the chickens.’
War in the Valleys Page 30