by Vicky Adin
“Ah, so you’re awake now, are you? Welcome back.” A stranger’s voice came from behind her. The woman moved quietly around the bed to where Gwenna could see her. “I’m Mary Williams, the midwife. Mrs Price called me – day before yesterday – and I’m glad she did. You were in a right poor way when I got here. Do you remember any of it?”
Gwenna shook her head. “Everything’s pretty much a blur. I was aware of sounds and feelings rather than anything real. And then nothing, until now.”
Bethan woke at the sound of Gwenna’s voice. “Thanks be to God. I thought we’d lost you.”
While the two women fussed about, helping Gwenna to sit up and guiding the baby to her breast, they filled in the gaps in her memory. Tillie had spent almost as much time with Gwenna as in her own house, bringing food to save Bethan from cooking, and fudge to build up the stock. Elias, too, had called, which surprised them all.
“You nearly left us, Gwenna, bach. I was that afraid, I thought the fairy folk had come for you. But you’re a plucky one, our Gwenna. You are that.”
Gwenna smiled weakly. She had no intentions of going anywhere just yet, and she wasn’t sure she believed in fairy folk.
“That tightening is your milk coming through,” said Mary. “We need to encourage it. We’ve been feeding your son with a bottle for the last forty-eight hours, hoping you’d pull through on your own. He’s a fighter, this one. Like you, by the sounds of things, but he’s a long way to go. He’s very little and underweight.”
A son. She had a son.
Overjoyed, Gwenna did as she was told, knowing something special, magical even, had just happened, but she had no words to explain it. Whatever this feeling meant, it would be something between her and this child. She’d never considered herself a fighter, nor an ancient who could foretell things, but maybe she was wrong – on both counts. Her future lay in her arms, and she would fight anyone who tried to take it away.
“What will you call him?” Bethan bent down over the baby and ran a gentle finger over his cheek.
In her son, Gwenna saw echoes of Johnno. She recalled the fateful morning, the morning Johnno left forever when she’d stared at him, committing every detail to memory as if she sensed he would not return.
Tears flowed down her face, but she left them unchecked. For the first time in many months, these were tears of joy and fulfilment, even if they were still tinged with sadness. Johnno had been a glorious interlude in her life, someone she had hardly known, but this happiness would live on in his son.
“George. After Pa.”
22
Against the tide
3 June 1900
To Gwenna’s frustration, neither Bethan nor Mary would let her out of bed.
“You’re to have complete bed rest for at least seven days,” ordered Mary. “And your mam has no say in the matter either. So even if you could persuade her around to your way of thinking, it isn’t going to happen.”
The risk her son might not thrive as well, otherwise, convinced Gwenna to do as she was told. In truth, her body told her the same. After living with anxiety and exhaustion for so long, she had little energy left, and if Georgie needed her, then she would get strong again for him.
In the hours when he lay by her side and she watched him sleep, sometimes dozing herself, a new sense of purpose and resolve bubbled inside her. From now on, when all her doubts and fears rose to the surface, as she was sure they would, she would remember she wasn’t working just to fulfil Pa’s dreams, nor for her benefit alone. Everything she did, everything she planned and everything she achieved would be for her son, and she would let no one stand in her way.
She had refused to consider naming her son John. That evil man, known as Black Jack Jones, still roamed freely somewhere. She wouldn’t let the boy be held back by sharing the same name as the man who, by law, was his grandfather but who would never lay eyes on him if she had her way. Gwenna would also keep her Price name – G Price & Family. That had been what George stood for, what Pa wanted to give Gwenna, and it would be her legacy to George junior.
Bethan had been delighted. “Baby George will keep your father’s memory alive and give you both something to strive for. Your pa was one of a kind.”
Tillie, too, supported her decision when she brought around a layette for the baby.
“Oh, Tillie, this is so beautiful. You shouldn’t have.” Tears flowed down Gwenna’s face again, and she wiped them away. She was doing too much crying these days.
“Of course, I should. Georgie is my nephew and deserves the best. As do you. Don’t cry, sweet sister. There are benefits to being a widow, you’ll see. You are mistress of your own destiny now.”
Taking advantage of her recovery time, she and Tillie spent hours closeted in her room while Georgie and Olwen slept. Between them they wrote down all the ideas they could remember their father giving them, adding several more of their own. They calculated the costs, itemised the risks and considered the threats. Every time, they found the positive column outstripped the negative.
“So why is the business in such a state?” Tillie turned another page and chewed on the end of the pencil. “Gwenna, you’re the one for figures. You could calculate the weights in your head quicker than we could on paper. What is the problem here?”
They poured over the accounts, evaluated the errors and missing information, and reached the conclusion Elias had no idea about running a business.
“No wonder he was losing money,” said Gwenna. “He either overcharged and lost the client or undercharged and was taken advantage of. Sometimes, he clean forgot to invoice the customer at all.”
“Let’s hope he’s better at his furniture making, then.” Tillie laughed, but Gwenna took it seriously.
“He will be,” Gwenna assured her. “They are higher priced items and he doesn’t have to calculate the costs. Either Mr Woodman will do all that, or I suspect, Miss Woodman.”
“Have you met her?”
“No, not yet. Why, have you?”
“I have,” said Tillie. “I overheard her name in the fabric department of Smith & Caughey and introduced myself. I found her quite charming.”
“So she sews, too? What was she buying?” Gwenna was curious what sort of girl could tame Elias so easily.
“She makes the most beautiful patchwork quilts. Her stitching is finer than mine. I admired the section of quilting she had brought along to match up with some new colours and pattern. She was so easy to talk to, quite open and natural.” Tillie went on to describe Alice in detail: petite, dark-haired, dark gentle eyes, with a soft, thoughtful voice. “Her dress was well made, too, and fitted her perfectly. She wore a pretty pastel yellow, I recall. I can see why she would be good for Elias.”
“All that, after one meeting? I’ll look forward to the experience.”
* * *
“I will not stay in bed a minute longer.” Gwenna threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to the protests of both Bethan and Mary. “I’ve finished my seven days. I’ve eaten. I’ve slept. I’ve rested. But no more. There is work to be done.”
“At least a bit of colour has returned to her cheeks,” the two older women agreed, ignoring the younger one. “And she is certainly full of energy again.”
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, though,” said Bethan sternly. “And I’ll make sure she eats well and conforms to some sense of propriety.”
“And she must rest every afternoon after Georgie’s feed,” insisted Mary.
Satisfied they had Gwenna’s next few days under their control, Mary relented. “Just promise me you won’t overexert yourself.”
Gwenna closed her eyes. There was little chance of that happening, she thought, but with Georgie to feed and boxes of sweets to sell, sitting around wouldn’t get things done either.
“I’ll have to go out, Mam. I have work to do. But no, I won’t go to parties and the theatre. I don’t want to anyway.”
Sometimes the restrictions placed on women by laws
and society, despite the fact women now had a real say in those laws, infuriated Gwenna. She would never be able to take control of her life and make progress as a businesswoman if she was constantly held back.
A new determination to make Pa’s dreams come alive infused her whole being, although for ‘the sake of propriety’, as Louisa was so fond of saying, Gwenna agreed to wear black. Tillie had come to her aid yet again by making a suitable day dress and draping a hat, while Bethan dyed two of Gwenna’s cotton house dresses.
The first task Gwenna set herself was to contact all the clients listed in the books. Most she wrote to, some she visited in person and others who had telephones she steeled herself to call.
She wrote explaining how, as the daughter of George Price, she would now handle the family business. “Elias Hughes has chosen to seek his own business venture elsewhere.”
She didn’t elaborate. He could drum up his own business if he wanted to – or let Alice handle that side of things. As long as he didn’t get on his high horse about being head of the household again, but it wasn’t her problem – not any more.
She signed her name, Gwenna Price.
By tradition, in Wales, and in the north in particular, married women could retain their maiden name if they chose to. The tradition did not apply in New Zealand, but neither was it against the law. Since her marriage had been short, barely four months, and no notices had been placed in any of the newspapers for the wedding or the funeral, and few people knew of her married name, she decided to keep the one she loved the most. As Mrs Price, she could still protect her son and it would endow her with the benefits and freedoms a widow could expect.
Unused to doing so much writing, Gwenna’s hand cramped as she held the latest style fountain pen. She would much have preferred to write with a pencil, but doing so would not be considered businesslike. While the pen was easier to use than the old quill, filling it with an eyedropper was far too messy, and the pen left blots on the page and stained her fingers if she wasn’t careful.
“Honestly, this is too much to bear.” Gwenna laid the pen down to massage her palm, and rolled her head to ease her neck. She viewed her stained hands in disgust. She couldn’t risk transferring the ink from her hands into the sugar, and her hands were so sore from writing, she couldn’t do much more.
“I’m going out,” she announced to Bethan, putting on her newly draped bonnet and coat, and wrapping a scarf around her neck. She avoided the mirror, knowing black stripped all colour from her face, leaving her pallid. In contrast, her eyes seemed larger and brighter with her hair tucked away out of sight.
“Where are you off to this time?”
“I’m sick of writing letters. I’ll post a couple of them along the way, but I want to talk to Edward Turner.”
“The greengrocer?” Bethan sounded surprised.
“Well, Smeeton wasn’t keen on dealing with me, so I’ll go to his opposition and see what happens.”
“But you wouldn’t expect to find lollies at the greengrocer’s. That’s not like a regular grocery shop.” Bethan sounded puzzled.
“No, you wouldn’t. But if you did, would you buy some?” Gwenna tingled with the idea. It was a novel concept, but it could work.
Edward Turner had an even better idea.
23
Surprises
Mid-June 1900
“Eli’s been arrested!”
Gwenna stared at the distressed girl standing before her breathing hard and fast. Strands of hair clung to her face, still sweaty and red from the exertion of running. “What for?” she demanded, her pulse racing. She knew who this girl was talking about, even if she herself never called him Eli.
“Accessory after the fact,” the girl panted. “At least, I think that’s what they said. But I got such a fright when they said murder, I didn’t listen any more.”
Murder? Gwenna shuddered and goose pimples rose on her arms. No one had mentioned murder.
With her breathing under control, the girl tilted her head to one side. “You’re Gwenna, aren’t you? I’m Alice Woodman.”
The two women assessed each other over the doorstep. Going by her appearance, Alice hadn’t stopped long enough to change. She wore a simple checked skirt, apron and white blouse, and looked precisely as Tillie had described, and Gwenna instantly took a liking to the girl.
“You’d better come in, Miss Woodman.” Gwenna stood back and opened the door wider.
Introductions were made and Bethan made a fresh pot of tea. With a tea cup in their hands to hide behind, the women relaxed a little.
“I’ve never seen Eli so furious,” said Alice. “I thought he would hit one of the policemen until my father stepped in.”
Gwenna heard the new name and asked herself whether being Eli was part of his new identity, his new life – like hers.
Bethan was too agitated to listen. “Did Elias send you?”
Alice shook her head. “Oh. No. He didn’t want me to come, but I had to. You need to know. I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. My father has gone with him. He’ll find out what’s going on.”
“I’m sure I’m grateful to Mr Woodman, but we should go ourselves,” said Gwenna, replacing her cup on the saucer.
Shocked, Alice sounded sharper than she intended. “You can’t go there. It’s a dreadful place.”
Bethan appeared confused. “Which place? Haven’t they taken him to the new police station in Princes Street? The one they opened earlier this year?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I just assumed they’d take him to the prison in Mount Eden. Horrible stone place that it is.” She shuddered. “I can see a glimpse of it from our upstairs window.”
“Well, I suppose we’d better find out.” About to rise, Gwenna realised Alice had no intention of moving just yet.
“I saw a side of Eli this morning I’d not seen before. Has he been angry like that in the past?”
Bethan and Gwenna glanced at each other. Should they warn her about Elias’s temper, or could they consider the change in him permanent? Thanks to the very girl who was asking the question.
Bethan cleared her throat. “Elias had many disappointments in life at an early age. He was too young to understand and often lost his temper when he couldn’t cope. I thought he’d grow out of it, in time, and he has for the most part. But he still has his moments.”
Gwenna respected how much it hurt Bethan to reveal her son’s weaknesses to a stranger, but if what Elias had told them was true, this girl might not be a stranger for long. “He’s learnt to control it a lot better in the last six months. Much of it is thanks to you. He speaks of you often.”
A soft blush tinged Alice’s cheeks, and she briefly lowered her lashes. Her eyes were large, dark globes with hints of sunshine, and perfectly formed. “I believe I have made some changes to his manner. When I first met Eli – he asked me to call him Eli, you know – he was sombre and withdrawn, but he’s different now. I know you call him Elias. I’ve wondered if that’s part of it. Does he feel a different person using a different name?” Alice asked, echoing Gwenna’s thoughts.
Gwenna would have struggled to consider anyone could change so much or so fast if she hadn’t seen and heard it for herself. From her own experience, a name mattered. “I can’t answer for him, but yes, quite possibly.”
“When he first came,” Alice continued, “Eli stumbled over words, but his eyes followed me all the time, without him speaking. He talks a lot more these days. He told me about your husband, Mrs Jones. I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. But please call me Gwenna, and ...” She hesitated. Alice’s unexpected visit had just strengthened Gwenna’s resolve to keep her maiden name. “For business reasons, I will be known as Mrs Price. I’m keeping my name.” Gwenna shuddered at the thought of Black Jack Jones and all the trouble he’d caused. “But getting back to why you are here. Are you saying the police believe Elias is responsible for this murder?”
Fear put an edge on Gwenna’s words.
For all his faults, and he had several, the greatest of which was the chip he carried on his shoulder, she couldn’t bring herself to conceive Elias capable of murder, however unintentional. Even in his worst fits of temper, once he’d cowed her, the steam went out of him and he was no longer violent.
“Not responsible as such,” said Alice. “But they claim he knew about it and kept it a secret. I’m sure Eli and Dad will sort it out and he’ll be back with us before day’s end.” Alice dismissed Gwenna’s concern and smiled, turning the edges of her lips up by the merest amount. Whatever was going on in Alice’s mind, Gwenna saw the girl’s shoulders relax and sereneness cross her face.
“May I see the baby?” Alice’s eyes turned to the basket on the floor where Georgie slept.
“Of course, but please don’t wake him.”
As nimble as a butterfly, Alice fell to her knees beside the basket and stared at Georgie as though he was a rare and precious doll. Her face softened as she leaned over him to breathe in the fresh smell of soap and rosewater and that characteristic baby smell. Alice was older than Gwenna by three or four years and yearned for a child of her own.
However, they had more pressing business to attend to.
“Shouldn’t we at least try to find out why Elias has been arrested?” pressed Gwenna.
“We know why. I told you, the police think he knows something,” Alice answered over her shoulder without taking her eyes off Georgie. “Dad and Eli need to convince them otherwise. There is nothing we can do. The police won’t talk to us.”
“Oh, surely they must talk to his mother,” said Bethan, kneading her hands in her apron.
“Is it worth the risk? And you’d have to take Georgie to those awful places. The authorities will deal with it as they see fit. I’m sure we women would get in the way.”