When she returned to the beach, there were a dozen hands willing to help her bring the heavily laden boat ashore, and among them was Barrass. She could see at once that he was not pleased.
‘Showing off again are you, Olwen, showing me what a strong girl you are compared with me?’
‘Oh, Barrass, there’s daft you are. I was wide awake and it was such a temptation that I just went off and didn’t tell a soul. I’d have called for you to come if I thought I could have woken you. Shall I? Next time?’
‘I’d have to sit there with you telling me what to do.’
‘So what’s the matter with that? I had to for years before Dadda would let me even touch the rudder. Tell you what, we’ll go fishing off the next bay and you can learn without anyone knowing, then you can sail her in right under the admiring noses of the fishermen as if you’ve been doing it all your life.’
‘All right, just don’t go off out there on your own again, it isn’t safe for someone as young and small as you.’
Olwen knew he was only pretending to be afraid for her to cover up his own lack of skill, but she smiled and nodded.
‘I won’t go without calling for you to come with me, I promise,’ she said contritely and with ambiguity, fully aware that she had deliberately avoided a promise not to go out without him, agreeing only to call for him first. If he did not answer her call then she could go off with a conscience only slightly clouded.
* * *
On the day when Emma took her three daughters to tea with Edwin, she was filled with anxiety. It was clear that dutiful as Violet undoubtedly was, she did not want to go.
‘But, daughter, when will you get such another chance as this? Edwin is a fine and wealthy young man. You’ll have a life of social standing such as many a girl would envy. New clothes for every special occasion, and, from what I have learnt, daughter, there will be plenty more of those.’
‘But Mother, I find him so distressingly boring. His attempts at humour so predictable.’
Emma hid her expression as she thought with irritation that ‘boring’ was the word most frequently used about Violet!
‘Violet, dear, won’t you try to find something to start a conversation? Think of a few subjects that he would be sure to know a thing or two about, and start him talking. There’s nothing a man likes better than being allowed to talk on his favourite subjects and to be thought clever. Now what about pigs?’
‘Pigs, Mother?’ Violet raised a thin eyebrow and looked at her mother with mild amusement. ‘What on earth should I know about pigs?’
‘Edwin is fond of them, so they say, and successful at bringing them to a fine size for the September Fair at Neath.’
‘That should fill at least half a minute.’
‘Violet, dear, what do you wish to talk about?’
‘I dream of talking to a man who has adventure in his heart, someone who will take risks and not be more worried about getting a butter stain off his shirt than about the fate of the men fighting in France against Napoleon.’
‘That, dear daughter, is man’s talk and shouldn’t fill your thoughts for a moment. Soldiering indeed! What have your teachers done to fill your head with such stuff? Is that what we have paid good money for?’
‘Not soldiering, Mother, but stirring tales, people who have done exceptional things, left the safety of their homes and gone boldly out into the wild, wide world.’
‘The town of Swansea is wild enough for me with sea-farers bringing the troubles of the world to its doors, and as for people leaving their homes, well, you are lucky to have a home such as this, and look around you if you are in doubt. Just poke your well-dressed head out of the window and look at some you see passing.’
‘You are right, Mother, and I am ungrateful. I will do my best to be polite to this – farmer who pretends an interest in me, for your sake.’
‘And I’m expected to thank you for that? And me trying to cope with all this with your father in prison? Oh you’re a cruel girl and that’s for sure.’
‘It’s fortunate that Barrass agreed to come back and help you, isn’t it, Mother, after you threw him out into the cold.’
‘Enough, daughter, I won’t have the boy mentioned. If you think he’s the one to tell you stirring tales, then I fear you are out of your head. Fleas, rags and no home, that’s his background, and don’t you ever forget it!’
‘No, Mother. Now, what time do you wish us to be ready?’
‘Four of the clock and not a minute later.’
* * *
Edwin Prince lived in a traditional Welsh long-house built on a rise of land with a view all around. In the centre of the single-storey building was an archway leading to the yard behind. To the right of the arch were two living rooms and to the left the barns used by cattle. Behind it, some distance from the house, were two small buildings with large enclosed areas around them, which housed his pigs. A new piggery was under construction, built of brick and large enough for several sows.
The house had windows added in the roof and Edwin had built a staircase of stone which led up to a platform jutting out halfway into the living room, on which he had a bed. A railing of carved wood protected him from falling to the ground floor. He used the bed very little.
All day he spent either supervising the work on his farm, or visiting friends to play cards. At night, when most people slept, he went about a different sort of business.
His farmworkers, as with those in the farms around, were paid a pittance for their long hours of hard work. Their homes were theirs only as long as they stayed in the farmer’s employ so they were captive, unable to risk the poor wage and the sometimes precarious roof to find a better life. The unseen assistance Edwin gave his workmen and women was the night hours spent collecting and distributing illegal imports.
A packet of tea plus a few shillings for two hours’ work was worth the risk of being caught and sent to prison, or, in extreme cases, death or transportation to colonies across the sea. Those who worked for Edwin knew that he would protect them as diligently as he could. The income the trade represented meant the difference to him between barely existing, and a full social life and all the comforts he required.
Edwin had left the fields, where he had been watching the men digging out the last of the root crops and carting them to the storage sheds beyond the piggery, and walked back to the house, shouting for water for bathing.
This fascination with a soak in a tub of water was still a source of amusement to his housekeeper, Martha Baker, sister-in-law to Ivor-the-Builder. Since she had come to work at the house four years before, she had never failed to smile at the idea of her employer, lying full length and wearing nothing more than a nightshirt, in hot, soapy water while he read a few pages of a book. Not once but sometimes twice in a week he would shout for water and wait while the bathtub was filled, before locking the door and settling himself to enjoy the odd practice.
She and the two servants, Sally and Megan, had frequently stared with suppressed chuckles through the large keyhole and watched as he lay, blissfully unaware of being watched by eyes wet with tears of laughter.
‘Bless my old boots but that steam must be doin’ strange things to his skin. I mind when I’ve spent time a washin’ of his clothes how wrinkled my poor fingers do get,’ Martha Baker remarked. ‘Now I wonder if that’s fashionable then, to have fingers all wrinkled?’
‘It ain’t fingers but the rest of him what’ll be wrinkled, Martha. Them hands of his never gets near the water from what I see, always turning the pages of that book.’
Edwin rose from the water, bubbles and creases making the white nightshirt seem like a fanciful gown of lace, in a haze of steam. He reached for the towel placed ready for him on the back of a chair near the fire and, putting it on the floor beside the tub, stepped out.
This was the stage at which the eyes at the keyhole changed rapidly, each person being scrupulously fair at having only the count of five before allowing the next to have a turn. Tod
ay it was Martha who saw him pull the nightshirt over his head and she gasped and almost fainted away as he turned to face the door wearing not a stitch, to pick up his book and place it away from the danger of spillage.
‘Never saw that much even when me and Mr Baker was married!’ she gasped as Sally and Megan helped her to a chair and a small brandy for medicinal purposes.
Unaware of the stir he had caused in his female staff, Edwin dressed in his newest suit of grey woollen cloth ready to greet Violet and the rest of Pitcher’s family. He called for Martha and reminded her that there would be cakes needed for tea and some bread thinly cut to be spread with some of her raspberry preserve. He thought she had been crying and vaguely wondered why, not knowing it was tears of laughter she was, with difficulty, keeping in check. He sat watching out of the window for Pitcher’s cart to arrive.
* * *
Barrass was driving them. In the absence of Pitcher, there was no one else, and although Emma was quite capable of managing the small waggon and the amiable horse, she thought it important to give a good impression and had even found a suit of clothes for Barrass, which, although a bit tight across his shoulders, gave an air of elegance, or so Emma thought.
Barrass felt Emma’s eye on him as he helped the three sisters out of the cart, placing the stool on the ground so they would not have to stretch their legs too far. He was unable to resist clasping Violet’s waist as he helped her down to the freshly scrubbed steps, and did the same with Pansy and Daisy so she could not complain. When it came to helping Emma herself, he thought it wise not to attempt anything so gallant, and offered his hand with a polite bow.
Edwin stood at the door to greet them and offered his arm to Emma to escort her inside. Tall, dark-skinned and with an intriguing hint of foreignness about him, he smiled back at the three sisters, giving each a personal smile. His eyes paused only momentarily longer on the face of an indifferent Violet, who allowed him to take her hand as if it were a separate thing.
He was amused to see the way Emma’s eyes darted about the room, taking stock of the few pieces of good furniture as well as the untidy desk that stood near the window, on which piles of papers tempted gravity.
‘My apologies, ladies,’ Edwin said, waving a deprecating arm. ‘My drawing room is also my study, I’m afraid, and has the look of an office rather than a comfortable place in which to sit and enjoy pleasant company.’ He smiled at Violet again, a warming smile with a hint of amusement in the dark eyes. ‘Seems I need a good woman to show me how I should live.’
‘Is this the only room?’ Emma asked, seeing with surprise the precarious room above them and the windows letting in the light on both sides.
‘I have plans to rebuild, or at least, to add on at the back of the house, perhaps a double storey to include a couple of bedrooms so I can entertain properly.’
‘And when would you be planning to do this?’ Emma was clearly unimpressed with the house which she had been led to believe was important and rather grand. What on earth did three servants do to keep themselves occupied, she wondered primly. Why, she and Spider had to do with only two!
Violet handed her cape to the servant who hovered near, and walked to look out of the window at the back of the room. The yard was cobbled and well swept, but the view was of pigsties – in no way the garden of a gentleman. The man was a farmer and, rich or not, would never be anything more. There was a partly finished building at a point furthest from the house and this she guessed was the newest pigsty.
‘The pigs are to be housed comfortably before you attend to yourself and your servants, I see,’ she said with a glance at her mother. Well, she had done what her mother had asked, hadn’t she, and mentioned the man’s pigs?
To her consternation, Edwin burst into laughter. It angered her rather than flattered her and she said, sharply,
‘Oh, I see it takes but a small wit to amuse you greatly.’ At which he laughed even more.
‘Before we take tea, would you like to walk around the out-houses?’ Edwin asked. ‘It’s already dark, but we have plenty of lanterns and if you are interested in the pigs’ welfare—’
‘Thank you,’ Emma replied swiftly, ‘but I think I have a mind to sit here before your blazing fire and leave the outside viewing for another day.’ He sensed in her reply a hint that ‘another day’ would be a long time in the future if at all. Violet, who had begun to rise, sank down again in relief. At least in here, she couldn’t be expected to discuss the merits of the various breeds of pigs!
Pansy and Daisy began to relax when tea was brought by Mrs Baker and two young maids, and the uneasy group sat to enjoy it. Most of the conversation was instigated by Emma or Edwin. The three girls only added a word or two occasionally and at their mother’s insistence. Violet was aware of the nearness of laughter in her twin sisters and, guessing that it was due to comparison with other, grander tea parties, began to feel a proprietary protectiveness towards Edwin. However, she did not make an effort to develop a friendly conversation, but sat watching him when she thought he was not aware of it.
When she did speak, Violet smiled secretly at how promptly Edwin gave her his full attention. Always with that fascinating hint of amusement brightening his eyes and upturning his full and sensuous lips.
‘My daughters are talented musically and in all the social needs of a wife, Mr Prince,’ Emma told him at one stage in the stilted conversation.
‘Now what needs would those be, my dear Mistress Palmer? Besides music and the running of a household, what else could there be?’
Edwin looked boldly at Violet as he asked the question, his eyes glancing down to where her softly rising breasts showed in a nest of lace. Violet blushed but Emma seemed unaware of the innuendo in the question and went on airily.
‘Manners, Mr Prince, manners and the way to behave in any situation.’
‘Any situation, Mistress Palmer, how very full their education must have been.’ Again his eyes caused Violet to blush and she stood to shake crumbs out of her skirt. She should leave, the man was impossible. But she found herself smiling in spite of his audacity and did not move from where his eyes could find hers.
When it was time for them to leave, Emma was very undecided about the suitability of Edwin as a son-in-law. He was obviously wealthy, but he equally obviously did not spend it. There was nothing worse than a mean husband, and however anxious she was to have her three daughters married, she would not, could not inflict a mean man on any one of them.
Oh, she sighed silently, if only Pitcher were free. He would know more about the man than she, a mere woman, could be expected to discover. She was still not sure whether to be pleased or concerned at the glow of excitement on Violet’s face when they reached home and sat down in the oil lamp’s gentle light.
Violet was far from dissatisfied by the afternoon’s entertainment. Edwin had asked her to play the spinet, which she did, and he had stood close to her, his hand touching her shoulder as he leaned over to turn the pages of music for her, his fingers moving her hair disturbing more than her tresses, unseen by Emma and in no way accidental. He was impressing his personality on her, making her feel in the brief time they were there, that he was attracted, had guessed that she was also not unaware of his interest, and that she would not be discouraged by Emma’s lack of enthusiasm. All the time they were there, she found his eyes on her, silently sharing his enjoyment of the occasion, nurturing an understanding unseen by the others, laughing with her at her mother’s anxieties, which Emma failed to hide.
Whatever her mother might say now she had visited, Violet wanted to see him again, and soon. There was something more to Mr Edwin Prince than she had suspected. That night she did not go down to join Barrass in his lonely archway behind the house, but slept and dreamed of another pair of brown eyes, wicked brown eyes, smiling at her and flirting with her in the presence of her mother and sisters as if they had not existed.
Chapter Seven
Between the work at Pitcher’s alehouse
, Barrass filled his time with either fishing in the bay with Olwen, or helping her and Mary to sell their catch. He had been so wrapped up in thoughts of Violet, he had not really considered how difficult it was for Mary and Olwen to manage with Spider and Dan in prison.
There had been no date set for a trial, and the initial optimistic supposition that Spider and the others would soon be released was not borne out by events. Olwen’s concern was that having so many men in custody, no one was looking for evidence that they were innocent, only thankful they at last had someone to blame for the trade that went on between the village and the coasts of France and Holland. William Ddole had made repeated visits to the prison and had employed the services of a lawyer, but so far there had been no hopeful news to report.
Olwen spoke of nothing else as they rowed back from a fishing trip off the headland.
‘What will become of us if Dadda and Dan are transported?’ she asked time after time. ‘I’m a-w-ful scared.’
Barrass knew that her real fear was that her father and brother might receive the death sentence. He tried to reassure her.
‘I have no doubt that they will come back to you,’ he told her. ‘There was no violence against the revenue men, so there is no need to worry about a hanging. Taken from their homes peaceably they were with not even a voice raised, so sure they were that they would not be kept once inquiries proved nothing. No one will come forward and give evidence against them, that’s for sure. And the evidence they have can’t be strong.’
‘Perhaps what you say is true, Barrass, but will they worry about evidence? Twist you all up with words they can. They want to show they’ve been doing their work proper, and the men they’ve taken will serve their purpose, innocent or guilty!’
Summer’s Last Retreat Page 12