Everyone was in party mood and Pitcher, the host, was generous with his drinks, refusing payment often, and supplying food without a thought to charge. Emma, upstairs reading one of her favourite novels, while her daughters were entertaining Enyd with accounts of their recent partying, was content to allow the extravagance, knowing how easily she could have lost him for ever.
Barrass noted that although Dan was there, enjoying the evening with the rest, Spider had not put in an appearance. He knew, with a trace of envy, that Spider would not want to leave Mary and Dic and Olwen, whom he had expected never to see again after the two near disasters of imprisonment and shipwreck. Barrass wished he too was a part of such a loving circle.
He was puzzled by the men’s attitude towards himself. None of them had come and thanked him for the part he had played in their reprieve. The story of how he, Arthur and Olwen had risked death to gather in the tubs and throw suspicion on others was well known, yet none had come to congratulate him on the way they had executed the daring action.
He was observed with uneasy glances as he went in and out of the tables and benches gathering mugs and jugs to be washed and exchanged or refilling them on Pitcher’s instructions. Talk, so lively and excited, slowed as he approached, and heads were lowered as if in secrecy. He had proved his loyalty to the Villagers even to the point of defying the law, and the smugglers who would not have understood his reasons for robbing them.
At ten o’clock Emma came down into the bar, a place she tried to avoid, preferring to ignore the way they earned their bread and pretending some other, more genteel existence.
‘Mr Palmer,’ she called in her softest voice, ‘a word if you please.’
Pitcher ran to her, pushing his way through the merry crowd, knowing she would not be best pleased if he were to keep her waiting there among what she called the carousers. ‘What is it, my dear one?’ he whispered close to her ear.
‘Enyd wishes to leave and I would like Arthur to walk with her if you please, Pitcher, my dearest love,’ she whispered back, her eyes glowing as if the words were the sweetest love song.
‘I will tend to it at once, my precious.’
But it was Dan, seeing what was happening a few minutes later, who walked her home.
* * *
They did not go straight to the house on the bank, but, tempted by a surprisingly beautiful moon, walked towards the lonely beach, where the shadows of the boats loomed large and distorted by shadows. They sat for a while, leaning against the bulk of one, holding hands, saying very little, each thankful that the separation was over.
Dan bent to kiss her but she turned away.
‘Oh, Enyd, why do you pretend you do not care?’
‘It is not that I don’t care, you know full well that I do,’ she said and although he could not see her clearly, he could well imagine how her lips were already tightening and thinning to that hard line that was often accompanied by a frown.
‘Then why do you not say you love me?’
‘Because you do not show that you love me.’
‘How can I show you, when on most days you will not even let me kiss you?’
‘I have a desire to kiss you now,’ she said softly and turned towards him. His long arms wrapped them together and she opened her lips with a kiss as soft and giving as he had ever experienced.
‘Enyd, will you be my wife? I can’t be happy without you, say it is the same for you?’
She pulled away from him and stood up, staring out over the sea, where the moon spread a golden path, an invitation to step onto it and journey to imaginary lands. He stood beside her, his arm on her shoulder.
‘Why do people talk of a silver light from the moon?’ she whispered. ‘Here it is pure gold.’
‘Like my love for you,’ he replied.
‘So strong is it?’
‘Stronger than the wildest wind.’
‘So much so that as soon as you were freed from that awful prison, you ran first to me?’
He chuckled. ‘Without first getting dressed!’
‘No, Dan, you ran first to your true love, the sea.’ She once more pulled away from him. ‘You couldn’t wait to worship in its waters. The sea is your first and only love, I come a poor second to its witchery.’
Dan dropped his shoulders; she was doing it again. Every time they began to get close, she shied away like a fey horse. Something was preventing her accepting his love and he was more and more certain that it was not the sea.
They stood silently staring out over the hushed sea, the breeze hardly moving Enyd’s long hair. The night was perfect with the moon’s golden path a magical sight but ignored by the unhappy lovers. Filled with ineffable sadness, the beauty adding to his melancholy, he touched the top of her head gently, and led her home.
* * *
Emma was so happy to have Pitcher safely home that she did not argue when he asked her if Barrass could stay. ‘He works well and there’s no worry about Violet now that she and Edwin are getting on so well, is there?’ he said
‘You’re right, Pitcher, my dear husband,’ Emma said. They were sitting on the big armchair near the fire; the three girls were at a musical evening given by one of Emma’s friends on the outskirts of Swansea, and they were enjoying a rare few hours alone. It was Sunday and the alehouse was silent and empty.
Emma’s weight on Pitcher’s legs was threatening to incapacitate him for hours but he could not ask her to move. Her plumpness was a joy to him, and the occasional discomforts well compensated by her generous loving. At forty she was still like a young girl in the way that she welcomed his attentions and he thanked God every time he went to church for giving him such a blessing.
For Emma, life was perfect. With Pitcher home and unharmed she was in the mood to agree with anything he suggested. Violet had been meeting Edwin frequently, accompanied by her two sisters and her mother of course, but there was a growing affection between them, of that Emma was certain, so what harm was there in allowing Barrass to share their roof? After all, the preacher was always reminding them about the blessing of helping others.
In the cellar below them, Barrass was holding on to Arthur’s legs while the boy cleaned the bottom of a cask. When they had done they sat in the light of two tallow candles, and drank the ale and ate the bread and cold meat that Emma had provided for them. When Arthur, tired out and ready for sleep, settled under his covers, Barrass lifted the cellar door and looked out.
The alehouse was in darkness, but lights crossed the windows, showed the heavy dark furniture in the bar in flashes of yellow, as the wagon drew up outside.
‘I’ll go up and see if they need any help with the horse,’ he said, but there was no reply. Arthur was already asleep.
He hesitated as the girls stepped down from the waggon assisted by Pitcher, who had gone to fetch them home. Then as Violet passed him, she touched his hand. So light was the touch he wondered if he had imagined it, or whether it had been accidental.
‘Can I help with the horse?’ he asked Pitcher as the three girls disappeared into the house.
‘Thanks,’ Pitcher said, and together they unharnessed the animal and rubbed him down before giving him his meal. Then, with a nod of thanks, Pitcher dismissed him and Barrass walked towards the door. Then he stopped.
‘I think I’ll have a bit of a walk before I go to sleep,’ he said, and the older man nodded again, went in and closed the door.
Barrass stood in the yard, his senses heightened with anticipation. Had Violet meant anything by that touch? Again he could not decide whether it had been intended. She had not spoken to him for weeks – content, apparently, with the attentions of Edwin. Had she changed her mind, and grown to want him again as he wanted her? He knew that once loving was a part of your existence, it was difficult to live without it. Was it the same for a woman?
There were no seaweed-filled sacks to sit on now, he had thrown them away when he had begun to sleep once again in the cellar. But there were always clean sacks around that had conta
ined the barley grain for malting, and he collected several and made a place where he could sit in reasonable comfort.
* * *
The moon had waned to a half, shedding a thin, translucent light over the yard and silvering the edges of the buildings, so they appeared as insubstantial as gossamer. It touched her clothes as she stepped silently out of the door and gave the illusion of ethereal beauty as her face was illuminated. There was no place more lovely for them both that night than the yard behind the alehouse. The breeze wafted the scents of the sea towards them and overcame even the strong smell of brewing. The builder’s rubbish that was spread around them lost its shape and became as beautiful in the gentle moon-glow as banks of flowers in some heady woodland.
She floated towards him as if he were dreaming, and fell into his arms with a sigh.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he groaned as his hands began exploring her perfectly formed body.
‘And I you. I thought I could forget you, but seeing you again is like a constant ache being eased.’
‘Although I have so little, my life lacks nothing now you are back with me,’ he sighed.
Throwing off the blanket that covered her, she allowed him to ease away her nightgown and, shivering deliciously in the cold night air, she snuggled against him, pressing herself close, guiding his hands to her warmth, each aglow with the joy of fulfillment.
* * *
Edwin stood at the window of his room, shivering a little as the wind found a way through and touched him with a cold draught. Behind him, his two dogs were lying in front of a log fire, their heads on the fender of brass. The desk was littered with plans of the building he had designed.
The men outside were working on the footings of the extension to the house and soon he would have to move out, temporarily, while they broke through and joined the new to the old. Further off, the piggeries were almost completed – and below them the secret room that he hoped would add a margin of safety to his other activities.
Enlarging the house was part of his preparations for his proposal to Violet Palmer. He had known, even before seeing the surprise and disappointment on Emma Palmer’s face, that no woman of any standing would consider allowing her daughter to live in the house as it stood. There was nowhere to entertain, nowhere even to eat with any pretence of comfort. And the bedroom, propped up above one half of the room like a mantelpiece designed by a nincompoop, as he often referred to it, would hardly be a suitable place for a wife to sleep, with servants coming and going between the outbuildings and the house to attend to fires and the like. No, he could not dream of marrying until the sprawling new addition had risen up, tall and grand, behind the old single-storey long-house.
It grew dark early and he waved to the men as they stopped work, gathered their tools and set off home. They had been working since before daylight and apart from a brief rest to consume their food, had worked steadily and well. He promised himself that he would pay them extra should they finish the work ahead of schedule.
Chapter Nine
Violet watched Edwin as he sipped the tea her mother had poured for him, and felt the same stirrings of excitement that she always felt on seeing him. It was now late October and he had become a regular visitor. She glanced at her mother, whose enjoyment of the genteel scene was clear to see.
Violet wore a new dress of red wool, its full skirt half hidden by the wrap-around overskirt in the same colour but in softer material, gathered to fullness on her slim hips. Her waist was small and held in even further than was natural by a band of stiffened material. Down the front, where the overskirt divided, there was embroidery of trailing honeysuckle, which Emma had stitched specially for today. Violet knew that, for once, she looked at least as attractive as her sisters. That knowledge, and the interest and admiration in Edwin’s brilliant, intelligent eyes made her glow.
She held out a hand, in the lacy gloves her mother had insisted she wore, and as she took his empty cup his fingers enveloped hers for a brief moment. She bent her head shyly, knowing that her responsive elation was plain for him to see.
Her sisters talked about the party they were to attend, and shared with Edwin their enthusiasm. He responded by promising that as soon as he had finished the rebuilding at his house, they would be invited to a party as large as any they had yet imagined. But all the time he was talking, Violet had the conviction that his replies were automatic, formal, polite, and that his thoughts were on her.
Emma, who had powdered her face and added colour to her cheeks in honour of his visit, sat, red and moist with the heat of the room and the feverish exhilaration of seeing this personable young man coming to court her eldest daughter. She seemed unaware of the gentility of the afternoon tea party being encroached upon by the sounds from below. All she could see was the trio of her pretty daughters, talking and enjoying the company of a darkly handsome young man with wit and mannerly behaviour. She was so proud she almost burst into tears on several occasions.
The sounds from below, she gradually realized, were being overwhelmed by a beautiful singing voice. Edwin too heard the voice raised in perfection to a note high above the usual bar-room singer’s ability. Violet stood and opened the door to allow the sound to swell around them, and while the song lasted, none spoke.
‘Who is it?’ Emma asked. ‘I’ve never heard such a voice, not in church nor anywhere.’
‘I do believe it’s Dan, Spider’s son, Mamma,’ Pansy said. She looked away from her mother’s inquiring stare. Really her mother was irritating, you couldn’t mention a man without her wanting to know at once if he were a possible husband! ‘I’ve heard him coming in with the boats once or twice.’
Below them, the applause had finished and the voice began a haunting love song. Although they could not hear the words, Emma and her daughters were all affected by its sadness. As applause rang out and jugs and mugs were banged on the tables in approval and voices shouted for more, Pitcher’s voice could be heard shouting, ‘Order!’
Emma smiled as she wiped away a tear. Trust Pitcher to make sure they ordered between one song and the next. He knew the value of entertainment to bring in extra customers, but did not want the audience to forget the ale that they had come to sup!
‘What a find!’ Edwin said. ‘I will remember him when I plan the house opening party near Christmas time.’
‘So soon?’ Emma smiled. ‘How exciting to have a house enlarged by more than twice and in such a short time. Pitcher is so busy with the alehouse he has less time than he would wish to get on with our new drawing room. But when it is done, it will be a place to be proud of. Velvet drapes are ordered, Mr Prince, green velvet drapes! And a set of chairs and a couch of the finest quality and in that same elegant colour.’
‘I see I must come to you when I need advice on furnishing with good taste,’ Edwin replied.
‘Me or my eldest daughter,’ Emma replied with a fond look at Violet. ‘So clever with colours she is, you’d be amazed at her many skills and abilities.’
Violet guessed that her mother was about to go into a long list of her accomplishments, and to discourage her, she begged them all to listen again to the voice beginning a third song.
A successful afternoon all round, Emma decided, and the evening promised a full room, if Pitcher could persuade young Dan to return for a few more songs. She sighed her satisfaction as Edwin rose to leave. Then he said the words that above all others could make the day a perfect one.
‘Mistress Palmer, do you think I might have a word with your husband before I leave? I have something I wish to ask him.’ Edwin’s eyes were not on Emma, but on the blushing face of her eldest daughter, and Emma had to hold onto the fire screen for fear that she would faint right away.
‘Go and ask your master if he can spare a moment or two for Mr Edwin Prince,’ she said breathlessly when the servant answered the ringing of the handbell. She ushered the giggling Daisy and Pansy out of the room and, with a look of ecstasy on her plump face, nodded to Edwin and follo
wed the twins, leaving Violet and Edwin alone for a few precious moments. She carefully left the door open and coughed to remind them she would not be far away.
Edwin stepped closer to Violet and offered her a hand to rise. In a moment they were in each other’s arms and when their lips touched, Violet was embarrassed to realize that her urgency was hardly met by his. She felt him stiffen in surprise as she softened into the kiss, where he was obviously expecting a light touch, a cautious welcome to his arms, and nothing more than a formality.
She stepped away from him embarrassed and ashamed. She had shown her experience and now perhaps Edwin would reconsider his intention to propose marriage. He would not lack knowledge of other women, of that she felt sure, but a man never expected the same experience in the woman he chose for a wife.
When she looked up at him, he was staring at her in that attractive way that made her feel she was the absolute centre of his attention.
‘I have the feeling, Violet, my dear, that I shall enjoy getting to know you when you are my wife.’
She smiled tremulously, wondering if he had truly believed that her forthrightness when he took her in his arms was from an overwhelming love and not from previous loving. She was relieved when Pitcher ran up the wooden staircase and entered the room, followed by last-minute hoarsely whispered instructions from Emma.
‘If you will excuse us, Violet,’ her father said. ‘I think Edwin wishes to talk in private.’
‘Of course.’ Still smarting with her lack of guile when Edwin had taken her for the first time into his arms, she went slowly to where Emma stood at the doorway of the small dining room.
‘Did he say anything, daughter?’ Emma asked.
‘I think we’ll wait until he has spoken to Dadda,’ Violet replied, and she ran down into the cold darkness of the untidy yard to cool her hot cheeks.
* * *
Summer’s Last Retreat Page 16