Granny Hughes was the local gwrach, the wise-woman, to whom everyone went when they were in trouble with a sickness that refused to clear, or when they needed help with a love affair going wrong, or wished to mend a quarrel.
It was not until they had made love and were lying together in that wrapt wonder of spent passion that Barrass thought to ask what Violet, whose parents could afford the treatment of Doctor Percy, could want with the old woman.
‘Nothing really, just a little problem I cannot talk to my mother about,’ Violet said. ‘Some questions about marriage that I want to understand.’
* * *
Edwin came to see Pitcher to discuss the marriage date.
‘You’d better come and see my wife,’ Pitcher said. ‘There’s nothing I know about such things and even if I had an opinion, I doubt Emma would allow me to pronounce it.’ He led Edwin upstairs, leaving Barrass and Arthur sweeping the area in front of the door where men still sat when the wind was not too keen. It was Friday, a day on which there were no deliveries or collections, and instead of resting, Barrass was helping Arthur with the never-ending chores of keeping the place clean and orderly.
Emma was fluttering like a bird caught in a trap, her face rosy and her hair flying about with a mind of its own. She continually patted it in a vain attempt to bring it to order.
‘Edwin, my dear. You have come to discuss the wedding plans?’ She turned to where Violet sat at a window seat, embroidering a cloth for a small table. ‘Daughter, you may greet your betrothed.’
Edwin went over to Violet, and kissed her briefly on the cheek. She did not look at him, but smiled distantly and went on with her sewing. Emma looked at her in surprise – there was none of the usual excitement in her daughter’s face that showed when Edwin called unexpectedly.
She sighed. Surely the dear couple had not quarrelled already? She had better get on with the arrangements. With plenty to do, their minds would be too full to indulge in silly arguments. She, Emma Palmer, would take everything in hand. She sighed even deeper and puffed out her plump bosom like one of the pigeons in the trees outside the window.
‘Violet, put down your sewing this instant and talk to your visitor. I will arrange for tea and cakes. So industrious she is, Edwin, as you see, she hates to waste a single moment.’ She snatched the material from Violet’s unwilling hands and glared at her silently out of sight of Edwin’s admiring gaze. ‘Such an industrious child,’ she smiled.
When tea had been poured into the fine china cups of which Emma was so proud, Edwin sipped, then told them of the progress on the new house.
‘I believe the workmen will be finished sooner than they promised, Mrs Palmer,’ he said. ‘I am at the stage when I require the assistance of you and your dear daughter to choose the materials and furnishing so it can all be made ready for when we move in as man and wife.’ He looked at Violet, wondering why she seemed so distant.
Emma too was anxious, but smiled at Edwin, showing him that she at least was interested in his news.
‘Shall we go into town tomorrow, Violet?’ she coaxed. ‘Or would it be best to go and look at the newly finished rooms so you have a better idea of what to choose?’
‘I can’t marry you, Edwin,’ Violet said softly.
Emma gave a wail, her fingers going to her mouth in a vain attempt to stop it. Edwin stood up and they both stared in disbelief at Violet, who sat quite calm and apparently undistressed.
‘You can’t marry me? But why? Have I said something to offend you? I beg your pardon if that is the case, although I can assure you such was never my intention.’ Edwin walked over and took her hand in his. His mind whirled, trying to fathom out what he had said or done to account for her unexpected change of heart.
‘You have done nothing, Edwin.’ Her voice was firmer now. ‘It is I.’
‘You can have done nothing that would make me change my mind about you,’ he said gallantly, but he frowned as he waited for her to continue.
‘I went to see Granny Hughes yesterday and she assures me I am to have a child.’
‘A child? But who—?’ Edwin began, then he ran to try and catch Emma as she collapsed in an untidy heap on the floor.
* * *
Kenneth felt decidedly weak when he returned to his post deliveries, and he asked Barrass to take over again and do the ride into Swansea and the long walk across Gower. He still had an almost continuous headache and it was too tempting not to ask Barrass, who had proved his honesty and reliability, to help him for a while longer.
It was as Barrass was returning early with the post from the Swansea sorting office that he saw Olwen near the shore. He left the horse in the care of Arthur and ran to join her for a moment.
‘Olwen, I’ve had a message from Ben Gammon, he has news of my father – at least, that’s what it sounds like. Look.’ He showed her a piece of paper, and pointing to the words, read it for her:
There’s a one what might be your father, in the village of Nant Arian. Go and see him. I declare you will find it worth your time.
‘There, what d’you think of that?’ he hugged her in his excitement. ‘I’m sure it must be a true indication of my father’s whereabouts, else why would he leave a message when he will surely see me before too long?’
‘But it doesn’t have his name on it,’ Olwen said doubtfully. ‘Isn’t it proper for people to write their names on the end of letters of such importance?’
‘It’s from Ben Gammon, I’m sure of it, who else would be writing to me about my father?’
He went to the alehouse to collect the horse, in a state of such excitement he wondered how he would manage to spend the whole day travelling and the night sleeping before he came to the part of his route near Nant Arian.
So wrapped in his hopes that he was not looking where he walked, he strolled into the alehouse without a worry, a smile of undiluted pleasure on his face, and when Pitcher came up to him and punched him on the chin – making stars appear hours before their time – he did not feel the pain or the shock of it for several seconds.
Pitcher offered no explanations, he just threw the small collection of clothes belonging to Barrass at his feet and walked off.
It was up to Arthur to explain.
‘Seems you are to be a father, Barrass, and Violet is no longer engaged to that Edwin.’
‘What?’ Dazed and confused by the suddenness of the blow, and the unbelievable news, Barrass stared childlike at Arthur, his liquid eyes showing hurt and dismay.
‘And what’s more, you’re without a home again,’ Arthur added.
Barrass, still unable to take in what had happened, rubbed his chin and winced at the tenderness. Like a child, in a voice higher than normal, he looked at Arthur and said,
‘Will he change his mind if I ask him?’
‘You’ve still got all your teeth and most of your face, I wouldn’t chance it if I were you. Go before he kills you.’
‘Why would he want to kill me?’
‘Because Violet is going to have a child and you are the father!’
‘Oh. Oh I see.’ The smile came back to his face, a bit lopsided owing to the already swelling bruise. But it was not until he was halfway to Kenneth’s house with the post-bag that realization finally came.
Chapter Eleven
Penelope woke to the sound of voices and slipping on a dressing gown, opened her bedroom door and looked along the landing. There was a light showing from her mother’s room and she tiptoed towards it, wondering whether to knock.
Listening at the door she heard the deep voice of Doctor Percy and the weak cries of her mother. She knocked and heard her mother’s voice, strong and angry, shout,
‘Go away!’
‘Mother, it’s me.’
‘Oh, then please go back to bed, my dear – and – we’ll…’ The voice went frighteningly weaker and her father strode to the door and opened it. He carried a candle and in its wavering flame Penelope saw tears on his cheeks.
‘It’
s all right, my dear, your mother ate something that did not suit her tender stomach, that’s all. Go back to bed and sleep. She will be fine after Percy has given her something to soothe the pain.’
Reluctantly, Penelope went back to her room, but she did not sleep. For the first time she considered seriously what would happen if her mother died.
She was almost sixteen and at the age to marry, but there was no one in her life that she would consider for a husband, and besides, if Mother went from them her role would be here, running the house for her father. Marriage suddenly became an urgently desirable state!
Her thoughts went first to Barrass, the ragamuffin who had been transformed suddenly into a tall, strongly built, handsome young man. But he would not be considered even for a moment by her parents, so it was no use thinking about him as a husband. But the image of him, standing before her in the clothes she had given him, those amazingly deep brown eyes so full of admiration and appreciation for her small gift, and the memory of how excited she felt at the thought of him undressing so near to where she sat, remained to torment her.
There was Edwin, now betrothed to Violet Palmer. For a while she had dreamed of him being her husband, but, although he was rich, he had lived until recently in such a small, poky house that she could not have been content there. She had not thought of the house being made larger and more suitable.
Her father’s friend, John Maddern, who appeared occasionally between visits to London, was a possibility. She tried to think of him holding her hand, and how it would feel to be kissed by him, but it was the image of Barrass which came to her mind and she turned in the bed as if to escape from his attraction. Thinking of Barrass was a waste of time, and if her mother were really ill as she suspected, then time was not on her side. If she did not find a husband soon, then she would remain here running the home for her father and gradually sinking into premature old age. The thought frightened her.
The fire in her room was almost out, but there was still some wood and coal by the hearth. Restless, she rose and revived it to a fine blaze, and sat in its welcome warmth to decide on a list of possibilities.
Sinking her hands into the pockets of her gown for extra warmth she felt the crumpled paper of the letter that Olwen had found. It was from her dressmaker, and asked politely for the enclosed account to be settled. That was another worry. Unbelievably, their finances seemed to be a problem. She sighed and read through the statement again, although she knew it by heart.
Nothing had been paid since Easter, and here it was November passing into December, time to order her dresses for the Christmas festivities. But how could she until this account had been cleared? Surely they weren’t so short of money that poor workers like the dressmaker could not be paid? She had tried speaking to Henry Harris but he had been evasive, promising that she had nothing to worry about, that all was well, he was in full control. Her father she dare not tackle. He would be angry with the dressmaker for bothering her, and that would be an embarrassment when there was not another seamstress so clever within a day’s ride.
She dozed off eventually, having failed to think of anyone she might seriously consider as a husband. She sat and dreamed of someone like Barrass, with a house and stables and the means to make worries about the dressmaker’s bill a forgotten anxiety.
She was still sitting beside the glowing ashes when the servant girl came with hot water. She dressed and went at once to her mother’s room. Her father was sleeping beside the bed, his head on his chest and his hand holding onto the thin, white hand of her mother. Fear clutched her as she entered and gently touched her father to rouse him.
‘I’m not sleeping, child,’ he whispered, ‘but your mother is at last. I’ll come away so we don’t disturb her.’ He bent to kiss the now composed, sleeping face and followed Penelope out of the room.
‘What is wrong with her?’ Penelope asked, although she dreaded to know the answer. She was frightened for her mother, but human enough to realize that the time she had left to choose a husband was less than she had thought. On both counts she was filled with trepidation.
‘She has a complaint of the stomach, but Percy assures me she will come right again with a lot of care. Don’t show your concern, my dear, you know how she hates it.’
The days that followed were filled with visitors. Besides the doctor, who called three times and finally found his patient sitting in a chair with colour returning to her thin cheeks, Edwin called, a prearranged appointment with her father. Markus arrived soon after with a servant to guide him, and Kenneth called but did not stay. He was still sporting a bandage and came with letters, which Penelope quickly snatched to prevent her mother seeing them in case they were further unpaid bills.
As they were shown into the drawing room, where Dorothy sat ensconced in a deep armchair, Penelope heard her mother call insistently for brandy. The doctor acquiesced, unnerved and worn down by the determination in the eyes so recently ringed with fever and sickness. It was not spirit the woman lacked, he thought sadly as he offered her an extra cushion to sit higher in her seat, but help such as he could no longer give.
‘You went riding again yesterday, Mistress Ddole,’ the doctor said nervously, waiting for the tirade of anger from his patient, but none came.
‘I ride while I can,’ she said, narrowing her eyes and daring him to argue.
‘But it takes so much of your strength and energy. Save it, I beg you, save it for getting strong again.’
‘There will be a time when I cannot. Until then I want to do everything this treacherous body will allow.’
She glared at the doctor, who bent his head and concentrated on his brandy. They made occasions like this so much worse by their braveness, the stubborn ones. If they acquiesced and allowed death to creep up on them like the autumn and winter after a glorious summer, then he accepted it with them and did not grieve for his uselessness.
‘I will call tomorrow, Mistress Ddole, but should you need anything before then, please send one of the servants and I will come immediately.’ He bent to pat her arm in a fatherly gesture, but the warning glare in her eyes reminded him not to be so condescending and he touched the arm of the chair instead. After accepting another glass of brandy to warm him on his way, he left, railing bitterly against the minimal improvement he could offer after his years of study.
When the doctor had gone, seen on his way by William, Dorothy called to their guests and announced,
‘Soon I will be having another party. Perhaps during the Christmas celebrations. This house needs livening up.’
Her voice was stronger, Penelope noticed with relief.
‘What kind of party, Mother?’ she asked, and sat on a stool near her mother’s feet to listen to the plans that, she guessed, were only just forming.
‘All the most handsome young men in the district,’ her mother said with an attempt at a laugh. ‘Got to concentrate on getting you wed, young lady,’ she whispered, raising herself with difficulty to talk close to her daughter’s ear. ‘What about you, Edwin, will you come and bring that fiancée of yours?’
Edwin hesitated, the shock of Violet’s announcement still painfully fresh, but he smiled and nodded.
‘I will come for a certainty. Thank you.’
‘And you, Markus, will you break the habit of solitude and come to celebrate with us?’
‘I hardly come under the heading of the most handsome young men in the district,’ Markus said gruffly, ‘but if you wish me to make up the numbers, I’ll come.’
‘What about the annual Interludes?’ William suggested. ‘I’ve heard that preparations are already under way, and I’m sure they would be willing to perform for your party, here, in our drawing room.’
‘I can usually follow the stories as long as they speak up and give me time to form pictures of what’s happening,’ Markus said.
‘That’s a good idea!’ Penelope began to imagine the scene, with the audience crowded into the room, and the space near the door used by the pl
ayers. They would serve mulled ale and mince pies and decorate the room with the traditional holly and ivy.
‘That’s settled, so you can get about your business,’ Dorothy said and she settled back into the chair and closed her eyes.
Penelope stared at her long after the men had gone into her father’s study, until her mother opened an eye and smiled up at her.
‘It’s all right, daughter, I’m not going to die just yet!’
‘Mother, I wasn’t thinking such a thing—!’
‘It was in your eyes, but please don’t let others see it. I’d hate to see pity in every face. Bad enough with your father.’
‘He loves you so much.’
‘I know, that’s why it’s so hard.’
‘Can I get you anything?’ Penelope asked her voice catching at the sight of her strong mother now weakened by sickness and succumbing to its inexorable power.
‘Be off and make sure your father’s guests have everything they need, then you can fetch me a pen and some paper and we’ll begin to make a list of the invitations?’
When Penelope returned with the requested items, her mother was sleeping, and she left them silently on the small side table for when Dorothy woke. At least the task would give her something to think about. She looked at the firm mouth now dragged down in sleep, the fierce eyes closed, and wondered what was in the medicine that arrived at the house with increasing regularity.
* * *
Barrass had spent the night in a shallow depression up on the hill not far from the old barn he had once thought to make his home. He was bitterly cold and had hardly slept. The early frost had rimed his clothes, and the sacks that Arthur had thoughtfully provided for his friend to use as blankets were frozen in stiff ridges, offering no warmth. He was hardly able to move. Around him, spiders’ webs glistened in the early morning sun, dressing the grass and bushes as for a pageant. His nose felt hard as though it might snap off should he be foolish enough to touch it.
Summer’s Last Retreat Page 20