‘I did both. Before I reached Paris and after I was there.’
‘But you did what you set out to do. You ignored everyone’s warnings and listened only to Papa Pavlo who encouraged you.’
‘Papa Pavlo was a dreamer who wanted to believe fairy tales come true. They don’t, Alexei.’
‘Yours did. You’re a doctor.’ Alexei pocketed his flask.
‘One the Cossacks would like to kill, who has no paying patients.’
‘You’ll have them when Mr Hughes builds his town.’
‘You think Mr Hughes will consult a Jew?’ Nathan was sceptical.
‘Anything is possible in a modern city.’
‘Anything in science and industry perhaps, but not marriage between a Jew and a gentile. That will never be possible, Alexei. Give up Ruth for her sake and safety and your own.’
‘You may as well ask me to stop breathing.’
‘It will end in tragedy.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Sensing further argument was futile; Alexei looked up at the sky. ‘Clouds are about to cover the moon. When they do, we should get you back to the shtetl. We can’t risk being seen by any hunters or fishermen who’ve decided to make an early start. My grandmother has spoken to the Cossacks and warned them on pain of her displeasure to treat all Jews well.’
‘Your grandmother! How did she know I went to Alexandrovka?’
‘Ask Ruth. Once you’re home, be sensible, stay within the walls of your house and workshop for the next few months.’
‘While allowing Ruth to walk out anytime she chooses to?’
‘I respect her, Nathan, and I will marry her.’
‘In a church or a synagogue?’
‘The place doesn’t matter, only the ceremony. I hope you’ll be there to wish us well.’
‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Because of your religion?’
‘Because I care deeply about Ruth.’
‘I refuse to argue with you, Nathan. In time I hope you’ll think well of me.’
‘Even as a child you were better than most of your kind, Alexei. But the more I’ve considered it, the more I realise your father was right. No good came of Pavlo’s efforts to foster friendship between Cossack, Jew, Mujik, and aristocrat. We should only mix with our own kind.’
‘There’s no difference between races other than the way people see us.’
‘And the way we see ourselves.’
‘We could discuss that all night but if I’m to keep my promise to Praskovia and get you back to the shtetl in one piece before dawn we have to move. No talking on the way. You know how sound carries at night.’
‘You’ve met Ruth here?’
‘A few times,’ Alexei admitted.
‘At night?’
‘I wish we could meet openly but seeing your reaction makes me glad we never tried.’ Alexei rose from his haunches and straightened his back.
‘And now?’
‘You’ll stop us from meeting?’ Alexei challenged.
‘I’ll talk to Ruth.’
‘And forbid her to see me?’
‘I’ll advise her not to.’
‘If she refuses?’
‘I won’t lock her up, Alexei. But as I’ve already said, the only result of this mutual infatuation can be tragedy.’
Alexei whistled for Agripin. He led the horse out of the chapel onto the scrubland that had once been a tended monastery garden, climbed into the saddle, extended his hand, and hauled Nathan up behind him. They rode in silence until they reached the wall of the Jewish cemetery east of the shtetl.
Nathan tapped Alexei’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘Leave me here. There’s no one around. I want to visit my parents’ grave.’
Alexei pulled on the rein, Agripin halted. Nathan slid to the ground.
‘Give her my love, Nathan.’
‘I won’t, Alexei. But thank you for this.’
The shtetl near Alexandrovka
April 1869
Nathan saw them as he left the cemetery and closed the gates behind him.
Ruth must have been watching and waiting for him and seen Alexei. The two of them stood, caught in a stray beam of moonlight in the shadow of the Goldbergs’ barn. Two lovers locked in one another’s arms as though the power of their embrace was sufficient to keep all the hatred and injustice of the world at bay.
He wished it could be true.
Chapter Four
Georgetown, Merthyr Tydfil
June 1870
Light-headed from exhaustion, Glyn Edwards walked out of the railway station and headed for High Street and the Boot Inn. He’d left John Hughes superintending the despatching of the last of the equipment they’d ordered, out of the Greenwich yards into the Southampton warehouses prior to loading on the company’s charted ships. He’d wanted to stay with his boss, but John had insisted he return to Merthyr so he could accompany his wife, brother, and the colliers and ironworkers he’d recruited on the first leg of their journey from Wales to the Steppe.
He suspected the main reason John had sent him to Merthyr was guilt. Aside from a week’s break at Christmas, during which he’d spent five days interviewing those who’d answered advertisements for workers for the New Russian Company, he’d worked solidly on company business since the day he and John had left Hughesovka, over twenty months before.
He returned the smile of a pretty girl before remembering he was on home territory where people talked, and more often than not, to his wife.
‘Good to see you looking so well, Gwilym.’ He kept his smile and passed it on to a one-legged vinegar and salt seller who’d pushed his hand cart into an alleyway between two shops.
‘Mr Glyn, good to see you back.’
‘Good to be back, Gwilym.’
‘Here for long?’
‘Until I leave next week for Russia.’
‘Come back to make sure everyone who’s signed up to Mr Hughes’s new company gets on the train, Mr Glyn?’
‘Can’t you see my whip?’
‘Always the joker, Mr Glyn.’
‘Mr Glyn.’ A title that reminded him he was in the same town as his brothers. He shook his head at the army of small boys who offered to carry his bag for a farthing and avoided colliding with gangs of men, filthy from the colliery and ironworks’ morning shifts, who were streaming into the pubs to slake their thirst before going home to sleep.
Butchers’ and grocers’ boys raced past on delivery bicycles without giving leeway to pedestrians. Carts blocked the narrow streets; women hauled shopping baskets, tiptoeing past piles of filth swept up by shopkeepers who were fighting a losing battle to keep the frontage of their premises clear.
He was home, in the heart of dirty, noisy Merthyr. His thoughts turned to the peaceful Russian steppe. How much progress had Huw made with building the works and the town? How long would it be before John Hughes’s town turned into bedlam like this, or even worse? Chaos resembling London?
He raised his hat to an elderly woman he recognised and stepped into the gutter to avoid a group of women walking four abreast with shawls wrapped around them and their babies, Welsh fashion.
He was tired, stiff, and hungry after travelling on the overnight train from Greenwich via London to Cardiff. In contrast to the fast service from the city, the train from Cardiff to Merthyr had been slow, stopping at every village to drop off and take on passengers who took for ever to climb in and out of the carriages with their arrays of bags, bundles, and packages.
He finally reached the Boot Inn and walked around the draymen rolling barrels into the cellar and the manure dropped by their shire horses. Entering the passageway, he pushed his way through a crowd of colliers in the main bar and headed for the flap that separated barmaids from the customers. He lifted it and dropped his case alongside an empty crate.
‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Customers are not allowed behind the bar.’ Betty whirled round, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, the black curls that had escaped
the bun at the back of her neck tumbling around her red cheeks.
‘I think I’ve come home, but if you’d like me to leave, say the word and I’ll go to Edward’s or Peter’s. They might have a warm welcome for a weary traveller.’
‘Glyn!’ Betty’s hands fluttered from her hair to her elbows. Flustered, she unrolled her sleeves. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
Glyn had whiled away time on the journey by planning his homecoming down to the smallest gesture. He’d intended to lift Betty into his arms, whirl her around, and plant a kiss full on her lips. After only the one week working Christmas visit in over a year he’d lived this moment many times in his imagination even down to the length of the kiss. But it was too late for kisses. The surprise and the emotion – if there’d been any – had come and gone.
Settling for restraint he leaned over the bar and pecked Betty’s cheek.
Betty stepped back. ‘Look at me, I’m a sight.’
‘For sore eyes, love.’
‘Do you want a drink?’ She slipped into barmaid mode.
‘I wouldn’t say no. I left Greenwich before midnight. It’s been a long dry journey.’
‘You’ve grown a moustache.’
‘I have.’ He moved his fingers to his upper lip. He wanted to ask if she liked it, but fear of censure held him back.
‘You must be starving.’ She talked at high speed as she pulled him a pint, as much to hide her embarrassment as to update him. ‘The Sunday dinners will be served as soon as I whip the girls in the kitchen into shape. The minute I turn my back they stop working and start gossiping but you know what they’re like. Hark at me, dropping my problems on you back the minute you walk through the door.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘The dinners shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. Why don’t you go upstairs and put your feet up. I’ll bring your meal up as soon as it’s ready. Would you prefer beef or lamb?’
Glyn felt his eyelids droop as he leaned against the bar. ‘Beef, please, Betty.’
She looked down at his tapestry carpetbag. It was lightly packed. ‘How long are you stopping this time?’ She picked up on a sharp edge to her voice she hadn’t intended.
‘Until we leave next week. I’ve moved out of my lodgings in Greenwich. Tom Station will be up with my trunk and photographic equipment this afternoon. I’ll sort through my clothes before we go, throw away the worn ones and replace them. We won’t be able to buy anything in the Donbas. Shopping will mean a trip to Moscow or St Petersburg and both are several days journey from where we’ll be living, so we’ll need to stock up. On winter as well as summer clothes. Enough to see us through the next few years.’
‘You haven’t left me much time for shopping.’
‘I thought a day in Cardiff would be enough for us to pick up the things we can’t buy in Merthyr.’
‘It’ll have to be, won’t it?’ That edge again. She saw he’d noticed it too. ‘I’ll get Tom Station to carry your trunk upstairs when he arrives. You go on up. I’ll be with you as soon as the dinners are dished out and I can get away from the bar.’
Glyn picked up his beer and his bag. His father-in-law, Bert, was coughing behind the bar in the saloon. He lifted his mug to him and mouthed ‘see you later’ over the heads of the customers before climbing the stairs.
He pushed open the door to the private sitting room. It was as well the weather was warm. The fire had burned out in the grate, the mantel was dusty, and the room had a musty, disused air. The pub was always busy, allowing Betty and Bert little free time to spend outside of the public rooms.
Leaving the living room and a pile of mail addressed to him on the table, he went to the bedroom, dropped his bag on the floor, and set his pint pot on the marble washstand so it wouldn’t leave a mark.
The bed was made, the dressing table and washstand newly dusted, the floorboards swept. Betty obviously spent more time here than she did the living room.
He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. After kicking them off, he lifted his legs on the bed and lay back on the pillows. He felt oddly flat as well as tired, yet he couldn’t have expected more of a welcome from Betty. Married for over ten years, he doubted they’d lived together more than six months in all that time.
With no children to occupy her and him away working, Betty had been glad to help her father out in the pub after her mother died. It was hardly fair of him to expect his wife to wait for him to make one of his once, or at the most twice, yearly visits while leaving her father to run the Boot Inn without a landlady.
Things would be different in Russia. They’d be living together, seeing one another every day, eating breakfast and dinner if not lunch at their own table. Sharing their evenings, visiting Mr Hughes’s other workers and their families, and together with his brother Peter and wife Sarah, hosting dinner parties.
Mr Hughes had talked about setting up clubs. Music and drama societies for the workers and their wives, arranging lectures, dances, bridge parties … workmen were damming a river to create a reservoir to supply water for the works that could also be used for boating, sailing, and swimming …
‘Mr Edwards. Mr Edwards, sir?’
Glyn opened his eyes and realised he’d fallen asleep. A young girl was standing in front of the bed. Little more than a child, she had long dark hair and blue eyes, which in Merthyr meant Irish heritage. She reminded him of someone. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and tried to think who she resembled.
‘I’m sorry I woke you, sir, but Mrs Edwards asked me to bring up your dinner.’
‘Thank you.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
‘I’ll put the tray here, shall I, sir? On the dresser?’
‘Please.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Are you Mary Parry’s daughter?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You don’t have to “sir” me. I’m almost your uncle. It’s Anna, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir … Mr Edwards, I mean.’
‘How long have you been working here?’
‘Two years. Mrs Edwards offered me a job when she heard I wanted to leave the tunnel mines.’
‘Isn’t the work hard here?’ He poured water from the jug on the washstand into the china basin and splashed his face.
‘I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr Edwards, and I see daylight all day every day, which I didn’t when I worked the traps.’
‘How are your brothers and sisters?’
‘All three of my brothers are fine, sir.’
Three! There had been six boys and three girls. Had so many of the Parrys died in the last cholera outbreak? Had Betty told him? He had no memory of it and he was sure he would have if Betty had written to him. He sensed the girl watching him. ‘And your mother?’
‘Mam’s managing, Mr Edwards, thank you for asking.’ She looked at the tray. ‘Do you have everything you need, because if you do, I should go back downstairs? Dishing out time is busy. Mrs Edwards told me to tell you she’ll be up as soon as she can get away.’
‘I have everything I need, Anna. Thank you for bringing this up. Here.’ Accustomed to living in hotels, he tossed her a sixpence.
‘Oh, Mr Edwards, you shouldn’t.’
‘’Course I should, you did something nice for me and that warrants a tip. Now go downstairs. The sooner you help my wife, the sooner she’ll be finished and can come up and join me.’
The girl smiled, turned, and ran down the stairs.
He’d grown up next door to her mother, Mary. Watched his brother Tom court and marry her and witnessed Mary’s grief when Tom had been killed ‘by the iron’ a week after their wedding.
Mary had married again two years later. As far as he knew, she’d been happy, until her second husband had also been killed when the boiler he’d been working next to in Treforest ironworks had exploded.
If Tom had lived, Anna and her brothers would have been his niece and nephews. Pushing the thought from his mind, he picked up the tray, went into the living room, and set it on the dusty table. He look
ed at the pile of letters and reached for the first one, which John had told him to expect. He slit the envelope with his pocket knife, sat down and began to eat and read.
New Russia Company Ltd,
Dear Glyn,
Enclosed are the formal papers for your records setting out the terms and conditions of the loan you requested, including the repayment schedule postponed for two years as agreed.
I am delighted to ratify your request. Your purchase of the rights to sink a colliery in the Donbas is indicative of your support for the New Russia Company and the work the company has undertaken.
No doubt we’ll face difficulties but I also know no man is better placed to assist me in overcoming them.
See you next week in Southampton.
John Hughes.
My compliments to your wife.
The letter was neatly written, Glyn assumed by one of John’s confidential secretaries, since Huw Thomas, who’d dealt with John’s correspondence when they’d travelled in Russia, had remained in the Donbas.
John Hughes’s signature was little more than an indecipherable squiggle. Glyn knew better than to expect different. He was party to John’s great secret. The man who’d persuaded dozens of the richest railway contractors, armaments manufacturers, and engineers in Britain to invest a total of £300,000 in his New Russia Company could neither read nor write. Not even to sign his own name.
Betty opened the purse she kept in her pocket, took out three coins, and dropped them into Anna’s hand.
‘Nine pence, Mrs Edwards. Are you sure?’ Anna looked down at the three silver joeys in her palm.
‘We couldn’t have managed without you doing double work today.’ Betty glanced around the kitchen. The dishes had been washed and stacked ready for the next meal, the tables cleaned, and the floor swept. Dinner rush over, the kitchen staff were taking their break. There were two barmaids on duty to help her father. She was free to go upstairs to see Glyn. She should be excited and happy after seeing so little of her husband for the past few years but all she felt was a sick sense of nervous apprehension.
‘Mr Edwards gave me sixpence for taking up his dinner,’ Anna blurted, uncertain despite Mr Edwards’ assurance that she should have taken the money.
One Dragon's Dream Page 5