Honey's Farm
Page 42
Anger swept through her then. How dare he do this without consulting her? He was only a partner in the gallery; that was all he had ever been. The business was hers, really, not his. She had founded it, built it up to what it had become; he had only taken over the running of it.
‘Morning, Eline, you all right?’ The voice of Nina Parks was like a hand reaching out from the past, Nina who had taken Eline’s first husband from her and who had always been such a disruptive influence on her life. An enemy.
‘Morning, Nina.’ Eline felt as though she had been caught staring into the window of a pie shop with no money to buy the food.
‘Closed then – the gallery, I mean,’ Nina said. ‘You come all the way down here to see it, then, have you?’
‘No!’ Eline could not help the note of sharpness that crept into her voice. ‘I came down here for a breath of Oystermouth air.’
‘Oh, Miss Sarcastic now, then, is it?’ Nina crossed her arms. ‘Pity you don’t seem able to hold on to your husbands, isn’t it, love?’
Eline turned and retraced her footsteps towards the train stop. If she remained with Nina Parks a moment longer, she would not be responsible for her actions.
On the return ride to Swansea, Eline’s anger was mounting. Calvin had been high-handed; surely he should have consulted her before he closed the gallery? He had put little or no money into it; it was her enterprise, and it had not been for him to end it so precipitously.
A greater shock awaited her when she stood outside the premises she’d rented for a workshop. It, too, was boarded up, with no sign of occupation at all. Eline moved around to the rear of the building and, peering through the windows, saw that the rooms were bare of machinery and empty of workers.
She leant for a moment against the wall, feeling dizzy with bewilderment; what was Calvin up to, she wondered. Was all this closing down of her premises an extra punishment for her unfaithfulness?
Anger flowed through her then, like hot wine. She began to walk briskly in the direction of Stormhill Manor. She would confront Calvin; if he was not in the gallery then he must be at home. She would demand an explanation, ask him why he wanted to deprive her of her means of making a livelihood for herself and her child.
Eline clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. How could he do this to her? To take away the means for her to work was the cruellest blow he could have inflicted.
At first the servant she saw refused her admission to Stormhill Manor. It was only after creating a scene on the doorstep that Eline was allowed into the hallway. There she was kept waiting. It was a good twenty minutes later that Calvin deigned to appear.
He looked as immaculately dressed as always, his clothes neat and crisp, his boots gleaming.
‘You have forced yourself into my house, why?’ were his first words, spoken coldly.
‘It’s I who should be asking “why?”,’ she said icily. ‘The gallery and the workshop, both have been closed; what was the reason for it, and by whose authority did you take such action?’
‘My own, of course.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t I close the premises? I have no use for them.’
‘But the gallery was mine,’ Eline said forcefully. ‘I bought the building; or have you forgotten that?’
‘I have forgotten nothing,’ he said. ‘I sold the gallery because you needed the money.’
Eline was taken by surprise. ‘I didn’t want the gallery sold,’ she said.
Her thoughts whirling, she looked up at him; this man, her husband, seemed like a stranger.
‘I presume the proceeds will be at my disposal?’ Eline asked, holding her breath, not knowing what to expect of the man who had shared her bed but suddenly become an enemy.
‘In a manner of speaking, they have been at your disposal since you moved into rooms,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Eline asked. ‘Have you put some money in an account for me?’
‘I have not,’ Calvin said flatly. ‘But what, my dear woman, do you think you and your bastard child have been living on?’
‘You mean the money, the proceeds from the gallery, is keeping me and the baby?’ She was incredulous.
‘Yes,’ Calvin said. ‘The bills have come in, and I have paid them out of what you call your capital.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Though, I warn you, the capital is rapidly diminishing; you will soon be penniless.’
Eline was struck into silence for a long time. His words rang round her mind as she wondered if what he had done was proper, morally or legally.
‘But the pictures, the building – there must be quite a lot of money put by somewhere, surely?’
‘Not really,’ Calvin said. ‘The paintings sold at very low prices, and so did the gallery itself.’ He paused and smiled without humour. ‘The building where you conducted your shoemaking business – at a loss, I might add – didn’t seem a desirable property in anyone’s book; it is virtually uninhabitable as it stands.’
Eline thought rapidly. She could live at the workshop premises with the baby, start up her shoemaking and designing there; everything was going to be all right after all.
‘And so, to be kind to you, I bought the building myself.’ Calvin dropped his bombshell.
Eline’s heart sank. ‘And I suppose you bought it at a knock-down price?’ she said wearily.
‘All the documents are with my solicitor,’ Calvin said. ‘If you wish to scrutinize them, then you may do so, of course; but you will find nothing untoward.’
‘And so your revenge is complete,’ Eline said. ‘You are leaving me with nothing.’
‘Let the father of your bastard take care of you,’ Calvin said coldly. ‘I have acted perfectly properly; I sold your assets to keep you and your child, and the proceeds, such as they were, are rapidly diminishing, just as I said.’ He looked directly at her. ‘I will, of course, bear the cost of the divorce myself.’
Without another word, Eline walked out into the coldness of the driveway, uncaring of the curious looks of the servants. Before she had gone more than a few paces, the big door was closed, and the click of finality echoed in Eline’s ears like a death knell.
It was only when she was returning to the boarding house that Eline realized just how bad her finances were. Soon enough the money to keep her and her son would all be used up; and then, kindly as she was, Mrs Jessop would be forced to ask her to leave.
But it must not come to that. Eline must find a job, anything to keep a roof over her head. It was no good turning to Emily Miller or even to Hari Grenfell; Calvin was one of them, one of the privileged set of Swansea. They met socially, at dinners and grand balls – a world where Eline had been admitted for a short time but was now firmly excluded.
When Mrs Jessop heard what had happened, she pursed her lips and frowned. ‘I don’t know how he could think up such a scheme,’ she said, almost admiringly, ‘but you have to admit, that husband of yours has got brains in his head, all right.’
‘I’ll have to find work,’ Eline said. ‘Perhaps I can get a position in some shoe emporium; I’ll do anything to keep a roof over my son’s head.’ She felt near to tears.
‘Look,’ Mrs Jessop said, ‘I know that someone is wanted in the public over the road. It’s only a bit of cleaning, like – mopping up the floors, putting fresh sawdust down to hide the beer stains on the flags. It’s hard work, but honest, and old Abe won’t be funny with you, I can assure you of that.’
Eline was silent, thinking how Calvin would laugh at her when he knew she was a skivvy in some dingy inn.
‘He’ll want to know straightaway, mind,’ Mrs Jessop said, ‘and there’s no point to waiting, is there?’
‘I’ll take it,’ Eline said, ‘and I’ll pay you to look after Emlyn for me. Is that all right?’
‘That’s just fine,’ Mrs Jessop said, ‘and I know Abe will be willing for you to pop over from time to time to feed the boy. You’ll be all right; don’t you worry now.’
It seemed that, within the space of a few days, her whole life had been turned upside down. Eline could have easily given in to tears; but tears were weak and useless and solved nothing. But still it was with a feeling of trepidation that she crossed the road to the public, dressed ready for the job in a dark sensible skirt and a blouse with sleeves she could roll above her elbows.
‘Good girl!’ Abe was a wizened man with a sprinkling of grey curls covering his otherwise bald pate. He had few teeth, and his cheeks were sunken, but his eyes were lively and full of humour, and Eline liked him on sight.
‘Now,’ Abe said. ‘Tuck your skirt up, girl, otherwise it will get wet and bedraggled – up into your bloomers, girl, have you no idea?’
He cackled. ‘Don’t worry about your legs. It’s only me seeing them, and I’m well past any mischief these days.’
He went to the door and paused. ‘For today only, I’ve lit the stove and boiled up water, but from now on that’s all part of your duties. I’ll treat you fair and honest, but I need a worker, not a shirker. If you agree with that, we’ll get on just fine.’
Eline felt she had never seen such a messy floor in all her life; beer and tobacco stained the flags and, although she had brushed it furiously, a fine coating of sawdust lay in the cracks of the boards.
She sighed. This was what she must get used to now; this was her life, and the sooner she came to terms with it, the better it would be for her and for her son.
Will handed the shoes to Mrs Jessop, and she examined them intently. ‘Very good,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll go and get you some money.’
Will was relieved by her praise; it was the first time she had come to him for cobbling, and he had known at once she would be a difficult customer to impress. But she would also be a loyal one.
Will’s attention was drawn by a small cry from the other side of the room. Edging forward, he saw there was a baby in the open drawer of the dresser.
He knelt down, and, with an in-drawn, ragged breath, he realized he was looking into the face of his own son.
Mrs Jessop returned and smiled as she leant over Will’s shoulder. ‘Bonny, isn’t he? Got no name, mind, bless him.’
Will straightened. ‘Why is he here?’ he asked.
Mrs Jessop smiled in assumed innocence. ‘His mammy brought him – Eline Temple . . . I think you might know her.’ There was a cunning smile in Mrs Jessop’s eyes. ‘She’s boarding with me since her husband threw her out.’
‘You know, don’t you?’ Will said. ‘You know this boy is my son.’
Mrs Jessop had a coy look that sat strangely on her wrinkled face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, smiling. ‘I just asked you to do some work for me, and you have. You can take things from there, if you like.’
‘Where is she?’ Will asked, looking round as if he expected Eline to appear from thin air.
‘Eline, you mean?’ Mrs Jessop said. ‘She’s working over the road, at the inn. Honest toil, it is, mind – scrubbing floors for old Abe, and her glad enough of the job.’ She paused. ‘I shouldn’t be gossiping, but I’m sorry for the girl. Her husband sewed her up tight, took everything she owned; all legal, mind, and now the poor girl got to get down on her hands and knees and scrub floors.’
Will clasped Mrs Jessop in his arms and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re an angel,’ he said, ‘a bloody angel.’
‘Go on with you, and there’s no need to swear, mind.’ Her words were reproving, but she was smiling.
Will left the house and stared for a moment across the road. He took a deep breath and began to walk towards the inn.
Eline’s knees ached intolerably, and so did her arms. More, her blouse was slowly growing damp; the exertions had brought her milk in, and her heavy breasts told her it was time her son was fed.
A shadow fell across her, and Eline looked up at a tall sharp silhouette, dark against the light from the door. Hands helped her to her feet, and then she was looking into Will’s face.
‘Come on, my lovely,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you home.’
She leant wearily against him, her eyes closed. ‘But, Will, I have nothing, I’m penniless,’ she said softly.
‘I haven’t got much either,’ he replied. ‘But at least we’ll be poor together – you, me and our son.’
As he led her outside, Eline felt relief flood her. Will was there; he would take care of her, they would be together for always. And suddenly it seemed that, on the cold winter day, the sun was shining.
THE END
About the Author
Iris Gower was born in Swansea to an Army family. Married early, she was a mother of four and a well-published author by the time she was in her mid-twenties. She still lives in Swansea with her husband in a house on top of a Welsh hill facing the sea she loves. She is the author of the highly successful Sweyn’s Eye series of novels and Honey’s Farm is the third title in her new Cordwainers series.
Also by Iris Gower
COPPER KINGDOM
PROUD MARY
SPINNERS’ WHARF
MORGAN’S WOMAN
FIDDLER’S FERRY
BLACK GOLD
THE LOVES OF CATRIN
THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER
THE OYSTER CATCHERS
and published by Corgi Books
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HONEY’S FARM
A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 13687 5
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN: 9781446487532
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers
printing history
Bantam Press edition published 1993
Corgi edition published 1994
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Copyright © Iris Gower 1993
The right of Iris Gower to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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