by Paul Henke
‘I love you too, Sion,’ he said with difficulty, a lump in his throat.
Sion returned to the cart and scrambled on board, standing on the back waving to Uncle James until the cart turned a corner and was out of sight.
David and Maud met them at the station in Cardiff. Meg, Maud and the children took a hansom home while Evan and David went directly to the docks. There they arranged to have the cases stowed in the hold.
‘Before we return,’ said Evan, ‘show me the coaling yards will you?’
‘What on earth for?’
‘Em, never mind. But there’s something I want you to do tomorrow. I know you’ll find it unusual but let me explain. Incidentally, don’t say anything to Maud or Meg.’
‘Excuse the mess,’ said Maud to Evan when they arrived. ‘Like I told Meg we’ve only just finished the alterations a week ago.’
‘Come on Evan, I’ll show you around,’ said David. The shop was larger than Evan had expected, the shelves behind the counter stacked high with different goods. David sold everything from food to lengths of cotton to steel nibbed pens.
Evan shook his head. ‘How on earth did you manage all this? Surely you didn’t have enough money . . .’ he trailed off.
‘No,’ laughed his brother, ‘of course not. It was the banks man, the banks. I got a new suit, told the bankers I was a merchant from North Wales and was thinking of settling down in this area. In the second bank I went to I opened an account, deposited a hundred and ten pounds and kept fifty in my pocket. Evan . . . Ha, here’s the sherry. I propose a toast to a happy voyage and a good life in America.’ They drank. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, well, I borrowed five hundred pounds and came home and got blind drunk.’ He shook his head in wonderment. ‘Look,’ David held out his hands to his brother. ‘See how the hard skin and the cuts are going? Do you know what I had to do when I went to the bank? I wore gloves and told them I had a skin disorder. Evan boyo, if business stays like it was for the first week then I’ll pay back the money I borrowed plus interest in four years. God, think of all that slaving down the mine and it’s here to pick like . . . like apples from a tree.’
‘I’m impressed, David. I really am,’ said Evan.
‘Come on and I’ll show you the rest of the house. I suppose you’ve already seen it, Meg?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll tell you a few of my ideas, Evan. By the way, what are you going to do in America? Have you decided yet?’
‘I hadn’t, but you’ve certainly given me food for thought.’
Later that night, after they were all in bed, Evan spoke to his wife. ‘Listen, there’s something I must do. I’ll be away all night but . . . .’
Meg sat up in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was loud in the quiet of the house.
‘Shshsh, keep your voice down. I don’t want you to wake the household. Listen love, you know I love you and I love the children,’ Evan paused. ‘Just believe me when I say if I don’t go and do this I’ll . . . I’ll never be able to live with myself.’
‘Tell me what you’re going to do then I’ll be able to understand. At least I . . . I suppose I will. I mean, I can’t imagine where you want to go at this time of night.’
‘Meg, I’ve got to go back for a few hours, that’s all.’
‘Back where? You mean . . . home?’ She was incredulous.
‘Yes. I’ve got something to do and nothing is going to stop me.’ He spoke more harshly then he had intended.
Meg curled her knees up to her chin and hugged herself, deeply hurt. ‘Nothing Evan? Is that what I am? Nothing? Is the family nothing?’ She felt the tears rising and angrily wiped her eyes.
‘Don’t talk daft,’ Evan was becoming angry. ‘You’re everything to me, everything. And the children too. And you know it, don’t you, love?’ Awkwardly he tried to put his arms around her.
‘Evan, please tell me why you’re going back. Anyway,’ she suddenly brightened, ‘how can you? There’s no trains now. How would you get there and back in time?’
‘There are trains Meg. Coal trains. I know an empty train leaves the yards at the docks at midnight and another arrives back at six thirty. I can easily manage both. If I go now,’ he added, taking his arms from around her.
‘Please tell me why first. Evan, after all this time surely we aren’t going to start having secrets from one another, are we? What’s so important back there?’
‘Meg, I have to see a man. I’ll tell you everything when I return. I promise I will,’ he spoke gently while he reached for his clothes. Meg noticed he dressed in his old working clothes and realised what the brown parcel had been in his bag.
‘I thought you’d thrown those away. What do you want with them for? My God what am I saying? Why are you going Evan?’
‘Meg, when I return I’ll tell you and perhaps you’ll understand why I won’t say now. Don’t you trust me?’
‘It’s not a question of that,’ she replied more in sorrow than anger.
‘Well then. Look, it’s eleven now. I’ve an hour to get to the docks and find the train. I’ll be back shortly after seven at the latest and I’ll meet you at the ship. David’ll have some clothes for me and . . .’
‘He knows?’
‘No, only that I’m going up on the train, nothing more.’ He bent and kissed her lips. They were like marble. ‘I love you Meg and always will, please believe that and trust me. Try and get some sleep while I’m away, all right?’
‘Try and sleep? Don’t be daft. How will I be able to sleep?’
He grimaced. ‘See you later,’ Evan whispered and left.
Meg lay back, tears welling in her eyes and trickling down the sides of her face. Evan, Evan, she said to herself. Take care, please take care. She thrust her hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud in her anguish.
Evan closed the front door behind him and hurried along the street. He had known it would be difficult to leave her. How could he tell his wife he was going to kill a man, and burn his house to the ground?
13
The streets were cold and dark and Evan hurried to reach the marshalling yards at the docks. The image of Meg kept recurring and nearly made him give up.
The road he was on was long, straight and still busy, the pubs doing a roaring trade. Evan glanced into one as he walked quickly past, the door opening when a drunk reeled out. Through the haze of smoke he saw hard faced seamen and equally hard prostitutes appearing to enjoy themselves.
Evan paused at the gates to the yards, looked to see there was no guard and dashed through. He moved as quickly as he dared in the moonlight. He had found the main line. As Evan darted along the side of the train, two things happened simultaneously. A man appeared in front of him and the train started to move.
‘Oi, you. What do you think you’re doing, hey?’ The man clutched Evan’s arm.
Without thinking Evan hit him on the jaw and the man staggered back, more surprised than hurt. Evan steadied himself, waited for the centre of the next truck and leapt for the truck’s side. With a mighty effort he pulled himself up and over and lay still for a few moments. Then, with a sigh, Evan huddled into a corner, out of the wind.
After a few minutes Evan began to shiver and cursed the cold. Haunted by his thoughts of Meg, cold to his core, for the first time he had doubts about what he was going to do.
At long last he was past Pontypridd and close to Llanbeddas. The village came into sight and was soon behind the train, which slowed as it approached the bend Evan was looking for. Evan stood, paused and jumped, landing on the bank. He lay still for a few minutes to regain his breath, frightened to move in case he found he had broken a bone. Finally he staggered to his feet; painfully, he climbed the fence, dropped down on the other side and made his way to the Taff. He followed the river’s banks until he was past the mine and then climbed up to the road. A quarter of a mile along the road Evan came to the large, ornate gates he was looking for.
He had often walked past them w
ith Meg, trying to see through and get a view of the mansion. The wall surrounding the grounds was eight feet high and topped with broken glass. The gates were locked at that time in the morning and Evan followed the wall for about fifty yards until he came to the big old oak tree. It grew inside the grounds but its lower branches spread wide; one hung over the wall five feet above Evan’s head. Two weeks earlier Evan had acquired a length of rope from the mine and had hidden it near the wall. At the second attempt he got it over the branch, tied the ends and climbed up. He sat astride the branch, pulled the rope up and edged his way to the trunk of the tree. He fixed the rope and lowered himself to the ground. He stood in a small copse of trees dominated by the oak. Across a wide sweep of lawn Evan could see the house. With a hammering heart he waited in the shadows to see if there was a watchman or dog loose. There appeared to be neither. He decided to approach from the furthest corner, so if anybody did happen to be looking through a window there was less chance of being seen. The moon came from behind a cloud and, in the light, the lawn looked like a black sea stretching in front of him. Crossing it he would be completely exposed, even in his dark work clothes and with his face covered in coal dust.He waited patiently for a cloud to cut down the light, conscious as never before of how wrong this was. God, he thought, looking up, you say an eye for an eye and then that vengeance will be yours. Which is it? I want my vengeance now Lord, not in some nebulous hereafter. This man ordered the deaths of my parents so what should I do? His indecision angered him and the anger resolved into determination to go on.
He crept forward to the side door, every sense alert to the noises of the night. When he reached the door he paused, straining his ears. So far nothing. He tried the door only to find it locked. He used the jemmy he had brought to force it open and he found himself in the kitchen. Quickly, he made his way to the hall and finally to a large ornate room.
He pulled together the furniture and ripped open the cushions, making a pile in the centre of the room. He went back to the kitchen and filled a jug with oil from the store, returning to the hall. Though it was difficult to see properly, Evan had no doubt of the opulence of the house and the enormity of what he was about to do swept through him. He wavered, but then he thought of his parents. Had they died in their sleep? Or had they woken to find themselves surrounded by smoke and flames, knowing for a few moments that they were about to die?
Back in the drawing room he poured the oil over the pile he had created and then threw more oil over the curtains and walls. Finally, he stood with a box of matches in his hands and looked around at the mess. Evan thought about the murder he was about to commit. It was the first time the word had come to his mind. Murder. It had a ring about it, so unlike revenge. An eye for an eye, avenging his parents’ horrible death. Murder was what it was and he couldn’t do it. Slowly he put the matches in his pocket and with tears in his eyes said softly: ‘I’m sorry Dad, Mam. I can’t. It isn’t in me. Please forgive me, please.’ He walked towards the door, the heavy fumes of oil in the back of his throat. He reached the door but stopped when he heard footsteps.
Evan stepped to the side, pressed himself against the wall and waited. The door swung open soundlessly to reveal a cocked pistol held in a white hand. Evan grabbed the pistol jamming the hammer, pulled the man into the room and smashed his face with his fist. Evan recognised Sir Clifford Roberts even as he fell back stunned, blood streaming from his nose. Before he could call out, Evan hit him with the pistol butt. He then took hold of his feet and dragged him inside.
After a few minutes Sir Clifford regained his senses sufficiently to ask: ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ He was in his sixties, tall, well built but not fat, grey-haired with an air of intimidating authority about him. Even lying on the floor, his dressing gown splattered with blood, his hands to his nose, he was damned if he was going to show the peasant before him how much it hurt. He peered up at Evan: ‘Good God, I know you,’ he exclaimed, recovering his wits now his head had stopped spinning. I’ll talk my way out of this, he thought, and have the bastard hung for what he’s done. The mess . . . ugh . . . and the oil he was in . . . the stench . . . it was overpowering.
‘You’re young Griffiths. I was very sorry to hear about your father, oh and your mother too, of course. A tragic accident, tragic,’ he shook his head sadly. ‘You’ve obviously heard something that’s caused you a . . . a mis . . . eh . . . caused you to be mistaken,’ the unwavering gun pointed at his stomach disconcerted Sir Clifford. He tried to move to a more comfortable position, ready to stand, more sure of himself now he knew who he confronted.
‘Liar,’ Evan snarled. ‘Don’t move or by God, I promise I’ll shoot you in the stomach and leave you to die in agony and knowing it was because you caused the death of my parents.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous man, of course I did no such thing. I liked your father. I liked him very much. Why, I even congratulated him on having such a son as you, after your clever negotiating with us.’ Sir Clifford hoped flattery would help.
‘You’re a lying bastard. I know . . . Do you hear? I know you ordered my death, not my father’s, but your minions cocked it up.’ Evan’s voice was low and intense; he was very tempted to pull the trigger and have done with it.
‘That’s the most . . .’
‘I know, I tell you. A youngster in the village was asked the way to the house of the man named Griffiths who was at the meeting. The kid thought it was my father he wanted, not me. I know you sent them, so don’t say another word, trying to deny it. Just give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.’ It was eerie in the light from the moon. Sir Clifford briefly entertained the wild idea of throwing himself into the shadows, perhaps behind the sofa and screaming for help or even overpowering Evan in some way. He dismissed the thought as ludicrous. There was a better way, much better.
‘I can give you a thousand pounds.’ Aye, and the moment you leave I shall have the dogs and police after you. You’ll not get two miles, he thought.
‘Trying to buy me off ? With a measly thousand? Is that all your life is worth to you? Are my parents only worth five hundred each? They were worth ten times more to me than everything you possess.’
‘I’d give you more but I don’t keep much more in the house. Maybe a few hundred more but that’s all. I don’t suppose,’ he added sarcastically, ‘you’d take a cheque? Oh yes, with a receipt. Shall we say . . . em . . . eh . . . for services rendered? How would that suit you?’
‘Shut up,’ Evan replied savagely. Christ but you are a cool one and no mistake, he thought. ‘I came here to set fire to your house, and by God that’s exactly what I’ll do. After tying you up. That way you’ll see death approaching, the flames eating your flesh, turning it black. If you’re lucky you may die from the smoke but I doubt it.’
Sir Clifford blanched. He had been sure the offer of money would have been sufficient to save him. A thousand pounds was a fortune to a man like the one before him. ‘All right . . . I . . . I . . . may be able to find some more, say as much as two thousand. I swear it’s all I have here. I swear it.’
Two thousand . . . what could Evan do with so much? Why, he would arrive in America with enough money to set them up in a way he had only dreamed of. Two thousand pounds. A thousand for each of them. One for Mam, one for Dad. Blood money that would live with him the rest of his life.
‘Get the money and no tricks.’
I’ve won, thought Sir Clifford. I know people like you. They keep their bargains, the fools. Slowly, Sir Clifford stood up. ‘We have to go into my study across the hall,’ he led the way towards the door. Next to the suit of armour and partly hidden, which was why Evan had not seen it earlier, was a door. Sir Clifford took a key from a chain he kept around his neck and unlocked the door.
‘I’m going to light a lamp,’ said Sir Clifford. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t try anything foolish.’ He blinked slowly a habit he had when his mind was in a turmoil. A match flared and Sir Clifford lifted the glass of the
lamp on his desk, lighting the wick.
Evan looked at the walls lined with leather bound books, the paintings on the walls, the deep armchairs and thick, wine red carpet. He felt such an over powering sense of jealousy he nearly pulled the trigger.
‘Get the money,’ Evan said harshly, jerking the gun.
Sir Clifford went to one of the pictures, swung it to one side to expose the safe. He turned with a bundle of money in his hands and said: ‘If you’d like to look you’ll find this is all there is. The rest is just papers. Nothing important,’ he added.
‘Put it on the desk. Now turn around.’
‘But this was . . .’
‘Turn around or by God I swear I’ll shoot.’
Something in Evan’s voice convinced Sir Clifford there was no use in arguing. He turned. ‘Look man, just tie me up or . . .’ he was turning his head when the blow fell and he dropped to the floor, half stunned. He pretended to be unconscious but his head still hurt like hell and made him giddy. He smelt burning and involuntarily opened his eyes. Evan held the money in his fist and was carefully setting it alight. When Evan turned Sir Clifford closed his eyes again, thunderstruck by what he had seen. He sensed Evan approaching, felt a little heat and just as he thought Evan was going to drop the money on him the heat was gone. A few moments later, through slitted eyes, Sir Clifford watched Evan place the gun on the desk and walk towards the door. At the same time the smell of smoke jerked him into a sitting position and looking over his shoulder he saw the contents of his safe burning. With a strangled cry which brought Evan spinning around, Sir Clifford jumped to his feet. Though the room spun, Sir Clifford had enough presence of mind to grab the gun, aim and fire. Evan threw himself to one side and managed to get out of the door.
Sir Clifford was besides himself with rage. In the safe had been half a million pounds worth of bearer bonds and shares, apart from important contracts he was working on. Now they were lost. Months of negotiation down the drain . . . up in smoke because of a peasant. Sir Clifford walked slowly towards the door, fearing another ambush. Hell but he felt giddy. I’m sure I hit him he thought, quite sure. Where’s the rest of the household? Surely somebody heard the shot. Come on Pritchard you lazy sod of a butler, get up and come and help me. The feel of the breeze from the front door told him the hall was empty and when he saw the door was wide open he began to yell: ‘Pritchard. Help somebody. Murder.’