Soho Gus and Sparky looked on enviously. They’d already been in Wales for months but so far hadn’t had so much as a single letter between them; not that they expected one. Gus also looked slightly guilty, for up to now he’d had no luck at all in getting hold of the postman as he had promised to.
‘Right, if that’s all done I’m afraid I shall have to get her away home now,’ Mrs Evans said bossily. ‘And if the rest of you have got any sense, you’ll get yourselves away home too. There’s a rare storm brewing, you just mark my words, and sorry you will be if you get caught out in it.’
Lizzie reluctantly allowed her to do up her coat, and as she was marched towards the door she turned and waved to her brother.
Once they’d gone, Soho Gus sighed. ‘Word ’as it that Mr Evans is on ’is last legs,’ he confided in a whisper to his captive audience. ‘He ain’t opened the smithy fer three whole days now, an’ I heard the Thomases sayin’ as how they’d heard he’d got the dust on his chest.’
‘What’s the dust?’ Danny asked.
‘It’s a disease o’ the lungs that miners get when they’ve spent a long time underground,’ he replied. ‘Mr Evans spent years down the pit till they bought the smiffy an’ moved to the village. I’m surprised as Lizzie ain’t told yer.’
‘She ain’t had the chance to,’ Danny grunted. ‘Mrs Evans don’t give her a minute to herself so I’ve hardly had time to talk to her on her own fer days.’
‘Mmm, I know what yer mean.’ Gus nodded understandingly. ‘She lays it on a bit thick wiv her, don’t she?’
Dragging themselves to their feet, the three small boys made their way to the door where they stood surveying the wet cobblestoned street. Just as Mrs Evans had predicted the rain had begun to fall in a slow drizzle that soaked them to the skin within minutes.
Lifting Albert from his top pocket, Soho Gus tucked him down the front of his threadbare blazer.
‘Suppose we might as well ’ead fer home,’ he said mournfully. ‘Ain’t much point stayin’ out in this, an’ I’ve got me jobs to do at Derwen Deg.’
At the end of the street they said goodnight to Sparky before beginning the long trek up the hill towards their billets.
‘So ’ow are yer gettin’ on wiv Eric nowadays then?’ Soho Gus asked breathlessly.
Danny swiped a big raindrop from the end of his nose and grinned into the fast-darkening afternoon. ‘Just the job, to tell yer the truth, though he still tends to tuck himself away in that outhouse every chance he gets. I don’t mind though, ’cos he’s sorted me some oilpaints an’ watercolours an’ brushes out, an’ most nights I paint pictures now. Eric reckons I have a flair fer it.’
Danny glanced at him curiously. ‘What sort o’ paintin’ do yer do then?’
‘Anythin’ that comes to mind,’ Danny told him. ‘Last night I did a picture of Samson, an’ when Eric came across he said it was really good. He’s shown me how to mix the paints to make different colours an’ everythin’.’
Soho Gus was impressed but still intrigued as to why Eric should lock himself away so often in the huge barn-like building. As a thought suddenly occurred to him, his voice rose with excitement. ‘I reckon we should try to find the key to the outbuildin’ some time when he’s down in the village an’ let ourselves in to see what he gets up to in there.’
Danny was horrified at the very suggestion. ‘We couldn’t do that!’ he said.
‘Why not? We wouldn’t be doin’ any harm, an’ he ain’t never gonna be none the wiser if we put the key back before he gets home, is he?’
‘I suppose not,’ Danny admitted, ashamed that he found the idea appealing. By now the rain was coming down in torrents and they put all their efforts into staying upright as they laboured up the hillside.
At Derwen Deg they parted and Danny began the last leg of his journey as Gus’s suggestion rolled around in his mind. His curiosity was further fuelled when he arrived home to see the lights from the outbuilding shining through the heavy blinds into the darkness. Eric was obviously locked away in there again. Splashing through the muddy puddles as quietly as he could, Danny once again stood on tiptoe and tried to peer through the windows, but it was useless. He could see absolutely nothing. Shrugging, he entered the kitchen and began to peel off his wet clothes as Samson washed him with his great wet tongue. Minutes later, Eric appeared in the doorway, eyeing his bedraggled charge with amusement.
‘Get yourself upstairs and change into something dry,’ he said, ‘then come back down here and we’ll get something warm inside you. After that we could do some more work on your painting if you like? And then tonight, you really must have a bath.’
Danny placed his dripping shoes on the hearth to dry, then squelched across the room in his soaking socks and hurried away upstairs. He returned in his pyjamas, dressing-gown and slippers minutes later, with an armful of wet clothes which Eric hung across the wooden clotheshorse in the corner.
A large dish of rabbit stew and dumplings was steaming on the table and Danny’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. Once he had sated his appetite, and polished off a piece of bread pudding and cream, he rubbed his small bloated stomach and sighed with contentment. Eric might not always be the most friendly of hosts but he certainly couldn’t fault the meals he provided. Nor for that matter, the painting lessons he was providing him with. Already in just a few short hours, he had taught Danny the art of making skin textures look real and so much more, and Danny was becoming justifiably proud of his efforts. He had never used oils before, and there was so much to learn about painting on canvas.
Soon they were both seated in front of a big easel that Eric had erected at the side of the fireplace and yet another lesson began. But this one was due to be shortlived, for Eric suddenly remembered, ‘I’ve got to nip down to the village to post a letter while there’s still time. You’ll be all right here on your own till I get back, won’t you?’
Danny nodded as Eric thrust his long arms into a mackintosh. The firelight was playing on the black patch that covered one eye, and in this light the burns that ran down his face from beneath it looked even more vivid. Danny suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he turned his attention back to the painting in front of him. It was then that he saw Eric drop a bunch of keys onto the end of the draining board. They were the keys to the outbuilding, he was sure of it after seeing Eric use them so often. Temptation beckoned as he remembered what Soho Gus had suggested. He could nip across and take a look inside whilst he was gone and Eric need never be any the wiser.
Terrified that Eric might be able to read his mind, he fixed his eyes firmly on the painting in front of him and held his breath as the man strode towards the door.
‘Will you be going in the car?’
Eric shook his head. ‘No, not tonight with the roads as they are. With all this rain they’ll be treacherous but I shouldn’t be more than an hour. If you get tired, take yourself up to bed. You can have a bath tomorrow instead.’
Danny nodded, and once the door had closed behind Eric, his eyes strayed to the keys. It was the first time that he’d ever known Eric to leave them lying about and he wrestled with his conscience as his mind began to work overtime. What if he were to discover something terrible in the outbuilding? Perhaps Eric was a smuggler? After all, he did live very close to the sea. Or worse still, he might be a murderer and have dead bodies locked away in there. He gulped deep in his throat as his imagination ran riot. Perhaps things were better left as they were. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and yet . . .
Crossing to the sink, he lifted the keys from the draining board, and of their own volition, his feet began to move towards the kitchen door. And then it was open and he was looking towards the outbuilding, whose windows were still alight. It was like a magnet and he found himself splashing across the yard once more, oblivious to the rain that was lashing down. When he reached the door he fumbled with one key after another until one suddenly slid smoothly into the lock and he heard it click open. There
was no stopping now as slowly he inched the door open. He had intended to do no more than peep inside before scuttling back to the warmth of the kitchen, but the sight that met his eyes made him walk to the centre of the room and stare around him in open-mouthed amazement.
He was in an artist’s studio, and everywhere he looked were canvases in various states. Some were finished, some had barely been started on and others were half-done. The one thing that they all had in common was that each and every one of them, even to a child’s untrained eye, was magnificent.
Now that Danny was actually inside the building he could see the attraction of the room for an artist. One wall on the other side of the room was taken up by a huge plate-glass window, through which he guessed the sun would stream during the day. It also overlooked the sea, although at the moment all he could see was rain lashing against it. Against another wall was a long trestle-like table and when Danny approached it he saw that it was covered in illustrations, each and every one beautifully done. Forgetting all about the fact that he shouldn’t even be there, he lifted them one at a time, marvelling at the detail and the colours. He was so absorbed that when a sudden sound made him turn round, he almost jumped out of his skin to see a stern-faced Eric glaring at him.
‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ The words came out on a growl and instantly Danny began to quake.
‘I . . . I’m so sorry,’ he stuttered, deeply ashamed of himself. ‘I was just so curious about what yer did in here that I thought I’d just take a little peep. But I didn’t mean no harm - honest I didn’t - an’ I ain’t hurt anythin’.’
The rain that was dripping from his mackintosh began to puddle on the floor about his feet as Eric stared coldly at the child. Danny could see that he was absolutely furious, and he trembled with fear.
‘I trusted you and now you’ve totally abused that trust,’ Eric stormed. ‘I told you quite clearly that this room was out of bounds, didn’t I? How dare you come in here! I knew I should never have agreed to take you in.’
Again Danny told him, ‘I’m s . . . sorry, sir. Really I am.’
They faced each other for some seconds until Eric’s shoulders suddenly stooped. ‘I’m deeply disappointed in you, though I dare say there’s no harm done,’ he finally muttered. ‘But I would ask you to keep quiet about what you’ve seen in here tonight. I don’t like all and sundry knowing my business.’
Danny’s head wagged furiously in agreement. ‘I won’t say a word to no one, honest I won’t. But did you really do all these?’
As he spread his hands to encompass the beautiful paintings that surrounded him, Eric reluctantly nodded. ‘Yes I did.’
Danny turned his attention to a picture of a ship in full sail on a choppy sea and sighed with admiration. Lifting his hand, he stroked it reverently. It was so lifelike that he could almost imagine he was on board; could feel the waves tossing him this way and that.
‘I’d do anythin’ to be able to paint like this,’ he breathed.
Eric came to stand beside him. ‘You could, one day, if you listen to what I tell you. You have a natural gift. I saw it in the first sketch you left lying about.’
‘They must be worth a small fortune,’ Danny said quietly. ‘Ain’t you ever thought of sellin’ any of ’em?’
Instantly, Eric’s face was hard again as he turned away. ‘I think it’s high time you were in bed now, don’t you?’
Danny scooted nervously past him but at the door he paused to look back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised contritely again, then he scuttled across the yard and up to his room where he lay in bed with the wonderful scenes Eric had created once again before his eyes.
Down in the village, Lizzie huddled in the outside privy, or the ty-bach as Mrs Evans called it, and listened to the furious row that was taking place in the cottage kitchen.
Earlier that evening, despite her protestations, Mrs Evans had cut Lizzie’s hair to shoulder-length. It would be easier to brush and to manage now, she had explained to the child as her curls fell to the floor in great long lengths. But Lizzie had an idea that it was more to do with the fact that she now looked more like the little girl in the picture that stood in pride of place on Mrs Evans’s mantelpiece.
Mr Evans had borne out her theory when he emerged from his sickbed to get a glass of water and stretch his legs. ‘Ah, Mother!’ he exclaimed in horror as he gazed at the shining tresses strewn about the floor. ‘Whatever possessed you to do this? The child’s mother will not be pleased that you’ve done this without her permission.’
Mrs Evans stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘Whilst she is in my care, I shall decide what’s best for her,’ she declared.
Lizzie shot past her, glad of a chance to escape, and sat with her knickers round her ankles as the row raged on. Strangely, she liked the ty-bach, for it was one of the few places that Mrs Evans didn’t follow her to. Set at the bottom of the garden, at the end of a twisting path, it was surrounded by trees that tapped at the roof in the wind. Lizzie supposed that it was a fairly crude building, with its corrugated roof and thick stone walls, but she loved the earthy smell of it and the little sheets of newspaper cut into neat squares that hung on a string from a nail in the wall. The toilet itself was nothing more than a plank of wood with a hole cut in it, beneath which Mr Evans regularly laid a fresh bed of cinders. Lizzie escaped to it as often as she could, and there she would think of her mother and home. Now in the comforting darkness her hand explored her freshly shorn hair and she wondered what Maggie would say when she saw it. She had an awful feeling that she would be very angry, as she remembered back to how Maggie would painstakingly twist rags into it on bath nights to tease it into ringlets. A great fat tear trembled on her lashes as homesickness swept over her. She had no doubt that Mrs Evans meant to be kind, but sometimes Lizzie felt as if she was suffocating her, especially when she insisted on calling her Megan. Only today during her lunch-hour, Mrs Evans had whispered to her that from now on, whenever they were alone, she must answer to the name of Megan. ‘But,’ she had said, ‘it must be our secret.’
Too afraid to argue, Lizzie had nodded her agreement but something didn’t feel right. After all, her name was Lizzie, so why should she have to answer to another name?
Becoming aware that the arguing had stopped, she climbed down from the seat and inched the privy door open. Even bedtime was becoming a nightmare now, for Mrs Evans would creep into her room and whisper endearments into her ear. Hoisting her thick cotton knickers up, Lizzie tucked her Liberty bodice into them and straightened her cotton petticoat, before running through the rain back to the warmth of the kitchen.
‘Have you heard anything from the children yet?’ Jo asked as she threw her coat off and held her hands, which were blue with cold, out to the comforting warmth of the fire. She was late and Maggie had just begun to get worried about her.
Maggie shook her head as she slipped Lucy’s nightdress over her head. ‘No, not yet, but with the way the post is I’m not sure when they would have got their letters, so I’m not overly concerned yet.’
Crossing to the table, Jo sat down. ‘When are you going to go and see them and tell them about their dad?’ she asked tentatively.
Maggie shuddered at the thought of it. ‘I shall go to see them as soon as I can,’ she told her, not relishing the thought of breaking the news to them. ‘But how has your day been? I was just beginning to get a little worried about you.’
‘I er . . . I had an appointment,’ Jo hedged.
She seemed preoccupied as she stared down into her mug, and Maggie frowned. Now that she came to think about it, Jo hadn’t seemed herself for some days. She was just about to ask Jo if there was anything she could help her with, when the back door suddenly swung open and her mother-in-law appeared, closely resembling a drowned rat.
Lucy ran to her in delight, throwing her arms about her grandma’s thick waist, but instead of lifting her as she normally would, the woman just smiled at her vaguely. Something was wro
ng; Maggie could tell from the woman’s pale face.
‘Get that wet coat off and come and sit by the fire,’ she said, desperately trying to postpone what would surely be yet more bad news. Jo tactfully disappeared upstairs, her own news untold.
Beryl Bright wrung her hands together as she looked across at her daughter-in-law. Maggie had had so very much to put up with lately, and here she was about to deliver another blow. Her own heart felt as if it was about to break and she just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, but Maggie wasn’t making it easy for her.
‘Maggie, I have to tell you that—’
‘Isn’t it cold for the time of year?’ Maggie interrupted, intent on putting off whatever it was Beryl had come to tell her. ‘Why, when Jo got in, her poor hands were blue with—’
‘Maggie! For God’s sake, stop rabbiting on! Don’t make this harder for me than it already is,’ Beryl pleaded. ‘I have to say it and then I’ll be gone.’
Maggie’s shoulders suddenly sagged and she became silent as she gazed at her mother-in-law. ‘Something’s happened to David, hasn’t it?’
When Beryl slowly nodded she screwed her eyes tight shut as pain, sharp as a knife, stabbed at her heart.
‘I had a telegram today,’ Beryl muttered. ‘David is missing.’
Relief flooded through Maggie as her eyes snapped open. ‘Missing? But that means that he might still be alive then! He could have been taken prisoner, or even be in a military hospital somewhere.’
‘He could be,’ Beryl said heavily, ‘but I don’t think we should raise our hopes up.’
Maggie’s chin jutted with annoyance. ‘All right then - you think the worst if you like, but I certainly shan’t,’ she said rudely. ‘As far as I’m concerned, David is still alive somewhere and I refuse to believe anything other until we’re told differently.’
Beryl wiped her hand wearily across her eyes. One of her sons was dead and now the other was missing, and yet she supposed there just might be something in what Maggie had said. She would certainly try to hold on to that thought, for at the moment she felt as if her life was falling apart. Seeing the dejection in the woman’s face, Maggie swiftly crossed to her and wrapped her in her arms.
Moonlight and Ashes Page 23