‘Mamma?’ she frowned. ‘What is it?’
‘Go outside and see,’ Spider said, reaching for Mary’s hand and holding it in his own.
A strange sound reached Olwen’s ears and curiosity overcame her lethargy. Opening the door she followed the repeated sound and saw, in the sty Dan had made for the piglet, a young nanny goat. The little creature bounced with excitement as she approached, glad of company after being taken from its family.
‘Mamma! Dadda! Is it mine?’ Olwen shouted, bending to pick up the struggling form. ‘It’s beautiful. But where did it come from? Is it safe to keep it? It’s a-w-f-u-l small.’ She looked from one smiling face to another as she pressed her face against its roughness. Then a thought struck her. ‘If it’s from Madoc we’d be better off taking it to Daniels without delay.’ Her face saddened at the thought of losing it; already she had begun to love the coarse-coated little animal.
‘It’s all right,’ Spider assured her. ‘It’s a gift from me and from Barrass, who insisted you needed a replacement for the stolen piglet.’
‘Dadda, thank you for the loveliest present I have ever had.’ She walked the goat on a rope for a while, then went to put the goat into the pen, playing with it for hours, laughing at its sudden jumps and playful antics. She regretfully left it when Mary insisted she went to her bed, and turned repeatedly to look at its rather haughty nose squeezing through the wooden bars of the gate, and the eyes begging her to stay a while longer. Sleep shied away from her like a frisky and spiteful horse. In the room next to hers she could hear Enyd and Dan murmuring softly and the presence of them, so close, yet apart from her by both the flimsy wall and years of experience, made her feel the loneliness that an animal to care for did not alleviate. If only she could talk to Barrass, tell him how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness, talk to him about Annie’s unkindness. He would make her feel better.
The house gradually melted into silence but she was still unable to relax and let the darkness claim her. The thought of how few hours were left before she had to rise and begin her day only added to her inability to sleep. In desperation she left her bed and went down the ladder to find herself a drink.
‘I’ll have a sip too if you please, Olwen,’ a voice whispered and Olwen filled another cup and gave it to Mistress Powell who was sitting in the corner near the dying fire.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you,’ Olwen whispered back. ‘I couldn’t sleep and thought if I came down and had a drink and got a bit chilled, the bed might be more tempting.’
‘You didn’t wake me. The night is long and lonely and I’m glad of you breaking up the hours,’ the old woman said.
‘Then I can stay a while?’
‘Something is worrying you, Olwen?’
‘Only the prospect of miserable times ahead.’ She sounded so world-weary that chuckles emanated from the blankets wrapping Mistress Powell.
‘Oh, I know you think it funny, but it’s true. Once Florrie leaves Ddole House and we have that Annie Evans to deal with, life will be utterly miserable. She’s a-w-f-u-l mean.’
‘I seem to remember you said the same about Florrie when you first started work there.’ Mistress Powell chuckled again.
‘Florrie is a bit of a bully, but she is kind deep in her heart. But this one! Duw, she’s going to be a trial and that’s for sure!’
‘Will you look for another place?’
‘Not much chance of that. Besides, I can’t risk having no job. Mam needs what I bring for when the weather is too fierce for Dadda and Dan to go out in the boat. It’s little enough, but it helps.’
‘This Annie Evans, are you sure she will be staying? Perhaps William Ddole will prefer to find someone else?’
‘She’ll show him how well she runs the place but not how she treats us to do it. And she’ll throw out any of us who won’t follow her. There’s no chance of him knowing what she’s really like, once Florrie’s gone.’
‘Don’t be unhappy, Olwen, you’re too young to be anything but content, and confident of the future. Look for another way of earning the money you bring back each week. Put up with this Annie Evans but keep your eyes open for something else. You never know what’s around the corner.’
Olwen climbed back up to her bed but slept only intermittently, hearing the birds begin to sing as dawn woke them, and listening as Dan went down the ladder. Soon she would not even have Enyd and Dan near her during the long nights. Their room was finished and they would be sleeping there as soon as the fire had warmed the walls.
She was wide awake when Spider and Dan set off down the steep path to their boat, and heard her mother stirring the fire and murmuring softly to baby Dic who always woke the moment his mother did. Yet Mary had to shake her awake when it was time for her to get up and set off for Ddole House.
* * *
There were only three letters for Barrass to deliver on the way back home that day. One was addressed:
‘To Blind Markus, so patient in his affliction.
The house on the cliffs, above the gut,
approaching Longland Bay, out of Swansea.’
That one would be the last. Another was addressed:
‘To my friend Ponsonby Daniels,
whom God protect and preserve,
Keeper of the King’s Peace,
at the village of Oystermouth
near the town of Swansea.’
The third was from Penelope Ddole and was addressed to her father at Ddole House.
Barrass pressed the letter against his cheek, imagining the hands of Penelope leaving a hint of her for him to capture. He longed to open it but that was something he dare not do. He hoped it contained a plea to her father to allow her to come back home, and silently prayed that the words would have the desired effect.
He went first to the house of Daniels, where he was surprised to see Florrie.
‘Left Ddole House already?’ he asked. ‘Does this mean you have a day named for your marriage?’
Florrie shook her head and he saw that she was far from tranquil, nor was she pleased as was usually the case, to discuss her forthcoming wedding.
‘I have just washed and dressed five unwilling children, prepared for them food which they refused to eat. Now I have the cheerful task of entertaining them until midday when there will be another battle to wash and feed them. The idea,’ she went on as he stood unable to think of a way to reply, ‘is for me to spend a few days here getting to know them. The trouble is,’ she lowered her voice and half closed the door behind her, ‘the trouble is, Barrass, the more I see of them the more I dislike the lot of them and at the moment, that includes Daniels!’
Barrass was smiling as he continued on his way. Conversations, opinions or revelations like that one were the fermentation of his day and added a zest which made the journeys far from boring. He wondered idly about the time he would marry. He had some money now, in Pitcher’s keeping. Not much, but it was a start on the long road to respectability, and a home and a wife of his own. The road would be a long one because people would have to forget his early years before they could see him as anything but a ragged-arsed beggar.
He still felt certain that he and Violet Prince would have made an excellent couple, and with Penelope he would have been more than content. But if even Spider, a simple fisherman, discouraged him from seeing his daughter, what chance did he have of finding himself a wife whose ambitions were as high as his own? Although the prospect frightened him, he thought that one day he might have to go away, start again in a place where his past was whatever he chose to tell people it had been.
He spent the night with Charity, whose loving was a welcome interlude in a long ride. She turned him out before the dawn took the chill off the air and he rode disconsolately towards his first stop, idly wondering why he had succumbed to the temptation of sharing her bed, knowing as he did that he would have hours of the early morning to fill, with an empty belly for company.
At Ddole House he was offered no ale, and hungry and
thirsty he rode across the fields towards the house of Markus. He stopped to look at the sea below him and admire the beautiful blue which was reflected from the sky above. Shadows of small clouds touched the water with a mysterious mottling but did nothing to detract from the brightness of the day or the feeling of excitement that comes with some calm days in summer. The wind was benign, almost nonexistent, soothing and without the threat of storms that was often felt even in its mildest caress.
He heard voices and turning to the left, saw two oyster boats making their way east to Horsepool Harbour. The voices seemed close and he could almost hear the words being casually spoken in the still air.
The fishing boat also making for the village was easily recognized as that belonging to Spider. His son, Dan, stood near the mast, singing, his voice coming clear and magical to where Barrass sat astride Jethro. He waved and shouted, and the figures on the boat waved back and shouted for him to join them at Pitcher’s alehouse later. Smiling, Barrass pulled up Jethro’s head from the grass he was munching and turned towards Markus’s house, his last call.
The watchman stepped out as Barrass dismounted at the gate and held his hand out for the letter.
‘I’ll fetch your money,’ the man said, and Barrass leaned against the gate and prepared for the usual long wait. But the man returned almost immediately. ‘Go in, he wants a word with you,’ he informed Barrass. ‘I’ll take charge of your horse.’
The house seemed like walking into a cave after the brightness of the afternoon. Being blind, Markus had no need of light and he seemed to resent supplying it for others; he kept the curtains closed and rarely allowed the wall lights to be lit, complaining of ‘the foul smell of burning fat’.
Markus was sitting in a deep armchair in a corner of the room. He grunted a greeting as Barrass entered. A boy came in and handed Barrass a glass of strong beer and he was invited to seat himself. He sat on the edge of the chair to which Markus had gestured and sipped noisily at the drink. He knew the man’s hearing was acute and the sound would enable him to know exactly where he was.
‘I need your help, boy,’ Markus said, looking in his direction. And Barrass’s heart sank.
It was what he dreaded most, the demand, for demand it was, no matter how it was worded, that he help with the boats that came at night. He could not refuse, knowing that if he did, he would be considered to be against the men who arranged the smuggling. That could easily lead to his death. They had little patience with those who did not support them.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he said, hoping the dismay at being asked did not reveal itself in his voice for the keen eared Markus to hear.
‘On Thursday night, one of the clock, bring your horse,’ Markus said.
Barrass put down the emptied mug and muttering his agreement, hurried from the house.
Because of his gloomy concentration on the night’s work to come, Barrass did not notice Olwen standing at the side of the path until she called to him.
‘Barrass,’ she shouted, ‘I do believe you’re asleep and letting Jethro carry you home without even a nudge to guide him! Come at once and see my new friend! Oh, Barrass, thank you for her, she’s so beautiful and hairy and I think of you every time I see her.’
‘Beautiful and hairy? Is that how you see me then, Olwen-the-fish?’ he laughed, caught up at once in her excitement.
As always, he was pleased to see her. She lightened his mood and made him feel that the world was a truly wonderful place. He loved her, he knew that and the sight of her certainly warmed him, but not in the way he suspected she wanted him to love her. But he could not, must not feel for her the passion he had experienced with Violet and Penelope. She was not yet a woman. He admitted he had come close to it on one or two occasions, but had reminded himself of his protective role and held back. But seeing her wiped the gloom of his meeting with Markus from his mind, cleaning it like a wet cloth on the windows of the alehouse, letting in the light of day after a storm had covered them with salt and dirt.
‘You look full of good cheer,’ he smiled, dismounting from the patient Jethro and walking beside her.
‘Who wouldn’t be after receiving such a gift! And besides, Dan is singing on Thursday night at the alehouse and Dadda has said I can go,’ she smiled. ‘If only Annie Evans will let me finish early!’
‘Is she plaguing you, Olwen?’
‘So much that if someone doesn’t marry me soon, I will have to look for another place.’
He laughed and ruffled her fair hair.
‘And who would have you?’ he teased and saw from the slight tightening of her lips that he had been unkind. ‘Who would dare, with me to face if they even thought of taking you from me!’ he added hoping his joking tone would ease her dismay.
‘I will see Cadwalader there,’ she said, her pertness touching him with fresh realization of her youth and his love for her.
‘Then I will certainly be there too, so I can make sure he behaves,’ he said. ‘And as for Thursday, why don’t you ask William Ddole himself, I’m sure he will not be unkind?’
‘Ddole House won’t be a happy place to work once Florrie leaves,’ she sighed. ‘I think this Annie will send us all packing and bring in people she chooses for herself.’
‘I suppose that is understandable,’ he said. ‘It’s like Florrie herself. She will have to change the rules set down by Daniels’s first wife and his sister and start doing things her way once she and Daniels are wed – if it ever happens,’ he chuckled. To cheer her, he told her of Florrie’s difficulties and ended by whispering, ‘Did you know the man’s name is Ponsonby? It’s small wonder that he walks with his head in the air and treats us all as his inferiors! Imagine being given a name like that. At a few days old, hardly bigger than a two penny rabbit, to be called Ponsonby!’
Barrass stopped to admire the goat that Spider had chosen at the market, and went on his way happier, yet with a feeling of uneasy guilt for the night he had spent with the fisherman’s wife, Charity. What was it about Olwen that made him want her yet hold back from admitting it? He knew that it wasn’t the disapproval of Mary and Spider. They would be persuaded once he showed them how much he really loved their daughter. Perhaps, he thought, it was the memories of his childhood still giving him a feeling of inferiority. It must fade soon, he told himself. One day I will wake up and realize that it doesn’t matter any more.
* * *
The following Thursday evening, Barrass sat on a wooden settle beside Olwen, her mother and baby Dic. Even Mistress Powell had managed to walk down the path to enjoy the entertainment Pitcher had arranged. Spider helped Arthur and Pitcher serve the drinks, running up and down the cellar steps until they were all red-faced and breathless. The place was full so it seemed there was room for no more.
The fire burned brightly sending out so much heat that the doors were propped open to release it. Clay pipes bearing the sign of a pitcher on their bowls, made specially for the alehouse, were on display on the counter and Barrass bought one and filled it. In the fireplace several pipes already broken had been dropped on to a pile for Arthur to remove when he had time. Throughout the evening the pile on the counter offered for sale decreased as the collection of pieces on the grate grew.
The smoke from tobacco, excellent, indifferent and poor, rose from dozens of mouths and settled against the ceiling. Night fell and the warmth and comfort of the room intensified. Friends exchanged confidences and even enemies forgot the reasons for their quarrels and talked in harmonious cordiality. Lovers slid closer and many a sly kiss was exchanged in the darkest corners when the music created a mood of romance.
Enyd sat with Dan and her mother, her father, Kenneth, having declined to come, insisting that he had work to do on the books. Enyd suspected that as soon as Ceinwen had left the house, he would run to the tumbled down cottage on the green lane to see Betson-the-flowers. She wondered if her mother also guessed and whether she cared.
Enyd was fuller of face than previously and
looking at her Mary thought her daughter-in-law would soon be announcing that a baby was on the way. Mary often knew before the mother had realized it herself, noting the altered face and recognizing the slight bloated feeling, a fullness that made a loosening of a skirt waistband necessary. As she thought it, she saw Enyd untie the girdle that held her dress to her small waist and knew she was right in her assumption.
Cadwalader was there when they arrived; he sat cross-legged on the floor near the fire only jumping up once, to greet Olwen. He smiled freely but seemed unwilling to join in any of the groups who offered ale and a space at their table.
When he began to play, the silence was praise for his ability, the notes from the harp sending a sensitive harmony up into the room above and making Emma stop and listen with a rapt expression on her plump, rosy face.
When Cadwalader and Dan sang their rehearsed songs they were applauded until Pitcher and Arthur both shouted ‘Order’, to remind them all that they were there to drink. The encore waited until mugs had been refilled before Pitcher gave them the signal to continue. The shouts of Pitcher and the potboy were like a duet of their own even if less melodious, with Arthur’s voice so high-pitched and Pitcher’s, deep, almost gruff in his anxiety not to lose custom from the excellence of his entertainment.
A slight draught that made the lights gutter attracted Pitcher’s attention. Surely there weren’t more people trying to squeeze in? To his alarm, there were more than a dozen soldiers now standing near the door, ominously preventing anyone leaving. Among the soldiers, clearly with them, were men not in uniform but strangers to him. He felt his heart leap as he wondered if they were men from the excise. The silence that followed was not an easy one as more and more people saw them and nudged their neighbours to look.
‘Don’t stop the fun, landlord,’ one of them said. ‘We are only passing through on our way to Carmarthen. Continue, please do, and if someone could pass back some ale we’ll be content to listen for a while and share your pleasure.’
The Posthorn Inn Page 11