by Iris Gower
Suddenly, Eline was crying, unable to suppress the sound of her bitter sobbing. And even though she knew her tears were selfish and self-indulgent, she couldn’t stop them from running salt and bitter down her face.
The door opened and William hurried across the room and, without a word, he took her in his arms, cradling her as though she was a child, smoothing the hair from her hot, flushed face.
‘There, there, it won’t look so bad in the morning, I promise you,’ he said soothingly.
He was so good and kind, Eline thought abstractedly, how could Will know that his very touch set her alight with love and desire?
She moved away from him and poured water from the jug on the table into the matching bowl and splashed her hot face with the cooling drops.
‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said and her voice was muffled. ‘Please go.’
She didn’t turn as she heard his footsteps cross the room and then the sound of the door closing because if she had looked into his dear face she would have thrown herself into his arms and begged him to stay with her all night.
She undressed and climbed in between the sheets breathing in the sweet scent of William; she buried her face in his pillow and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It took all her control not to go to him in the other room.
But she was a fool, William was a fine gentleman, he needed a wife who could live up to his sort of life-style. In any case, even if William wanted her, Eline was not free, would never be free.
She seemed to toss and turn for hours and at last she gave up all attempts to sleep and glanced towards the window where the moonlight lingered in fragmentary shards. She watched until, at last, the blue darkness gave way to the pale morning light.
In the little house at the other end of the village Joe would be rising from bed, the bed he had no doubt shared with Nina Parks. Eline sighed heavily, what an awful mess her life had become. Would she ever find a way out of it?
At last she slept and she wasn’t aware of William putting a note on the table beside the bed or of him staring down at her with love naked in his eyes. But in her dreams she was in his arms, clinging to him, loving him and when she awoke, her pillow was wet with tears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun was hot overhead, the sky a cloudless blue and the sea, spread out below on the edge of the town, shimmered in the summer heat.
From her vantage point up on the hill, Fon Parks looked down at the scene before her. She breathed deeply of the crystalline air and leaned against the dry-stone wall, fanning her face with her small, slender hand.
What was she doing? She had asked herself that a hundred or more times since she left Oystermouth earlier that morning. What did she know about farm life? All she knew was the sea and the oyster beds. But the oyster season was over and would not start again until September and that was two long months away. In any case, Fon felt she could not remain in Oystermouth and suffer the spiteful gossip of the neighbours who had blackened her mother’s name.
The gossip had spread swiftly enough round the small village and, in the telling, the story had been embroidered and exaggerated. Still, the facts were indisputable: Nina Parks was installed in Joe Harries’s house, expecting his baby while his lawful, wedded wife had been driven from her own hearth.
Fon felt the heat in her face intensify with the shame of it all and now her brother Tom was threatening violence, telling all and sundry that he would kill Joe Harries once he got his hands on the man.
Fon’s sisters seemed relatively unaffected by it all; Sal was happy living in at the Pascoe household and Gwyneth, who was spending more and more time at the boot and shoe store, didn’t give a fig for the gossips. It was she, Fon, who was left at home with nothing to do, no more oysters to bag or take to market, and Fon, it was, who had to contend with Tom’s nightly drinking bouts after which he made all sorts of vile threats against the man who was his father.
Fon had seen the advertisement by accident, the newspaper had been wrapped around some cockles she’d bought in Swansea Market. It sounded easy enough, a young lady needed to look after a baby; it was something she could do, wasn’t it?
Fon had carefully written down the address, Jamie O’Conner, Honey’s Farm, Townhill. It sounded so pretty, so peaceful that Fon had written to Mr O’Conner at once, carefully scripting the note with her fine handwriting and for once, she was glad that she had taken the lessons at the free school that her mother had insisted upon.
The reply had come within a few days asking Fon to come for an interview. She picked out several spelling mistakes but the tone of the letter was friendly and open and Fon, who liked to think well of people, imagined an old man, tongue in cheek, laboriously composing his reply.
And so here she was, on the top of the world, it seemed, staring out over the sprawling streets of Swansea, breathing in the soft hillside air and feeling the heat of the sun through her crisp, clean, calico dress.
The farm was quite a small one with low buildings mellow in the sunlight and sheep grazing contentedly in the lush grass. Fon heard the plaintive sound of cattle from somewhere behind the house and she felt a flutter of apprehension, she knew nothing about farms or farming and she knew she would faint with fright if a cow came anywhere near her.
A dog ran barking towards her, tail wagging furiously and Fon instinctively backed away.
‘Sure there’s no need to be afraid of Duffy,’ a strong masculine voice said kindly. ‘He’s an old softie, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
The man was bare headed, his face tanned by the weather, his eyes startlingly blue. He smiled down at her.
‘You must be the young lady who answered my advertisement,’ he said gently. ‘I’m Jamie O’Conner. Do you know much about babies?’
Fon shook back her hair nervously. ‘I don’t know anything, really,’ she confessed, ‘but I love children and I’m willing to learn.’
‘Well, you seem to be the only one in the whole of Swansea that my dear wife Katherine will consider now, though many a young lady has had a try at the job.’ His smile widened. ‘Come and meet my son.’
He led the way into the farmhouse and the coolness of the kitchen struck a pleasant contrast to the heat outside.
‘The boy is having a sleep,’ Mr O’Conner said at once, ‘and his mammy is resting too. Mrs O’Conner is not very strong, not since she had the baby and that’s why we need help here.’
The infant was lying on his stomach, his dark hair clinging in curls around his forehead.
‘He’s lovely!’ Fon said in genuine delight and Mr O’Conner nodded, accepting the accolade as his right.
‘Aye, Patrick is a fine boy for a two year old, full of mischief so he is and wearing his mammy out.’ He looked at Fon’s slight figure doubtfully.
‘Can’t say that you look too robust, my girl, seems you need feeding up.’
‘Oh, I’m stronger than I look,’ Fon protested, ‘I used to work the oyster beds and that’s no job for a weakling.’
‘Jamie,’ the voice came from the other room light and breathless, ‘who is it, Jamie, is it the new girl?’
Mr O’Conner gestured for Fon to follow him across the landing. He seemed suddenly tense, his big shoulders hunched.
His wife was a faded woman, faded blue eyes stared out from beneath sandy lashes and pale lips stretched a little into a half-smile.
‘Bore da,’ Fon moved forward in sympathy at once with the woman in the bed who seemed too weak to lift her head.
‘Good-morning, Fon, is it? What a funny name to be sure. I’m Katherine, I’m glad to see that you look respectable and tidy, like.’
Fon realized that Mrs O’Conner had a poor opinion of the other girls she’d seen and must have proved a hard taskmaster. She wondered how many young ladies had come and gone from Honey’s Farm in the short life of Patrick O’Conner.
‘Sit down and talk to me,’ Katherine said easily. ‘Jamie, you are forgetting your manners. Bring us a couple of glasses of iced lemon,
if you please.’
A look of surprise passed quickly over Jamie O’Conner’s face to be replaced by an expression of relief. He had been expecting opposition, it seemed, and was glad not to have found it.
‘Now, tell me about yourself,’ Katherine said in her dry, light voice. ‘I could see from your letter that you are nicely educated not like most girls these days.’
This Fon could agree to without hesitation. ‘Oh, yes, my mother made sure I went to school, I can read and write and work at figures quite well enough.’
‘Good and I’m sure your family is most respectable.’ Katherine fortunately did not wait for confirmation. ‘I know a tidy girl when I see one and I’ll be happy to leave the care of my little boy in your hands, my dear.’ She sat up a little straighter.
‘Now I’m sure you would like to know what your duties are?’ She saw Fon’s brief nod without pausing and it was clear that whatever it was that ailed her did not prevent her using her voice to full benefit.
‘You will rise early but then I’m sure you are used to that. You must make breakfast for Mr O’Conner, he likes a bit of haddock and a poached egg most mornings and as for me, I shall take, as usual, nothing but a piece of dry, toasted bread. The baby has porridge but only after his bath.’ Katherine drew a breath but Fon could think of nothing to say so the silence lasted only a few moments before Katherine broke into conversation once more.
‘Patrick is well trained, he rarely has a little accident at night and providing you take him to the privy immediately upon rising you will have no problems with him.’
She smiled kindly. ‘Don’t look so worried, you’ll soon get used to our little ways.’
Jamie O’Conner entered the room with a tray bearing two glasses of lemon and Fon kept her eyes lowered as she took her glass. She felt suddenly shy as the realized the kindly man with the handsome, open-air ruggedness would be paying her wages.
‘You will, of course, have the benefit of a room of your own, something most young girls find a luxury.’ Katherine sipped her lemon and made a face. ‘To be sure you could have put in a little more sugar, Jamie! The drink is as bitter as vinegar.’
The distraction saved Fon from replying, though she would have had to agree with Katherine O’Conner, a room to herself would be a luxury. Up until the time Sal went into service the three girls had slept in the same bedroom, Tom having one bedroom and Mam having the main front bedroom that looked out over the sea.
She would miss the sea, Fon realized with a sudden dart of homesickness; she would miss the wash of the waves on the shore and the sound of fog horns mourning through the mists. She swallowed hard reminding herself that she would also be missing the spiteful gossip and the continuing shame of seeing Mam grow bigger with child and her not married.
‘When shall I start?’ she asked quickly. ‘That is if you find me satisfactory.’
‘As soon as you like,’ Katherine said. ‘If you take Patrick with you, Jamie will drive you in the cart to fetch your things, save you another long walk today.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs O’Conner,’ Fon said earnestly. ‘I will work very hard and I will make up for your kindness to me.’
‘I know,’ Katherine said, ‘and don’t call me Mrs O’Conner, please call me Katherine. I’m not like the rich snobs who live around here, I’m an Irish woman with no side.’ She smiled and for a moment she looked almost pretty. ‘I want us to be friends.’
When she stood once more in the kitchen of the farmhouse, Fon looked round her feeling as though the tide had come in and snatched her off her feet. This was to be her home; tonight she would be under a strange roof and events suddenly seemed to be moving too fast for her.
Nina sat in the kitchen staring into the flames of the fire, it was so hot, too hot with the sun streaming in through the open door and windows, but she needed the fire to cook Joe a fine meal when he got home.
She knew he would be down at the pool, white-liming his boat, the Emmeline. The skiff was old and needed care and she knew that even though Joe now owned the brand-new Oyster Sunrise, he would never love the new skiff as much as he loved his old one.
She smiled wryly; perhaps he would never love Nina Parks the way he loved his wife. Nina patted her hot face, but now that Eline had chosen to run off, Nina would make a damn good job of making Joe happy. It couldn’t have worked out better, she mused, here she was safely ensconced in Joe’s house, his wife in all but name. It was only the bitter anger of her son that cast a shadow over her happiness.
There was talk of course, talk enough about Nina and Joe living openly together as man and wife. Furthermore it was quite obvious now that Nina was once again with child and she a woman rising forty.
Nina’s lips curved in gratification as there was also talk about sweet little Eline who, it seemed, had spent the night with Will Davies, owner of the boot and shoe emporium. The crafty little bitch had not been so clever because she had been seen leaving Will Davies’s lodgings in the early hours of the morning.
Joe didn’t know anything about that and it was something Nina intended to keep up her sleeve. A weapon to use against Eline, should she ever need it.
Nina sighed; if only Tom would come to terms with the fact that she loved Joe and needed him. After her son’s threats, she wondered why he had not confronted Joe face to face; perhaps, she thought uneasily, Tom was biding his time and would pounce when Joe least expected it.
A dark shadow fell on to the clean slate floor and Nina looked up smiling to see Joe entering the kitchen. He smelled of tallow and white-lime and there was about him an air of dejection that Nina could not ignore.
‘What is it, Joe?’ she asked, rising to push the pot of stew on to the fire. He slumped into a chair and pushed back his thick hair.
‘She’s in Swansea, my wife, working for that Mrs Emily Miller,’ he said bluntly. He thumped the table with his fist. ‘I told her I didn’t want her working, I told her!’
‘Joe,’ Nina said softly, sensing she was on dangerous ground. ‘Don’t fret about her, she’s nothing but a headstrong girl who wants her own way.’ She put her arms around his neck and wriggled herself on to his knee.
‘Forget Eline, Joe, put her out of your mind. She’ll come running home when she sees how hard it is living in the outside world alone.’
Nina knew that this was not the time to put in her barb about Eline staying the night with Will Davies; let Joe become used to the difference in his life-style, let him see how good it was to be looked after by a mature, loving woman and he’d soon stop missing Eline or worrying about what she was doing. But for the time being, Nina knew she must play the game very carefully.
‘Don’t you think that she’s wishing right now to be home in Oystermouth with you, Joe? Any woman who would exchange a job in Swansea for a life with a fine man like you must be out of her mind. She’ll be back, Joe, give her time.’
She bent to kiss his mouth. ‘In the mean time, Joe, let’s enjoy what we have here, we’re getting the bad name, so let’s earn it, right?’
She put his hand on her full breast and heard with pleasure the sudden deepening of his breathing. Appeal to what a man hides in his trousers and you had him cold. She pressed closer to him, darting her tongue into his mouth.
‘Come on, Joe, take me to bed,’ she whispered softly. ‘I want you so much, my lovely, you are a real man and you know how to make a woman feel good.’
He took her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. On the landing she put her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed.
‘It’ll have to be your room, Joe,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve taken all the sheets off the bed in the spare room and they’re still on the line.’
He seemed to hesitate and Nina held her breath; would Joe resist this last bastion, breach the code that so far had prevented him taking Nina to his marriage bed?
‘You don’t need anyone but me, Joe.’ She kissed his mouth. ‘We’ll show the world, won’t we, my lovely?’
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br /> He kicked open the door to the bedroom and set her down on the wide bed, his marriage bed. Nina felt a moment of pure triumph, she felt that now she was truly mistress of Joe Harries’s house.
Fon found the baby a delight to care for; Patrick was good-natured and adapted well to the routine she had set him. During the afternoons, Patrick had a nap and afterwards, Fon would take him round the farm, holding his hand, guiding his stumbling feet across the fields, telling him baby stories about oysters and fishing boats.
There had been a few tricky moments when Jamie had taken her back to Oystermouth and Tom had been sitting in the kitchen, a bottle of gin on the table before him.
‘Who’s he?’ Tom had demanded. ‘You’re not going the same way as your mother, are you, Irfonwy?’
The situation had been taken out of Fon’s hands when Jamie stepped forward. ‘I’m James O’Conner,’ he said easily. ‘My wife and me have employed Fon here to take care of our son. Are there any objections I should know about?’
Tom had thought for a moment and then his shoulders had slumped. ‘No, I suppose she might as well be out of all this.’ He’d reached up and pulled Fon towards him.
‘Look after yourself, girl’ – his eyes seemed misty – ‘a good name is all you got so keep it.’ He turned his back on her then. ‘Choose a husband well when the time comes or you could end up like poor Emmeline, out on the street with no one to care for you.’
There had been silence on the drive back to Townhill until Jamie drew the horse up outside the low farmhouse.
‘We won’t say nothing about this to Katherine, she doesn’t hold with folks drinking’ – Jamie smiled mischievously – ‘though I manage one myself from time to time.’ He lifted down her bag.
‘This Emmeline your brother talked of, would it be Eline Harries, Eline Powell as was?’
Fon looked at him in surprise. ‘Why, yes, do you know her then?’ Her mouth was dry; what if Jamie and Katherine were friends of Eline’s? How would they feel about employing the daughter of the woman who’d stolen Eline’s husband away from her?