by Iris Gower
Will became aware that Mrs Marsh was looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to reply to Sarah’s question. For a wild moment, Will was tempted to call Sarah’s bluff, to expose her disguise as a lady but then he realized it would be a pointless exercise, one of spite and malice. And what did Sarah matter to him now? Soon, he would be with Eline, they would find a place to meet, away from curious, prying eyes.
‘I can’t claim that my shop is in the same league as that of Mrs Emily Miller,’ he said pointedly, ‘but I hope I may be of assistance to you some time?’
If there was irony in Will’s voice, it was lost on all but Sarah and she was impervious to it. She lifted her head and smiled coquettishly, turning to the already enslaved Geoffrey.
‘And you Mr Frogmore, what is your calling in life?’ He looked at her, his eyebrows raised apologetically.
‘I am a mere accountant, Miss Miller,’ he said softly, ‘nothing very interesting, I’m afraid.’
Will sat back, inwardly cursing Sarah and all the memories she brought with her. Memories of Sam Payton who had put Will in hospital, had almost killed him, not single handed in man to man combat but like a thief at night, creeping up on Will in the darkness and with the aid of several of his cronies. Payton, the real father of Sarah’s bastard.
Bitterness that he thought long forgotten engulfed him and as soon as the seemingly endless meal was finished, Will made his excuses and retired to his room.
He sat at the window, staring out into the night trying to come to terms with the anger that overwhelmed him. It was a fruitless emotion, the past was over and done with, he had his future to think of now and that future included Eline.
Will became aware of his door opening quietly and he was not surprised to see Sarah slip into the room and carefully close the door behind her.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, his voice conveying his complete lack of interest in her. Sarah was nothing if not thick skinned and she came to where he was sitting and rested her arm across his shoulder.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked coldly, shrugging her away. She leaned towards him, her mouth half open, her tongue darting across white teeth. Her breast full and round as he remembered pressed against him and he was angered and disgusted by his involuntary response to her nearness.
‘You found me attractive enough once,’ she whispered, ‘remember how we loved each other when we were both so young and innocent, wasn’t it sweet?’
‘It was until you turned the whole thing sour,’ Will said rising to his feet and drawing away from her. She immediately came closer and wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, her pelvis tilting towards his. She laughed softly.
‘You can’t pretend you don’t fancy me,’ she said triumphantly, ‘your body tells me otherwise.’
‘I fancy you, as you so delicately put it, as much as I would fancy any tuppeny whore plying her trade in Wind Street. As a dog chases after a bitch,’ he added cruelly.
‘That’s all right,’ Sarah said thickly, her mouth against his neck, ‘I’m not after love, mind.’
For a wild moment, Will wanted to throw her back on the bed, tear off her clothes, thrust into her with cruel force, punishing her for all the wrongs she had done him in the past. But then reason asserted itself, Sarah would enjoy her power over him and then she would doubtless cry rape, that was her style.
He propelled her towards the door and flung it wide dragging her out onto the landing.
‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any further help to you, Miss Miller,’ he said loudly, ‘but if you’d care to come to the shop sometime tomorrow I’ll show you our latest fashions.’
He closed his door with a ringing bang and slid the bolt home noisily and he smiled as he imagined Sarah going off sulkily to her own rooms, angry at herself for being defeated.
He sank down onto his bed, his arms behind his head. He was still roused, he needed a woman badly. But now he had found that just any woman wouldn’t do, it must be Eline, she was his love, his darling. She was pure and honest, trusting and child like, so far removed from Sarah as to be from another world.
With a groan, he rose from the bed and let himself out of his room, hurrying down the stairs and into the night. He would walk away his frustrations, forget Sarah and all the emotions she had roused within him, try to forget the urgent needs of his healthy young body. But it would not be easy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fon sat in the small kitchen stitching at the fine garment even though the light was poor and her eyes burned with weariness. Jamie was bent over the books, and Fon, glancing up, saw with a dart of pain the way his dark hair curled against the column of his neck. How dear he had become to her though not by a look or a touch had she intimated as much. As for Jamie, he saw her as nothing but a helpmate for Katherine and a nursemaid for Patrick. He was an honourable man and Fon would have had it no other way.
Katherine was asleep now, soothed by the medicine the doctor had given her. She still clung to life by some unknown strength of character and Fon loved her for it.
The women had become very close over the past weeks, Fon spent a great deal of time in the sick room, arranging it so that when Patrick was asleep, she was free to read to Katherine from the Bible that stood at the side of her bed.
Fon somehow understood that the ancient rhythms of the words soothed Katherine as much as the message behind them. And Katherine could do with all the comfort she could get for the illness was slowly and inexorably taking its toll.
Jamie sighed as though reading her thoughts and ever attuned to his moods, Fon looked up at him and smiled.
‘Like some tea?’ She put the sewing aside and rubbed at her weary eyes. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and then go and check on Katherine.’
‘No,’ Jamie said softly, ‘I’ll go, you bide here and make the brew and not too much of the tea leaves, mind, I’m not a rich man.’
Fon smiled to herself. Jamie kept up the pretence of being a thrifty, almost mean, man and yet he was generous of spirit, willing to give to the beggars who came almost daily to his door. There would be a few eggs, a jug of milk or if there was a meal cooking, some potatoes. He was sometimes too generous but Fon loved him for it.
Jamie returned after a few moments and his face seemed long with the misery that darkened his eyes.
‘She’s asleep, Fon,’ he said slumping into a chair and putting his hand over his eyes. ‘She’s getting worse, isn’t she?’
Fon moved to crouch beside his chair, touching the hands that covered his face almost timidly.
‘She’s a fine fighter, mind,’ she comforted, ‘Katherine will not give in an inch to the sickness.’
‘But it’s going to beat her in the end.’ Jamie sounded broken. ‘My Katherine will be gone and I can’t bear the thought of it.’
Fon rose to her feet and impulsively put her arms around him and, like a child, he leaned against her breast. She smoothed back his hair, talking softly to him as though he was Patrick.
‘It’s going to be all right, don’t fret now, it will be all right.’ But she lied. How could it be all right when Katherine was fading away before her eyes?
He looked up at her as though she could work miracles. ‘Will it, Fon, will it be all right?’ he pleaded and she kissed his forehead gently.
‘It’s in the hands of the Lord,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know any other way but to make Katherine happy while we can.’
‘But I don’t want to live without her.’ Jamie protested as though Fon could make things right for him. ‘She’s the love of my life, my bride from the time she was just about your age, Fon.’
‘I know, I know.’ She cradled him, rocking him to and fro. ‘I know Jamie love, I know.’
He cried then, the first tears she would ever see him shed and the last. The sobs wracked him so that he shuddered in her arms and she held him, feeling his pain, knowing she could do little to lessen it. After a time, he was quiet and still against her and she rel
uctantly released him.
‘Right,’ she said with forced cheerfulness, ‘we’ll have that cup of tea and then I’ll go over the books for you, you’re so tired you’ve probably got it all wrong anyway.’
He took the cup from her and moved to the door. ‘I’m going up to bed now,’ he looked beaten, ‘but I’ll see to the boy first, make sure he’s all right.’ At the door he paused. ‘Thank you Fon,’ he said simply, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She hurriedly placed her cup on the table and leaned over the books. ‘That’s all right.’ Her voice was muffled, she didn’t dare look up because her eyes were filled with tears and after a moment, Fon heard the door close behind him.
She spent some time correcting the mistakes Jamie had made as she found them. They were small mistakes, made from tiredness and worry, but they would prevent the books from balancing come the end of the month.
She lifted her head hearing a small sound from Katherine’s room and she moved swiftly across the hall, opening the door a crack to peer inside.
‘Come in, Fon,’ Katherine said, ‘I’d like to talk for a little while if you are not too tired.’
‘No,’ Fon lied, ‘I don’t feel sleepy at all.’ She sat beside the bed and Katherine pointed to the Bible. ‘Read me a bit of Matthew,’ she said, ‘you know that part.’
Fon moved the lamp nearer and opened the Bible, trying to see the words that blurred beneath her tired eyes.
‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest,’ she read softly.
Katherine looked up from her pillows, her face grey with pain. ‘I long for rest, Fon,’ she said softly, ‘I pray for it to come. Is that sinful of me?’
Fon felt suddenly inadequate to cope with the pain of the woman in the bed, or of Jamie her husband. Fon watched to fling down the Bible and run from the house and from the responsibilities that were suddenly hers.
She closed the Bible softly and laid it on the table. ‘No,’ her voice was steady, ‘it’s not sinful, you could never be sinful, Katherine, so don’t torture yourself.’
Katherine’s eyes closed and her lids were blue almost transparent. ‘Don’t leave me, Fon,’ she whispered, ‘don’t leave any of us.’ She struggled for breath. ‘I know this is hard on you and I’m sorry but you are my only hope for the future for my husband and my son, I so want them to be happy.’ She reached out and grasped Fon’s hand and her grip was surprisingly strong.
Fon was suddenly filled with strength, it seemed to flow from the thin fingers holding hers into her veins. She bent and kissed Katherine’s cheek.
‘I won’t leave,’ she said, ‘I’ll never leave.’ She sat back into the chair and waited until Katherine had sunk into a weary sleep and then, with renewed determination, Fon made her way to her own bed knowing she must rest to prepare herself for the ordeal ahead.
Eline had waited for what seemed days for Will to come to her, she knew that he would make arrangements for them to be together sometime, somewhere. In the mean time, she was content to get back to her work free from the disturbing influence of Sarah Miller.
She wondered what Will would make of the girl; would he find her amusing, attractive even? A small snake of jealousy wound itself round her heart and then Eline told herself not to be absurd. If Will had wanted any other woman why would he take up with someone like her who was married and until now had denied him?
‘Eline,’ Mrs Miller came up behind her as she sat at her table, pencil poised over the paper, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at your work but I wanted to talk to you.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Miller, I wasn’t working,’ Eline admitted, ‘I was lost in thought.’
Mrs Miller smiled. ‘Well, isn’t that the way most creative work is done?’
She seated herself opposite Eline, her full skirts spreading out around her. She was a beautiful woman, in a graceful elegant way, Eline realized.
‘I know you love working with Hari Grenfell and that’s the best training anyone could have, better than any college, but I would like you to go to Somerset for a few days.’
She paused. ‘I want you to see the factory belonging to Mr Clark of Street, I think it would interest you greatly.’
Eline bit her lip uncertainly. ‘I’ve never travelled very far alone,’ she said, ‘I’m a bit of a baby, I suppose.’
‘That’s all right,’ Mrs Miller said quickly, ‘I will be travelling there with you.’ She lifted her eyebrow quizzically. ‘Not for the first time, mind you. Once I went there alone, not a ladylike thing to do I might tell you, but it was necessary at the time.’
Eline looked at Mrs Miller with admiration, no wonder she was a success, she was brave and would not shirk any task however delicate or dangerous.
‘When will we go?’ Eline asked, suddenly excited at the prospect of visiting the greatest boot and shoe maker in the country.
‘Within the next few days,’ Mrs Miller said rising to her feet, ‘I think you will enjoy the experience, Eline, and I’m sure you will benefit greatly from the visit.’
When she was alone, Eline dropped her pencil. She couldn’t concentrate, excitement filled her mingled with a feeling of regret, regret that her love pact with Will would have to be postponed.
She felt a surge of love and desire for him and bit her lip. Why postpone what she wanted above all else? What was to prevent her from going to him in Oystermouth?
She stared down at her hands, thinking of Joe, cosily ensconced with Nina Parks in the home that had once been Eline’s. Surely she didn’t owe them any consideration?
Eline bit her lip as she admitted to herself that she was more than a little worried that she hadn’t seen Will for some days. Had he regretted his words of love?
She rose and picked up her coat and fastened the buttons with a feeling of determination. At least she could talk to Will and even if they had no time or opportunity to be alone, she could tell him she was going away for a few days.
She caught the Mumbles train at the terminus and as she climbed aboard, she felt the breeze from the sea lift her hair from her face. Eline settled herself on the top deck of the coach and stared out to sea, anticipating her meeting with Will, scarcely feeling the jolt as the horses moved forward between the tracks. She tingled with excitement, soon she would be with him, she would see his dear face, touch his crisp hair, feel his mouth on hers.
The rich colour came to her cheeks at the daring thoughts and she caught her breath sharply. Doubts assailed her; was she doing the right thing? Would Will think her a fast woman for coming to find him?
The coach jolted onward, past Black Pill and round the curve of the bay to face Mumbles Head. The scene was one of breathtaking beauty, the sea and sky merged on the horizon and closer to land, the waves were white tipped, rushing shoreward and retreating on the chatter of shells dragged by the ebb.
On the hard, skiffs were lying drunkenly, white-limed along the bottoms to keep the boards from opening during the enforced rest. But soon the season would start again and the rich harvest of the oysters would be ready for dredging.
For a moment, Eline felt a nostalgia for the simplicity of her life as she’d lived it in Oystermouth. She had spent her days cleaning the little house, washing the grey slate floors, scrubbing the wooden table until it gleamed, blackleading the grate and using ash and water to clean the brass fenders.
She straightened her shoulders, knowing that she could never go back to that life now; she had moved on, she had become a window dresser for Emily Miller, she had spent days working with the great Hari Grenfell learning at her feet like a disciple of old. It was easy to remember the uncomplicated existence she once had with rose-coloured thoughts, but she did not wish for it again.
She knew that she was considered odd by the people of Oystermouth Village. Always an outsider, she was now a woman who had left her husband’s hearth and bed, a poor, betrayed, rejected figure, an unwanted wife. The only one who would bother with her was Car
ys and now she was busy with her own family life.
Eline alighted at the end of the line and stared around her, breathing in the familiar air of Oystermouth. It was a lovely place, a place of serenity and beauty and quiet lives, and she had no place in it.
Will Davies’s Boot and Shoe Store was open for business as usual and for a moment, Eline hesitated on the threshold, wondering what she would say to Will. Now that the moment had come, she felt weak and uncertain of her feelings and her mouth was dry as she went into the dimness of the interior.
‘Yes, can I help you? Oh, it’s you, Eline Harries, what do you want?’
Gwyneth Parks stood before her, nicely gowned in a dark dress with long sleeves and an elegantly nipped waist. She looked very different from the girl who had hauled oysters into a sack and carried them to market.
‘I would like to speak with Mr Davies. Is he here?’ Eline forced herself to speak politely though she felt like running from the shop and returning to Swansea on the next train.
‘No, he’s not here, you can see that for yourself, can’t you?’ Gwyneth’s tone was insolent and Eline was suddenly angry.
‘How is your mother getting along in my home and with my husband?’ She spoke loudly just as two well-dressed ladies entered the shop. Gwyneth looked around in embarrassment and spoke more politely.
‘Mr Davies is at home, he’s not been feeling very well and I don’t think he wants any visitors.’
‘What you think is of no interest to me,’ Eline said flatly. She turned on her heel and left the shop and once out in the brightness of the day, she released her breath.
Why had she come here? She should have known that it would be upsetting. She clenched her hands into fists and stared across the bay longing to be back in Swansea, safe in her rooms, respected and valued for herself alone.
Then she thought anxiously of Will; what was wrong with him, might it be something serious? Eline walked the hundred yards or so to Mrs Marsh’s lodging house and, taking her courage in both hands, she knocked on the door.
The young girl who helped Mrs Marsh in the house stood in the small hallway and stared at Eline curiously. ‘Mrs Marsh isn’t here,’ she said, ‘and if it’s a room you want, I think we’re full up.’