‘Yes,’ Mrs Jones nodded. ‘My sister, Doris. There’s a good worker, she is, used to stoke boilers in the Canal Street Laundry till they had a terrible explosion there. She’ll be here come morning and you must take a sip of tea with us – being from Sweyn’s Eye yourself, you might know her.’
Delmai nodded. ‘That would be lovely, Mrs Jones, and please don’t worry about returning the flour; I’ve more than enough until shopping day.’
She saw her neighbour’s face flush with pleasure. ‘Duw, there’s kind of you, but I’ll give it back of course. See you in the morning, then!’
When she was alone Delmai sank into a chair, her hands trembling. What if she were to write a letter to Rickie, begging him once more to take her back – could she not ask this Doris to deliver it personally, make sure that her husband received her message this time?
She clasped her hands in her lap, tasting the bitterness of her disloyalty to Billy. But, she reasoned, this way of life was going to kill her and if she remained in the valley any longer, she would end up hating him.
Looking at her work-roughened hands, she sighed. It would take months of creaming to bring them back to their former softness and beauty. Quickly she brushed the thought aside as unworthy and trivial. Her heart would be broken at leaving Billy, she told herself, and of course planning to leave him was an agonising decision to make, but she was sure it was the right thing for both of them.
Billy loathed the pits and the small valley so far away from the sea. And he missed his home and his family. He could be comfortable back in Sweyn’s Eye in his aunt’s nice little cottage.
She fed Cerianne a little of the soup and the baby gurgled happily on her knee. Delmai studied the child, loving her and yet feeling as though she belonged to someone else. She had never felt the overwhelming sense of mother love that others seemed to enjoy – perhaps her own childhood had been too austere.
Delmai had been brought up by a strict father who had never hidden the fact that he wanted a son. She sighed, impatient with herself. She could not blame her father or her past life, the fault lay in herself – was she capable of loving, really loving any other mortal on this earth? She admitted that she was selfish, she wanted the old days back again when she was a lady and treated as such. She wanted silk next to her skin and fine airy, high-ceilinged rooms in which to live. Not even the love and the joy Billy gave her could compensate for all that.
She heard Billy moving about upstairs and rose quickly from her chair, stirring a little more pepper into the soup and then awkwardly lifting out the bacon to put it on a plate. She trimmed the excess fat with disgust, hating the whiteness and the softness of it. At home, she hardly ever saw food in its raw state and found that now she often lost her appetite after cooking a meal.
‘Hello, cariad, something smells good.’ Billy had entered the kitchen and he slipped his arms around her waist from behind, drawing her back against him.
‘You’re beautiful, have I ever told you that,’ he whispered softly, nuzzling her ear.
‘Let me go or your dinner will be burned,’ she said with mock severity. ‘Go and wash your hands now while I put the soup out.’
Billy stared at her thoughtfully. ‘You are happy, Delmai, aren’t you?’ he asked softly, but her eyes refused to meet his.
‘Of course I am, stop asking foolish questions and eat your meal before it goes cold.’
He came to her and tipped up her face so that she was forced to look at him. His eyes were penetrating and Delmai was uncomfortable.
‘I have felt a restlessness in you, girl,’ he said. ‘I know you find the life of a collier’s wife a hard one, but duw, don’t the love make up for it all?’
Delmai was saved from replying by the sharp crying of the baby and thankfully she hurried to take the child in her arms.
‘There, there,’ she soothed, ‘let your mother see what you’ve done to your hand, then. You mustn’t play with the fire irons, Cerianne, I’ve told you before. You’re lucky you didn’t burn your little fingers.’
Billy took his seat and leaned on the table, studying Delmai closely. She was changed from the eager young woman she had been when he first met her and there was fear in his heart that perhaps she would just up and leave him one day.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ Delmai demanded. ‘For heaven’s sake eat your soup, I’ve spent hours making it and I don’t want it to be wasted. Can’t afford to throw it away, so if you don’t feel like it now put it back in the pot and have it later.’
She was aware of Billy’s scrutiny and it made her uneasy, but she forced herself to begin her meal, avoiding his gaze.
‘Delmai,’ he persisted, ‘tell me what’s wrong, cariad. You’re changed, somehow.’
Suddenly a fierce anger flared within her. She threw her spoon on to the table and her chair screeched against the stone floor as she pushed it back.
‘For God’s sake, Billy!’ she cried. ‘Do you wish to turn my head inside out and examine the contents? Can’t I have any privacy even in my thoughts?’
Rage grew and burgeoned as her pent-up frustrations rose to the surface. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that I have to scrimp and save in order to make ends meet? I’m chained to this filthy hovel all day and I can’t stand it, Billy – do you understand that? I’m not born to this sort of existence. I hate every moment of the dirty life we lead – there, is that plain enough for you!’
As she turned away from him, hiding her face in her hands, she heard the door slam behind him and knew Billy would be on his way down to the public bar in the village. There, she thought savagely, he would be able to drown his sorrows in a glass of ale while she was left at home to clean up yet again. She boiled a kettle of water ready to wash the dishes and the baby grizzled sleepily. Cerianne was lying on the rag mat near the fire, her thumb in her mouth and with a pang of guilt, Delmai took the child in her arms.
‘Let’s leave it all and go to bed,’ she said softly, kissing Cerianne’s flushed cheek. The child was teething and that doubtless meant another restless night.
Delmai pretended to be asleep when Billy came home smelling strongly of beer. She turned her back on him, feeling like a traitor. But her mind was made up: she must leave him before she destroyed them both. She was just slipping into the comfort of sleep when Cerianne began to whimper. ‘I just can’t stand any more of this,’ Delmai muttered into the darkness, tears of self-pity misting her eyes. Even though she recognised her weakness, there was not a thing she could do to control her emotions and she wept.
The next day was bright and sunny and Delmai’s spirits rose as she thought of meeting the visitor that Mrs Jones was expecting from Sweyn’s Eye. She dressed carefully – almost as though she was about to take tea with one of her own kind, she thought ruefully – and a wave of nostalgia swept over her as she remembered lavish food served in high, elegant dining rooms. But impatiently she forced her thoughts back to the present, telling herself sternly that she had indulged in enough self-pity during the night.
She moved excitedly to the window as she heard the clip-clop of a pony and the creaking rumble of a trap stopping outside the cottages.
Peering from behind the curtain, Delmai could see little, but anticipation was a sweet wine to her senses as she waited impatiently for Mrs Jones to knock on the wall as a signal for her to go next door. Delmai’s fingers trembled as they closed over the letter she had hastily penned to Rickie. She was glad Billy was on early shift, because he was too sensitive a man not to notice her agitation. She knew she would never have the courage to tell him to his face that she was leaving; she was too much of a coward to witness the hurt bewilderment that would surely appear in his eyes.
There was a muffled knocking on the wall and although Delmai was expecting it, the sound startled her. Quickly she picked up the baby and hurried outside, blinking at the bright sunlight.
Immediately she entered the small neat kitchen, she realised she had made a mistake in dressing so carefully. Mrs Jo
nes’s visitor was short and rather plump, fresh-faced enough but without any refinement of feature, and her dress was ordinary to say the least.
‘This is Doris, my sister,’ Mrs Jones said, smiling. ‘There’s a great family likeness, don’t you think?’
Politely, Delmai nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, you both have such fine dark eyes.’ She was not being false, she told herself, just diplomatic. As she took a seat Doris leaned forward eagerly, touching Cerianne’s round face with real delight.
‘What a lovely babba! Makes me feel bad about leaving my own little boys at home and them pleading to come with me.’
‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Jones said quickly. ‘Deserve a rest, so you do, working hard cleaning other folks’ mess up after them, as well as carrying that no-good man of yours around in a shawl.’
‘Oh, hush now, Jessie. Don’t you start on me or I’ll be sorry I came.’ Doris took the baby from Delmai’s unresisting arms, obviously captivated by the little girl.
The effort of making polite and meaningless conversation was a strain and Delmai sipped her tea, trying her best to be pleasant, but she had the uneasy feeling that Doris could see right through her. It took a great deal of courage to bring up the subject of the letter, but at last she managed it.
‘I wonder if you would do me a small favour?’ she asked with false brightness. Doris hardly looked up from the baby, but the quick glance from the girl’s narrowed eyes was enough to show Delmai that she was no fool. Delmai decided it was politic to tell at least some of the truth.
‘I need to get a message to my former husband, Mr Richardson. Perhaps you know him?’ She spoke haltingly, knowing how foolish she must sound. Of course Doris would not know Rickie, they hardly moved in the same circles!
‘I’ve heard of him, yes,’ Doris said warily. ‘Do you think he’d take kindly to me treading dirt on to his fine carpets?’
‘I’m sure you could persuade him to see you.’ Inside Delmai was trembling; she half wished she hadn’t begun all this, but she was committed now so might as well continue.
‘I realise you would have to go out of your way and I’d gladly reimburse you for your trouble,’ she said, but slowly Doris shook her head.
‘All right then, give the letter here, but I don’t need no bribe, thank you.’ She pushed the letter carelessly into the cloth bag that lay beside her on the floor and Delmai’s heart sank – would Rickie ever get her message, she wondered doubtfully.
Mrs Jones sensed the uneasiness that was almost tangible and rose to her feet quickly.
‘A nice cup of tea, that’s what we all need,’ she said brightly. ‘Would you like a few Welsh cakes, Mrs Gray? Freshly cooked, they are!’
Delmai nodded, though her mouth was dry and she had never felt less hungry in her life. Doris was ignoring her, playing with Cerianne, and Delmai sank back in her chair with the colour rising to her cheeks. It was obvious from her attitude that Doris understood her relationship with Billy. She was quite clear in her mind that the girl had little regard for her or her problems. It was humiliating, Delmai thought angrily, more than ever determined to leave this life behind her and return to the comfort of her home in Sweyn’s Eye.
She took a few shillings from her pocket and put them on the table beside Doris, who glanced up briefly and then turned her attention to Cerianne once more.
‘Well, come on then, Doris, what’s going on in the town? Let us into all the gossip, won’t you?’ Mrs Jones said quickly, seating herself at the table. She offered a plate of flat round cakes that smelled deliciously of fruit and spices and Delmai politely took one.
Doris shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not much to tell really.’ She paused with her eyes on Delmai. ‘I’m working for Mr Gregory Irons the lawyer now, cleaning and polishing his offices – not a bad job and you do get to hear a lot of things you shouldn’t ought to.’
‘Tell us then. I shan’t coax you any more, mind,’ Mrs Jones said tartly.
‘Well now, there was a little something that might interest… Mrs Gray,’ Doris said slowly, her gaze insolent. Delmai felt her shoulders grow tense, though she tried to appear unaffected.
‘Oh, and what would that be?’ she asked mildly.
‘Poor old Mrs Gray passed away, dead and buried she is, God rest her soul,’ Doris said solemnly. ‘That’s Billy’s auntie, you know – called for him till the last she did and him not coming even to the funeral.’
‘Duw, there’s bad news indeed.’ Mrs Jones broke the silence which was charged with hostility. ‘Nice lad is Billy, always liked him from the first time I set eyes on him.’
Doris nodded. ‘Me too and he’s no murderer, is Billy Gray – a lovely man, deserves better than what he’s getting.’
Delmai swept the baby from Doris’s arms and stood trembling as she faced her. ‘You have made it clear what you think of me, but I’ll tell you this – we knew nothing about Billy’s aunt; he would have gone home if he’d had any idea that she was ill.’
She made her way towards the door, shaking with anger. ‘You are determined to think the worst of me, so I won’t inflict my company on you any longer. If you’ll just give me back the letter, I’ll be on my way.’
Doris’s hand closed over the bag in a protective gesture. ‘Not if hell takes me. I think I can guess what you’re up to; you want to go back to that husband of yours and if you ask me, I think that would be the best thing that could happen to poor Billy Gray.’
Delmai faced her squarely, ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ she said sharply.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Doris replied laconically. ‘You’re living tally just like I am. You’re not a respectable married lady now, mind, just a loose woman who’s had two men between her legs and is the mother of a by-blow! Not that I blame this lovely little babba here – don’t deserve a mam like you, she don’t.’
‘Now, Doris, you’ve said enough.’ Mrs Jones put her hand on her sister’s arm, restraining her as she would have said more. ‘What Mrs Gray does is no one’s business but her own, so just you cool that tongue of yours.’
‘Well, there’s no good in her, it’s not right her puttin’ on airs and graces, who does she think she is?’ She turned her back on Delmai. ‘But I’ll give this letter to Mr Richardson if it kills me, then Billy will be free to find himself a nice respectable little wife.’ She raised her voice. ‘There’s a lovely life he had before she came along, Jessie. Going to wed Mary Jenkins, he was, and her set up proper now with a big shop and so rich that even the toffs respect her. Ruined Billy’s life, this woman has, so don’t ask me to give her any respect.’
‘I think it best if you go home now, cariad,’ Mrs Jones said quickly, turning to Delmai. ‘Now don’t go upsetting yourself, there’s nothing to be gained by tears.’ She opened the door and Delmai stepped out into the sunshine, almost tasting the coal dust that covered the valley like a shroud.
She burned with anger as she let herself into her own kitchen where she stood staring around her, seeing everything through a haze of despair. She could not endure this life any longer, she must leave the valley before she lost her mind.
Delmai settled Cerianne in her bed and then sat for a long time staring out of the window. She missed the soothing calm of the waves lapping the shore, and the cool curved splendour of the bay, just as she missed everything connected with her former life. She closed her eyes wearily. Was it true, she wondered, that she had ruined Billy’s chance of a happy marriage with Mary Jenkins?
While Delmai had been falling in love with Billy, she had not stopped to consider anyone else’s feelings, which was yet another good reason for leaving him to get on with his own life. He would soon forget her, indeed he would be better off without her as Doris had so bluntly pointed out.
Her head slowly sank on to her hands and she closed her eyes wearily. She would wait a while, see if Rickie responded to her latest appeal and if he did not, then she would go to Sweyn’s Eye and confront him and if necessary beg him on bended knees to take her bac
k.
Chapter Four
Spinners’ Wharf nestled in a small valley within the boundaries of Sweyn’s Eye, close to the dust and smoke of the copper and yet sheltered from the larger industries by the gentle fall of the hills. The woollen mill itself was long and low, squatting beside a stream that ran rust-coloured over stones turned green with verdigris, a bequest from the works higher in the valley. And it was this swiftly flowing brook, parallel to the river, that drove the machines housed in the old grey building.
Rhian breathed in the atmosphere of the mill as she worked at the smaller of the two looms, triumphant at the complexity of the patterns in the turnover she was weaving. The shawl was almost ready to come off the 56-inch loom, the thousands of threads married together as though magically by the clattering machine.
At the other side of the long room, Heinz Sinman was working on the carding engine that was continually breaking down. Watching him, Rhian felt a warm gratitude that he had so readily offered her a home.
‘I need a woman round at nights, what with Gina near her time,’ he had said, but Rhian knew he was being kind.
When she had left the cottage, Carrie too had warmly offered her a home and in response, Rhian had given her some of Aunt Agnes’s good old furniture.
She bit her lip now, staring at Heinz as he threw down the oily rag he had used to wipe his hands.
Rhian felt sorry for him these days, for he was constantly being harassed by the local ruffians. His forehead still bore a bruise where a stone had caught him, yet he was so kind and honest… how could anyone mistrust him, Rhian thought angrily.
Yesterday a window had been broken in the house, startling Gina so that she had screamed out loud. Heinz had been angry then, but it seemed there was nothing he could do about it. If the situation did not improve, for the Sinmans it would mean ruin.
‘That will haf to do.’ Heinz rubbed the grease from his hands with a piece of rough wool, his big arms glistening with sweat.
‘Tell me, Rhian,’ he said worriedly, ‘what ’appen to women when they go shopping? My Gina left over an hour ago and she not back yet.’
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