Rhian felt her heart beat faster; she didn’t want Mansel Jack to be involved, but how could she explain that to Mary?
‘Well, I’ll give you his address, but keep my name out of it, mind,’ she said quickly.
Mary stared at her with a puzzled expression on her face. ‘Why, Rhian, don’t look so frightened – you won’t be called upon to face Alfred Phillpot, I’m capable of doing that alone.’
Rhian bit her lip. It must seem to Mary as if she was a coward without the courage of her convictions, yet there was nothing she could say to excuse her attitude without going into complicated explanations.
‘Don’t look so worried, Rhian. I promise I’ll not even mention your name if it bothers you.’
Rhian held her head high. ‘I’m sorry, Mary, but I have my reasons, believe me.’
Mary rested her hand on Rhian’s shoulder. ‘There’s soft you are, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Now I’ll say this: if what you claim is proved to be true, Alfred Phillpot can have all his woollens back and then I’ll deal with your Mr Sinman. There, does that please you?’
‘That’s very good of you, Mary.’ Rhian felt at a disadvantage, reading something like pity in Mary’s eyes and wondering what she must be thinking. But she had no need to justify her actions, she told herself firmly.
‘I must get back,’ she said quickly. ‘Mrs Sinman isn’t well and there’s such a lot of work to be done at the mill.’
Mary walked to the door with her and paused for a moment. ‘I’ve had an idea, Rhian – why don’t you come to my house and have Sunday dinner with me? I feel that I haven’t really seen a great deal of you since you came back to town, and it really is too bad of me to neglect you so.’
‘If you’re sure it will be all right, then I’d love to come – but what will your husband say?’
‘He’ll welcome you as warmly as I do. Brandon isn’t a snob, I’ll say that for him.’
‘Then that settles it.’ Rhian smiled. ‘It’ll be a treat for me.’ Her thoughts flew unbidden to the last time she had eaten dinner with Mary. It had been a Christmas time and Rhian had been as numb as the ice that settled on the pond in the cottage garden. Still in a state of shock, unable to shake loose the memory of the horrors inflicted on her by Gerwin Price, she had wanted nothing more than to drown herself in the glassy waters of the pool, for the scars of her ordeal went deep.
‘Are those bad memories I see in your eyes, Rhian?’ Mary asked gently, ‘If so, forget the past. You’re a young and lovely woman and you have your whole life in front of you.’
‘Too clear-sighted for comfort you are, Mary,’ Rhian said, forcing herself to speak lightly. ‘I’ll see you Sunday then and thanks for everything.’
She moved away briskly down the street that shimmered with heat. It would be good to leave the humid air of the town behind and make her way back along the beach road and up the hill towards Spinners’ Wharf. There the stream would be gurgling past the long low building and the birds singing their tribute to the sun while sheltering in the shadows beneath the eaves.
She had almost forgotten her promise to do some shopping for Gina, and with a sigh she turned towards the market. The square was quite deserted, the air was hot and dust lay thick between the stalls. The mingling odours of meat and huge chunks of country butter gone rancid were almost too much to bear.
Rhian declined to take any ham, for flies crawled over the stained wooden chopping block where the butcher set up his meat ready for cutting. Instead she bought fresh vegetables and a smooth round cheese covered in mutton cloth, kept cool in an old wooden barrel filled with water.
She was pleased when she was able to leave the market square behind. Ruefully, she noticed that her dress of soft cotton trimmed with hand-sewn rosebuds had become crumpled and grimy at the hem. Her hair was escaping from the confining pins and she felt she could do with a good scrub.
In the Sinmans’ household there were few amenities. Heinz allowed the women the privacy of the kitchen sink in the morning and conducted his own ablutions in the yard, working the pump with gusto and singing out loud in his own tongue that was strange to Welsh ears. But now even a splash of cold water from the kitchen tap would refresh her, Rhian thought wistfully.
It was good to see the low building with twin windows like a pair of eyes beneath the gables and she sighed with relief. The kitchen was dim and empty and she wondered if Heinz was working at the mill which was separated from the house by a stretch of rough ground. She put her purchases away in the cool of the pantry and rubbed her hand wearily over her eyes. Gina must still be asleep up in her room – the best place for her in such heat, Rhian thought absently.
She was about to put coal on to the dying fire when a sound from upstairs attracted her attention. It was soft, almost indistinguishable and Rhian straightened with the shovel in her hand, her neck arched as she strained to hear if the noise was repeated. It was. Low guttural moans were coming from the direction of the bedroom and Rhian felt cold with fear.
‘Gina!’ She hurried up the stairs, her heart beating fast, her mouth dry. ‘Gina, is everything all right?’
The question was absurd, as Rhian realised when she entered the room where Gina was crouched on the bed, knees drawn upwards, mouth shaped into a silent call for help.
‘Is the baby coming?’ Rhian felt panic rise within her. She must get help, but she couldn’t bear to leave Gina alone.
‘Where’s Mr Sinman?’ Rhian was astounded by the apparent calmness in her voice. Gina bent her head, overcome with pain once more. ‘In the mill, is he? Well, don’t worry, cariad – I’ll call him right now.’
Rhian was not familiar with the process of childbirth, yet she felt in her bones that all was not well with Gina Sinman’s confinement. She leaned as far out of the window as she dared. ‘Mr Sinman! Come here quickly!’ she shouted.
After what seemed an eternity Heinz appeared from the coolness of the mill. Strands of wool fluttered in his sideburns and he was open-mouthed in astonishment.
‘Is the baby coming?’ he asked. ‘But it is not due until the day after tomorrow.’
Rhian smiled at him encouragingly. ‘You’d better tell your son that. Go on with you now, Gina needs a midwife,’ she urged as Heinz stood in bewilderment, fleeting expressions of joy and fear passing like shadows over his face.
‘You’d better fetch Mrs Benson and I shall see to my Gina.’
Rhian paused for a moment to watch him stride stolidly towards the house, his big back straight, his thick legs set down firmly with each step as though walking the deck of a ship in high seas.
He was right, the midwife might not come if Heinz showed his face on her doorstep. In spite of the heat, Rhian found herself running along the road that led uphill from the mill, wishing fruitlessly that she had not dallied so long near the beach.
Canal Street lay along the line of the brackish strip of water that gave the cobbled roadway its name. A barge moved silently through the waving fronds of the brown rushes with an old mare pulling at the rope, head nodding, ears forward as though seeking shelter from the sun.
The animal paused on the towpath to stare at Rhian with rolling eyes and the bent figure of the old man holding the reins seemed to merge into the muddy colour of the water.
‘Bore da to you, miss.’ He raised his cap and Rhian saw that his white hair was streaked with green, the verdigris from the cargo of copper ore in the barge. ‘If it’s the midwife you’re looking for, I saw her not ten minutes ago, rushing to a birthing – didn’t even have time to talk to old Will the Copper.’ He moved away and ghostlike the barge slid silently through the murky water behind him. Rhian stood for a moment, wondering what to do. In panic she knocked on the door of the Bensons’ neat house in the faint hope that she might find someone in.
The lace curtains of the neighbouring houses twitched and Rhian felt as though many eyes were boring into her back. She held herself straight, rapping on the door once more, and to
her relief it swung open.
‘What do you want here, Rhian Gray?’ Sally Benson stood with hands on hips, her pebble-dark eyes hostile. ‘Don’t want no foreigner’s skivvy at our door, so go away, right?’
‘I want to see your mother, where is she?’ Anxiety lent Rhian’s voice a sharp edge. ‘Move, Sally Benson, before you feel the back of my hand.’
‘Well, she’s not here.’ Sally’s voice was less belligerent as she stepped back into the safety of her doorway. ‘So that’s just hard cheese on you, isn’t it, ’cos I don’t know where my mam is gone.’
Rhian bit her lip in panic. ‘You must know where I can find her?’ she said and Sally half closed the door, peering insolently round it.
‘Fish and find out!’ she said nastily.
‘Look Sally, Gina Sinman is sick, she needs a midwife. Stop being so childish and tell me where your mother’s gone.’
‘There’s a cheek, talking to me like that!’ Sally’s face, already flushed with the heat, grew even redder. ‘I don’t know where my mam is, see, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. That Gina Sinman is living with a bradwr, a traitor, don’t you understand that much? He’s probably sending messages to the Huns, telling them all about us.’
Defeated, Rhian turned away just as Sally slammed the door. She hurried back the way she had come, knowing that she must help Gina herself. She was so ignorant of what needed to be done, she thought desperately, but she would do all that she could.
As she neared the mill, Heinz leaned out of the bedroom window and gestured to her frantically. ‘Come, Rhian Gray, we need you at once!’
Rhian hurried up the stairs, her heart beating swiftly. Heinz had the bedroom door open for her and his face was filled with apprehension as he ushered her into the room. ‘You will haf to deliver the child; it is coming, you can see the head.’
She felt a moment of blind panic as she stood staring at Gina, who with her knees drawn up was toiling in an effort to give birth to her child. Her face was crumpled in pain, sweat running down her forehead and into the creases around her mouth. She opened her eyes and stared imploringly at Rhian. ‘Help me, please help me!’ she gasped.
Rhian rolled up her sleeves and, taking a deep breath, approached the bed.
‘You must try to pull him free of me,’ Gina said in a voice ragged with pain. ‘Grasp his head and ease him out.’ Rhian obeyed, knowing instinctively that Gina could stand no more of the pain that was sweeping over her in waves.
The head of the baby was moist, the dark hair flattened to the skull. Rhian felt a sudden surge of power and her hands moved with a skill she didn’t know she possessed, grasping firmly and drawing the tiny head towards her. Then the face of the child was clear, the eyes closed, the small features without animation. The baby was like a doll, Rhian thought, still and lifeless.
‘You must turn the shoulders,’ Gina said breathlessly. ‘Go on, I’m depending on you.’
Rhian became totally immersed in her task. She forgot Heinz standing anxiously behind her, even shut her mind to Gina’s groans. This was a battle between herself and nature and it was one she meant to win.
The shoulders emerged at last with a swift smoothness. One more thrust and the child was born. The umbilical cord lay across the small body, twisted snake-like around the infant’s neck.
‘Tie the cord in two places and cut it,’ Gina said, her head falling back weakly against the pillow.
Rhian obeyed instinctively and felt tears sting her eyes as she held the baby close. ‘It’s a boy,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve got your son, Gina.’
He was big of head, with a broadness of body inherited from his father. His eyes were still closed, the mouth and cheeks tinged with blue. Rhian held the baby away from her, slapping him hard, but there was no response.
‘My babba, is he all right?’ Gina was straining to sit up, her eyes meeting Rhian’s imploringly.
‘Fetch me some cold water!’ Rhian spoke sharply to Heinz who was standing wide-eyed, staring at her. Knowledge came from somewhere deep in the recesses of Rhian’s mind, a wisdom that was as old as time.
Heinz hurried to do her bidding and Rhian opened the child’s mouth, clearing it of mucus. When he returned she doused the child in the cold water, but it seemed as if nothing was going to revive the baby. He lay inert, his perfect features waxen.
In desperation Rhian began to press the tiny boy’s chest, softly, rhythmically. ‘Please breathe, please breathe.’ She said the words over and over again like a chant, unaware that her back was aching and her eyes brimming with tears.
‘My boy is dead.’ Gina’s voice was flat, as though all her strength was spent, and Heinz awkwardly took her in his arms, his eyes turning to Rhian in desperate hope.
As Rhian continued to press the small ribcage she saw a fleeting movement, so small that she thought she had imagined it. Like a butterfly opening its wings, a finger stirred on the tiny hand. She continued to massage the boy’s chest and with a shock saw that his eyes were open and he seemed to be staring up at her.
He cried, short and sharp, then the sound of the infant’s voice soared into the rafters, filling the room like a triumphant song.
‘Praise be to God!’ Gina said hoarsely. ‘My baby is alive.’
‘Praise be to Rhian Gray!’ Heinz laughed out loud, watching as Rhian wrapped the boy in a piece of clean linen. She felt light, lifted out of herself, knowing a deep joy that her stubborn refusal to accept defeat had saved the baby’s life.
‘Is anyone up there?’ The voice floated upwards, to be followed by hurried footsteps on the stairs as Mrs Benson panted into the room, her round face flushed.
‘Duw, you’ve managed without me then?’ She smiled a little sheepishly. ‘There’s sorry I am that I wasn’t here sooner – been delivering Dai-End-House’s first grandchild, I have. Now let’s see this baby and then, mother, I’ll attend to you.’
She gave Rhian a quick look. ‘Seems like you’d make a fine midwife, Rhian Gray! Strange how a woman knows what to do in times like this.’
‘Saved my son’s life, she did,’ Heinz said warmly. ‘If we didn’t haf Rhian Gray with us, my son would now be dead.’
‘The cord twisted around his little neck,’ Gina added weakly, lying back against the pillows. ‘Wouldn’t breathe until Rhian got to work on him, wonderful she is and I’ll never be able to repay her.’ She began to cry, large silent tears that she brushed away quickly as though ashamed of them.
‘Well, then, it’s good you were on the spot, Rhian. But now get out of here, all of you, this little mother is in shock and I have business to do with her. And you, Rhian Gray, look as if you could do with a cup of tea.’ Thankfully Rhian left the room and hurried downstairs, running her hands under the tap in the kitchen. Heinz lumbered into the room behind her and stood looking at her, gratitude in the wideness of his eyes.
‘If ever you haf need of me, Rhian Gray, then I am willing to lay down my life for you.’
Rhian touched his arm lightly. ‘There’s no need to say anything.’ She smiled at him wryly. ‘But do you think you could manage to make a cup of tea with that one good hand of yours? I’m parched!’
She sank down in the rocking chair and leaned back against the smoothness of the wood, closing her eyes, but the tears of relief forced themselves from behind her closed lids and poured unchecked down her cheeks.
Chapter Seven
The morning air was cool and misty with a hint of rain, for the clouds were grey and heavy above the town. The twin hills of Kilvey and Townhill were ghostly, insubstantial, the tips had vanished as though sliced away by a giant knife.
The cobbled streets were dull and dour as Morgan Lloyd walked quickly away from the small overcrowded house in Green Hill and made his way towards the wide pewter line of the River Swan.
He walked quickly, with the easy stride of the young. His head was bare to the elements, for he eschewed the wearing of a cap. His eyes were bright and shrewd and he appeared to possess an
inner strength unusual in a man so young.
He walked through Copperman’s Row and even at such an early, ghost-ridden hour, Dai-End-House was playing a haunting tune, the notes of the accordion rising and falling like ripples through the silence. A cat screeched loudly like a human in pain and Morgan frowned. ‘Duw, there’s no peace around here at all.’
He moved downhill towards the copper works, wondering if his decision to move from the coal-black valleys to the copper town had been the right one. But there had been little choice. The air in Carreg Fach carried the black plague of coal dust and it was this dust that was insidiously killing his father.
Morgan had seen his dad change from a man big of frame and strong of arm to a thin, wasted shadow. And so, with anger burning in his gut, Morgan had brought him to Sweyn’s Eye, where there was work for a man willing to put his back into it and fresh sea air.
Some days Morgan would take his father to sit on the golden curving beach, where the air was free from the stink of the copper. But now, even the tram journey was getting too much for the old man. Not that Dad was that old, Morgan reasoned; he must be rising forty years, but his teeth were gone and there was a parchment-like quality to his skin that worried Morgan.
He moved in through the gate of the Richardson Copper Company and raised his head as he caught the eye of the boss. Some men doffed their caps, but not Morgan Lloyd; he was his own man, worked hard for his money and was beholden to no one.
Inside the sheds, the furnaces belched and bubbled like a witches’ stew. The heat was almost a tangible thing, around and above and within him, bringing the sweat to Morgan’s brow. He thought that Hades must be like a copper shed.
‘Bore da, Morgan boy, there’s bright and early you are then.’ The furnaceman stepped away from the cauldron of molten metal that shimmered like gold, wiping his face with a damp mutton cloth.
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