Delmai kept her eyes lowered, clasping her hands nervously in her lap. She remained silent, not knowing what he expected of her.
‘I trust there will be no childish scenes when it’s time to go to our matrimonial bed?’ He was being deliberately provocative and she glanced up at him with a little of her old spirit.
‘There’s no need to play cat and mouse with me, Rickie,’ she said shortly. ‘I fully intend to do my wifely duty and provide you with sons.’ She glanced away from the scorn in his eyes, her heart fluttering in her breast.
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ he said dryly. ‘If that oaf Billy Gray can sire a child on you, then I’m certain that I can.’
Delmai felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Was she going to be subject to her husband’s cruelty all her life, were even her creature comforts worth the loss of her pride and spirit?
‘Rickie, don’t treat me like an imbecile,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I know I have wronged you and I’m grateful that you are taking me back, but we must come to an amicable agreement. I won’t and can’t put up with your taunts and cruelty. I’m a woman with feelings and I have given up my child in order to please you – what more can you ask?’
He studied her in silence for a moment and in spite of the colour hot and stinging in her cheeks, she did not look away. He nodded. ‘Very well, we shall forget your misspent and lowly past and you shall be treated with every respect as my wife, but you must do your duty without making me feel like a leper each time I take you to my bed. If you can lie with a gaol bird – and a man from the lower orders at that – then you cannot find me repulsive.’
On impulse Delmai rose from her chair and leaned over her husband, running her finger along his cheek. ‘I don’t find you repulsive at all, Rickie. Indeed, I’ve been thinking what a handsome man my husband has become.’
He took her hand and drew her close to him and she felt his kiss with a sense of surprise. There was nothing unpleasant about the touch of his mouth on hers – perhaps there was even a tingling of sensuousness, knowing she was to sleep with her husband again after such a long time.
Rickie rose to his feet, scraping his chair against the polished floor. Then he took her in his arms and held her close, and breathlessly she melted against him. His skin smelled fresh, without the acrid tang of coal dust and sweat that clung to Billy.
He was not so aggressive in his approach either; had he changed or was it her own experiences which had altered her response to him, Delmai wondered curiously? She was not unwilling when he led her upstairs to the master bedroom where fresh flowers stood in the cut-glass vase near the bed and a fire burned cheerfully in the grate and she felt welcome.
‘Help me with these fastenings,’ Delmai said, her voice almost a whisper. She felt a strange, heady excitement as though she was indulging in an illicit affair rather than going to bed with her own husband. She had forgotton the silky feel of a gentleman’s skin and as Rickie lay beside her on the bed, her hands were caressing his shoulders and drawing her to him. Why had she ever found him distasteful, she wondered in surprise? It must have been her own naivety, her innate sense of false modesty which lying with Billy Gray had torn asunder. But she should not be thinking of her lover… not with her husband’s arms around her.
Comparisons were invidious and yet inevitably must be made. Billy was a born lover who held sensuousness in his fingers, able to raise her to the point of ecstasy with a touch. And yet Rickie was in his own way an accomplished lover too. He was more gentle, sensitive even. Perhaps he had learned a great deal about relationships during the long months they had been apart? Or was it that she had entirely misjudged him?
‘There you see, Delmai, aren’t I better than some apeman?’ He tipped her face up to his. ‘Go on, my sweet wife – tell me I’m better than your gaol-bird lover.’
Suddenly an imp of mischief lit up Delmai’s mind. She moved sinuously against Rickie, pressing herself close, feeling her nipples begin to harden.
‘I’m waiting for you to prove it.’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
With a low animal growl, Rickie arched himself above her and like a hoyden she lay back, her hair spread fanlike over the pillows, her eyes misted with passion. But even as her husband took her, one small corner of her mind was cold and clear. ‘Thank you, Billy Gray, for the gift you gave me that nothing and no one can ever take away.’
* * *
In the morning, Delmai was awake early. She stared up at the high, ornate ceiling and felt the comfort of her bed and for a moment experienced a sense of peace. Then came the thought of her child – Cerianne, with her large innocent blue eyes and soft rose-petal skin – and she longed to hold the little girl in her arms. She told herself to be calm, for Cerianne was safe with Rhian Gray who was a flesh-and-blood relative. Billy’s sister would be well able to care for a child – women like Rhian Gray were bred to it.
She became aware that Rickie was awake and staring at her; she smiled at once and touched her fingers to her lips in salute. As he sat up against his pillows, she was unsettled slightly by the look of amusement in his eyes.
‘You won’t have a life of ease for very long, you know, so make the most of it,’ he said dryly.
She leaned towards him, allowing the sheet to slip away from her body. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked provocatively and he laughed.
‘It’s clear you have not heard of the new Registration Act, under which we are all obliged to fill in a form and state our willingness to work for our country while we are at war.’ Turning over to face her, he explained, ‘People of all sorts are being asked to work in the munitions factory or do active service; times have changed, Delmai, and I can’t have my wife lagging behind, now can I?’
He was talking nonsense, she decided, pressing herself against him, not unaware of her nakedness and the light that was growing in her husband’s eyes.
‘By God, you’ve changed,’ he said, his mouth resting against her shoulder. ‘I think it was almost worth the humiliation of losing you to that no-good gaol bird.’
For a moment Delmai was uneasy at his reference to her past, then she remembered that she had the key to this man now and that her own sexuality was all she needed to enslave him.
Perhaps she should put it to the test once more, just to reassure herself that she could control Rickie. She snuggled down under the bedclothes and giggled as her hand reached towards him – one thing her husband could not hide was his need for her.
And if Delmai’s first flush of desire for her husband was diminishing, she was far too clever to let him know it.
Later, she went down the flight of stone steps that led into the kitchens, for she meant to take over the reins of the household and make the servants accept her again by sheer force of will. She wondered with amusement if there was more of her father in her than she had realised, for he had a way of issuing orders which had people obeying him instantly.
The familiar smell of carbolic greeted her as she entered the warmth of the kitchen. Cook looked up from her chair near the fire with surprise and a certain amount of hostility, for this was her domain. Slowly she placed her cup of tea on the gleaming table.
‘I was just about to bring you the menus for today, Mrs Richardson.’ She tucked her hair neatly into place and Delmai watched her for a moment in silence.
‘Well go on, Mrs Cunningham. I have come to you, so tell me what you have planned and then I’ll tell you if it is what I want.’ Delmai watched with a feeling of satisfaction as Cook, flustered, took up a piece of paper and coughed to clear her throat.
‘Well, madam, I thought we might have mutton cutlets with sieved boiled potatoes and onions.’ She looked at Delmai as though waiting for some response and when none was forthcoming, she hurried on.
‘Then cod slices in sherry, garnished with pickled walnuts, followed by stewed beefsteak. And perhaps a fig pudding, if that is acceptable to you?’
Delmai stared at the cook’s red face, well aware of the veile
d antagonism behind her bland expression. Anger poured through her like wine. What right had this old woman to pass judgement on her betters? Delmai could well imagine her gossiping to the servants just as soon as her own back was turned.
‘I presume you are discussing the dinner menu?’ Her voice was cold, laced with scorn. ‘Do I have to remind you that I – and more importantly, Mr Richardson – have not yet breakfasted.’
Cook’s eyes flashed defiance, her pride stung. ‘I don’t think Master Rickie is ready to eat just now, not with Honey O’Connor being so long at her duties.’ The woman’s face flushed even redder and it was quite obvious that she regretted her hastily spoken words the moment they had left her lips.
‘Honey O’Connor – and who is she?’ Delmai’s voice was like a whiplash and Mrs Cunningham flinched visibly.
‘I’m sorry, madam. I spoke out of turn. Honey’s new here – chambermaid she is, see, and a good Catholic child.’
Delmai turned on her heel and made her way up the stone steps, pausing for a moment in the hallway. A watery sun slanted in through the stained-glass windows, casting coloured reflections on the polished floor. More quietly, she approached the wide staircase, making her way cautiously towards the master bedroom. It was empty and of Rickie there was no sign.
Anger grew and burgeoned within Delmai’s breast; she could scarcely believe that her husband was already up to his old tricks of seducing maids again. Slipping off her shoes, she padded up the curving staircase to the servants’ sleeping quarters, knowing that if she could catch Rickie in a compromising situation his taunts about her past would be silenced for good. She stared down the long dim corridor, wondering which bedroom belonged to the young chambermaid. She was not left in doubt for very long, for a low cry suddenly cut off drew her forward.
She listened for a moment, head resting against the wooden panel, then she pushed at the handle so that the door flew from her grasp, crashing open.
Rickie sprang away from the maid, who was clearly distressed with large tears welling in her eyes. Her blouse was open, revealing barely formed breasts, but it seemed that no great harm had been done.
‘Get about your duties, you little slut!’ Delmai said angrily, scarcely sparing the girl another glance.
‘Get about my duties, is it?’ The soft Irish voice startled Delmai and she looked at the maid in surprise.
‘I’m going to leave this house – and right now!’ The girl’s eyes were afire. ‘I think you’re evil, both of you, and I wouldn’t stay here any longer if you paid me double.’ With a strange sort of dignity she moved to the door, buttoning up her blouse with trembling hands. ‘I’ll tell my daddy about you, Mr Richardson, and he’ll take a shotgun to you for sure!’
In the silence the sound of the maid’s footsteps faded away and Delmai flung Rickie an accusing glance.
‘I’ll try to placate the girl, though why I should bother I don’t know,’ she said angrily. ‘And don’t think I’ll forget this little episode, for I won’t.’
She hurried away along the corridor and down the stairs, catching up with Honey just as she was flinging wide the front door.
‘Wait a moment!’ She caught the girl’s arm. ‘I’m sorry about what happened and I don’t blame you for leaving – anyone can see you are a nice young lady.’ Honey tugged her arm away and Delmai hid her irritation.
‘Look my dear, if you tell your father and he comes up here to cause trouble, Mr Richardson will simply say you’re a liar. Even if you were believed, folk would think you’d led the Master on, so best if you keep quiet.’ Delmai paused as a mixture of emotions flitted over the girl’s face, then continued, ‘Better to be sensible, and I’ll send you the money you’re entitled to and a little more besides.’
Honey looked at her scornfully. ‘Keep your money, ’cos you won’t stop me speaking out if I so wish.’ As she hurried away, Delmai resisted the urge to run after her and slap her face.
Slowly she returned indoors and made her way into the dining room where breakfast was already laid. Cook – perhaps in order to redeem herself – had made egg kedgeree with bloater toast on the side. Delmai glanced up as Rickie came into the room and he looked away sheepishly.
‘I hope we’ll not have a repetition of this morning’s little affair,’ Delmai surprised herself by saying coldly. ‘I have no intention of lying with a man who takes women from the lower orders into his bed. Are you not aware that such people can bring sickness and vermin into the house?’
He sat down and unfolded his paper and his eyes slid away from hers. ‘Don’t you think that’s something you should bear in mind, too?’ he said calmly.
Delmai felt her colour rising – she had asked for that, she realised with a sinking heart. ‘We’ll say no more about it then.’ Her tone softened and she leaned across the table to touch his hand. ‘I’m sorry to be so harsh Rickie, but I can’t help thinking you should keep all your strength for me – after all, you do want a legitimate son, don’t you?’
He glanced at her briefly and gave a curt nod, but Delmai smiled to herself well satisfied. Rickie Richardson was going to be more easily handled than she had thought; much easier than ever Billy Gray had been.
* * *
The house in Carreg Fach was chill, with the cold wind sweeping down from the mountains finding every crack and crevice. Billy Gray shuddered and cursed the fire that would not light. At last he sank into a chair, his large hands hanging between his knees in a gesture of helplessness. Why, he asked himself for the hundredth time, why had Delmai run out on him?
God, how he was going to miss her soft body next to him in the nights. He had come home weary to the bone from hacking at coal in the bowels of the earth, only to find her gone. Well, no more! He would leave his job and never work the coalface again. The only answer was for him to join Kitchener’s Army. He would leave the valleys and return to Sweyn’s Eye – but stay there only long enough to enlist in the Sweyn’s Eye battalion.
He realised clearly enough that Delmai must have gone home to her husband – he’d seen it coming, hadn’t he? But what of his baby, he thought miserably – would she not be brought up in a big house with a strange man for a father?
Yet she was too young to grieve, he consoled himself, and moreover, his daughter would grow up a lady. She would have the finest of everything that money could buy, including a nanny to take the worry of her off her mother’s hands; for Delmai was not the maternal type – indeed, it was the coming of the baby which had altered their idyllic way of life.
He pushed himself upright and stared around the cottage in disgust. It was dusty now and dirty, the tin bath still before the dead fire, covered in grime. He kicked out at it in anger before hurrying up the stairs. He would pack up his few belongings, then turn his back on the valley and all it had meant to him.
Chapter Fifteen
In the chill grey dawn, fog hung shroud-like above the town of Sweyn’s Eye. The river ran swiftly over rust-red stones, the only sound in the silence of the morning.
Within the house on Spinners’ Wharf Rhian was crouched beneath the bed covers, hugging the warmth of the child in her arms and studying the plump tear-stained cheeks with a feeling of anger. Cerianne had cried most of the night, grieving for the mother who had abandoned her so heartlessly.
Rhian had been puzzled and then outraged when she had come into the kitchen and found the little girl sitting on the floor weeping. Still she hadn’t known what to do, didn’t know where Delmai Richardson could be until at last she realised that Delmai wasn’t coming back. How dare she just walk away from her responsibilities?
Rhian sighed softly and the bright curls on the baby’s head fluttered like golden butterflies. One thing was certain, she couldn’t keep Cerianne here. The best step would be to take her to the Richardson house on the hill, for it was almost certain Delmai had gone back to her husband.
Cautiously Rhian moved from beneath the patchwork quilt, fearful of disturbing Cerianne. The little girl had cr
ied herself to sleep, her small rosebud mouth repeating the word ‘Mamma’ over and over again until Rhian almost cried with her.
In the kitchen, Rhian quickly lit the fire for the morning was chilly. She stood with hands black with dust and watched as the sticks caught fire, licking round the pieces of shiny coal. Then she glanced out of the window towards the mill – there would be little work done today.
But at least now trade was picking up. The town had come to terms with the war and had returned almost to normality. Indeed the war was providing work… and fat profits for some.
Rhian had found that the thick woollen blankets she made were being sent to the Front by the more patriotic ladies of Sweyn’s Eye. It was not the quality of her work or the way she blended her colours which made her work so popular, Rhian thought ruefully – it was the price, the cheapest in town, that attracted customers.
Rhian washed her hands quickly, flinching at the coldness of the water. From upstairs she heard the sound of Cerianne’s voice and sighed softly, pushing the kettle on to the weak flames and longing for a hot cup of tea. In the bedroom Cerianne was kneeling on the bed, her eyes filled with tears, her face flushed and Rhian’s heart contracted in pain.
‘Come to your auntie, then,’ she said softly and the child leaned against her breast, tears still flowing. Rhian carried the little girl downstairs, where the fire burned cheerfully now and the kettle had started to sing.
‘Shall Rhian make you some nice porridge, then?’ She tried to soothe Cerianne, but her crying didn’t falter. Rhian admitted to herself that she was clumsy with her niece, but then she had had little experience with children.
She smoothed back Cerianne’s hair, but the little girl looked up at her pitifully. ‘Mamma,’ she said and Rhian knew there was nothing she could do to pacify the child. Rhian bit her lip; she was at the end of her tether and felt like standing in the middle of the kitchen and screaming for help – but what good would that do?
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