The increasing urgency of the war had changed him. Mansel Jack no longer felt it enough to make money, even though his fortune was continuing to grow. He needed a fresh challenge in his life – would owning Spinners’ Wharf be enough for him, he wondered.
To think he had once considered marriage to Charlotte Bradley the biggest step he could take. He had a great many years before him, damn it, and was no old man to sit in a corner. But having a wife and watching her do tatting or paint scenery – was that the path he wished to take? He doubted it, for however intelligent and lovely Charlotte was she did not stir him.
The last encounter he had had with Rhian Gray had affected him more than he would have believed possible. With her funny pride and her soft vulnerable little face she had somehow made herself important in his life. He wanted to take her to bed… there was no denying that and he did not want to deny it. What bothered him was the fact that he also longed to protect her, to care for her – and that was not possible for had she not told him herself that she belonged to another man? And there was Charlotte who loved him, trusted him… what could he do about her?
He must put thoughts of both women out of his mind, cast aside the strange restlessness that gripped him and knuckle down to hard work the way he had done all his life. And yet, teasing at the back of his mind was the possibility that now he might be able to enlist in the Army. More and more men were needed and age no longer seemed to be a barrier. On reflection, the Army might be the best place for him.
Chapter Nineteen
Rain swept from the heavens, shrouding the peaks of the hills above Sweyn’s Eye. The sulphurous smoke from the copper works, trapped by the clouds, seeped beneath doors and twisted into narrow courts like prying fingers.
In the Murphy house in Market Street, Katie coughed, grimacing as her mother held out a spoonful of Scotts Emulsion.
‘Get it down you, girl. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, anyone would t’ink I was trying to poison you!’
Katie dutifully swallowed the evil-smelling medicine and sat at the table crunching a piece of toast in a vain effort to rid her mouth of the fishy taste.
‘I’ve done up your grub-bag, given you a nice bit of bacon and some cheese and bread I baked myself yesterday. Got to keep up your strength working in that factory, so you have.’
Katie drank the sweet hot tea at a gulp. ‘The spoon would stand up in this brew, mammy, why do you have to make it so strong?’
‘Ah, stop moaning. Put a drop o’ gin in it and then you won’t notice!’
Katie picked up her bag and shook her head. ‘I’d better get down to the station or I’ll miss the train.’
Outside in the rain-soaked quietness of Market Street, the sound of an accordion suddenly filled the air. Dai-End-House, a Welshman to the core, was adopting the Irish this morning, playing ‘Paddy McGinty’s Goat’ in a quick breathless way that brought tears to Katie’s eyes – which was daft, for she didn’t know anything about Ireland except what her mammy had told her.
Still coughing, she hurried down towards the station bending her head against the rain. The last thing she felt like was going to work, but she’d be letting down the rest of the gang if she didn’t and what was a little old cough anyway?
‘Bore da, Katie. Come on, girl, the train’s spitting and puffing fit to bust.’ Doris dragged on her arm. ‘Only kept it back because I bribed Willie the driver with a bit of bread and honey.’ They clambered into the nearest carriage, Katie smiling at Doris’s effort to make room for them.
‘I don’t know where Janey’s got to, though I caught a glimpse of her earlier, mind – bright in the eye ’cos she’d been out courtin’ last night. Daft thing – don’t know yet that men only want to get into your drawers.’
The words dropped into an icy silence and Katie became aware that she and Doris were seated in a compartment usually reserved for the clerical workers. It had become an unspoken law that office and factory workers remain apart as much as possible, but this misty wet morning was surely an exception.
Delmai Richardson was seated opposite and she glared at Doris with thinly disguised disgust. It was bad enough that she had been forced to work by Rickie’s insistence and by the fact that other women of her station were engaged in the war effort. But to be thrown together with women of such low class was an atrocious state of affairs. The atmosphere grew steadily more tense as the train lurched and lumbered along the line, spitting sparks which the beating rain quickly extinguished.
‘There’s a way to look at a body,’ Doris could no longer restrain herself. ‘Got a bit of dog shit on my boots or something, have I?’
Delmai turned her head, her eyes scornful, not deigning to answer. But Doris was alight with righteous indignation, her face red, her hands clenched.
‘Thinks you’re a lady, don’t you, but we all knows that you’re little better than a floosie.’
Delmai leaned forward, face flushed and eyes glistening. ‘Shut up, you little slut; don’t you dare talk to your betters that way!’
Katie murmured to Doris to be quiet. ‘Don’t let’s be having any bother,’ she said softly, pulling at Doris’s arm. ‘Let’s just get to work in one piece, shall we?’
‘Don’t trouble yourself, my dear,’ Delmai smiled at Katie as though she was an ally. ‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’
Doris was on her feet then – her hands reaching for Delmai’s hair, gripping and twisting, her eyes glowing with fury.
‘Call me a sow, would you, you whore! I’ll give you sow! Had two men between your legs that I know of, you have, and a babba born out of wedlock, pushed aside like a parcel. I knows too much about you, so don’t come the toffee-nosed act with me, Mrs Richardson.’ She pulled Delmai from the seat and the two of them went sprawling on the dusty floor, rolling among the feet of the appalled passengers.
‘Doris! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, get off Mrs Richardson before you kill her, she’s not worth it!’ Katie stared at the other women in anger. ‘Come on for pity’s sake, help me separate them, have you all lost your wits?’
At last Katie managed to prise Doris’s hands away from Delmai’s hair. Doris sank back in her seat, smacking her palms together in satisfaction.
Delmai was flushed, her hair hanging over her face, her cheek scratched and her lip bleeding. ‘I hate you,’ she said harshly ‘and if ever I can do you harm I won’t hesitate, you’ll see.’
The train had shuddered to a stop, puffing steam and sparks. Katie became aware that there was a crowd of curious women gathered around the carriage doorway, attracted by the noise no doubt.
A dark shadow loomed into the carriage and Mansel Jack was staring down at the women, his eyes shrewd and missing nothing, his face impassive.
‘I won’t have any talk about doing each other harm, ladies.’ He emphasised the last word dryly. ‘There’s a war on, men are getting killed every day and here you lasses are fighting like street-cats. I won’t have it, do you hear me?’ No one dared reply and after a moment, Mansel Jack turned and walked away.
Katie hurried Doris along the platform. ‘Why did you let the woman goad you like that?’ she asked shortly. ‘For goodness’ sake, Doris, there’s more important things to think about than fighting among ourselves, the boss is right enough there.’
‘She just gets me all worked up,’ Doris said in a low voice. She looked so hangdog that Katie could not help but smile.
‘To be sure you’re a right scrapper, my dad would be proud of you, I think you must have some of the Irish blood running in your veins.’
A little of the tenseness left Doris’s shoulders, she sighed softly and pulled her mob cap over her tangled hair. ‘Wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Me mam liked the men; I had lots of uncles when I was small and my sister up in Carreg Fach is as different from me as chalk from cheese.’ She made a rueful face at Katie, ‘I suppose that’s why I count myself lucky to have a man of my own, even though he won’t get married and runs off on a spree every now and t
hen.’
‘Hey there, you two, wait for me!’ Janey was running along the platform, linking arms with Doris and Katie, her small face lit with curiosity. ‘What’s all this about a fight, then? Is it true you gave Mrs Richardson a pasting?’
Doris blossomed under Janey’s incredulous admiration. She smacked her palms together once more and her cheeks glowed. ‘I gave her what for, pulled her right down from her pedestal. Thinks she’s too good to ride with the likes of us, but I made sure all her mates knew just what she’d been up to.’
Katie sighed heavily. ‘Come on, you two, stop blabbering and get to the shed or we’ll have a pile of gaines up to our eyebrows, all waiting to have holes hammered into them.’
The long factory was already droning like a hive full of worker bees. The lathes were turning, the tables bristled with upright shells and the women, dressed in trousers and long jackets with mob caps covering their hair, moved as mechanically as the machines they worked.
‘I’m glad I’m not in there,’ Doris said quickly. ‘I know that working on the faulty gaines is dangerous – well, so the boss says – but I’d much rather be in a little group in our own shed than stuck there with all those clacking machines.’
‘Yes, well, we’ll all be out on our ears if we don’t get some work done,’ Katie said loudly. ‘I don’t want to say it again girls, move!’
Katie took up one of the tube-shaped gaines and placed her chisel over the spot to be tapped, experienced now at breaking the thread. Was there no end to the wrongly threaded gaines sent over by the Americans, she wondered, her brow creased into a frown of concentration. She could hear Doris and Janey chatting and wished that they would pay more attention to the job. Still, Janey was very young and Doris… well, she was just Doris who went her own way, worked by her own code of conduct.
She eased her back, standing straight for a moment, and staring round the high-ceilinged shed. There were now three tables in production, for as more and more faulty gaines came into the factory so the work force had to be increased. Katie was in charge of them all and took her job seriously. Glancing round, she saw Honey O’Connor bent industriously over the table, her gorgeous hair hidden beneath the stiff mob cap, her young face taut with the effort she was making to hammer the gaines in the exact position, for one slip would mean disaster.
Katie smiled to herself. She had seen Honey walking out with Morgan Lloyd – a fine boy, even though he was a Protestant. The two of them were like skittish ponies when together, afraid to break the fragile bond that was growing between them. It was good to be young and in love. She thought of her own first love, William Owen. He had been no good, as her mother had continuously told her. But he was the first one of her life and under his teachings she had been wild, lying with him in the long grass, letting him have his way with her. And she had revelled in the knowledge of her own sensuality.
She knew he was a ‘bad ’un’ but she had loved him dearly. When he had been killed, implicated in the disaster of the Kilvey Deep, she had not thought even then of his wrongdoing but had mourned him, believing he would be the only one for her ever. But she had been wrong. She smiled as she thought of Mark, tall and handsome and honest. Her heart swelled with happiness and she wondered how she could ever have doubted that one day she would fall in love again.
But Honey now, she was a different sort of girl altogether. She would take Morgan as her husband and never falter in her faithfulness. Katie put down the gaines she had just finished and walked around the tables, giving a word of encouragement to the women as she went.
‘Top o’ the morning to you, Honey,’ she said and the girl looked up at her with a ready smile. Yet there was sadness in the depths of her eyes. Katie frowned. ‘Anything wrong?’ she asked anxiously and the girl shook her head.
‘It’s just that Morgan’s talking about enlisting in the Army,’ she said hollowly. ‘Now his dad’s gone, God rest him, there’s nothing to keep Morgan at our house, you see.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ Katie said gently. ‘He seems to be so fond of you.’
Honey looked away. ‘I thought so too, but that’s what he’s saying.’ The words were dragged from her and it was clear she was bitterly hurt.
‘Have you and Morgan ever talked, really talked, I mean?’ Katie asked and Honey sighed. Her eyes flashed a little as she lifted her head.
‘No, but I thought we had an understanding, I couldn’t believe he was interested in me at first, but then he told me that…’ her words trailed away as she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ah, well, it’s no good me thinking about it all, he’s going for a soldier and he says I must understand that he must do what’s right.’
A shrill whistle pierced the air and Katie smiled encouragingly. ‘Come and have your grub-break with me. Look, it’s stopped raining, we’ll sit outside and have a bit of privacy. Just let me get my bag.’
The rain had stopped, but small puddles lay like diamonds on the ground. The air was cleaner than in the heart of the town, for the copper works were several miles away and here the fresh breezes rolled in from the sea.
‘I don’t know that there’s much more to talk about.’ Honey took a slice of bread from her bag and stared at it without interest. Katie well remembered the time when she couldn’t eat because of the love that tore at her insides, so she remained silent as she unpacked her bacon sandwiches.
‘I was beginning to think he really cared,’ Honey said slowly. ‘Sometimes he would look at me in a funny way that made me shivery all over.’ She hung her head. ‘But then he said he was going to the Army, just casually, as though it meant nothing to anyone but himself.’
‘Men are strange creatures,’ Katie said after a moment, ‘and they think a lot of their pride. They need to fight this awful war, fear they will be branded cowards if they don’t enlist.’
Honey looked at her hopefully. ‘Perhaps you’re right, but what can I do to show him I’ll wait for him for ever if need be? I don’t want to make a fool of myself.’
Katie took a deep breath. How on earth had she put herself in the role of adviser; she was no great expert on the matters of the heart herself! ‘Just ask him to write to you,’ she said at last, ‘then you can send him little gifts, knit him woolly socks or something – there are more ways than words of saying you love a man.’
‘You’re right, sure enough,’ Honey said, her eyes lit with an inner glow. ‘It’s so easy, I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself.’ She gave Katie a shy look. ‘An’ you won’t be after tellin’ anyone about this, will you?’
Katie laughed and licked her finger, making the sign of the cross over her breasts. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ she said solemnly. Then she rose to her feet, brushing the dampness of the bark from her trousers, coughing a little. ‘Come on, we’d best get back inside or there’ll be no work done.’
She smiled as she watched Honey enter the shed ahead of her and walk quickly over the cold stone floor towards her table; she was a pretty sweet girl and Katie hoped that everything would work out for her. She paused in the doorway, still coughing, breathing in the freshness of the air that seemed to cool her lungs.
Suddenly, it was as if hell had come on earth. A sheet of flame exploded, snaking with awful brightness across the shed. A terrifying noise roared and crashed about her ears and Katie felt herself lifted from the ground. She could see nothing any more, she could not breathe for the heat that enveloped her. It was as though she was being hurled down a long dark windy tunnel, but there was no light at the end, only a deep impenetrable blackness.
* * *
The rain no longer swept down from the hills, the air was fresh now with the clouds breaking to reveal the warm face of the sun.
Rhian lifted the heavy gardening spade with difficulty and began to dig the stubborn heavy soil, lifting the late potatoes with more zeal than skill.
Growing food had become a necessity for since the spring, long queues of women had been forced to stand for hours waiting for the
meagre allowance of food that was doled out to them by shopkeepers grown shifty-eyed.
Bakers were being inundated with demands for bread, with the result that the price rose from ninepence to a shilling almost overnight. Fancy cakes were a thing of the past and had disappeared altogether from the shelves.
The government advised restraint in the buying of meat, which affected the poor not one whit for they seldom saw meat except bacon and pork which they cured themselves.
Rhian had decided early on to have their own allotment in the unrewarding soil to the rear of the buildings and soon a great many of the townspeople followed her lead.
It was by luck more than skill that anything grew at all in Rhian’s patch, but she found she had a new skill and it was gratifying to dig and plant and watch things grow.
Gina had protested at first. ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering, merchi – you’ll not get much from there, what with all the rubbish running down the stream from the works. Anyway, can’t grow our own butter or sugar, can we?’
Rhian’s retort had been instant. ‘No, but we can bargain, get half a pound of butter for a cabbage. And perhaps exchange potatoes for a pot of honey, for I haven’t tasted sugar in weeks.’
But Gina had been clearly worried, feeling that Rhian was carrying enough burdens as it was. ‘You’ve only so much strength, you know; falling sick you’ll be, and then what will I do?’
‘Stop worrying for a start and get on with the spinning. We’ve still got plenty of orders for the red, white and blue shawls, haven’t we?’ She could not know that she had just helped Gina to make up her mind about selling the mill to Mansel Jack.
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