Spinner's Wharf

by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)

  At the recruiting office the sergeant looked up from behind his desk. His eyes brightened, for volunteers had become few, most of the eligible men having enlisted.

  ‘Well, Morgan Lloyd isn’t it, copper worker? What can I do for you then?’ He sat back in his chair, his moustache fairly bristling with importance.

  Morgan leaned forward on the desk, pronouncing each of his words clearly. ‘I want you to send me to the Front as soon as possible.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Soft silver waves washed the rim of the bay like a gentle caress in the stillness of the night. The town groaned and settled into the deep shadows. Even the ever-present stench of the copper works was mellowed by a light breeze and high clouds as Sweyn’s Eye slumbered.

  Rhian was awake beneath the sloping roof of her room. She turned and twisted in her bed, her eyes hot and dry, her body tense at the prospect of another sleepless night. She could see Mansel Jack in her mind’s eye – his eyes flashing, his strong face set and resolute – and could feel the presence of the man reach out to touch her in the darkness. And the thought was a cold, hard reproach, for he was going to war.

  Why, she wondered, had she been so angry with him? He had bought the mill with the best of intentions, he had assured her of that. And yet she had believed they were sufficiently good friends for him to have asked her advice on the matter. What then would have been her response? The same anger she had shown when he told her of the accomplished fact, no doubt.

  She gave up trying to reason with herself; her mind was jumbled and confused – all she knew was that her whole being cried out in despair, for Mansel Jack had gone from Sweyn’s Eye home to Yorkshire.

  At last in desperation she rose, knowing that her constant twisting and turning would eventually wake Carrie who slumbered noisily in the bed against the wall.

  On bare feet Rhian padded on to the landing and paused for a moment, hearing a sound so slight that she thought it might have been only in her imagination. But there it was again – a groan, soft and subdued.

  Silently Rhian opened the door to the room Gina shared with the children. There was a rustling of bedclothes as she moved across the floor, carefully struck a lucifer and lit the candle resting in the enamel saucer. Both the children were asleep, but Gina was staring up at her with large frightened eyes.

  ‘I can hardly breathe,’ she said hoarsely. ‘My throat burns like a furnace and there’s such a pain in my belly I can hardly bear it. At first I believed it was grief for my lovely Heinz tearing at me, but the pain is real enough.’

  Rhian rested a hand on Gina’s forehead and found it was dry and hot. Then she held the candle high and took a sharp breath, for Gina’s skin was a strange brownish colour and even the whites of her eyes were yellow in the candlelight.

  ‘What is it, what’s wrong with me? Am I dying, Rhian, for it feels like it!’

  ‘Hush now, you’ve got the jaundice, girl, that’s all. You know it’s common enough for folks who work the wool to fall sick of it.’

  ‘But there’s bad I feel, Rhian, and I’m frightened.’ She clasped Rhian’s hand and stared up at her imploringly. ‘What shall we do then?’

  Rhian smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m going to put a nice cool cloth on your forehead first of all, so you just lie there still and quiet and don’t worry.’

  She hurried into the kitchen and filled a bowl with water, her mind working rapidly. Tomorrow they would have the doctor round to see Gina; it would be an expense, but a necessary one. Jaundice was not a sickness to trifle with.

  Carrie came down into the kitchen rubbing at her eyes sleepily. ‘What’s wrong, cariad?’ She sank down into a chair and rubbed at her foot. ‘Duw, my bunions are hurting tonight. I bet we’ll have rain in the morning.’

  ‘It’s Gina,’ Rhian said calmly. ‘She’s got jaundice, I think.’

  Carrie’s eyes were suddenly sharp, the sleepiness vanished. ‘Now there’s a thing to happen, how did she get that then?’

  Rhian shrugged. ‘It’s a disease that sometimes affects those who work the wool, don’t ask me why. Take this cloth, Carrie, and bathe Gina’s face with cold water while I make her up a potion.’

  ‘Right, girl, I’ll do that and then I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. Stir up that fire, cariad, it’s not out yet; I can see some embers still burning low in the grate.’

  Rhian nodded – she should have thought of that herself, for she would need hot water to mix the medicine. She bent over the fire and kindled the glowing embers with a piece of twig, teasing the glow until it became a flame. Carefully she placed sticks and then coals in the grate and soon the fire shimmered and glowed with a life of its own.

  Quickly, almost impatiently, she washed the coal dust from her hands and stared round the kitchen for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Meanwhile the kettle began to murmur and hiss as the bottom of the vessel became hot.

  The room was almost an unfamiliar place in the silence of the night, with the lamp shedding harsh light and causing deep shadows to crouch in the corners. She suddenly remembered the funeral of the munitions girls and shivered a little, feeling the chill of the stone floor penetrating the soles of her feet. Hastily she pulled on her boots and moved towards the pantry, telling herself not to think morbid thoughts; Gina Sinman was a fine, strong woman who would not let the jaundice get the better of her.

  Rhian searched for the small bags of dried herbs which were always hung against the lintel of the door. Snatching them all impatiently from the hooks, she scattered the muslin bags on the table, wishing she had had the foresight to label them before putting them away.

  ‘Hedge mustard, that’s what I want,’ she muttered as she opened one bag after another, searching for the ragged leaves and hard dried flowers complete with sere and yellow seeds. The strong woody scent of the hedge mustard was unmistakeable and with a sigh of relief, Rhian crushed the herb into a small bowl, pouring a little boiling water over it and then covering it with a saucer. Later she would strain off the liquid and the medicine would be ready.

  She sighed and sank into a chair, staring into the fire with her hands clasped before her. Once more her thoughts returned to the funeral and her lips tightened, her heart contracting with pity for the two young girls who had died. Janey Jenkins she had hardly known, but she had seemed a warm sunny-natured girl, young and blooming with health; Honey O’Connor had been beautiful, a golden girl with pure, beautiful features… both of them too young to die.

  How Mansel Jack must have suffered and she had callously ignored his feelings and trampled roughshod through the meeting she had meant to be filled with gentleness. She tried to remember if she had spoken any words of regret for what had happened at the munition works, but could recall nothing except her own bigoted pride which had formed a barrier between them.

  At the funeral he had been a stranger in a good worsted suit with a heavy gold watch chain hanging from his waistcoat. His head had the usual proud lift to it and he seemed not to notice the deference with which he was treated by the other mourners – but then, he was used to it.

  He had stood alone and Rhian had longed to go to him, to be at his side, close to him… yet how could she? She must be for ever in the background of his life, which was what she found so unbearable.

  ‘She’s got the jaundice all right!’ As she came bustling into the room Carrie’s voice startled Rhian out of her reverie. She removed the saucer from the bowl and the strong woody scent of the herb rose in the steam to greet her.

  ‘There’s a good girl,’ Carrie spoke warmly. ‘Hedge mustard is just the right thing, it will clear the chest and ease away some of the pain – take that horrible hoarseness away too, for I can hardly hear what the poor girl is saying.’

  ‘I’d better strip my bed and we’ll put on fresh sheets so that Gina can sleep in with you, Carrie.’ Rhian rose and took a strainer from the drawer. ‘I’ll sleep with the children if you like.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘Duw, there’
s brave you are, thinking of taking on those two little monsters. But no, you sleep in with Gina and get what rest you can – you’re needed to work the mill, don’t forget.’

  It took the two of them all their strength to carry Gina into the other room. The children slept on oblivious to what was happening around them as Gina sighed a little and clutched at the bedclothes, drawing them up around her face as though for comfort.

  ‘What’s going to happen to my baby?’ she croaked, her eyes barely open. Rhian sat on the bed beside her and held out a cup containing the liquid from the herbs.

  ‘There’s a daft question! Here, drink this, it’ll do you good.’ She held the cup to Gina’s lips, ignoring the look of disgust on her face as the smell rose on the steam. ‘Drink it now, do as I say, it’ll help to make you better. As for Dewi, don’t worry, we won’t let the boy starve.’

  A glimmer of a smile lit Gina’s face, easing out the lines of pain for a moment. ‘What would I do without you, Rhian Gray?’ she said in a whisper.

  In the kitchen Carrie was busy pouring tea and Rhian took a cup gratefully. Her eyes met Carrie’s and read the unspoken question in them. ‘We’ll manage, we’ll have to,’ she said softly.

  ‘But we’re one worker short now,’ Carrie was frowning, ‘and I’ll not be much help because of minding the babbas, though I’ll try to come down to the mill and help out when I can.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Rhian sank into a chair and held out her empty cup. ‘Any more in the pot?’

  Carrie poured the tea, a sombre look in her eyes. ‘You’ll make yourself sick trying to put up all the order by yourself – and what good would that do?’

  Rhian shook her head. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she smiled. ‘What if I ask Doris to work for us? I don’t think for one minute she’ll want to go back to the munitions factory.’

  Carrie nodded. ‘You’ve got something there. Doris wasn’t badly hurt and she’s a damn good worker, I’ll say that for her. A bit rough and ready, mind, we’ll have to cover the children’s ears when she’s around!’

  Rhian sank back in her chair and stared at the window where the greyness of dawn was changing to indigo. In the distance the hills were taking shape and the trees became real instead of flat ghosts against the sky. She had spoken with optimism, but her mind whirled with doubts and fears. Though help was necessary, Doris would be another liability, she would require wages, for she had her own family to think of. Rhian wondered sombrely if the output of woollen goods would be enough to carry the ever-increasing burdens she was forced to shoulder.

  She sighed softly. ‘Let’s try to get a little sleep,’ she suggested. ‘We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.’

  In the morning Rhian sent Carrie to fetch old Doctor Thomas, for Gina was suffering greatly with pains in her belly and back. In spite of her sickness she managed to feed Dewi by propping him against two pillows, spooning porridge into his greedy mouth.

  The doctor was hearty, his eyes faded blue behind his spectacles. ‘Seems you’ve done what’s right and proper, my dear.’ He addressed his remarks to Rhian. ‘There’s no miracle that will cure jaundice, just rest and plenty of liquid taken by mouth and perhaps a continuation of the herbal tea.’ He smiled a little ruefully. ‘Can’t do any harm even if it doesn’t do much good.’

  When he had left, Rhian sat on the bed and took Gina’s hand in hers, feeling it hot and clammy to the touch.

  ‘Now you’re not to worry, everything’s under control. I’m getting Doris in to help us – you know her, the one who used to stoke boilers at the Canal Street Laundry.’

  Gina rubbed at her eyes a little mournfully. ‘But what does she know about wool?’ Her voice quivered with weakness and Rhian’s heart melted in pity.

  ‘I’ll have her doing the washing and hanging out the blankets and shawls and in no time at all you’ll be back on your feet.’ Her fingers curled around Gina’s as though to infuse some strength in her. The sick woman smiled and lay back on the pillow staring down at her sleeping son, while Rhian leaned forward to tuck the bedclothes around her shoulders.

  ‘Now I’m going to take master Sinman downstairs with me and you’re going to sleep, my girl. If you obey orders you’ll get over the sickness all the sooner, right?’

  Weakly Gina nodded, her eyes already half closed. Rhian lifted Dewi carefully and hugged him close, enjoying the feel of his relaxed body heavy with sleep against her breast. It was a pity that she had so little time to enjoy the children, she thought sadly; she hardly saw Dewi during the day – or Cerianne, her own niece, if it came to that. She sighed for she would be seeing even less of them in the coming days and would need to work even harder to fulfil the orders that were coming in steadily.

  ‘Taking the day off, are you?’ It was a little while later and Rhian was pulling on her shawl, tying bonnet ribbons under her chin. Carrie stood watching with a worried frown on her face and Rhian paused.

  ‘I was going to see Doris, but if you think you can’t manage the children and Gina, then I’ll leave it until later.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to stop you going now, so off with you! Of course I can manage – don’t be so soft, think you’re… you’re…’ She gave up her search for the right word and shrugged.

  ‘Indispensable? Of course I’m not, but you are.’ She kissed Carrie’s cheek. ‘I won’t be long.’

  * * *

  Rhian felt the chill of rain in the air as she stepped through the mud and moved past the richly flowing stream towards the cobbled roadway. Mist hung shroud-like over the rooftops and the peaks of Town Hill and Kilvey seemed to have vanished from sight. The heavy blanket of clouds forced the green smoke from the copper works to hang low over the buildings, penetrating the stonework, twisting sinuously along narrow high-walled courts, burning the eyes and bringing a stinging to the skin from its abrasive dust.

  Canal Street had changed, Rhian thought sadly. In the days when she was a carefree young girl working at the laundry, falling in love with Heath Jenkins, it had been a bustling place – the houses tall and elegant with fresh lace curtains at the windows, and the laundry itself the hub of the neighbourhood. Now some of the houses lay forlorn and empty and the Canal Street Laundry was a torn and twisted skeleton. Rhian shivered and walked past the house of Mrs Benson, the midwife, turning the corner into the small road where Doris lived with her two children and her mother.

  It was Doris herself who opened the door and the smile of welcome on her round face warmed Rhian’s heart. ‘There’s lovely to see you, merchi, come on inside and sit with me for a minute. There’s a bit of peace about the place for once, because my mam’s taken the children down to the market with her. Glad to see the back of them, I was, wearing me out they were with their noise and screeching.’

  ‘How are you feeling, Doris?’ Rhian seated herself on the hard upright chair in the little parlour, though she would far sooner have gone into the warmth of the kitchen and enjoyed the cosiness of the fire.

  ‘All right, see.’ Doris had tears in her eyes. ‘But it was that terrible, Rhian, like something out of hell itself, when the munitions shed blew up, I thought it was the end of the world and that I’d be playing a harp in heaven or else stoking boilers down below.’ She tried to smile but her lip trembled and Rhian saw with a feeling of dismay that Doris was in no fit state to do any sort of work, for the shock was still in her.

  ‘When you feel better, I wondered if you’d like a job down at the mill with me – nothing too hard, mind.’

  Doris looked at her and the tears brimmed over, running unchecked down her pale, plump face.

  ‘Thank you, Rhian, I won’t say no to that for I need money bad, like.’ She stared down at her trembling fingers. ‘You know better than most that I don’t get nothing from the Prince of Wales Fund – came with me to try for it, didn’t you, and them buggers turned me down.’ Her shoulders shook. ‘Got to earn something soon,’ she repeated, ‘we’ll starve otherwise. Me mam’s been d
oing a bit of cleaning and washing for folks that got in a few shillings, but it’s mostly ’cos the neighbours were sorry for us. None of them can afford to keep that up, their bellies are touching their backbones as it is.’

  Rhian felt heavy, as though the clouds outside the window had settled over her head. ‘Well, whenever you feel strong enough, the job is there waiting for you.’ She noticed the way Doris’s hands shook and pity welled within her. ‘Look, can I do something for you while I’m here? Would you like a nice brew of tea or something?’

  Doris’s face lit up. ‘There’s good it is of you to ask.’ She had paused for a moment as if the question needed special consideration; she was the same Doris and yet she wasn’t, and Rhian was unnerved.

  ‘Aye, all right then, come into the kitchen and you can push the kettle onto the fire for me. My mouth feels dry like a bone buried for a month.’ Rhian followed her along the narrow passageway and into the spotless kitchen.

  The room was sparsely furnished and the stone floor was covered only by a few rag mats. The heavy table with carved wooden legs was scrubbed white and a rocking chair with arms rubbed smooth by the years stood before the black-leaded grate. Rhian’s childhood had not been one of luxury and yet she had never known such spartan surroundings. In the home of Aunt Agnes there had been warmth and comfort and the little touches that only an adequate supply of money could bring, and she had never thought to question it.

  ‘Now, how many measures of tea do you like in the pot?’ She prised the lid from the old bonbon tin that served as a caddy and looked at Doris questioningly. Doris rubbed at her forehead and bit her lip, frowning in concentration.

  ‘Shall I put one for you, one for me and one for the pot?’