Rhian was already spooning the tea out of the tin, her own hands trembling as she set out the cups and did the everyday things that should have been so simple. But it seemed as though Doris could not quite make sense of things; she had no physical hurt, but her mind had suffered somehow during the explosion.
They sat together and yet it was as though a great gulf divided them. Suddenly Doris turned to look at her as though Rhian had spoken. ‘Terrible it was, mind, them two lovely girls blown to kingdom come.’ Doris twisted her fingers together, forgetting the cup of tea that steamed on the table. ‘Not that Honey had a mark on her, but you could tell she was dead – like a light gone out, it was. And Janey…’ Doris smoothed her skirt over her knees, her hands trembling.
‘Please, don’t talk about it, Doris, it’s too painful.’ But Rhian might just as well not have spoken.
‘Slaughtered like a pig, she was, split up the middle with her innards falling out.’ Doris looked at Rhian imploringly, ‘I didn’t know what to do.’
A loud knocking on the door shattered the silence. ‘I’ll go, shall I?’ Rhian rose quickly, grateful for the interruption, feeling a mixture of guilt and relief.
Mansel Jack stood in the doorway, his large frame filling it. Surprised, Rhian stepped back to allow him in; she had not known he was back from Yorkshire. They smiled simultaneously and Rhian felt foolishly happy. As he moved past her easily and made his way along the passage, it was clear he was no stranger to the house. Rhian followed him, her spirits unaccountably high as she watched him sit down opposite Doris and take her hands into his own.
‘Are you feeling better, lass?’ He leaned forward, looking into her eyes with the air of an adult talking to a child. Doris nodded and a wide pleased smile curved her lips.
‘Rhian came to see me, going to work for her down at the mill I am – won’t be short of money then see?’
Mansel Jack put his hand into his pocket and drew out an envelope. ‘That reminds me, here are your wages, Doris. Now, I’ll put the packet on the mantelpiece near the clock – don’t forget, will you?’ He looked at Rhian, asking, ‘Where’s her mother?’
Rhian shook her head. ‘She’s taken the children to the market as far as I know.’
He stared down at her, his dark eyes warm. ‘Good of you to think of offering Doris work, but you realise she’s not strong enough yet?’
‘I’m willing to wait,’ Rhian said unevenly, staring down at her hands, tinglingly aware of his scrutiny.
‘Need help in the mill, do you? Must be doing well.’
Rhian shook her head. ‘Gina Sinman’s got the wool sickness and I thought that Doris might…’ Her voice trailed away and she heard Mansel Jack sigh.
‘I’d like to get back to the looms myself.’ He stood close but not touching her and she found she was trembling. An indomitable strength seemed to emanate from him and she felt he had the power to move mountains if he so chose.
The outer door sprang open, almost torn from its hinges by the two noisy children who hurled themselves along the passageway to slide to a stop in the kitchen doorway.
‘Bore da, Mr Mansel Jack.’ They spoke in unison in a well-rehearsed sing-song while their grandmother, heaving two heavy bags on to the table, smiled respectfully.
‘There’s good of you to come up here every week, sir – and you so busy – don’t know what we’d do without you, though.’ She bobbed him a curtsey and her smile was so like Doris’s that it was easy to see they were mother and daughter.
‘I shall be going away again shortly but there is no need to worry, you’ll be well looked after.’
Rhian moved uneasily. ‘I’d better go now.’ She moved to Doris and took her hand, ‘I’ll come and see you again soon.’
Doris smiled slowly and frowned in concentration. ‘Aye… wants me to work for you in the mill, isn’t it? I will too, once I’m better.’
Rhian turned away and without looking at anyone in particular made her farewells. She hurried into the street, her boots slipping against the damp cobbles and her mind twisting and turning in a confusion of impressions. Her spirits were low and she had the nagging feeling that she should have come to see Doris sooner, but then she had not realised how deeply the girl had been affected by the blast at the works. Such a terrible experience was enough to turn anybody’s mind a little off balance. Rhian was warmed as she thought of Mansel Jack’s kindness; he had made quite sure that Doris received her money even though she was unable to work.
She had almost reached the end of Canal Street when she heard quick footsteps behind her and without turning, she knew that they belonged to Mansel Jack. He caught her arm and smiled. ‘Hey up there, lass, not catching a train, are you?’ She felt his fingers as though they burned through the thick material of her shawl and carefully she drew away from his grasp.
‘No, of course not,’ she said slowly. ‘There’s kind of you to give Doris her pay even though she can’t work yet.’ The words tumbled from her lips without grace and Rhian drew back embarrassed, hugging her shawl around her shoulders.
He smiled. ‘You remind me of a snail.’ His teeth were very white and his uncovered hair sparkled with raindrops.
‘A snail?’ she repeated uncomprehendingly.
‘You retreat into your shell the moment anyone comes too close,’ he explained.
Rhian began to walk away from the canal, aware of his tallness at her side. She saw a lace curtain twitch and bent her head, pulling her bonnet down over her face.
‘Ah, so that’s it – ashamed to be seen with me, are you?’ he said with a teasing edge to his voice.
Rhian glanced up at him, her eyes reproachful. ‘I don’t know what you mean, do you have to talk in riddles all the time?’
‘Touchy too!’ He was openly laughing. ‘Afraid of what the neighbours will say – and that’s no way to live.’
‘I don’t give a damn what folks say.’ She stopped walking and stared up into his face. ‘But I do care about Heath Jenkins and what sort of stories might get told to him. I’m sure you can understand that?’
‘And what of friendship, doesn’t that come into your life at all?’ Mansel Jack was not laughing now, his voice was strong and vibrant.
‘There are many kinds of friendship,’ she responded, feeling foolish and clumsy, ‘but Heath Jenkins loves me and he will make me his wife. He accepts me as I am with all my faults and that’s what true friendship is.’
They had reached the edge of the hill now and could see the mill house down in the hollow. A thin mist still drifted upwards, interwining with smoke from the chimneys, and Rhian could hear the rush of the stream that turned the waterwheel.
Mansel Jack was so handsome as he stood tall and strong, looking down at her, his lean face sober and his dark eyes unreadable. ‘I’m coming to help you in the mill. Surely that won’t offend the proprieties too much – I want no protests from you, Rhian, I’m speaking as a friend, all right?’
Rhian stared at him, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘But the looms are small, nothing like your mills, and the…’ Her words trailed away as he put his strong fingers lightly over her lips, silencing her.
‘I want to spend my last few days in Sweyn’s Eye doing the work I love best.’
Rhian’s mouth was dry. ‘You’ve done it then, you’ve enlisted in the Army?’ Her mind was crying out in pain and she wanted to throw herself into his arms, to give him whatever he wanted, for she might never see him again. After a moment, however, she merely nodded.
‘All right, if you really mean it, come down to the mill in the morning.’ She smiled wanly. ‘You’ll have to take orders, mind; you may own the mill, but for now I’m the boss and I like things run my way!’
He pulled at his forelock mockingly and Rhian smiled in the sheer joy of the moment. They seemed so close it was as if all barriers had been swept away; they were simply two people who had reached an understanding, but the glow of happiness went far deeper than that.
And then h
e had turned away abruptly and without another word was striding down the hill towards the town. Rhian clenched her hands together, resisting the urge to call him back. He was a strange one all right – he had the power to move her and reach into the secret places of her heart and mind. And here she was, feeling light-headed and happy because tomorrow he would be with her in the mill. She told herself she was a fool, yet nothing would dispel the happiness that ran like wine through her veins.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The winter carpet of frost sparkled on windows, dusting the hills with rime. Colder mists were rolling in between the twin hills of Sweyn’s Eye, seeming to muffle the Sunday bells. And Mary Sutton sat in her gracious drawing room before a blazing fire and had never felt so alone in her life.
She was acutely aware of the silence enfolding the big house as she stared down into the garden, her eyes moving to the wide expanse of the sea beyond – it was restless, without colour, like pewter that had not been cleaned.
In her lap was one of Brandon’s old letters, in which he assured her he was well but that he was not allowed to tell her the name of the place from which he was writing. He had not enjoyed the sea journey; there had been a sudden gusting wind that had battered the ship, tossing it towards France as though delivering him into enemy hands.
Mary sighed, finding it ironic that he had spoken little of love, but she guessed he had been self-conscious with other men around him. But now her being ached for some reassurance that their love had been good.
Folding the letter away, she put it in the drawer of her desk with trembling fingers. She felt weak and ill; her heart seemed to pump fast in her breast and her head swam as if she was about to swoon. She returned to her seat and stared down at her hands, knowing her sickness was nothing but her conscience playing tricks on her – she was as strong as a horse, had she not always been so?
The door opened and Mrs Greenaway stood uncertainly on the threshold.
‘Dr Soames is here. I didn’t know you’d sent for him, merchi, though pale as a penny chicken you’ve looked to me lately, with such big shadows under your eyes. Tell him to come in, shall I?’
Mary sat up straighter in her chair, rich colour suffusing her cheeks, but he had to be faced sometime and it might as well be now.
‘Yes, tell him to come in, Greenie, it’s all right.’
The doctor entered the room quietly, as composed as ever. He was a fine handsome man, younger than Brandon by several years and he had been so virile when they lay together. Mary tore her gaze away from him, washed with a feeling of shame.
‘Please sit down, Dr Soames and make yourself comfortable.’ She managed to speak lightly, though she knew the crimson was still in her cheeks. He did not obey at once but he moved towards her, taking her hand and raising her fingers to his lips.
‘Mary, I’ve been desperate to see you again and you’ve been putting me off. Did you think I would embarrass you or perhaps make demands? If so, you mistake my intentions.’
Mary sighed. ‘I’ve been so confused, I needed time to think.’
He sat opposite her then and smiled easily. ‘And have you come to any conclusions?’
She nodded. ‘What we did was wrong and must never be repeated. I was weak and foolish and I don’t blame you at all – indeed, it was my fault.’
‘Don’t punish yourself with recriminations, Mary,’ he said gently. ‘Life’s far too short for that.’ He paused, ‘I’ll admit I knew nothing of your grief and I’m glad about that – otherwise I might have felt I was taking advantage of your state of mind. But if you want me to pretend it never happened, then I can’t – to me it was a wonderful experience, one I shall never forget.’
Mary bit her lip. ‘Don’t, please, you’re only reminding me…’ her words trailed away and the doctor shook his head.
‘No one will ever know what happened between us for unless you choose to speak out, I never will. But can you not think of me as a friend and please… call me Paul, won’t you?’
He stared at her, his brow creasing into a frown. ‘You look peaky, Mary, why don’t you let me take you for a drive? I have the horse and trap today, as Bryn Thomas has no calls to make.’
Mary shook her head; how would it appear to others if she were to be seen driving through town with her doctor?
He seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘It would be very proper and natural,’ he assured her. ‘You know that a doctor is considered above reproach.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Mary rose to her feet, realising how much she felt hemmed in by the four walls of the room and by the silence of the day. Lately, Sundays had been so lonely. The rest of the time she had plenty to do – she could keep herself busy enough between the emporium and the work she did on the trams and at night she was so tired that she fell into bed and slept at once through sheer weariness. And after all, what harm would there be in going for a drive with her doctor?
‘Greenie, will you fetch my coat please?’ Mary called. ‘I’m going out for some fresh air.’
Mrs Greenaway concealed her surprise and did Mary’s bidding, but it was clear she was torn between approval that Mary was going outdoors and doubts as to the propriety of the occasion.
The mists were rolling away and the sea had lightened, the waves softly tumbling against the crescent of sand that edged the shore. The long encompassing arm of Mumbles Head had become visible, standing out against the sky, dark and craggy.
As the doctor helped her into the chill leather seat, Mary’s spirits were suddenly lifted and her gloom evaporated like the mists that had earlier wreathed the seas.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the road was soothing, reminding Mary of the time when she had driven a van around the valleys, selling her shawls to the wives of miners and beginning to make her business pay. She had been happy then, her goal in life to be a successful businesswoman so that she need never fear a return to the poverty which had dogged her childhood.
Why had she become discontented, she wondered – and why had she allowed her marriage to be eroded by her own selfishness? Look at her now: sitting beside a virtual stranger, knowing in her heart that she was playing with fire. She must stop all this nonsense, she told herself sternly; the young doctor must not be allowed to insinuate himself into her life.
Suddenly she felt a surge of her old determination and strength, telling herself sharply that she had become weak of late – a moaning self-centred woman. She worried about what had happened in her husband’s past, torturing herself with doubts about his faithfulness when all the time she had the makings of a floosie deep within her own soul.
‘Stop, please, I want to get out,’ Mary said suddenly and Paul Soames looked at her in surprise.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his hand resting on hers. ‘Do you feel sick or something?’
Strangely enough, in spite of her clearness of mind Mary did feel quite ill. As she stepped down into the road her whole body seemed to tremble; perhaps she was coming down with a chill, she thought, for she had been working in the rain a great deal lately.
‘I would just like to walk, if you don’t mind.’ She stared at him with clear eyes. ‘There must be nothing more between us, ever, do you understand?’
He inclined his head. ‘If you say so, Mary, but don’t be silly about this; let me at least take you home.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right, I can look after myself. I’ve done so for most of my life after all – and brought Heath up too, come to that.’
The doctor seemed uncertain. ‘I don’t know, you look a little pale to me, are you sure you’re all right?’
And then Mary was not sure at all as she leaned against the rough stone wall at the side of the road and tried to combat the dizziness that was swamping her. A feeling of nausea made her retch and she was suddenly grateful for strong arms holding her as the world spun away into darkness inside her head.
She opened her eyes slowly to find herself lying on a long leath
er couch. The room was vaguely familiar, but it was only when she turned her head and saw the skeleton in the corner that she realised she was in Paul Soames’ surgery. She felt rather than saw a movement and then he was bending over her, his sombre eyes staring down.
‘What’s happening to me?’ Mary whispered fearfully.
He glanced away quickly. ‘It’s what you’ve been wanting for a long time, Mary.’ He paused for a moment and his eyes met hers, seeing the dawning understanding in her face. ‘That’s right, you are going to have a baby.’
She sat up and stared at him in disbelief. ‘But how do you know, how can you tell, if I didn’t know?’
‘Ask yourself one or two simple questions, Mary. For example, have you been seeing your monthly courses lately? And have the mornings been a little of an ordeal, with a feeling of faintness and nausea just as you experienced today?’ He smoothed back his already neat hair. ‘Apart from these things there are certain physical indications clear to any doctor and I’m quite certain – I half wish I wasn’t, believe me.’
Mary sat up and smoothed her skirts over her knees; her hands were trembling and she still felt slightly sick. Paul Soames helped her to her feet, staring at her quizzically. ‘What can I say? I’m as mixed-up as you appear to be.’
She glanced towards the door and he interpreted the gesture at once. ‘There are no other patients outside, don’t worry.’
Mary’s thoughts were tumbling over themselves and she could not form even the simplest of queries. She looked up mutely at the doctor and he patted her shoulder clumsily.
‘These things are often a shock at first, but once you’ve accepted the idea you will be delighted, I’m sure. After all, you wanted a baby, didn’t you?’
But not like this, Mary thought in anguish. ‘Will you take me home?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
He virtually had to lift her into the trap; his hands were strong and supportive and she was grateful for his help. Her mind was scurrying round in circles as she studied the long street of high, narrow houses – staring upwards at the smoke-filled sky, leaning back in her seat, noticing how the leather creaked coldly as she eased herself into it. She could not think, begin to work things out; she needed to get home to her room, close herself in, crawl into her bed and hide from her thoughts.
Spinner's Wharf Page 31