Spinner's Wharf

by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)

  ‘No, please, don’t speak. I know I’m doing the right thing.’ Her glance encompassed Rhian and there was no malice, only a dignified sadness.

  ‘I have realised for some time now that our lives were moving on separate paths and when you came home to see me, I sensed a change in you. Now, coming here today, I am thoroughly convinced that we were not meant for each other. I have never seen you so happy, not ever, Mansel Jack.’ She smiled and her features seemed illuminated. ‘All I ever wanted was your happiness,’ she touched his arm briefly, ‘and I won’t be so childish as to fling your ring back at you – I shall keep it if I may as a memento.’

  She turned towards the door and with a quick look at Rhian, Mansel Jack followed her outside. He spoke hurriedly, his voice vibrant and though Rhian could not hear what he said, she imagined he would be pleading with Charlotte to stay. A great emptiness filled her as she tried to see the pattern of the wool through a mist of tears.

  When Mansel Jack returned to the long room, he stood with his back to the door, staring at Rhian. ‘That’s it then, lass, I’m a free man,’ he said and she could not tell from his tone if he was glad or sorry.

  She moved towards him and on impulse rested her head against his shoulder, wanting only to comfort him. She knew she might be inviting a rebuff, but she didn’t care.

  Slowly his strong arms came around her and she heard his breath, felt it stir the curls on her forehead as her heart tightened. She moved away from him quickly, as though burned, and he sighed softly.

  ‘We’d better get on with our work then, lass.’ Rhian nodded but it was some time before she could stop her hands from trembling and concentrate on the pattern she was making in the wool.

  It was on the next day that the letter came for Mansel Jack. He came into the kitchen of the mill house and threw it on to the table that was laid for breakfast.

  ‘I’ve got my orders, ladies,’ he said, but his eyes were looking piercingly into Rhian’s. ‘The day after tomorrow, I’m off to war.’

  ‘Duw, we’ll miss you right enough,’ Carrie said softly. Then as though ashamed of her emotions, she spoke briskly, ‘While you are here, might as well do a bit of work then, isn’t it?’

  Rhian left the room and made her way to the mill, biting her lip to stop the flow of tears. He was going… her nightmare had become a reality and she did not know if she could bear it.

  Mansel Jack entered the mill and without preliminary took her in his arms. ‘Don’t look so lost, lass.’ His voice was warm and he spoke close to her ear. ‘So you do care about me a little, then?’

  ‘I’ve cared ever since the first time I saw you, and all I know is that I can’t bear you to go away from me.’

  He put his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. ‘I do believe I’ve fallen in love with you!’ His tone was one of surprise and smiling, Rhian buried her face in his shoulder. They stood for a moment in a soft silence with arms entwined and Rhian was aglow with happiness. At last she sighed softly and, greatly daring, put her hands on his cheeks to draw his mouth down to hers.

  ‘Rhian, you know I must go away, there may be no future for us.’

  ‘Hush,’ she said quickly. ‘The time for talking’s past.’

  His mouth hovered above hers for what seemed an eternity and then his strong lips were like fire against her own. This was the moment she had been born for and she seemed to dissolve, her entire being trembling with love and passion.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a corner of the mill where he set her down on a bed of wool that was soft beneath her. She held up her arms and then he was beside her, his hands brushing back her tangled curls. ‘You’re beautiful lass,’ his voice was gentle, ‘with those lovely black eyes and the red in your hair – I’ve never seen anything as fine.’

  He kissed her throat tenderly and the warmth of his mouth made her shiver. Then his hand began to caress her, moving softly and sensuously, opening the buttons of her shift with a gentleness of touch surprising in such a big man. Mansel Jack kissed her again, his mouth warm and tender against hers, drawing from her a pure stream of love that was much more beautiful than any sensation she had ever known.

  Rhian twisted her fingers in the dark hair that curled on the back of his neck. A slant of sun pierced the gloom and it seemed like a benediction on their love. She knew the pure wine of pleasure when he took her, claiming her with an authority that thrilled and delighted her. They moved together in an embrace that had a magical quality – and she possessed him as surely as he possessed her. They were one flesh, bound together in a harmony of love.

  He held her close, their ragged breathing mingled, his heart pounding as if it was inside Rhian’s breast. How had she ever doubted their love? He smoothed the hair away from her damp forehead and kissed her gently.

  ‘You’re mine now, lass – I’ve laid my mark on you and no other man but me will ever touch you.’ It was a statement and Rhian knew he was right. For good or ill she belonged to Mansel Jack and she would never want it any other way.

  Carefully he helped her to dress, buttoning her shift with experienced fingers. But there was no jealousy in her, for Rhian knew with a certainty born of some age-old wisdom that no woman had ever meant what she did to him. He had put his mark on her but she had marked him also – they were bound together now with threads so strong that not even death could sever them. She shuddered slightly and he held her close.

  ‘What’s wrong, a goose walk over your grave?’ he asked, his lips against her hair.

  She wound her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach his lips. ‘I love you, Mansel Jack,’ she whispered, her mouth beneath his.

  ‘I know, lass.’ He put her away from him gently and they looked into each other’s eyes. The mill hummed as though with a life of its own, the spinning mule wound the thread and the carding machine scraped and bit at the wool with relentless teeth.

  Rhian looked around almost with surprise and seeing her look, Mansel Jack laughed. He threw back his head and the thick column of his throat was graceful and strong; Rhian realised that she had never seen him like this, unkempt and at ease, so masculine that she felt warmed and protected by his strength.

  ‘You’ll come home with me tonight,’ he said and once again he was making a statement. ‘Gina is much better now and Carrie is well able to care for her and the children.’ He touched her cheek lightly. ‘This is something I never thought I would say to any woman: I need you, Rhian Gray.’

  She bit her lip and felt foolish as the tears trembled against her lashes. But this was the greatest moment of her life and the happiest; she was whole – a woman – and to be loved by a man the like of Mansel Jack was all she could ever want.

  He switched off the machines and picked up his jacket and together they left the mill, crossing the yard past the swiftly rushing river towards the house. Rhian paused for a moment and glanced up half-shyly. ‘What shall I tell them?’ she asked and the colour flew rich and red into her cheeks.

  He did not hesitate. ‘The truth – that you’re coming home with me.’ He slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her. ‘If you like, I shall say it for you.’

  She shook her hair away from her eyes. ‘No, don’t do that. I’m not a baby.’

  He snatched her into his arms so suddenly that she gasped for breath. Laughing, his hair curling around his handsome face, his teeth white and strong and the flecks of green she could see in the brown of his eyes – she loved him so much that it hurt.

  * * *

  Rhian hurried silently up the stairs, for she must not wake the children. She peered into the bedroom, hearing the soft breathing that told her both Cerianne and Dewi were well and truly asleep. Looking down at her brother’s child, she wondered where Billy was now. Might he meet up with Mansel Jack some time in the future? But the thought was too unpleasant to hold in her mind and she let it drift away as she gently touched Cerianne’s soft cheek.

  Sighing, she moved into th
e room she shared with Carrie, standing uncertainly near her bed and wondering what clothes she should take. She would need a nightgown and a clean cotton camisole with matching under-drawers… and suddenly it struck her as strange that she should be putting clothes into a bag so calmly, preparing to spend the night with a man who had just laid her down in the darkness of the mill and made her his woman.

  And yet there had been nothing clandestine about any of it; she belonged to him and they were like two halves of the same fruit. She thought briefly and remorsefully of Heath Jenkins and guilt brought a flush to her cheeks, but she was becoming fanciful – she had made her decision and now, it was time to go.

  Mansel Jack had just finished his meal. His strong elbows rested on the scrubbed white table and he looked at home there, as though he belonged.

  ‘Shall we see you in the morning?’ Carrie asked smoothly and he arched an eyebrow, smiling.

  ‘I expect we shall put in an appearance sometime during the day, though I won’t guarantee it will be very early on, lass.’

  Rhian clutched her bag, feeling nervously as though she were going on a great voyage. Mansel Jack rose to his feet and took up his jacket from behind the door, then held out his hand for the bag. Rhian gave it to him and stared around her foolishly, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Well, don’t worry about us, mind.’ Gina broke the silence, rearranging the shawl around her legs. ‘I can see to the babbas fine enough and Carrie will do the cooking for us. You take a rest, my girl, no one deserves it more than you.’ It was as if Gina was giving her blessing.

  Carrie moved forward then and put her hands on Rhian’s shoulders, kissing her cheek before hugging her close in a spontaneous gesture of affection.

  ‘You look after this girl or you’ll have me to answer to, mind,’ she said, staring up at Mansel Jack with misty eyes.

  ‘Lord, what is this, a wake?’ Mansel Jack took Rhian’s arm and guided her towards the door and she glanced back just once, aware that her life was at a crossroads.

  The old stone house stood stern and tall, facing west and catching the setting sun’s rays so that the long windows seemed lit with an inner glow.

  ‘Here we are, lass, home – at least for the time being.’ Mansel Jack unlocked the door and Rhian stepped inside, standing behind him and waiting in the soft darkness as he lit the lamps.

  The wash of light illuminated the oak-panelled hallway and the straight staircase of polished wood, carpeted in plain dark jute.

  ‘Nothing very luxurious here, Rhian, as you can see, but it suits me well enough for now.’

  She followed him into the drawing room – heavily furnished and old-fashioned – and watched as if in a dream as he set a light to the fire. She could scarcely believe she was really with him, here in his house. Then she felt her exhilaration evaporating; what was to be her role in his life, she wondered uneasily? It was clear he meant her to live with him until he went to join his regiment. And while she had been in his arms it had all seemed so wonderful. Now, standing in the unfamiliar room, she wondered what on earth she was doing here.

  ‘You look dazed, lass. Take off your coat, settle yourself down in a chair and let me fetch you a glass of porter.’

  Rhian obeyed, sitting stiffly in a high-backed chair and feeling at a disadvantage, out of her element and not a little frightened. Suddenly she wanted to be back in the mill house, lying in her own room with Carrie snoring her head off in the other bed.

  Mansel Jack came to her, handing her a glass, his eyes warm. ‘I know all this must seem strange, Rhian, but I’m here and I’ll look after you.’ They sat together holding hands, staring into the fire while unaccountably Rhian’s feeling of sadness persisted.

  Mansel Jack sighed. ‘There’s some paperwork I must do, Rhian,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll try not to be long.’

  Alone, she tormented herself with doubts, that he could not love her, she was a working girl. She had come from a good respectable family, it was true, but Mansel Jack was a mill owner and though these last few days he had worked like any other labouring man in Sweyn’s Eye, nothing could really change the fact that he was a rich man.

  At last he returned and stood staring down at her. ‘Come on then, lass, I’ve been neglecting you.’ He took her hands, drawing her to her feet. ‘Let’s get off to bed.’

  The room was cold, for the fire had not been lit.

  ‘Haven’t you anyone coming in to see to the house for you?’ She spoke almost formally, trying to avoid looking at the great bed which dominated the room.

  ‘No, I’ve been looking after myself – I’m quite capable you know.’ He smiled and pulled his shirt over his head, standing staring at her, his eyes full of laughter.

  ‘What’s the matter, Rhian, not feeling shy surely?’ He crossed the room in two quick strides and drew her into his arms, kissing her unresponsive lips and slowly warming her with his passion. She clung to him then, knowing that he was her man, that she loved him and that was all there was to it – right and wrong just didn’t enter into it.

  It was good to lie naked beside him in the bed. His hands were gentle as they stroked her skin and she sighed softly as she moved against him. She must savour this moment, she told herself sternly, for soon Mansel Jack would be out in France fighting the Germans and memories would be all she would have to sustain her.

  He wove his magic over her as before, bringing her to such a pitch of joy and ecstasy that it was as though the earth rocked beneath her. They were locked in a world of their own making where nothing existed except their love.

  In the morning, Rhian washed and dressed silently and hurried downstairs, determined to make Mansel Jack a good breakfast. She had trouble with the fire, which would not draw even though she fanned the reluctant flames with paper. She bit her lip on a spate of angry words and instead puffed on the flickering fire.

  At last she succeeded and with a sigh of relief filled the kettle and set it on the side of the hob. In the deep cool pantry she found a bowl of eggs and one stringy rasher of bacon; her heart melted as she thought of Mansel Jack fending for himself.

  By the time he was washed and dressed, she had breakfast on the table and his smiling eyes met hers so that the colour rose to her cheeks at the message she read in them.

  He sat opposite her and she leaned her elbows on the clean linen cloth, watching him eat the food she had prepared. The giving of food was like the giving of love, she thought in surprise – the need was there to nurture and succour.

  ‘Are we going to the mill today?’ she asked and after a moment, Mansel Jack stared at her as though not seeing her.

  ‘I’m not going to work today, I have something else planned, but you’d better go ahead and get some of those shawls finished.’

  She felt her heart sink; was he tired of her already?

  ‘I almost forgot I’m a working girl, mind,’ she said abruptly, ‘and can’t afford to take days off.’

  He made no reply, but helped himself to another slice of bread and smiled enigmatically.

  ‘What is there to laugh about?’ The words fell hard into the silence; even now Rhian could not be too familiar with Mansel Jack and felt absurdly shy of him. She knew she was putting him on a pedestal, but she couldn’t help herself.

  He rose at last. ‘I’ve got to go out.’ He looked at her, his eyes compelling, ‘I’ll see you at the mill, later.’ He paused to kiss her lightly and then he was gone; the front door slammed after him and it was as though the sun had vanished behind the clouds.

  Rhian walked from room to room. The big house seemed impersonal, not stamped with Mansel Jack’s presence except for a coat hanging in the cloakroom in the hall. She held one of the sleeves to her cheek, breathing in the scent of him which lingered in the fabric, sighing softly, not allowing herself to think beyond the moment.

  Her day seemed to pass with a strange air of unreality. Rhian found herself tense and unsure and it was only when she lay in Mansel Jack’s arms that night that sh
e was truly happy again.

  She awoke early in the morning to find that frost had rimed the corners of the window, shimmering like diamonds on the glass panes. She felt cold knowing she was alone and that Mansel Jack had left without saying. There was no letter, nothing… it was as though he could not bear to leave her…

  * * *

  It was colder than Mansel Jack had ever imagined it could be as he strode along the dank trench, seeing with pity the drawn strained faces of soldiers grown lean, weary and battle-scarred. He had been in France only a week and already had seen enough death and destruction to last him a lifetime.

  He remembered something Sterling Richardson had said, how the war changed a man’s perspective. It was true and with clarity he realised now that the days he had spent with Rhian had been the happiest of his life. Well, his plans had been made and he felt sure that in due course he would get the leave he had applied for – even the Army had a heart.

  A shell exploded somewhere ahead of him in the darkness. A man screamed and, with an oath, Mansel Jack began to run.

  * * *

  Rhian had returned at once to the mill and it seemed that everywhere she looked there were memories of Mansel Jack. His presence permeated the building and at nights, Rhian dreamed she was again in his arms.

  It was Christmas time now and snow covered the town, beautifying the tall chimneys of the works, lying softly on the banks of the river Swan.

  Rhian shivered in spite of the large fire, watching dully as Cerianne and Dewi played with their new wooden toys.

  She choked back the tears, knowing she was wallowing in self-pity and yet she simply sat in her chair, staring into the flames and unable to rid herself of the misery that gnawed at her.

  The morning air was chill when Rhian awoke to find Carrie shaking her urgently. She sat up sleepily and shivered as the coldness embraced her bare arms.

  ‘I wish you all the joy in the world, cariad, but then you know that, don’t you?’ Carrie babbled. ‘This man Mansel Jack – he’s right for you, it stands out a mile.’