Spinner's Wharf

by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)

  Rhian looked up in bewilderment but Carrie put a finger over her lips. ‘Hush, we’ll say no more now but just you be calm and happy, for this is the most important day of your life.’

  Parcels littered the scrubbed kitchen table and Carrie smiled at Rhian. ‘They’re for you, presents from Mansel Jack.’

  The gown of soft golden velvet glowed in the dimness of the room and Rhian shook her head, unable to speak.

  ‘Here, Rhian, nice hot water for you to wash.’ Gina carried an enamel bowl to the table, her eyes glowing with excitement. ‘Come on, let’s help you to dress! Hurry now, you’ll be late, there’s a cab waiting outside for you and it’s so cold that the poor old horse is frozen stiff.’

  ‘Will somebody tell me what all this is about?’ Rhian asked as Gina held a towel towards her.

  ‘Come on,’ Carrie was pulling the gown over Rhian’s head. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  Rhian stood quite still, her hands on her hips and her mouth set in a stubborn line. She stared at Carrie, who shrugged her shoulders and gave a great sigh.

  ‘All right then, Mansel Jack’s home for your wedding – arranged it all before he went away, he did, wanted it to be a surprise.’

  Rhian stared at her for a moment in silence, joy vying with anger as she digested Carrie’s words.

  ‘Did no one think to ask me?’ she demanded in disbelief. ‘How dare you all go behind my back?’

  ‘Hush now,’ Gina spoke in her usual gentle way, ‘it was all done with the best intentions in the world; we want your happiness, you must know that.’

  ‘Well, Mansel Jack should have come to me the minute he was home, asked me if I wanted to marry him.’

  Carrie laughed. ‘And do you?’

  Rhian’s anger dissolved. ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  Carrie grasped her arm. ‘Right then, let’s get on with it.’

  The church of St Michael stood on the hill, opposite the square buildings of the school. From the porch, looking downhill, the rolling valleys could be seen shimmering white in the winter sun.

  ‘We’re here,’ Carrie said, arching her eyebrow in a wicked smile. ‘Come on then, don’t just sit there, your handsome man is waiting for you.’

  Rhian allowed Carrie to draw her beneath the porch of the church and stopped in amazement as she saw the faces of her friends smiling at her. Mark and Katie, both of them resplendent in new clothes, waited for her and Mark held out his arm.

  ‘I’m giving you away, Rhian,’ he said softly and then she was being led along the aisle where the winter sun shone through the windows, spilling jewel colours on to the wooden pews.

  Mansel Jack was turning to look at her, tall and handsome in his uniform and smiling when he saw her. Then Rhian saw nothing of the staring faces. She moved up the aisle towards the man she loved and as he towered over her, she leaned against him overwhelmed with joy.

  The solemn words of the service spilled into the silence of the church and Rhian tried to make herself believe that this was really happening. Mansel Jack must have been planning it for such a long time!

  In a low but clear voice she made her responses, promising to love him and cleave only unto him and it was the easiest promise in the world to make.

  The wide gold ring slipped easily on to her finger and she looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. The organ music crashed into the silence and Mansel Jack leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  ‘You’re mine for keeps now, lass.’ He kissed her tenderly and she clung to him for a moment, hiding her face against his shoulder. A deep peace and contentment filled her, for now she was Mansel Jack’s wife and there was nothing anybody could do to change it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The winter snows thawed and the rains fell heavily so that the earth became sodden and heavy. Chill breezes swept down from the skies, sending flannel skirts whipping round the booted feet of the women who walked briskly towards the railway station. Surging like the sea, they left the munitions factory, chattering and laughing – a flock of canaries, as they were called – in trousers and mob caps.

  To the rear of the crowd, set apart by finer clothing and skin unaffected by explosive powder, the office girls walked together, fewer in number and with modulated voices lowered discreetly.

  Delmai Richardson was silent, hugging her thoughts to herself. Tonight she would go to Rickie’s bed, coax him from sleep, warm him to a passion that she hoped would be fruitful. For Rickie desired nothing more than to have a son, and she desired to stay at home in the comfort of her house and never set eyes on the munitions factory again.

  The stink of the explosive powder seemed to impregnate the very fabric of her good serge skirt and crisp cotton blouse, even though she had as little as possible to do with the factory itself. She shuddered as she remembered the accident which had killed two of the girls. For days everyone had been on edge and she herself practically ran past the outer buildings where the workers tapped the gaines.

  Her colleagues talked about the bravery of the women who continued working in such appalling conditions day after day, but they were the lower orders after all and were used to such things.

  It was good to reach the tram terminus and shamelessly she pushed past a few of the older women, sinking into the chill of the seat with a sigh. She thought again of Rickie’s almost obsessional need for a son. The prospect of becoming a mother was not one she welcomed, since she had had quite enough with Cerianne. Her heart seemed to move out of its rhythm for a moment and the biting pain of loss swept over her – a pain that she could not always control. She had been surprised to find that she missed her daughter dreadfully and found her arms achingly empty.

  It was an added frustration to know that the child was so close, down at the mill house near the river. Yet she might as well be on the other side of the world, for she was lost to Delmai. She had occasionally toyed with the idea of going to see her baby… just to watch perhaps from the other side of the road, not to touch and hold for that would be too painful.

  Common sense invariably prevailed however and she usually succeeded in putting the idea out of her head.

  But Rickie’s constant harping on having a son had at last worn down her resistance and once she had become accustomed to the idea, it was not all that unpleasant. She recognised that her acquiescence owed a great deal to the fact that she would not have to nurse the child herself. No more sleepless nights, and not for her the toil of washing and caring for a baby. She would have all the pleasure without any of the harassment she had endured with Cerianne.

  Rickie was already at home and he wrinkled his nose as she entered the drawing room, an infuriating habit that he had picked up lately.

  ‘I know I smell of fulminate,’ she said sharply, ‘but then so would you if you worked in the vicinity of the munitions factory. I shall go and change at once. Meantime you can pour me a glass of wine; I need something to refresh me after working all day.’

  She saw him frown and knew she had touched on a raw spot. He hated to think of her in dangerous surroundings while he sat safely in the office of the Richardson Copper Company. He should by rights be serving his country in France, it was only because Sterling had chosen to go to war and give his brother a role to play in the running of the works that he had been able to save face.

  She called sharply to the servants for hot water and hurried to her room, flinging off her clothes. They did indeed smell to high heaven and impatiently she thrust them out on to the landing, kicking off her shoes angrily.

  Soon she was warmed and soothed by the comfort of the hot bathwater as she leaned back against the hard enamel, endeavouring to keep her hair free of the steam. If she allowed it to become damp, it would fall lankly on her shoulders and tonight she wanted to look her best.

  To her surprise, Rickie entered the room with two glasses in his hands. He pushed the door shut and sat on the dressing stool, his eyes devouring her. She read desire in them and smoothed the water over her breasts c
oquettishly.

  ‘Bring my wine here, Rickie.’ She spoke the words as though they were a caress and he obediently knelt beside her, his hands reaching towards her. She slapped him away playfully, for she had found it didn’t always do to appear too eager. Sometimes she allowed him to believe that he wooed her into a reluctant passion, at other times she played the role of seductress, so Rickie scarcely knew what she would do next. Which was probably why she had kept him from his usual amours with the serving wenches, she reflected.

  She stared at him coolly now over the rim of her glass. The wine sparkled sweet and red, reflecting in the water – a fallen shimmering ruby.

  Lowering her eyes, she handed him back the glass. ‘Will you pat me dry, Rickie?’ She sounded a little petulant, but then she needed to avenge the snub he had been so ready to administer when she arrived home from the factory.

  She rose with water streaming over her breasts and down the roundness of her thighs, clinging like tears to the curling hair beneath her belly.

  His arms enveloped her and he lifted her, carrying her to the bed where he set her down gently.

  ‘Let me love you, Delmai. It will be beautiful, I promise you.’ She wound her arms around his neck, feeling roused by the hardness of him pressing against her nakedness, then sighed softly.

  ‘You always do win me over in the end, don’t you, Rickie? You know I can’t resist you for long.’ Making him feel good served a useful purpose, for he was always more vigorous after she had spent time praising him. She felt a sensuous pleasure as his hands roamed over her body. He was no Billy Gray, but then she did not want him to be; she had had more than enough of passion that withered and died beneath the burden of poverty.

  Rickie was more delicate in his approach, he did not thrust and plunder, and if his gentleness did not arouse the same degree of ecstasy as did Billy’s vigour, then she was content to have it so for there were many compensations.

  As her husband came to her, she closed her eyes, clinging to his shoulders and allowing all thoughts to drift from her mind. She was in bed with fresh clean sheets and silken covers, she was Mrs Delmai Richardson with all the scandal of the past lost in obscurity, thanks to the ever-increasing prominence of the war. In short, she was back where she belonged and nothing must ever again be allowed to threaten that position.

  Later when she sat opposite Rickie at the long, elegant dining table, she smiled at him warmly. ‘You were very good tonight, darling,’ she said softly, ‘and I’m sure your virility will bear fruit. I think tomorrow I shall stay in bed and not go into work.’

  Rickie’s eyes opened wide. ‘But surely, you can’t tell yet if…’ His words trailed away into silence, for his wife had become authoritative of late and he found that she was usually discriminating in her appraisals. She had matured wonderfully and his life had never been more exciting. Now she was a full-blown woman and appreciative of him in every way, as well she might be. So he smiled and agreed that she must stay in bed and rest and that he would indeed ask the doctor to call.

  Excitement stirred in him – perhaps his son had been conceived, he wanted an heir very badly and Delmai knew it. He failed to see that once his dream became a reality he would be entirely at his wife’s mercy, for then she would have a stout stick with which to beat him.

  Watching the fleeting expressions on his face, Delmai was well aware of the line his thought processes would be taking. She felt she knew every inch of him and came to the conclusion that he was not too bad a bargain. He was weak, yes, but that was something she could use to her advantage. On the other hand, he was quite good-looking, though his mouth could become sulky if he was denied what he wanted. But their marriage would be a good one, for she would work at it.

  She sighed inwardly, knowing that she had had a lucky escape from a life of toil in the Welsh mining valley. It was all credit to Rickie that he had taken her back after such faithlessness – leaving him to live in Canal Street and then running off with Billy Gray. Nevertheless she did not underestimate her own cleverness; she had made him feel that he was privileged to have her return to his house and to his bed, and so long as she continued to reassure him of her devotion then everything would be all right.

  ‘Penny for them?’ Rickie leaned forward to rest his hand on hers and she glanced up at him smiling, her eyes warm with promise.

  ‘I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you for my husband,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t tell you how superb you were in bed, so considerate and yet so passionate.’ She turned her hand, curling her fingers in his. ‘We must never let anything come between us, Rickie, for I think we both realise that it’s our destiny to be together.’

  * * *

  It was several weeks later when the early morning light sent rose-coloured pools drifting across the room as Delmai sat up slowly, thankful that she was not due to go to the office. She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea caught her and with her hand over her mouth struggled to control the urge to rush to the bathroom and vomit. At her side Rickie sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring in concern at her paleness.

  ‘What’s wrong, Delmai? You’re trembling.’ He took her in his arms and held her close and she was grateful to him for his kindness.

  ‘It’s as I told you,’ she spoke almost in awe. ‘I was right, I have conceived your child.’ She mentally counted the days and her eyes widened. ‘Rickie, I must be at least three weeks late, I didn’t really think…’ Her words trailed away and Rickie, smiling, kissed her cheek.

  ‘Well, whenever you tell me anything I believe it and so this comes as no great surprise to me.’

  Suddenly weak, Delmai fell back against the pillow and with relief felt the nausea subside. No more up early in the morning, she thought with joy, no tedious train journey and more importantly, no long hours spent over wearisome figures in proximity to the constant smell, not to mention the danger of the explosives.

  Rickie rose from bed. ‘Would you like some tea, Delmai, can I get you anything at all?’ He smiled at her as the enormity of the situation dawned on him. ‘I shall not go to work today,’ he said with a self-satisfied expression on his face. ‘This is the most important event in my life and I’m going to savour every minute of it.’

  Delmai returned his smile. ‘I’m so pleased Rickie. Come here, and kiss me. And then perhaps we should call the doctor!’

  He knelt on the side of the bed and caught her face in his hands. ‘The only thing we have to worry about now is that it’s a boy,’ he said softly.

  Delmai looked up at him. ‘It’s going to be a boy, all right, all our children will be boys.’

  He held her close and she closed her eyes, certain that this was to be her punishment: to bear only male children from now on, never to know the love of a daughter.

  She felt a tear tremble on her lashes, remembering that she had given up Cerianne so thoughtlessly, needing only to find comfort and security for herself. And since she had forfeited any right to the little girl, they would be for ever strangers destined to remain apart.

  ‘Hey, what’s this, you’re crying.’ Rickie looked down at her anxiously. ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it?’

  Delmai wound her arms around his neck and drew him close to her. ‘Of course everything is all right,’ she whispered. ‘I’m crying because I’m so happy, that’s all.’

  ‘Silly little thing,’ Rickie said gently. And as Delmai clung to him – feeling the warmth and comfort of the house around her, hearing the bustle of the servants below stairs preparing the day – she knew that if she had to make the choice again, she would still come to the same decision.

  * * *

  The morning was chill with the hint of rain in the air and Mary hugged the collar of her coat close about her face. She was late arriving at the store and the bustle of the shoppers and the clink of crockery from the tea rooms was like a rebuke. She knew her presence was not vital to the running of the emporium, but she liked to keep her finger on the pulse of things.

 
She took her time climbing the stairs to her office, conscious of the sweet burden she carried though as yet there was very little alteration in her appearance. Strangely she had not been sickly in the mornings, indeed had never felt better in her life physically. It was only at night when conscience reared its threatening head in the darkness that she worried about the possibility of her unborn child being illegitimate.

  Mary might have forced her worries out of her mind except for the nagging knowledge that Mary Anne Bloomfield was aware of the situation. For the first few days after leaving the doctor’s surgery and seeing the American woman smirking at her knowingly, she had lived in fear of some reprisal. She was sensitive to every glance that came her way, wondering if the scandal of ‘Mary Sutton and the young doctor’ was being spread about the town.

  A soft tapping on the door startled her and she called out more sharply than she had intended: ‘Come in, for goodness’ sake!’

  She leaned back apprehensively against the leather of her chair, half expecting to see Mary Anne, but it was Rhian who stood in the doorway. She really must get a grip on herself, Mary thought worriedly, she was allowing her edginess to show.

  ‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ Rhian asked quickly. ‘If so, I can always…’ Her words trailed away as Mary waved to her to come inside.

  ‘Of course you haven’t.’ Studying Rhian’s face, Mary saw that she was deeply happy and felt envy gnaw at her.

  ‘I must say your wedding came as something of a surprise to me.’ Her tone was cold, but she could not help herself. She gestured towards the plush blue chair on the other side of the desk and Rhian after a moment’s hesitation sat down.

  ‘I was completely surprised by it all myself,’ Rhian said, shaking back her hair. ‘Do you know Mansel Jack didn’t breathe a word to me about any of it? The arrangements were kept completely secret. But of course it was exactly what I had hoped and dreamed for.’