Spinner's Wharf

by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)

  ‘Come to me, I can wait no longer,’ she whispered in his ear. He felt the hot sun on his back, the softness of the woman beneath him and knew that he was alive. When he moved to take her she cried out in pleasure, arching her back as though to encompass him entirely. He was lost in a sweetness which had nothing to do with war or death, and joy exploded in him so that he shuddered and cried out a name that was not hers.

  She lay beneath him silent, unreproachful, kind, her gratitude bringing tears to her eyes.

  ‘So you have left behind a woman, lovie,’ she said soothingly as he buried his face in her neck. ‘I would have expected nothing else from a man like you.’ She caressed the hair curling on his neck and Heath tried to remember the name which passion had brought to his lips. But there was a warning in his head, a withdrawing, telling him that probing would be painful. So he relaxed and lay back against the pillows, his hand caressing Margaret’s shoulder.

  ‘I remember nothing about any woman I left behind,’ he said softly. ‘I only know that you are here next to me and you are all I could wish for.’

  She leaned on one elbow and stared down at him tenderly. ‘For however long this lasts, I’ll be grateful,’ she said solemnly. ‘You are a gift from heaven and I shall savour every minute that I have you at my side. I realise that one day soon perhaps you will go back to your army and I shall be alone again, but for now we have each other.’

  She slid from the bed. ‘Now I shall make us both tea and we shall drink it in bed and then we shall sleep like pigs in the afternoon sunshine.’ She smiled at him, her eyes alight and Heath returned her smile, pushing away the nameless fears revived by her talk of the war.

  The drowsing days of early May were an oasis of time where nothing existed but making love, eating, drinking and sleeping. Heath became stronger, though his memory was still hazy and he was content for the moment to allow it to remain so.

  He awoke one morning before the sun was up to hear a strangled cry from the kitchen. As he sat up sharply, the sound of men’s voices rose through the thin boards of the room. He pulled on his clothes and moved stealthily along the landing to stare down into the room below.

  He caught sight of uniforms, heard unfamiliar voices speaking in a strange guttural tongue. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with fear as he realised the men in the kitchen were the enemy. He was about to move back into the bedroom and make his escape through the window when he realised that he could hear Margaret crying.

  A soldier moved a little and undid the buttons of his trousers – legs open, body thrust forward. He stood over a figure on the floor whose white legs were being held cruelly apart. Then the man thrust downwards, while behind him his comrades urged him on with raucous laughter.

  Heath felt a mist rise over his eyes, clouding his brain. These Germans – the hated enemy – were raping and plundering. He was so incensed that the wound on his temple throbbed.

  It was Rhian Gray he saw lying there and his memories were flooding back now: Rhian whom he had coaxed out of her fear of men, whom he had loved, telling her that the violent attack by Gerwin Price had not been her fault.

  He had convinced her at last and she had lain with him, promising herself to him. But then she had written to tell him that she had married another man. Yet he loved her still and could not allow the men who tormented her to go unpunished.

  Enraged, he looked around him for a weapon and saw on the wall a gleaming cutlass. He snatched it up and hurled himself down the stairs.

  The first man fell without a sound, blood spurting uncontrollably from the jugular vein. The man astride the woman turned with mouth agape and Heath caught him with the flat of the blade, breaking his nose. He fell to the ground with a harsh cry.

  Heath was caught from behind by the two remaining German soldiers, but his strength was that of a madman and the enemy had no hope against him. He strangled the last one with his bare hands while the sound of sobbing filled the silence.

  When the violence was over, the mists cleared from his mind and Heath was once again in France. He held Margaret to him, cradling her head against his chest, pity flowing through him as she struggled even in her pain to pull her torn skirt over her legs.

  ‘Hush, everything will be all right. I shall look after you, no one will ever hurt you again,’ he said softly and it was as though he was talking to Rhian Gray. But no, she had betrayed him, she had married some coward while Heath was risking his life at the Front.

  ‘My God!’ Margaret was scrambling to her knees. ‘There’s someone coming – I pray there are no more of the Boches, they’ll kill us for sure.’

  Heath put his hand over her mouth and drew her with him to the window.

  The men outside were British soldiers, he could see the khaki of their uniforms. He felt relief flood through him and then he recognised Morgan Lloyd, who was the lance corporal in charge of the small party.

  It appeared the soldiers were an advance company, sent to reconnoitre the countryside surrounding Mametz Wood. Morgan Lloyd’s smile of greeting faded as he stepped inside and an expression of disbelief crossed his face as he saw the unexpected scene of carnage in the small sun-washed kitchen of the cottage.

  ‘Duw! There’s a bloody sight! What’s happened here, man?’

  It was Margaret who replied. Clothes torn and face bruised, she saw the young soldier’s eyes become shrewd as she stepped forward. He was a quick one right enough and would soon assess the situation, but just to make sure she rushed into speech.

  ‘The pigs of Boches were raping me,’ she said through swollen lips, ‘and this man came to help me. Tackled them all on his own, he deserves a medal.’

  Heath was aware of Morgan looking from the woman to the dead Germans and then back again to Heath. He pushed his helmet back on his head and though he clearly guessed there was more to the incident than met the eye, there was no doubt that the woman had been raped and Heath had indeed killed four of the enemy.

  ‘You’re a bloody hero, man,’ he said. ‘I’m proud to be serving in the same battalion as you.’ He held out his hand and as Heath took it, he knew his halcyon days of happiness were over.

  ‘We’ll clear up your kitchen for you, missus,’ Morgan said crisply, ‘and then we shall have to rejoin our own troops.’ Quietly he set the men to work and Heath noticed that there was a new strength and confidence about Morgan which would gain any man’s respect.

  ‘There’ll be a lot of explaining to do when we get back,’ Morgan told him, ‘so perhaps it’s just as well if we go through it now. I can see you’ve had a head wound – loss of memory, was it?’

  Heath nodded wearily. ‘Believe it or not, that’s exactly what it was. I don’t know how long I’ve been here in the cottage with Margaret, I only know that if it wasn’t for her I’d be a dead man.’

  ‘Well, I reckon you’ve repaid your debt, Private Jenkins.’

  Heath did not say goodbye to Margaret, he simply walked away from the cottage without looking back. There was a pain in his head and a sickness in his gut, for he knew that he was no longer the Heath Jenkins who had left Sweyn’s Eye with such high hopes. Now a strange and dangerous beast lurked inside his head and he feared it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The early summer sun slanted over the rooftops of Sweyn’s Eye, dappling dingy courts, lighting up window corners where copper dust sparkled like gold. It was a dreaming, sun-washed day and the war seemed far away.

  In the darkness of the mill house where the soft sun was barely able to penetrate the small round windows, Rhian worked at the loom. The shuttle flew fast as she bent in a graceful arc over the steadily growing pattern of wool. She was mixing new colours – soft violet shades and strong blues – with the traditional biscuit background, and the result was pleasing.

  The demand for woollen goods had fallen slightly with the onset of the warmer weather, but the women of Sweyn’s Eye still felt it their duty to send parcels to the Front and so Rhian was kept busy providing han
ks of knitting wool. But sometimes, like today when a strange unhappy mood possessed her, she felt the need to tax her mind with the practical and yet intriguing job of making up new patterns.

  There was no need for her ever to work again, Mansel Jack had seen to that, but Rhian could not have endured a life made up of humdrum chores around the house and so she spent much of her day in the mill, occupying herself with her work, frightened of the shadows that haunted her mind whenever she thought of her husband fighting on foreign soil.

  The months since her marriage had passed all too slowly and without him, she was empty and lost. But tears did nothing to alleviate the pain of being alone, though she sometimes cried into her pillow at nights with longing for the presence of him, the intangible feelings of strength and love that emanated from him. With him she was complete but without him she felt soulless.

  His last letter she kept in the pocket of her apron, reading and re-reading every word. There, among the words of love, he had given her instructions for dealing with their finances, told her that pay to Doris Williams must be stopped now that she was improving – generous he was, but not soft.

  ‘Rhian, there’s a girl you are. I’ve been calling you for ages!’ Gina stood in the doorway of the mill; at her side and clinging to her skirt was Cerianne, her eyes large as she stared at the machinery.

  Rhian switched off the loom and rubbed her hands on her apron.

  ‘Thank God that little tinker Dewi is asleep,’ Gina continued. ‘He’s been getting on my nerves today.’

  There was an edge to Gina’s voice and Rhian looked at her in bewilderment, seeing suddenly the lines of strain around her mouth and the deep shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘Come on then, I’m starving.’ Rhian kissed Cerianne and the little girl responded by clinging to her with warm plump arms.

  Cerianne was growing more like Billy every day, Rhian thought with a catch in her throat. There was little likeness to her mother, which was just as well for Delmai Richardson had not come calling once to see how the little girl was faring.

  There was no sign of Carrie in the kitchen and Rhian stood back from the heat of the fire which even on a warm, balmy day was necessary because of the cooking.

  ‘No wonder you’re tired, my girl.’ She rested her hand on Gina’s shoulder. ‘The room’s hot enough to boil an egg.’

  Gina slumped in a chair and sighed heavily, and Rhian leaned over her with an expression of concern.

  ‘What is it, Gina, what’s wrong? You look so… beaten, somehow.’

  ‘I’ve just had a row with Carrie. She’s gone off in a huff and left her dinner and I just can’t cope with it all any longer.’

  Gina dissolved into tears, the hands covering her face marred by burns from the oven.

  ‘I’ve been letting you do too much,’ Rhian said remorsefully. ‘I’m heartily ashamed of myself – look, why don’t you go and lie on the bed with Dewi for an hour?’

  Gina looked up hopefully. ‘Duw, are you sure you can manage?’ The question was asked out of politeness for she was on her feet already, making for the stairs. At the door she turned to look at Rhian, her eyes shadowed.

  ‘It’s not just the work,’ she said softly, her voice cracking with weariness. ‘It’s thinking of what’s happened to my Heinz.’ She put her hand to her breast. ‘I feel in here that he will not come back to me, but I can’t help harbouring a faint hope.’

  Rhian stared at her worriedly, knowing that in her own anxiety and pain at parting from Mansel Jack she had been thoughtless and selfish.

  ‘There’s awful I feel,’ she said gently. ‘I should have realised how you were suffering.’

  ‘It’s my spirit that’s tired,’ Gina said, ‘and don’t you feel bad, for you’ve worked like a trooper out there in the mill. You bring the bread into the house as you’ve always done, and Carrie and me – well, we’re grateful.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose I just need to get away from the four walls of the kitchen sometimes,’ she smiled apologetically. ‘Now the weather’s good I’ll get out more – take the children to the park to see the ducks, they’d like that.’

  Rhian felt her throat constrict. ‘You’ve never been strong since you had the jaundice and now you need help with the little ones, that’s plain enough.’ She smiled cheerfully. ‘Look, I have an idea – why don’t I see Doris again, ask her to come over a couple of mornings and help with the work? She’s been much more herself lately and has been talking again about wanting a job.’

  ‘Aye, it would help,’ Gina nodded. ‘Carrie isn’t as young as she was and her back’s been playing her up. I think we could do with another pair of hands around here.’

  ‘That’s settled then. You go on up to bed now and have a rest and I’ll see to the dinner.’

  Gina held out her hand, ‘Come on, Cerianne, it’s time you had a nap too.’ The little girl scrambled off Rhian’s knee at once and rested her head against Gina’s white apron.

  After Gina had gone upstairs, the silence in the kitchen hung like a heavy stone around Rhian’s neck. She moved to the door and stood in the cooling breeze that drifted in from the river, wondering how she could have been so blind. Gina was obviously tired and in need of help and understanding.

  How would she feel, Rhian mused, if she had lost Mansel Jack? She pushed the fearful thought away from her and turned back into the kitchen where the kettle was spitting water into the flames of the fire. There was very little for her to do except keep an eye on the meat cooking in the oven, so she sank into a chair, her hands lying in her lap, and tried to keep her mind still.

  Carrie returned within the hour, the basket on her arm full of bread and fruit.

  ‘What’s all that you’ve got there?’ Rhian asked in amazement, for food was still scarce.

  ‘There’s a nose on you, girl. I have my friends, mind, and it doesn’t pay to ask too many questions.’ She smiled. ‘But I am surprised you haven’t missed a couple of blankets here and there, or a couple of pounds of knitting wool.’ She glanced round her. ‘Where’s Gina?’

  ‘I’ve sent her up to bed.’ Rhian leaned forward in her chair. ‘I’ve been so selfish in thinking only of myself and I failed to see how tired Gina’s been lately. I shouldn’t have been so quick to bury my head in the sand.’

  Carrie unpacked the food, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘Jumped down my throat she did, this morning, couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong. Of course the babbas were playing her up – well, Dewi was anyway. A proper little boy he is, a right little devil, needs a man’s hand really speaking.’

  ‘Well, I’ve decided to go to see Doris. Mansel Jack has finished paying her wages now she’s better, so she’ll be glad of a job. She’s improved a great deal lately and I’m going to have her come round and give a hand. You remember I asked her before, but she wasn’t fit enough then.’

  Carrie moved to the fireplace and took up the brown teapot, spilling steaming water into the cold china, swirling it round while all the time her brow was puckered thoughtfully.

  ‘I do try to pull my weight, but I won’t deny I’ve been a mite stubborn what with the pain in my back an’ all. Want a cup of tea, merchi?’

  Rhian nodded her head absently. ‘Yes, please.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Carrie, you always do more than your share and I love you for it. No, we need some help around here, that’s the answer.’

  As Carrie poured the fragrant tea, she was biting her lip in concentration. ‘I suppose Doris will be all right with the children – much better now, I hear, and more her old self, like.’

  ‘Well, later on I’ll go into town,’ Rhian said decisively. ‘Then I shall see Doris and we’ll soon have everything sorted out.’

  She spoke confidently, but she wasn’t so sure of anything if the truth be told. Doris might not want to work for her now, after all she did have children of her own. But negative thoughts would do no good, she told herself sharply; she must stir herself out of her apathy and at leas
t try to do something to improve matters.

  It was early afternoon when Rhian walked through Sweyn’s Eye, staring at the streets as though she was a sleeper just awakening. The shop doorways were no longer hung about with wares, no boots hung on strings outside the leather shop and the greengrocer’s table held nothing but a few tired cabbages.

  A man moved past her leaning heavily on a stick, recognisable as a wounded soldier by the blue of the uniform he wore. Rhian glanced away from him, her heart beating swiftly.

  She turned towards Canal Street and as she heard the sound of Dai-End-House playing his accordion her thoughts swept back to the days when she was young and had thought herself in love with Heath Jenkins. Those breathless days when she stood at the window of the Canal Street Laundry, her only worry being that Heath might not come to meet her.

  How much had changed since then – not least, she herself. She recognised that what she had felt for Heath was not the real iron-strong love she shared with Mansel Jack. And yet there was still a kind of love in her heart for Heath, for he had been her friend since childhood and had cared for her, taking his revenge on the man who had used and defiled her. But now Heath was ‘missing believed killed’ – how Rhian dreaded those words.

  She moved along the narrow cobbled street, seeing the long ribbon of the canal gleaming in the sunlight. The waters were ruffled by the breeze and a barge glided slowly along, harnessed to a horse which moved with heavy deliberation, head hanging wearily.

  Doris herself opened the door and smiled widely. ‘There’s nice to see you – have you brought my money?’ She stepped back to allow Rhian into the kitchen and her mother scolded her soundly.

  ‘Hush, girl, there’s cheeky you are to Rhian. Come in and sit down by here and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’

  Rhian smiled. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Williams. I have to get back home soon.’ She glanced at Doris covertly, seeing that she had gained weight and there was a healthy colour in her cheeks.