‘Do you still want a job, Doris?’ she asked slowly. ‘It’s only a few days a week helping to clean the mill house – do you like the idea?’
Doris clapped her hands in delight. ‘When can I start? I’m so fed-up with this old place and me mam going on at me all the time.’
‘It won’t be as much pay as you were getting before,’ Rhian cautioned, ‘but I’m sure every little bit helps.’ She glanced towards Mrs Williams, who was nodding her head.
‘There’s grateful we are,’ she agreed. ‘I know Doris needs to get out a bit, especially as her boys are growing up out of the way. She’s cooped up by here in the kitchen too much – and her not used to it.’
‘Do you think she’s strong enough, Mrs Williams?’ Rhian asked anxiously and the older women nodded again.
‘Oh, yes, nothing wrong with her now – like herself she is, thank the good Lord.’
‘Well then, that’s settled.’ Rhian moved towards the door. ‘Can you come to the mill house first thing in the morning, Doris?’
‘Of course I can. I’ll be there as soon as the daylight comes to wake me, don’t you bother!’
As Rhian retraced her steps, she wondered if she had done the right thing. Doris seemed well enough, and surely she could come to no harm doing small jobs about the house. It certainly seemed an ideal solution to her problem – killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
She sighed and strolled down towards the beach where the sea rolled softly into the curving bay and the sky above was cloudless and bright. Moving slowly along the edge of the shore, breathing in the clean salt tang of the air, she wished that Mansel Jack was here beside her, taking her hand in his and towering over her with his great strength. And suddenly she fell to her knees in the softness of the sand and, alone with the sound of the sea laving the beach, she wept.
* * *
It was some while before Mary could shake from her mind the heavy burden of her grief for Brandon and for her brother. She had remained in her room most of the time, not wanting to rise from bed. Then reason asserted itself and her thoughts clarified as she told herself that she was being weak and self-indulgent at a time when many women in her position were carrying on normally.
She decided that she would go to the store to see for herself how matters were progressing. It was time she took an interest in living again. The day was dry and warm and roses made bright splashes of colour against green lawns as Mary strolled towards the tram terminus, determined to be in good spirits.
It was stuffy inside the swaying car and she pulled at the collar of her silk blouse, feeling breathless and uncomfortable. Her skirts were becoming too tight and needed letting out; she would have to see if Muriel could spare her a little time – the girl always was good at sewing and had helped a great deal when Mary was just starting her business. A smile curved Mary’s lip… it would be to Muriel she would go for the tiny clothes that would be necessary in a few months’ time.
She was grateful to alight from the tram, yet the heat of the street was almost like a physical blow. The pavements shimmered and light seemed to bounce from every surface.
Mary stepped into the comparative coolness of the store’s foyer and the soft shiny green of the aspidistra plants set out in heavy china jardinières was a pleasing and refreshing sight. She heard the tinkle of crockery and the rise and fall of voices and knew that the tea rooms were doing a brisk trade, which was as it should be. Being in no mood for conversation, she skirted the edges of the room, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye.
She moved upstairs to her office and sat gratefully at the desk, closing her eyes for a moment, leaning against the cool leather chair and drinking in the atmosphere of the store. It was a great source of satisfaction to her to know that she had built up the business alone – in that way at least she was her own woman, independent and strong.
And yet without her husband, could she ever be the same again? She had loved him dearly and betrayed him so easily – would it be wrong to give her unborn child his name?
There was an increasingly familiar uneasiness in her, a sense of wrongdoing. And there too was the inherent fear that at any moment she chose to speak, Mary Anne Bloomfield could tear her reputation asunder.
A sudden rapping on the door startled Mary and with a sigh she sat up straighter in her chair.
‘Come in!’ Her voice was light and controlled and her face expressionless as she faced Greenie’s anxious eyes.
‘Mrs Sutton, there’s sorry I am to trouble you, but there’s a bit of bother downstairs – that Miss Bloomfield again.’ There was a world of scorn in the older woman’s voice and Mary felt her nerves grow taut as she rose to her feet.
‘Don’t worry, Greenie, I’ll come at once.’ Mary held her head high as she walked down the stairs, looking neither to the right nor the left. In the tea rooms Mary Anne was standing in the centre of the floor, her face flushed with the heat, her hair dishevelled and a strong smell of drink hanging over her.
‘Can I be of any help?’ Mary spoke formally and the room fell silent as all eyes rested on the two women.
‘I want a table.’ Mary Anne sounded aggressive, her eyes were narrowed as she stared at Mary and her full lips fell into a pout.
‘I think you ought to go home to bed.’ Mary spoke lightly, but anger was building up inside her. ‘I imagine you have indulged in too much wine and in this heat too – not quite the ladylike thing to do.’
Mary Anne’s mouth fell open and she stared in astonishment, glancing round mutinously at the discreet laughs which greeted Mary’s words.
‘Now look here…’ Mary Anne began but Mary moved closer, towering above the American woman.
‘No, you look here. I will not have you making a scene in my tea rooms. Now please let me escort you to the door.’
‘She’s nothing but a whore!’ Mary Anne cried, trying to draw away from Mary’s firm grasp. ‘Having a baby and doesn’t know who the father is – you ask her!’
Mary felt completely in control of the situation as she lifted her head and spoke clearly. ‘Aren’t you confusing my situation with your own, Miss Bloomfield?’ The laughter rose and she gestured to the doorman to call a cab.
Carrie had been right to tell her to stand up to the American woman, Mary thought in triumph. ‘Now you have done your worst and found it has not benefited you in any way,’ she said, ‘perhaps you will leave – and please don’t let me see you round here again.’
‘I’ve not done my worst, honey, not by any means,’ Mary Anne said venomously. ‘There is a great deal more I can say and do to harm you, make no mistake about it.’
Mary gave her a slight push. ‘On your way now, don’t forget that I’m not a lady and might just be inclined to give you a good leathering.’ She placed her hands on her hips. ‘You had your say just now and it’s quite clear that no one would believe a woman like you. Now, if you know what’s good for you, get into the cab and go away. Stay away, do you understand?’
After the cab had rolled away down the cobbled street, Mary stood in the sunshine, taking deep breaths and telling herself not to let the woman upset her. She had done right to face up to Mary Anne, blackmail was cheap and nasty and she would not knuckle down under the threat of it.
‘There’s proud of you I am.’ Greenie was smiling at Mary, her eyes full of admiration. ‘You told her what for and no mistake, hussy that she is!’
Mary forced a smile. ‘I hope we’ve seen the last of her.’
She paused, noticing that Mrs Greenaway was looking drawn and tired.
‘Go on home now, Greenie,’ she said gently, ‘there’s not much left to do here anyway.’
The hours seemed to drag, the afternoon sun was hot and the store was airless. Mary was glad when at last it was time to close and she was free to return home.
As she made her way through the streets, her spirits were at a low ebb and to make matters worse, the trams were so crowded that she had to walk. Slowly climbing the curving ro
adway in the softness of the summer air, she looked up at the mackerel-bellied clouds and wished for Brandon to be with her under the same sky.
And Heath, her brother – had he lain wounded in some muddy ditch in France? ‘Stop it!’ she told herself firmly.
At last, with a sigh of relief, she let herself into the coolness of the hallway. She stood quite still for a moment, her heart beating rapidly, her eyes drawn to the letter lying on the hall table.
Slowly she picked it up and took it with her into the drawing room, standing at the window and staring out into the garden where the flower beds were a blaze of colour and the trees stood proud and heavy with leaves. She glanced at the letter, afraid to open it for it had come from France. Then she moved to a chair, sank down against the cushions and, taking a deep breath, ripped at the envelope with unsteady hands. It took her a few moments to digest the information that her brother Heath was alive and well. His writing was uneven, disjointed, his signature scrawled as though in haste. She felt tears burn her eyes. ‘Thank God!’ she said quietly.
Mrs Greenaway came into the room, her eyes wide and questioning, and Mary knew at once that she had seen the letter.
‘It’s Heath, Greenie, he’s all right! He was wounded, but not seriously, and he tells me he’s going to get a medal…’ Her voice faltered and tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as Mrs Greenaway crossed the room quickly and held her close.
‘There, there, cariad, your brother is safe and don’t you see what that means?’ She dabbed at Mary’s eyes with the corner of her pristine apron. ‘Why, it means that Mr Sutton could be safe and well too – they do make mistakes, see?’
Mary made an effort to control her tears, rubbing at her eyes and forcing a smile. ‘Well, we must keep on hoping, mustn’t we? But I find it difficult at times, I must confess.’
‘I know you do, cariad, and it’s only natural, but hope makes the world go round – you know that, don’t you?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Now, let me get you a lovely hot cup of tea and something to eat and then you’ll feel better. We must look after you, especially now.’
Mary’s gaze followed Mrs Greenaway in surprise for she had said nothing to her about the baby, wanting to hug the secret to herself at least for a time. Then she remembered that Greenie would have heard Mary Anne’s accusations – everyone in the store must have heard them, come to that!
She moved to the elongated mirror in its gilt frame and stared at her reflection. Perhaps she was beginning to look a little stout, yet she had thought that the cut of her clothes would conceal the thickening of her waistline.
Mrs Greenaway reappeared almost immediately with a silver tray set for two and Mary looked up at her questioningly.
‘The young doctor is in the hallway waiting to see you, so I took the liberty of putting out a cup for him. Shall I send him in?’
Mary was aware that her colour was rising as she nodded her head, turning towards the fire and avoiding the older woman’s shrewd eyes. ‘Yes, do, that will be fine.’ She tried to speak lightly, but in spite of herself her voice shook.
She rose as he came towards her and smiled politely, aware that Greenie was taking her time about closing the door.
‘Why have you come, Dr Soames?’ The words spilled from her lips as soon as Mrs Greenaway had gone.
He moved further into the room, his eyes resting on her face imploringly. ‘I wanted to see you.’ He spoke humbly. ‘Please don’t be angry with me.’
‘Sit down,’ Mary said shakily, for this was something she had not expected. ‘Do have some tea.’ She was playing for time, but when she handed him the cup she met his eyes and read the truth in them.
‘I’ve done the most stupid thing, I’ve fallen in love with you,’ he said softly. ‘I know it’s not ethical or even sane, but I can’t help myself.’ He reached out to take her hands and Mary stared at him dumbly. Then he leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
‘I know you don’t love me, Mary, so don’t try to say anything to put me off. Once I heard about your husband being reported missing, I understood what had happened.’ He kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘I knew you came to me with grief in your heart, that I was there and you needed comfort. I just want you to know I’ll always be there for you, Mary.’
‘Dr Soames… Paul,’ Mary said gently, ‘I have a great fondness for you and I am very grateful to you, but I still love Brandon. I suppose I always will, even though I shall never see him again.’
‘I know.’ Paul Soames moved away from her reluctantly. He seemed to make a great effort to control himself before he spoke again.
‘I think it might be best if you went to Bryn Thomas for medical advice in future.’ He looked away from her. ‘I don’t think I would be man enough to see you and the baby and keep my distance.’
Mary swallowed hard. ‘I’ll respect your wishes, Paul, but is it impossible now for us to be friends?’
Paul Soames walked slowly towards the door. ‘If ever you need me or want me, I’ll be there.’
Long after he had gone, Mary sat staring into the fire, her thoughts a riot of confusion. ‘What a tangled web indeed,’ she whispered softly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sterling Richardson sat in the makeshift canteen drinking tepid tea from a chipped enamel mug. Outside the air was heavy, the summer sun hidden behind a haze of clouds. Except for the occasional sound of artillery, it was difficult to imagine that he was in the middle of the battle of the Somme.
And yet he was lucky to be alive, by God! So many of his fellows were injured or dead and Sterling had felt a particular sense of loss when Brandon Sutton had failed to return from one of the futile skirmishes which resulted in victory for no one.
The door of the dilapidated hut swung open and against the sudden splash of light, Sterling found it difficult at first to identify the officer who stepped inside.
‘God, it’s good to get the weight off my feet.’ Smithson sank heavily on to the bench beside Sterling, his face grey with fatigue. Mud spattered his trousers and there was a narrow cut along his cheek. ‘This show’s a mess,’ he said quietly. ‘The 38th Welch relieved the men of the 7th division on the Front at Mametz Wood, but it looks as though they’re failing to hold their position.’
Sterling nodded. ‘So I’ve heard. The heavy rain during the night hasn’t helped matters, with men and guns bogged down in the mud.’ He took a gulp of the fast-cooling tea and set his mug on the table.
Smithson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand wearily through his hair. ‘The Germans have come up with a new weapon, the men are calling it the egg bomb. It’s easy to handle and can be thrown fifty yards like a rugby ball. Apart from which they have fresh troops coming up to the Front, while our men are bone-weary.’
‘Talking of weary, it looks as if you could do with a few hours’ shut-eye. Go on, get some rest while you can.’
Smithson rose to his feet, his shoulders stooped, his eyes red-rimmed. ‘I expect you’re right. There’ll be a renewed attempt to take the woods as soon as everything’s been reorganised and I’ll need all my wits about me then.’
Sterling stared into his empty mug. It seemed absurd to be sitting in a run-down building in France, drinking vile tea and talking about capturing a piece of ground as though it was the most important thing in the world. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet – it was about time he was back on duty.
* * *
The failure of the 38th Welch to capture Mametz Wood was a blow to the pride of all Welshmen. At 11 a.m. on the ninth of July, 1916, Major-General H. E. Watts relieved Major-General Ivor Phillips at Divisional Headquarters. Orders were given in no uncertain terms that Mametz Wood was to be captured at dawn on the tenth of July.
A large-scale plan of the wood had been prepared, which showed that the ground was roughly divided into three portions. The task of capturing one piece of ground at a time appeared deceptively simple, except to the soldiers concerned.
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br /> Heath Jenkins lay among the tangle of leaves, his face contorted with fury. ‘Think we’re blasted packhorses, they do! These generals just give the order that each man carries two Mills bombs with him, yet we’re supposed to be ready to fire if we come upon the enemy unawares. No wonder so many of the 38th were slaughtered!’
Morgan Lloyd shifted uncomfortably in the grass, holding his hand over his eyes and straining to see into the distance. ‘How far is Mametz Wood, do you think?’ he asked. He felt uneasy in Heath’s company, though he could not have said why, but there was a strange light in the man’s eyes almost as though a wild animal were trapped inside the lean young body.
Morgan would never forget finding Heath in the kitchen of a French cottage and hearing how, single-handed, he had killed four of the Germans – a proper bloodbath it was, too. Morgan shivered; it was only natural that such an experience would alter a man.
‘It’s only about a thousand yards from White Trench,’ Heath replied. ‘I’ve been here before, you see, I know the terrain.’ He paused, trying to clear his thoughts. When had he been in the woods? Was it after he had been injured, when he was found by Margaret? He shook his head impatiently. ‘The first five hundred yards are easy enough, almost flat as you can see, but further on the ground drops about thirty-five feet down into a valley – that’s going to be a bugger, that is.’
Morgan got to his knees and edged forward, aware of the gun crew to his left panting and groaning as they pulled the eighteen-pounder through the soggy ground.
‘I pity the gunners,’ Heath said dryly. ‘They don’t know what they’re in for. After the valley there’s a steady rise of about four hundred yards. If the Jerries are waiting there, we’re all dead men.’
Morgan found that Heath knew exactly what he was talking about. The plunge into the wooded valley was not so difficult for the soldiers, but the gunners needed time to manoeuvre their weapons over the edge of the drop.
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