None So Blind

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None So Blind Page 5

by Alis Hawkins


  ‘A child?’

  ‘She was pregnant.’ I moved over to the pile of trestles before he could ask the obvious question and picked one up, willing him to follow my lead; instead he stood his ground behind me.

  ‘P-L… this unborn child…’

  Concentrating on the trestle, I stretched out the legs as wide as the stretcher rope would allow. ‘It wasn’t mine. But that was my mistake. It would have been far better for Margaret if it had been.’

  My father had announced that, while he was waiting for Bowen, he would conduct an impromptu inspection of the workhouse with the matron, Mrs Davies. Now, however, he appeared in the doorway of the mortuary in the company of a tallish man in boots and a long riding coat.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ my father addressed us, ‘may I present Mr Leighton Bowen, the coroner for the Teifi Valley. Bowen, this is my son, Henry. And his friend, Mr Augustus Gelyot.’

  There were only two occasions on which my father called me Henry: when he was introducing me and when I had displeased him. On being presented to his peers, therefore, I could never quite shake off the suspicion that I was a disappointment.

  Polite bows exchanged, the coroner approached the tables. ‘These are the remains in question?’

  ‘Yes.’ I moved to his side.

  ‘And who was given the task of extracting bones from soil? Whoever it was has done an excellent job of work – there can be no doubt as to what we have here.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. Mr Gelyot and I are responsible.’

  Bowen swung around. ‘Indeed?’ I was certain that he was looking into my face and I felt, for the thousandth time, the disadvantage of being unable to look a man steadily in the eye. ‘Your father tells me that you have a personal interest in this discovery?’

  ‘I knew her, yes.’

  ‘Let us say, rather, that you knew the person we presume to be the deceased, Mr Probert-Lloyd. No inquest has yet determined identity.’

  I inclined my head, irritated at being corrected.

  ‘And these?’ The skeleton was incomplete but Gus had confirmed that the remains were obviously those of a human infant.

  ‘She – the presumed deceased – was carrying a child at the time of her death.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Bowen imbued the word with even more significance than he had given it the first time. He turned to my father. ‘May I ask why you didn’t see fit to tell me this?’

  ‘I was not aware of it.’ My father’s voice gave little indication as to his emotions and I knew that his face would give away no more.

  Bowen turned back to me. ‘I understand you feel there should be an inquest? What exactly is it that you hope to gain from investigating the provenance of these remains, Mr Probert-Lloyd? Who would benefit from it?’

  I would. I would know who had murdered her and I would know exactly how much blame to ascribe to myself and my own actions. Or failure to act.

  ‘Does there have to be a beneficiary?’ Gus asked, filling the silence.

  ‘I understand that you are a barrister, sir, in London?’ At the edge of my vision, Gus bowed slightly.

  ‘Then, surely, you must understand the sheer expense to which an inquest puts local ratepayers?’

  I saw Bowen’s hands come together behind his back as he turned away from Gus and put a question to my father. ‘The owner of the farm, this William Williams – has he requested that an inquest be conducted? In his position, he might find it expedient to ensure that no suspicion clings to him.’

  Did my father glance across at me? ‘No. As far as I’m aware, he has not.’

  ‘So, Mr Probert-Lloyd,’ the coroner turned back to me, ‘let us say, for the sake of argument, that an inquest is held. The identity of the deceased is established to everybody’s satisfaction and a cause of death is decided upon by the jury. What then does the ratepayer get for his money, so long after the event?’

  I fixed my gaze where I estimated his face would be. ‘He sees the murderer brought to trial.’

  ‘Can you be so confident that an inquest would reveal the culprit?’

  ‘If the right witnesses are brought forward and the truth is told then, yes, I am confident.’

  ‘In my experience, Mr Probert-Lloyd,’ the coroner said, ‘the truth is rarely told where a suspicious death is concerned. And certainly not the whole truth.’

  Harry

  Glanteifi estate, 1842

  As I told Gus, as soon as I had met Margaret Jones, I knew I had to see her again so I had contrived to meet her at the bidding day advertised by the Gwahoddwr, Shoni Penglais.

  It may be that the folk custom of ‘bidding’ was unique to our western counties for I have never heard of it being practised anywhere else but it was essential to young couples in the Teifi valley, as few of them could have afforded to set up home without it.

  In essence, bidding was the giving of wedding gifts in the expectation of repayment in kind: the friends and relations of bride and groom gave presents of goods or money on the understanding that, when they or their offspring came to be married, the gifts would be reciprocated. In a way, it could be seen as a system of lending and borrowing, on which couples drew at need and repaid on demand.

  Naturally, a family as wealthy as ours was in no need of repayment but, had Glanteifi not sent a contribution to the purse of a young couple on the estate, it would have been seen as a gross discourtesy.

  As a general rule, my father sent his gifts and compliments with a servant but, as I had received the invitation in person, I managed to persuade him that I should take Glanteifi’s gift myself.

  ‘You might take Ormiston with you,’ my father said. ‘Jones at Henllain has one of the biggest tenancies – only right we should wish his family well on the day.’

  But turning up in the company of the estate’s steward would not advance my plan at all. How could I speak to Margaret with Ormiston in attendance? I might as well have outlined my hopes in a brief note and left it on my father’s breakfast plate.

  I tried for nonchalance. ‘Actually, some of the young men from the home farm are going – I thought I’d go with them. If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Harry, I hope you’re not going to fall back into your old ways – spend all your time with those beneath you? You need to cultivate some friends of your own class.’

  I knew there was nothing to be gained by arguing. Best to agree, then he might concede the point this once. So I nodded, my father reluctantly acquiesced and I was free to go to the bidding in whatever company I chose. In fact, I intended to take only one companion. Davy Thomas.

  ‘Hepzibah and Tom’s bidding?’ Davy said when I asked. ‘Might go. Why?’

  ‘I’d feel odd, going by myself. I’ve been away at school such a lot.

  Not sure they’d know me.’

  He continued working oil into a long rein. ‘Need a chaperone, do you, Harry Gwyn?’

  Harry Gwyn. He and his mother had always called me that on account of my hair which, as a small child, had been so fair as to be almost white. Was it that early nickname that had established my preference for Harry over Henry?

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Just an excuse.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ He looked up, grinning. ‘Some little girl caught your eye has she?’

  I tried to will myself not to blush. ‘Well? Are you coming or not?’

  ‘Maybe I should. Might be entertaining.’

  The Henllain holding was hidden away in the rolling countryside between the Teifi and the sea and our way took us up from the river valley onto the higher ground where the wind bent smaller trees into a permanent stoop.

  As we walked under a sky like soaked linen, I reflected that this was an odd time for a farmer’s daughter to be married. Hepzibah Jones’s father could not have known, weeks ago when the wedding was arranged, that early July would turn out to be so damp and unpromising. In the ordinary way of things, he would have been bringing in hay this week, not attending to the endless preliminaries of his daughter’s marriage. />
  ‘Hepzibah Jones…’ I said.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Having to get married, is she? Before it shows?’ I sketched a swollen belly in front of my own waistcoat.

  ‘Hah!’ Davy cuffed my arm. ‘What do you know about any of that?’

  ‘Enough, thank you. So? Is she? It’s haymaking time, isn’t it? Not exactly convenient.’

  ‘Haven’t heard anything. Mind you, her and Tom have been courting long enough – wouldn’t surprise me. But then, Jonah Jones is a tight-fisted bastard – most likely he was hoping everybody’d be busy on the hay – hoping that they’d come, offer congratulations, slap their gift down and rush off again without eating or drinking anything.’ He spat at a towering thistle at the side of the road. ‘Serves him right that the weather’s turned against him.’

  At the cloth-draped trestle tables set up outside the Jones’s house, I presented the estate’s gift to Hepzibah and wished her well. Though her mother was entirely flustered at my arrival, Hepzibah accepted my coming as no more than her due; this was the one occasion in her life when the complimentary attentions of the whole community were hers by right and she was obviously intent on making the most of it.

  Taking the bag of shillings from me, Hepzibah looked me in the eye and gave a regal dip of her head. ‘Thank you, Mr Henry. It’s very kind of you to come. Please have some wedding ale and cheese.’

  If the money paid over for the ale had been destined for Jonah Jones’s pocket, doubtless there would have been a great deal less consumed but, as the proceeds would go to the newlyweds, there was much good-natured slapping of pennies into the hand of the bride’s sister who was acting as tapstress for the day.

  As I took my ale, the assembly broke out in greetings to another new arrival and I turned to see Margaret standing there, looking around the busy crowd as if in search of somebody in particular. Initially, her gaze passed over me but, then, as if she had only belatedly realised who I was, her eyes shifted back to my face and she smiled. My stomach, already fluttering at the sight of her, contracted with a combination of apprehension and high excitement.

  It took me several minutes to make my way towards her, obliged as I was, with every forward step, to exchange increasingly forced pleasantries about the delayed haymaking or the wedding tomorrow; but Margaret had obviously been aware of my approach. When, finally, I found myself standing in front of her, she touched her companion’s arm and inclined her head slightly in my direction. The girl reciprocated the hand-on-arm gesture and moved away, flicking her eyes towards me as she went.

  Our mutual good-days out of the way, I delivered the line I had been honing into nonchalence for a week.

  ‘So, Mr Williams was as good as his word, then?’

  If she was surprised at my continuing to speak to her in Welsh she showed no sign of it and responded in kind. ‘Not really – he just sent me with his present. I think he’s giving everybody an hour or two for the wedding tomorrow but it’s only me today.’

  ‘So you’ll be at the wedding?’

  She hesitated. ‘For some of it. I don’t really know Hepzibah so I don’t expect I’ll come to the house after.’ She looked at me steadily. ‘Nobody’s going to do my work while I’m not there and I don’t want to have to give up my Sunday to scrub in the dairy.’

  ‘Will you be here to see the groom’s men come for her?’

  ‘It’s a long way to walk for somebody I hardly know. Most likely I’ll just go to the chapel.’

  ‘Oh. She’s not getting married in the church, then?’

  ‘We are allowed to get married in chapel now, you know.’ Her smile was all dimples and mockery.

  ‘Yes, I know, but I thought, with the expense of having to get the registrar in…’

  ‘You thought Jonah Jones wouldn’t bother.’

  I grinned. ‘I would’ve thought he’d want his money’s worth out of the church, that’s all. I know he grumbles enough about paying his tithes.’

  She put her head on one side. ‘Know him well, do you?’

  I shrugged, embarrassed at being caught out. ‘Oh, you know… as much as I know all my father’s tenants.’ I cast a quick glance at Jones himself, standing to one side of his front door. ‘My father sends me out with his steward at least once a year.’

  ‘That’s good. You can get to know your tenants. I mean the people who will be your tenants.’

  I made a non-committal grunt and raised my almost empty cup to my lips.

  ‘What? You are the heir to Glanteifi, aren’t you?’

  Previously, though I had been using the familiar Welsh form ‘ti’ for ‘you’, she had addressed me formally as ‘chi’ but, now, in her teasing question I was ‘ti’ and the implied intimacy excited me into indiscretion.

  ‘Yes, but it shouldn’t be me inheriting. Glanteifi’s the Proberts’ estate and I haven’t got a drop of Probert blood in me.’ I upended my mug and tipped out the thick end of the ale. ‘My father had another son – from his first marriage. George. He should be squire. He had the blood.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  ‘Dead. Before I was born. And his mother. She was the real Probert.’

  Margaret looked at me, a little smile on her lips and her dimple just suggesting itself. ‘Seems to me you’re just lucky then. Instead of being the little brother with no prospects, you can be squire. You should be celebrating.’ She raised her ale cup to me.

  I shook my head. ‘It’s not just blood – I don’t want to be one of them – a squire, a magistrate. My mother was a solicitor’s daughter,’ I finished, lamely, as if that explained everything.

  She stared appraisingly into my face and, before her gaze, I felt like nothing more than the little brother with no prospects. No prospect of ever interesting a girl like her. ‘You should come and talk to our minister,’ she said. ‘He’d be delighted to hear you don’t want to be one of them. He’s a great boy for all men being equal in the sight of God.’ She adopted a cultured voice and intoned, ‘There is no Greek nor Jew, male nor female, slave nor free in God’s kingdom.’

  ‘Perhaps I should come to your chapel,’ I laughed. ‘If I didn’t like what the minister was saying, I could just look at you, instead.’

  I could hardly believe I’d said it. It must have been the ale: especially brewed for the day, and potent enough to make people part with more pennies than was wise.

  Margaret smiled again and this time the dimples were in full view. ‘Silly boy,’ she said. ‘You must know plenty of pretty girls – and in proper dresses too, not an old betgwn like this!’

  I was a silly boy; much too silly to know that she was fishing for a compliment.

  ‘No – I don’t know any pretty girls. In fact the only girls I know at all are the housemaids at Glanteifi.’

  ‘Poor Harry.’

  Her eyes met mine then slid away. My heart set up an animated tattoo; my moment had arrived. I knew Davy was watching from his position amongst a group of young men at the ale table and his scrutiny made me even more nervous.

  ‘Would you… I mean… I’d like to… if you’re walking back to Waungilfach – I’m walking too – we could walk together. If you like?’

  ‘Unchaperoned?’ She smiled but looked as if she was trying not to.

  Was she laughing at me? I was suddenly consumed with the feeling that I had made a complete fool of myself. ‘Oh, of course, if there’s a friend who’s going that way—’

  She put a hand on my arm. ‘I’m teasing you. I’ll take my chances. If you’re prepared to risk your reputation being seen with somebody like me?’

  I stammered something, unsure whether she was still teasing.

  ‘But let’s not start any gossip, shall we?’ she said. ‘You go and give your compliments to Hepzibah and her parents and I’ll follow you in about five minutes. Wait for me at the end of the lane.’

  Despite everything that happened that summer and the next, that walk home remains one of the most glorious hours of my life.<
br />
  Most of our conversation I barely remembered later – trivialities about the weather, her work, my pleasure at being home – but one brief, audacious exchange I did not forget.

  ‘So,’ I summoned the courage to ask, ‘will we be seeing you holding court at a bidding in your own father’s house sometime soon?’

  ‘If you mean am I courting,’ she answered, plainly, ‘then the answer is no.’ We walked on in silence for a few seconds, and spots of rain began to appear on her apron. ‘But, even if I was, there’d be no bidding for me. I have no parents alive. Nobody to make a wedding ale or cheese for me.’

  She looked at me, our eyes meeting easily as I was scarcely taller than she was. ‘I must make my own way in the world.’

  Harry

  ‘Harry? A moment?’

  Gus had announced that he would turn in if a candle could be put in his hand and Fred, the footman, was in the act of lighting one for each of us when my father spoke. As Fred left the room, I stood with my candle in my hand, Gus at my side.

  My father made his wishes clear. ‘Goodnight, Mr Gelyot.’

  The library door closed and I perched myself on the edge of the table.

 

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