by Alis Hawkins
‘And are you sure he meant me, not my father?’ Again, I felt her eyes on me.
‘It’s the same thing, isn’t it?’
But it wasn’t. William Williams, having no way of knowing whether Margaret had confided the details of her parentage to Rachel, would have been desperate to keep that embarrassing revelation from emerging at the inquest and bringing my father’s wrath down on his head.
Whereas he would have given no consideration at all to sparing my feelings with regard to Margaret and David Thomas.
Feelings which were now threatening to unman me entirely.
John
When he walked out of Rachel Ellis’s house, Harry looked as if he didn’t know where he was putting his feet. Or didn’t care.
‘Harry?’
He held out his hand for Sara’s reins. I passed them to him and moved Seren aside so he could mount up.
He turned the mare’s head and walked away from Rachel’s cottage. I scrambled into the saddle and followed. What the hell had Rachel Ellis said to him?
At the road, instead of turning right and heading for Price’s place, he turned left, towards Newcastle Emlyn. Or Glanteifi.
‘Pant Yr Hebog is the other way.’ My voice sounded too loud, too sudden.
‘There’s no point going to Pant Yr Hebog. She killed herself.’
‘No—’ I had been going to tell him what I knew. No she didn’t, David Thomas killed her. But he interrupted me.
‘Yes! She did, John! There was no Rebecca plan – just one cooked up by David Thomas. But he reneged on it and turned on her. Spread lies to ruin her reputation. And nobody would help her! Howell was fleeing to Ipswich. Morgan and his gang believed David Thomas’s lies. I thought—’ he stopped. ‘Everybody was against her. She had no choice but the workhouse or death.’
I didn’t like the way he numbered himself among the sinners. He was giving up. ‘You don’t know that!’ I told him.
‘I do. I knew her. There was no way for her to make her way in the world anymore.’
‘Harry—’ I put my hand on his arm, to stop him.
He pulled Sara up and looked at me with eyes that couldn’t see I was there.
‘I thought it would help if I could find her murderer,’ he said. ‘If I could find the one person who’d betrayed her more than me. But there is no help.’ He turned away. ‘I’m going home. I suggest you go back to Mr Schofield. I can do you no good.’
‘No.’ I said it as forcefully as I dared. ‘I’m not going back to Mr Schofield’s until I’m satisfied – completely satisfied – that we’ve done everything we can to find out the truth.’
‘We have.’ His voice had a weariness that Mari Thomas, near death as she was, hadn’t had. It frightened me.
‘No, we haven’t! We haven’t been to Price’s and asked him about this boy. For all we know he could still be working there and we can ask him ourselves!’ I heard myself pleading.
‘There’s no point.’
‘There is, Harry – there is a point! You don’t see it, now, but in a week, a month, a year, you’ll start to have doubts. Is that really how it happened? Did I make a mistake? Should I have gone to see Price?’
I knew what I was talking about. I’d had those doubts for seven years. ‘Pant Yr Hebog is only a few minutes away. What will it cost us to satisfy ourselves that we did everything – everything we could – to get at the truth?’
If Harry’d had all his wits about him he’d have been suspicious. I’d never pushed him like that. As it was, he just nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’
It wasn’t far to Price’s from the Ceri valley but Harry’s silence made it feel like a day’s journey. The rain kept off but the air was damp and thick, the low clouds stopping you seeing far. A day to drive you into yourself.
In Price’s yard, we found my former uncle in the big barn, talking to two labourers holding threshing flails. He sent them off before either Harry or I could speak. He knew why we were there.
‘Mr Price,’ I said, my chest tight, ‘good day to you.’
He looked me in the eye without a flicker. ‘Good day to you. Good day, Mr Probert-Lloyd.’
Harry nodded but said nothing. He was going to leave this to me. I took a breath. ‘Mr Price, I’m John Davies from Mr Schofield’s office in town – I’m working with Mr Probert-Lloyd as his assistant. You’ve probably heard that we’ve been looking into the circumstances of Margaret Jones’s death, after the inquest?’
Price gave a tiny nod. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s something we wanted to check with you.’ I stopped, fixed my eyes on Price, willing him not to look at Harry. Never mind why he’s not speaking, look at me. ‘It’s difficult,’ I said, ‘because it concerns Rebecca.’
Price’s expression slipped.
‘We’re not interested—’ I stopped. ‘That’s to say Mr Probert-Lloyd isn’t interested in the activities of Rebecca for their own sake – only in so far as they have to do with Margaret Jones. He’s not going to be giving names to the magistrates or pointing the finger. That’s not why we’re here.’
Price’s gaze shifted to Harry. He wasn’t comfortable with the squire’s son letting a clerk speak for him. Not at all. But he couldn’t very well say Hey, Probert-Lloyd, why’s your boy doing your talking for you?
‘We’ve spoken to Mr William Williams,’ I told him. ‘Several times, in fact. He’s been very helpful. Held nothing back, even when it’s been embarrassing to him.’ I looked meaningfully at Price. We know all about Rebecca’s visits to Waungilfach.
Price just waited. He was back in control of his face.
‘One of the questions we asked Mr Williams was whether anybody’d come to the farm on the day that Margaret went missing, and he said that there was somebody who was supposed to have come to Waungilfach that day – somebody who hadn’t turned up.’ I took a breath. ‘You sent a boy with a message. A message telling Mr Williams to come to a Rebecca gathering the following night.’ I was almost bursting with the effort of willing him to speak but Price was keeping hold of himself.
‘When Mr Williams didn’t come to the meeting, his barn was burned down.’ I stared him in the eye. ‘Like I said, we’re not interested in Rebecca. We’re here because Mr Williams says he never got the message. That he doesn’t believe a message was ever sent.’
That was as good as calling Price a liar. I thought that’d get a reaction from him but he just carried on staring at me. Did he know about Harry’s sight? Was he giving me dumb insolence because he knew Harry couldn’t see?
A shaft of sunlight came slanting down on us from a high shutter, setting the air in it alive with tiny specks of chaff dust. I swallowed a sudden need to cough. ‘Mr Williams says that you stood there watching his barn burn and told him it was his own fault because he’d ignored the summons from Beca.’ I was beginning to hate the sound of my own voice. ‘He told Mr Probert-Lloyd that you swore you’d sent a messenger. And Mr Probert-Lloyd sees no reason not to believe that,’ I added. ‘Nobody would accuse you of being the kind of man to see a farmer’s barn burned to the ground unjustly.’
‘Nobody except William Williams anyway.’
The relief at hearing his voice was immense. Thank God – I’d finally got a reaction out of him! ‘You did send a messenger, didn’t you, Mr Price?’
Price sucked his teeth, as if he was thinking. Or perhaps he was trying to keep his mouth shut so no more words escaped.
‘Mr Price,’ Harry said, ‘I’d be glad if you’d answer Mr Davies’s question.’ Hearing him speak Welsh jolted Price’s mouth open.
‘Yes. I sent a boy. Jac Wap.’
Jac Wap. Quick Jack. That’d been me – always quick. Quick to scurry about, quick to understand things. Well, if I’d been quicker to get away from the other servants that day, or quicker to get home in the rain, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I’d believe what Harry believed – that Margaret Jones had taken her own life. That David Thomas had saved Isaac Morgan and his Beca
band from any blame by burying her. But I hadn’t been quick enough and I knew, for a fact, that those things weren’t true.
‘And what happened?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t he go?’
Price turned to Harry. ‘’Course he did. Keen to help Beca, wasn’t he?’
My heart started its racing again. It knew what I was about to ask and it wanted me to run away again instead. But I’d done enough running. ‘What happened to the boy, Mr Price?’
‘He doesn’t work for me anymore if that’s what you mean.’
I could hardly draw the breath into my lungs to say it, I was so nervous. ‘No. He ran away, didn’t he?’
Price frowned. I thought he was going to ask me how I knew but he just nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Were you worried? Did you go looking for him?’ In my fear that the killer would come looking for me, I’d run hard and far. I’d imagined dogs on my trail. I’ll find you boy!
Price shook his head. ‘I asked around the other farms for a few days – had anybody seen him, you know.’
‘But nobody had?’ He shook his head.
‘What did you think’d happened to him?’
He shrugged and I wondered whether me disappearing had given him a minute’s real concern.
‘Ran home, I expect. Boys like him do.’ Boys like him – what did that mean?
‘And you’ve never seen him again?’ I asked.
‘No.’
My hands were shaking so much I was surprised Seren’s bit didn’t jangle. My knees were weak, too. I knew I had to say it before I fell over. ‘You’re looking at him now. I’m Jac Wap.’
‘You?’
‘What?’
Harry and Price asked their questions in the same moment. I didn’t dare look at Harry so I kept my eyes on Mr Price. I dropped Seren’s reins. With one hand I took my spectacles off. With the other I brushed my hair over my forehead to bring to mind my ragged, eleven-year-old’s fringe. Price peered at me, his face full of doubt. Seven years is a long time and I’d only been on the farm a few months when I ran away.
‘You got me from the hiring fair in Newcastle Emlyn,’ I said, desperate to convince him. ‘My father was with me. We’d come down from Cynwyl Elfed. My father told you not to leave me in charge of any dogs,’ I said, pushing him into certainty, ‘because I’d been badly bitten once, and I was afraid of them.’
Price stared at me. ‘Good God, it is you! How in Heaven’s name did you come to be a solicitor’s clerk?’
I wasn’t going to stand there and tell him the story of my life. It was enough that he’d confirmed that I was the gwas bach with the message. The missing boy.
‘Thank you, Mr Price.’ Harry said.
Price looked at him and suddenly remembered his manners. Stammered out an invitation to come into the house but Harry declined, politely. ‘Mr Davies and I have a great deal to discuss,’ he said, ‘and I’d rather not delay.’
In other words he wanted to tell me exactly what he thought of me and he didn’t want to put off the shouting until after he’d drunk a cup of tea in Price’s kitchen.
We mounted up and left Price on his yard, watching us go.
Harry didn’t head for home. At the crossroads, instead of turning down the hill towards Treforgan, he rode straight over, into the little Gwenffrwd valley. And he said nothing for a good half a mile. Not a word. Could he tell that I kept glancing over at him? Probably. But his expression didn’t change.
In the end, he pulled up outside Brongwyn church. And he spoke just two words.
‘Tell me.’
John
For weeks after the gatebreaking I’d seen in Cwmduad I couldn’t think of anything but Beca. Of going out after dark, face blacked. Of marching with an axe on my shoulder.
With all my heart, I wanted to be a part of it. Not to be just a gwas bach, doing what I was told. I wanted to be like my father. Because I’d convinced myself that he’d been there, he’d been part of that band who’d dared say ‘enough’. And I wanted the chance to do that as well.
So when Uncle Price had come to me and said, ‘You want to help Beca, don’t you?’ I’d felt a stab of that same terrified excitement that’d woken me in the loft in Cwmduad all those weeks before.
‘Yes, Uncle!’ I’m willing to bet he’d never seen me so eager to do anything for him.
‘There’s a letter I want you to take.’
Did he see the disappointment on my face? He must’ve because he turned stern, then. ‘It’s important, this letter. You have to give it to Mr Williams at Waungilfach. And make sure you put it in his hand. Only his. Don’t give it to a servant.’
All the rest of the day that letter was like a hot stone in my pocket. I couldn’t think of anything else. What if I lost it? What if the wind blew it out of my hands? What if somebody stole it from me?
I was desperate to get off, get to Waungilfach and give the letter to this Mr Williams and be rid of it. But I couldn’t. Every time I saw a chance to go, one of the other servants wanted me.
Fetch this. Find that. Move the other.
I’ve got a job to do for Uncle, I kept telling them. But they didn’t care. It was always, Well you can do this first.
All day, I was looking out in case Uncle Price saw me and asked me if I’d delivered the letter. I couldn’t tell him no or I’d get a hiding. But I couldn’t tell him that the other servants had stopped me going or I’d get a hiding off them for getting them into trouble. Every five minutes my hand went into my pocket to make sure the letter was still there, that I hadn’t lost it without noticing. By the time I handed it over, it must’ve been filthy from my worried fingers.
The sun was thinking about setting and I still hadn’t had a chance to go. I didn’t know what to do. It was supper time soon and I was starving hungry. Would it be better to have supper and then go, or miss supper and go while there was still good light? The worry of it was churning my belly almost as badly as the hunger.
In the end, I decided to look in and see if Uncle Price was going to be at servant supper. Sometimes he was, if he wanted to check something. Most days, it was just Aunty. If he was there, I’d have to miss supper and get over to Waungilfach.
Well, in the end, he was busy. So I got my supper then I was off. Got an errand to do for Uncle, I said. Knew nobody’d try and keep me back then, not with Aunty standing there.
It’s not far from Pant Yr Hebog to Waungilfach. Twenty minutes if you look sharp. But the sun was almost down and it was beginning to get dark.
I trotted along, letter in my hand in case it worked its way out of my pocket somehow. Looking at the heavy sky, I knew there was a storm coming. The wind was coming up and there was rain promised on the edge of it.
What light was left was stormy – a kind of yellow in the air that stained the clouds – and the hawthorn blossom glowed strangely in the hedges. The trees, all fat and towering with new leaves, were huge and dark against the dimming sky. It felt as if things were closing in on me. Ordinary things that’d bring a smile to your face in full daylight grow shadows in the dusk. And things hide in the shadows, waiting to come out. Just like fear hides in the sunlight, waiting for the dark to stalk through your mind.
The clouds that’d been piling up all day had brought night on quicker. On a sunny day it’d still have been almost full light after supper but, now, I knew I was going to be coming home without much light to guide me. And in the rain.
I shivered and trotted a bit faster.
Everything was quiet. The birds knew there was rain coming and they were roosting, hiding from it. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my boots on the ground and my own panting.
A few minutes later, I stopped, caught my breath. I had to decide whether to go down to Waungilfach by the road or take a shorter way through the Alltddu. Longer or darker?
Just then, a gust of wind blew a stray raindrop into my face. A big, fat drop. The rain that was coming was the kind that’ll soak you in a minute. I didn’t want to have to sleep
in wet clothes so I’d just have to whistle my way through the wood. Whistle the shadows away. And find a stick.
There was nobody on the square at Treforgan as I ran down the hill. The forge fire was out and every door was shut against the rain. I felt like the only person in the world. I could see a light in the mill- house but that made me feel worse. There’d be no lights when I got back to Pant Yr Hebog. Just my dark corner in the stable loft.
I felt homesick. I wasn’t thinking of Dada going out with Beca anymore. I was thinking of Mam. Of the warmth of her. Of the way that, when she brushed my hair out of my eyes, her fingers smelled of onions and earth. Of home.
I tried to remember the men marching to the gatebreaking. To think of Beca and remember that I was working for her. I had a job to do. An important job, Uncle Price’d said.
But I wanted my mam.
Up the hill I went and into the woods. Into the almost-dark of clouds and trees over my head. Had to keep my eyes on the ground else I’d’ve tripped over a root or put my foot in a hole. But I hadn’t found a stick to carry and every sound made me look up. That’s how I saw the tree with the cave underneath. Well, not really a cave, a hole under the roots where the earth had fallen away down the slope.
I slowed down and looked at it. A black mouth under the tree. Full of shadows. What else might it be full of? I didn’t want to think of that. Just wanted it to be a shelter for me if the rain really came on.
Uncle Price had said that the way through the Alltddu was a shortcut but it seemed long to me. Far too long. And it was getting darker and darker. Every time a tree creaked in the wind, fear went through me like a stab. Fear of ghosts. Fear of vagrants. Fear of what I couldn’t see.