‘No thanks to your thug of a brother-in-law.’ He picked up his knife and fork and cut into the bacon and eggs Mrs Andrews had put in front of him.
‘You still refuse to tell me why he hit you.’
‘Does a ruffian like him need a reason? After growing up in the gutter and working in a colliery before you pulled strings to get him a position in Gwilym James, he probably thinks beating a man senseless is an acceptable pastime.’
Sali flinched at the insult, aimed not only at Joey, but Lloyd’s entire family. It wasn’t easy to ignore, but having discovered from past and unpleasant experience that a shouting match with Geraint would achieve precisely nothing, she continued. ‘Joey wouldn’t have hit you for no reason.’
‘That’s right, take the side of the dirt you married into.’
A steely note crept into her voice. ‘I didn’t come here to have an argument with you, Geraint, but another comment like that and I will.’
‘Why did you come?’ he demanded belligerently.
‘You haven’t been in work since last Tuesday.’
‘I had concussion.’ He set down his fork, buttered two pieces of toast and cut them into triangles.
‘You’re up, you’re dressed and you look perfectly fit to me now.’
‘Monday is my day off. I have an important engagement.’
‘Can I tell Mr Horton that you’ll be in work tomorrow?’ she persisted patiently.
‘You can tell him what you damn well please.’
She found it difficult to ignore his swearing, but not wanting to get sidetracked from the purpose of her visit, refrained from reproaching him. ‘He won’t be pleased if he sees you walking around town today.’
‘Now you’re threatening to dismiss me from Gwilym James?’
‘As you well know, hiring and firing is Mr Horton’s prerogative, not mine.’
‘Come on, Sali, drop the pretence.’ He picked up his fork. ‘Mr Horton’s your lap dog. He wouldn’t dare be anything else when it’s your son who owns the business.’
‘If he ever hears you saying that, you will be out of the door,’ she informed him coldly. ‘I have no more influence than any of the other trustees over Mr Horton.’
‘Has he been complaining to you about my work?’ There was an edge to Geraint’s voice and Sali hoped that he was disturbed by the thought of losing his only income.
‘I’m your sister, not your guardian. If you’re worried about your position in the company, I suggest you talk to Mr Horton about it. That’s if you do condescend to work tomorrow.’
‘You can tell Mr Horton I’ll be in,’ he conceded abruptly.
‘Tell him yourself,’ she said wearily. ‘There’s one more thing. The trustees have asked me to remind you that Mother died six months ago.’
‘And you want me out of your house.’ He tossed his napkin over the uneaten food on his plate.
‘The trustees want you out of Harry’s house,’ she corrected. ‘You requested one month’s grace; you have been given four. I asked them to pay the wages of the nurse and housekeeper and the running costs of this annex so Mother would be cared for during her lifetime. They felt that they couldn’t do any less for Harry’s grandmother and, while she was alive, they were happy for you to live with her.’
‘And now she’s dead they’re happy to put Harry’s uncle out on the street?’ he challenged.
‘They’re not happy about the situation, Geraint. But, unlike Mother, you are able-bodied. And for the last three years you have been promising me and the trustees that you will look for other accommodation, rather than be a burden on your nephew’s estate.’
‘If I’d found anywhere suitable, I’d be there,’ he snapped.
‘It costs a great deal to keep this wing open. There are coals, electricity and gas to pay for as well as Mrs Andrew’s wages and the meals Mrs Williams sends over from the main kitchen. I told the trustees I’d talk to you one more time before –’
‘Before what, dear sister? They send me an eviction notice?’ he cut in.
‘It’s not my decision.’
‘No, only one-twelfth of your decision. I’ll look for lodgings but have you considered Llinos and Gareth?’ He referred to their younger brother and sister. ‘Where are they supposed to go when they visit their home town? Judging by the way you treat me, I can’t see you making them welcome in your house.’
‘Gareth and Llinos know that they can stay with us in the main house any time they choose.’
‘But I can’t!’
‘Not permanently, no.’ She struggled to contain her temper. ‘Holidays are different, and if you were living away like them you’d be welcome to visit – for a week or two,’ she added pointedly.
Gareth’s inheritance had been invested in property, which their uncle had been unable to plunder. He had an income of four hundred pounds a year, which had covered the cost of his education, enabled him to set up a modest saving account and enrol in Sandhurst after he’d left school. Llinos’ education had been paid for by Harry’s trustees and they had, at Sali’s instigation, also advanced Llinos a loan so she could take a position as a ‘working’ pupil in a language school in Switzerland with a view to becoming a lady’s travelling companion. But Sali knew her sister’s sole ambition was to marry well and wealthily. Laudable or not, at least Llinos had an ambition, whereas Geraint appeared to have none.
‘You’d be happy to see me living in some ghastly rundown lodging house with colliers, wouldn’t you?’ Geraint taunted.
‘I’d be happy seeing you living anywhere where you weren’t a burden on my son’s estate,’ Sali replied tartly. ‘Plenty of men are paying mortgages and bringing up families on less than you earn. You’ve had absolutely no living expenses for the past three years. Surely you’ve saved something?’
‘I’ve had to buy my clothes … my …’
Loath to listen to more of her brother’s excuses, Sali left the table. ‘It would be embarrassing for the trustees and me if you force us to serve an eviction notice on you, but we will if we have to. Please, be out by the end of the month.’
‘And if I can’t find anywhere?’
‘Mrs Jenkins at the lodge has a spare room.’
‘You expect me to move into the lodge!’ Geraint was horrified by the thought.
‘It’s clean and it’s comfortable.’
‘It doesn’t even have an inside bathroom.’
‘No, but the spare bedroom has a washstand. Mrs Jenkins charges seventeen shillings and sixpence a week for accommodation, breakfast, supper and personal laundry. If you don’t move in voluntarily, I will arrange to have your things taken over there on the last day of this month. You will have to be out by then because a builder is coming in on the first of next month to carry out repairs to the chimney and annex roof. Should you find somewhere else before then, I would appreciate it if you would let me know, so I can give Mrs Andrews notice.’
‘Believe you me, I’ll do my best to find something better than the lodge.’
Hurt by his ingratitude as much as his anger, Sali drew comfort from the thought of Lloyd and his family’s love and support when she returned to the main house. They had helped her to see her brother for what he was: a snobbish, discontented man, hopelessly shackled by bitter resentment. Their uncle had not only lost Geraint’s money but also destroyed his integrity and self-respect.
Geraint hated having to work in the store. He hated being subservient to Mr Horton, he hated having to be polite to people he regarded as beneath him, and he hated being beholden to Harry’s trustees for the roof over his head. Yet he continued to remain sunk in the rut he had fallen into, making no effort to move out or find a position more suited to a man of his education and intelligence.
Their father had made great plans for all of them when they’d been children. When he’d been alive, Geraint had been interested in the collieries their grandfather had sunk and their family had still owned. But his plans to study engineering in university had dissipa
ted along with his money. If only he would realize that his self-pity was wasting and destroying his life and his talents.
She wanted to tell Geraint that he wasn’t alone; that, whatever else, she loved him because he was her brother, and she would do everything she could to help him, short of supporting him in a lifestyle he could no longer afford. But while he remained consumed with anger, she couldn’t even talk to him, let alone give him the encouragement he needed to change his life.
Geraint cringed when he saw Julia step off the Cardiff train. She had bought a new outfit. A light grey coat, matching skirt and wide-brimmed hat trimmed with ostrich feathers. He recognized it as part of the latest spring range from the most expensive French fashion house that supplied Gwilym James. On most women of Julia’s age, it would have been stunning. But instead of resembling a fashion plate she reminded him of a clumsy adolescent at the ‘ugly age’ who had dressed up in her mother’s best clothes. No amount of money or careful cut of cloth could disguise Julia Larch’s thick-set figure, or plain face.
‘That is a lovely coat you are wearing. Light colours suit you,’ he said insincerely, when she reached him.
‘Thank you. This is the first time I’ve left off mourning since my mother died.’ Unused to receiving compliments, she coloured in embarrassment.
‘Where shall we lunch?’ He offered her his arm.
‘My father always takes us to the Angel Hotel when we come to Cardiff.’ She wished the words back into her mouth the moment she had spoken them. From the time she had realized the importance of money she had been given a generous allowance, which her father had increased annually until her twenty-first birthday when she had been allowed control of the trust fund her grandfather had set up for her. When she and her brother had inherited her mother’s estate, they both went from being comfortably off to wealthy, by anyone’s standards. As a result, she hardly ever thought of the cost of her purchases relative to a working man’s wage.
‘The Angel Hotel it is.’ His voice, flat, devoid of emotion, made her feel even worse.
‘Only if you let me pay.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ Geraint said stiffly.
‘You can pay for the theatre afterwards.’
Geraint did a rapid mental calculation. He would get very little change from fifteen shillings if they had a bottle of wine with their lunch in the Angel Hotel. The best seats in the theatre would cost him half-a-crown for the two of them, he had to pay his train fare and possibly even buy tea in a teashop after the show. He was earning three pounds a week; a weekly outing like this could easily cost him half his wage. Swallowing his pride, he said, ‘I’ll compromise with you, Miss Larch. I’ll pay this time, you can pay next.’
Julia was elated by the thought that he was already planning their next outing, but she tempered her enthusiasm. First, two outings didn’t constitute a full courtship. And secondly, even if Geraint Watkin Jones was prepared to marry her for her money – and that was a big ‘if’ because she was nowhere near as attractive as Elizabeth Hadley – much as she couldn’t wait to escape from her stepmother, she didn’t want to exchange Mabel for someone who might prove even more difficult to live with. And, unlike a stepmother, a husband would have legal control over both her and her money.
She took his arm. Geraint Watkin Jones might be doing his utmost to charm her, but she was astute enough to know that his attitude towards her might change, especially if he began to suspect that she needed him to gain her independence every bit as much as he needed her money. Also, should things progress between them to the point of marriage, she wanted to be certain that he would treat her with respect, if not affection. And that it would be possible for them to build comfortable, if separate, lives, and, for propriety’s sake, under the same roof.
Chapter Eight
Rhian dropped the ironing basket on to one of the kitchen chairs, lifted out a table napkin, laid it on the table, dipped her fingers into a bowl of lavender water and sprinkled it liberally over the creased damask linen. She rolled it up, set it to one side and picked up another.
‘Rhian, leave that.’ Mrs Williams bustled in with a basket of the family’s mending. ‘Mrs Larch wants her shoes picked up from the cobbler’s, immediately, if not sooner. So, apron and cap off.’ The twinkle in her eye belied the sharp tone of her voice.
‘Yes, Mrs Williams.’ Rhian tore off her cap before she reached the door to the servants’ staircase.
‘Wear your coat not a cardigan, it may be spring but it’s cold out there. And,’ Mrs Williams lowered her voice, ‘no more than twenty minutes in Gwilym James.’
Rhian ran all the way to Dunraven Street to save an extra five minutes to add to the twenty. The cobbler’s was full but she managed to attract the attention of an apprentice who had a soft spot for her and less than two minutes after walking in there she was at the door of Gwilym James.
‘Mr Evans is in his office, Miss Jones.’ The doorman gave her a sly wink.
Joey was on his feet before she was even halfway down the aisle to his office, he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair, shrugged it on over his waistcoat and shouted to his assistant manager, who was rearranging the window display of leather goods, ‘Hold the fort for me for a quarter of an hour, Sam.’
‘The Irish linen rep will be in any minute,’ Sam called back.
‘Give him a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive. Two if you have to.’ Joey grabbed Rhian’s hand. ‘Thank Mrs Williams for me.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw her coming out of Rodney’s this morning and asked if she could find you an errand.’
‘You’re right, she must be getting fond of you.’ Rhian was amazed that the housekeeper had agreed to Joey’s request. ‘Where are we going?’
‘It won’t be a surprise for long.’ He led her across the road to the jeweller’s.
The manager dropped the newspaper he was reading when he saw them coming. He disappeared into the back room and emerged a moment later with a velvet-covered tray that he set on the glass counter in front of them.
‘Shall I tell her, Mr Evans?’ he asked Joey.
‘No, Mr Stephens. Let her guess.’
The manager whipped off the velvet cloth and Rhian looked down on a glittering array of wedding bands.
‘They’re new designs that came in yesterday. I wanted you to have first pick, before they went,’ Joey explained.
‘You’ve already chosen one, haven’t you?’ Rhian said.
‘Yes, but saying that, you can have any of them, or we could look elsewhere if you prefer.’
Rhian studied the rings. Some were embossed with patterns of flowers and leaves, some engraved with abstract designs, but she was drawn to the plain gold bands. A few were so thick and heavy they looked as though they’d be uncomfortable to wear, others were so thin and light she thought they’d snap if they were subjected to continuous use. She found herself returning to one particular ring midway between the two extremes. She pointed to it.
‘You were right, Mr Evans.’ The manager lifted it from the bed. ‘That’s the exact ring Mr Evans said you’d choose, Miss Jones. Would you like to try it on for size?’
‘It will fit her perfectly.’ Joey took it, slipped his mother’s regard ring from Rhian’s finger and put on the band.
‘How did you know the size?’ she asked.
‘From my mother’s ring. You really do like this one?’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘That’s it then, Mr Stephens. You’ll engrave it Joseph and Rhian Evans, 1 August 1914?’ He looked to Rhian for confirmation. She nodded.
‘I’ll make a note of it, Mr Evans.’ The jeweller opened a drawer in the counter and removed an individual ring box. He slipped the ring into it, scribbled a note on a pad, tore off the piece of paper and folded it on top. ‘And the engagement ring, Mr Evans?’
‘I don’t want one,’ Rhian protested.
‘I know you said you didn’t but I thought you could at least look
at them. There’s a solitaire …’
‘I don’t want to see it.’ Rhian shook her head determinedly.
‘Most girls insist on the most expensive in the shop, Mr Evans, so if I were you I’d quit while you are ahead and be grateful for an undemanding fiancée.’
‘I’m that all right.’ Joey wrapped his arm around Rhian’s shoulders. ‘Can I pick up the ring next week?’
‘It will be ready on Monday, Mr Evans.’
‘You didn’t say anything about getting the ring so soon.’ Rhian linked her fingers into his when they left the shop.
‘I told Mr Stephens I wanted to get you something special and when he showed the tray to me last night, I couldn’t wait for you to see it. Now I feel as if we really are going to be married. Have you time to go to the teashop?’
‘Mrs Williams is kind, but she’ll never hear the end of it if the mistress finds out I’ve been there in my uniform in the middle of the day.’
‘Kiss then?’ he asked hopefully.
‘In the middle of the street?’
‘You’d prefer my office?’
‘I only have ten minutes left of the twenty Mrs Williams gave me.’
‘It only takes one to draw the blinds. That gives us nine whole minutes,’ he grinned, ‘and if I’m not going to see you again for twenty-four hours, I intend to make the most of them.’
‘Have a good journey to Pontypridd and enjoy your suffragette meeting.’ Geraint showed his platform ticket and walked Julia to the Pontypridd train.
‘I will. Thank you again for a lovely day,’ Julia gushed.
‘Goodbye.’ He halted outside the open door to a first-class carriage.
‘Goodbye,’ Julia echoed, leaning towards him.
He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second before ignoring her proffered cheek and holding out his hand. ‘Same time and place next week?’
She broke into a radiant smile. ‘Yes, please.’ She stepped inside the train, the stationmaster blew his whistle, and the guard slammed the doors shut. Geraint stood back and watched the train chug out of the station.
Sinners and Shadows Page 14