by Rosie Harris
‘Papa took me down one of his mines once,’ Mathew told her.
‘Did you have to wear helmets?’
‘Yes. We put them on before we climbed into the cage.’
‘And then you were lowered underground.’
‘Yes.’ He shuddered. ‘We went down ever so deep.’
‘That doesn’t sound a very pleasant experience!’
‘It was horrible! I could hardly breathe. When the cage stopped we were in complete darkness except for the light from the candles fixed in the front of our helmets.’
‘What happened then?’
‘We walked along a narrow tunnel. I kept slipping and falling and every time I stood up I banged my head.’
The excitement suddenly went out of his voice and Kate heard the tremor that replaced it as he said, ‘I thought all the time that I was going to choke, it was so difficult to breathe down there. It was the same sort of feeling that I get when I’m going to have one of my attacks.’
‘You make it sound very frightening,’ Kate shuddered.
‘I thought about it for weeks afterwards,’ Mathew told her gloomily.
‘And was that when you started having asthma attacks?’
‘No.’ He gave a deep sigh.
‘So when did those start?’
‘After they put Mama in her coffin. I thought she must feel the same as I did when I went underground, all shut in and unable to breathe.’
‘And was that when the attacks started?’
Mathew nodded, his face ashen.
‘I was choking for breath, just like when I went down the pit. I called out for Mama but she didn’t come.’ He choked back a sob. ‘I thought I was dead, too, because no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get any air.’
Kate looked down at the small, pinched face and her heart ached. Unsure what to say, she reached out and took the boy’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She wondered if David felt fear when he was forced to go underground.
‘Have you ever heard of Fforbrecon colliery, Mathew?’ she asked.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I thought it might be close by.’
‘I think it’s near Blaenafon, over the other side of the Blorenge mountain.’
‘A friend… someone I once met, told me about it. I thought it was somewhere around here.’
‘Does your friend work there?’
‘I’m not sure. Have you ever heard of anyone called David Owen?’ she asked, her heart thundering.
‘No.’ Mathew shook his head. ‘Is that why you came here… to find him?’ he asked with a child’s sharp intuition.
‘No… not really. I just wondered…’
‘Are you going away again when you do? Please stay,’ he begged. ‘You must! If you go away then I’ll have no one again,’ he added piteously, his eyes filling with tears.
‘Nonsense!’ Kate told him briskly. ‘You have your father and brother. And Mrs Price? She cares about you very much.’
‘Papa hasn’t much time for me. I think he is ashamed of me because I’m not like Brynmor.’
‘But you will be… when you are older.’
As she spoke, Kate saw fear darken the boy’s eyes.
‘I never want to be like Brynmor,’ Mathew told her fervently, panic in his voice, his chest rising with the force of his statement.
‘Why ever not?’ asked Kate, remembering the empathy between Mary and Beth and the way Mary had aped her elder sister, striving to emulate her in everything she did.
‘Wait until you meet Brynmor,’ he told her darkly. ‘I hate him… I’m afraid of him,’ he added in a whisper.
‘Why is that?’
He bit his lip and seemed reluctant to talk about it, so she picked up the reins and turned the trap towards Machen Mawr, wondering what the problem could be.
Chapter 11
Knowing that it was the first time Mathew had joined his father and brother for dinner, Kate surmised he must be feeling nervous so she went along to his bedroom to make sure that he was dressed properly for the occasion.
‘Do I look all right, Kate?’ he asked anxiously.
He had put on a pair of black and white check trousers and a tight-fitting bottle-green jacket over a plain white shirt. He’d made a brave attempt to fasten his black silk tie but had only succeeded in achieving a rumpled, one-sided bow.
With deft fingers, Kate adjusted it for him.
‘That’s fine, Mathew.’
As she stood back to admire the finished result she noticed that his bony wrists extended a good two inches past the cuffs of his jacket and his trousers barely covered the top of his boots.
She said nothing. The evening was going to prove enough of an ordeal for him without making him feel self-conscious. She made a mental note, though, to check the clothes he wore to school and make sure they fitted him.
‘Right! Are we ready to go down, then?’
‘Yes!’ He ran a hand over his flattened-down hair and clamped his top teeth over his lower lip to stop it trembling.
‘You look pretty,’ he murmured shyly as Kate stopped to check her own appearance in the mirror.
‘Why, thank you!’
She had chosen a silk and velvet dress in two shades of blue, nipped in at the waist, the skirt full and long. The velvet was the same colour as her eyes, or so Helen had told her when she had given her the dress.
‘It’s one of my favourites,’ Helen had smiled, ‘but I’ve put on so much weight I can barely squeeze into it.’
Kate had thought it the most beautiful dress she had ever seen and had spent several evenings altering it to fit. This was the first time she had worn it and she wondered whether perhaps it was just a little too grand. She was, she reminded herself, merely an employee, and the dress made her look more like the lady of the house.
‘Your hair looks prettier all loose and curly,’ Mathew broke into her reverie.
Kate lifted up the black ringlets from the nape of her neck, studying the effect with pleasure. Letting them fall back, so that they gleamed like sable against the whiteness of her shoulders, she wished her grandmother could see her now and know how well she had done for herself.
It was fortunate that Mathew had taken to her so readily.
Morgan Edwards seemed to be completely at a loss on how to cope with Mathew. It seemed strange that a man who employed servants and any number of workmen didn’t understand the needs of a child.
He had seemed so relieved when she’d explained that a nanny was neither a nurse nor a governess but someone who deputized for the child’s mother, that she was sure if she had refused to undertake any other duties he would still have wanted her to stay simply to look after Mathew.
She hadn’t been too sure about agreeing to oversee the running of his home. She had complied because it gave her undisputed power should the housekeeper be resentful of her appointment. Yet she had been lucky on that score, too. Just the mention of Lady Helen’s name and she had immediately found favour with Mrs Price.
Mrs Price had known Helen as a girl, seen her grow up alongside Myfanwy, and held her in high regard. Kate wondered what she ought to tell Mrs Price if she asked why she had left Bramwood Hall. Certainly not the truth! Perhaps it would be best if she said that Helen’s two girls were being sent away to school, she decided.
Providing she left Mrs Price to deal with kitchen matters in her own way, Kate was quite sure they could become the best of friends.
‘Come on.’ Taking Mathew’s hand she prepared to face the final hurdle: meeting Brynmor.
Morgan and Brynmor were already seated at the table when Kate and Mathew entered the dining room.
Kate studied Brynmor with interest. He was heavily built and looked older than his nineteen years. He was dressed in the very latest fashion, black trousers fastened under the instep with straps and a dark blue tail coat. A frilled white shirt was visible under his blue and red striped silk waistcoat and his bow tie was in matching red silk.
> He had inherited dark hair and eyes, a prominent nose and square chin from Morgan, but his mouth was full-lipped and sensuous. His thick hair grew down to meet the side-whiskers below his ears. Coupled with swarthy skin, and heavy dark brows, this gave him a saturnine appearance.
Kate was acutely aware of the way Mathew tensed as they entered the room. His face looked pinched and ashen. For a moment she thought he was about to turn tail and run.
‘What are you doing down here dressed up like a young jackanapes,’ Brynmor commented, studying his young brother with a contemptuous smile. ‘Shouldn’t you be in the nursery?’
‘Papa said I could come down to dinner with Kate,’ Mathew answered in a tight, strained voice.
‘Kate, is it!’ His calculating gaze sent a shiver through her. It was as if he was divesting her of every stitch of clothing and appraising what he saw beneath.
His hand as he shook hers, after Morgan had formally introduced them, was hot and clammy. She was conscious of the pressure of his fingers as they encompassed her own and that he held her hand for far longer than was necessary.
Instinctively, she shared Mathew’s dislike of Brynmor.
Morgan indicated where she was to sit, facing Mathew. Brynmor sat at the far end of the table and Kate was relieved to find she was partially hidden from his view by the vase of pink roses that decorated the table.
Conversation during dinner was stilted.
As Brynmor boasted of his visit to London, where his Japanware had been received with enthusiasm, and his plans for future expansion, Kate suspected that he was trying to impress her.
Mathew picked nervously at his food. He seemed to be dismayed by the array of heavy silver cutlery. As each course was served, he waited until Kate picked up the correct knife, fork or spoon from alongside her own plate and then selected matching ones. She discouraged him from drinking the wine and suggested to his father that Glynis should bring him a glass of water.
It was a relief when the meal ended, even though she had enjoyed the food prepared by Mrs Price. Everything had been of the best quality. Delicately flavoured consommé, sole in Hollandaise sauce, lamb cutlets and vegetables, followed by sherry trifle decorated with thick cream.
When the meal ended, Brynmor and Morgan retired to the library to sort out various documents concerning one of the business transactions they had been discussing during dinner. Kate went through into the drawing room with Mathew. A fire had been lit and a multi-branched candelabra cast a soft glow over the handsome furnishings.
Conscious that Mathew had been virtually ignored during dinner, Kate encouraged him to talk about his interests. At first he was reluctant to do so, preferring to lie on the floor and bury his face in the shaggy coat of Danni, the black and white sheepdog, that lay stretched out in front of the fire.
‘Can you play, Mathew?’ she asked, walking over to the pianoforte and experimentally depressing one or two keys.
‘Not very well.’
‘Show me.’
‘I haven’t played for a long time.’
‘Come on, play for me,’ insisted Kate.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Please, while we are on our own.’
‘I’m out of practice.’
‘Play just one piece for me, Mathew.’
After considerable persuasion, he did as she asked, and although she had no ear for music, Kate could tell that his fingering was not very accomplished. When he came to the end of his piece, she wondered whether she should praise or criticize his efforts.
The arrival of Brynmor made a decision unnecessary.
The moment he came through the door, Mathew slid from the stool and returned to playing with the dog.
Brynmor paused just inside the door, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. Without speaking, he walked over to the fireplace and with the toe of his polished boot roughly parted the boy and dog. Then, with a well-aimed kick, he sent the dog howling into a corner.
‘You!’ Fists flailing, Mathew lashed out at his brother, ineffectually pummelling the thick-set thighs that stretched the black broadcloth trousers to capacity.
‘Mathew!’
Although she sympathized with his reasons and would have preferred not to interfere, Kate felt she couldn’t condone such bad behaviour.
‘Don’t worry on my behalf, I can control him,’ Brynmor said coolly He seized the child’s wrists in a cruel grasp and swung him up in the air. Mathew screamed as he left the ground. He struggled to free himself by striking out with his feet, but Brynmor held him at a sufficient distance to make contact impossible.
Kate felt her blood run cold as Mathew yelled and struggled, and she saw his face twist with agony. She was reminded vividly of the way she had suffered as a child at the hands of her Uncle Charlie. Brynmor was exercising the same brutal strength, and deriving pleasure from inflicting pain on his hapless victim.
‘Put Mathew down this minute!’
Surprised by her tone, Brynmor released his hold.
Mathew thudded to the floor and lay there completely winded. Kate helped him to his feet and used her handkerchief to dry his tears. She could hear his breath rasping as his chest heaved painfully.
Flushed with fury, she rounded on Brynmor.
‘Have you any idea what such treatment can do to a child like Mathew,’ she berated him hotly.
‘Liven him up?’ His dark eyes stared venomously.
‘You’re forgetting his precarious state of health,’ she retorted scathingly.
‘Nonsense!’ A sneer twisted his face. ‘Namby pamby little bugger’s managed to hoodwink you already.’
‘On the contrary, he has convinced me that he’s in need of care and affection. Unless he is treated sympathetically his asthma attacks will increase both in number and severity,’ she flared. ‘Anyone with a grain of common sense would understand that,’ she added contemptuously.
‘Well, well! Who would have thought that such a demure young lady could be such a hell-cat,’ he gibed. He licked his full red lips as if amused. His stance, legs set wide apart, chin thrust out, eyes bold and challenging, was masculine and aggressive.
Kate turned away, shaking with anger.
It was obvious to her that this wasn’t the first time that Mathew had been the butt of his elder brother’s savage bullying. From the look on Brynmor’s face she knew he was challenging her to stop him.
It was clear why Mathew was so anxious for her to stay on at Machen Mawr. He wanted someone to protect him from Brynmor.
‘If you ever touch him again I shall complain to your father and acquaint him with what you are doing,’ she told Brynmor furiously, her colour rising.
‘Will you, indeed!’
As Brynmor crossed the room to where she stood, Kate felt frozen to the spot, afraid he was going to assault her as he had his brother. She could smell his powerful body odour, feel the heat emanating from him, but she clenched her hands until the nails dug deep into her palms and stood her ground.
‘I most certainly shall,’ she retorted, her eyes icy as they met his.
‘I don’t like being threatened,’ he snarled.
‘Then you’d better behave yourself.’
‘And you’d better remember your place… nanny!’
‘Come Mathew, it’s late, time you were in bed.’ Keeping her head high and her back very straight, Kate walked over to the door and held it open. Ignoring Brynmor, she escorted Mathew upstairs, her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder.
‘Will you come and say good night to me after I’m in bed?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Of course,’ promised Kate as she set the candle down on top of the chest of drawers.
‘You will come back?’
‘In five minutes?’
She stood by the window in her own room, staring out into the autumn darkness, trying to calm the turbulence within her as she waited for Mathew to get ready for bed. Brynmor was a bully. Morgan Edwards must know this but obviously was not p
repared to do anything about it. Perhaps he regarded it as being manly! He certainly seemed to hold his elder son in high esteem. She suddenly remembered his words: ‘Wait until you have met Brynmor before making up your mind about staying.’
Now there was something ominous about them.
She looked round the well-appointed bedroom, with its floral carpet, velvet drapes and four-poster bed. She had never known such luxury! It was almost as large as Lady Helen’s bedroom at Bramwood Hall. To give all this up, before she had managed to find David, would be very rash, she decided, wrestling with her own conflicting thoughts.
The only drawback was Brynmor. But then, nothing was ever perfect, she reminded herself, so it was no good sighing for the moon. All she had to do was avoid him as much as possible. He was a sadistic bully, the same as her Uncle Charlie, and she had managed to handle him. The secret was not to let bullies know how frightened you were. That was where Mathew failed. The poor child was petrified. Brynmor knew this and used it to his own advantage. She had seen the same vicious gleam in Charlie’s eyes when he was tormenting someone weaker than himself.
She shivered. She’d always made allowances for Charlie because he was simple. Brynmor was astute and shrewd, which probably meant that he could be even more devious and cruel. She was sure he wasn’t used to being defied and for that reason alone he would try to retaliate in some way.
If Brynmor worked in Pontypool, and he was as industrious as his father and Mrs Price claimed, then he must be away from the house a great deal of the time, Kate consoled herself. With any luck, he would forget all about their spat and in future she would take care to avoid him and make sure Mathew did as well.
Hopefully he would leave them both alone now that he knew she wasn’t frightened of him, she reasoned. Bullies like Brynmor only kept up their tirade when they knew they had power over their victim.
More than likely it was the way he treated his workmen, believing they dare not retaliate for fear of dismissal and then was surprised when they rose up in revolt.
With a sigh she remembered that the reason David had been called home was because of trouble at Fforbrecon colliery. Probably it was all settled and he was back at Bramwood Hall, she thought, as she went to say good night to Mathew.