by Iris Gower
Later, as they lay naked, entwined in each other’s arms, Llinos kissed Joe’s shoulder. She was so happy to lie in bed with him, feeling his warmth close to her.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked. ‘You’re very quiet.’
‘I’m happy with my life,’ she said. ‘That’s what I was thinking.’ She felt his hand smooth her hair from her face and she caught her breath, loving him so much it hurt.
After a while, she sat up and drew the sheets over her breasts. ‘I’m worried about work, though, Joe,’ she said. ‘There’s trouble in the pottery. The men are resentful about the ongoing effects of the Poor Law and the farmers are arranging public debates to argue about why the price of the toll-gates keeps rising all the time. These are troubled times.’
Joe leaned on one elbow, his dark hair swinging forward. ‘I can see why the people are angry,’ he said. ‘With the farmers being charged such a lot of money to pass the gates, with the tolls increasing almost monthly, the result is that the price of flour and other necessities must rise. The people just can’t afford it.’
‘But men dressing up as women because the Bible says, ‘‘The daughters of Rebecca will storm the gates’’, where is that going to get them? Why can’t they deal with their grievances in a civilized manner?’
‘That’s been tried and it’s failed.’ Joe sat up and propped himself against the wooden headboard. ‘I suppose the workers feel the need to take matters into their own hands.’
‘I can understand that, but I do worry about Lloyd growing up in a hostile world. He has ambitions to go into politics. Has he spoken to you about it?’
‘I knew.’ Joe smiled. ‘But don’t worry, Lloyd has plenty of common sense. He realizes nothing can be achieved overnight and by the time he leaves college the matters with the farmers and the toll-gates will probably be settled. He might even have changed his mind about what he wants to do.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Now, stop worrying about things that might not happen. Live for the present. It’s all we really have.’
He extinguished the lamp and Llinos felt him warm against her. ‘Come, I’ll hold you until you sleep and in the morning all your troubles will have vanished.’
Llinos closed her eyes, knowing Joe’s reassurance was well-intentioned but nothing would be settled easily: that much was becoming clearer every day. Still, he was right about one thing: that she could do nothing about the problem now, perhaps not ever. She curled against him and slept.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FAIR HAD come to town, and the streets of Swansea were thronged with revellers. Shanni felt excitement blossom as she pushed her way towards World’s End. She wished Lloyd were here to share the moment: she felt in need of company and Lloyd was very good company indeed.
During Lloyd’s holidays from college he spent as much time with her as he could. They shared the same ridiculous sense of humour. He never put on airs and graces and never acted like a spoiled rich boy the way some offspring of the gentry did. He was handsome, very Welsh-looking with his strong features and his thick hair curling around his forehead.
Had things been different, Shanni might have married a man like Lloyd Mainwaring. She knew he was far above her socially and that one day he would find a wife among the high-society ladies who lived on the west side of Swansea but, still, it was nice to dream.
Shanni grimaced. Lloyd would probably marry someone like Jayne Morton-Edwards. Now, she was a spoilt brat. As for Shanni, she would never marry, never give herself into the keeping of any man: they simply weren’t to be trusted.
Shanni had once believed that Llinos and Joe Mainwaring were a couple made for each other until one of the maids had told her differently. One night, in a talkative mood, Flora had claimed that Mr Mainwaring had foisted a bastard child on some Indian woman. Shanni had been shocked. If a wonderful lady like Mrs Mainwaring could not hold her man, what hope would she have?
She was startled out of her thoughts by a hand touching her arm. ‘Shanni! It’s me, Rosie Bevan. It’s nice to see a familiar face in the crowd.’ Rosie stood smiling at Shanni’s side. ‘I was supposed to meet my brothers here but they have let me down and I’ve been feeling so lonely and self-conscious all on my own. Would you mind if I walked around the stalls with you?’
Shanni shook back her dark red hair. ‘I’d like some company too,’ she said. ‘I know what you mean about being alone – it’s as if I’m here just to get myself taken up by some young man or other.’
It was not that she felt lonely, Shanni was happy in her own company and more than capable of dealing with anyone forward enough to talk to her, but half the fun of the fair was sharing the excitement with someone else.
Rosie linked arms easily and, for a moment, Shanni was surprised – she was not used to such familiarity. Shanni and her mother had loved each other dearly but Dora Price had never been demonstrative.
‘Oh, look!’ Shanni drew Rosie to a stall hung with ribbons in a variety of bright colours. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’
She watched as Rosie ran her fingers through the silk and selected a ribbon in shiny olive green and one in gold. ‘One for you,’ she said, ‘and one for me.’ She handed the green ribbon to Shanni. ‘It should be a sweetheart giving you ribbons for your hair,’ Rosie smiled, ‘but there’s time enough for that and, anyway, it gives me pleasure to buy you a small gift.’
Shanni was pleased. She held the silk ribbon, knowing it would suit her red hair. ‘You are so generous!’ she said. It was not that the ribbon cost a great deal of money but it was a gift from a lady Shanni hardly knew. She immediately tied her hair in a loose bun away from her face and Rosie, watching her, laughed. ‘Now you look even younger and more innocent than ever. Have you got a beau, Shanni, or are you still looking?’
‘I’m not going to get married.’ Shanni spoke with determination. ‘I don’t want to be any man’s servant.’
‘Oh dear.’ Rosie led her to the cordial tent. ‘You get us a seat and I’ll order us a drink. It’s so hot I think I’ll faint if I don’t have some refreshment.’
Shanni sat on the roughly made wooden seat and stared round at the groups of people laughing and talking, enjoying the fun of the day. Some ladies were well dressed, with parasols and fine gowns of silks and satins. Shanni looked at her own muslin dress, pretty enough and sprigged with bright cornflowers but marking her lowly place in society none the less.
She watched as Rosie came back across the dried grass lifting her skirts clear of the dust. Rosie was an enigma: she spoke like a girl from the poorer quarters yet she appeared wealthy – left money, so downstairs gossip had it, by her late employer Alice Sparks. Still, Shanni could not hold that against Rosie even though she believed a woman should fend for herself. Rosie was a sweet, generous person, and it was no wonder Alice Sparks had wanted to show her appreciation.
As Rosie came towards her Shanni realized she was very beautiful. What was wrong with Watt Bevan that he did not choose to live with his wife?
‘The man is going to bring our drinks in a moment.’ Rosie sank into her chair. ‘You’re staring. Have I got a spot on my face or something?’
‘Sorry!’ Shanni smiled. ‘It’s none of my business but I was just wondering why you don’t live with your husband.’
She saw Rosie look away, a blush spreading over her neck and cheeks, and Shanni was ashamed. ‘That was rude of me!’ she said quickly. ‘It’s none of my business. My tongue sometimes runs ahead of my thoughts.’
‘It’s all right,’ Rosie said. ‘I don’t mind telling you about Watt and me. We married for all the wrong reasons. Watt felt he had to look after me and my brothers because my mam fell sick.’
‘Well, that was good of him, wasn’t it?’ Shanni asked.
Rosie shook her head. ‘My mother Pearl worked at the pottery for years and Watt admired her, wanted to do his best for her family.’ Rosie sighed. ‘So he married me. And, yes, it was kind of him. But it wasn’t right, and when I realized that Watt had married me o
ut of pity I left him and found myself a job as a companion to Alice Sparks.’ Her voice faltered a little. ‘I miss Alice so much. We were such good friends in those last months of her life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Shanni said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I have no right to stir up all your past worries like that. I mean, I don’t really know you, do I? But you’re so pretty and so well dressed I think any man would be a fool to let you go. And do you know something? I envy your independence, Rosie.’
‘You envy me?’ Rosie sounded incredulous. ‘But you’re young with all your life before you. You have lovely red hair and such a creamy skin, you’re a beautiful girl.’ She paused. ‘And so far you haven’t fallen in love with the wrong man.’ She rested her hand on Shanni’s arm. ‘Use your youth wisely, Shanni, and don’t be blinded by love because those loving feelings can play you false.’
‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ Watt Bevan had stopped beside his wife and Rosie’s colour deepened. She bowed her head staring at her hands in her lap. The silence was embarrassing.
‘Good day to you, Mr Bevan,’ Shanni said quickly. She looked up at him, evaluating him afresh. She had seen him only as the manager of the pottery, a stern man who laughed seldom. Now she knew that he was compassionate, that he had felt duty-bound to take care of a young girl and her brothers.
‘Watt, how nice to see you.’ Rosie had regained her composure. She spoke formally, the Welsh vanishing from her voice. ‘Please sit down, have some cordial with us.’ She looked towards the table at the edge of the tent. ‘The man was supposed to bring it to us ten minutes ago.’
Watt turned and lifted his hand. As if by magic a boy appeared, eager to serve him. No doubt he was hoping for a few pennies to put in his pocket for waiting on such a powerful man as Watt Bevan, pottery manager.
‘Three jugs of cordial, please.’ Watt delved into his pocket and brought out some coins. ‘And have a drink yourself. You look all hot and bothered.’
The boy touched his scruffy hair and hurried away. Watt sat next to Shanni and she felt uncomfortable – it was as if she formed a barrier between husband and wife.
‘I didn’t expect to see you at the fair, Watt,’ Rosie said. ‘I thought my brothers were coming but they are probably off courting some girl or other.’
‘Probably,’ Watt said. ‘Anyway, I wanted to see you, I owe you an apology for not being there to fetch you back to Swansea. Things were difficult, the men were in a bad mood – still are, come to that. Half of them are ready to tear the town apart.’
‘But they have good reason,’ Shanni said slowly. ‘The tolls the farmers have to pay will raise the price of everything we buy from meat and drink to fripperies like this.’ She flicked at her ribbon. ‘I’m surprised you’re not with them, Mr Bevan.’
Watt glanced at her. ‘And I’m surprised at your cheek, young lady!’ He smiled, his tension vanishing. ‘I think our Llinos is teaching you to be a little rebel or is it Madame Isabelle we have to blame for your radical ideas?’
‘My thoughts are my own,’ Shanni said heatedly. ‘I see injustice all around me. My mother was killed by it and the poor are kept down to serve the rich.’
Watt leaned forward. ‘Lower your voice, little Shanni, otherwise the wrong ears will hear. Your thoughts may be your own, but keep them to yourself. That’s my advice.’
Shanni stared at him for a long moment then nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said, ‘and you’re right.’
Rosie touched her arm. ‘Come on, Shanni, we’re supposed to be enjoying today. All this talk of rioting and violence worries me.’ She rose and shook the creases from her skirts. ‘We’ll doubtless see you around, Watt.’
‘Rosie,’ Watt pushed himself from his chair, in a swift easy movement, ‘Rosie, I would like to talk to you.’
‘Not now,’ Rosie said sharply. ‘I just want to enjoy the sunshine and the music of the fair. Another time.’
‘Look, I’ll go and have my fortune told,’ Shanni said quickly. ‘I’ll meet you back at the tent in ten minutes or so.’ She hurried out into the sunshine and glanced back to see Rosie arguing with Watt, and doubted her wisdom in leaving them alone.
There was a queue of grand ladies waiting to have their fortunes told and Shanni turned away in despair. In any case, she knew her future: work, learn and keep her mouth shut until the time was right. Speak like a lady, as Madame Isabelle had instructed her, and remember to tread carefully rather than rushing into things like a fool.
‘Shanni!’ Rosie’s voice startled her and Shanni turned round. ‘Wait for me.’ She slid her arm through Shanni’s. ‘I know you were trying to be tactful but I don’t want to be alone with Watt, not yet. It’s too soon after losing my dear friend. I can’t take any more upheaval just yet.’
She drew Shanni towards the hoop-la. ‘Come on, let’s have a go at winning a rag doll, or a bead necklace. It’ll be fun.’
Shanni smiled. Rosie was older than she was by several years but here she was like an enchanted child, drinking in the fun of the fair.
It was Shanni who won the prizes, a black bead necklace and a matching black fan, painted with ladies of the royal court of Queen Victoria.
‘I wouldn’t like to see you with a firearm, my girl,’ Rosie said. ‘Your aim is deadly!’
‘Well, that’s not likely,’ Shanni said. ‘At the moment I’m learning ladylike things, the pianoforte, deportment and elocution.’ She chuckled. ‘Not that I’ll ever think like a lady, mind.’
‘Gentility comes from inside you, Shanni,’ Rosie said. ‘Money, position, these things can be earned, but a kind heart and a sense of fair play are born in folks.’
Shanni sobered. ‘Are you being fair-minded with your husband? Was it so wrong of him to marry you to take care of you?’
‘I wanted love,’ Rosie said. ‘Is that asking too much?’ She turned towards the edge of the park. ‘Come on, let’s have fun.’
She hurried away and Shanni saw her step up on to the carousel. She climbed on a carved horse tucking her skirts around her legs. ‘Come on, Shanni, don’t get left behind!’
Laughing, Shanni straddled a fierce-looking animal with white wooden teeth yellowed by the sun. The music began, loud and discordant, but Shanni did not care about that: she was here, with a friend and she intended to have a good time.
It was Rosie who weakened first. ‘It’s time I went home,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I feel so tired.’
Shanni looked at her closely. Rosie was very pale. ‘Your spirit is weary, not your body,’ she said. ‘Here, have these beads and the fan too. I wouldn’t have won them if it wasn’t for you. And thank you for a lovely time.’
Before Rosie could reply, Shanni was running across the dry ground her skirts flying. At the edge of the field she turned to wave but Rosie was nowhere in sight.
Watt stood in the smoky taproom of the Castle Hotel and stared at the angry faces of the men seated around him. ‘Try to stay calm,’ he urged. ‘Rioting is the wrong way to go about things.’
‘It’s all right for you, man.’ Tom Levinson had been a sailor until his eyesight failed. Now he ran errands for the potters and painters, fetching beer from the public bars knowing his way instinctively without the aid of sight. ‘You has your pay whatever you does, and you don’t have to bow the knee to anyone. Tell us, Watt Bevan, why should men of pride have to suffer so that the rich can get richer?’
‘Burning and plundering is not the answer,’ Watt insisted.
‘Don’t talk daft, man!’ Bill Brazil lifted a beefy arm. ‘It worked in the thirties, didn’t it?’
‘Bill, you might be a good potter but you’re not very good at reading the signs, are you?’ Watt said, in exasperation. ‘Men were killed in the thirties, good men, and what did it achieve? Nothing!’
‘It showed we was together, though, didn’t it?’ Bill Brazil said. ‘Showed we had strength and wasn’t going to take no nonsense from anyone. Now, Watt, are you with us or agin us? If you’re agin us, leave now so you
can’t carry tales back to the bosses.’
Watt shook his head in despair. ‘I’ll leave, then,’ he said. ‘I can’t talk sense into you so it’s best I go. As for carrying tales to the bosses, you’re talking out of the seat of your trews, Bill Brazil. You should know me better than that.’
Watt left the hotel and walked towards the river. He was tired of arguing with the men. They would do what they wanted in the end so what was the use of talking? In any case, how could he be sure he was right to advise caution? What good had caution done them in the past?
He sat near the river watching the moonlight playing on the swiftly moving water. He guessed the tide must be full in because the river was high against the bank and small eddies made gurgling inroads into the lower grassy areas. The weather had turned colder now: the Indian summer that had come with autumn had spent itself at last. Soon, the cold winds of winter would drift in with the tide, the seas would be rougher and the hills covered with misty rain. Many folk hated winter but Watt would have welcomed it, had he been able to spend his time with Rosie.
It was silent on the bank except for the rush of the water. The birds had nested for the night and sensible people sat around their own fireside. He thought of Rosie alone in her cottage up on the hill. Why had he been such a fool as to lose her when he had held her in his arms?
When he saw Rosie at the autumn fair, she looked so cool, so unattainable, it was hard to believe they had once slept in the same bed. He had longed to kiss her sweet lips, to touch her fresh skin. And when Rosie had walked away from him it had hurt him deeply.
But could he blame her? He had not even been the one to bring her back to Swansea. As always, he had been too wrapped up in pottery business to think of himself and his relationship with his wife.
‘All alone, Watt?’ The cultured voice of Joe Mainwaring cut into his thoughts. Joe sank down beside him and rested his hand on Watt’s shoulder. ‘Been down at the Castle trying to talk sense into the men, have you?’