Daughters of Rebecca

by Iris Gower

  ‘Aye, and a fat lot of good it did,’ Watt said. ‘I might just as well have saved my breath. They are hell bent on some scheme or other and I’m best out of it.’ He glanced at Joe: the man’s profile was strong, handsome even in the dim light of the moon. ‘Who am I to try to talk sense to anyone else when I can’t even sort out my own problems?’ he said ruefully.

  ‘You haven’t had a chance to talk to Rosie, then? She is still your wife after all.’

  ‘I think she’s forgotten all about our marriage and I can’t say I blame her for that.’ Watt picked up a pebble and skimmed it into the water. Dark ripples moved in restless circles across the surface of the water. ‘Perhaps I should have made my life in America, like my old friend Binnie Dundee. Binnie was like me once, a lowly worker at the pottery, and now he owns a huge business. He has a wife who loves him and sons to bear his name after his days. Binnie’s had two wives who adored him and I’m wondering what his secret was.’

  ‘Who knows? It’s a brave man or a liar who claims to know the mind of a woman,’ Joe said.

  Watt frowned. ‘I thought if anyone understood women it would be you.’

  ‘No! I’m as big a fool as the next man. I did wrong by Llinos and now I’m paying for it. To tell you the truth I’ll be glad when my business takes me away from Swansea again. Sometimes I think I can’t bear the reproach in Llinos’s eyes.’

  Watt sat in brooding silence. He knew what Joe meant because he, too, had broken the vows he made at the altar. He had taken other women but only as release from the unbearable desires of a man alone. If he had Rosie’s love he would be faithful to her till the day he died.

  Joe seemed to pick up on his thoughts. ‘When I took another woman, an American-Indian squaw, and fathered a son on her I thought it was fated for me in the stars but was it all an excuse, Watt?’ For once Joe sounded uncertain. ‘Was I fooling myself that it was my destiny to enjoy the delights of another woman’s passion? Llinos and I lost something then, Watt, something we might never reclaim.’

  ‘So you are telling me that you enjoyed the love of the Indian lady?’ Watt said. ‘That duty soon gave way to pleasure.’

  ‘I was lusty then and I know it,’ Joe said. ‘Like any man I wanted to taste other fruit. It does not pay in the long run, Watt. A man should sow his wild oats before he marries and afterwards keep all his love for his wife. I will try to teach Lloyd to learn by my mistakes, but I doubt if I’ll succeed.’

  Joe pushed himself upright with ease. He was as lithe and fit as he had been when he first came to Swansea as a young man. Watt had been very young then, and had looked in awe at the stranger who was batman to old Captain Savage, master of the Savage pottery.

  Watt got to his feet and stood beside Joe. He was younger than Joe by eight years or so and was putting on weight. His shoulders had grown broad, his muscles hardened by hours of labour in the pottery. Beside him Joe was as lithe and slim as a boy. No wonder women found him irresistible.

  He stared up at the night sky, forcing his mind back to the present difficulties that plagued the pottery. ‘There will be bloodshed before long,’ he said, ‘and I can’t find any way to stop it.’

  ‘Life will work its pattern without our help,’ Joe said. ‘Just be true to yourself and pray that God spares us all to live to see our grandchildren.’

  Joe vanished as soundlessly as he had come, disappearing into the darkness. What had he meant by his cryptic words? He was as much of an enigma as he had ever been. Watt shook his head. It was time he was getting home to his bed. There would be work to do in the morning.

  Then he lifted his face to the stars, wishing that Rosie would come to him, forgive him, give him a second chance of love. But that was a dream and it was about time he faced reality. Briskly, feeling the chill now, Watt began to walk away from the river and uphill to his home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE BOOKS MADAME ISABELLE brought for Shanni were difficult to read but the message was clear enough. It was time women took possession of their own souls as well as their bodies. One of the books was about the law regarding married women and Shanni felt angry as, finger pressed to the page, she laboriously read every word.

  Once a woman married she was her husband’s chattel, his to do with as he wished. He could beat her and abuse her, in some cases he could even offer her for sale or exchange if the mood took him. Shanni had believed ill-treatment of that sort happened only to the ‘lower orders’, the women who had no education, who had been subjugated all their lives. From what she read, nothing could be further from the truth.

  The door opened and Flora stood back to allow Madame Isabelle to enter the drawing room. Madame glanced at the piano and then at Shanni, who closed the book marking the page carefully with the piece of ribbon Rosie had bought her at the fair.

  ‘Have you been practising your scales?’ Madame Isabelle asked easily, as the maid closed the door behind her. ‘Or have you been too busy reading?’

  ‘These books you brought me, they make me so angry!’ Shanni said, keeping her voice low. ‘How can women allow themselves to be treated worse than the cattle in the fields?’

  ‘It is because many of them lack education, which you are privileged now to receive, thanks to Mrs Mainwaring.’ She looked at Shanni and smiled. ‘I know you won’t forget to whom you owe a debt of gratitude for all you have here.’

  Shanni nodded but she felt she owed as much to Madame as she did to Mrs Mainwaring.

  Madame Isabelle sat at the piano and ran her fingers over the keys. The music swelled softly into the room and Shanni felt her heart lighten with joy. She listened in silence for a while, then Madame Isabelle rose from the stool, twitching her skirts into place. ‘Shall we begin?’

  ‘Before I start to play for you, may I ask you something?’ Shanni said meekly.

  Madame Isabelle smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. I’m not saying I shall have the answers you want to hear, but ask away.’

  ‘Was I wrong in believing only working women get shabbily treated by men? From what I’ve just been reading rich ladies have to put up with infidelity, and worse, just like the poor. Aren’t they well enough educated to complain?’

  ‘Women can be well educated in the niceties of life,’ Madame Isabelle shook her head and her combs threatened to fall loose from her thick hair, ‘but that does not mean they are educated realistically or politically. Not everyone is given the opportunity to study the economy of the place in which they live, and any woman may fall foul of a wicked man who vowed before God to love and cherish her.’

  Was Madame Isabelle talking from experience? Shanni glanced at her tutor’s hand; she wore no wedding ring.

  ‘Rich women with a fortune inherited from their fathers give up everything when they marry. They are owned by their husbands, most of whom treat a mistress better than a wife.’

  ‘Why do women marry, then?’

  ‘Some, like me, do not.’ Madame Isabelle shrugged. ‘But for others who are unequipped to look after themselves, what else is there? A spinster is expected to stay with aged parents, to tend and care for them until they die. Then she is forced to live on charity with relatives often reluctant to take her.’

  ‘It sounds such an awful fate,’ Shanni said. ‘I will never let that happen to me.’

  ‘Well, then, you must learn all you can,’ Madame Isabelle said. ‘Beginning with your piano lesson. Did you learn the little tune I set you?’

  Shanni sat on the stool and played the simple piece without faltering. Madame Isabelle watched in silence until Shanni lifted her hands then smiled knowingly.

  ‘Ah, I see you have a good memory! You did not once look at the music, my dear, and you must learn the notes if you are to read music correctly.’

  Shanni played some scales and glanced over her shoulder. ‘We both know I will never be any better than adequate as a pianist,’ she said. ‘What I’m really interested in is putting right the wrongs inflicted on the poor, women in particular.’

 
‘Well put! Your vocabulary has improved greatly. And such high ideals, Shanni. I hope you keep them.’ She paused, her brow furrowed in thought. ‘Perhaps you would like to come to a meeting tomorrow. I shall ask permission for you to have tea with me, if you wish. I’m sure Mrs Mainwaring wouldn’t mind. And as I live so far out she might even allow you to stay overnight. After the meeting you shall be introduced to some of my friends.’

  ‘Oh, please, I’d like that!’ Shanni said.

  ‘Very well, it shall be done. But now, back to your task. Show me how you transpose the little tune you’ve memorized from the key of F to the key of G.’

  Madame Isabelle sank into a chair and closed her eyes. There was a satisfied smile on her face.

  ‘This pattern is selling well.’ Watt held up a plate decorated with daffodils with trails of green leaves around the border. ‘At least there are not so many problems with potteryware as there were with the porcelain.’

  ‘Good heavens, Watt, it’s years since the Mainwaring pottery produced porcelain.’ Llinos took the plate to the window of the paint shed and Watt watched as she held it to the light. ‘The colour is a little intense, don’t you think?’ She returned the plate to Watt. ‘Perhaps you can tell the artist to mix the colours a little more subtly.’

  Watt nodded. ‘I’ll speak to him before the next batch is painted and fired but we must remember that this pottery is designed for general use, not special occasions. Perhaps extra expense on painting would not be justified.’

  ‘Still, the product we sell should be of the best quality we can manage, and that means in the painting department as well as in the potting.’

  Watt followed as Llinos moved to the door. ‘May I take the afternoon off, Llinos?’ he asked. ‘I would like to visit Rosie. I’ve sent her a letter so she will be expecting me.’

  ‘You go and see her at any time you like, Watt,’ Llinos said. ‘I know the pottery runs like silk because you have organized the workers so well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Watt was thinking how beautiful Llinos was. She still looked as fresh and lovely as she had in the old days when together they had struggled to make the pottery survive.

  ‘Why are you staring at me?’ Llinos asked, standing in the yard, hesitating. ‘Was there something else?’

  ‘No, I was just thinking you’ve never changed since the day I first saw you. Straight from the orphanage I was, and terrified of your mother.’

  ‘Aye, and even more terrified of that awful Mr Cimla! Why my mother let herself be taken in by a good-for-nothing like him I’ll never know. Poor Mother, that awful man was the death of her.’

  ‘Far-off days, Llinos,’ Watt said. ‘We’ve both come a long way since then.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I’ll always be grateful to you. You gave me a new start, hope for the future and a job I love.’ He kissed her cheek and she flapped her hand at him.

  ‘Go on with you!’

  ‘Right, then, I’ll go home, get washed and changed, then go up to see Rosie.’

  ‘Give her my love and tell her she’s welcome to visit any time she wants.’

  Watt watched as Llinos went back towards the house and then he turned towards the gates of the pottery. His heart fluttered as he thought of seeing Rosie. How he loved his wife! It was just a pity he had taken so long to realize his true feelings. Now it might be too late.

  He had meant well when he married Rosie, not understanding that a girl of her tender years needed love and care. That was something in all his reasoned reckoning he had not taken into account: how Rosie would feel. Watt had seen only that Rosie’s mother was in trouble. Pearl had been very ill, she had two young sons to bring up and she needed a man’s wages coming in. Wages he could provide.

  And Watt had admired Rosie for some time. He thought her a lovely girl, with the glow of youth and health about her. He was a man alone, with many sad memories, and marrying Rosie seemed the ideal solution to his own problems as well as those of Pearl’s family. How could he have been so wrong?

  Watt walked alongside the river winding its way towards the town and felt the chill of the coming winter in the air. The leaves were turning brown, the smell of mist was in the air and Watt breathed it in with a sense that life, if he was not careful, would soon be passing him by.

  Shanni climbed from the carriage and stared in amazement at the tall, terraced house where Madame Isabelle lived. She had not expected anything so grand. A brass plate on the wall beside the door declared Madame Isabelle’s credentials. There were letters after her name that had no meaning for Shanni but she could tell from them that her tutor was a woman of some importance.

  The hallway was compact; the smell of beeswax permeated the air. A maid in a pristine uniform took Shanni’s coat and Madame Isabelle led the way into one of the airy rooms.

  ‘We are having some of my cook’s special egg sandwiches for tea, and then we shall indulge ourselves with delicious cake.’

  ‘Where is the meeting going to be?’ Shanni asked.

  Madame Isabelle closed the door before replying. ‘Here, of course.’ She frowned. ‘Shanni, to all intents and purposes this is just going to be a social evening, a meeting of friends, and I shall expect you to keep very quiet. I don’t want any airing of opinions, I just want you to listen.’

  ‘I understand,’ Shanni said. ‘I will stay very quiet, I promise.’ She sat on the edge of the plump sofa and studied the contents of the room. A heavy cloth obscured all but the carved feet of the table. On the walls pictures proliferated: scenes of country life alongside portraits of well-dressed women, presumably Madame’s ancestors. A large oil lamp with a rich pink glass shade dominated the window-ledge.

  ‘This is a lovely room,’ Shanni said softly. ‘One day I will own a house like this.’

  ‘Well, to achieve anything in life you must be clever – and work exceptionally hard into the bargain.’

  ‘I am willing to work day and night, Madame Isabelle.’ Shanni sank back against the soft cushions. ‘And when I am rich I’ll help the poor. I won’t turn up my nose at street beggars the way some of the gentry do.’

  The door opened and the maid brought a tray of tea into the room. ‘Put it down on the table there, Sarah,’ Madame Isabelle said. ‘And bring me more hot water, there’s a good girl. You always make the tea too strong for me.’

  Shanni was hardly conscious of eating the tiny sandwiches; she was staring at the bookshelves where some volumes were covered with brown paper concealing the contents. These, she guessed, were Madame Isabelle’s private books.

  After tea, Sarah showed Shanni to her room. ‘There’s hot water on the stand, Miss.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy, and Shanni opened her mouth to explain she was nobody of importance and did not warrant a curtsy but thought better of it.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah,’ she said. ‘Would you open the hooks at the back of my dress for me, please?’

  Sarah obeyed at once and Shanni felt a dart of pity. ‘Do you like working here, Sarah?’

  ‘Well, yes, Miss. I was lucky to get a position with such a fine lady and I thank the Lord every night in my prayers for Madame Isabelle’s kindness to me.’

  Shanni sighed. It seemed that some girls had no ambition but were content with their lot.

  ‘Is that all, Miss?’ Sarah asked meekly. She stood with her hands folded, waiting for Shanni to speak.

  ‘Will you always work here?’ Shanni asked curiously. ‘I mean, don’t you want to be mistress in your own house?’

  ‘I’ll marry one day, Miss,’ Sarah said, ‘but even then I’ll be lucky to have a house of my own. Folk like me rent rooms in other people’s houses, more often than not.’

  ‘Well, is that enough for you? It doesn’t seem right to me.’ Shanni frowned and Sarah stepped backwards towards the door.

  ‘I can’t stay and talk, I have work to do, Miss.’ She managed a small smile. ‘I’d better be going downstairs. There’s not many good jobs going in Llanelli, so I must look after my place here.’
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br />   Shanni followed the girl across the room and closed the door after her. She stood for a moment before the window and stared out at the street below. Llanelli was not a very large town but it had charm. The small twisting streets that led out on to green pastureland were, for the most part, cobbled. The houses looked well kept with neat gardens. The perimeter was dotted with the occasional isolated cottage, the roof thatched, the windows mullioned. Yes, Shanni thought, she would be happy to live in Llanelli.

  When Shanni had washed and dressed in fresh clothes she sat on the bed, not knowing if she should go downstairs or wait until she was sent for. In someone else’s house it was difficult to know how to behave. She heard the clock in the hall chime seven and, almost at once, the doorbell rang out stridently, echoing through the house.

  After a moment voices filled the hallway, masculine voices. Words spoken in the Welsh tongue reached her, and Shanni listened shamelessly at the door, trying to pick up any hint of rebellion, of the wish to put the world to rights. All she heard were the usual pleasantries exchanged between visitor and hostess.

  A knock on the door startled her and Shanni stepped away guiltily. Sarah’s soft voice called, ‘Miss, Madame Isabelle would like you to come downstairs.’

  Shanni waited a few seconds then opened the door. ‘Thank you, Sarah. It’s kind of you to fetch me.’

  ‘It’s just my job, Miss.’ Sarah led the way down the carpeted stairs, her hand barely touching the well-polished banister. Shanni smiled to herself. It was Sarah who did the polishing and she was not above saving herself the pain of fingermarks ruining all her hard work.

  The sitting room was filled with smoke and the smell of wine. Men stood around in good cloth coats and heavy twill trews. Gold watches hung at expansive waists and, to Shanni’s critical mind, it seemed these rich gentlemen were only playing at reform.

  ‘Ah, Shanni,’ Madame Isabelle drew her into the room. She introduced the gentlemen one by one and chuckled as Shanni pulled a face. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I don’t expect you to remember all the names, not at once anyway.’ She drew Shanni away from the others.