Daughters of Rebecca

by Iris Gower

  ‘I know who he is,’ Llinos said. ‘I’m not so out of touch that I don’t read the papers. What does he want exactly?’ She was a little angry that Watt had not consulted her sooner.

  ‘I think he just wants to ask our advice about a few things, the patterns we use, the transfer printing. I don’t really know, to be honest.’

  ‘He had better curtail his brother’s activities if he wants to succeed in business.’ Llinos spoke sharply. ‘Dafydd Buchan is one of those leading the fight against the toll rises. That’s not good for business, is it?’

  ‘Llinos,’ Watt looked grave, ‘you are out of touch with the people. The men calling themselves Rebeccarites are fighting injustice.’

  ‘Maybe I am out of touch, but what good is anarchy?’ Llinos felt the colour rise to her face. ‘I care about the people of Swansea, you know I do, but pulling down gates and burning toll-houses won’t achieve justice for anyone.’

  Watt shrugged, and Llinos knew by his expression that he did not agree with her. ‘It will all end in the death of some innocent,’ she said. ‘You know as well as I that the insurrections of the past were swiftly put down. Men were shot and killed, women left without a provider. Is that good in your opinion?’

  ‘I seem to have lost the Llinos I once knew,’ Watt said sadly. ‘You have changed so much over the years. You’ve become like all the rest of the wealthy folk who hide their heads in the sand.’ He stood up. ‘Any minute now you’ll be telling me that it’s better to pass on the other side.’

  ‘Watt!’ There was a lump in Llinos’s throat. ‘I do care, of course I do. I took Shanni in, didn’t I? I’ve tried to educate her and make a lady of her. I’m not one of the heartless, idle rich, and you know it.’

  Watt nodded slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Llinos. I may be airing my views too bluntly. I know you’re a good woman at heart but you are oblivious to what’s really happening on your own doorstep. Open your eyes, Llinos. See what’s really going on around you.’

  Llinos felt a moment of fear. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m just trying to warn you that the world is changing, values are changing. Ordinary folk want more out of life, a decent standard of living and the chance to earn an honest crust. The dissatisfaction of the poor has culminated in the need for a stronger voice and that’s why houses are burned and gates hacked to pieces. It might not mean much to you, but those with little money are being penalized for needing to pass through the roads of their own home town.’

  Llinos was about to speak when there was a rapid knocking on the door. Flora peered into the room and the angry words died on Llinos’s lips.

  ‘Your visitor is here, Mrs Mainwaring.’ The girl stood aside. ‘Mr Dafydd Buchan.’

  Llinos glanced at Watt, who frowned. The man who entered the room was about thirty. He was tall and dark, with an imposing air of authority. His hair was thick, and curls clung to the collar of his immaculate shirt. He bowed politely. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me, Mrs Mainwaring,’ he said. ‘I apologize for my brother but he is indisposed and I’ve come in his place. I do hope it’s not inconvenient.’

  ‘Come in, and let Flora close the door,’ Llinos said. ‘There seems to be a draught in here.’ For some reason she was breathless. She could almost believe her pulse was fluttering in excitement, but that was absurd. ‘I’m sorry I’m unprepared but your visit was sprung on me by my manager.’ She gestured towards Watt. ‘I was unaware that such an eminent gentleman was visiting today.’

  ‘Shall I go away again?’ There was a hint of laughter in his eyes.

  As they met hers Llinos felt the magnetism of the man. She held her head high, unwilling to be persuaded by his obvious charm. ‘My husband is away on business at present or I’m sure he would have been delighted to meet you.’ Now, why had she said that? Was it defence against Dafydd Buchan’s rudely familiar stare?

  ‘What can we do for you, Mr Buchan?’ she asked sharply. The two men waited politely until Llinos had sat down and had arranged her full skirts. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  ‘I do hope this is not an imposition, Mrs Mainwaring.’ Dafydd Buchan’s voice seemed to ring through the room with power and strength. ‘I wondered if you would allow me to observe the processes you employ here in Swansea.’ He spread his hands deprecatingly. ‘I am a comparative newcomer to potting, as you doubtless know.’

  ‘But your brother Ceri, he is the businessman, is he not? His name is always in the newspapers.’

  ‘Ah, my brother, yes.’ His tone told Llinos that he was not impressed by the way his brother conducted his life. ‘He is a very clever man but sometimes he’s . . . something of a pacifist shall we say?’

  ‘I find nothing wrong in that,’ Llinos said. ‘Now, I’m sure Mr Bevan will be delighted to show you around our pottery. You do realize that we are not the biggest potters in the vicinity? Next door to us is the largest, most productive pottery in all of Swansea. Have you been to see the owners there?’

  ‘I have indeed,’ Dafydd Buchan smiled, ‘but in my humble opinion the Mainwaring pottery is by far the most artistic and innovative.’ His tone belied his words. There was nothing humble about Dafydd Buchan.

  Llinos raised her eyebrows, thinking that the honeyed words were just so much flattery. ‘Watt, perhaps you’ll show Mr Buchan our methods.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Watt got to his feet. ‘If you’ll come this way, Mr Buchan, I’ll be happy to give you a tour.’

  ‘And in return,’ Llinos said, ‘I hope I might be allowed to look around your pottery in Llanelli some time.’

  ‘It would be my greatest pleasure to see you there.’ Dafydd Buchan took her hand, bending towards her, his eyes on hers.

  She stepped back unconsciously and took a deep breath. ‘Right, then, I have work to do. I will speak to you later, Watt.’

  Llinos followed the men to the hallway, her heart beating absurdly fast. As the maid opened the front door Shanni swept into the house bringing the chill of the wind with her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. She stopped abruptly, almost cannoning into Dafydd Buchan.

  ‘This is my impetuous ward, Shanni.’ There was a smile in Llinos’s voice: Shanni seemed as struck as she was by Dafydd’s magnetism. ‘Shanni, this is Mr Buchan. He’s come to see how our pottery works.’

  ‘Oh, good day, sir,’ Shanni blinked rapidly. ‘It’s nice to meet you again.’ She stood in the hall twisting her fingers together, and Llinos sensed that Shanni was discomfited by the presence of the visitor.

  ‘I’m happy to see you, too, Shanni. I hope you’ve been practising your music.’ He was smiling as he walked away, standing a head taller than Watt. Shanni stared after him, her mouth open.

  ‘You’ve met Mr Buchan before?’ Llinos asked, as she led Shanni into the drawing room.

  ‘I think I might have met him at Madame Isabelle’s little tea party.’ She spoke hesitantly, as if wondering at the wisdom of her words.

  Llinos’s curiosity was aroused: if Madame Isabelle was inviting a known troublemaker to her home perhaps she was not a good tutor for Shanni after all. She watched from the window as Watt led Dafydd Buchan across the yard and into the first of the painting sheds.

  ‘Strange man, Mr Buchan,’ Llinos said. ‘He’s very full of himself. Tell me all about him, Shanni. How does he know Isabelle?’

  Shanni shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They live in the same area and I suppose that’s how they know each other. Apparently he’s a wonderful orator.’

  Llinos was surprised. A short time ago Shanni would not have known the word ‘orator’, let alone understood its meaning. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He cares about poor folk. He wants social justice, a more equal society. That is what we all should be striving for.’

  ‘Is that your opinion, or the opinion of this Dafydd Buchan?’

  ‘It’s wrong what is happening to people who are just trying to make an honest living for themselves,’ Shanni said. ‘The farmers can’t earn enough to pay all the
tolls demanded of them. It’s no wonder there’s discontent in the world.’

  Shanni was saying almost the same words as Watt had spoken earlier. Was she getting too insulated in her own comfortable home, Llinos wondered, too wrapped in her own bitter memories of the past? Was she out of touch with the people?

  ‘I shall have to come with you to one of Madame’s soirées,’ Llinos said. Anger was building inside her: everyone was treating her as if she was against justice for the poor. That simply was not true.

  ‘It’s so hard for the farmers,’ Shanni said quietly. ‘They sometimes have to pay three tolls to pass along a mile of road and it’s ruining them.’

  ‘I’m just a little tired of hearing about the lot of the poor,’ Llinos said, in a hard voice. ‘I was poor once and I worked my own way out of it. I faced great hardships when I was your age, and I had enough spirit not to let it dishearten me.’

  ‘But you are well educated, Mrs Mainwaring. Your father was a captain in the army. He was respected and well known for his cleverness and his bravery. You were never of the lower orders.’ She paused. ‘I was, and it’s a pit with sheer sides, too difficult to get out of.’

  ‘I do believe you’re turning into a poet, Shanni,’ Llinos said, forcing a tone of lightness into her voice. She took a deep breath. ‘I agree with what you say. I had all the advantages you talk about, but they vanished into thin air and I had to work until my fingers were raw.’

  She looked down at her hands, soft and white now, showing no evidence of how she had worked the clay. ‘I had to grow up fast, to manage a business that was falling apart. It takes more than education and more than an accident of birth to make a success out of chaos.’

  ‘I think you are wonderful to have done all that.’ There was genuine admiration in Shanni’s voice and a little of Llinos’s tension vanished.

  ‘Come, let me hear you play. Let’s see if Madame Isabelle is deserving of the money I pay her.’ There was an edge of sarcasm in Llinos’s voice that was not lost on Shanni, but she sat obediently at the piano and placed her fingers on the keys.

  Eynon stared at his daughter and smiled. She was turning into a beautiful young lady. She looked nothing like her dead mother – now that her features were maturing she favoured him more. It was a pleasing thought.

  ‘So you are going out with Lloyd Mainwaring today, then, are you?’ He took Jayne’s hand and held it lightly. ‘I think you youngsters spend far too much time away from your studies. In my day we had to work hard at our lessons.’ He grimaced, thinking how old-fashioned he must sound.

  He rested his hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t bowl Lloyd over with your beauty. Poor lad wouldn’t stand a chance against your wiles.’

  ‘Father, you might just be a little biased, don’t you think?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘No, I don’t. Come here.’ He held her in his arms and kissed her silky, sweet-smelling hair. ‘You are a lovely-looking girl with a fine education and a rich dowry to offer. Any man would jump at the chance of getting you for a wife.’

  ‘You are jesting with me, aren’t you, Father? I have no intention of marrying anyone for several years yet.’ She drew away and stretched her arms above her head. ‘I want to be free to enjoy myself. I want to be presented at Court – you know that’s what Grandmother would have wanted for me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, Jayne, but I do not want you living in London. It’s a racy place and your grandmother had some strange friends.’

  Jayne smiled. ‘I know. Wasn’t she a courtesan to a royal personage at one time?’

  ‘That’s just idle gossip.’ Eynon looked at his daughter, whose eye held a wicked gleam. He realized suddenly that she also had a will of her own. No-one would deceive Jayne Morton-Edwards: she was far too sharp.

  The sound of carriage wheels crunched along the gravel outside the house and Jayne looked up expectantly. ‘That will be Lloyd,’ she said easily.

  Eynon followed her into the hall where the maid was already holding out a warm coat and a thick scarf. Jayne scarcely looked at the girl, and Eynon shook his head; his daughter had grown up to expect a privileged lifestyle, good food on the table and servants to cater to her every whim. It was the natural order of things. Eynon himself had never known poverty. What he had known was the sharp edge of his father’s tongue on more occasions than he could recall. Phillip Morton-Edwards had been a selfish man, who considered his only son a failure. Anything Eynon had attempted was met with ridicule.

  Eynon pushed away the unpleasant memories of the past. At least he could claim he had built up the pottery founded by his father, and when he had sold it, he had made a huge profit.

  ‘I’m going now, Father, so stop daydreaming and kiss me goodbye.’ Jayne stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Eynon’s cheek.

  ‘Take care, now.’ Eynon watched as his daughter stepped out of the house and waved to Lloyd Mainwaring as casually as if he had been an underling, a servant to obey her command. If Lloyd was anything like his mother, he would be too spirited to put up with any nonsense from Jayne. From behind Lloyd, Eynon caught sight of Shanni Price, her red hair peeping out from beneath her bonnet. Eynon smiled. His daughter would not like to be seen in the company of a girl who had once been her maid, especially as that girl was so pretty. Shanni looked composed and held herself like nobility. She was finely dressed in an outfit of warm red with a bonnet covered in feathers. She looked every inch a lady born to riches. What did Llinos have in mind for Shanni’s future, he wondered. The girl was neither fish nor fowl, educated like a lady but with all the disadvantages of the mean slums from which she had come. Her health might suffer from the effects of living in a hovel, eating little food – and poor food at that. Many of the inhabitants of Swansea drank water from the canal into which the filth of the town had settled. No, the girl would not be sturdy and healthy as his daughter was. What he really worried about, if he was honest, was that Shanni Price would take Lloyd’s attention away from Jayne. But that could never happen: Lloyd was a most discerning young man.

  He stood waving until the carriage was out of sight, then returned to his fireside and to the glass of rich red claret waiting for him on the side table. He was happy with his lot. As he sipped the fine wine he thought that all he needed to make his life complete was a good wife. What a pity the only woman he had ever wanted was Llinos Mainwaring, who was married to a man she loved very much. Eynon rested his head against the soft cushions of the chairback and closed his eyes. His feet were warmed by the glowing coals and his stomach by the wine. All in all, it was a good life.

  Shanni moved aside reluctantly for Jayne Morton-Edwards to sit next to Lloyd. He smiled at Shanni as if to beg her tolerance.

  ‘This is Shanni,’ Lloyd said. ‘Shanni, this is a childhood friend of mine, Jayne Morton-Edwards.’

  ‘She knows who I am,’ Jayne said sharply. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten she used to be my maid.’

  Shanni had taken a dislike to Jayne when she first set eyes on her. The girl’s haughty, unpleasant remarks did nothing now to make her change her mind. She was of the breed of gentry who looked down their noses at ordinary folk. Thank goodness she did not have to work in the Morton-Edwards household any longer. Shanni suddenly realized how grateful she should be to Llinos Mainwaring for taking her in and treating her so well.

  Jayne was studying her, and Shanni straightened her shoulders. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Are you sure you’ll recognize me next time you see me?’ She knew her tone was impudent but Jayne brought out the worst in people.

  ‘Well, you do look different now you’re not wearing a cap and apron,’ Jayne said. ‘And it’s a good thing you’ve left service – you were a dismal failure and it takes little intelligence to wait on your betters.’

  ‘Especially those so-called betters who have no intelligence at all,’ Shanni replied.

  ‘Hey!’ Lloyd intervened. ‘Come along, you two. I thought you would be friends.’

  ‘
I’m sorry,’ Shanni said. ‘I just can’t help being sensitive, which Miss Morton-Edwards is not.’

  ‘We’re going to the Assembly Rooms,’ Lloyd said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed Shanni’s words. ‘There’s a discussion about the toll-gates. The prospect of raising the tolls is being debated and I think it should be a lively discussion.’

  Shanni frowned. ‘It’s stupid to propose yet another rise in tolls,’ she said. ‘What do you think, Lloyd?’

  Lloyd met her eyes. ‘I think it’s hard on the ordinary folk who are trying to make an honest living.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Jayne broke into the conversation with a burst of righteous indignation. ‘The lower orders have no conception of the way the country is run. Do they think that the government of Britain comes without cost? Roads have to be maintained, and who is going to pay for it?’

  ‘I’d be quiet if I were you,’ Shanni said innocently. ‘I hardly think you’re qualified to judge affairs of this magnitude.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jayne demanded, her face flushed. ‘And how is it that you class yourself an expert? Are you one of the rebels?’

  ‘That is beside the point.’

  ‘No, it is exactly the point.’ Jayne was leaning forward in her seat. ‘You happen to be of the lower orders yourself. Is that why you are such a hot-head about paying what is due?’

  Shanni tried to keep her voice calm. ‘It might just mean that I have more compassion than someone like you, brought up to live on your father’s bounty.’

  Lloyd took Shanni’s hand. ‘Look, we don’t have to go to this meeting. I’m sorry I suggested it now.’

  ‘No, no,’ Jayne said. ‘We must attend such an important debate. Who knows? I might even learn something about the rights of the poor.’

  Shanni studied Jayne’s face, searching for signs of sarcasm, but there were none. Perhaps Jayne Morton-Edwards was not such a stuck-up prig after all, or perhaps she was good at hiding her feelings.