Daughters of Rebecca

by Iris Gower

  The next morning Joe arrived home, and Llinos felt a pang of guilt as he took her in his arms and kissed her. But thoughts did not constitute actions; being unfaithful in her mind was not the same as putting those thoughts into practice. If only Joe had been as circumspect.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come home,’ she said, disentangling herself from his arms, ‘although you should have been here sooner if you were to be of any help. It’s a bit late now that Lloyd’s back at college.’

  ‘Why? What has he done wrong?’ Joe asked. He seemed more interested in poking the coals in the grate than in listening to her and her voice rose.

  ‘Your son needs a good talking-to. He’s been attending political meetings in the town.’

  Joe turned to look at her and she saw afresh that he was a very handsome man. But not as handsome as Dafydd Buchan – or was that thought disloyal?

  ‘That’s surely not such a bad thing.’ Joe moved to the sideboard and poured a glass of rich red wine. ‘What was the meeting about?’

  ‘What else but the price rise at the toll-gates? It seems there was a riot. He might have been hurt.’

  ‘He’s spreading his wings. It’s what the young do,’ Joe said.

  ‘But he was silly enough to take Shanni, not to mention Jayne Morton-Edwards, with him. Eynon was very cross about it.’

  ‘Ah, well, that was unwise. I’ll speak to him.’ He seemed abstracted, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. Llinos bit back the angry words that rose to her lips, knowing he was thinking about Sho Ka and the son she had borne him.

  They sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, Joe in the chair that yesterday had been occupied by Dafydd. Llinos wondered if she should mention his visit but decided against it. The pottery was her business; it was nothing to do with Joe.

  ‘Lloyd’s talking about leaving college. Joe!’ Her voice was sharp. ‘I had to talk him into going back at least until he had had the courtesy to speak to you about it. You are interested in your son’s welfare, aren’t you? Your legitimate son, I mean.’

  Joe looked up at her over his glass. ‘Llinos, I’m tired and worried, I can’t argue with you now.’

  She was suddenly concerned. ‘Are you ill, Joe? What is it? What’s wrong?’

  He rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘It’s Sho Ka’s child. My child. The boy is sick. I’ll have to travel to America. There’s nothing else for it – they need me.’

  Llinos got to her feet, walked towards the fireplace and stared at the glowing coals without seeing them. How dare he? How dare Joe talk about his other woman and his child as though they were the most important people in the world?

  ‘And how did you find out about this? Come to think of it, how do you know anything about your other family? We never get any letters from them here.’

  ‘That’s unimportant.’ Joe sounded impatient. ‘What’s it to you where my letters go to?’

  ‘I am your wife,’ Llinos said bleakly. ‘Are you keeping the house in Neath in case Sho Ka comes back?’

  ‘Let it rest. I’ll have to go to America.’

  ‘Well, go, then!’ Llinos spun round to face him. ‘Since this squaw woman needs you so badly, you must run to her as you always do.’ She longed to tell him that she needed him, too. She wanted a proper husband, who put her first in his life. She stared at Joe. He refused to meet her eyes. Was it over? Was their marriage a sham now?

  ‘Llinos,’ he spoke quietly, ‘try to be reasonable.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘I have been reasonable for too long. I am your wife. Lloyd is your son, your only son as far as I’m concerned. This other child is growing up in another culture, in the American-Indian culture. He is nothing to do with me or my life here in Swansea.’

  Joe sighed heavily. His head was bent and the long dark hair brushed his golden skin. She felt bitter regret for the days when she had been Joe’s only concern. He had waited patiently for her and she had married him against her father’s wishes. They had shared the rapture of first love, of what Llinos had believed was an all-consuming love. Now he was a different man, a middle-aged man with a mistress, just like all the other men of the town.

  ‘I thought you so fine once,’ she said brokenly. ‘I loved you with all my heart, Joe, I believed in you.’ She swallowed her tears. ‘But you are no better than the men who keep doxies, and I am no better than the wives who pretend not to care.’ He remained silent with his head bent. ‘But I do care, Joe, I care very much. So much that I can’t bear to think of you in the arms of another woman. If you go to her now, Joe, don’t come back.’

  She left the room and swept upstairs to her bedroom, her heart thumping with anger and fear. Surely Joe would follow her, would take her in his arms and tell her he would stay, tell her that he loved her and would put her welfare above all other considerations.

  Llinos lay in bed for a long time, hope burning in her heart and tears burning her eyes. But Joe did not come.

  It was almost a week after Joe had left for America that Dafydd Buchan called on her again. She had been anxious, wondering if she had imagined the interest in his eyes. She need not have worried. The moment she saw him again she knew she had imagined nothing.

  Llinos wrapped herself in a shawl and led him around the pottery sheds herself, talking animatedly about her work. ‘We have changed our patterns yet again,’ she said. ‘The people of Swansea seem to like variety.’

  ‘Ah, this is good.’ Dafydd held up a newly decorated plate and examined the border of seashells with interest. ‘I like this sepia tone.’ He replaced the plate carefully on the table. ‘Once it’s fired it will be ready for use, I take it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Llinos said. ‘We often use transfer prints but occasionally we branch out into something more imaginative.’

  ‘At Llanelli we’ve acquired the services of a very good artist, a Mr Bartlet. He’s using a rose decoration, and very fine and colourful it looks with the soft, loose brushstrokes of the talented artist.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be a great success,’ Llinos said, striving to speak calmly, but she was feeling unsettled, wanting something she could not have. Dafydd affected her that way but surely it was just that he engendered the old enthusiasms in her. After all, it was a long time since she had taken a real interest in the potting business.

  He followed her to watch the potters at work. He stood close as one of the men threw a freshly kneaded lump of clay on to the wheel. Miraculously, the pot began to take shape and Dafydd nodded in appreciation. The potter shaped the neck of the vessel with a damp cloth and the lip of a jug began to form.

  ‘I never cease to be surprised at the skill you men have,’ Dafydd said.

  The potter did not look up from his work. ‘It all comes with practice, sir,’ he said easily. ‘And it’s a trade I’ve followed since I was nothing but a boy bach, you see.’

  ‘A small boy,’ Llinos translated, forgetting that Dafydd was as familiar with the Welsh as she was. ‘Roberts followed his father into the trade. Potting is in the blood, isn’t that right, Roberts?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’ The potter slid a wire beneath the jug and separated it from the wheel. ‘Now she goes to be baked and eventually we’ll have a fine jug and bowl set for some lady’s washstand.’

  ‘What about the decoration?’ Dafydd asked. ‘Will the piece be hand-painted?’

  Llinos shook her head. ‘We usually use transfer prints on the bigger pieces.’ She smiled up at Dafydd. ‘That’s a skill all of its own, and things can easily go wrong. If the pattern shifts when it’s being pressed on to the surface the piece is ruined. Then the kiln has to be just the right temperature or the colour will slip and the decoration will look blurred.’

  She made to move on and collided with Dafydd. He put out his hand to steady her and his touch seemed to burn her skin. By the time the tour of the pottery was completed Llinos wondered desperately how she could shake herself free of the obsessive need she had to be with Dafydd. She was a woman of past forty, and
she judged that Dafydd was at least ten years her junior. To think there could be anything between them was foolishness.

  He needed no encouragement to stay. They took tea together, and before Llinos realized it, dinner was being served. Over the meal they talked about so many things that her head was reeling. She was so happy that she scarcely ate a thing.

  At last, with night closing in, Dafydd decided reluctantly that he must go. His horse was brought to the yard but before he mounted he took Llinos’s hand. She stood close to him oblivious of the cold.

  ‘You will come to visit me in Llanelli?’ Dafydd said.

  ‘I would love to,’ Llinos replied at once. ‘When is it convenient?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ he asked, his eyes holding hers. ‘Make it tomorrow. I don’t think I can wait any longer.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’ She watched as he swung gracefully into the saddle. He was a well-made man with a good breadth of shoulder, a small waist and fine legs beneath his breeches. Llinos felt a stirring of desire, and was as startled by it as if she had made physical contact with Dafydd.

  ‘Until tomorrow, then,’ Dafydd said quietly. His dark brows met over his deeply set eyes, his gaze seemed to hold her and she nodded, her heart beating swiftly. ‘I’ll expect you around four.’ Then he was riding away from her. Llinos felt lonely. It was as if a light had gone out. As she returned to the drawing room, she thought of his face, his eyes, his magnetism, and her pulse quickened. She would not sleep tonight, she would think of Dafydd. Tomorrow she would be with him again.

  Once indoors, she stared out of the window and smiled. It was a happy chance that Shanni was staying with Isabelle. Llinos had been given the opportunity to be alone with Dafydd, to cement their budding friendship.

  Llinos covered her face with her hands. Oh, no, she knew that what she felt for Dafydd Buchan was something far deeper than mere friendship.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SNOW FELL IN powdery gusts, drifting into pristine shapes against the walls of the garden. Llinos shivered, wrapping her shawl more closely around her shoulders, feeling the bite of the frosty air through her boots. Was it only since she had grown older that the cold had affected her so much?

  She watched Shanni as the girl brushed the steps to the house vigorously and with a great deal of laughter as she called comments to Llinos about her progress. Shanni’s cheeks were glowing and she looked very beautiful with her hair bright against her white woollen scarf. Llinos wished for spring to come to warm the earth. It would be wonderful to see the glowing daffodils replace the virginal white of the lovely lily wen fach. ‘Lily wen fach.’ The Welsh name for the snowdrops that grew profusely at the bottom of the garden rolled off Llinos’s tongue. As she spoke, her breath misted before her in the chilly air. Winter seemed determined to hold the land in its icy grip. As yet there was no break in the heavy leaden clouds and the ground remained frozen beneath the light fall of snow.

  Llinos returned to the house, picking her way carefully up the newly brushed steps. ‘These steps are like glass.’ She tapped Shanni on the shoulder. ‘Get some salt from the kitchen and scatter it over them so it will be safe for anyone who calls.’

  And who was she expecting to call? Dafydd? Llinos entered the hall and took off her shawl. Hanging from the stand, the woollen cloth immediately began to drip freezing droplets on to the polished floor.

  In the drawing room she pulled off her boots and stretched her feet to the blaze of the fire. She smiled as she heard her mother’s warning voice in her head telling her she would get chilblains, putting her feet so near to the flames.

  Stubbornly, her thoughts turned again to Dafydd. Llinos had been seen with him on so many occasions now that people were starting to notice. Well, let the gossips talk, she was doing no wrong. In any case, she was only human and needed the warmth of someone who cared. Did Dafydd care, or was she deluding herself seeing more in a relationship than was actually there? But no, she had not misread the signals in Dafydd’s eyes. He was falling in love with her.

  It was becoming abundantly clear that Joe no longer loved her. He had been gone for almost a month now and still no letter from him. Llinos pictured him with Sho Ka and the child and jealousy burned within her. Joe seemed to think he was above the vows of marriage, he believed he could do just as he wished, even betray his wife with impunity. She stared into the fire, wondering when her husband would come home or even if he would come home, and anger began to grow in her.

  He should be here, dealing with his legitimate son. Only yesterday a letter had come from Lloyd telling her he was tired of college life but he would put up with it until he had spoken to his father.

  Llinos heard the voice of Madame Isabelle in the hallway and popped her head around the door. ‘Good day to you, Isabelle. You managed the trip from Llanelli, then?’

  Isabelle nodded ruefully. ‘It was slow going in this weather but I was glad to get out of the house. The man who supplies me with coal has failed to deliver and the place is freezing.’

  Shanni came into the hallway, unlaced her boots and kicked them aside, with little thought for Flora who would have to mop the floor.

  ‘Come along, then, Shanni, let’s get to work, shall we?’ Isabelle said briskly.

  The door to the parlour, grandly renamed the music room, closed and Llinos returned to the warmth of the fire. She listened for the sounds of the piano but all was silent. Isabelle must be instructing Shanni in theory.

  She had wondered briefly about Isabelle’s suitability as a teacher for Shanni, but if Dafydd Buchan respected her, and he clearly did, then Isabelle must be a woman of great integrity.

  Llinos sat up sharply in her chair and her pulse quickened as she heard the clip-clop of hoofs on the driveway. She hurried to the window and her heart leaped as she saw the unruly dark hair and the lithe figure of Dafydd Buchan.

  He dismounted from his horse in one smooth movement and handed the reins to the groom. He looked towards the house, as if aware of her gaze, and Llinos darted back into the shadows. She must never show him how eagerly she waited for him to call. He was a young man, he had a business to run, and she understood she could not monopolize his time. But, if she was truthful, she had been aching to see him again.

  Llinos sat at her table and picked up a pencil pretending to adjust some designs. She tucked her shoeless feet under her skirts and tried to steady herself.

  She heard his voice in the hall and held her breath until the maid knocked at the door. ‘Mr Buchan to see you, Mrs Mainwaring.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy and Llinos inclined her head, hoping she appeared composed.

  ‘Show him in, please.’

  Dafydd came into the room, bringing the cold air of winter with him. He was so alive, so eager to see her that he scarcely waited for the door to close before grasping her hands.

  ‘Dafydd, I’m glad you’ve come.’ Her good intentions to appear composed vanished as she clung to his hands.

  ‘I couldn’t stay away.’ Dafydd looked down at her for a long moment, then released her. He seated himself in one of the armchairs and stretched his feet towards the blazing fire. ‘Am I interrupting anything?’ He gestured towards the table and the scattered papers. His dark eyes met hers, and it was as if time stood still, as if they were wrapped in a world of their own, where no outsiders could penetrate. Once she had thought she would always feel like that with Joe. Where had the joy of her marriage gone?

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said softly. It had been only a day since they were together but the hours had dragged interminably.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too, Llinos, my lovely. Will you come out to supper with me?’ He sat forward, his face eager. ‘You see, Llinos, we have so much in common, and in any case I would be honoured to have such a beautiful woman on my arm.’

  Llinos ignored the warning bells that rang in her head. ‘Where would we go?’ She strove to keep the tremor of excitement out of her voice.

  ‘How about the Grand? I hear they do a fine hot supper with
cawl to start the meal, made with beautiful Welsh lamb and the finest vegetables from the farmlands in Gower.’

  ‘Delicious!’ Llinos said, not caring about supper. What did food matter so long as she was with Dafydd?

  ‘Then to follow there will be fresh cod in butter sauce and for the main course the speciality of the Grand.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Llinos asked, her eyes meeting his and holding.

  ‘Beef stuffed with oysters.’ He kissed his fingertips. ‘A meal fit for a queen.’ Llinos smiled. He was telling her that only the best was good enough for Llinos Mainwaring. It made her feel desirable and beautiful.

  ‘How could I refuse such a wonderful offer?’ She glowed, drinking in the attention with such eagerness that it frightened her. Was she being foolish? Was she allowing her heart to rule her head?

  ‘Good!’ Dafydd said. ‘I shall call for you at seven thirty prompt, then.’

  She nodded just as Flora opened the door and brought in a tray containing a jug of steaming chocolate. Llinos glanced at the maid, wondering if she had overheard the arrangement. Even if she had, did it matter? All Llinos was doing was joining a neighbour for a meal in a very public place.

  ‘What do you think of the growing storm about the toll charges, Llinos?’ Dafydd seemed at ease, his conversation impersonal, as Flora placed the tray on the table.

  ‘I think the continued rises at some of the toll-gates are scandalous,’ Llinos said. ‘The prices have shot up in the past months, and I know what it’s like to struggle to make a living.’

  He nodded, as though well satisfied with her reply. Llinos stared at him, wondering how far Dafydd would go to help the protestors. Did he dress as a woman and attack the gates himself?

  ‘I don’t think violence ever achieves anything, though,’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t condone the rebellion by the Rebeccarites.’

  ‘Sometimes words will not suffice.’ Dafydd tasted the chocolate and changed the subject. ‘This is delicious. You must give me the recipe for my housekeeper. It certainly warms the body on a cold day.’ He leaned forward. ‘And the company warms the soul.’