Daughters of Rebecca

by Iris Gower

  ‘Flora, fetch some glasses and a jug of hot whisky, and tell the cook to put some herbs in it this time.

  ‘Sit down, Eynon, and tell me what’s been going on in your life. I’ve scarcely seen anything of you these past weeks.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been courting.’ Eynon smiled wickedly. ‘She’s a very polished lady – and this is not one of my usual dalliances.’

  ‘Tell me!’ Llinos smiled, even though she was somewhat taken aback by his revelation. Eynon had always been in love with her, or so he claimed. ‘Who is this special lady?’

  ‘I met her here, actually, Llinos,’ Eynon said. He paused as the maid returned with a tray.

  ‘Just put it down there.’ Llinos was impatient for Flora to be gone. When the door closed behind her Llinos prompted him, ‘You met her here? Who could that be?’

  ‘Who else but Isabelle?’ Eynon leaned forward in his chair. ‘Shall I pour the drinks, Llinos?’

  She nodded, trying to hide her sense of shock at his words. Isabelle was a cultured lady, there was no doubt about that, but she was hardly Eynon’s social equal.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking and smiled. ‘I know she’s not rich but what does that matter? I have more money than I can ever spend. Isabelle has a brain.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘She can talk about serious matters, affairs of state, that sort of thing.’

  Llinos attempted to see Madame Isabelle as a woman to be courted. She was a mature woman . . . but there was fire behindher eyes that belied her calm exterior. ‘So are you serious about her?’ Llinos asked. ‘I mean, serious enough to ask her to be your wife?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eynon said. ‘Llinos, no-one will ever replace you in my heart, but I’m a man, I have needs, and I’m tired of chasing women who have only fast living on their minds. No, Isabelle will suit me very well, I think.’ He lifted his glass and Llinos sank back in her chair, trying not to show how much his words had shocked her.

  They sat in silence for a while, and Llinos reflected that nothing remained the same. People changed – even she had changed. Once, long ago, when she stood beside Joe in the little church and made her vows she would never have imagined she would be unfaithful to him.

  ‘What do you think of the troubles, then, Llinos?’ Eynon asked. ‘It seems another gate was burned and the toll-keeper badly injured. How do the people expect to get justice that way?’

  ‘I suppose there’s no other way for farming folk to express their anger,’ Llinos said mildly. Being with Dafydd had shown her the injustice of the continued toll rises. ‘No-one will listen when they complain that the tolls are ruining them.’

  ‘You sound just like Isabelle,’ Eynon said. ‘She’s on the side of the underdog too.’

  ‘Is she?’ Llinos asked. ‘I suppose I have never really talked to her. She is simply here to teach Shanni the pianoforte.’

  ‘I told you she was intelligent, didn’t I? She tells me that the discontent goes far deeper than the injustice of the tolls. Even in eighteen thirty-four there was unrest among the people because of the Poor Laws.’ He sipped his drink. ‘But they have to accept that there is a price to pay for progress.’

  ‘A price that they have to pay, not people like us with money in our pockets. Do you think that’s just?’

  ‘I have no intention of getting into a debate with you, Llinos. Come, now, tell me what has happened to put the sparkle in your eyes. Have you taken a lover?’

  The unexpected question brought rich colour flooding into her face and Llinos looked deeply into her drink. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I’m just happy because Joe is coming home.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Your beloved Joe has had enough of his foreign mistress and is returning to his wife. I don’t know why you put up with it,’ Eynon said. ‘I’ve always liked Joe, always thought what a wise man he is, but for him to treat you this way makes me so angry. You are a woman of spirit, Llinos. Don’t put up with being used.’

  Llinos tried to think of some excuse for Joe’s behaviour but there was none. What he was doing to her and to Lloyd was unforgivable.

  ‘So, are you looking elsewhere for comfort, then?’ Eynon asked. ‘I don’t believe you’re so bright and sparkly because your faithless husband chooses to pay you a visit.’

  Llinos had a high regard for Eynon. He respected her, even loved her in his own way. How would he feel if she admitted to her infatuation with a younger man?

  ‘Just leave it be, Eynon. Tell me more about you and Madame Isabelle.’

  He touched his lips with his index finger, and Llinos smiled, knowing him well enough to understand his need for privacy.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s about time you settled down with a good woman.’

  ‘I’m not so sure she’s a good woman.’ Eynon laughed. ‘She’s certainly got a fiery temper!’

  ‘And yet she always seems so serene,’ Llinos said. ‘She’s a dark horse – a very dark horse.’

  Eynon nodded. ‘She is that. Now, Llinos, tell me what you are doing in the pottery these days. Any new designs in mind?’

  She was on safer ground now. She would be quite happy to talk with Eynon about the affairs of the pottery.

  ‘Settle back, Eynon, this could take a long time!’

  It was dusk when Joe arrived home and Llinos had been taken unawares. She was dressing for her meeting with Dafydd. Her hair was coiled and pinned, and she was wearing a gown of the blue shade he liked on her.

  She heard Joe walk lightly up the stairs. The bedroom door opened and then he was standing before her. ‘I feel it in my bones that you have taken a lover,’ he said flatly.

  Llinos swallowed hard, she had no intention of lying to Joe yet she dreaded hurting him by telling him the truth. ‘I am not going to lie to you, Joe. There is someone else but I don’t really think it wise for you to know his name,’ she said, in a low voice.

  ‘Do you love him?’ Joe stood, tall and magnificent, in the dying rays of the sun slanting in through the window. He was bronzed from the sun of the American plains and the white streak in his hair made a sharp contrast with the dark locks hanging over his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Llinos said honestly. ‘I enjoy being with him.’ She wanted to add that she thrilled to Dafydd’s touch but how could she hurt Joe in that way? Men were so protective of their manly image.

  ‘He has a good mind?’ Joe asked, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘I know you would not spend time with a fool.’

  ‘Joe, don’t probe too deeply.’ She turned away, unable to bear the look in his face. She had to remind herself that he had just come from the arms of his beautiful mistress. Then why did she feel so guilty?

  ‘He makes passionate love to you, does he?’ There was a hint of scorn in Joe’s voice that set Llinos’s teeth on edge.

  ‘Don’t ask such questions, Joe, there’s no point.’ In any case she did not want her relationship with Dafydd to be cheapened by Joe’s obvious disgust.

  He caught her shoulders abruptly. ‘Face me! Tell me you prefer him to me!’

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ Llinos pushed him away. ‘How dare you treat me in this way? Have you forgotten you’ve recently come from Sho Ka’s bed?’

  ‘I have not,’ he said.

  ‘Joe, you have never lied to me before. Why start now?’

  ‘Sho Ka is dead and so is my son.’ He walked towards the window. ‘I buried them myself near the river my son was named for.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Joe.’ Llinos meant it. She might resent Sho Ka and her hold over Joe but she had never wanted her dead. A thought struck her. ‘But that can’t be. I thought your son was to be the next ruler of the Mandan tribe.’

  ‘That’s what I believed.’

  ‘So all this, all my suffering, my humiliation, was in vain?’ Llinos asked. ‘I could at least excuse your behaviour on the grounds you were doing what was best for your people but now you tell me it’s not to be.’

  She sank on to the bed. ‘And you have
the nerve to lecture me! How dare you, Joe?’ She wanted to hit him, to beat at his face with her fists. ‘You left me to go and live with Sho Ka, you gave her a son and I accepted it all as your ‘‘destiny’’.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘That must be the most original excuse for the crime of adultery that I’ve ever heard!’

  ‘It was what I believed,’ Joe said tautly. ‘It was what needed to be done, Llinos. At least, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘It’s your turn to face me now.’ Llinos spoke with a calmness she did not feel. Joe turned reluctantly and she saw the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘Tell me that you didn’t enjoy sleeping with Sho Ka, that you only did it out of a sense of duty.’

  He sighed heavily but did not speak. He looked so beaten that Llinos felt sorry for him in spite of the anger raging through her. ‘So you did enjoy making love with her, then?’ She paused. ‘I think I hate you, Joe.’ She took a deep breath, determined not to cry. ‘I’ll have Flora remove your clothes to another bedroom. Unlike you, I cannot switch my affections from one man to another, whoever I happen to be with.’

  ‘Are you saying our marriage is at an end?’ Joe asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Now leave me. Go to visit Lloyd at his college for a few days. Do anything, but don’t stay here looking at me as if I’ve plunged a knife into your heart.’

  Joe walked silently from the room and Llinos sank on to the bed, her face in her hands. She was so confused. She loved Joe, didn’t she? She was angry and jealous about the way he had treated her. But her heart raced with excitement as she thought of Dafydd waiting for her to join him at the Grand Hotel.

  Should she stay with Joe, try to sympathize with him over the loss of his woman and her child? Anger filled her again and she stood up abruptly. He had never considered her feelings the times he had left her alone to imagine him in another woman’s arms so why should she worry about him?

  She heard her carriage pull up outside and patted her hair into place. She would go downstairs, take her coat from Flora and soon, in less than half an hour, she would be in the arms of her lover.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAFYDD BUCHAN STARED around him at the industry he had created. The Llanelli pottery was flourishing: kilns were full of pots and the throwers were working long hours to meet demands. Orders were coming in from Carmarthen to Cardiff, and Dafydd, standing in the throwing house, felt a glow of excitement.

  ‘Sit mae, Pedr? How are you?’

  The potter slid a length of wire under the pot he was making and neatly sliced the clay from the wheel. ‘Dda iawn, sir. Very good,’ he repeated in English. ‘Damn good clay this last batch, sir. Come from Poole, did it?’

  ‘That’s right. Got some pots ready for drying, I see.’ Dafydd looked at the row of small vessels that, when turned, would look more like the cups they were intended to be.

  ‘I’d better check on the saggar-maker’s house. No good running out of saggars, not with the workload we’ve got on.’

  ‘Good news for us, sir.’ Pedr smiled, and Dafydd nodded to him watching the skilful way the man took command of the wheel, shaping so naturally that the process looked deceptively easy.

  Pedr was little more than a boy at eighteen, one of the youngest men in the pottery. He had fiery dark looks and a temper to match. He was an honest man and had brains, too, and that was something Dafydd respected.

  ‘Anything happening tonight with the Daughters, sir?’

  Pedr was one of the rebels, a young man with a burning passion to change the world. Changing Llanelli and the surrounding countryside was a difficult enough task, but Dafydd refrained from saying so. ‘No, not tonight, Pedr.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Pedr said. ‘Pity that the other Mr Buchan won’t join us in the fight.’ He placed another pot on the table. ‘It would add to the strength of the movement.’

  ‘Just be grateful he is not working against us.’ Dafydd was well aware that his brother disapproved of the rioting. He deplored the violence done to the gate-keepers, and so did Dafydd, but there was no holding a man with the fire of injustice in his belly. He smiled ruefully. His old nurse used to say that omelettes were not made without breaking eggs. In this case she was right.

  ‘This lot is ready for the hot-house now, sir.’ Pedr’s voice broke into Dafydd’s thoughts. ‘Shall I send one of the boys to fetch in some saggars?’

  ‘Aye, do that, Pedr, and come to see me later.’ Dafydd left the potting-house and stared up at the kilns. He could feel the heat from where he stood even though the doorways were bricked up neatly to keep the maximum amount of heat inside. Later the bricks would be taken away and the kilns would be filled with fresh pots waiting to be baked.

  Business was good and getting better. Soon he would be taking trade from some of the bigger Swansea potteries. Still, Llinos was doing well. The Mainwaring pottery was a going concern – small, like his own, but with growing distribution facilities.

  His face softened as he thought of Llinos. She was a lovely Welsh woman, as passionate as he was. Together they made a good team. Maybe one day it would pay to amalgamate the two businesses. It was something worth thinking about. As for the larger pottery, the one that once belonged to the Morton-Edwards family, its glory days had vanished with the ending of the porcelain production and the return to sturdier wares.

  He was going to see Llinos tonight and the thought warmed his heart. He thought of the last evening they had spent together. Llinos had been so eager for him that she had clung to him as if they were never going to meet again. He hated it that she was married to an arrogant foreigner who had no respect for her. The man was half American-Indian and had nothing of the Welsh culture in his blood, none of the poetry of the Celtic nations running through his veins.

  Dafydd had never met Joe Mainwaring, had never set eyes on him, let alone spent time with him, but he had no doubt that Llinos had married the man in haste and now was regretting it.

  He walked back to the house he had built for himself a mile out of the small township. It was a fine day and the sun was warming the earth now. There was a speckling of spring flowers: daffodils waved golden heads at him from the grassy slopes. The world seemed full of light, and he knew exactly why that was: he was going to see his beloved in a few short hours.

  Shanni stared around the meeting room in the old church on the outskirts of Llanelli. Madame Isabelle had taken charge of the proceedings in the absence of their leader, Dafydd Buchan.

  ‘I have called this meeting because news has come to me of a higher charge to be imposed on the toll-gates.’ She stopped speaking as a murmur of anger rose from the roomful of people. ‘I know it’s unjust, and I know it makes all of us fearful for our livelihood but we must bide our time and wait to see what Dafydd has to say about it.’

  ‘We can’t wait. We have to do something about it now.’ A young man stood up and Shanni stared at him. She had not met him before and she felt her heart beat faster as his eyes met hers. ‘Or are you all content to sit here doing nothing?’

  ‘Keep calm, Pedr,’ Madame Isabelle said slowly. ‘Mob rule never accomplished anything.’

  ‘I disagree.’ Pedr’s voice echoed through the room. ‘I think we should strike at once, tonight. Don’t let the gentry think they have frightened us into submission.’

  A chorus of assent rose from the body of the hall. Madame Isabelle raised her hands. ‘I know you are impatient for action, but without Dafydd to lead you anything could happen. What if any of you were apprehended by the militia?’

  She paused. ‘Times are getting harder for people like us. The landowners are greedy for more money but we can’t beat them just by force. To make headway we need to be organized. What we don’t want is for people to go off alone and make small protests that will scarcely ripple the surface of the rich folks’ lives.’

  Shanni watched as Pedr returned to his seat. Somehow she knew he would not listen to Madame. He was going to do something tonight and, with a rush of excitement, Shanni knew she would be with
him.

  As the meeting disbanded, Shanni made her way towards Pedr, who was talking quietly to some of the men. He stopped speaking when he saw her and his eyes met hers questioningly. ‘I want to help,’ she said breathlessly.

  Pedr smiled, and he looked even younger and much more handsome when he was not scowling. ‘What? You’ll fetch us a brew of beer or something, is that it?’

  ‘No!’ Shanni was indignant. ‘I want to come with you tonight.’

  ‘What makes you think we’re going anywhere tonight?’ Pedr folded his hands across his chest. ‘And, even if we were, why should we take a slip of a girl?’

  Shanni glanced over her shoulder and saw that Madame Isabelle was deep in conversation with one of the older men. ‘If anyone has a horse for me to ride back to Swansea I can get hold of some pistols,’ she said.

  ‘Your father can afford pistols?’

  Pedr was laughing at her, and Shanni wanted to smack his face. ‘Don’t patronize me!’ she said. ‘I live with Mrs Mainwaring, pottery owner, and I happen to know there are good pistols and shot kept in the cabinet in the hallway.’

  Shanni had heard the gossip about the reason for those pistols, how once Mr and Mrs Mainwaring had been attacked and almost killed. Now the guns were kept where they could easily be reached.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Mainwaring, is it? We’ve all heard of her, haven’t we, boys? Dafydd knows her very well – very well indeed.’

  A laugh went up from the others in the group and Shanni frowned at them, puzzled by their reaction. ‘Are you interested or not?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Aye, we’re interested.’ Pedr leaned closer. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ll provide a horse – better still, I’ll get two horses and I will ride with you to Swansea. What time?’

  ‘Make it about an hour. I’ll have to make an excuse to go home to Swansea so that Madame Isabelle won’t suspect anything. Remember, when we get to Pottery Row you must pretend you’re going home to Llanelli,’ she said.

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ Pedr turned to the other men. ‘Meet me at the Dwr Coch gate at midnight. We’ll show the owners they can’t put up the tolls whenever they feel like it.’