by Iris Gower
The candle flickered and died, and Rhiannon stared into the flames, which danced in a blur before her tear-filled eyes. Then she heard a rat scratching and drew her shawl closer to her face. She thought of chasing it out of the hut but she was too weary to bother. Perhaps the creature needed warmth and shelter as much as she did. She was almost asleep when the whistle of a train woke her again.
As the train thundered past she wondered briefly whether it would be better to go back to her old life touting for custom from the rich men of the town. Then she decided she was too tired to think clearly now. She lay down again and in a few minutes she was asleep.
Sal Evans thought she had found some of the luck Rhiannon Beynon had told her about. Next to her in the bed was a young buck, a clean, good-looking man who had taken her into the Paradise Park with him to spend the night. He had been very drunk but now he was sleeping like a baby.
Sal stretched her legs enjoying the warmth of the bed and the cosy feel of the blankets around her shoulders. This was better than sleeping on an old bench in a railway station. Her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep.
A heavy slap across her face woke her. She sat up, wide awake. The young man she’d slept with was kneeling before her, his face red with anger. ‘You whore!’ he said. ‘You dirty stinking whore!’ He hit her again, this time with his clenched fist. Sal reeled back from him in horror. Gone was the nice young buck of the night before: the man hitting her looked like a demon.
He lashed out again and his fist connected with her jaw, sending Sal sprawling onto the floor.
‘How dare you sleep in my bed, you dirty slut!’ He climbed down and aimed a kick at her face. Sal curled up into a tight ball trying to protect herself. ‘I’ll teach you to take advantage of a decent young man.’ He kicked her again, his foot connecting with her stomach. Sal gasped in pain and tried to crawl towards the door. He caught her ankles, turned her over on her back and hit her across the face again. Sal thought she must be in a nightmare – how could this be happening to her? He continued to slap her until she gave up trying to protect herself. How long the beating went on she didn’t know: a kick connected with her head and she lost consciousness.
When she came to, Sal’s eyes were swollen so badly she could hardly see. Her body ached, and as she struggled to her feet she felt a trickle of blood run down her legs. The bastard! He must have raped her after the beating.
She staggered out of the room. She knew there was little point in complaining: no one would listen to a cheap whore. In the back-street she felt the early light touch her bruised face and it was then that she began to cry.
CHAPTER TWO
A COCK CROWING outside the hut woke Rhiannon and she sat up, her heart pounding as she was transported back to her childhood. She was living in the tall, gloomy house and the lodger downstairs was keeping chickens in the back garden. One day she had asked him where the fluffy chicks that huddled in his kitchen near the fire had come from. His reply had been to lay her down in his room and demonstrate how they had been conceived. Rhiannon had lost her childhood innocence for ever.
She took a deep breath, shook away the painful memory and stared around her at the damp hut. The fire was low in the brazier and Rhiannon realized that she had not come very far since the days of her childhood. At least then she’d had a roof over her head and enough to eat. Now she had nothing but the memories of her sordid past to keep her company.
She swung her legs off the bed and pushed some sticks into the fire, shivering in the chill of the morning. She went to the window and looked outside. It was barely daylight and a thin mist hung over the silver of the railway track.
She returned to the fire and poked another batch of sticks into the flames. Soon the store would be gone and then she would have no means of keeping herself warm. She opened the battered cupboard door and searched inside, hoping to find some tea-leaves, but the cupboard was bare. Anything left there had doubtless been taken by one of the other camp-women.
She returned to the bed and sat down. She had been so settled here once, respected by the navvies because she was Bull Beynon’s woman. She had loved him desperately. She pushed these thoughts aside. Looking back never did any good. She must find a job, however humble, or go back to the streets.
When daylight came Rhiannon looked about for her bag: she needed to dress in clean, fresh clothes if she was going to find employment. There was no sign of it. Someone must have crept into the hut during the night and taken it with her few possessions. It seemed as if the whole world was against her.
She twisted her hair into a knot and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. Her skirt was creased but there was nothing she could do about it now. Slowly, the sun was coming up, bringing the landscape into full colour. Suddenly, in spite of her empty stomach, Rhiannon felt better. She would find some respectable work if it took her a month of Sundays.
She walked away from the railway line and down the hill towards the Stryd Fawr. A baker’s van stood in the high street at the entrance to the Paradise Park Hotel and the smell of fresh bread made Rhiannon feel faint. She leaned against the window of the hotel and waited for her head to clear; she was just hungry, she had been hungry before but not in a long time.
‘Rhiannon!’ The voice was familiar. ‘Rhiannon, are you all right?’
‘Katie Cullen, it’s you.’ Rhiannon rubbed her eyes, remembering that Katie was married now so she was no longer a Cullen. She had taken Bull Beynon as her husband. Rhiannon knew she should hate Katie for that but she’d always known Bull would leave her one day. ‘I’m all right, really. How are you?’ She scarcely needed an answer because it was clear Katie was blooming. The soft swell of her stomach revealed that she was expecting Bull’s child, and Rhiannon burst into tears.
‘Rhiannon, you don’t look all right! What’s wrong?’ Katie touched her arm. ‘Come on, you can tell me. Perhaps I can help?’
‘What’s wrong?’ Rhiannon repeated flatly. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong, you’ve taken my man from me.’ Katie’s cheeks flooded with colour and Rhiannon held out her hand. ‘I’m sorry, that was stupid of me.’
‘I’m sorry it still upsets you about Bull and me,’ Katie said. ‘I thought you might have got over it a bit by now.’
Rhiannon forced a smile. ‘Oh, I have, I was just being silly and childish. You heard that poor Mr Cookson died, didn’t you, Katie?’
‘I heard, and I’m sorry. I’m sure you were very fond of him and it’s only natural you miss him.’
‘I’m not that unselfish,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m crying because I’m out of work, I’m hungry and I’ve spent the night in a damp hut with the rats.’
‘Oh, Rhiannon, I’m so sorry. What happened? Didn’t Miss Cookson want to keep you on?’
Rhiannon shook her head and sagged against the window. Katie took her arm and glanced up at the windows of the Paradise Park Hotel. ‘We don’t want to go in there. I’ll take you up to the Mackworth. It’s only a little way up the road and when we’ve eaten we can talk about finding work for you.’
Rhiannon allowed herself to be led into the softly carpeted foyer of the hotel, and here the smell of bacon made her mouth water. She was grateful when the waiter led them to a table and she could sit down – she felt as if her legs were about to collapse under her.
‘Tea and toast for two, please,’ Katie said, and the waiter slid away. ‘Shouldn’t be long bringing the food,’ she went on. ‘There’s hardly anyone in here besides us.’
‘Good.’ Rhiannon made an attempt to smile. ‘If he takes too long I might just start to eat the tablecloth.’
By the time the food was put on the table she was hard put not to cram her mouth with the hot buttered toast. When she had finished, Katie pushed her plate across the table. ‘Go on, I’ve had enough breakfast as it is. I’m eating like a starving horse, these days.’
Rhiannon did as she was told, then leaned back in her chair. ‘I feel almost human again,’ she said, wiping her lips wit
h a thick damask napkin marked with the crest of the hotel.
‘Now we must find you a job,’ Katie said. ‘We can’t have you sleeping rough again tonight.’
‘Finding jobs is not so easy,’ Rhiannon said, ‘not when you used to be a street-walker like me.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ Katie said quickly. ‘Now, I heard my cook talking about a position going vacant at Mrs Buchan’s place. How would that suit you?’
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘You know what a name Mrs Jayne Buchan’s got for herself. I can’t see her taking me on.’
‘I know she can be a bit of a Tartar,’ Katie said, ‘but if you worked in the kitchen you wouldn’t see much of her, would you? And it’s a start.’
‘I know, and I’m grateful for the suggestion – but look at me.’ Rhiannon gestured to her rumpled skirt and the bedraggled shawl around her shoulders.
Katie smiled. ‘Aye, you do look a bit like a rag-and-bone girl! How about we go up to my house and I find some fresh clothes for you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rhiannon said quickly. Could she bear to see Bull as the master of his own home with his wife at his side?
‘Bull isn’t in at the moment.’ Katie had read her reluctance well. ‘He’s up the railway line with the men checking the track. Come on, we can’t sit here for ever and we must find you some work.’ She paid the bill and they left the hotel.
‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘We haven’t seen much of each other over the last year, have we?’
Katie looked at her. ‘I know, but I felt so guilty about finding my happiness at the expense of yours. I’ll never forget how you looked the day the Great Western Railway opened.’
‘How did I look?’
‘When you saw Bull take me into his arms in front of all those people you were so sad. I know you loved him, but so do I,’ Katie said. ‘I’m sorry, Rhiannon.’
‘Don’t be, I’m well over Bull Beynon by now.’ Rhiannon knew that Katie wasn’t convinced. ‘Being with Mr Cookson helped. He was a fine man and so kind to me. He’d be angry if he knew his sister had turned me out of the house.’
Katie’s steps slowed as she came to the hill leading up to her house. She leaned on a wall and took deep breaths. ‘I’m as heavy as a cow at milking-time,’ she said. ‘This baby is going to be a big one.’
Rhiannon felt a stab of jealousy that Katie had everything she wanted: Bull for a husband, a baby on the way and a nice house to live in.
‘Did you know Bull and I have a new home?’ Katie asked. ‘His employers thought so much of him they bought him the house by way of a bonus.’
Rhiannon looked at the large gates and at the square, solid house behind them. ‘No, I didn’t.’ She had often heard Mr Cookson talking about Bull, of course. The two men had worked together until Mr Cookson retired, but he had never discussed matters of business or finance with her. ‘Bull has done well,’ she said proudly. ‘I always knew he would.’
Katie looked at her quickly, ‘He speaks highly of you, too, Rhiannon. And I hope you don’t think I’m showing off about the house because I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world.’
‘Why are you such a nice person?’ Rhiannon asked, in exasperation. ‘I couldn’t hate you however hard I tried.’
‘I suppose it’s easy to be nice when you’re happy,’ Katie said simply.
They entered the large hallway and Rhiannon looked round in appreciation. ‘What lovely colours you’ve got in here,’ she said, unaware that she sounded wistful. ‘The pale blue silk paper on the walls and the deep blue of the carpet go so well together.’
A young maid hovered around them, taking Katie’s shawl and waiting politely for Rhiannon to take off hers. Rhiannon was impressed. ‘Imagine having a maid of your own! You have gone all posh, Katie. And you’ve got a cook too now. You never have to light a fire or bring in coal or spend time in a hot kitchen. It must be so nice.’
‘I suppose I’ve got used to it,’ Katie said. ‘I never had such luxuries at home, mind, and then when Mam died I worked as a maid myself. You know that, Rhiannon, you came to work with me for a while.’
‘I remember it well,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I more or less pushed you into asking Mr Morton-Edwards to take me on. He thought a lot of you, didn’t he?’
‘Aye, but only because he nearly ran over me with his coach and horses! It was then I met Bull. I used to think the navvies a rough lot and I never thought I’d end up marrying one.’
‘Well, Bull’s hardly a navvy, is he? He’s a posh manager with a respectable wife and a lovely home. It’s what you both deserve, though,’ Rhiannon said, ‘and I don’t grudge you any of it.’ And she didn’t, but she would have lived with Bull in a shabby, rat-infested hut for ever and been the happiest woman alive.
‘I’ll get you something fresh to wear.’ Katie’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘If you’re going for a job we have to make you look nice, don’t we?’
‘It would be nice to work here.’ Rhiannon regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. Of course she couldn’t work in Katie’s house. How could she live under the same roof as Bull and not pine for him every moment of the day? ‘But I can see you’ve enough staff as it is,’ she added quickly, ‘and I know it wouldn’t work me being here. In any case, you’ve been kind enough as it is.’
‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable,’ Katie said, ‘and I’ll see we’re brought a nice cup of tea.’
She left Rhiannon alone in the sitting room and Rhiannon stared around her at the pictures, the curtains and the cheerful fire burning in the grate. One day, she decided, she would have a place like this, somewhere of her own. She smiled ruefully. Right now she needed to get a job. Then she could think clearly, make plans for her future: she did not intend to be in service for the rest of her life.
The maid brought in a tea tray and smiled pleasantly at Rhiannon. ‘Like sugar in your tea, miss?’
Rhiannon nodded. ‘Please – milk too.’
The girl handed her the cup and Rhiannon looked at her curiously. ‘Do you like working here?’
‘Oh, yes, miss. It’s my first job and though I did miss my mam and dad at first I soon settled in. Mrs Beynon is so kind, Mr Beynon too. I’m very lucky.’
The girl seemed young, little more than sixteen. She had an air of innocence about her that Rhiannon envied. When she had been sixteen she had known nothing about kindness. All she knew was the dark underworld of street-walking. By seventeen she had lost count of the men she’d been with. Some were kind but some were rough, handling her as if she had no feelings. Even now the indignity of it all made her feel ill.
Katie came back into the sitting room and sat down slowly, adjusting her legs to accommodate her belly. ‘I swear I’m getting heavier by the minute.’ She smiled. ‘Now, I’ve laid out some clothes on my bed. First we’ll have our tea, then go up and see how they fit you.’ She pointed to the plate of dainty cakes the maid had put on the table. ‘Go on, help yourself. I expect you’re still hungry.’
Rhiannon took a cake to please her rather than because she wanted it. She felt uncomfortable, as though she was an intruder in Katie’s house. As soon as she could, she rose to her feet. ‘You sit here by the fire and I’ll go and find the clothes for myself. I don’t want to drag you upstairs again, do I?’
Katie smiled and nodded, and eased off her shoes. ‘Go on, take anything you fancy. All my clothes are far too small for me.’
Rhiannon went up the stairs, holding on to the polished banister. The sunlight poured in through the window giving the house a glow of warmth, and Rhiannon stood on the landing wondering which room she should look in. She opened a few doors and knew at once which one Katie shared with Bull. There was the scent of him here, the unmistakable, pleasant odour of a man. Her memories rushed in. She was in Bull’s arms, clinging to him, kissing him, being loved by him. He was the one man who had aroused any feelings in her; with Bull she’d learned that making love could be a beautiful
, magical thing.
She must get out of here quickly: knowing that Bull lived in this house, that he slept in this bed, was too much for her to bear. The pain of him leaving her for Katie was as raw as it had ever been.
Quickly, she selected some clean, pressed clothes, a good woollen skirt with red and black stripes, and a jacket to match. When she was dressed she drew a red shawl around her shoulders and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was tangled over her face and, in spite of the fresh clothes, she still looked a sight.
On the table was a silver-backed brush and Rhiannon picked it up and brushed her hair until it shone, then twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck and pinned it into place. That was better. She looked like a respectable woman now, not an outcast from the workhouse.
With a last look round, Rhiannon left the bedroom Bull shared with Katie – and heard the maid opening the front door for the master of the house to enter.
‘Bull!’ Rhiannon murmured his name, but he seemed to hear her because he looked up and their eyes locked. Rhiannon took a deep breath: she must get a grip on herself – she couldn’t let Bull know that she was still in love with him. ‘Hello, Bull, I haven’t seen you for ages but I must say you’re looking very well.’ Her voice was light, and gave no indication of her inner turmoil. She went downstairs and then she was standing close to him, so close she could have touched him. But he was no longer her man. Bull belonged to Katie.
‘Rhiannon, it’s good to see you and looking so beautiful too.’ He spoke impersonally as if they had never been lovers.
Rhiannon summoned up a smile. ‘You can thank your wife for the way I look because she’s just lent me some of her clothes. I’m hoping to find work this morning and Katie’s determined I’ll look my best.’
‘I meant to get in touch with you and tell you how sorry I was about old Cookson. He was a fine man and I owe him so much.’