by Iris Gower
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Bull spoke again: ‘I caught a glimpse of you at the funeral but you left before I could offer my condolences.’
They were speaking to each other like strangers and Rhiannon knew then that whatever Bull had felt for her in the past had dissipated.
Katie came into the hallway and smiled as Bull took her in his arms. They looked so happy, so much in love, that tears came to Rhiannon’s eyes. ‘I’d better be off then,’ she said quickly. ‘Thank you, Katie, for your kindness. I won’t forget it.’
‘Oh – take this,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve written out a reference for you. I know I’m far below the Buchans in society but I thought it might do a bit of good.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
‘Come back and let me know how you get on,’ Katie said. ‘I’d like to know you were safely settled somewhere.’
‘I will.’ Rhiannon smiled and left. She closed the front door behind her and began the long walk across the hills to where the élite of the town lived. She was alone now, but she was strong and one day the whole of Swansea would know that she was a woman to be reckoned with.
CHAPTER THREE
JAYNE BUCHAN WAS a pretty woman with pale blond hair and a fine complexion. She had been born to wealth: her father Eynon Morton-Edwards was one of the most influential men in Swansea. She appeared to have everything a young woman could want: a handsome, successful husband, a fine home and a doting father. But Jayne’s pale beauty was marred by the downward droop of her full lips, which revealed that she was an unfulfilled woman.
She was in need of a new maid – maids were inclined to come and go from the Buchan household in quick succession. She looked now at the girl standing before her. She seemed sensible enough, clean and neat, and willing to work. ‘So, you kept house for Mr Cookson, the engineer, then, for almost a year.’ Jayne pursed her lips consideringly. ‘Why haven’t you a reference from him?’ She might be in desperate need of new staff but she would not take just any girl who chanced along.
‘He died suddenly, Mrs Buchan,’ the girl looked down at her feet, ‘and when his sister came from England to take over the house she dismissed me.’
‘Wouldn’t she give you a reference?’
‘She felt she didn’t know me well enough, Mrs Buchan.’
Jayne studied the girl, who looked familiar, but couldn’t place her. ‘Have I seen you before?’
‘I worked for your father for a time, and Mr Morton-Edwards was always very kind to me.’
‘Ah, that’s it.’ Jayne made up her mind to take on the girl. ‘I’ll give you a month’s trial. I haven’t many rules, except that I don’t like my maids encouraging callers. If you want to go courting, do it on your days off. Is that clear? And remember your place especially when Mr Buchan is around. He’s inclined to be too lenient with the maids.’ Jayne felt it wise to offer a warning: this girl was good-looking in a world-weary way, with a full figure and luxuriant hair. Not that Dafydd Buchan had resorted to bedding the maids yet but Jayne did not mean to take chances. ‘Do you understand me?’
The girl nodded. She seemed grateful for the job and that was all to the good: she would work hard to keep her position.
Jayne rang the bell and almost at once the maid appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Mrs Buchan?’
‘Show the new girl to her room. The one in the attic, please, Vi.’ Jayne smiled: Violet had only been with her for a few weeks but she had a sweet nature and, so far, they had got on well. ‘Go with Vi now. She’ll show you where you’re to sleep. What’s your name again?’
‘It’s Rhiannon, Mrs Buchan.’
‘All right, Rhiannon. I hope you’re going to be comfortable here. And, Rhiannon,’ Jayne smiled, ‘I can sometimes be a bit crotchety but you mustn’t take any notice of that.’
‘Yes, Mrs Buchan, and I’ll do my best to fit in, I promise.’
When the two maids had left the room Jayne returned to her writing table and picked up her pen. She had one invitation still to write. The rest had been no problem but this one was to Llinos Mainwaring. Jayne swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness of jealousy. Llinos had had an affair with Dafydd, and however hard she tried, Jayne couldn’t forget it. Llinos had even borne Dafydd a son. How her poor husband, God rest his soul, had put up with it, Jayne failed to understand.
Llinos was quite an old lady now, past her fiftieth year, yet she remained irritatingly beautiful. Jayne had often caught her husband staring at Llinos. It seemed that even though their affair had ended long ago Dafydd still had feelings for her. ‘Damn him!’ she said aloud.
She rose and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She was much younger than Llinos and owned a fortune in her own right. She and Dafydd should have been soul-mates and ardent lovers but the marriage had gone wrong almost from the first moment she and Dafydd were alone together in the intimacy of their bridal suite.
She remembered it now, the disappointment she’d felt when Dafydd had made love to her. It was not the wonderful, earth-shattering experience she had believed it would be, and when her husband had turned his back on her and gone to sleep she had known instinctively that something was not right about their union.
It had taken several months and clear signs of Dafydd’s faithless ways before Jayne realized she had made a mistake. All Dafydd wanted was a young bride who would bear him plenty of children. Well, in that he had been the disappointed one.
Jayne returned to the table and looked down at the name she had written on the card, resisting the urge to tear it to tiny pieces: that would only show that she saw Llinos as a threat, which she could not allow.
Jayne hastily signed her name to the card and put it with the others, wondering about the hold Llinos had on any man who came her way. Jayne’s own father had always been dazzled by her and would only make a fuss if she wasn’t invited. Another thing: there would be enough of a crowd to distract Dafydd’s attention. Jayne knew he would flirt with all the young ladies present – that was his nature and he would never change now.
Jayne rang for the maid and Violet came into the room, bobbing a curtsy.
‘Get these invitations sent out, there’s a good girl. Oh, and do you think Rhiannon has the makings of a good maid?’
‘I think so, Mrs Buchan. She’s knuckled down straight away, doing all that Cook wants of her. She’s very quiet, don’t talk much, but Cook will soon alter that.’
‘I suppose so. Cook’s the nosy sort – she’ll have the girl’s life story before bedtime tonight. That’s all – you may go now.’
Jayne shuffled her papers and put them into some sort of order. Life as Mrs Jayne Buchan had not turned out as she had hoped it would. Perhaps if she had had children things would be different. She must put that idea right out of her head: there would be no children because Jayne would never again allow Dafydd Buchan into her bed.
That night Rhiannon was glad to crawl into bed and stretch her tired limbs. She had worked hard in the kitchen, which she didn’t mind except that she had become used to an easy life with Mr Cookson and her hands had grown soft. Today she had peeled potatoes and scrubbed the kitchen flags, carried coal and water upstairs until she thought her back would break.
She looked up at the small window: the curtains were open and she could see the clear night sky through the glass. One star seemed to burn brighter than the rest and Rhiannon smiled. Someone up there was looking out for her. She turned over and snuggled under the blankets. She must sleep – tomorrow was going to be another busy day.
‘Come in, Father, it’s lovely to see you,’ Jayne said, as the drawing-room door opened and her father was framed in it. As usual, Llinos was not far behind him but Jayne had to force herself to smile at the older woman. ‘Llinos, how kind of you to come. You’re not getting any younger and being social can be such a chore.’ She was fully aware of the sting in her words and glanced quickly at her father, but her comments had gone over his head. She kissed Eynon and brushed cheeks with
Llinos. ‘The other guests haven’t arrived yet so we can have a quiet drink before they come.’
Jayne tensed as her husband came into the room. ‘Good evening, Eynon,’ he said, his eyes resting on Llinos. ‘I hope you’re well.’ He did not wait for a response. ‘And Llinos, as lovely as ever. You must have learned the secret of eternal youth.’ He bent over her hand and held it to his lips for a moment longer than was necessary.
‘So, Buchan, have you heard that the Great Western shares have gone up two shillings again?’ Eynon said, seating himself in the most comfortable chair near the fire.
‘Oh, Father, there’s no need to talk business now,’ Jayne said hastily, knowing that he was taunting Dafydd: he had wanted shares in the railway but by the time he had decided to buy some it had been too late. How it must irk him that three of the shareholders were seated there before him! Her father, Llinos and Jayne herself had seen the wisdom of buying into the railway in the early days.
‘But I’m sure Buchan is interested in anything that affects the town and its inhabitants, aren’t you, Buchan?’
Dafydd inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He turned to Llinos, curtailing the conversation with Eynon. ‘How is Sion? Well and strong, I hope.’
Jayne bit her lip, afraid that she might blurt out her thoughts; Dafydd was reminding them that he had a son, an illegitimate son but still a son.
‘He’s well, enjoying school now that he’s older. It seems he’s quite the scholar.’
‘And your other son,’ Jayne said quickly, ‘my dear friend Lloyd, is he still living among the savages in America?’
Llinos looked at her coolly. ‘That’s unkind of you, Jayne. The American Indians are not savages.’
‘I’m sorry, but all the pictures one sees in the papers show the Indian people as half-naked heathens who kill for the pleasure of it.’
‘Jayne,’ her father spoke sharply, ‘keep your ill-informed opinions to yourself. Llinos’s late husband was half American Indian, as you well know. Have you no sensitivity?’
Jayne pressed her lips together. She’d known that the evening would turn out badly – it always did when Llinos was present. She glanced at Dafydd, whose eyes were still resting on Llinos. Couldn’t he see her grey hairs and the suggestion of a double chin? Llinos was old, and still Dafydd pined for her.
Jayne was relieved when the other guests began to arrive and the talk became more general. She sat next to Dafydd and whispered, ‘Will you stop looking at Llinos like that?’
‘Like what?’ He was infuriatingly calm.
‘As if she was a feast and you were starving.’
‘I am starving, though, aren’t I, Jayne? What man wouldn’t look at other women when his wife won’t allow him into her bed?’
‘Keep your voice down!’ Jayne wanted to slap him.
He rose and moved away from her, and she saw him greet one of the younger ladies with a wide smile. Priscilla was the daughter of Admiral Grenfell, very rich and beautiful. Jayne scrutinized her. The girl was besotted with Dafydd and made no attempt to conceal it.
Jayne thought of going over to them and putting a stop to the flirting but she changed her mind: let Dafydd make a fool of himself – the girl was too cosseted to become mistress to a mere businessman, however rich and handsome he might be. ‘Dafydd’s enjoying himself with the ladies as usual.’ She leaned towards Llinos, wanting to hurt her. ‘He’ll never grow up, will he?’
‘Well, flirting is harmless enough, isn’t it?’ Llinos said. ‘And you are the one wearing his wedding ring so I wouldn’t let a bit of harmless fun worry you.’
Jayne subsided in her chair. Evidently Llinos did not care any longer what Dafydd got up to. And neither should I, Jayne told herself. She had long since given up her ideas of romantic love. Dafydd was a philanderer who had enjoyed many mistresses and, no doubt, would enjoy many more.
Jayne watched him, trying to be dispassionate about him. He was good-looking still, although his hair was touched with grey, and he was as slim as a boy. He also had enough wit to charm the birds from the trees.
‘Oh, look, Jayne,’ Llinos said, in a low voice, ‘the little madam’s coming to talk to you. She has plenty of nerve, I’ll give her that.’
‘Hello, Jayne.’
‘Hello, Priscilla. You’re looking very well.’ The girl kissed Jayne’s cheek. ‘Perhaps you’ve put on just a little weight.’
‘I don’t think so, my waist is so tiny that Dafydd can encompass it with his hands.’
‘He’s given a demonstration, has he?’
‘Well, only in fun, of course.’
‘When was that?’ Jayne asked casually, but her heart was beating so fast she thought she would choke.
‘At the summer ball in the assembly rooms. I was surprised you didn’t come, it was such fun and Dafydd was the star of the occasion.’
‘I can imagine,’ Jayne said drily.
‘But, then, perhaps you were too tired to cavort around the dance floor,’ Priscilla said. ‘I suppose as one gets older the prospect of staying at home near the fire becomes more inviting.’
‘But, Priscilla, I’m only two years older than you, and Dafydd, well, he’s quite a few years older than both of us.’
Priscilla glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘But men age beautifully, don’t they?’
Jayne tried desperately to think of a suitable reply but it was Llinos who broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the small group. ‘How is your father, Priscilla?’
‘Very well indeed.’ Priscilla’s voice was frosty and Jayne half smiled. However hard Llinos tried, she would never be accepted among the élite of the town: in marrying a heathen she had put herself outside polite society.
Jayne looked across the room to see what her husband was up to – perhaps trying to charm some other girl. But he was talking earnestly to a man who was a stranger to Jayne. He was younger than Dafydd and very good-looking: his hair was crisp and dark and he stood a good six inches taller than her husband. Jayne felt a stirring of interest. It was a long time since anyone new had joined the social set of Swansea. Why didn’t Dafydd bring him over and introduce him? ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
Priscilla turned to look. ‘Handsome, isn’t he? His name is Guy Fairchild, and he’s an entrepreneur from London.’ She touched Jayne’s shoulder. ‘No good staring at him, Jayne. You’re married, remember?’
‘I remember,’ Jayne said, ‘but there’s no harm in looking.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’d better go and check the dinner. I think it should be ready.’ As she threaded her way through the guests she glanced towards her husband. He was smiling affably and it seemed that he was getting on well with Guy Fairchild. Just then, the man looked round and his eyes met and locked with hers. Jayne felt an unexpected thrill of pleasure run through her. He nodded to her and, hastily, Jayne left the room. ‘You silly little fool!’ she said to herself. She was far too old and sensible to be mooning over another man. In any case, he was probably married, too, with a tribe of children at his coat-tails. But then she thought of those lovely eyes looking into hers, and her heart beat a little faster.
‘Do you really want me to seduce your wife, Dafydd?’ Guy asked, in a low voice. ‘She’s such a beauty, and if she was mine I wouldn’t let another man within a mile of her.’
‘No, not seduce,’ Dafydd Buchan said sharply. ‘What I want is for you to worm your way into Jayne’s good books. She’ll trust you, and you’re such a genius with money you can’t fail to impress her.’
‘But these shares you want her to sell, are they so very important? You’ve already got more money than you can spend so why do you need shares in this railway venture?’
‘It’s not so much need as want,’ Dafydd said. ‘She and her father never stop rubbing it in that they have plenty of shares while I have none.’
‘And why should she agree to sell them to me?’
‘Because you’re a charmer, Guy. Why do you think half the women in London are chasing
after you?’
‘But your wife looks like a lady with a good head on her shoulders. I shouldn’t think she’d let her heart rule her head in matters of finance.’
‘No, but money talks and if you offer her enough I’m sure she’ll accept – especially if you turn on the charm.’
‘Do you trust me to charm your wife?’ Guy smiled. Couldn’t Dafydd Buchan see that Jayne was not only the most beautiful but the most intelligent woman in the room? She had almost touched him as she went into the hall, and on the way back she had smiled at him. Her pale hair gleamed like spun gold in the candlelight and she had an intriguing innocence about her.
‘I’d trust her with anyone.’
‘How touching.’ Guy felt a dart of disappointment. ‘Is she so much in love with you that she won’t even look at another man?’
‘No, I don’t think Jayne’s in love with me at all. She might have been once, but things were never good between us.’ He paused, leaning closer to Guy as one of the guests brushed past him. He looked up and saw Priscilla smiling at him as she pressed herself against him.
‘Ah,’ Guy said. ‘Your wife discovered you had a roving eye, is that it?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Then why do you trust her so unquestioningly?’
‘She’s frigid,’ Dafydd said.
That was a challenge to any red-blooded man. ‘In that case, why should you think she’ll listen to anything I’ve got to say?’
‘Jayne is not impervious to charm and good looks, Guy, and she likes intelligence in a man. I think you might be the right one to persuade her to sell.’
‘Well, if you really think so, Dafydd, I’ll do my best. Come, everyone is going into dinner and the last thing we want is for your lady wife to think that we’re plotting anything.’
He followed Dafydd across the wide hallway and a smile curved his mouth. The seduction of Jayne Buchan would be pleasurable – very pleasurable indeed.
CHAPTER FOUR