by Iris Gower
‘You just haven’t moved in the right circles, Rhiannon. There are plenty of good men about, if you look in the right places.’
‘Where am I likely to meet any?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘I’m tied to the house except for my days off and then there seems nowhere to go.’
Bull was about to speak when he saw the familiar figure of the maid running up the high street, bonnet flying.
‘Mr Beynon, sir, I’ve been looking for you for ages! You have to come home right away.’ Bronnie paused to take a breath. ‘Mrs Beynon’s time has come and she wants you to be there with her.’
Bull looked at his watch. He should be at the meeting in fifteen minutes but that would have to wait. ‘Go along to the Mackworth, Bronnie,’ he said. ‘Tell Mr Morton-Edwards I’ve been delayed.’
Bronnie nodded, ‘Yes, Mr Beynon.’
Bull turned to Rhiannon. ‘I have to go.’
‘Of course you do. Go on, then, I can see you want to be with Katie – and quite right too.’
Bull saw her longing for him in her eyes and pity tugged at him. ‘You’ll meet a nice fellow one day, Rhiannon, someone you can love and trust, but in the meantime, if ever you’re in trouble come to me.’
‘Thank you.’
Bull hurried away.
‘Just one more push should do it, missus.’ Mrs Davies was red in the face and sweating copiously.
Katie looked up at her and felt a warm glow of gratitude. ‘Thank you for being so good to me, Cook. I won’t forget it, I promise you.’ She sucked in her breath as the uncontrollable urge to bear down swamped her. All she could do was strain and push and pray that her ordeal would be soon over.
‘The head is crowning!’ Mrs Davies said excitedly. ‘Come on now, Mrs Beynon, you’re nearly there.’
Katie hardly heard her, so intense was the need to push her child from her body. She growled low in her throat, as she concentrated on the birth of her baby.
Dimly she heard Bull’s voice in the doorway and then the need to bear down again overcame her. It was as if the whole world was holding its breath. She screamed then strained until she thought she would faint from the effort. Her body seemed to be on fire and then the pain was over. Her child was born. Katie opened her eyes cautiously. ‘My baby, is she all right?’
‘You have a fine healthy child, Mrs Beynon,’ Mrs Davies said, ‘but it’s not a girl. You have a strong, beautiful son.’
She handed the baby to Bronnie, who was red from running. ‘I’ll see to Mrs Beynon now and when she’s comfortable she can hold her baby.’ She sniffed, and a tear ran down her face.
‘Thank you, Cook, you’ve been wonderful,’ Katie said shakily. She waited patiently as Mrs Davies took away the signs of the birthing and brought a bowl of clean scented water to wash her, then helped her into a fresh nightgown and propped her up against the pillows. She held out her arms as Bull came into the room. ‘Let me have him, my lovely, let me see my boy bach, my own little boy.’
Bull put the baby gently into her arms. He felt heavy against her breasts. ‘Are you pleased, Bull?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’re not disappointed it’s a boy, are you?’
Bull coughed and looked away, but not before she had seen the glisten of tears in his eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you both, so very proud.’ Bull’s voice was gruff with emotion. ‘I have what every man wants, a son to carry on my name.’
‘A name,’ Katie said, swallowing a lump in her throat. ‘We’ve got to think of a name for him.’ She turned to Mrs Davies, who had on a fresh apron now, her hair hidden by a gleaming white cap. ‘Cook, what’s your full name?’
‘Dorothy Jessica Joan Davies, but I’m usually called Dot.’
‘Well, we can’t call a boy Dot but what about John? It’s as near to Joan as we can get. How does that sound to you, Bull?’
‘I think John is a splendid name.’ Bull put his hands on Mrs Davies’s shoulders. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us today.’
‘Don’t be silly, sir, I’m glad I’ve had a bit of experience so I could help Mrs Beynon when she needed it.’ She moved to the door. ‘I’m going to make us a nice cup of tea – we could all do with it, I’m sure.’
‘Good idea.’ Bull closed the door after her departing figure and returned to the bedside. ‘I’m so proud and happy, Katie, that words can’t express what I feel for you and our little boy.’
It was then that Katie began to cry: huge tears formed on her lashes, ran down her cheeks and into her mouth.
‘What’s the matter, my love? Are you in any pain?’ Bull asked anxiously.
Katie gulped. ‘No, Bull, I’m just so happy, that’s all.’ She turned her face towards her husband and he wiped away the tears with his thumbs. Katie relaxed against the pillows and sighed with contentment. ‘All I ever wanted out of life is here in this room, Bull, my darling. Come,’ she said, ‘give the mother of your son a kiss.’
As his lips touched hers, Katie knew that this was the happiest moment of her life.
CHAPTER SIX
THE PARADISE PARK stood solidly against the sky. It was built of old stone that looked mellow in the sunlight, but closer inspection revealed cracks in the walls, and the peeling paint on the ornate doors gave the hotel a run-down appearance.
In the kitchen, Sal was sitting near the fire trying to dry her clothes. She had had a bath and had used the last of the water to soak her skirt and her turnover but now she realized that they would not be dry for several hours.
Shivering, she wrapped the blanket around her and crept to the door. It opened on to a long passageway that led to the back stairs. Up there, in one of the rooms, she would find clothes belonging to the maids. Sal knew she had no alternative but to help herself to a skirt, a turnover and one or two undergarments. The flagged floor under her feet was cold and she wished she had shoes. But she must count her blessings: she was lucky that Mr Bundy was still letting her sleep in the kitchen. The wooden treads on the stairs to the servants’ quarters had lost most of their varnish, testifying to the frequent comings and goings of many feet. At the top, puffing with the effort of running up, Sal opened a door. The room contained only one bed and Sal guessed that it was the housekeeper’s. The wardrobe door creaked ominously as she opened it. She saw at once that the clothes inside it were several sizes too large for her.
She searched all the rooms on the servants’ floor, but found only one of each garment hanging in the cupboards. She knew she couldn’t steal from girls as poor as herself. She crept back downstairs and paused on a lower landing. Several guest rooms led off a broad passage. These rooms were occupied by men who stayed one night then left before dawn. Cautiously Sal opened a door and peered inside. The room was empty and she saw a chemise, a skirt and a turnover lying on the bed. The turnover was knitted in a cheerful red and fitted nicely on her shoulders.
She dressed quickly, folded up her blanket and made for the door. As she stepped into the passage she cannoned into a man, a gentleman by the look of him. He had a gold watch hanging from the pocket of his well-made suit and his shirt was of the finest linen. He caught her arm to steady her. ‘Careful, child.’
‘Sorry, sir, I’ll get out of your way, will I?’ Sal recognized him at once: he was Mr Morton-Edwards, a rich man and generous, if what she had heard of him was correct. She heard voices on the stairs and looked round in panic. ‘I’ve got to hide, sir, or I’ll be thrown out.’ But it was too late: a plump, balding man came onto the landing and Sal recognized him as Mr May, the owner of the building. With him was an old lady, clutching a bag close to her side.
‘What are you doing here, girl?’ Mr May looked down at her. ‘Go and see to your customers at once. It doesn’t do to keep the gentlemen waiting.’ It was clear he had no idea that she’d been sleeping in the kitchen.
Sal stood still, not knowing which direction to take. Fear made her throat so dry she couldn’t speak.
‘Are you deaf and stupid, girl? Get out of our way before I throw you out.’
‘Hold on,’ Mr Morton-Edwards said abruptly. ‘Don’t talk to her like that. She’s only a child.’ He turned to Sal. ‘How old are you?’
Sal thought about telling him she was older than she looked but after a moment she thought better of it. ‘I’m twelve, sir, and if it pleases you, sir, my name is Sal.’
‘Where are your parents, child? Do they know you do this sort of thing?’
‘I ’aven’t any mam or dad, sir, I’m on my own.’ Her hopes rose. If he was a customer perhaps he would just give her money and send her away. She didn’t want to lie with him – by her standards he was an old man – but she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t up to the job either. ‘I’m very experienced, sir,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you’ll be disappointed in me.’ She bit her lip, forcing tears to well in her eyes.
Mr Morton-Edwards thrust his hands into his pockets and she heard the jingle of coins – sovereigns, she hoped. But he didn’t bring out any money. Instead he looked at her closely. ‘Do you like this work, then, child?’
Oh dear, he was going to try to reform her. She shook her head. ‘Not much, sir, but I got to do something to keep alive, haven’t I?’
‘Have you ever tried to get out of it, Sal? Have you looked for work elsewhere?’
‘Oh, aye, sir, I worked for a nice family for a while but the master . . . well, he wasn’t so nice.’
‘Didn’t you ever have the chance to try to find another decent job?’
‘I did, sir, once. I met a lady, Rhiannon Beynon she called herself. She wanted to save me from this life but that didn’t work out because she had no money or job herself.’
‘Rhiannon Beynon, eh?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Well, she did find a position. She’s working for my daughter.’ He hesitated. ‘My daughter might be able to take you on too.’
‘I’d like that but I’m not like Rhiannon – she had experience in a good home, sir.’ She sighed. ‘This life is all I know.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t be able to work here for very long anyway. I’m considering buying this hotel, and so is Mrs Paisley.’ He gestured towards the old lady. ‘Whoever buys the hotel plans to turn it into a decent, respectable place.’
That meant her easy life in the kitchen would soon be over, Sal thought. This time real tears welled in her eyes.
‘Why don’t you work for my daughter? I’m sure she’d take you on, and Rhiannon would help you settle in.’ Mr Morton-Edwards turned to the owner of the hotel. ‘Mr May, I’ve had second thoughts about buying the place. It isn’t what I expected. I want an establishment that would serve as a railway hotel and this place needs too much work. Still, perhaps you and Mrs Paisley here can come to an amicable agreement.’ He caught Sal’s arm. ‘Come along, I’m taking you with me now.’
To Sal’s surprise, Mr Morton-Edwards took her down the front stairs and dropped some money on the table in the hall. ‘Send for my carriage to be brought round, there’s a good chap,’ he said affably to the man at the door. The porter looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Sal nearly laughed. He obviously thought Mr Morton-Edwards was one of the customers, and men about unsavoury business did not usually flaunt it in the faces of the lower orders.
On the drive through town, Sal wondered if she was wise to go with this man, who was a stranger to her. For all she knew he might beat her or, worse, murder her and leave her in a ditch somewhere. But, then, if he’d meant her harm, he would hardly be seen with her in full view of the people at the Paradise Park.
Mr Morton-Edwards was silent as they drew up outside the door of a magnificent house. He stepped down from the carriage and gave her his hand to help her. Then Sal knew he was a real gentleman, not like the ones who came to the hotel.
He rapped on the door with his cane. It was opened at once by a neatly dressed maid, wearing a spotless apron and a starched cap, who bobbed a curtsy then stood back to allow him inside the elegant hall. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Buchan you’re here, sir.’ She looked doubtfully at Sal, then disappeared across the hall and into one of the rooms. Mr Morton-Edwards didn’t wait for the girl to reappear. ‘Stay here, there’s a good girl,’ he said, and then he, too, vanished.
Sal hopped from one foot to the other, wishing again that she had shoes. She envied the maid her beautiful house slippers in soft satin. They were plain but expensive, if Sal was any judge.
‘I’ll see the girl, of course, Father.’ The voice came from one of the rooms. ‘I don’t promise to take her on, but I’ll talk to her.’
Mr Morton-Edwards came into the hall with a woman Sal guessed was his daughter. She was pretty in a delicate way with soft pale gold hair, just like her father’s. Her eyes rested on Sal and studied her.
‘This is Sal,’ Mr Morton-Edwards said. ‘I believe she knows Rhiannon. Now, don’t jump to conclusions, Rhiannon was trying to get the girl off the streets.’ He smiled. ‘It seems Rhiannon has the same impulse as you to save unfortunate women.’ He glanced at Sal. ‘Though in this case she’s more of a child than anything else, which is why I thought you might take her in out of the goodness of your heart.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Mrs Buchan asked. ‘I’m not setting up a home for poverty-stricken harlots. Father.’
‘Well, I brought her here because I’ve more servants than I can cope with.’
‘That’s true.’ Mrs Buchan smiled. ‘There was a time when you ran your house with as few servants as you could manage. Now you seem to have a multitude.’ She looked at Sal again. ‘Are you willing to work, girl, and to stay away from the menfolk of my household?’
‘Oh, I am, Mrs Buchan. I’ll work my fingers to the bone. As for men I’ve had a gutful of them,’ Sal said.
‘All right, then. Go down to the kitchen and Cook will take care of you. Tell Rhiannon that you are to share her room. Now come along. Father, and tell me just how you came to meet this girl you’re trying so hard to rescue.’
They went into one of the rooms and the door was closed firmly behind them. Sal looked around her, wondering how to find the kitchen. She saw a darkened passage that led, she guessed, to the back of the house. From there a flight of stairs took her downwards. Sal paused, her feet cold on the bare steps, and listened to the sound of voices coming from below. This was where her new life would begin.
Rhiannon was putting a joint of beef into the oven when the door opened and a small, vaguely familiar figure came slowly into the kitchen. The girl was wearing odd clothing that hung on her slight form like washing pegged to a line. Then she recognized the tip-tilted nose and the bright blue eyes. ‘Sal!’ she said in astonishment. ‘What in the name of all the angels are you doing here?’
Mrs Jones looked up from rolling out the pastry for a meat pie and raised her eyebrows. From the scullery, Violet and Hetty came into the kitchen and all of them stared at Sal in open curiosity.
‘I got a job here.’ Sal stumbled over the words, overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving. ‘Mr Morton-Edwards was out on business and, well, he saw me and brought me here.’
‘Why did he bring you here instead of taking you to his own house, girl?’ The cook looked at her suspiciously.
‘I think I know the answer to that, Mrs Jones,’ Rhiannon said quickly. ‘Did you tell the master we’d met before, Sal?’
Sal nodded. ‘That’s right, and it’s because of you I’m here. I’m so pleased to be off the streets that I’ll work hard and do anything that’s asked of me.’
‘Well, you can start with the dishes,’ Hetty said spitefully. ‘I’m fed up of doing them. Just look at my poor hands, red and chapped and splitting with the cold, they are.’
‘I’ll decide what the girl does.’ Mrs Jones glowered at Hetty. ‘Now, first of all I want you, Vi, and Hetty and you too, Rhiannon, to fetch your spare shoes down here for the girl to try on. Can’t have her walking on the cold flags with bare feet, can I?’
‘I can’t spare any of my shoes,’ Violet said. ‘I’m nearly through these as it is. What about you, Cook? You got mo
re shoes than any of us.’
‘Don’t talk daft, Vi. My feet are like canal barges and my shoes would never fit this child. Now, no more arguing, do as you’re told.’
When the girls had gone, Mrs Jones ushered Sal into one of the chairs. ‘Now, then, tell me exactly how you came to meet Mr Morton-Edwards ’cos your story about Mr Morton-Edwards picking you up from the street don’t fool me for one minute.’
Sal glanced around nervously. ‘I told you, Mr Morton-Edwards was out on business.’
‘What you tell me will go no further. Come on, girl, before the rest of them come back. That Hetty couldn’t keep her mouth shut if she tried.’
‘Well, it’s none of my business but Mr Morton-Edwards was at the Paradise Park. Not as a customer,’ she added quickly, ‘he was thinking of buying the hotel but he changed his mind.’
‘Quite right too! A decent man like Mr Morton-Edwards should have no truck with a place like the Paradise Park.’ The cook looked closely at Sal. ‘So what were you doing there? Working, was it?’
Sal nodded miserably. ‘I don’t want to shock a nice lady like you, but it’s true I have worked at the hotel. Going with men was the only way I could earn a living, see?’
‘All right, I’m not blaming you,’ Mrs Jones made a wry face, ‘but I’m surprised Mrs Buchan took you on.’
Violet and Hetty could be heard arguing as they clattered down the stairs and Mrs Jones winked at Sal. ‘Right, we’ll say no more about all that. You just keep your mouth shut about Mr Morton-Edwards’s business.’
Rhiannon came into the kitchen behind Violet and Hetty, and an array of shoes was laid out before Sal. She looked down at them, scarcely believing she was really going to have a pair for herself.
The only ones that were anywhere close to fitting her belonged to Rhiannon. ‘Have them and welcome, Sal,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m good on shoes, a pair lasts me ages.’
‘Oh! They’re lovely.’ Sal admired her feet in the neat boots. ‘I can’t believe you’re all being so kind to me.’