by Iris Gower
‘Is that so?’ Jayne said defiantly. ‘Well, I could have made a much better match myself. All you are is a jumped-up potter from Carmarthen.’
He seemed about to speak again but then he let himself out of the room. Jayne heard the key turn in the lock and, wearily, she sank back onto the bed. She was shivering, so she slid between the sheets and pulled the covers over her but the cold had penetrated her bones.
She wanted to cry but the tears had formed a hard lump in her throat. ‘Oh, Guy,’ she whispered, ‘please come and get me out of here.’
There was no response except for the shifting of the coals in the fire.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘I’M SORRY, RHIANNON, I’ve looked everywhere and I just can’t find the letter.’ Sal looked imploringly at her through the bars on the cell door.
Rhiannon did her best to smile. ‘Don’t worry, Sal, we’ll think of a way out of this, you’ll see.’ She spoke bravely but her heart was sinking: without the letter she might be locked in this stinking prison for ever.
‘It must be terrible in here for you, Rhiannon,’ Sal said, ‘with women screaming and men cursing and swearing. We’ll have to get you out somehow.’ She paused for a moment, biting her lip. ‘I don’t know how, mind, because I’ve done my best to talk to Mrs Buchan but the master keeps her locked in her room. He’s making sure she don’t run away again.’
‘How can he treat his wife like that?’ Rhiannon said, forgetting her own predicament for a moment. ‘Why doesn’t he let her go and find happiness where she can? It’s obvious she doesn’t want him.’
‘He’s afraid he’d look a fool if his wife went off with another man, and he’s determined not to let that happen. He’s even got a steward in to watch us all, a Mr Sanderson. He’s horrible.’
Rhiannon sighed. Her position seemed hopeless. ‘Well, I’m sorry for Mrs Buchan, the poor lady deserves better, but you’ll have to talk to her, Sal, she’s my only hope.’
‘Don’t you go feeling too sorry for Mrs Buchan. She’s got water to wash in, nice clean sheets on her bed and food to eat. She’s not living in a filthy prison like you.’
‘Her room may not be dirty but it’s a prison all the same,’ Rhiannon said, ‘and I know she’d help me if she could. Can you try to slip a note under her door or something, Sal?’
‘Aye, I could try and I know she’d be down here in a flash to get you out.’ Sal’s face brightened. ‘I could ask her to write another letter to say that she gave you the jewels – but it’s going to be tricky, mind, none of us are allowed near her room.’
‘Won’t Vi or Hetty take a message to her?’ Rhiannon asked hopefully. ‘I know they’d do it if you asked them.’
‘The master’s got some other servants of his own besides Mr Sanderson. There’s the new housekeeper, she’s a hard-faced woman. I wouldn’t like to come across her on a dark night.’
Rhiannon sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do, then. It looks as if I’m stuck here for life.’
‘Now, don’t say that.’ Sal pressed her face against the bars so that they made ridges down her cheeks. ‘Mr Buchan’s bound to let the mistress out some time, it stands to reason.’
‘When have men like Mr Buchan ever acted reasonably? Like the rest of them, he thinks with what’s in his breeches.’
Sal laughed out loud. ‘Well, we knows better than most what men are like – we’ve had enough of them!’
‘Keep your voice down, Sal!’ Rhiannon cautioned. ‘So far I’ve been left alone, but if anyone finds out what my trade used to be I’ll have every man in the gaol after me.’
‘Might not be a bad thing, mind,’ Sal said. ‘You might get out of here if you makes a friend of one of the guards.’
‘Never again, Sal,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I’m never going to lie on my back for any man unless he’s my husband.’
‘Can’t see you married somehow,’ Sal said. ‘You never going to have a bit of fun ever again, then?’
‘If that’s the way it’s got to be.’
‘Oh, look out, there’s one of the guards coming now.’ Sal glanced over her shoulder nervously.
Rhiannon, listening to the heavy footsteps getting nearer, felt sorry for the girl. ‘Don’t worry, Sal, no one can hurt you, not now.’ She touched Sal’s cold fingers as they curled round the bars. ‘You’re a respectable maid working for Mr Dafydd Buchan, businessman, and don’t let anyone forget it.’
‘You’re right, but I’d better go anyway.’ Sal’s frightened blue eyes met Rhiannon’s firm gaze. ‘I’ll try my best to do something for you.’
Sal sped away and Rhiannon rested her head against the bars on the door. If only she could get out of prison and set about clearing her name there would be hope for her. She might have lived the life of a whore but she had never stolen from any man, and there were a few who would testify to that.
After a moment, Rhiannon went to the back of her cell and sank onto the straw pallet. She closed her eyes and tried to rest, but the injustice of her situation burned within her and she knew it would be a long time before she found release in sleep.
‘Mrs Buchan.’ The voice at the door was little more than a whisper. ‘Mrs Buchan, it’s me, Sal. You got to help us – Rhiannon is in terrible trouble.’
Jayne went to the door and pressed herself against it. ‘I know, Sal, but what can I do about it?’
‘You can tell them the truth. You know Rhiannon didn’t steal them jewels you gave her, and it’s terrible to see her in gaol. She’ll die there if we don’t get her out. You should see how thin she’s gone.’
‘Now, listen, Sal,’ Jayne said, in a low whisper, ‘you must find me some clothes and then you must get the master key and unlock this door for me.’
‘Oh, Mrs Buchan, I don’t think I can do that,’ Sal said. ‘It’s only because the steward’s gone out with Mr Buchan and the new housekeeper’s asleep that I’ve been able to get up here at all.’
Jayne’s heart sank. ‘Oh, Sal, I have to get out of here or I’ll go mad. Can’t you do anything to help me?’
‘Well, I did a bit of lock-picking when I was . . . well, you know . . . so I could try and get your door open, I suppose.’
‘Go on, then, Sal, try your best – you’ll be well rewarded, I’ll see to it.’ Jayne heard Sal’s light footsteps running away across the landing and then as she waited, hardly daring to breathe, she heard the girl return. There was a grating sound in the lock and Jayne looked round the room, wondering what she could cover herself with. Dafydd knew how to humiliate her.
The door opened and, cautiously, Sal came in. ‘Here, mistress, put this on.’ She held out a shawl.
Jayne took it gratefully. ‘Good girl, Sal!’ She looked ruefully at her bare feet. Sal immediately took off her own shoes. ‘Have these, Mrs Buchan. I’m used to going barefoot and you’re not.’
Jayne peeped out of the door but there was no sign of anyone on the landing or the stairs. Sal came out behind her, closed the door and locked it again with the bent pin she had used to open it.
‘No one will realize you’re gone until supper-time.’ She led the way down the back stairs. ‘We’ll have to steal one of the horses,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll go to your father’s house – you’ll be safe there.’
Jayne was amazed at Sal’s common sense: the girl had never struck her as being very bright. On an impulse she caught Sal’s arm. ‘Thank you, Sal. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me today.’
Outside she breathed in the fresh air of the gardens and stood for a moment looking up at the sky. She was free.
Sal tapped her arm and led her round the corner of the building towards the stables. ‘You wait here, Mrs Buchan, I’ll get a horse out of there if it kills me!’ She smiled. ‘The groom might take a bit of persuading, mind, but I’m used to that.’
Jayne frowned as she watched Sal disappear into the stables. She pressed herself close to the wall, afraid of being caught: she couldn’t bear to be shut in her roo
m again – she would rather die.
She heard giggles coming from inside the stables and closed her eyes as she realized what Sal was doing with the stable boy in exchange for a horse.
When Sal came out a short time later she was leading Foxglove, one of the oldest, slowest animals.
‘Sal, I’m sorry,’ Jayne caught her arm. ‘I didn’t mean you to . . .’
‘It was nothing I haven’t done before.’ She smiled cheekily. ‘And a ride for a ride isn’t a bad bargain. Come on, we got no saddle but we’ll manage.’
Out of sight of the stables, Sal helped Jayne to mount then swung herself up onto the horse’s back and clicked her tongue, urging the animal into a trot. ‘How far is it to your father’s house, Mrs Buchan?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Only about three miles,’ Jayne said. ‘We’ll keep off the roadways – I know a short-cut over the fields and we’re less likely to be seen then.’
‘Three miles,’ Sal said. ‘Well, we’ll have sore backsides by the time we get there, I’ll bet a shilling.’
Jayne smiled as she guided the horse through the back gates and out towards the woodlands beyond. ‘Don’t worry, Sal.’ She turned her face so that Sal could hear her. ‘A sore backside is a small price to pay for freedom.’
Dafydd Buchan stood inside his wife’s bedchamber, hardly able to believe his eyes. ‘Someone will pay for this!’ he shouted at the frightened steward. ‘How could anyone help her to escape? The keys were all kept by you, Sanderson!’
‘Someone must have found another key, sir,’ Sanderson said. ‘I’ve been with you all afternoon and I had the master keys with me.’
‘Assemble all the servants in the hall.’ Dafydd clenched his fists. ‘Someone must have helped my wife. She couldn’t have done this on her own.’
He stormed down the stairs and strode into the drawing room, leaned on the mantelpiece and looked down into the fire. She had bested him. She had somehow got away and she would probably go straight to her father. Jayne would never come back to him now, unless he could trick her into it.
Sanderson knocked on the door. ‘The servants are all waiting for you, Mr Buchan.’
Dafydd straightened and went out into the hall. He stared at the assembled servants, trying to read the truth in the faces gazing back at him.
‘That young one, Sal, she’s missing, sir,’ Sanderson said. ‘No one has seen her since early this afternoon.’
‘Where are the grooms? I said all the servants, Sanderson – are you a complete fool?’ Dafydd barked.
Sanderson moved rapidly, sending a footman to fetch them.
‘Did anyone see Mrs Buchan leave the house?’ Dafydd asked. No one spoke. Dafydd took up his whip from the hall stand and cracked it in the air. ‘I said, did anyone see anything? Have you all lost your senses? What about you, Cook?’
‘Last I seen of Mrs Buchan was when I took Madam’s breakfast up to her, sir,’ Mrs Jones said quietly. ‘Mr Sanderson let me in and out and locked the door behind us. Mrs Buchan refused to eat anything. Gone to skin and bone she is, always refusing her food.’
‘When I want a report on my wife’s health I’ll ask a doctor,’ Dafydd said. ‘So Mrs Buchan was in her room then and you didn’t let her out?’
‘No, sir, it was more than my life was worth, though I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. Pathetic, it was, Mrs Buchan like a caged bird.’
‘That’s enough!’ Dafydd cracked the whip again. ‘Has anyone else got anything to say?’
There were murmured sounds of dissent. ‘So, Sal did it all herself, did she?’ Dafydd said. ‘A slip of a girl achieved what no one else could and got my wife out of here?’
Sanderson returned with the grooms; the old one was breathing heavily from the exertion of hurrying to the house and the young lad looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
‘Which of the horses is missing?’ Dafydd asked. ‘Come on, it’s not too difficult a question, is it?’
‘Foxglove, Mr Buchan,’ the young groom said quickly. ‘There’s no tack been touched but, then, there wouldn’t be. I was in the tack room cleaning up.’
Dafydd walked closer to the boy. ‘What did you say, Danny?’
‘Well,’ the boy stuttered uncertainly, ‘I was in the tack room most of the afternoon, cleaning all the saddles.’
‘So you know my wife took her leave some time in the afternoon, do you? How did you come to that conclusion?’
The boy looked confused. ‘I suppose I must have heard Foxglove crossing the yard, sir.’
Dafydd took the boy’s shirt between his fists and tightened his grip. ‘Tell me the truth. You helped Mrs Buchan to get away, didn’t you?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t see her, I swear to God I didn’t. It was Sal, she came to me offering me all sorts if she could have a ride on Foxglove. I didn’t have the heart to say no.’
Dafydd pushed the boy outside on to the drive, raised his whip and brought it down across his shoulders. ‘Tell me the truth! Did you see my wife go off with this girl Sal?’ He cracked the whip again, and the boy screamed.
‘Stop, sir!’ Mrs Jones pushed her way through the crowd of gawping servants. ‘The boy is telling the truth. I saw Sal go to the stables and she was on her own. She led out Foxglove and her and Mrs Buchan rode away on the main stretch towards town.’
Dafydd looked at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘You dare to stand there and tell me my wife’s gone? Why didn’t you come to me as soon as I returned?’
‘Because I thought Mrs Buchan would pine away and die if she stayed in that room any longer.’ She stared up at him, her old face creased in a frown. ‘Are you going to give me a whipping, too, sir? It shouldn’t be too hard to finish me off – my old bones won’t take much punishment.’
‘Get out of my house right now!’ Dafydd ground out the words between his teeth. ‘As from this instant you are dismissed.’
‘Right you are, then, sir,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘I’ll pack my bags right away.’ She walked away slowly, her shoulders bent.
In spite of his anger, Dafydd felt almost sorry for the old woman. ‘The rest of you get back to work,’ he said sharply. He watched for a moment as the servants dispersed, then he, too, returned to the house. He stood in the window of the sitting room for a long time, thinking about Jayne: she had more courage and determination than he’d given her credit for. He thought he’d broken her spirit but he’d been wrong.
He wondered where she had gone. Perhaps to find Fairchild but more likely to her father’s house. If that was the case Dafydd knew he had a chance of getting her back: Eynon couldn’t be with his daughter all the time.
He sank into a chair. Why did he want her back? She didn’t love him, had never loved him. And with his cruelty, he had lost any hope of repairing their marriage. He realized now that he had lost Jayne for good and, strangely, that he would miss her. His anger at her betrayal with Guy had stemmed from more than damaged pride: too late, he knew that he loved his wife.
He got up, poured himself a drink and took it with him to sit before the fire. He felt old and jaded. He had taken many women but the diamond among them had slipped through his fingers. Perhaps it was only what he deserved. And then, taking him by surprise, hot tears flowed from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LLINOS LOOKED AT Eynon, her face alight with laughter. ‘I said yes, Eynon, I’ve ridden over today to tell you that I will marry you.’
‘Llinos, my lovely girl, come here, let me hold you, and then I might believe you mean it.’
Llinos felt comfortable in his embrace: she did not experience the deep love she’d felt for Joe or the quickening of the pulse she had known with Dafydd but somehow she felt safe and cherished.
Gently Eynon tipped her face up and kissed her. It was their first real kiss, and she felt wonderfully happy with his lips on hers. They had been friends for so long that she had not imagined they could ever be lovers but now she knew she had been wrong.
He sig
hed. ‘I’ve waited so long for this, my lovely Llinos. Say you’ll marry me very soon.’
She touched his cheek. ‘I will, Eynon. I’ll marry you as soon as you and Father Martin can arrange it.’
He bent to kiss her again, but a commotion in the hallway made them stare at each other in bewilderment. The door of the sitting room opened and two bedraggled figures staggered into the room.
For a moment Llinos failed to recognize the mud-spattered woman who stood dripping rainwater onto the carpet, then she realized she was staring at Eynon’s daughter.
Eynon moved abruptly away from her. ‘Jayne! My God! What’s happened to you?’
Jayne’s hair fell in wet strands over her face. She held the soaking shawl closely around herself.
‘I’ve come home, Father, and I’ve brought Sal with me.’ She gestured to the barefoot girl shivering at her side. ‘If it wasn’t for her I’d still be a prisoner, locked in my room like a caged animal.’
Eynon took his daughter in his arms. ‘My dear child, what in heaven’s name has been going on? Come, sit down by the fire, let me pour you some brandy. You’re as white as a ghost.’
Jayne clung to him. ‘Oh, Father!’
Llinos touched Eynon’s arm. ‘Perhaps I should go. I’m sure Jayne would like to talk to you in private.’
‘No,’ Jayne said, ‘you might as well hear the truth from me because the scandal of it will be all over Swansea in a few hours.’
‘Don’t go, Llinos, I need you here,’ Eynon said. ‘Perhaps you’ll bring Jayne a drink from the table over there.’ Llinos poured some brandy and held out the glass to him.
He took it. ‘Jayne, drink this and then we’ll get you some clean, dry clothes and you can tell me the whole story. I can’t bear to see you sitting there wearing just that dirty shawl.’
‘No, just listen, Father. This won’t take long,’ Jayne said. ‘I left Dafydd for another man, for Guy Fairchild.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Be careful what you say because I intend to spend the rest of my life with Guy.’