by Iris Gower
‘What’s all this about, what’s going on, Dad?’
‘All in good time, girl.’
Catherine hung back, suddenly suspicious. ‘What is going on, Dad?’ she repeated more forcefully.
‘It’s just a little surprise, nothing to get all agitated about. Would I do anything to hurt you?’
She followed him in silence through the double doors and into the lobby which smelled of polish that did not quite cover the stale smell of beer.
Catherine wrinkled her nose. ‘Dad, it’s much nicer out there in the sunshine, what do we have to come in here for? Not going to become a drinking man at your age, are you?’
‘Watch that tongue of yours, madam,’ Jamie said, ushering her through another set of doors and into a small back room.
As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Catherine saw that two men and a very old lady were seated in the corner on plush but uncomfortable-looking chairs.
‘Top of the mornin’ to you all.’ Jamie moved forward, hand extended and a babble of greetings rang in Catherine’s ears.
Then Jamie drew her forward. ‘This is my daughter, Catherine O’Conner, a good girl and born to the farm life.’ He ushered her into a seat and began to introduce his friends.
‘Three generations of Cullens, relatives from Ireland, you see before you Catherine. Maeve Cullen,’ Jamie paused and Catherine awkwardly took the gloved hand the old lady held towards her. ‘Brad Cullen and his son Liam.’ He said the last name as though he was a conjurer producing something precious out of a hat.
The two men murmured a greeting and Liam held onto her hand slightly longer than was necessary. She looked at him closely; he was a little older than she was and very handsome, a fine man and she might have taken more interest in him if Boyo had not burst into her life like a shaft of lightning.
Liam engaged her in polite conversation while the others talked quietly together. Catherine tried her best to listen to what was being said but the conversation was rapid, heavy with the Irish lilt and she found it difficult to follow.
Drinks were ordered and the morning wore on slowly for Catherine. She would have preferred to be outside in the sunshine, she did not want to sit in the gloom of a hotel with people she didn’t know.
‘Well, I think we’ve come to an amicable enough arrangement.’ Jamie was leaning back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. The three strangers were staring at her now, sizing her up, assessing her as though she was a prize heifer.
A strange prickling sensation raised the hair on the back of her neck. She sat up straighter in her chair, knowing, with sudden clarity, what this meeting was all about. Jamie, her father, the dear father who had loved and protected her all her life was trying to arrange a marriage for her with Liam Cullen. Jamie had no son, Liam Cullen, it seemed, would be a substitute, a man who could run the farm when Jamie was too old.
She must decide what to do. Should she make a scene and storm out of the hotel? The thought was tempting but Catherine was reluctant to embarrass her father. And yet she could not continue to sit there, allowing the Cullens to think that she was agreeable, that she would meekly marry a man she had never met until this morning.
She rose to her feet with sudden resolve. ‘If you will excuse me, Dad, I have things I must do in town.’ She nodded with dignity to the Cullens. ‘It was charming to meet you, may you have a pleasant journey home to Ireland.’
Before anyone could speak, Catherine was hurrying away from the table. She pushed through both sets of doors and once in the street began to run, before turning into a lane leading from the High Street into the Strand. She glanced back, fearful that her father had followed her but he was nowhere to be seen.
He would be angry, she didn’t doubt it for one moment, but once she was home, she would talk to him, reason with him, explain that she could not fall in love at will with any man he chose for her. This was the twentieth century and she was a modern girl with a will of her own. She would tell him about Boyo and he would just have to understand that what was between them was nothing to do with April, nothing to do with the past at all. Jamie would not approve of her becoming Boyo’s mistress but at least he would have to accept it.
She found herself entering into the bustle of Swansea market. At the gates women sat selling shellfish. Catherine paused for a moment to catch her breath. As she watched, one of the women dipped an oyster shell into one of the baskets and measured out a cupful of cockles, salted and ready to eat.
‘Want some, cariad?’ Her voice was loud, friendly, her face round and beatific beneath her black straw hat.
Catherine shook her head and moved on, not sure where she was going but feeling the need to put as much space between the Grand Hotel and herself as she could.
She left the market at the rear and decided to walk on towards the beach. If she turned west, she would shortly come to the slip where she could cross the railway lines on to the beach.
Catherine hardly noticed the hardness of the streets beneath her feet. Her head was full of questions. Why had her father done this to her? What did he think she was, a piece of his stock to be sold off to the highest bidder? And what part had her mother played in all this?
The sand was soft and cool and golden as Catherine crouched against the shelter of the wall running beside the railway track. The tide was full in, lapping the shore with gentle, almost timid waves edged with white like finest lace.
The sun was warm on her face and she leaned back and closed her eyes, wondering at the way her life had been turned upside down in a few short days.
Anger mingled with the panic within her. How dare her father embarrass her the way he’d done? How dare he think he could chose her partner? Was the plan that she would meekly go off to Ireland, to a strange land with a man she didn’t know? How could her parents say they loved her and yet treat her this way? Surely her father could not, would not, force her into marriage?
A gull cried raucously overhead and, on the horizon, an oyster skiff skimmed the water. Soon, now, the boats would lay up for the summer, give the oysters a chance to grow. Not that there were many oysters left in the bay these days. Now the sailors went out to deeper water searching for whiting or bass.
Catherine looked around her, the beach was deserted and she suddenly felt very much alone. She longed to be with Boyo, to talk to him, tell him what had happened, ask his advice. But Boyo lived miles away, perhaps twenty miles down the coast, though Catherine wasn’t quite sure how far Rhosilli was from Swansea, but it was certainly too far to walk.
Catherine bit her fingernail, what if she hitched a lift with a farmer, there must be quite a few of them returning home from town? And if Boyo was a little annoyed with her for turning up at his door, she could tell him that she needed his advice, desperately. Once she had told him what had taken place, he would understand her panic. He would come home with her, explain how things were between them and then Jamie and Fon would understand.
Catherine rose and brushed the sand from her skirts, her heart beating swiftly. Did she have the courage to actually go to Boyo’s home unasked? He was a rich, influential businessman now by all accounts but he loved her, she knew he did. Surely he would want to help her, to give her advice?
She stood on the Mumbles road and watched the wagons roll past, some laden, some empty and wondered at the risk she was about to take. She had never travelled so far from Swansea. What if she were to lose her way?
The choice was made for her. A wagon containing a few sacks pulled up beside her, a man in clerics’ clothes, a stiff white collar at his throat, looked down at her from the driving seat.
‘Want any help?’
‘Are you going anywhere near Rhosilli?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Aye, I am that, come on, climb up, you’ll have to sit with the groceries I’m afraid. I’ve been sent to Swansea to stock up the larder you see, and I dare not disobey my wife.’ He smiled and she looked at him more closely.
He turned and smiled
. ‘I remember you now, you are April O’Conner from Honey’s Farm, aren’t you?’ He did not wait for her to reply. ‘I am Daniel Bennett, I married Ellie Hopkins who used to own the tannery. Where might I ask are you going so far from home?’
For one frantic moment, she almost called out for the man to stop the cart. She felt foolish, like an impulsive child but she imagined herself in Boyo’s arms and her courage returned.
‘I’m April’s younger sister, Catherine,’ she said, ‘and I’m visiting Boyo. We used to be friends when he worked at the tannery, before he owned it, that is.’
‘Ah, Boyo, a fine man now, he’s done well, all credit to him.’ Daniel clucked to the horse, encouraging the creature to move faster and Catherine bit her lips wondering what madness was possessing her. Her parents would be angry, worried when she did not return home. Should she turn back now, before it was too late?
Once outside the town the hill curved upwards leading on to the common land and from there to the lanes that wound along the coast to the Gower Peninsular. The land was flatter now and the horse broke into a trot, doubtless knowing that home and fodder were drawing nearer.
‘Still a farming girl, aren’t you?’ He turned to look at her. ‘Even if I had not remembered you, I would know by the fine clear skin and the beautiful blush in your cheeks.’
Catherine smiled. ‘Yes, I was born to the land, grew up knowing how to milk a cow before I could walk properly. I could never imagine any other way of life.’
‘Your parents keeping well, are they?’ Daniel asked and Catherine nodded.
‘Aye, both of them are fine, thank you.’ They made the rest of the journey in a companionable silence except for an occasional desultory remark from Daniel Bennett which required no answer.
The vicar drew the cart to a halt on the rise of land high above Rhosilli. The bay curved in a vast expanse of gold around a blue sea capped with white.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ Catherine exclaimed and Daniel smiled proudly as he helped her down from the cart.
‘It’s very beautiful; Ellie and I have come to love it. You know that strangers come from all over the country to see such a sight as Rhosilli on a day like this.’
He paused, looking down at her. ‘Will you be all right now, you know where you’re going don’t you?’
Catherine hesitated, not sure what to say, and then she decided there was no harm telling some of the truth. ‘I’m not quite sure where Boyo Hopkins’s house is, he’s not expecting me, you see, it’s a surprise. Do you know where he lives?’
‘His house is just across the fields there, you can see the tall chimneys, very distinctive they are.’ He pointed, ‘See, the big house above the bay, you can’t miss it. Just carry on along the road, you’ll be there in two minutes.’
Catherine pushed aside a feeling of apprehension. ‘Thank you for the lift, it was very kind of you.’
As the cart pulled away, Catherine resisted the urge to call Mr Bennett and beg him to take her back to town. The words died on her lips, the vicar had a home to go to, a wife waiting for him.
Catherine straightened her shoulders and began to walk purposefully towards the house. It was further away than it had first appeared and she began to wonder just how she was going to get back home to Swansea, it would be dark by then with hardly any traffic on the road. But then Boyo would take her, he would never allow her to travel alone, not at night. The thought warmed her and she broke into a run, covering the uneven grassland of the hill.
Close to, the building was imposing, almost frightening in its grandeur. Catherine hesitated at the gates, staring along the tree-lined avenue to the big arched door. Her feelings of apprehension returned and she had to force herself to continue to walk towards the house.
She pulled at the bell before she could lose her nerve and the sound echoed hollowly within the house. She had imagined it would be grand but when the door was opened by a tall, stern-faced butler, Catherine caught her breath, astounded by the sheer size of the hallway. Marble statues graced the airy room, the floor too was marble, covered in huge, rich rugs.
‘How may I help you?’ The man was looking down at her with barely concealed curiosity. Catherine swallowed hard, she realized now how great a mistake it had been to come here. She glanced over her shoulder uncertainly and heard the man speak again. ‘Is it the mistress you wish to see on some charitable matter?’ he prompted not unkindly.
‘Mistress?’ she wondered who he could be referring to. ‘No, it’s Boyo I have to see.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘Boyo Hopkins, he is here, isn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid the master is in Swansea on business. In any case, you should make an appointment if you wish to see Mr Hopkins, he is a very busy man.’
Catherine bit her lip and looked down at her dusty shoes, there seemed nothing for it but to try to make her way back to Swansea at once.
‘What is it, Richard?’ The voice was light, seemingly disembodied as it echoed through the hall. A woman came into the range of Catherine’s vision, a tall woman, a woman with a large-boned face and a touch of grey in her hair.
‘This young lady wishes to see the master, madam.’ The man glanced at Catherine almost with pity. ‘She didn’t realize she should have made an appointment.’
‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, have you come far, dear?’ the woman asked pleasantly. Catherine felt a sinking sensation within her, this elegant woman must be the housekeeper.
‘From Swansea.’ She didn’t know how she managed to speak but the woman smiled kindly, encouragingly.
‘Bring the young lady in, Richard, and have Gladys serve a glass of something refreshing.’
Catherine wanted to run and never look back but she found herself inside the house, breathing in the scents of flowers and polish and richness. So this was how Boyo lived now. He had come a long way from the boy who had worked in the tannery and who had attended church in a suit several sizes too small for him.
‘Was it very important?’ The woman had led the way into a large room with huge windows that looked out on to the beach below. Catherine took a deep breath. ‘No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.’ She looked down at her hands, guilt swamping her. This woman was a lady, a kind, dignified lady; if she knew the truth she would think of Catherine as nothing but a fancy piece to a rich man.
‘What is it, dear? I won’t bite, don’t worry.’ There was a hint of laughter in the woman’s voice, she was very kind and Catherine took her courage in both hands.
‘I knew Boyo when I was a child, he was walking out with April, my big sister.’
‘I see.’ The woman sat quietly, hands folded in her lap while a maid brought a tray of drinks into the room. The door closed behind the girl and Catherine felt the silence weigh heavily upon her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not explaining very well, it’s just that I wanted to talk to Boyo, to ask his advice about something. I was silly to come all this way, I realize that now.’
‘It must be something very important.’ The woman was being patient and kind and Catherine stumbled into speech once more.
‘They want to marry me off to a stranger!’ The outrage and pain came pouring out and Catherine was amazed at the way she was revealing herself to this woman who was nothing but a servant.
‘They?’ The word was put softly and Catherine shook back her hair, making an effort to control her trembling hands.
‘My mother and father. They think they know what’s best for me but how can they?’
‘I’m sure they both have your best interests at heart but can’t they be persuaded to give you time to get to know this young man?’
‘I don’t love him, I could never love him,’ Catherine said hotly.
‘You are very sure; are you in love with someone else?’
Catherine hung her head, trying desperately to think of a reply that would not compromise Boyo in any way. Perhaps he did not like the servants, however gracious, to know too much about his private life.
Before she could speak, the door opened and Catherine felt shock waves run through her as she saw Boyo framed in the doorway. She smiled up at him happily, rising to her feet, her heart suddenly beating rapidly within her at the sight of him.
‘Catherine!’ He looked at her in concern, ‘What’s wrong?’
Suddenly she began to cry and Boyo crossed the room and took her in his arms. ‘It’s all right, everything will be all right, just tell me what’s happened.’
Catherine lifted her head and saw Boyo’s housekeeper leave the room. She was being kind, tactful and Catherine felt ashamed, wondering what the woman must be thinking of her foolishness. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘All right, you are here now, dry your eyes and tell me what you are so upset about.’
Catherine told him about the way her father had taken her into town, had introduced her to the strangers who had, without any discussion, arranged affairs to suit themselves. ‘They want me to marry this Liam,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t marry him, Boyo, tell me they won’t make me.’
‘Look, I’ll have a bed made up for you here,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll send a man to Honey’s Farm to tell them you are safe, we’ll talk about this in the morning.’
‘But your servants, what will they think?’
‘What have you told them?’ Boyo held her hands in his, his expression was concerned and Catherine felt a pang of jealousy.
‘I told your housekeeper that we were old friends, I didn’t say too much about … about us. I just said I wanted your advice.’
‘Catherine, I have to talk to you, right now. Sit down.’ He held onto her hands and she stared at him in bewilderment, he looked so serious, so guilty.
‘That lady you spoke to, she’s not my housekeeper, she is my wife.’
She felt waves of pain run through her, from the tips of her toes up into her chest so that she could not breathe. ‘It’s not true, you can’t be married, Boyo, you just can’t!’