by Iris Gower
*
Bethan was lying in bed, the clothes drawn up to her chin. She was waiting for Boyo, she had sent a servant to fetch him with a message that she was not well. He had replied saying he would be there within the hour.
Bethan looked across the room towards the cliffs and saw the ghostly figure sitting there, on a ledge outside the window. Once Bethan had walked to the top of the cliffs and looked down into her bedroom and was not surprised to see that the entire room was visible from outside. Below her was a sheer rock-face, falling away below the fence that supported the perimeter of her garden.
Her house was built on what must have once been a plateau in the rocks, a flat piece of ground broken away over the years from the face that towered behind and above it. From the front of the house, the land sloped downwards, guarded by random outcrops of grey rock, making the traffic of carriages difficult. But Ty Craig was her house, part of her; it had always been waiting for her to come home, she realized that now.
The oil painting she had taken to her room took pride of place above the mantel. The face of the young Elizabeth Llewellyn was strong, lovely, the eyes large, the mouth firm. The same face now looked into her bedroom from the rock-face outside, smiling at her, encouraging her.
Elizabeth had owned the house once. She had died young, at least that was what Bethan’s father had told her. Elizabeth had never married, never had children. They shared the same family name and Bethan was becoming more fond of her, more dependent on her, with every day that passed.
Usually she would invite Elizabeth inside her bedroom and they would talk at great length about the problems that beset Bethan’s marriage. Now, Elizabeth would wait in patience, knowing that Bethan must be alone with her husband, she had something of importance to tell him.
Bethan sat up and looked into the mirror on the far side of the room. Her face looked thin, her cheek-bones high, she appeared wan and helpless, a woman in need of care. She smiled, oh, yes, that’s what Boyo would believe, she knew him inside out, knew the guilt that drove him, the conscience that smote him whenever he was with his wife.
She heard footsteps outside the door and fell back against the pillows, closing her eyes. The door opened and she sensed Boyo crossing the room, his feet making no sound on the deep carpet. She felt his weight as he sank onto the bed beside her. ‘Bethan, how are you, love?’
Slowly she opened her eyes and allowed a smile to turn up the corners of her mouth. She held out her hand and he took it, thrilling her with his strong grip. ‘I’m so happy to see you, thank you for coming, Boyo. I’m sorry to be a trouble but I feel so sick and I had no-one else to turn to.’
‘It’s no trouble, don’t be silly.’ He smoothed the skin on the back of her hand with gentle, soothing movements and Bethan felt love for him well up in her. She had no need to force her tears, her emotion was real.
‘Oh, Boyo, take me in your arms, hold me, I’ve been so alone.’
After a momentary hesitation, he drew her to him and as her head fell against his shoulder, he patted her back awkwardly. ‘It’s all right, I’m here. Now, you are not alone any more.’
‘I’ve felt so lost, so ill, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’ Her lips rested against the warmth of his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, loving him, feeling the pain of losing him all over again. Mingling with the pain came a surge of bitterness against the one who had caused the rift – Catherine O’Conner.
‘Have you had the doctor?’ Boyo held her away and looked anxiously into her face. ‘You’re so thin and pale, Bethan, you are not taking care of yourself, are you?’
‘I don’t want the doctor,’ she said slowly, ‘I know what he’ll tell me, the same thing he did last time he came.’
‘And what was that?’ Boyo asked, frowning.
‘He told me to get out more, to breathe in the fresh air and to stop grieving over you.’
She felt Boyo stiffen and she knew that her words sounded like a rebuke.
‘I told him that was all stuff and nonsense!’ she added hastily. ‘I told him that we were nothing more than friends, now, that you and I had respect for each other and that you were always kind to me. You are kind, Boyo, you came when I needed you. Say you’ll stay a few days, please, will you, just until I feel stronger?’
She sensed the conflict going on behind the deliberately bland expression on his face. ‘Please, Boyo, only for a few days, I won’t be any trouble, I promise.’
‘All right. Yes, of course I’ll stay.’
Bethan sighed with relief. ‘Go and get some supper, now, Cook has a hot meal ready for you.’
‘Were you so sure I’d stay?’
Bethan shook her head. ‘It never occurred to me to ask you until this moment, Boyo, but I couldn’t let you ride home without giving you a good meal, could I?’ She allowed herself a smile. ‘I can see you are not getting enough to eat.’
He rose from the bed. ‘I will have to go home, get some clothes. I can be back before nightfall, though.’
‘No need, love,’ Bethan said. ‘I found when I moved here that I’d brought some of your things with me.’
She saw the trapped look on his face and felt a momentary dart of pity for him. But it was for his own good, she would have time over the next few days to work on his good nature, to make him feel even more responsible for her than he did now. And in the meantime, she could count on the little maid Cara to acquaint Boyo with the latest gossip concerning Catherine O’Conner, that way the revelation of the girl’s wanton ways would not look like spite on Bethan’s part.
‘Go and have something to eat. Don’t worry so much, if you really must go home, then I can’t keep you here by force, can I?’ She allowed herself to speak lightly, making him feel foolish and unreasonable. Oh, she knew him all right.
When he left the room, Bethan looked towards the figure on the rocks. Elizabeth was coming nearer, she was in the room, standing beside the bed, smiling approvingly. Her lips were the same scarlet as they were in the painting. She was so vivid this time, she mouthed the words ‘well done’. Bethan closed her eyes and slept.
‘This pie is delicious, Mrs Frayne, Bethan was lucky to find a cook like you.’ Boyo had elected to sit in the warmth of the kitchen instead of having his dinner served in the long cold dining-room. The fire glowed in the hearth and, at the large sink, the young maid was washing dishes.
‘Go on with you, flatterer.’ Mrs Frayne deftly lifted his plate and replenished it with another helping of beef pie. ‘Wasted I am here, mind, poor Mrs Hopkins hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive.’
Boyo nodded. ‘I know, she’s very thin and frail, I wish she would have proper advice, her doctor doesn’t seem a very sympathetic sort of man.’
‘Bless you, she won’t have no doctor in the house, don’t hold with them, she says.’
‘He has never been here?’ Boyo asked carefully and watched as Mrs Frayne shook her head. ‘Not to my knowledge. But she’s a strong lady, right enough, strong-willed that is. A bit strange at times but with a good head on her shoulders for all that.’
The young maid came and sat at the end of the table and the cook served her meal. ‘Are you sure you want to eat with us, Mr Hopkins?’ Mrs Frayne asked, frowning a little at the girl.
‘Of course, I’m not one for standing on ceremony. In any case, the kitchen seems to me to be the most cheerful room in the house.’
‘You’re right there.’ Mrs Frayne seated herself and picked up her knife and fork. ‘Ghostly, that’s what this house is; there’s a feeling about it, some say it’s haunted but that’s a lot of bunkum.’
‘I don’t know,’ Cara said softly, ‘sometimes even I think I can see things, just out of sight, around a corner or in the shadows.’ She shivered.
For a moment there was silence in the kitchen and then Mrs Frayne spoke, giving Cara just the opening she had been waiting for. Mrs Hopkins had been very insistent that she pass on one particular piece of gossip, heaven knows why, perhaps
as a diversion for this young handsome husband of hers.
‘Hear anything interesting in the market today, Cara?’ She looked towards Boyo. ‘This girl is a one for picking up gossip, like a sponge she is, folks will tell her anything.’ She smiled. ‘Must be that long nose you got, Cara.’
Cara touched the tip of her perfect nose indignantly. ‘I’m not nosy, Mrs Frayne, just interested in what folks have to say.’
‘Well, what are folks saying today? Get on with it, we haven’t got all night, mind.’
Cara spun out some stories about people Boyo didn’t know and he allowed himself to fall into a reverie, wondering how soon he could leave Bethan’s house. When he heard Catherine’s name being mentioned, he was suddenly alert. He forced himself to remain still, though every sense was now tinglingly alive.
‘Went to that old woman down by Wassail Square there, that midwife, you know the one …’
‘Aye, I know the one,’ Mrs Frayne said darkly. ‘Butcher, that’s what she is and none too clean into the bargain. It’s a wonder the poor girl is still alive.’
‘Well, the babe she was carrying is gone, that’s for sure.’ Cara glanced towards Boyo. ‘Poor little mite, not wanted by anyone, not even its mammy.’
He relaxed; it wasn’t Catherine they were talking about, he had been there when her friend miscarried the baby, had gone to the hospital with them, sat for long hours with Catherine at his side, waiting for news of Doreen Meadows.
‘Who’s the father, then?’ Mrs Frayne was leaning forward eagerly now, her cap falling unnoticed to one side of her grey hair.
‘Well, they’re saying that nice Jerry Danby been a regular caller, courting the girl strong, so they say. Catherine O’Conner and Jerry Danby go everywhere together, least-ways that’s what I heard.’
Boyo forced himself to be calm, that titbit of gossip had been altered in the telling just as the rest of the story had been. And yet jealousy twisted within him like a knife.
Cara was looking at him as though she could see the turmoil within him but her expression remained bland. ‘Catherine O’Conner is working for Mrs Grenfell in her new shop. Pretty girl with lovely red hair, a real beauty, she is. Jerry walks her home every night, lovey-dovey they are, the pair of them, lucky things.’
Boyo rose from the table and left the kitchen without another word leaving the two women to stare at each other with raised eyebrows.
As he mounted the stairs, he fought with his jealousy but suspicion and anger were mounting within him. Outside his wife’s door, he rehearsed the words he would say to Bethan, words that would tell her he could not stay with her, that he had urgent business in town. And he had.
He must speak to Catherine at once, ask her to tell him the truth about Jerry Danby; could she be walking out with the constable? It seemed unlikely, it was only a few weeks ago that he had been with her at the hospital, so close that hope for their future together had risen within him like the blossoming of a flower.
Since then, he had been away on business, he’d had no opportunity to see her or speak with her. As soon as he had returned to Caswell, there had been a message waiting for him from Bethan.
In her room, Bethan was lying against the pillows, her greying hair spread out around her shoulders, her face as white as the sheets around her.
‘Bethan,’ he spoke her name softly but there was no response. ‘Bethan, are you all right?’
She opened her eyes slowly. ‘I don’t feel well at all, Boyo, I seem to get so confused these days. Please sit beside me, hold my hand.’
He was impatient to be gone but he sat on the side of the bed and took her hand in his. Her flesh was cold to the touch and he bent closer to her.
‘Bethan, we had better get the doctor out to see you, I know you say you’ve seen him before but he must pay you another visit, I’m worried about you.’
‘All right, Boyo, get him if you like but wait until the morning.’
‘I can’t wait, Bethan, I have decided not to stay after all. I’m sorry.’
‘I understand you have been listening to Cara’s gossip. Go, if you must, see the girl but can you be sure you are not doing more harm than good?’
‘What do you mean?’ Boyo was on edge, suspicious of anything Bethan might say.
‘Look, I don’t want to hurt you but what Cara has told you is the truth, at least some of her gossip is accurate. The girl has been seen with Constable Danby on several occasions. Have you thought that perhaps you should leave her alone, allow her to make her own way in the world?’
He rose to his feet and moved away from her, knowing that there was a thread of common sense in what she was saying.
‘Sergeant Meadows told me about a visit the girl made to a backstreet abortionist. In some ways, I feel almost sorry for the girl.’
Boyo smiled thinly. ‘No need to feel sorry for Catherine, she is perfectly all right, I assure you. As for Meadows, he is about as reliable as a leaking boat, I wouldn’t believe a word he says.’ He paused, realizing there would be repercussions for Doreen if he told Bethan the truth of the matter. Bethan seemed to gather strength from his silence.
‘Go to her then, she’ll tell you the truth herself, if she has any decency in her. Look, Boyo, she’s young, she needs to spread her wings and who could blame her for that?’
Boyo turned to look at his wife. Though she had always hated Catherine, she was right about one thing, he should leave Catherine alone, let her find a man who could care for her, a man who could marry her. Looking at his wife, sick and weak in the bed, he knew he could not bring himself to urge her to divorce him as he had intended to do.
‘Sergeant Meadows’s estranged wife lives in the same house as Catherine O’Conner,’ Bethan said. ‘He calls there sometimes with gifts for his wife. On more than one occasion, your lady friend was sitting in the kitchen in the company of this young policeman.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m only thinking of you, Boyo, I don’t want to see you hurt and upset any more than you have been.’
She fell back against the pillows, coughing so violently that her colour rose alarmingly. He knew he could not go to Catherine, not tonight at least. He must call out the doctor, for if he left Bethan now, he felt she might not live to see the morning light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘It’s just like Cath to stick up for me.’ Doreen poured home-made wine into a glass and handed it to Boyo. ‘If Meadows knew it was me who saw the old woman, he’d kill me, that’s why Cath lied to him. Thank you for being such a rock, Mr Hopkins, I was sick as Mother Murphy’s pig when you took me to the ’ospital.’
‘I was glad to help.’ Boyo sipped the wine, wincing at the sharp taste of it. ‘When will Catherine be home?’
‘You’re married, aren’t you?’ Doreen folded her arms across her thin chest. ‘Can’t make an honest woman of Cath, can you?’
‘That’s my business, Doreen. Look, I’ve heard she’s going out with Constable Danby. If that’s the case, I’ll get out of her life, for good.’
‘Best thing to do, an’ all. Most men are selfish bastards, I get the idea that you are different, so why don’t you do Cath a favour and go back to your wife?’
‘Just tell me something, is she happy with this policeman?’
‘She could be, given time.’
‘So she is seeing him?’
Doreen shrugged. ‘She sees Jerry Danby, course she do. He walks her home from work most nights but, if you ask me, she’d be better off with that cousin of hers.’
Boyo felt himself tense, Liam Cullen was a threat, a real threat. He had made love to Catherine, he had stood by her when she needed a friend.
‘So he’s back in Swansea?’
‘Aye, for a day or two, comes over here regular, like. A long story he had to tell us this time.’
Boyo looked at her sharply. ‘What story was that?’ His voice cracked and Doreen poured him more wine.
‘First off, his farm was poisoned, the lands ruined, the cattle dying in
the fields.’
‘These things happen in farming.’ Boyo was aware he sounded unsympathetic but set-backs were not unusual when it came to country matters.
‘Not natural this, the work of a man’s hand not that of God; it was done deliberate, like.’
Boyo suppressed the surge of uncharitable triumph that raced through him. ‘So he’s ruined then, is he?’
Doreen shook her head. ‘That’s exactly what somebody planned would happen but his old grannie had other ideas. No, he’s not ruined, Liam Cullen is a good fighting man, won’t give in under the first blow.’
It was clear to Boyo that Doreen had come to know and like Liam Cullen and why not? He was personable, honest, he wanted to marry Catherine. It was as though Doreen read the pattern of his thoughts.
‘Not cut out to be a fancy piece, not Catherine.’ She looked at him levelly. ‘She’s young, beautiful, she needs to make her own choices in life. You are a good sort for a toff but Catherine deserves more than the dregs of a married man’s life.’
He rose abruptly and moved to the door, the woman’s words stung but he could not deny the truth of them.
‘Sorry to be hard on you, I am, mind, but it needed to be said. Leave her alone, Mr Hopkins, let her be happy.’
He heard the door closing but did not turn around. He seethed inwardly, his guts in turmoil as he thought of Catherine with Liam Cullen. Perhaps, even now, they were alone somewhere, making love. Cullen would be stroking Catherine’s alabaster skin, the round high breasts, the slender thighs. Her hair would be against his skin, cool, silky. He groaned, at that moment he could have cheerfully killed Liam Cullen. How foolish he had been to worry about Jerry Danby, the policeman would not stand a chance against the Irishman’s blarney.
He turned to step into the nearest public bar and peered through the gloom of smoke and beer fumes as though searching for a friend. He had no friend. It was a sudden realization. He was a loner, a man with a wife he did not love, a man without offspring. In spite of all his wealth, no-one would miss him if he vanished from the face of the earth this minute.