by Iris Gower
He knew he was indulging himself in self-pity and that was weak, despicable even, but as he took his glass of ale from the landlord, he had the feeling that he needed to drown his sorrows, to forget his barren existence, if only for a while.
It came to him then how badly Bethan must feel, she was childless, unloved, turning inward on herself. She was growing strange, almost detached from reality. She seemed to hear voices that no-one else could hear, see beings that were invisible to the eyes of others.
He shuddered, he had heard rumours that Ty Craig was haunted and it certainly seemed to have a presence that was not altogether wholesome. Even the servants felt it.
He drunk deeply of the ale and told himself not to be foolish; his wife was not herself, the loss of her child and then the break up of their marriage had taken its toll, she would get over it, she would have to, she was getting stranger every day. It was high time he got away from Bethan and from the cold atmosphere of Ty Craig.
He sank back in his chair and closed his eyes; perhaps he should turn his mind to good works, expiate his guilt and his longing to be with a woman, not his wife, by helping those less fortunate than he was. Less fortunate, that was rich, even when he had been dirt poor, he had lived his life in hope and anticipation, he had been alive, now he felt half-dead.
He lifted his hand and called through the babble of voices, ‘Landlord, another drink.’ He saw men turn and stare in curiosity, and he closed his eyes in self-disgust. He threw a few coins on the beer-soaked table and ignoring the open-mouthed surprise of the landlord, walked out into the cooling evening air.
‘Good of the Danby’s to put me up,’ Liam Cullen was holding her arm, guiding her over the railway tracks towards the moonlit beach.
He smiled at Catherine. ‘Well, colleen, I’ve come over from Ireland especially to tell you that I’m well set-up now. The old farm lands sold at a fine profit and my new land’s being cleared. By this time next year I should have a rich harvest in and the land lying asleep resting for the following spring.’
By this time next year where would she be? Catherine looked towards the sea, watching as the small waves lapped the shore and then fell away, pebbles and shells tumbling back on the tide with a sound almost like music. It was a fine night with the stars clear in the heavens.
She glanced at Liam, he was handsome in the pale moonlight, his jaw strong, his reddish hair falling across his brow. Catherine felt a dart of affection for him but could affection take the place of love?
He turned, catching her glance and he took her hands into his own. ‘Catherine, I want to marry you, I’m asking you for the last time. Cath, please, give me the answer I want to hear.’
She took a deep breath, her mind was a haze of memories, of the beginning of their love affair when Boyo was so ardent, so attentive. But since that night at the hospital when Boyo had been so strong, so tender, she had not seen him, not once. Perhaps loving alone was not enough, look where falling in love had got Doreen Meadows. Love could turn sour, surely friendship was the best beginning to any marriage?
‘I will marry you.’ She held her finger to his lips, ‘But not yet, Liam, be patient, please try to understand I have to prove to myself that I can be independent, make my own way in the world. Let’s wait until next year when your farm is running smoothly, until then you will need to give it all your attention.’
He looked at her for a long moment and sighed. ‘All right, Catherine, but we are promised to each other. You won’t change your mind, will you? For sure I couldn’t bear it.’ Liam’s voice was persuasive and Catherine touched his cheek gently.
‘Yes, we are betrothed and no, I won’t change my mind. Are you sure this is what you want?’
‘I am,’ Liam said. ‘So that’s settled, isn’t it, Catherine?’ Catherine felt a moment of terrifying doubt and then she forced a smile. ‘It’s settled, I’ve made you a promise, I won’t break it.’ It was what Jamie had wished and her father had been a wise and a good man.
Liam dipped into his pocket and took out a small leather purse. ‘Inside here is my mammy’s ring,’ he said. ‘If she could have known you, she would have loved you as I do. Please wear it for me, Catherine.’
She looked down at the dark red garnets glowing softly in a setting of gold and allowed Liam to slip the ring on her finger. Had he been sure she would agree to marry him, then?
‘There, it fits; I knew it would.’ Liam sounded triumphant as though something important had been confirmed. ‘My mother had small fingers just like you, Catherine.’
He bent towards her and as his lips touched hers, Catherine felt a shiver of fear, she had burned her boats, she had destroyed any last hope of being with Boyo.
Liam was caressing her and she felt herself warm to him. His scent was not the same as Boyo’s, Liam did not use expensive soaps but he had about him the clean smell of the grass in the meadows.
She wound her arms around his neck. His touch felt familiar, as though they had been together for years, almost as if they were meant for each other. He kissed her gently at first and she responded, her head spinning, her senses alive. She was stirred by his masculinity, she stopped thinking rationally and breathed in the moment of intimacy between them.
She heard a sound, not even a sound, a breath beside her and looking up she saw Boyo standing a few feet away from the bench where she sat wrapped in Liam’s arms.
‘Hopkins, what do you want?’ Liam’s voice had a hard edge to it. He rose to his feet. ‘Leave Catherine alone, just keep away from her or I’ll kill you.’ He spoke without heat but with a cold conviction in his voice that sent a shiver of fear through Catherine, fear for Boyo, who seemed at a loss, a man adrift without direction.
‘We will be married next year, is that plain enough for you?’ Liam held up Catherine’s hand and the ring sparkled in the moonlight. ‘She is to be my wife, do you understand? Now, just go away and leave us in peace, I’m asking you for your own good.’
Boyo shook his head, under the light from the moon, his face was drawn. ‘I’ll leave you alone.’ He was speaking to Catherine, ‘I am no good for you, no good for anyone or anything.’ He turned and stumbled away across the sands, his shoulders bowed, his head on his chest and suddenly, Catherine was crying.
‘There, there, colleen, don’t cry, it’s over now, he’s gone, he won’t trouble you again.’
Even as Liam held her close, Catherine knew that she would always be troubled by Boyo, he had come back into her life and turned it upside down. He had aroused feeling in her that she’d never had before. However hard she might try to be faithful to Liam, she would never forget Boyo Hopkins.
‘Hold me, Liam, I want you to make love to me.’ She must seal her fate, cut herself off from Boyo once and for all.
Liam kissed her mouth with growing passion, his hands touching her breasts, his body hard against hers. For a moment she thought he would take her there on the bench but then he was leading her into the deepness of the dunes. He was gentle, easing into her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. He was young and strong, his body finely muscled, the column of his neck curved gracefully as he bent to take her nipple in his mouth, his red hair dark in the moonlight curling against her face. It felt so right.
She arched backwards as he became more eager, more vigorous. She felt the explosion of sensation rip through her and knew that this giving of herself utterly was cutting the final cord that bound her to Boyo Hopkins.
Doreen was sitting before the fire when Catherine and Liam entered the house; opposite her sat Jerry Danby, his feet stretched out towards the fire. He looked so much at home that Catherine realized, with a shock, that he did not come calling out of duty. All those times he had walked Catherine home from work had been merely an excuse to see Doreen. From the look on his face, it was quite clear he was falling in love with her.
‘Hello you two,’ Doreen shifted her chair back a little. ‘Come and sit by the fire with us, Liam.’ Doreen was flushed and not wit
h the heat of the fire alone. Catherine kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear.
‘Who’s a dark horse then?’
Doreen flipped her away. ‘Behave yourself, Catherine O’Conner. You can make a fresh pot of tea for your cheek, or is it so long since you brewed up that you’ve forgotten how?’
Catherine felt her spirits lighten as she busied herself at the table, she had put Boyo out of her life for ever and it was the right decision. She knew it in her head, pity her heart did not believe her.
Catherine lifted the kettle onto the fire and then turned and held out her hand. The ring sparkled in the glow of the flames and Doreen took her hand, looking from Catherine to Liam, a smile lighting up her face.
‘You’ve come to your senses at last then. Got a good man there, lucky you got him hooked or I might have set my cap at him. I’m glad for you both.’ She kissed Liam and then hugged Catherine tightly. ‘Well done, Cath.’
Catherine knew Doreen had been worried about her future. She had pointed out often enough that love was an illusion, marriage should be entered into with a clear head.
Doreen rose to her feet. ‘Right, in honour of the occasion, we’ll forget the cup of tea and have a drink of that blackberry wine I made last year.’
She lifted the kettle back off the hob and moved towards the pantry. ‘Jerry, you’ll join in the celebrations with us won’t you?’
He had risen to his feet uncertainly but he sat down again with alacrity. Catherine smiled, why had she failed to see it before? It was so obvious that Jerry Danby was madly in love with Doreen. If Meadows ever found out about it, there would be murder committed.
He must not find out. Soon Liam would return home to his farm; when he was gone, Catherine would pretend that she was walking out with Jerry, no-one could invent evil gossip about that. She would protect Doreen from her monster of a husband if it was the last thing she did.
The wine poured, the women sat close together raising eyebrows in mock exasperation as the men began to discuss the rights and wrongs of the law. They laughed together as Jerry Danby asserted that the methods of the police were not methods at all but a hit-and-miss affair which sometimes worked to their advantage.
Doreen leaned close to Catherine’s ear, ‘I see by your face that you’ve been well and truly bedded, there’s a sort of glow about you.’
Catherine, lulled by the wine, responded in kind. ‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black, is it?’
Doreen’s eyebrows shot up almost into her hairline. ‘How the hell do you know?’
‘Same way you know about me, it’s the look in the eyes, the cat-got-the-cream look, know what I mean?’
‘If Meadows ever found out.’ Doreen drew her finger across her throat in a cutting gesture and Catherine caught her hand, holding firmly.
‘I’ve thought about that, we’ll say Jerry is calling on me, that’s what everyone thinks anyway, isn’t it?’
Doreen nodded, ‘Aye, I suppose so.’ She glanced at Liam and Catherine read her mind. ‘He’s my cousin, it’s natural he’ll visit me when he’s in the country, isn’t it?’
Doreen nodded. ‘Aye, suppose so. Thanks, Cath, I got to make the most of it, it might not last, see.’ She glanced at Jerry Danby, younger than herself by several years and he looked up and met her gaze and his smile was unmistakably that of a man in love.
‘Got all the elements of a lasting romance from where I sit,’ Catherine said dryly.
‘Oh, you, miss country girl, what do you know?’ Doreen was pink with pleasure. She rose to her feet. ‘Right, then, it’s home for you two boys. We got our reputation to think of, mind.’
Catherine looked up and met Liam’s eyes. He smiled. ‘When we are married and living in Ireland there will be no need for all this palaver, you will be Mrs Liam Cullen and sure won’t you be the envy of all the girls in County Cork?’
‘Go on, out, you conceited Irishman.’ Catherine pushed him playfully.
The two women stood in the doorway, watching as, together, the men walked along the street in the direction of Jerry Danby’s house.
‘Are we lucky girls, Cath?’ Doreen said dreamily. ‘Good, strong men to love us, isn’t that what every woman dreams of?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Catherine said softly. Doreen looked at her shrewdly.
‘Know something, Cath? I don’t think you know your own mind. I think you are half in love with Liam only you won’t admit it.’
‘You could be right,’ Catherine said but suddenly she was troubled, the laughter and fun of the last few hours vanished as if caught up in the breeze coming in from the sea.
‘Forget Boyo Hopkins,’ Doreen said firmly. She drew Catherine inside and closed the front door firmly. ‘He’s married, will always be married, face it, you’ll always be the other woman where Boyo Hopkins is concerned.’
The other woman; Catherine winced, it was true, she had allowed herself to become a fancy piece, a woman taking the leavings of another woman’s marriage. She could never walk out with Boyo in the sunlight, never be at his side when he attended formal occasions, never sit with him of an evening in the company of others. She would always be a secret, hidden away in dark corners, well she wanted more than that from life.
In the kitchen, she sank down onto the rag mat before the fire, pulling absently at one of the coloured strands of old cloth.
‘You’re doing the right thing, you know.’ Doreen poured them each a small amount of wine, it sparkled red like the garnets on Catherine’s finger. The ring seemed to tighten, holding her in a vice-like grip, imprisoning her.
‘Am I?’ she said softly.
It was clear to Bethan now what she must do, she had talked with the spirits of her dead ancestors and they had told her to go to Hari Grenfell, talk to her as one businesswoman to another, warn her against the whore of Babylon Catherine O’Conner.
Bethan rarely left her home these days but today she had a purpose. She felt stimulated, her eyes gleamed back at her from the mirror in her bedroom and, over her shoulder, she saw Elizabeth nodding her approval.
Elizabeth had become a friend, a ghost of the past perhaps but not to Bethan. To her, Elizabeth was solid, real, closer than any flesh-and-blood being could ever be, except perhaps Boyo but then he was her husband.
‘I’m ready.’ She held her head high and watched Elizabeth retreat as a knock resounded through the room and the door was opened a fraction.
‘Your carriage is here, Mrs Hopkins.’ Cara scarcely looked in, she hated this room more than any other in the house. It was cold, always cold and it smelled of evil.
‘Don’t stand in the doorway dithering, come in, speak to me properly, how do you expect me to hear when you will mumble?’
Reluctantly, the girl came over the threshold, she shivered and looked around her and Bethan found it difficult not to laugh out loud.
‘The carriage is there at the door waiting, Mrs Hopkins.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?’
Bethan closed her bedroom door carefully, encouraged by a nod from Elizabeth who was looking more vivid each day, it was almost as though she was drawing life from Bethan’s knowledge of her existence. Bethan smiled, Elizabeth was a friend, a real friend, she approved of what Bethan was doing. More, she encouraged her with ideas of her own, words of ancient wisdom, knowledge of a woman who has existed through the ages.
Bethan blinked a little at the sudden lightness of the day outside the walls of her house. A pale sunshine was washing the drive with colour, the stones gleamed like diamonds, and at the borders small white flowers were beginning to bloom.
The drive into town was uncomfortable, the hard seat of the carriage unyielding against the rough roads. Bethan cursed the driver under her breath, he should be horse-whipped for his carelessness.
In days gone by, when her father ruled his staff with a rod of iron, the punishment meted out to the man would have been harsh indeed.
She felt as though every b
one in her body was aching by the time the carriage drew to a halt outside the once imposing entrance of Summer Lodge. Now the house had been extended and altered. Large, commercial-looking windows faced the driveway, a gaudy sign informed any callers that this was a place of business and no longer a gracious home. Mrs Hari Grenfell had indeed come down in the world.
Still, she would honour Bethan’s wishes to be rid of Catherine O’Conner. Oh, yes, once Mrs Grenfell knew the truth about the Jezebel she had taken on to her staff, the girl would be given short shrift. If she proved difficult, there was always the matter of the investment Bethan had made in the woman’s business.
Mrs Grenfell took an inordinately long time in coming to see Bethan who sat on a tiny upright chair and fumed with impatience. But at last, Hari Grenfell, elegant enough by any standards, came towards her, smiling a welcome, no doubt expecting to do business with one of the richest women in Swansea.
‘Mrs Hopkins, I am honoured to have you patronize my emporium.’
Bethan barely concealed her disdain, the woman had a marked Welsh accent, she was uneducated, clearly not such a lady as her appearance suggested. ‘I have come to warn you about a member of your staff; I think you should know what sort of person you are trusting to work with you.’
Hari Grenfell’s smile faded. She straightened her back and her mouth drew into a firm line. She remained silent. Bethan, at a disadvantage, was forced to go on. ‘Catherine O’Conner is a cheap whore, she takes her wanton pleasure with whatever man crosses her path.’
Hari Grenfell was silent for so long that Bethan thought she would never speak. When she did, her voice was controlled but with a hint of hardness that Bethan had not suspected her capable of.
‘What my employees do in their private lives is none of my business.’ Airs Grenfell spoke evenly but with authority and Bethan was momentarily thrown off balance. She quickly rallied.
‘The woman has been seen on the premises of a backstreet abortionist. Miss O’Conner is an infamous woman, not fussy which man she takes to her bed, be he married or single.’