The Wild Seed

by Iris Gower

  Cara crossed herself hurriedly, her mistress must surely be possessed by the devil. She wondered if she should call someone but by now the fit seemed to be over, Bethan Hopkins was quiet. A cold wind seemed to blow through the corridor and the maid turned and hurried back to her bedroom, scurrying up the narrow staircase and sliding into her still warm bed with a sigh of relief. She pulled the bedclothes over her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, promising herself that, whatever she heard, she would never venture to her mistress’s bedroom in the still of the night again.

  Boyo was tired of the unsatisfactory relationship he shared with Catherine. One minute he thought she was softening towards him and the next the barriers would go up again. Now that she was back from Ireland, he must see her, talk some sense into her. They would go away, leave Swansea and start a new life somewhere where they would not be recognized. He could not offer her marriage but he could make provision for her for the rest of her life.

  It was evening, cool and growing dark, rain-clouds raced across the sky and, as he walked along the street, he wondered at the feeling of lethargy that had overtaken him lately. It was almost as though some invisible force was sapping away his energy, except that it was a fanciful idea, more suited to his superstitious wife than to a man like him with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  The front door stood ajar and from the house came the sound of laughter, feminine laughter. He knocked hard and absorbed the sudden, startled silence with a touch of dismay.

  It was Catherine who came along the passage, a candle in her hand, her eyes enormous as they stared at him. ‘Boyo, it’s you.’ Her voice was breathless, as though she had been running, her eyes were large as though she was frightened of something.

  ‘Who were you expecting, Catherine?’ he asked gently, knowing that if anyone was threatening to hurt her he would kill them with his bare hands. Had that bastard Meadows been back here?

  Catherine mistook his concern for reproach. ‘Is it any of your business who I am expecting?’ Now her voice was cool, in control, and as he lifted his hand in protest, she spoke again. ‘Boyo, will you never learn that I am my own woman, I make my own decisions and what they are has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Let’s put the past behind us, go away somewhere. You are still in this awful house, you have not yet found other accommodation. I hate to see you living like this. We could be together as man and wife, no-one would know the truth.’

  ‘I would know the truth,’ Catherine said. ‘Look, Boyo, it’s too late, far too late for this. I should never have taken what you offered in the first place, it simply wasn’t enough.’

  ‘I gave you my love.’ He felt a constriction in his throat. He swallowed hard and tried to speak again but she forestalled him.

  ‘You gave me what you had left over from your marriage, you gave me passion but you gave me pain too, and I don’t want to go through that again.’

  ‘I love you, Cat, I really love you.’ His voice held a ring of despair, he was defeated and he knew it.

  ‘Accept it, Boyo, I’m going to marry Liam, I’ll be leaving Wales for good then. I shall be living in Ireland with my husband and his family. You and I must never see each other again, I think that’s for the best.’

  She closed the door and he heard the bolt being shot home. He stood for a long time staring at the painted woodwork, peeling and shabby, at the empty window, curtained against the night. Slowly, he turned away.

  The next morning, before he was dressed, the maid came to tell him there was a woman waiting for him in the back hallway. With a sigh, Boyo glanced at the dining table laden with breakfast food he could not eat and went towards the back of the house.

  ‘Cara, what on earth are you doing here?’ He wasn’t pleased, he wanted nothing to do with Bethan, so why was she sending her maid to see him? The girl bobbed a curtsey and when she looked up, Boyo saw that her face was white and strained.

  ‘Cara, is anything wrong?’

  ‘It’s the missis, sir, she’s sort of sick.’

  ‘What, again?’ Boyo led the trembling girl into the drawing-room where a cheerful fire burned in the grate. He could hardly take her into the kitchen where the servants would listen to every word that was being said.

  ‘It’s true, she really is bad, sir.’

  ‘All right, tell me calmly what’s happened.’

  ‘At night she’s funny-like, it’s happening more and more.’ The girl seemed incoherent with fear. ‘She moans and cries out your name, I think she’s very sick sir. In the head, begging your pardon.’

  Boyo looked closely at the maid, trying to gauge if the girl’s concern was genuine or if she was simply carrying out one of Bethan’s convoluted schemes. But her distress was real enough, the maid would have to be an actress of the first order to feign the fear he saw in her face as she tried to explain.

  ‘Cook thinks Mrs Hopkins is possessed, sir, we both feel we can’t carry on working at Ty Craig unless something is done.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Boyo asked.

  ‘Come over with me now, sir, stay outside the missis’s rooms tonight, listen to the goings on and see for yourself. Then, sir, you can send her into some sort of hospital, like.’

  For a moment, Boyo was angry. Why should he concern himself yet again with Bethan’s problems? ‘If she’s sick let her see a doctor.’ His voice had an edge to it and Cara burst into tears.

  ‘She won’t have it, sir, she says there is nothing wrong with her, she has never been happier in her life, she says. But she’s acting so funny, Mr Hopkins and me and Cook don’t know what to do. Cook says we are only servants, we can’t be responsible for what happens if you don’t come.’

  Boyo sighed. ‘All right, I’ll come over sometime in the next few days, will that do?’

  She shook her head. ‘Please sir, you got to come tonight, me and Cook will be packing our bags and getting out of that house in the morning if nothing’s done.’ The girl was terrified, this was no ploy, there was something very wrong going on at Bethan’s house.

  He had felt the chill of it often and he shivered now with superstitious fear. He rose abruptly, was he a man or a cowering mouse? ‘All right, I’ll come later tonight. Now go home and try not to worry, I’m sure everything will be all right.’ As he crossed the hallway towards the door to see Cara out, Boyo wondered just what he was getting himself into. When he saw Bethan he would make it clear to her once and for all that her problems were her own, she could not drag him back into her web, whatever tricks she tried.

  ‘So you sent him away then?’ Doreen nodded her approval. ‘It’s the only sensible thing to do, love, so don’t look so down in the mouth. Your Liam is a lovely man, if I wasn’t spoken for I’d go after him myself.’

  ‘I can’t help it, Doreen, Boyo is under my skin, there’s nothing I can do to change that.’

  ‘Well, a few weeks with young Liam Cullen and you’ll feel different, I just know you will. He’s a fine, strapping man, a good man and he loves you to bits.’

  ‘I know. I am going to marry him, I’ve given my word but that doesn’t help me to forget Boyo.’

  ‘Well, I’m missing Liam already,’ Doreen said quietly. ‘He’s the sort who makes a girl feel safe and yet beautiful, all in one, know what I mean?’

  Catherine’s face softened. ‘I know. I’m very fond of him. It’s just a great pity that I’m in love with someone else.’

  ‘You could well be fooling yourself about that,’ Doreen said briskly. ‘And think of this, you won’t be getting a bastard like the one I’ve had to put up with all these years, so thank your lucky stars, my girl.’

  In bed that night, Catherine could not sleep. She thought about Boyo, felt his nearness, the power of him, the tension that flared between them whenever they were together. She remembered his face, shadowed, strained, and it struck her that he had not seemed well. A shiver of fear ran through her. What if he was sickening for something, what if he died, how could she be
ar to live knowing that Boyo was no longer there in the same world as she was? She put her hands over her eyes. ‘Stop it!’ she whispered fiercely to herself. But it was a long time before she slept.

  At work the next morning, the staff were called into the office upstairs. Catherine looked at the fine polished banister, admiring the craftsmanship in the curving wood. Summer Lodge was a fine house, the house of a rich man and now it served as a shop where anyone could walk if they wished to buy the goods on sale.

  And yet this part of the house was sacrosanct, set apart, the landing large and airy; the carpet rich red, thick, deep pile. The doors were enormous, leading into bedrooms big enough to contain a whole family.

  At the end of the landing was the office, converted from a smaller bedroom. It was functional, furnished with a large polished oak desk, the leather top stained with ink. A fire burned in the grate, a splendid, carved mantel surrounding the black cast iron, the only remainder of the elegance the room once possessed.

  Seated behind the desk was Hari Grenfell, her face rosy with excitement. ‘I won’t keep you long, girls.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t be alarmed, I have good news for us all: the business is saved, we have been given the chance to clear all our debts.’ She glanced at Catherine and smiled. ‘So we are not obligated to anyone.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘From now on, every penny we make will go to building the emporium into a thriving industry.’ She held up a piece of paper. ‘This is our salvation, it is an order for a whole range of boots, shoes and gloves in the finest leather money can buy. There’ll be plenty of work for everyone for as many hours as you chose to put in.’

  Doreen pinched Catherine’s arm and winked. ‘You’ll be able to earn plenty of money for your bottom drawer,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve looked into the background of the company which is called the Llewellyn Company.’ Hari continued. ‘They are brand-new but with very strong financial backing behind them. They intend to buy our handmade products at wholesale prices and sell them in North Wales, as well as in England and Scotland.’

  ‘Won’t that harm our own sales?’ Catherine ventured timidly.

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ Hari smiled. ‘It’s one that occurred to me, too. The conclusion I came to after much thought was that even if we didn’t sell so many of our goods locally, we would have our hands full with the orders from the Llewellyn Company. The loss of a few home sales would make little if any difference.’ She paused and looked at Catherine. ‘I can see another question is hovering on your lips,’ she smiled encouragingly. ‘Please, speak up.’

  After a moment, Catherine shook her head, how could she put into words the unease she felt about the scheme? It was something that lay heavily in the pit of her stomach, a premonition, but of what?

  ‘No, it’s nothing Mrs Grenfell,’ she said and even to her own ears it sounded as if she hadn’t the courage to voice her own ideas.

  ‘Well, has anyone else got any questions?’

  ‘What about hats, Mrs Grenfell?’ Doreen asked. ‘I won’t be done out of a job by all this, will I?’

  Hari shook her head. ‘Not a chance! I should think you would be even busier, I might even need to take on an apprentice to help you.’

  ‘What about Cath?’ Doreen plunged in and Catherine looked at her in surprise. ‘Well,’ Doreen said quickly, ‘she’s already helped me at home, she’s deft with those little fingers of hers, she might make a good milliner one day if she listens to me.’

  ‘It’s up to you, Catherine,’ Hari Grenfell said. ‘I am happy to have you in my employ whatever you do.’

  ‘I’d like to learn the trade if Doreen is willing to teach me,’ Catherine said quickly. She knew she was distancing herself from the business of leather goods, frightened that something very wrong was going to happen.

  ‘Right then, that’s settled. Now, back to the shop floor with you, girls,’ Hari rose to her feet, ‘it’s time the shop doors were opened. Mustn’t keep our customers waiting, must we?’

  Over the next few days, Catherine’s uneasiness increased as additional machinery was shipped in to cope with the expected rush orders. Extra leather was brought over from France and some from the Welsh valleys. The machinery was costly and so was the best leather, the entire project was doubtless putting Mrs Grenfell into debt once more. Still, that was her business, Catherine reasoned, Mrs Grenfell must be sure of herself to take such steps.

  Some of the outbuildings were converted into store-rooms; workmen did repairs, built up sagging walls and whitewashed the exteriors so that the buildings were fresh and clean and most of all weatherproof.

  In the small part of the shop set aside for Doreen’s millinery work, odd pieces of leather were utilized for the decoration of straw and felt hats. Doreen used the softest leather for edging the crown and feathered some pieces of calf as though the hat wore dancing plumes.

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you lately,’ Doreen grumbled one afternoon when Catherine had been working in silence, lost in thought. ‘You’re as grumpy as a ram with no ewes to tupp.’ She smiled. ‘Missing being bedded, that’s your trouble.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Catherine said good-naturedly. ‘That’s all you seem to think of, you and your Jerry and me sitting downstairs in front of the fire like an old maid. Do you wonder I’m grumpy?’

  ‘No, but it’s more than that, isn’t it, love? I know you are troubled about your marriage an’ all that and still pining for Boyo but there’s something else nagging at you, come on, tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Catherine said slowly, ‘it sounds daft but I feel somehow things are going to go wrong at work. This big order, I can’t believe it’s real, don’t ask me why.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t give it no more thought, if I was you,’ Doreen said firmly. ‘Mrs Grenfell is a sensible lady, she looked into this business and they got plenty of money so what could go wrong? In any case, it’s not our worry, is it?’

  ‘It would be if we lost our jobs,’ Catherine said quietly.

  Doreen shook her head at her in reproof. ‘For Gawd’s sake, haven’t you heard the saying “never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you”?’

  Catherine laughed out loud. ‘Well, I have now! You’re right, it’s not my worry, I’ll do my best to put it all out of my mind. Come on, now, Dor, show me how to shape this damn straw over the head of this awkward model that keeps trying to get away from me.’

  ‘Right, now you are talking.’ Doreen glanced at the clock, ‘It’ll soon be time to go home, mind, so pay attention ’cos I’m not staying here late for anyone.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Catherine said in mock resignation, ‘Jerry Danby is coming over again.’

  ‘Dead right!’ Doreen said and deftly shaped the straw into place so that, at once, it looked like the crown of a hat.

  Boyo arrived at Ty Craig just as the moon slid between the clouds, obscuring for a moment the outline of the folding hills and the dark outcrop of rocks that hovered over the building. He moved round to the back of the house and tried to see above the high windows into the kitchens. He could just make out the large hams hanging from the beams and bunches of dried herbs but he could not see any sign of the young maid or of the cook.

  His gentle rapping at the door, however, elicited a swift response. Cara stood looking out at him, her eyes over-large in her small white face. ‘She’s very quiet up there, the missis, I mean, hope she’s all right.’

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Hopkins is fine, I don’t know why you are making so much fuss.’

  ‘The place is haunted, sir, I just know it.’ Cara shivered. ‘I hate going to that bedroom, it’s always cold, however high I bank the fire and those rocks outside, well, I don’t wonder Mrs Hopkins is going funny-like.’

  In the kitchen the cook was seated in a rocking-chair, her hands on her lap, her eyes closed. She was breathing heavily, almost snoring and Boyo felt a dart of pity for the old woman, she should not have to work, not at her age. No won
der she was staying here at Ty Craig, no-one else would take her on.

  ‘I’ve done a drink ready to take up to Mrs Hopkins,’ Cara said. ‘I’ve put an extra cup of hot milk for you too, sir, thought you could do with it on such a cold night.’

  It was cold, Boyo had not realized it while he had been riding from town but a sharp easterly wind seemed to have blown up and now the trees outside were swaying, the branches moaning like distraught spirits. He was being absurd, he was allowing the atmosphere of the house to affect him as badly as it did the young maid.

  ‘Give me the tray.’ He took the stairs two at a time, the draught in the hallway was lifting the door knocker, rattling brass against the wood with an insistent beat. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the paintings of some of Bethan’s ancestors and for a split second, the eyes seemed to be alive and following him.

  It was cold in the bedroom, Bethan, it seemed, was soundly asleep. Just as he thought, the maid was making a fuss about nothing. Boyo put the tray onto the small bedside table, noticing the array of coloured glass bottles. They were unmarked and he wondered what sort of rubbish Bethan was pouring into herself.

  As quietly as he could, he placed coals onto the fire so that the flames shot anew up into the draughty chimney. Even the leaping flames offered little comfort and Boyo rubbed his fingers, trying to bring some warmth into them.

  He thought he heard a sound behind him but when he turned, Bethan was still lying quietly against the pillow, her hair spread out around her. In the firelight, it seemed to glow red, almost as red as Catherine’s.

  He dusted his hands and moved into the dressing-room to wash the grime from his fingers. When he returned to the bedroom, the fire looked dull and lifeless and with a sigh, Boyo took up the glass of hot milk, forcing himself to think clearly. He was here to watch Bethan as she slept, to make sure she was not subject to strange fits, as Cara had claimed.