by Iris Gower
She closed her eyes against the sudden, overwhelming fear that Craig might be dead, shot through the heart, then pushed down into the quarry. She must get help but the nearest house was at least a mile away. Sobbing with exhaustion, she called to Brutus, he came at once, his soft nose nuzzling her hand. She climbed onto his back, praying the animal would not throw her and, slowly at first, began to make her way towards the town.
‘I don’t know what I am going to do, Elizabeth.’ Bethan was back at Ty Craig. ‘I heard him myself, telling the slut he would have me put away.’ She sat in her chair before the grey of the rock, her face white with anger. ‘They were so busy they didn’t even hear me outside the door of that slum where she lives. I suppose even now he’s having his way with the bitch!’ Her lip curled disdainfully. ‘Women of her sort are always ready to lie on their back for any man.
‘Oh, he’s clever, I’ll give him that. With me in an asylum he could forget me and take charge of all my wealth. Well, I won’t have it, I’ll kill him and her both but I’ll see them suffer the tortures of the damned before I send them to the hell where they belong.
‘I know, Elizabeth, I must make a plan, a plan to get them both here together where I can deal with them. You will help me, Elizabeth. Talk to me, you are so wise, tell me what I must do.’
Bethan began to rock herself to and fro, nodding her head from time to time as though she was listening. At last, she leaned back and sighed with relief. ‘You are right, that is a good plan. I’ll tell Boyo that I want a divorce, that way I will put them off their guard.’
She rose and undressed and put on a fresh, clean nightgown, throwing her soiled shoes into the bottom of a cupboard. Boyo must never know she had been out, that she had spied on him and his whore, had listened to everything he had said. He might not come home until morning but he would come, if only to gloat about bedding that bitch again. She had seen them in each other’s arms, why had he never held her with such tenderness?
As she climbed into bed, anger bloomed like a rose within her, it was sharp and painful like thorns. She wanted to beat with her fists at those who had betrayed her but that was not the answer, other weapons must be used, such as subtlety and cunning.
She heard Boyo come in as dawn crept in through the window, she heard him climb the stairs and she lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and she felt his breath as he leant towards her. ‘Bethan, we have to talk.’ He knew she was feigning sleep. She opened her eyes and pushed herself upright.
‘Boyo, what is it, what’s so important that it can’t wait until a reasonable time? it’s hardly daybreak.’
‘I can’t stand this situation any longer,’ he said. ‘I have to have a divorce, I can’t live with you and all your ghosts or soon I’ll be mad, too.’
‘Mad, do you think me mad, Boyo?’ She concealed her anger with admirable control and he looked at her carefully, as if she was a cobra about to strike.
‘Well, you need help, let’s put it that way.’
‘Why not put it this way: you want to get out of this marriage and any excuse will do, even to suggest there is something wrong with my mind, is that what you are saying?’
‘I can’t live with you, your threats, your tears, your strange ways. I’ve had as much as I can take of your whining and your selfishness, is that plain enough for you?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ She smiled slowly, ‘Strange, isn’t it? If you had waited until I was up from bed and dressed, you would have heard my views first.’
She took a sip of water from the glass at her side. ‘You see, Boyo, I have had enough of this charade too, I know you’ve been out all night and I can guess who you have been with. If you will do this to me when I am pregnant with your child, betray me in exactly the way you did before, then there is no future for us.’
She could see he was taken aback by her words, by her calmness. She pressed home her point. ‘I want a divorce as badly as you do but there is one condition: that I talk to you both calmly about the division of our goods and chattels and of our joint wealth.’
‘No need to discuss anything, you can have whatever you want. You have control of your own fortune, you have this house and I will make a generous settlement on you. There, see, it’s done.’
She smiled thinly, he need not think he was getting away with things that easily. She shook her head, ‘I insist that you bow to my one wish: to talk to you both together before we start proceedings. I feel such a discussion would prevent, shall we say, irregularities, arising later. I shall invite my solicitor to be present if you think I am out to cheat you.’
‘No need for that,’ Boyo said at once and Bethan knew she had shamed him. ‘We can settle matters between us without interference from anyone else. Look, I will sign as much money over to you as you want.’
‘Are you so anxious to be free, then?’ For a moment, Bethan felt a pang of regret that their marriage was to end after all her hopes.
‘It’s over, Bethan, anything we had together is gone, you must feel that too if you want a divorce as much as I do.’
‘Of course, you are right.’ She had to be careful, she must not let him see the hate that was burning in her. He rose to his feet, he meant to leave at once, that much was obvious. He could not wait to get away from her.
He paused at the door. ‘I really think you and I should settle this between us without bringing Catherine into it, what we have to discuss is nothing to do with her.’
‘I will have my way on this,’ Bethan forced a smile. ‘Surely it is not much to ask that you both spare me half an hour of your time before you rush off to a wonderful new life together?’ A new life in Hades, she thought bale-fully.
‘I suppose not.’ She could see he was not convinced. ‘What harm could it do to talk?’
‘None,’ he replied, ‘but I would rather the meeting take place on neutral ground.’
She hid her dismay. ‘Where would you suggest?’
‘The tearooms of the Mackworth Hotel perhaps.’
‘That sounds very suitable.’ It was not suitable at all but she would cross that bridge when she came to it, for now it was enough that Boyo was agreeing to bring that bitch to meet her. ‘Shall we say a week today? We can have tea at the hotel.’ She was playing for time and she wondered if he knew it.
She looked down at her hands. ‘Last night, you said you would speak to the doctor, bring him to see if I was all right; you were anxious, angry that I had been attacked. Have you forgotten that so soon?’
She had touched a raw nerve, Bethan saw him flinch. ‘I will send Cara for him at once and, if it means so much to you, I will wait to see what he has to say. In the meantime, I am going to bathe and shave and pack some clothes.’
She turned her face away as the door closed, she wanted to scream and rant and rage against him, she longed to plunge a knife into his black heart. After all they had been together, the pain they had endured, he meant to walk out of her life. Well, she would not let him walk away from her like that, she would wait and plan and then, when the time was right, she would spring her trap.
It was some time later that Boyo stood with the doctor at the curved doorway of Ty Craig. He watched the man climb onto his horse and canter away down the drive and his mind was whirling with confusion. Bethan had not been lying, she was expecting a child.
He remembered again the strange dream, the dream that he was making love, falling into a softness. He remembered with a thrill of horror the nail marks on his back. Somehow Bethan had tricked him, had put something in his drink. He lifted his head and stared up at the grey rock, his fists bunched. It made no difference, he intended to leave her and there was nothing she could do about it.
Hari rose to her feet as a white-coated doctor came along the corridor towards her. ‘How is he?’ Her mouth was dry with fear.
‘Not too bad considering the fall and the hours of exposure to the cold and damp.’ The doctor smiled reassuringly. ‘He has a few cr
acked ribs but apart from that, he is remarkably fit.’
‘When can I take him home?’
‘You can take him home at once, nothing we can do here, it is up to nature now. Just let him rest, spoil him a little and in no time your husband will be as fit as a fiddle again.’ He paused. ‘He’s been extremely lucky, a riding accident was it?’
Hari fingered the cartridge in her pocket and after a moment, nodded her head. ‘It looks like it, perhaps when I speak to my husband he can tell me exactly what happened.’
‘I expect so. Fortunate for him that you managed to find him in that God-forsaken place though.’
‘I know.’ How could Hari explain that a mixture of instinct and the putting together of the threats Bethan had made had led her to the spot where her husband was found? It all seemed too foolish for words.
‘Right, then, I have work to do.’ The doctor became brisk. ‘I suggest you take a cab home, he’s in no state to ride a horse or to walk far.’
Hari had thought of that, she could not afford a cab but she had appealed for help to Arian Smale. Arian had readily agreed to give her the use of a pony and trap.
Hari hurried towards the ward where her husband was sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiled when he saw her, his old, teasing smile, and she leaned over him, kissing his face, his eyelids, his mouth with butterfly strokes.
‘My love, thank God it wasn’t worse. When I saw you lying there, I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Can’t kill a tough nut like me that easily,’ he said and as he rose to his feet, she saw him wince.
‘I’ve got a pony and trap to take us home.’ Her lip trembled, home was not Summer Lodge, not now Bethan Hopkins had rented it for the duration. Home now was a dingy few rooms in the slum area of Swansea. But they would get used to it, they would have to.
‘What happened, Craig?’ Hari asked when at last she had managed to help him into the cart and had climbed up into the driving seat herself.
‘I’m not sure, not even now when I have had time to think it over. I heard a noise, like a shot and then the horse went wild; next thing I knew, I was flying through the air into the quarry.’
‘What were you doing there in the first place; looking for me, I suppose?’
‘Now, how did you know that, you witch?’
‘It was not witchcraft, Bethan Hopkins was sitting in our house when I got in. You must have seen her, she must have said something to worry you.’
Craig rubbed his eyes, ‘It’s coming back to me now, she came to tell me the same thing she told you, that she had rented the house. I thought she seemed sensible enough until she began to talk about you. She said that you had left Swansea hours ago, that there had been reports of footpads on the roads and why were you so late when she had an appointment with you at the house.’
‘She had no appointment with me.’ Hari did not choose to tell Craig how she and Bethan had rowed and wrestled like fishwives; no need to upset him, not when he was feeling bad enough already.
‘Here we are, our new home, at least for the present.’ Hari could sense Craig’s dismay when she drew the pony to a halt outside the house in Watkin Street. It looked dingier than ever, the upstairs windows uncurtained, the paintwork peeling and dull.
‘It won’t be for ever, love.’ She helped him down into the roadway and clung on to him, her eyes warm as they rested on him. ‘You can take that as a promise for I intend to make us rich again, however long it takes.’
He kissed her hair. ‘We are together and that is enough for me.’
As she helped Craig to walk along the dark passageway, Hari felt tears constrict her throat, the place smelt damp and she knew instinctively that they were alone in the house. There were no cheerful sounds from Catherine’s rooms, the house was dark and deserted and so alien that Hari did not think she could bear to live there. But she had to live there, had to make the best of it for Craig’s sake. He was sick, injured, he needed nursing. The last thing he needed was a snivelling wife.
Soon, he would regain his strength but until then, he could not work, not even at the offices of The Swansea Times. It was up to her to bring in the money or they would starve. For a moment, panic gripped her and then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin high; she must not despair, she had skills, she had courage and somehow she would survive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Liam Cullen put down his glass of ale, and looked around him. The small back room of the George was crowded, filled with the smell of pipe smoke and he wondered why he was there. Outside, it was cold, the wind driving the rain in rivulets along the gutters; at least in the George it was warm and dry. He heard a voice, suddenly raised, and his attention was caught.
‘Can’t stand that Bethan Hopkins no longer, mind. Glad to get away from that morgue of a place, I am. I hated it at Ty Craig and hated her, Mrs Hopkins, as well. Right cow, she is, frightened me to death with her funny ways.’
He peered round cautiously and saw a young girl, with mousy hair and a complexion to match, elbows on table, hair dishevelled. She was obviously well into her cups by the look of the bottles on the table. Opposite her sat a man, dour and thin, his hand trailing beneath the table to touch the girl’s leg. She seemed not to notice as she continued her complaints.
‘Once the master left again, I knew I couldn’t stay. Gone potty, she is, that Mrs Hopkins, talks to herself all the time, sees ghosts that are not there.’ She smiled. ‘The master now, Mr Hopkins, he’s lovely. I don’t blame him for getting out and taking up with that red-haired girl again, always had a soft spot for her, did Mr Hopkins.’
The pain was almost physical and Liam took a gulp of his drink, trying to dislodge the constriction in his throat. He thought of them together, Hopkins and Catherine, and he felt a knife turn in his gut. How he wanted her, he would have loved and revered her, put her on a pedestal. She could have borne him fine sons and daughters who would take over the farm. But it was no good thinking like that, Catherine was not in love with him, she would never be his, he might as well face it and go home to Ireland once and for all.
He rose abruptly and put down his glass. He would go to see Catherine one last time, say his goodbyes and then he would return to his lodgings and pack his few possessions. Tomorrow, he would sail for Ireland, try to find peace in the emerald hills and jewelled lakes of his homeland.
Some day, he might even forget Catherine, find another woman he could love. Somehow, he did not believe it. He walked out into the night and stared up for a moment at the clearing sky, the rain had stopped and the moon shone palely onto the wet streets. Liam breathed in the salt tang of the sea and knew he would miss Swansea, it had become part of him, in his blood, the way Catherine was.
He began to walk, turning uphill in the direction of Watkin Street. The sooner he severed all links with Catherine and Swansea, the better. A clean knife wound, it would hurt like hell but it was by far the best way.
Catherine was sitting huddled close to a fire that was burning low in the grate, she looked up at him, her face pale in the lamplight and he saw that she had been crying. His heart melted and he made a move towards her and then caught himself up.
‘Liam!’ She tried to smile but failed miserably. He sank into a seat, keeping his distance and cleared his throat.
‘I’m going home to Ireland.’ There it was said. He saw her eyes, unfathomable in the darkness, looking into him. ‘It’s no use pretending to myself any more that you’ll marry me, is it?’
She shook her head slowly and the faint hope that had sprung within him died.
‘When will you leave?’ Her words were indistinct, he heard the hint of tears in her voice and he fought the urge to take her in his arms.
‘As soon as I can get a boat. I have to get back to the farm too; I’m needed there, can’t trust labourers to do the work properly without supervision. And there’s Patricia’s child to think of, I have to go home, Catherine.’
‘I know.’ She spoke softly. Her sho
ulders were slumped, she seemed lost and miserable. ‘Catherine, what’s wrong, what’s troubling you?’ Even as he asked the question, he cursed himself for not walking away.
‘I thought making a decision about my future would be so easy but now I’m not so sure, about Boyo, about anything.’
‘Have you told Hopkins how you feel?’ Liam was unable to repress the surge of triumph the thought evoked in him.
‘Not yet. His wife has told him she wants a divorce.’
‘Well then?’ Liam’s tone was sharper than he had intended. ‘Where’s the problem?’
‘Mrs Hopkins wants to have a meeting with us both, she wants to talk things over, she says.’
‘Oh, and when and where is this meeting?’ Liam asked flatly, as though the matter did not interest him at all.
‘It was to be at the Mackworth but now she says she is sick, indisposed, we must go up to Ty Craig and meet with her there.’ She paused and looked towards the dying embers of the fire. ‘I know it sounds silly but I’m frightened. I don’t know what I want any more. What if she has an attack of hysterics, I don’t think I could face that.’
‘Then don’t go. Sure, I’m surprised at Hopkins for agreeing to such madness, the woman is not sane, in her own house she will be free to rant and rage against you all she wants.’
‘It’s not Boyo’s fault, he was angry because I didn’t want to talk to his wife. We quarrelled about it, he’s gone, perhaps back to her, I don’t know. The strain of it all is too much, it will destroy anything we once had between us.’
‘Look, Cath, your future is doomed if you stay with Hopkins, you’ve had no luck since you took up with him, have you? You just think about it.’
It was unfair of him to pressurize her at this moment when she was so low but Liam felt a sense of dread at the thought of leaving her at the mercy of Hopkins and his strange wife.
‘What do you mean?’ She was on the defensive and that made him angry.