by Iris Gower
A few days passed before Eline found the courage to venture outdoors. She needed to do some shopping at the market in Oxford Street to replenish the larder, she was low on flour and potatoes, as well as meat.
She knew she would have to face her hostile neighbours sometime. She expected comments, pointing fingers, and she would just have to put up with it all until the scandal was forgotten.
She was at the vegetable stall in the market when she was confronted by a woman she’d never seen before. The vitriolic tone of the stranger’s voice startled Eline as she was putting away her change into her purse.
‘You are a scourge on us all.’ The words fell harshly into the sudden silence. The chattering around Eline had ceased as though on a hidden signal, and women were watching from a distance wondering how Eline would react.
She stared challengingly at the woman who was neatly dressed, her collar white and carefully ironed, her hat firmly in place on her greying hair.
‘You are an abomination in the eyes of respectable womanhood. We can do without your sort shopping by here in Swansea market alongside us God-fearing folk.’
‘Excuse me,’ Eline said, forcing down the rising tide of anger and panic that filled her. ‘What business is it of yours what I do? You don’t know me or anything about me. What right have you to accost me like this?’
‘I have every right as a church-going woman to point out how disgraceful your behaviour is.’ The woman raised herself to her full height. ‘I have the right of any virtuous woman to accuse and deride a harlot who walks in my path. I speak as a God-fearing widow-woman and I speak for many when I say you should be driven out of our town.’
‘Look,’ Eline said quietly, ‘I have no quarrel with you. I am going about my own business, so just let me pass in peace. There’s nothing more to be said.’
By now the group of watching women had drawn closer, staring at Eline in self-righteous piety, pleased, it seemed, to have someone to accuse of immorality.
‘Mrs Coppleworth is right,’ one woman called. ‘It’s your sort that leads our men astray. I know what you are, Eline Temple, an alley-cat who will lie with any man who offers you his services.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ Eline said loudly. ‘I have not taken anyone’s husband and I refuse to justify myself to rabble the like of you.’
A clod of earth struck Eline’s face and she lifted her head defiantly. The flat of a stone caught her cheek and as Eline stepped back a pace, Mrs Coppleworth’s voice boomed out, loud, almost hysterical in tone.
‘This woman is the lowest of the low,’ she called. ‘People of our sort do not get divorced, it is a shame and a sin.’ She turned, aware that she had a rapt audience. ‘She,’ the woman was fairly quivering with righteous indignation, ‘she would go to the bed of another man while tied in the holy bonds of matrimony. This … this whore is a scar on the fair name of womanhood.’
Eline saw with horror that the women were arming themselves with stones. This could not be happening, not here and now in the familiar streets of Swansea.
A figure stepped in front of her, as a stone was hurled past her face.
‘Stop this at once!’ The woman was puffed up with anger. She stood arms akimbo, hands on generous hips, protecting Eline from the crowd of incensed women.
‘So it’s you, Nina Parks, the strumpet from the Mumbles,’ Mrs Coppleworth shouted. ‘Go back where you belong. You’re no better than you ought to be either. You and Eline Temple are cut from the same cloth, whores both of you. Shared a husband once, we’ve not forgotten that, mind.’
‘Shut up!’ Nina Parks almost spat the words at Mrs Coppleworth who stepped back a pace. ‘Shut your mouth. I’m going to deal with you in a minute. In the meantime take you, Maisie Scott,’ Nina pointed a finger. ‘I know you take Tom the Milk to your bed most Sundays when your man is out fishing, so what right have you to judge any woman?’
She paused, savouring the sudden silence, her eyes flickering over the now cowed group of women. ‘And you, Delyth Jones, your husband has an eye for the young girls and you look the other way ’cause you can’t bear him in your own bed.’ She turned to survey the crowd. ‘All of us here know that’s the truth so I challenge anyone to call me a liar.’
Predictably none of the women wanted to draw attention to themselves, not when Nina Parks was in full flood. She turned triumphantly.
‘And as for you Moriah Coppleworth, you drove your Billy to drink with your cant and your Bible thumping, drove him into an early grave, you did, mind. What age was he? Twenty-six, twenty-seven? Glad to be out of it, he was.’
No-one spoke, even Moriah Coppleworth was abashed, her head hanging low.
‘Now get back home, all of you. Read the Good Book. See what it says there about casting stones and then look at yourselves in the mirror if you can bear to.’
The women dispersed slowly, muttering low, afraid that Nina Parks would launch another attack on them. It was Mrs Coppleworth who paused and stared belligerently at Eline.
‘You won’t always have her to speak up for you,’ her voice was harsh. ‘You will have your come-uppance, you’ll see. God does not sleep, mind.’
‘Oh clear off,’ Nina said impatiently. ‘Go and make someone else’s life miserable. That’s all your sort are good for.’
Eline let out a heavy sigh of relief as the woman turned away. Nina looked at her with a wry smile.
‘God preserve me from a good woman, I always say.’ She put a hand on Eline’s arm. ‘You haven’t carved out a very easy path for yourself, have you, love?’ she said softly. ‘You never did, not even when you was married to Joe but you was very young then, mind.’
Nina’s voice shook a little. ‘I suppose I loved Joe more than you ever did, bore him children, gave him myself. You and him were never meant. God help you, you have the knack of marrying men you don’t love.’ Her voice was without censure. ‘Go on, do your shopping and don’t let them wicked, gossiping women stop you.’
‘Thank you, Nina,’ Eline said quietly. ‘I dread to think what might have happened if you hadn’t come along.’
‘That’s as may be. In future you must attack first, Eline. Don’t let them women get the upper hand over you; none of them is without sin and you remind them of that.’
She stood for a moment, looking at Eline and there were memories in her eyes. She swallowed hard. ‘Hwyl, Eline, bye. Take care of yourself now.’
Eline stood alone in the middle of the busy market. She was trembling but she knew if she gave in to her fear she would never feel safe on the streets again. Determinedly she set out towards the butcher’s stall, her throat a hard lump of unshed tears.
It was strange how Nina had come from the past like a ghost bringing thoughts and images Eline would rather forget. The days Eline had spent in Oystermouth as Joe’s bride had been unhappy ones; she’d not been accepted then, either. Perhaps she was destined to be a misfit, never to find a place in any society. But all that she would forgo. Respectability was only an empty word; her true happiness lay with William and with their son. Lifting her head high Eline moved onwards through the crowds that thronged Swansea market. An outcast she might be, but she was loved and that was all she desired.
* * *
Night was falling. Arian sat on the bed and watched as Gerald Simples lit the candles in the small bedroom. The light sprung around the room, warming the patchwork quilt on the bed into colour, softening the contours of the old heavy furniture, throwing shadows that danced mystically on the cracked whitewashed walls.
With his back to her, Simples began to undress and Arian bit her lip, knowing that she was in an impossible position. ‘Come along, Mrs Simples,’ he said, ‘you might as well try to make yourself comfortable. You can’t sit there on the edge of the bed all night.’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Arian said irritably and she flinched as he stood naked before her, his broad shoulders blotting out the glow from the candle so that it made an aureola of light around his dark
hair.
‘Why not?’ he said easily. ‘It’s your name.’ He climbed into bed, turned his back to her and pulled the bedclothes up around his shoulders. Arian shivered. It was cold in the room, there was no fire and her body ached for sleep.
After a time she undressed and, in her petticoats, climbed beneath the blankets, feeling the warmth with a sense of relief. She moved right to the edge of the bed, keeping as much distance between herself and Gerald Simples as she could.
Slowly tiredness overcame her. She desperately needed sleep, her head ached and her body was sore and exhausted. She felt languor, sweet and soft, steal over her and then she gave herself up to the weariness that slowly overtook her and she slept.
She woke suddenly. It was dark. She felt a body against hers, strong and masculine and with a sense of horror and embarrassment she realized that in the night she must have turned towards the warmth of another human being – she was in Gerald Simples’s arms.
She tried to see him in the dark. He was breathing evenly, clearly asleep. She tried to edge away from him but he grunted and wound his arms around her waist. She knew that he was unaware of his actions, as she had been of hers. She was still so weary, so in need of rest that she relaxed. What did it matter if in the throes of sleep they held onto each other? In the morning she would make her position more than plain; she wanted none of him and, once they were home in Swansea she would seek advice on how to escape from the awful situation she had found herself in.
Her last thoughts before sleep once again claimed her were of the ceremony in the jail. It could not be legal; everything would be sorted out and it would be all right in the end but for now she simply must sleep.
In the morning she opened her eyes to find Gerald Simples looking into her face. He was only inches away from her and she had one arm flung around his broad back. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. He was smiling, his teeth white, his hair tousled across his forehead. She sometimes forgot in her dislike of him what a handsome man Simples was.
She moved sharply away from him and he smiled. ‘Good morning, Mrs Simples.’
She rolled away from him and climbed out the other side of the bed without replying. Anger poured through her, anger at herself for allowing him to get close to her.
‘Don’t make any mistake,’ she said firmly, ‘once we are home again, this sham of a marriage will prove worthless.’
‘Really?’ he said rising from the bed and standing near the windows stretching his arms. ‘What makes you think so?’
‘It was under duress,’ she said, ‘and a pretence just to get us out of the jail.’
‘Not at all,’ Gerald Simples said evenly. ‘It was a perfectly legal ceremony performed by a Father Alain, a properly ordained priest. Face it, Mrs Simples, you are my wife whether or not you like to think so.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Arian said hotly. ‘Now get out of here while I wash and dress.’
Ignoring her, Simples drew on his trousers and moved to the wash-stand. ‘I intend to use this water and if you choose to wash, you can fetch your own water from the pump outside.’
He calmly poured the water from the jug into the basin. Arian turned away in futile anger. She listened to the sounds of his ablutions, the scrape of razor on his chin, with a sense of unreality. These were things you shared with your nearest and dearest, with your husband. But then Gerald Simples was her husband. With a sense of despair, she knew that she believed him when he said the marriage ceremony was legal.
‘You might have made me your wife in name,’ she said hot with anger, ‘but in name is all it will be! Remember that.’
He didn’t reply but continued to shave and Arian sat amongst the bedclothes staring at his broad back, hate and anger pouring through her like wine.
Later Gerald left the boarding house without a word and Arian had no means of knowing where he had gone or when he would return. He had not confided his intentions and she was quietly seething at the way he had left her alone, knowing she would be afraid to venture outside after what had happened.
She ate, with little appetite, the breakfast an aged lady dressed in black set before her. ‘Good morning,’ she ventured. ‘Did Mr Simples leave any message?’
The old lady shrugged and spoke in a torrent of French. Arian sank back in her chair, knowing it was useless – she would just have to contain herself in patience as best she could until Gerald chose to return.
The day passed slowly with Arian feeling uncomfortably in the way. What she imagined was a boarding house was little more than a cottage with a spare bedroom apparently let on occasions to passing travellers.
When she attempted to spend some time alone in her room, the old lady entered, gesticulating wildly, her eyes bright, her grey hair in wisps around her thin face. The young girl at her side was carrying a broom and a handful of old rags. The old lady spoke quickly nodding towards the bed and Arian gathered that she was in the way; the bed was to be made up and the room tidied, presumably to receive other visitors.
Arian was at a loss to understand the old lady’s questions, accompanied by excited waving of her bony hands, until the young girl intervened.
‘Are you to stay here more nights?’ she asked haltingly. ‘Madam wishes to know this.’
Arian shook her head. ‘I don’t know how long we will stay but for tonight, yes, I think so.’ The day was passing and Arian had no way of knowing the tide times. All she did know was that if Gerald Simples didn’t return soon there would be no alternative other than to stay until morning.
It was all his fault. If he didn’t think of telling her his plans, then even if they were sailing on a late tide, he would just have to pay madam for another night’s lodgings.
Supper was a simple meal of paté, crisp fresh bread and a glass of wine. Arian fumed with impatience. Gerald had been out of the house for hours now. What was he doing? If he was visiting the offices of the calf suppliers then she should have been with him. What did he think he was doing, behaving in such a high-handed manner?
In the cool of the evening she ventured outside into the cobbled courtyard, overcome with the need to leave the confining walls of the small cottage. Her mind was in a turmoil as she asked herself how she’d allowed such an absurd situation to develop. She had come to France with the best of intentions and she’d been thrown in prison, ill-treated and beaten like a common thief.
She looked down at the thick band of gold on her finger. She had allowed herself to be tricked into marriage. No, not tricked, not really, she admitted to herself – in her desperation she’d have done anything to be out of that terrible jail. Still, there had been some solitary hope in her mind that the marriage would not be legal, that somehow, once she was safely home, it could be dissolved. And yet Gerald seemed so sure they were tied together for good. She sighed in despair. This was surely some nightmare from which she’d wake.
She sat in the slant of dying sunlight and stared out across the street towards where the masts of ships rose above the rooftops. She thought longingly of home, of Stormhill, of Calvin Temple whose lips she had kissed so sweetly. She placed her hands on her hot cheeks. She was in love with Calvin Temple, an impossible dream which might just have come true but now there was an impenetrable barrier between them – her marriage to Gerald Simples.
When he returned home at last, Arian could not wait to talk to Gerald. ‘Well?’ she challenged when they were together in the small bedroom. ‘What’s been happening today while I’ve been kept prisoner here?’
He ignored her outburst and sat on the bed easing off his boots. Finally, he spoke. ‘I’ve been to see the people at the French calf company.’ He gestured impatiently. ‘Sit down and listen to me. I’ve been doing my best for both of us and I don’t need any histrionics from you.’
‘Why didn’t you take me with you then? I had as much right to speak to the suppliers as you. No, I had more right – the business transaction was mine.’
‘I thought after the events
of the last few days, you were better kept off the streets,’ Gerald said smoothly. ‘In any case, these people feel more comfortable dealing with a man. Can’t you understand that?’
Arian subsided onto the bed. There was a lot of sense in what he said and yet anger still burned within her. ‘Go on, tell me what’s happened.’ She spoke as quietly as she could.
He sighed heavily. ‘Several firms have been bankrupted by this farce; it seems that the calf business was nothing more than a front for a shady, not to say fraudulent, deal.’
‘You mean Calvin’s money is lost? I’ve been a gullible fool, grasping at what I thought was a wonderful bargain. What an idiot!’
‘There’s worse to come,’ Gerald spoke dryly. ‘Lord Temple might well be investigated for his involvement in all this and if that’s the case he can kiss goodbye to his good name and possibly his fortune.’ Simples failed to meet her eye.
‘How can this be? Calvin had never heard of this company before. I can speak up for him.’
‘Don’t be so naïve,’ Simples lied effortlessly. ‘I’m telling you I’ve handled money in Lord Temple’s name for some time. It was the only source from which he gained any profit. He will be implicated up to his neck – he’s not the paragon of virtue you believe him to be. Lord Temple might even go to prison, unless …’
‘Unless what?’ Arian was suddenly fearful, her mouth dry as she stared into Simples’ face.
‘Unless I take the blame.’ The words fell into a silence and Arian tried to comprehend what that would mean.
‘But then you would go to prison,’ she said. ‘How could you bear it after seeing me in that awful place? In any case, what would you gain from it?’
‘I would be set up for life by the gratitude and money Lord Temple would shower upon me.’ He stared at her levelly. ‘And I’d probably be let off lightly as a mere pawn in the game. I’d certainly be willing to take the chance if …’ his words trailed away and Arian swallowed hard. She knew what he was going to say but she had to ask anyway.