Longing

by Mary Balogh

  Strangely, he was glad now this morning that she had refused to let him set her up as his mistress. Siân would not fit well in the pampered luxury of a love nest. She would not fit the image of a kept woman. She was free and independent and strong willed. She would not be happy as his mistress. And he would not be happy if he could not make her so.

  But he could not afford to think of Siân this morning. He resisted the urge to go out into the hall to bid her good morning. Later. He would see her later.

  * * *

  Owen Parry came a little less than an hour later. He stood silently inside the study door as he had done on a previous occasion, looking steadily at his employer. There was perhaps a gleam of something like triumph in his eyes, Alex thought.

  The thought flashed unwillingly into Alex’s mind that he had taken Parry’s woman the night before and destroyed the man’s marriage plans. But he pushed the thought ruthlessly aside. Now was not the time for personal concerns.

  “Have a seat,” he said, and Parry sat in the chair he had occupied once before without taking his eyes off Alex.

  Alex sat down behind the desk. “What is the purpose of the strike?” he asked. “What are your demands?”

  The expected stupid look descended on Owen’s face like a mask. He shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?” he asked.

  Alex leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Let us not play foolish games,” he said. “Even apart from the fact that you are the leader of the workers of Cwmbran and I know it and you know I know it, I cannot imagine that there is a man or woman out on strike today who does not know the reason. What are you striking for?”

  “For survival.” Owen’s eyes narrowed.

  Alex nodded. “And what constitutes survival?” he asked. “We both know that there are families who will not survive long during a strike. What will it take to get you back to work?”

  Hatred was barely masked in the man’s face. “A return of our ten percent,” he said. “There are many families who cannot live on less.”

  “I have already given orders for the return of the twenty percent you have lost since my arrival here,” Alex said. “To be effective immediately. No pay will be deducted for today’s strike.”

  Owen Parry stared at him, surprise giving place quickly to blankness.

  “That will end the the matter?” Alex asked.

  “What is the catch?” Eyes narrowed again, Owen was making no further pretense of stupidity. “What is the bloody catch?”

  “Nothing, actually,” Alex said. “Wages will be raised regardless, and would have been even if there had been no strike this morning. I would have liked another day or two, perhaps, before you had your meeting. But I could hardly expect you to arrange that to suit my purpose.”

  Owen’s face went blank again.

  “I made you an offer once before,” Alex said. “I asked you to arrange for me to meet with you and some other representatives of the people to discuss what can be done to improve the quality of life in Cwmbran. I renew that offer. Perhaps my action this morning will convince you that I am acting in good faith. I believe you will find that your colleagues who work for other companies will not have had their wages restored today.”

  Owen Parry sneered but said nothing.

  “The march on Newport sounds like a good idea,” Alex said. “But there are many things that can go wrong with such a plan. It is difficult to coordinate such a large undertaking so that everything goes exactly according to plan. With so many men involved, there is almost bound to be some shortness of temper, some recklessness, some one individual or two who can destroy the whole thing. The carrying of weapons is a dangerous thing. Anyone set to meet the marchers and ensure that they do not break up the peace or endanger the town might act hastily or unwisely and provoke a violent incident. And even if all goes well and peacefully to plan, the chances are that nothing at all will be accomplished. Would you not agree?”

  “What march on Newport?” Owen asked.

  “I believe that what was demanded in the Charter will come about eventually,” Alex said, ignoring the question. “Unfortunately such changes take a long time. Years or decades. Sometimes even centuries. In the meantime, something can be accomplished locally if everyone acts together. There is a great deal to do in Cwmbran. But rather than imposing change from above, I would prefer to work with the people. Perhaps here in Cwmbran we can have a form of democracy. Will you speak to your men? You will know far better than I to whom to speak and what to say.”

  Owen Parry was silent for a long time. “I do not trust you, Craille,” he said. “Not for a single moment. But perhaps others will. I will pass on what you have said.”

  “Thank you.” Alex got to his feet and held out his right hand.

  Owen looked at it and stood up too. He made no move to accept the handshake. “You were there?” he asked. “Or did you have spies reporting to you?”

  “I was there,” Alex said.

  “Who told you about it?” Owen looked him directly in the eye. “Someone did. If there is to be good faith between us, we had better have such things out in the open. Who was the bloody informer?”

  Alex shook his head. “There can be no useful purpose in disclosing that,” he said. “Besides, I do not know the man’s name. If we can learn to work together, Parry, there will be no further need of secrecy and spies. There will be no your side and my side but only our side. I shall look forward to that meeting.”

  Owen Parry set two powerful hands on the desk and leaned across it toward Alex. “I will find out,” he said. “The bastard will be sorry.”

  The man was not going to be easy to work with, Alex thought when he was alone again. But then he could not expect any of this to be easy, he supposed. He wondered if he should send upstairs to invite Siân to luncheon, but rejected the idea.

  * * *

  Josiah Barnes sent for one of the men who had been whipped by the Scotch Cattle and had his furniture destroyed. He waited impatiently in his office at the ironworks for the man to arrive.

  He could not use Angharad. Part of his success over a dozen years was attributable to his knowledge of human nature. Angharad would give him information in the abstract—information that it would seem to her would harm no one in particular. She would do it in exchange for his approval and the hope he gave her between the sheets that one day she would be his wife. But she would balk at harming any one individual.

  Gwilym Jenkins had no such scruples. He seethed with resentment.

  “It will hurt Parry,” Barnes explained. “It will make him look like a fool who cannot control his own woman. It will make him look a cuckold. It will very likely topple him from power.”

  It was obvious that Jenkins found that prospect even sweeter than the money Barnes gave him to help replace his lost furniture. “I will do it,” he said, nodding curtly. “It will quite possibly be guessed at anyway.”

  “But carefully,” Barnes said. “It must not seem too obvious.”

  “Trust me.” Jenkins turned his head and spat on the floor before leaving the office.

  It would work too, Barnes thought, looking after him. Parry would be brought down or at least be made to look a fool and have his personal happiness ruined. Craille would be further discredited and would appear even more of a weakling than today’s actions would suggest.

  And best of all, Siân Jones would suffer. Perhaps only her reputation. Perhaps more than that if he was lucky, Barnes thought.

  Nothing could make him happier.

  17

  “I REALLY do not see the sense of it,” Emrys said while they were sitting around the table at the evening meal. “If he took fright, which is what many of the men believe, why give more than we were striking for? Twice as much. Perhaps no one had told him what we were asking.”

  “Happy we should be and not question the reason why,” his father said.
“I do not remember the strike that was over in half a day. Or the strike in which we got what we were asking for and more.”

  “The dear Lord be praised,” Gwynneth Rhys said, “that the children will no longer go hungry. And I do not believe the Marquess of Craille took fright. I believe he is a man who cares for justice and mercy. He has a little one of his own.”

  “But if he is like that, Mam,” Emrys asked, “why did he put down the wages in the first place?”

  “Pressure,” Hywel Rhys said, “from the other owners. Word has it that none of the other valleys are back at work. Only ours.”

  “There will be trouble over that,” Emrys said.

  “Well, I think our marquess is a good man.” Gwynneth nodded her head. “Clean off your plate, Siân. It is good food. You look tired, girl. Worrying, have you been?”

  Siân resumed eating. Yes, she was very tired, both physically and emotionally. She was feeling a confusing mixture of happiness and unhappiness. He was going to prove that he could be trusted, he had told her last night—or this morning. It was to be his gift to her. And he had delivered early and in greater abundance than she had dreamed. He had heard at the meeting that the workers would demand a return of their ten percent. He had given back the twenty.

  He had done it because he cared. Because he cared about the people of Cwmbran. Because he cared for her. It was his gift to her. A precious, precious gift.

  But she had not seen him all day. She had told herself that she did not want to. She had told herself that she hoped he would not try to seek her out. But she knew now that she had deceived herself, that she had really hoped he would. Just to see him. No longer the Marquess of Craille, but Alexander. Her love. Her body, sensitive from last night’s lovings, yearned for him.

  “A penny for them, Siân, fach.” Emrys was laughing. “Seeing Owen tonight, is it? And the wedding less than two weeks off. Dreaming of wedding nights, is it?”

  “Emrys!” His father’s voice was stern. “There will be no coarse talk in this house, and your mother and Siân present.”

  And that was another unhappiness, Siân thought, one she had been trying to hold at bay. But it had to be faced, and soon. She was going to have to break off with Owen. Her stomach churned at the very thought of all that would mean to her future. And of how she would hurt him and perhaps humiliate him too.

  “I’m sorry, Gran.” She pushed her plate away from her. “I can’t finish. Forgive me?”

  Her grandfather frowned. “There are people starving in this world,” he said. “And it is an insult to your grandmother’s cooking, Siân.”

  “I’m sorry.” Siân drew the plate back toward her, speared a piece of potato, and put it in her mouth. She chewed determinedly.

  Her grandmother patted her on the arm. “I will tell Owen to bring you home early tonight, fach,” she said. “You need a good night’s sleep.”

  The next piece of potato felt rather like a pebble in her mouth. Siân swallowed it.

  Owen came while she was helping with the washing up half an hour later. Siân found it difficult to meet his eyes. He was not looking as happy as she had expected.

  “Well, Owen,” Hywel said, “pleased are you at the outcome of today’s action? It was far better than any of us could have expected.”

  “It do seem that way, Hywel,” Owen said. “The strike over almost before it had begun, no deduction of pay for the morning we were off, a return to the wages we had a few months ago. Yes, it do seem that everything has worked out well.”

  Emrys chuckled. “You sound almost disappointed, Owen, man,” he said. “I think you were looking forward to a good fight and a good battle of wills.”

  “That would be a wicked thing to look forward to,” Gwynneth said, drying her hands on a towel, “with people going hungry. You may empty the dishwater out the back, Hywel, if you please.”

  “That it would, Mrs. Rhys,” Owen said. “But I do not trust a man who gives so much so easily.”

  “You think he was scared?” Emrys asked.

  “I think he is sly,” Owen said. “You are ready to come walking, Siân?”

  This was it, then. Siân folded her apron and put it away and reached for her shawl. She wrapped it about her shoulders while her grandmother was instructing Owen to have her home early.

  “Not too far up the mountain, mind,” Emrys said, “or the Reverend Llewellyn will be up after you with a big stick.”

  “Which I would break over my knee and give him back as two sticks to go and use on someone else,” Owen said over his shoulder as he ushered Siân outside.

  He took her hand in a firm clasp and walked along the street with her and up the slope to the lower hills, the walk they most frequently took in the evening. It was chilly and damp. Autumn was in the air. He did not speak or look particularly happy.

  “You must be glad,” she said, “that the strike was over so soon.”

  “Of course I am glad,” he said. “It would be strange indeed if I were not. But our friends in the other valleys are not so fortunate. And they may well accuse us of strikebreaking here when we could have stayed out to help their cause.”

  “But we have no reason to be out,” she said.

  “Which is exactly what most of the men would say,” he said. “It is not even worth calling them all together and taking a vote. But I don’t like it. It is only by acting together that we will ever accomplish anything of lasting value. Craille took that away from us—that solidarity.”

  “That is what is bothering you?” she said. “I had not thought of that. But it is not his fault. Surely he acted from a concern for his own people and a recognition of the justice of their claim.”

  “That is not what is bothering me,” he said. “That is a minor point.”

  “What is it, then?” she asked. “The rest of last night’s meeting? What did Mr. Frost have to say? What is to happen?”

  “You don’t know?” he asked. “He did not tell you?”

  “He?” She frowned. “Mr. Frost?”

  “Craille,” he said. “He spied on the meeting. Did he not tell you what happened there?”

  She felt herself turn cold. “How do you know he was there?” she asked. “What makes you think that he was?”

  “He told me.” Owen looked at her. “He had me up to the castle this morning as the leader of the workers and he told me. Did he not report to you?”

  “I have not seen him all day.” She felt rather as if all the blood was draining from her head. “I was there to teach Verity.”

  He turned his head away and gazed ahead of them across the hill.

  “Why do you think he would have told me about the meeting?” she asked. Did he know that she had been there too? Did he?

  “Siân,” he said, his voice very quiet, “someone told him about it. He admitted as much though he would not give me the name of the informer. But there is an informer. Someone told him about last night’s meeting.”

  She grew even colder as she understood what he was saying. What he was asking.

  “You think I told him?” she said, her eyes wide. “Owen, I did not. It was the last thing I wanted him to know. I did not tell him.”

  “Someone did,” he said. “I had a meeting with some of the men before we went back to work this morning. Your name was brought up as one likely informer. Indeed someone has been putting it about as a certainty.”

  She felt sick. She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Who would say such a thing?” she asked. “And what do you think? Do you think I would do that, Owen, when it was likely that he would have you dismissed from your job and perhaps arrested and that he would cause no end of trouble for the rest of the men? Do you believe it was me?”

  He took her face in his hands and set his thumbs beneath her chin, none too gently forcing her face higher.

  “No,” he said
after a lengthy silence, during which he searched her eyes. “No, fach, I don’t believe you would do that to me. Or to the rest of the people here.”

  His trust paradoxically distressed her. She felt tears spring to her eyes and bit her upper lip. And she knew at the same moment that she must deceive him for a little longer. Now was certainly not the time to break off with him. She would appear guilty when she was not. She was guilty of other things. She was engaged to marry him and had been unfaithful to him. But she had not betrayed him. Or the people of Cwmbran.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “But you must not go back to Glanrhyd Castle ever again,” he said. “You must see that now, Siân. Other men are not as trusting as I am. You are already suspected of being the informer. And there are those who have your motive all explained, too. He is a handsome man, it is being said, and wealthy, and closer to the world in which you grew up than I am.”

  Siân felt herself blanching.

  “You must put yourself quite beyond suspicion for the future,” Owen said.

  “You want me to leave my job just like that?” she said. “Although you believe me, Owen? Would it not appear almost like an admission of guilt? Or as if you had found me guilty and chastised me and forced me to leave my job?”

  “All the better if it does appear that way,” he said. “If the men think I have handled the situation by giving you a good beating and forcing you to do as you are told, they will be satisfied and will consider the whole matter at an end. I will even put it about that that is how it is—except that I will not beat you because I believe you. You will be protected if it is believed that I have dealt with you.”

  Siân closed her eyes. His thumbs beneath her chin prevented her from lowering her head. “No,” she said. “No and no. I will not agree to such a thing, Owen. How can you even suggest it?”

  “You are too proud for your own good, fach,” he said. “You would be ashamed to have it thought that I had given you a good spanking, would you? It will be forgotten soon enough. No one will think the worse of you.”