Guardian Angel

by Brian John

  My complacency was upset when young Merlin poked his head round the door and said “Evenin’ Missis. Nice day in the country?”

  “Whatever to you mean, Merlin? I do not admit to being anywhere other than in Cardigan.”

  “Indeed, Missis? Then why the mud on the hem of your skirt, and the shoes with sheep-shit on them, and why the bits of heather caught up in your wicker basket? That means you’ve been up a mountain, if I am not mistook. And Charlie is not best pleased that you gave him the slip, so I hear. You must be more careful, Missis, if you are to keep out of trouble.” He wagged his finger at me and disappeared down the stairs.

  I had been careless, and I repented over my pudding. In fact I had been very careless indeed, for earlier on in the day I had also been seen upon the mountain by several sharp-eyed people, including a man who was to become a formidable and implacable enemy.

  rrr

  Tactical Retreat

  Next day my old joints protested violently against that long walk on the mountain, and particularly against all the clambering I had done amongst the craggy rocks. So I decided to wait quietly in my lodgings until the time came for me to be collected and moved on to some safer place. There was a change in the weather too, and as the wind swung round to the east and the temperature plunged down towards freezing, I knew that snow was on the way. The daffodils would be buried by nightfall, I thought.

  As the day wore on, I quietly assembled my meagre belongings so that I could leave quickly when my carriage arrived. I peeped out from behind my curtains occasionally, and saw that Iago was on station as usual, dressed once again in his own attire but with an undistinguished floppy felt hat upon his head. But then I was greatly surprised when he was joined by another man , and after what appeared to be a short altercation the two of them disappeared. After lunch I noticed this new man wandering up and down the street, making his presence much more obvious than his predecessor had done. He was also dressed in a full-length black coat, and he had a fine leather hat on his head, identical to that which was now in the possession of young Merlin. Messrs LeClerc de Paris had clearly done a tidy trade in leather hats, I thought. Maybe they were specially designed for spies belonging to some sinister organization.......?

  I was disturbed in my reverie by footsteps on the stairs. I knew that they belonged to Merlin. He knocked at my door -- five times in quick succession, followed by two further knocks with a longer interval. “Shemi’s knock,” I thought. “Is there nothing that this child does not observe?” I invited him to enter, and thought of reprimanding him for being so presumptuous and provocative, but when I saw his grinning freckled face I had to forgive all his sins. “Hot news, Missis,” he said. “Iago’s gone -- on the coach back to Fishguard. Him and another fellow had a big row in the Rose and Crown, and he’s in trouble ‘cause you gave him the slip yesterday. The other fellow’s name is Silas Reynolds -- he’s the one Iago has been writin’ letters to in Fishguard. He’s now booked in to the same lodgins on the Mwldan that Iago was in. And by the way, like Iago this new one is armed to the teeth -- a pair of pistols and a big knife.”

  I groaned. “Oh no! Do they know where I was yesterday, Merlin?”

  “That I couldn’t say, Missis. But I knows, of course.”

  “You are very impertinent, Merlin. And how do you know?”

  He broke into his infectious grin again. “A very easy matter, Missis,” said he. “I have noticed that you likes to be anonymous, with that veil over your face all the time, and black clothes and all that. So I thought that if you wanted to go anywhere out of town, you would hire a covered chaise, from somewhere down by the river. My mate Afan saw you down there yesterday mornin’, carryin’ a basket and a parcel. There’s only two fellows down near the quay with covered chaises. One is Rufus Williams and the other is Bobby Reed. I asked Rufus and it wasn’t him. So I asked Bobby, and he told me all about your nice trip to that mountain near Newport.”

  “Merlin, you know too much.”

  “It’s not me you need to worry about, Missis. It’s them other fellows with guns who are after you. By the way, the letters that Iago sent to London were for a Jonas Harry in South Kensington. A friend, Missis?”

  “I have never heard of him, Merlin. There was a Harry family in Newport, and they were all merchants with pretensions. Not very nice people, and all dead now. I suppose he might be a relative.”

  “I see that you are about to leave, Missis.”

  “Oh, and what leads you to that conclusion?”

  “Your bag is on the bed. People always puts their bags on the bed when they are about to leave.”

  I looked at him, and realized that this strange child with the freckled face and the tousled hair was insinuating himself into my heart. I could not lie to him. “Yes, Merlin. I expect to be collected this evening, when that fellow outside is off duty.”

  “It’s just as well, Missis. They are gettin’ too close for comfort, and Silas Reynolds may not be as cautious as Iago was. Then there’s that other fellow too. He’s still around -- God knows what he’s up to.”

  It dawned on me that I was going to be lonely without this cheeky child who lived in the cellar. So I stood up and opened my arms to him, and he ran into my embrace. I had tears in my eyes. “I shall miss you, Merlin,” I whispered into his fair hair.

  “I’ll miss you too, Missis. You are like a sort of special old aunty, and that feels good. But we’ll meet again, and before very long. I knows it. Just you take care now. You have a job to do.”

  “Oh indeed?” I stepped back from him, held his hands in mine and looked into his clear blue eyes. “And what might that be?”

  “Somethin’ to do with that mountain you visited yesterday, Missis. And watch out for a funny old castle, too.”

  At dusk I was on my way from Cardigan to an unknown destination, having said my farewells to Mrs Ifans and Merlin and having made a more than ample contribution to the family budget with a request that it should be used for Merlin’s education. Mrs Ifans had agreed to that, and promised that she would hire a special tutor in the light of the boy’s extraordinary intelligence. I travelled in Wilmot’s carriage, with a driver and one other servant in attendance outside, and inside in the company of Wilmot himself, Shemi and Betsi. The four of us cuddled up and tried to keep warm. The two fellows in the driving seat must have been bitterly cold, in spite of their heavy coats, coachmen’s hats and thick scarves. We saw no sunset as we travelled, since the sky was the colour of lead and since there were flurries of snow in the air. Wilmot would not at first tell me where we were heading, but I realized that we were still north of the River Teifi, on the Carmarthen road. “Surely we are not going to Carmarthen, Wilmot?” I asked. “With darkness coming on, and a blizzard too, if I am not very much mistaken, we may not get much further than Newcastle Emlyn.”

  “Then we had better stop there, Mrs Ravenhill!“ said Wilmot. “I think we can decide upon that, since there is no chance that we will be followed on such a night. I have had three alternative plans. But Newcastle Emlyn it must be -- a small and friendly town, far enough from Newport to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Trouble, Wilmot? I specialize in keeping out of trouble.”

  “Then why, my dear Mrs Ravenhill, did you make an expedition to Carningli yesterday?” asked Shemi, with a grin on his face.

  “How did you know that, Shemi?”

  “Daisy, who was walking up to the Plas during the afternoon, saw the Nightwalker on the summit and on the southern slopes among the rocks. When I called later on, she told me about it. That particular phantom has not been seen for thirty years or more. Daisy recalls seeing it as a child, and hearing tales about it.”

  “I remember it too,” said Betsi. “My mother was very scared of it, and thought it must be the devil, come to take Brynach away from her.”

  “Quite so,” said Shemi. “When Daisy reported her observations to me, Susanna, I knew immediately that it was you, since you would not be able to resist ano
ther visit to the mountain before being whisked off to foreign parts. I didn’t think you would risk such an enterprise so soon after your illness, but it seems that you are a very determined lady.......”

  “Can we please talk about other things?” I asked. “I want to know about the gwylnos and the funeral. Rose and Myfanwy told me about the two inquests, but I am in the dark as to what followed.”

  So between them, Wilmot, Betsi and Shemi told me, as we travelled in the gathering gloom, what had transpired. The gwylnos, they said, had gone off smoothly after the release of the coffin for burial. Will, George, Gerallt and several other men had kept watch over it, as they had done since it was filled with stones. My sister Catrin had travelled over from Castlebythe with her husband James, and they had stayed at the Plas, together with my sister-in-law Nansi from Haverfordwest, who was very frail and distressed. My dear friend Mary Jane also came and stayed at the Plas -- and by all accounts she was very calm and supportive, helping out about the place in spite of the fact that she was also decrepit in her old age. She had remarked upon the fact that the atmosphere in the Plas was serene and even good-humoured, and not at all as sombre and dark as she had expected. Betsi and the others had explained that the long delay between Martha’s death and the funeral had allowed family and servants to do their grieving in peace, and to move on. In any case, they said, Martha had had a good death, and was it not more appropriate in the circumstances to celebrate her life rather than mourn her death over and again with every passing day? The visitors, of whom there were hundreds, were given a similar explanation of the remarkable state of equilibrium which prevailed within the Plas, and by all accounts they accepted that with good grace, paid their last respects to the coffin, and then enjoyed the abundant refreshments which our remarkable Bessie had organized, with Wilmot’s unstinting help. He, after all, was the real owner and Master of Plas Ingli, and after the passing of Mistress Martha it was he who was responsible for all the decisions beneath its roof, and all of its expenditures.

  I asked about the attendance of various friends and acquaintances, and was gratified to learn that they had all been to pay their last respects either at the gwylnos or on some earlier occasion. “And the gwylnos itself, in the dining room and kitchen? Good-humoured and convivial, I hope?

  “Oh yes!” said Wilmot. “The best anybody could remember. The feast was truly remarkable, coming at the end of a long hard winter. Bessie, Blodwen and Myfanwy performed miracles. And the singing! Never heard better! We got through six barrels of ale, and apparently the noise at the Plas could be heard over the hill in Brynberian!”

  “Humph! Spare me the details.”

  “Oh, we gave your apologies, Susanna,” grinned Shemi.

  “Whatever do you mean?” I asked sharply.

  “We announced the apologies of many absent friends who had written or sent condolences through others. Among those missing, we mentioned Brynach, David, and William in America, of course, for they were sorely missed -- and probably not yet even in possession of the sad news. We dropped in a mention of a certain Mrs Susanna Ravenhill, a distant relative who was currently indisposed but who hoped to visit and pay her respects on some future occasion. Nobody batted an eyelid -- not even Catrin, the only one who might know distant relatives on your side of the family. But she is getting very whimsical and forgetful in her old age.”

  “Thank God for that,” said I. “The last thing I want just now is a sister with a mind as sharp as a new-stropped razor.”

  They told me about the funeral. It had been the biggest seen in Cilgwyn for many a long year. All of the immediate family, children and spouses were there, together with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, cousins and second cousins and their families, tenants and their families, and labourers from far and wide who had worked at the Plas or helped with the harvests over the years. Then there were squires and their wives from far and wide, people with whom the Plas had done business over the years, the Mayor and the freemen of the town, the members of the Court Leet, and most of the local shopkeepers and merchants. It was notable, said Betsi, that many of those who had been my enemies over the years had also turned out -- which might be taken as a sign of reconciliation or opportunism, depending on how cynical one might be. Even the Lord Marcher, Sir Mervyn Lloyd, had turned out, in spite of the fact that I had done little in my lifetime to curry favour with him and had even caused him a great deal of trouble at various times. The funeral procession was three hundred yards long, said Wilmot, his eyes glowing with admiration. “If my funeral procession is half as long as that,” he said, “I will be well pleased, for that would signify true acceptance by the community.”

  My eyes were moist with tears, but I wanted to hear it all so that I could put it behind me. Wilmot described the funeral at Cilgwyn Church, held with the doors and the windows open because only about a quarter of those present could be accommodated inside. He said that so large was the party of chief mourners (the Morganses of Plas Ingli and many other places besides) that there was a scramble for the remaining seats in the church; and it was more by luck than judgment that the Lord Marcher and his lady, and the Mayor and his lady were accommodated. On a fine afternoon, said Wilmot, there was lusty singing which, on account of the great numbers collected outside beneath the trees and in the open, echoed around the cwm in a fashion that was very moving for all who experienced it. The eulogy from Rector Llewelyn Thomas was as generous as could be, containing many references to Mistress Martha’s espousal of good causes, her assistance readily given to the paupers and other poor people of the parish, and her famous hospitality at the Plas which had left many in the day’s congregation with full bellies and sore heads. There were some oblique references to Martha’s brushes with the law and her conflicts with assorted squires which had led several of them to the gallows, and there was a rather too direct reference to her fall from grace in the company of the reverend gentleman called Amos Jones. “But all in all, with all things considered,” the Rector had concluded, “the life of Mistress Martha was a life lived to the full, and it must be said that her eccentricities and her occasional errors of judgement were greatly outweighed by her beauty, her zest for life, and her compassion. She ran her estate with truly amazing skill and delicacy. She was a strong, passionate woman, and the Newport and Cilgwyn that we know today are kinder, and gentler, and more honest places than they were before she arrived in our midst. We thank God for the gift of her life, and as we lay her to rest alongside her beloved husband David in the Morgan family tomb, we celebrate her life and rejoice that she is now with her angels.”

  By the end of this narrative I had been reduced to a quivering wreck, and I could not hold back my tears for another moment. So I sobbed uncontrollably as Betsi put her arms around me and as the coach bumped its way in the darkness towards Cenarth, very slowly indeed. At last I was able to exert a measure of control over my emotions, and after wiping my cheeks and blowing my nose I said: “I’m sorry, dear friends. That was too much for me. I am humbled, and know not what to say.........”

  “Say nothing, Mother,” said Betsi, forgetting that she was supposed to call me Susanna. “No further words are needed, but now you know -- if you did not know it before -- of the love and esteem which you have earned in the community. That’s the end of the story. The interment went ahead without further ado. There were emotional scenes at the graveside which we will not go into. And then another catering triumph from Bessie back at the Plas.” She grinned, and if it had not been so dim in the carriage I would have seen the twinkle in her eye as she added: “Of course, most of those who came to the funeral were there so as to avoid a good day’s work and so as to enjoy the Plas Ingli refreshments!”

  “True, true,” intoned Wilmot, sounding like a pontificating pastor. Then I realized that he was teasing me, and the tension was released as all four of us roared with laughter.

  When we arrived in Newcastle Emlyn the snow, which had been threatening us for the whole journey, was b
ecoming a real problem for our horses and our driver, for the feeble candle lanterns fixed to the sides of the coach were not capable of penetrating the swirling whiteness in which we were enveloped. Even with the assistance of a lantern-carrying servant on foot ahead of the coach, our progress had slowed to a snail’s pace. One of the horses hated snow, and was very difficult to control. So we were relieved to arrive safely at the Emlyn Arms, where Wilmot made the decision that we must all stay for the night. The inn was an old-fashioned place with draughty corridors, creaking stairs and low ceilings, and because of the ominous weather we were the only travellers there; but the landlord made us all welcome, and with roaring log fires in all the rooms we were cosy enough as the blizzard caught up with us and raged about outside like a beast that was not allowed to enter. We were given a good supper in a large room which served as public bar and dining room combined, and since there were a few local fellows downing their ales around the fireplace and flapping their ears, we had to be very careful in our conversation. We also had to assume that the two young girls who served us discreetly and politely had big ears and loose tongues. But the situation gave us a good opportunity to do a little play-acting, and to the credit of my fellow conspirators I was always referred to as Susanna.

  We had no opportunity to talk about the fact that I was being followed by three different men during my time in Cardigan, but since I later shared a room with Betsi I was able to tell her all about the episodes involving Iago Woodward and Silas Reynolds. I told her of the break-in and the chaos caused in my room by an unknown intruder. I also told her of my suspicions that somebody called Jonas Harry might be behind the spying activity, and of my fears that I might be apprehended at any moment. Betsi became desperately worried at this news, and promised to pass all the details on to Wilmot and Shemi on the way home. “I hope to God that they have not tracked you here, Mother,” she said. “Like you, I can only assume that their intentions are to reveal your true identity, and that they might be armed constables from some special law enforcing unit. In that respect, they might see their objectives as honourable, and designed to uphold the law. So I doubt that they would actually hurt you. On the other hand.......”