Guardian Angel

by Brian John

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Madam,” said he, in English. “Sergeant Dafydd Gruffydd of the Cardiganshire Constabulary.” As he spoke he shuffled about like a man who had just sat upon an ant-hill, and he cleared his throat frequently. “I am here, you understand, Madam, at the request and instruction of -- ahem -- Squire Edward Lewis, who is the most senior and the least junior magistrate in these parts. You know of him, I dare say?”

  “I do not have that pleasure, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, Madam, if it do not cause you too much inconvenience or discomfort, I am here -- ahem --to make certain enquiries about you -- without, you understand, prying too deeply into your circumstances and conditions, which must understandably remain private and non-public, if you do see my meaning.”

  “I am not sure that I do, Sergeant. What do you want to know?”

  “If I may make so bold, Madam, without prying too deeply, and putting things in the most delicate and indeed sensitive way possible, it would be helpful to me if you would be so kind as to tell me, without of course divulging or passing on anything of a private or confidential nature, just a little bit about your -- ahem -- connections and antecedents.”

  “I fully understand, Sergeant. I am puzzled, sir, because I thought that we lived in a free country, in which law-abiding folk might travel about the countryside without let or hindrance, and without being interrogated by the forces of law and order.”

  Sergeant Gruffydd became very discomfited and looked at his boots for a minute or so, while being very uncertain what to do with his hands. “Quite so, Madam. You are quite correct, and far be it from me to impose upon you or indeed burden you in a manner which might be offensive to you or which might cause you to think that I do overstep the mark; but the Squire asked me, in the most diplomatic and gentlemanly fashion, you understand, to undertake a gentle investigation as to your conditions and circumstances.............”

  “Your delicacy does you credit, Sergeant, as does your mastery of the English language. Let me assure you that my circumstances are perfectly healthy, and that I will not cause a charge upon the Poor Rate by staying for a little while in your community. Indeed, I might even contribute a little to the local economy.”

  “You are very kind, Madam, and I am glad to hear it. But it is incumbent upon me, in the course of my duty, which I do seek to fulfill to the best of my humble ability, to suggest to you, Madam, without causing offence, you understand, that it is the carefully considered view of the Squire, who feels his magisterial responsibilities most keenly, that you may not in actual fact be what you seem to be.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Sergeant? It seems to me that you have made, in a roundabout sort of way, a most serious accusation. I am already in mourning, as you might have observed, and now you have compounded my grief. Do you understand that this might be a matter to be reported to my solicitor?”

  The sergeant became very agitated. “No no, please, Madam. I beg you not to misconstrue the meaning of what I do say. I have no wish or desire to intrude, encroach or intervene, or to wound your sensitivities. Let me explain.........”

  “I wish you would, Sergeant. If I could just have it established what this is all about, my damaged sensitivities might be somewhat healed.”

  “Oh dear. I was supposed to keep this quiet, Madam, but I do suppose I had better tell you, on the grounds that your sensitivities and sensibilities are in need of restoration. Some weeks back an elderly lady was in town, she was, dressed in a most elegant fashion and speaking as a countess or a princess might speak. She stayed in the Black Swan and ran up considerable bills in various respectable and worthy establishments, and then all of a sudden, Madam -- nay, in the blink of an eye -- she entirely disappeared and was gone, owing no less than thirty-five pounds! And nobody knows whereunto she has gone, Madam, be it east, west, north or south. A bad business, Madam, as I’m sure you will agree. A great scandal indeed. So as you will perceive and appreciate, Madam, the Squire is rightly very suspicious -- in a gentlemanly sort of way, you understand -- about fine ladies who turn up in town in the middle of snow-storms and start looking for lost relatives............”

  Suddenly I could not resist roaring with laughter. “Oh my goodness, Sergeant! I see it all! And indeed I appreciate the deep sense of duty which resides in the breasts of Squire Lewis and yourself. Very commendable. I congratulate you.”

  I decided that I might as well now try out my story. “Please sit down, Sergeant,” I said. “I feel intimidated when you tower over me like that. Now, let me see if I can put your mind at rest. My name is Mrs Susanna Ravenhill, as I think you know. I have lived in London for the past sixty years. My dear husband Jack died some weeks back, and having no family to sustain me I experienced great difficulties in coming to terms with my new situation.............” It was time for a little play-acting, so I took out my kerchief with a great display, and proceeded to wipe my eyes and blow my nose very theatrically. To my intense gratification, the Sergeant was visibly moved.

  “Dear Madam, pray do not upset yourself. I do appreciate that the memory of such recent and raw events must be deeply disturbing to you, not to say upsetting. Can I get you a glass of water or some other refreshing or restorative liquid?”

  “No no, Sergeant. I will be all right in a moment.” After a suitable interval, I continued: “I was left with a modest fortune, and pondered on what to do next. Then I was taken with a great urge to get out of the grime and the smoke of London and to seek to find any relatives of my husband or myself in West Wales, if any of them should still be alive. My husband had relatives in Carmarthenshire and Cardiganshire, and I came originally from the western part of Pembrokeshire. I will not go into the details of my birth, for it is something of which I am not very proud. Do you get my meaning?”

  The dear man nodded sympathetically, and I continued. “My father came from a good family not far from St David’s. My mother was a servant. I know that I have several half-sisters, Sergeant, but I know not if they will acknowledge me............” Now I was beginning to enjoy this play-acting business, and at this point my voice broke with emotion, causing the Sergeant to look very embarrassed.

  “May I share this with you, Sergeant, although it is a most sensitive matter?”

  “My lips are sealed, Madam.”

  “My poor mother was sent away and supported by the man who was my father, but I was denied the security, and the family, which were rightly mine. When I was but a slip of a girl I was swept off my feet by a scoundrel who declared that he loved me and would give me the glamour and wealth that I craved in the great city of London. I was little more than a plaything for him, Sergeant...........”

  “A very bad business, Mistress.”

  “To continue. He abandoned me after two years, and it was my great fortune shortly thereafter to meet my husband Jack. He was much older than I, and he was in business in the city, but he loved me and promised to keep me safe and to provide for me. What was I to do? I was so young, lost in that great city full of thieves and charlatans! Oh, he was a good man, Sergeant, and how I came to love him! We had good times and bad times, sir. We had two children, a little girl and a little boy, but they both died in infancy........”

  Once again I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and rocked back and forth in a paroxysm of grief. At last I looked up and noticed that the Sergeant was sitting transfixed, with tears running down his cheeks. “Please, Sergeant,” I pleaded. “You must not upset yourself. Here, borrow my handkerchief.”

  He wiped his eyes with my handkerchief. “Thank you, Madam. You are very kind.”

  “That was all a very long time ago, and since then there has been great happiness............”

  There was a knock on the door, and Mrs Elkins returned, looking perplexed. “Please excuse me, Madam,” she said, “and excuse me, Sergeant Gruffydd, but there is a gentleman down below -- a tall gentleman in a long coat, with a big sort of hat -- who wishes to speak privately with the Sergea
nt.”

  “Who, me?”

  “Yes, you, sir.”

  “Well, blow me down! Who can that be? Excuse me, Madam, for just a moment. I will return very shortly, and as soon as maybe.”

  He went downstairs, and my good humour disappeared at a stroke. After a few minutes he returned.

  “Well, Sergeant?” I asked. “Does your friend wish to see me too?”

  “No, Madam. He has gone again, and indeed departed. It appears that the rest of your story will not be necessary or essential, and that I shall have to manage without hearing it. A great pity, if I do say so, Madam, since it was a truly appalling and moving narrative on the basis of which I do extend to you my deepest sympathy and condolences. Madam Ravenhill, the gentleman who just called, who was not a gentleman of my earlier acquaintance, and was indeed a stranger to me, presented me with certain credentials and indicated, on the highest authority -- and I do use that term advisedly, Madam -- that my investigations need be pursued no further. I am reassured, and am indeed confident in my reassurance, that you are exactly what you seem to be, as of course I knew from the very beginning and start of things. I do assure you that I had not a shadow of doubt about it, Madam, and that the Squire will be delighted -- and indeed pleased -- to know of it.”

  “You are a credit to your profession, Sergeant. Please be assured that I have enjoyed our conversation, and give my greetings to the Squire.”

  “So without further ado or procrastination on my part, dear Madam, I will leave you to get on with the business of the day, and will take my leave and go on my way. Farewell, and good day to you, Madam!”

  He bowed, kissed my offered hand, and clattered off down the stairs, leaving me shaking like a leaf. When I had recovered, I tried to find an explanation as to why one of the spies had encouraged Sergeant Gruffydd -- with some force, it seemed to me -- to terminate our interview. The Sergeant had said he did not know the man, so could he have been a magistrate, or some senior police officer? Was he a gentleman? I was very confused, since young Merlin, in Cardigan, had assured me that Iago and Silas were rough fellows who used language that no squire or magistrate would use. I got nowhere with my deliberations.

  On the appointed day, April 1st, my six invited visitors arrived in Wilmot’s carriage, just a little late. We all met for lunch in an upstairs room which I had hired in the Emlyn Arms Hotel -- and to which I had made my way by a tortuous route just in case I was being followed. I wanted no serving girls flitting in and out of the room, so once we were all installed, I left strict instructions that I would serve the food myself and that we were not to be disturbed.

  It was indeed a mighty relief for me to see them all again, after my wild imaginings and swings of mood of the last week. We exchanged news of no great import for a while, as as we dished out the food. Then I was about to tell them excitedly about the visit of Sergeant Gruffydd when I heard a small sound from the door leading to the back staircase. I motioned to Ioan, at which he crept up, flung the door open and grabbed somebody who was listening outside -- a scruffy urchin of no more then ten years old. Ioan threatened to thrash him, and got the boy to admit that he was a stable lad in the hotel, and that he had been paid ten shillings to eavesdrop on the meeting by a tall gentlemen dressed in a cloak. “And who is he, child?” Ioan hissed.

  “Never seen him before, sir, I promise!”

  “English or Welsh?”

  “Can’t say, sir. Neither, I think. He sounded sort of foreign.”

  Ioan sent him packing, telling him to inform his benefactor, whoever he was, that this was private meeting on family matters that were of no concern to anybody else. “And by the way,” he added ominously, “if I hear so much as a fluttering moth or a scuttling mouse within a mile of this room until we are done with our private discussions, my boy, your master will have my report, and so will the constables. And a thrashing will be the least of your problems. Away with you!”

  “You know that I have been followed?” I asked miserably. “From the Plas to Cardigan, and thence to Newcastle Emlyn, somehow or other in spite of Wilmot’s precautions and the threatening blizzard on that journey. As Rose knows, I have seen the same man on many occasions, and once he had the effrontery to knock on the door of my lodgings and ask to see me. His name is Iago Woodward, and he is not a gentleman. There’s another fellow spying on me too, called Silas Reynolds, and quite possibly a third. I think all three are armed. Somebody has betrayed us!”

  “No no, Susanna,” said Wilmot. “That is impossible. We all love you far too much for that, and we all have too much to lose. Betrayal is out of the question.”

  “But there always were too many people who know the truth............”

  “Twenty-five people can keep a secret just as well as two, Mrs Ravenhill.”

  “That may be, but with all those people going about their lives and talking to others, there is a heightened chance of a slip of the tongue, or a tight lip loosened by alcohol, or a conversation overheard.”

  “True, Susanna,” said George. “But is it also not possible that the person who has been following you has been protecting your interests, rather than seeking to harm them?”

  “If so, he might be so kind as to put me in the picture, instead of doing his best to frighten me out of my wits at frequent intervals...... And by the way, do you know that I have been interviewed by the police?”

  “What?” said Betsi, with concern writ large on her face. “Oh my goodness -- what do they know?”

  “Very little, I think, apart from my cock and bull story. But I feel like a hunted animal. There are far too many people taking an interest in my whereabouts and my credentials. That’s my own fault, I suppose, for hunting for the records of my non-existent relatives and ancestors.”

  Then I showed them the little item from the Carmarthen Times, which I had torn out and kept. Wilmot said “Oh dear, oh dear” and Delilah moaned.

  “My dear friends,” I continued, “something is afoot, and I am at a loss to know what it is................”

  From this point on, our meeting became a very sombre one -- and although the others sought to put a brave face on things, I sensed that they knew more than they would admit to, which caused me great concern. I bewailed the fact that I had involved so many of my loved ones in my conspiracy, and said I was quite convinced that my secret could not now be kept for much longer. More to the point, I admitted to my dear friends that I still did not know why I had been spared, and that I doubted my own capacity to maintain the pretence of my death for much longer.

  Wilmot tried to be cheerful, and reported that the Plas, having now reverted to the Gwynne family with no encumbrances, had to be occupied and used. He said he had installed his second son Joshua as Master of the Plas Ingli estate. He had a hard-working and lovely wife called Jane and two small children aged two and five. They were already in residence, he said. “Yes, I am aware of that, dear Wilmot,” I said with what I hoped was an enigmatic smile. Wilmot raised his eyebrows, but did not comment further. He said that he would retain ownership of the estate for the time being. He and Delilah would stay at Llanychaer -- and his eldest son Samson would stay on at Tumble, near Swansea, running the family business in smelting. Gerallt, Myfanwy and Blodwen would remain in employment. Will had agreed to continue as head man at the Plas, he said with delight, although he was getting rather old and stiff, helping the new master who was very naive in farming matters.

  “So are we all when we start,” I said. “I am sure the old Mistress of the Plas, if she were still alive, would wish them all the very best, and would send them her love.”

  Betsi and Daisy said that the family all approved of these arrangements, and reported that Bessie had now chosen to retire, and had already moved to lodgings on the Parrog with Patty, where she could spend the rest of her days living in reasonable comfort on her small savings. She had not been well, said Daisy, but she was bearing up and sent her kind regards to Mrs Ravenhill. She was settling in to life by the se
a, and promised to write quite soon. I realized then just how much I missed my beloved Bessie -- faithful servant and closest and dearest of friends, with whom I had shared my most intimate thoughts, and discussed my most intractable problems, ever since my arrival at the Plas in 1796. How I longed to walk with her, arm in arm, chatting as we had done on countless occasions over a span of almost 60 years................

  But this was no time for reveries, and I had certain decisions to announce. I said that with life returning to normal at the Plas, I now had to force myself to break my emotional ties with the place, and with the mountain. I said that it was now my destiny to seek to spread goodwill and to make recompense for the hurt that I had caused to others during my life.

  “Rubbish, Susanna!” said Delilah, who had thus far been very quiet. “You give us a travesty of what you have done down through the years! If only you could have heard the Rector’s eulogy at the funeral, and the comments about you from the hundreds who came to the Plas before and during the gwylnos, you would be in no doubt at all about your reputation as a kind, loving and generous lady. If you have hurt some -- as do we all -- you have brought balm to many, many more.........”

  “Thank you, dear Delilah,” I replied. “You are, as ever, very kind. But I am not intent on fishing for compliments -- I am too old for that. I must do penance for the crimes which only I know about -- they are my secrets, and will remain so. I have sent too many men to the gallows, and others, like poor Ceredig ap Tomos and my beloved Amos, went to premature graves because of me. Do not, I beg of you, seek to absolve me of my responsibility in those matters. Only God can do that. My sins have been many -- arrogance, pride, deviousness, untruthfulness, and particularly vengeance. The last has been my single greatest sin and is now the greatest cross for me to bear -- and somehow I must learn forgiveness and humility. And I vow that I will never again be the cause of any violence towards any other human being.”

  “How can you say such a thing, Susanna?” said Daisy. “You do not control the destinies or the passions of others. Any one of us can unwittingly set in motion trains of events which lead to violence. Even Christ caused violence and the deaths of untold thousands in the Crusades, because men twisted his message of love into a message of war and retribution. You are deluded if you think that saintly behaviour by one person makes saints of other people.”