by Brian John
“I will take great offence, sir! And I can assure you that my present circumstances are not as precarious as you may assume...........” But I fear that I cannot have sounded very convincing, and Donal smiled and pressed into my hand a bundle of paper money, which I could not refuse. I knew that I needed it, for my own bank resources were beginning to look precariously low. I sighed and put the money under a cushion. “You are very kind, sir,” I said with tears in my eyes. “But I hope you expect nothing in return, for I truly have nothing to give.........”
“I expect nothing, for the money was not mine. I suspect that it rightly belongs to the poor. Shall we call it a contribution towards your charitable works in China? I have watched your efforts from a little distance, and have immeasurable admiration for what you do.”
Suddenly I felt exhausted. I said: “Forgive me, Donal, but I am very tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open, and I have a thoroughly unpleasant headache. I fear that I am feeling my age.........”
He bowed. “I am sorry, Susanna, that I have disturbed your quiet evening. Please keep the maps, which I assume to be safe in your possession. In fact, I have a feeling that you will use them more effectively in the cause of justice than I might do, since you have better contacts. Those fellows whom I left in the river know that I have them, but they will not know I have passed them to you. But do you think you could convince those two friends of yours to give me a stay of execution, and to give my knife back?”
“I will call them up. But where can you be contacted if I need you?”
“Just write to me care of Brendan, at Garfeth in Cilgwyn, near the church. I am sometimes out of the country, but messages will find me.”
“And the two men who have been following me?”
“There are at least three. I doubt that you will see them again in this neighbourhood. They will have left town by now, having lost their maps and their money, and without their compass they will not now know which way to turn. More to the point, their cover has been blown away, and I have threatened to kill them. Merthyr Tydfil is a rough place, and men disappear all the time. I suspect that they have gone back to Swansea very frightened, and that they will not trouble us for some considerable time.”
I called up Twm and Ianto and told them that Donal was the friend of a friend, and that he meant me no harm. They both rubbed their grizzled chins and nodded. They gave him back his knife, and he dug into the lining of his coat and gave each of them a five pound note. They were staggered, and the three of them went off into the night as bosom friends. I watched from the window as they walked down the street, chatting and gesticulating, and illuminated by the flames of three furnaces in blast.
That night I went to bed with my mind racing. What on earth was going on? Why did Donal wish to protect me? He was a very striking and intelligent man -- but who was he? How did he know where to find me? And the spies -- how much did they actually know? Did they want to hurt me, or was blackmail their business? If so, who did they wish to blackmail? Donal’s information had not helped me on that point. Then there was the Swansea connection. I had a suspicion that the real target of the spies, and maybe of their leader Jonas Harry, was Wilmot, and not me......... and I had a deep concern that my conspiracy was now going to harm the dear friend who had helped me more than any other.
I looked at the maps, and noticed that all of the enclosures of recent years were marked on them, together with the names of the main landowners. The name Wilmot Gwynne was underlined in red ink. And all over the maps there were numbers which seemed to have no relation to anything else. Were massive enclosures of the common being planned, and might that explain why Harry’s men had had contacts with the Lord Marcher? I drifted off into a fitful sleep, more confused than ever.
rrr
Salvation
Some days later, around the end of the month of May, I returned as usual to my cottage after a day in China. I was soaking and steaming in my tin bath, and enjoying the scent of soap suds and lavender oil. Suddenly there was a great commotion downstairs, and I heard raised female voices. Maggie came upstairs considerably flustered, and said: “Mrs Ravenhill, there is a Mrs Daisy Havard to see you. I told her you were not receiving visitors, and that in any case you were in the bath after a hard day’s work, but she refuses to go away. What shall I do?”
“Good Lord, Maggie! Mrs Havard? How can that be? Please give her a cup of tea and some scones -- she will need refreshment after a long journey. Send her up in ten minutes, when I have finished my bath.”
So it was that I met my dear daughter again in this most unexpected of places. When Maggie had left us, we embraced, and there were tears. I was delighted to see her and to have the chance to catch up on all the news of home. But I quickly perceived that she was not interested in gossip, and was agitated and even angry with me.
“My dear Mrs Ravenhill, you are quite incorrigible!” she blurted out. “What do you mean by galavanting about without keeping us informed? Here am I, rushing about all over South Wales, and never finding anybody who has heard of you or knows where you are!”
“But Daisy, was that not our objective? If I am proving elusive, then I am rather pleased with myself!”
“Yes yes. But do you know that I have been to Cardiff, and home again, only to find your recent letter waiting for me, causing me to set off on a new journey straight away, to this foul town of fire and brimstone! It’s a horrid smelly place...........”
“It is truly not so bad as you think. And there are good people here, as everywhere else. But why the urgency, Daisy? I have work to do here, as a sort of penance, and my job is not yet done...........”
Daisy looked at me carefully, and then said that I had lost weight (which was true), that I had lost the colour in my cheeks (also true), and that I was wearing myself out on charitable works (which was probably also true). She said that she feared greatly for my health and safety, and I thanked her for her concern. Then she smiled, calmed down and gave me another embrace. She said: “Now, my dear Mrs Ravenhill, do you want the good news first, or the bad?
“I think the bad, since I am more accustomed to dealing with it.”
Daisy fished into the depths of her bag, and pulled out a large envelope with crude handwriting on it. It said: To Missis Ravenhill at the hows of Doctor Jorje, from Merlin. Inside it there was a smaller envelope, addressed to Jonas Harry Esquire at the Royal Oak Inn, Fishguard.
“Good God!” I exclaimed. “Young Merlin has managed to intercept a letter to Harry! And Harry is in Fishguard! I thought he was in South Kensington, or at home in Swansea.......”
“Apparently not, Mrs Ravenhill. He appears to enjoy travelling. Open the letter and read it -- I have already done so, in case it needed attention. But I thought I had better leave things to you.”
So I opened the letter and read as follows:
Ty Coch, Mwldan, Cardigan
25th March 1855
Dear Master Harry
There’s sorry I am that I lost track of that woman in town that day in Cardigan. Carless of me, and I got the message from Silas that you was not best plesed. But she is a tricky one, that one. And she knows we are watchin her, and takes precawshons. And there’s a bloody kid making a nusance of hisself as well. He pinched my hat, and caused me certan indignites.
To the bisness in hand. I am back in town and Jeremy tells me that she’ve gon without trace. Can’t find her anywere. I grabbed the kid and gave him a hell of a beatin, partly because he pinched my hat, but he wouldn’t say nothin. I don’t think he knows where she’ve gone, Boss.
As to the figure you saw on the mountain, dressed all in black. You said the locals call him The Nitewaker. As to your suspishons that it was not a him at all, but actully this bloody woman, up to no good and takin certan mesurments, you are quite rite. Upon your instrucshons I checkd all the tailors and whatnot in town, with some cockanbul story abot my old ant gettin me the wrong size of hat, and there she were in the lists of Billins Shop, listed as buyin a
big black hat, a cloke and a mufler -- all perficly adekwate for coverin her up to look like a Nitewaker.
So that solvs that mistry, Boss. If I was you I would get her out of the way as quick as possibl, before she dos more damidge to you plans. She’s too bloody smart, that one. Jes tell me where she is, and I will do the job for you, no charge, becos of the mistak I made in Cardigan.
Tell me your instrucshons.
Yours etc
Iago Woodward
I closed the letter and moaned. “Oh, this is truly terrible, Daisy! This monster Iago has beaten up a child -- and a very special one at that -- just in order to get information as to my whereabouts. Jonas Harry himself must have seen me on the mountain, and now he knows it was me. God only knows what he was doing there. And it is also clear from Iago’s words that he wants to get rid of me, as compensation to his boss for losing track of me in Cardigan. He sounds more like a professional killer than a run-of-the-mill thug. He is bound to catch up with me eventually.............”
Daisy put her hand onto my shoulder, as a mother might console a small child. “Things are not as bad as you might think, Susanna. Remember that this letter is very old -- it was written about five weeks ago. It has been in my possession since early April, and I would have given it to you earlier if only I had known where you were to be found in Cardiff or Merthyr Tydfil. Also, it was never delivered -- so that would have caused some confusion and possibly recrimination in the ranks. I imagine that by now Iago will have passed this information to Jonas Harry, either in writing or in person, but I think in the meantime you have probably left them far behind.” She smiled suddenly. “And there’s another thing -- since Iago is clearly incompetent, Harry might well have sent him packing by now!”
I was horrified. “You are pleased about that, Daisy? I would rather have Iago Woodward on my trail under strict orders from his boss, than as an unemployed assassin with a pistol in his belt and vengeance in his mind. If he has been given marching orders, Daisy, remember that he will blame me, and me alone, for his misfortune and his lost earnings.”
“Pure speculation, Mrs Ravenhill. Now then, to the good news. I bring your salvation.”
I was not listening to her words, for I was obsessed with dark thoughts about Iago Woodward. Also, I wanted to tell her about Donal, and Sergeant Gruffydd, and the spies and the maps. “Daisy, I am involved in a great mystery here. Some very strange things have happened,” I explained, “and you must be the first to know of them!”
My dear daughter was clearly not interested. “All in good time, dear lady,” she said with a grin on her face. “First of all, look at this!”
She handed me a letter. “Oh no! Not another one!” I grumbled. “Have I not read enough literature for one day?”
Then I looked at it. It was from my sister Elen in New York, written and posted on 26th February and greatly delayed en route by storms in the Atlantic. “You had better sit down before you read it,” said Daisy, still smiling. I obeyed instructions, and read as follows:
New York, 26th February 1855
My Dearest Martha,
I received your letter, written shortly after Christmas, in which you described for me some of the sad happenings in and around your beloved Plas Ingli. I trust that you and Amos are well, and that you have been able to defeat those evil men connected to the wretched Society of Sea Serjeants........
At this point I froze, and tears welled up in my eyes as I realized that when she wrote the letter Elen did not even know that Amos was dead, let alone knowing of my own sad demise. That dear man had been murdered on 12th February -- a fortnight before Elen put pen to paper --by those very men referred to in the letter. “Daisy, you were grinning a moment ago,” I whispered. “I can hardly credit it.”
She came over and put her arm around me. “I am very sorry, Mother,” she said. “That was crass of me, and I beg your forgiveness. I had forgotten how the letter started. Take a moment if you will, and then read on.”
So I composed myself and continued:
I am old and infirm now, and know not how much more time I have on this Earth. But I have the great pleasure of seeing my son Brynach and my grandson David every so often, and they are thriving. Brynach is a mighty merchant now, and it is my pleasure that having given him a little help at the beginning of his time in this great country, he has put the disappointments of his time in Wales behind him and has blossomed. He is a fine upstanding young man with a reputation for honesty and probity, and that is down at least in part to your own wise and tender upbringing. I love him dearly, as I know you do.
I have been thinking a lot about the past and about the future. The one thing that has impressed me more than anything I have ever experienced is the knowledge that when you could have kept the secret of my childbearing and Brynach’s birth to yourself, you chose to tell him the truth -- in the full knowledge that you, his adoptive mother, would then lose him to his natural mother. He could not, in the circumstances of the day, resist the desire to meet me and to make a new life far from the place in which -- in his eyes at least -- he had failed. He lost the Plas, and in so doing he lost almost all of his self-esteem. What that loss must have meant to you, dearest sister, God only knows, given your passion for every square inch of its land and for every stone and blade of grass upon it.
Your beloved family has lost its pride and has been scattered to the four winds. You personally have lost your home, your savings, your estate, and your only surviving son. For a decade you have battled on, and in your letters you have given me a picture in vivid words of a life lived to the full, with joy and sadness in equal measure. My dear Martha, my love for you is unbounded, and with all my children safe and secure, and well provided for in my will, I have one further task to fulfill. I am resolved to make some sort of recompense for the events of the past and for the burdens you have carried without complaint. It is my most urgent desire to give you some comfort in your declining years. God knows that you deserve it. I have therefore written out a cheque for £4,000 for you and you alone, and I enclose it for you to spend as you will. Cash it as soon as may be. Your instinct will be to give it to your children or your grandchildren, but I want you -- indeed I beg you -- to spend it on yourself, and to do something entirely frivolous. Beloved sister, write soon and tell me what you will do!
I have more news, but that will wait. I am as excited as a small child -- I cannot resist the desire to send the cheque and this letter off with the mail directly, so as to reach you at the earliest possible moment.
I long to hear from you, and send the warmest greetings of my children and of Brynach and David in particular.
Give my warm regards to Amos and to all of your family
Your loving sister
Elen
I sat white-faced and shaking for several minutes after completing my reading of the letter. Then I read it again, and did not know whether to laugh or cry.
“Well, Mrs Ravenhill?” said Daisy. “Shall I tell you more?”
“Please do, Daisy,” I managed to whisper.
So my daughter explained. The letter had been delivered to the Plas on 1st April, after she and George and the four others had left for our meeting at the Red Lion Hotel in Newcastle Emlyn. On being given the letter next day, she and Betsi had thought it prudent to read it and to pass it on immediately to Wilkins Legal since it contained a substantial cheque made out personally to Martha which was to be cashed “as soon as may be” at any branch of the British and American Bank. Since Martha was alive when it was made out, Master Wilkins said it was legally a part of her estate. So, said Daisy, using his power of attorney, and with the bank fully informed of all relevant circumstances, he had cashed the cheque on 3rd April and put the money into his safe. He had then signalled his intent to distribute the money equally between herself, Betsi and Brynach. This was in line with the wishes relating to the distribution of cash assets as expressed in my will.
“But then there was a problem,” said Daisy. “Th
e will had already been read out, some time in March, and all of your known possessions had already been disbursed. Betsi, Wilkins and I were rather sure that Brynach would not want his share of the money sent by Aunt Elen. But it would have been improper to act without his instructions. So Wilkins wrote to him in the middle of April to ask what he should do. About ten days ago we received his reply. He reported that he was in rude financial health and said that he wished his share of the bequest to go to me and Betsi. He also confirmed that he had spoken to his mother and obtained her blessing. Since then I have been trying to find you.”
Daisy then dug deeply into her leather travelling bag and extracted a brown paper parcel tied up with string. “Open it, Mrs Ravenhill!” she invited, with her eyes gleaming. I did just that, and almost fell off my chair when I found that it contained a huge quantity of bank notes.
“A nice round £4,000,” said my daughter.
“Daisy!” I remonstrated. “Is this real money? If so, you are mad to have carried it with you like this. What if some dastardly fellow with a pistol had waylaid you?
“My dear Susanna, Dick Turpin was in his grave long since,” laughed Daisy. “This is all yours. Aunt Elen intended it for you. You deserve it, and you shall have it. Betsi and I are immovable on the point. Some weeks back we wrote to our aunt, explaining the legal position of the gift, and telling her that our family solicitor had added the money to your estate and had distributed it according to the terms of the will. Elen is a very wealthy woman. We know from Brynach’s letter that she is content with what has now been done, but is of course distraught in the knowledge that both Amos and her sister Martha are dead.........”
“She has been fully informed about my death and about the disbursement?”