by Brian John
“Of course,” said Daisy, with exasperation in her voice. “You are very slow today, and clearly need a holiday. Elen knows everything, apart from the fact that you are alive. She will have received your farewell letter written prior to your night on the mountain long since, in addition to other letters from Betsi and me giving the sad details of your reported death, and the funeral and so forth. She is also in receipt of your obituaries, and various press reports on the funeral.”
“And there are no further encumbrances?”
“No, no and no again. Believe me, dear lady, the money is yours, with the full agreement of all concerned and in accordance with the law. Betsi and I have chosen to give our bequest to a lady called Mrs Susanna Ravenhill. Wilkins Legal does not know that, nor does he need to. And what we have done is of no concern to either Brynach or your sister Elen, since they both believe you to be dead.
Suddenly I was a wealthy woman. Even in the best years of the Plas, when corn prices had been high and when we had lived in great comfort, I had never had so much cash at my disposal. As the full significance of this fact sank in, I was literally rendered speechless, but when I recovered I was at a loss what to do. I had assumed it to be my destiny to see out my days doing good works among the poor and hungry in the slums of Merthyr Tydfil, as a penance for past sins, and I explained this to Daisy.
“Rubbish, Mother!” said Daisy. “If divine intervention is involved, then this is a gift of manna from heaven for one who has made a good contract with humanity, and has kept faith. And enough talk of penance, if you please. You have lived a good life while others have lived theirs in timidity and fear; and if God has anything to do with it, this is your reward and your salvation. I will not brook any further argument or procrastination. It is yours, and you WILL enjoy it! Now then, let us put your affairs in order here, and write certain letters to your confederates. You must say your farewells. Then I will help you to pack your bags, and we will be gone.”
Daisy stayed for a day while I went for one last time to China to say my tearful farewells, explaining to those poor distressed people in their hovels that I had been forced to accept that I needed a holiday. They wept, and thanked me for what I had done, and understood. I wrote letters to my charitable colleagues and called in at Lady Charlotte’s mansion, where I explained to her that I had become exhausted by my work and had to return to Swansea to recover my strength. She too understood, and in saying farewell she gave me a beautiful ruby ring as a token of her thanks and her affection for me. It had the letters CEG engraved on the back of it. I was very touched, and left that grand place with tears in my eyes.
I gave £10 to my housekeeper Maggie, and then we climbed up onto our hired carriage. We planned to take the high road towards Hirwaun, and our route took us past Penydarren, Jackson’s Bridge and the entrance to China. I was looking out of the window idly, and as I caught my last glimpse of the filthy hovels that I had come to know if not to love, I saw a tousle-haired child standing beneath the slope of the great Penydarren Cinder Tip. It was Merlin. He smiled, and waved, and then he was gone from my view as the carriage rattled round a corner. I was mystified, as I had been on our earlier encounter. Was it really Merlin I had seen, or some sort of phantom? I said nothing to Daisy, but I felt a calm reassurance that the little fellow was safe and relatively unharmed after the beating which he had apparently received from Iago Woodward. We rattled on down the Vale of Neath, and in Neath we took the train to Carmarthen. There I put all of my money into my bank account, causing the bank manager considerable alarm. We took very comfortable lodgings, ate the best meals that money could buy in that modest and unpretentious town, and made plans. I did not know whether there were any spies on my trail -- and for the first time in months, I truly did not care..........
As a consequence of my long discussions with Daisy, I decided to travel abroad on a long and epic Grand Tour. There were places I had always dreamed of visiting, and things that I had always dreamed of doing. Afterwards, I would write down my adventures as a great saga. I also decided that I wanted to go in the company of Bessie, my servant and housekeeper at the Plas for more years than I cared to remember, but also my oldest friend and confidante. Daisy left me to return home, and promised to ask her whether she was healthy enough to come, and indeed inclined to undertake a considerable adventure for somebody who had never been outside West Wales before.
Various letters were exchanged over the course of ten days, and much to my delight, Bessie agreed to accompany me. Although she was older than me by a couple of years, and was somewhat stiffer in the joints as a result of constant hard work, she took the view (at least, this was how she expressed it in writing) that this sudden invitation from an unknown lady was a reward from heaven for a lifetime in service. So the word was put about in town that Bessie had been invited by Martha’s long-lost half-sister to accompany her on a European tour as her companion, and that she had accepted. We set a departure date of 16th June, and I enjoyed a couple of days of shopping for dresses and hats that might suit all occasions and all climes.
A week before I was due to embark on my grand tour, the sun rose in a blaze of glory and I knew it was going to be a very hot day. I was overcome by a mood of restless excitement. I was expecting no visitors, and contemplated yet another day of wandering round the streets of Carmarthen. More shopping, maybe -- was there anything I had forgotten? Then I realized that if anything should happen to me on my travels -- through accident or a decline in my health, or through Iago Woodward catching up with me and putting a pistol shot through my heart, I might never see my beloved Carningli in June again. I decided therefore to make one last trip to my mountain and to thank the angels for the good fortune which had recently attended me. I packed my Nightwalker disguise into a bag, took the early morning train to Clarbeston Road, and hired a covered chaise to take me up over the mountain. When we got nearer to Mynydd Preseli, I saw, to my intense disappointment, that it was a drizzly day with low cloud. Such is the way with mountains, I thought. But I urged my driver to press on, and we arrived in Cilgwyn just as the cloud started to melt away, and as the sun tried to break through.
Not far from Waun Isaf, having checked that there was nobody else on the road, I jumped off the carriage and instructed the driver to meet me in three hours’ time at Bedd Morris. He was no doubt happy with the prospect of a little interval in the Black Lion or down on the Parrog. Then I donned my disguise, left my bag behind a wall, and walked up onto the mountain. Most of the time I was lost in the drifting and wispy cloud, but I was entranced -- as ever -- with the early summer flowers and the sound of skylarks. I have to admit to feeling my age, and I walked very slowly, standing still every time the mist rolled away and drinking in the beauty of the mountain and the cwm. I skirted round the steepest slopes which were littered with great boulders, following sheep tracks through the bracken and climbing gradually into the area covered with fresh green bilberry, heather and early flowering furze. At last I reached the western end of the crags and walked through the tumbledown fortifications towards the familiarity of the summit.
I was almost on the summit when I heard voices. I did not know what to do, but one does not stop being inquisitive just because one is old, so I crept up quietly behind one of the the summit crags and peeped out. There were two men dressed in tweed jackets and and felt hats, deep in discussion. I did not recognize either of them. They were no more than twenty yards from my hiding place. They had a map with them, and they were doing something and marking the map. There was much pointing and gesticulating, and sometimes they seemed to be concentrating on the south side of the summit and sometimes on the north. Then they folded up the map, and one of the men put it into his pocket. I was petrified lest they should walk towards me and discover my hiding place, but luckily they walked north and descended by the steep path that led to Newport. The cloud drifted back in again, and I hurried off the summit and along the path leading to Bedd Morris. As on my previous visit, I took off my cloak, m
uffler and wide-brimmed hat at Carn Edward and carried them under my arm in a bundle. I was only a little late, and the chaise was waiting for me. I kept myself hidden as the chaise passed through Newport. On the Cilgwyn Road I collected my bag from behind the hedge, and we made great haste back to Clarbeston Road. I paid off the driver and thanked him for his efforts, and was just in time to catch the evening train back to Carmarthen. As my carriage hurtled and rattled eastwards, drawn by one of those steaming monsters, my mind was racing in parallel. Who on earth were these men, and what were they doing?
Next day Bessie packed her bags and travelled to Carmarthen, in the company of Betsi and Daisy, with Ioan driving the carriage. I greeted them all warmly at the entrance of my lodgings, and we exchanged news. As for Bessie, I was overjoyed to see her, and I think that feeling was mutual. As we embraced, we both wept. After a convivial lunch at my expense (that was a luxury indeed, for all of us) I asked Betsi if she might be travelling into Cardigan with Ioan on the next market day, with the buying or selling of stock in mind. She replied that she might well do that, next Saturday. I was greatly relieved, and asked her if she would be kind enough to call in at my old lodgings on the Pendre and enquire after the health of young Merlin. I told her that I had a great affection for the child, and that I was concerned about him since he had been beaten up by Iago Woodward because of the assistance he had given me. She said she would be very happy to do that, and I gave her £10 to pass across to Mrs Ifans, for the child’s continuing education.
My daughters decided that henceforth they would refer to me in writing as “Aunt Susanna” on the grounds that my distant and theoretical link with their deceased mother Martha had now been widely publicized and was known to a good many people. I agreed to keep them informed as to our continental wanderings, and to give them addresses where possible, so that they might write to me. Then I said my farewells to my daughters and to Ioan.
I talked with Bessie far into the night, and I told her everything that had happened to me since my reported death. She told me of all the changes at the Plas, which I was able to accept with equanimity. Over the next few days we read travel books and consulted maps, and we made our plans. Dear Bessie had hardly any clothes, and so we did more shopping, giggling like small girls as she tried on this and that, and eventually we found bonnets and dresses that made her look very pretty, and half her age. We ate in the best restaurants in town, and I believe that I started to put back onto my body those pounds which I had lost in Cardiff and China.
One day Shemi turned up at my lodgings without warning, and over a splendid lunch in the Duke of Wellington he and I enjoyed a long talk. He knew all there was to know about the spies, and confirmed that Iago Woodward was still making occasional appearances in Newport. He said that he drank in the Black Lion with the fellow called Silas Reynolds, and assumed that they were waiting for me to turn up in town. He confirmed that they had been seen more than once visiting the castle. Shemi knew about the letter written by Iago and intercepted by Merlin, and said he doubted that Iago would try to kill me, as I was more valuable alive. “Thank you very much, Shemi,” I said. “I am reassured. I wonder what I’m worth?”
My favourite wizard also told me that he had news of Merlin. The child had indeed taken a beating from Iago, but he was as tough as all the other street children of Cardigan, and was now fully recovered and as mischievous as ever. That news was a great relief to me. I asked Shemi whether Merlin could possibly have been in Merthyr Tydfil during the past weeks, keeping a friendly eye on me. “Not that I know of, Susanna,” said he. “But he is an extraordinary child, and for the likes of him, nothing is impossible..........”
As we chatted on, I became convinced that Shemi also knew the cultivated Irishman called Donal, although he would not admit it; and I was led to conclude that somehow Wilmot, Shemi and Donal were working together, probably for the protection of Wilmot’s estates. Later on we returned to my lodgings and I gave Shemi the bag with the black cloak, muffler and wide-brimmed hat in it, as a present from the latest incarnation of the Nightwalker. I knew that I would not need them again, but I had a feeling that he might find them useful. He knew of course that I had used the garments on the mountain prior to my departure from Cardigan in March, but he had warned me not to use them again because of the risks involved. “Oh dear, Mrs Ravenhill,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Splashes of mud on the cloak. And still not properly dry. As I thought. Never fear -- I will look after them until you return, and will try to keep them clean.”
Then I went to the chest of drawers in the corner of my room and took out the maps which I had obtained from Twm and Ianto. I gave them to Shemi and asked him to look after them. I was sure that they would be safer with him than they would be in the possession of two elderly ladies travelling about all over Europe. He took one look at the maps, and said “Where on earth did you get these from? Mrs Ravenhill, you are almost as amazing as your half sister Martha Morgan.” Then he studied them in more detail, and said: “Yes indeed, as I thought. Exactly as I thought.........” But he would not elaborate further.
On the day before our departure for France Wilmot and Delilah called to say farewell, carrying greetings from Will and the other servants, Rose and Henry and all of our fellow conspirators. We enjoyed a good lunch together, and it was my pleasure (for a change) to pay for it. Later on, while Delilah chatted to Bessie on a bench in the park, I asked Wilmot to accompany me on a walk along the river. He was wheezing and puffing at the slightest exertion, but was otherwise apparently full of the joys of spring. He offered me his arm, and I accepted it. We exchanged snippets of news, and then I asked him out of the blue whether he had any enemies from his days in Swansea. His good humour disappeared at a stroke, and a shadow came over his face. “Why, Susanna,” he protested. “What a strange question!”
“Not strange at all, but deadly serious, Wilmot.”
“I dare say that all businessmen have enemies, Susanna. As I have said many times before, in business there are some winners but many losers. Swansea was a rough place, twenty years ago. I have always acted with propriety, but yes, there are times when I have beaten jealous men to deals on plant, transport, and purchases of copper ore, and have thereby damaged their prospects. Some of them might therefore have viewed me as an enemy. But I have never sought to harm another man, I can assure you of that.”
“I accept that, dear friend. But is there any man who has a particular reason to hate you?”
He thought for a while, and then said: “Yes, Martha. The only other person who knows this is Delilah. There is a certain Squire called Jonas Harry who has estates and coal mines around Gorseinon..........”
“Not related, by any chance, to the Harry family of Newport, who have been enemies of mine since the day I arrived at the Plas?”
“I fear so, Martha. He is a cousin of Jacob Harry, who was lynched in Ireland a couple of years ago for unspeakable crimes against the starving Irish. The two men were very close -- and I believe that they shared certain business interests.”
We walked on, and I was deep in thought. “May I ask why he hates you?”
“Probably because I beat him to various capital purchases, refused to join his consortium for the fixing of copper prices, and consequently made my fortune through signing contracts which he and his confederates assumed were theirs for the taking. I made lower profits than he might have done, but I still made a great deal of money, Susanna. In the meantime, he lost a great deal.”
“But he is still involved in industry?”
“Very much so -- when I defeated him, I fear his pride was hurt more than his pocket. Since then he has made a great fortune, and owns at least five coal mines and two copper smelters. His mansion on the Mumbles is something to behold!”
“Then what is the point of continuing his hatred? Does he not know that you have retired from industry, that you are in poor health, and that you have moved to the country to live out your days as a gentleman?”
 
; “Of course he knows all of that. But it seems to me that hatred is the fuel that drives him. And he knows that I played a not insignificant role in the downfall of the Society of Sea Serjeants and in the consequent death of his cousin.”
“But that wretched man was entirely responsible for the actions that led to his terrible death! You had absolutely no involvement in it!”
“That may be, Susanna, but hatred clouds logic...........”
“Will he try to harm you?”
“No no, I do not believe so. He is not so stupid. But I have a letter in my safe in which he vows that he will see me crawl into a pauper’s grave.”
“But that is a threat. Wilmot! You must show it to the magistrates and obtain an order from the court........”
“Good gracious me, dear lady!” he laughed. “People use more violent language than that every day of the week, verbally and in writing! Do you not read your newspapers?”
I had to accept the point. Then I asked: “Does he covet your estates?”
“I admit that he does. He has written to me several times, offering a pittance. I have told him repeatedly that the estates are not for sale in any circumstances or for any price that he might like to name. He is no farmer and no gentleman -- I am at a loss as to what he should want the land for. But land appreciates faster than money in the bank. I know that, and so does he. The wealth of the nation is increasing just now, and good little estates are hard to come by. That is all by the way -- to tell the truth, finance is not a consideration as far as I am concerned. As I get older, my heart grows stronger than my mind, and I admit to a growing fondness for the mountain and for the Plas, my dear friend!” And he gave me a little kiss.
“That is a relief, Wilmot. I could not bear to see the estate changing hands again, now that it is back on its feet. Thinking of predators, what role might the Lord Marcher have in the perpetration of Harry’s plans? I hear that his men have been seen visiting the castle.”