by Iris Gower
On Sunday afternoons the chapel was not nearly as awe-inspiring as usual, Mali decided as she stood in the doorway staring round her. The long dark pews were the same as ever but children sat in groups placed according to age. There was not the usual reverent silence either, a babble of young voices filled the building, rising into the heavy oak rafters. It was only at the end of the hour that the groups merged into one congregation, heads bent before the altar as the deacon led them in prayer.
It was Mali’s task to teach the older children, pupils of ten and upwards, for her aptitude for reading and for understanding the scriptures had been taken for granted. She was after all the daughter of Mrs Llewelyn, a woman of rare delicacy and learning, one whose father had himself been a lay preacher. At first, Mali had enjoyed being singled out and yet gradually, she found that she had become separated by her position from others of her own age.
That afternoon the pupils in her class seemed unusually trying and difficult and after a time Mali felt her head begin to pound. She was relieved when at last the bell rang and the children rose as if by one accord and moved to the pews nearer the dais upon which stood the pulpit with the open Bible resting upon it. Mali glanced round her stealthily, wondering if she could slip out without being noticed but she was too late, the organ was already swelling into life. Later, as she retraced her steps along the road towards Copperman’s Row, she paused to stare at the docks spread out below. The sea, from a distance, was calm, fanning outwards towards the edge of the world – a grey, pewter flatness broken only by the darkness of a ship moving away on the tide.
‘Mali, what are you doing standing there in the snow like a fool?’ Katie caught her arm and clung, laughing, her red-gold hair escaping from under a woollen scarf, her cheeks flushed with cold.
‘Come on, let’s get back home, sure it’s freezin’ to death you’ll be if you stand there much longer.’
Mali smiled warmly. ‘Katie, you’re just the one I want to talk to. I’ve had a word with Dad, told him off about seeing this Rosa.’ Her words came hurriedly and Katie raised her eyebrows comically.
‘Fools rush in where the angels fear to tread, right enough,’ she said. ‘And a lot of good it did you by the look on your face, you can’t say I didn’t warn you to keep your nose out of other people’s affairs.’
She laughed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry Mali, but you can’t interfere in what your Dad wants to do.’
Mali shrugged. ‘I suppose you’re right, for Dad simply lost his rag and went out the back to take out his temper on the wood, chopping it as if it was his worst enemy. It’s splinters I’ll have not fire blocks by the time he’s finished.’
The two girls walked slowly up the hill. Already darkness was closing in, giving an eerie glow to the whiteness of the snow on the ground. Lights spilling from windows threw pools of brightness and warmth, illuminating Katie’s red hair and Mali’s earnest face.
‘Can I speak now?’ Katie asked. ‘For I’ve something powerful important to tell you.’ Her eyes shone like cats’ eyes through the gloom and Mali looked at her, suddenly aware that there was a contained excitement about her friend.
‘Yes of course you can speak,’ she said quickly. ‘What is it, Katie?’
‘It’s me and Will.’ The Irish girl hung her head for a moment and stopped walking and the glow from the street lamp fell like a blessing on the brightness of her hair. When she looked up, her eyes were soft and dreamy, the contours of her face subtly altered. She looked the way Mali sometimes felt in chapel when the music rose to a crescendo, haunting and yet brave, stirring up inward feelings.
‘We’re man and wife now.’ Katie’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘At least in the sight of the Blessed Virgin.’
Mali felt suddenly cold. ‘Katie, what have you done?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Surely you haven’t . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
Katie became defiant, she tossed back the hair that had fallen over her forehead, her scarf slipped now to the back of her neck.
‘Don’t sound so prim and vinegary.’ She spoke sharply and Mali sensed her hurt.
‘I’m sorry, Katie.’ She put her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Come on, we’ll walk towards home and you can tell me about it.’ Mollified, Katie fell into step beside Mali.
‘It was so wonderful,’ she said almost wistfully. ‘His mother had gone out visitin’ her sister so we had the house to ourselves though the old besom didn’t know that of course. Crept in we did after we watched her leave and then Will took me up to his bedroom.’ She paused. ‘It was so cold in there, Mali, and yet though I was shiverin’ ’twere not from the chill. Took me in his arms so he did, held me so close I could hear the beating of his heart like thunder in my ears. The breath was gone from me, I couldn’t think of anything but the crying of me inside, I wanted him so badly, you see.’
They had reached the end of Copperman’s Row and Mali paused, staring along the roadway white and shimmering, the snow untrodden and pure. Katie what have you done? a silent voice inside her asked fearfully.
‘Does he love you, Katie?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’re too good to throw yourself away on just any man. Will he marry you, properly in your church?’ She faced her friend and saw a fleeting shadow of doubt pass over the delicate features, then Katie lifted her head.
‘Of course he will marry me, he loves me and soon we shall be together, I told you before, we won’t wait any longer than the time it takes to get the dibbs to pay the priest.’ She made a wry face. ‘His mother will have a fit o’ the vapours when we tell her though, Mrs Owens is chapel like you and she don’t hold with Catholics.’
Mali felt uncertainty like a glimmer of pain inside her. Katie in spite of her pretence at being wise was too trusting by far and it would not be difficult for a slick-talking young man to charm away her fears, especially as she believed herself in love.
‘Look I must go home now, give Dad his tea,’ she said. ‘But I’ll miss chapel this evening and when Dad goes down to the Mexico, you can come in and talk some more, all right?’
Katie smiled. ‘Tis a good friend you are, Mali Llewelyn,’ she said softly. ‘And talk I must or I’ll be fit to bust with the joy that’s in me.’
As Mali let herself into the warm kitchen, she became aware that the house was occupied by someone other than her father. The scent of a cheap perfume hung in the air and when Mali turned up the lamp, she saw a pair of shabby boots discarded on the floor near the fireplace. From upstairs came the sound of the old bed creaking and suddenly Mali froze. Dad had that flossy up there in Mam’s room. She would not have believed him capable of such betrayal.
How long she stood near the door, battling with her feelings of anger, she could not afterwards remember, it was only the sound of footsteps on the stairs that brought her to her senses.
The door opened into the kitchen and there stood Rosa, red cheeked, her bright hair dishevelled and behind her Davie, his mouth dropping open in dismay at the sight of his daughter.
‘Get her out of here, Dad.’ Mali did not recognise her own voice. ‘Get her out before I kill her.’
‘No cariad, don’t lose your rag.’ Davie held out a hand placatingly, pushing Rosa before him into the kitchen. ‘Get your duds on, gel, I’ll take you home.’ He spoke sharply to Rosa but she stared up at him defiantly.
‘Throwing me out it is Davie boyo, and after you jest bedded me, too!’
Mali could bear no more, she flung open the door and then she was running, careless in the snow, not hearing Davie’s voice behind her calling anxiously. Her one thought was to get away from the sight of Rosa who thought she could take the place once occupied by Mam.
‘Over my dead body!’ Mali shouted the words to the sky and they seemed to echo upwards into the silent hills.
Mali did not afterwards remember how far she ran for inside her raged a fury that would not be quenched. She was forced at last to stop and rest for her breathing was ragged and her heart pounding as though i
t would burst. She leaned against the rough bark of a tree and stared around her and for the first time realised she was high up on the hill, and spread far below her was the town, lights just beginning to twinkle as dusk fell.
Mali was suddenly startled to hear the sound of a man whistling and it seemed he was coming towards her. She did not know exactly why she was afraid, perhaps it was because she was on unfamiliar territory. She made to run back the way she had come but in her panic, her foot slipped and then she was falling into the snow, her voice rising in a thin cry.
She was picked up in strong arms, held aloft and even as she began to struggle, relief flowed through her.
‘Mr Richardson!’ She relaxed against his shoulder and returned his smile reluctantly, wondering how it was he seemed always to catch her unawares and when she was looking less than her best.
‘My name is Sterling,’ he said reasonably as he set her down. ‘I’m not exactly the Ancient Mariner you know, not so much older than you, really, believe it or not.’
She looked away from him shyly as he took her hand and drew it through his arm.
‘I don’t know why you’re up here near my house,’ he said lightly. ‘Looking for me were you?’
‘No, I was not!’ She spoke with such ferocity that he laughed.
‘All right you weren’t looking for me but you shouldn’t be roaming around alone, not when it’s getting dark, should you?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, ‘but somehow I had to put as much distance between myself and Copperman’s Row as possible.’
He thrust his hands into his pockets and stared up into the night sky and was silent for a long time.
‘See how clear the stars are Mali?’ he said at last. ‘That constellation is the Great Bear, you can just make it out if you look carefully.’
He talked to her quietly, of anything and everything until gradually she became calmer. She smiled up at him sheepishly.
‘I suppose I must have looked like a demon out of Hades, running about the hillside, my hair wild,’ she said.
Their eyes met and held and Mali found herself entranced by the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards.
‘Would you like to tell me what’s wrong, now?’ His voice was resonant, sounding beautiful to Mali’s ears. She felt strength flow from him and suddenly she wanted to confide in him.
‘It’s my dad,’ she said, ‘he’s taken up with a woman of the streets, a real no-good hussy, all cheap perfume and shabby clothes. How can he want her after my mother?’
Sterling was silent for a long time and Mali searched his face anxiously.
‘Do you think I’m wrong too? My friend Katie says I shouldn’t interfere.’
Sterling put his hands on her shoulders and Mali felt the tingling warmth of him soar through her blood. She drew away from him quickly, afraid of the new, strange sensations.
‘You’re bound to feel hurt,’ he said gently. ‘But perhaps it’s best if you let things run their course. Some women have a way of getting into a man’s blood against his better judgment.’
‘You’re on his side.’ Mali’s voice was muffled for deep within her she knew that she was no longer entirely wrapped up in the problem of her father and Rosa. She had become increasingly conscious of Sterling Richardson’s tallness and masculinity and even more aware of the gulf that separated them.
‘I’m not on anyone’s side, Mali,’ he said, ‘but I can understand it when a man wants something so badly he’ll go to any lengths to get it.’
Mali turned to look at him and his eyes were now gazing down into the valley. ‘But you’re not talking about a woman, are you?’ she said.
He shook his head and moved forward, standing silhouetted against the sky, a godlike creature from a dream. Mali followed him and when he spoke again his voice was hard.
‘It’s my ambition to restore the works to its former glory. As it is we’re going broke, Mali. If I don’t pull us out of the mire the company is finished and the Richardson family along with it.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t blame my father, he was getting old, past his prime. He would not accept change but I must make good his mistakes.’
Mali felt that she had been selfish, pouring out her worries upon Sterling when he had enough of his own. She slipped her hand within his shyly, wanting to comfort and he smiled down at her, understanding. Mali’s heart contracted, she felt she had reached out to him and found a spirit akin to her own.
‘I think I’d better take you home,’ he said and his eyes were alight with something that touched Mali so that she could hardly bear the pain of it. It was as though the flickering of a candle flame lay between them, shimmering and lovely and so intangible that it might disappear at any moment.
Sterling began to lead her downward, guiding her over the rough, uneven ground. And as they walked, they spoke together lightly, saying nothing of great consequence, but Mali felt a bubbling happiness rise within her so that she wanted to lift her arms to the heavens and laugh out loud.
He took her as far as the corner of Market Street and when he said goodbye, the softness and beauty was still between them.
She ran then as though her feet had wings and joy flowed through her like sweet wine. Copperman’s Row appeared to be a fairyland of white snow lit by shooting sparks and Mali felt she wanted to stay awake all night so that she might not lose the memory of the hours she had spent with Sterling.
Chapter Nine
It was a brisk morning, the sun weak and wintry but none the less pleasant, slanting through the bare branches of the trees. Sterling stepped out of the arched doorway of the Mackworth Arms and stared across the cobbled street towards the harbour, breathing in the familiar scents of tar and salt. He listened for a moment to the small tugs issuing warning to the larger vessels, ships with billowing sails that creaked and groaned in the wind and the less beautiful steam packets that could cut the time of a journey by almost half.
The air was like wine with no sign of the pall of smoke that normally hung shroudlike over the valley. Sterling took a deep breath, staring down the snaking line of the main street as it meandered along the curve of the bay. The tall posts of the gas lamps stood like markers against grey stone houses and he reflected that it was an ugly, shapeless town and yet the rising folds of the hills that flanked it and the soft swell of the sea somehow beautified it.
He strode round the back of the hotel and stared in satisfaction at the gleaming Austin Ascot he had just acquired. It had cost him four hundred pounds, the windsheets and headlights coming as extras, but it was worth it. It seemed to stamp his own individuality, mark the change in ownership of the copper company, a flag to wave at the world as a warning that Sterling Richardson intended to do things his own way.
It was pleasant if cold driving the Ascot along the road towards the works; he found the car amazingly easy to steer and far less temperamental than Foxy, though nothing would ever replace the feeling of a good horse beneath him.
His thoughts turned to the ticketing that was to take place later on that morning; with him Ben would attend the auctioning of the ore as he had always done even though now the old man’s eyes were not as sharp as they used to be. He turned the Ascot into Stryd Fawr, the high street which was crowded even at such an early hour. Among the crowd he saw cockle women wrapped in heavy Welsh shawls, distinctive tall hats upon their heads, baskets of shellfish on their arms. None of the people thronging the pavements seemed aware of the cold breeze coming in off the sea.
Sterling slowed the Ascot, breathing in the smell of hot fresh bread that emanated from a van pulled up before the baker’s shop. The horse was moving impatiently between the shafts, drawing the van almost onto the pavement. A stream of urine came from the animal in sudden gushes, running in yellow rivulets between the cobbles. Sterling pressed the horn, impatient to pass, and after a moment the driver came out of the shop and climbed aboard the van, calling raucously to the horse to get a move on along the crowded road.
The m
ain street was soon left behind him as Sterling drove up the hill towards the works. Green Hill was the Catholic area of the town and could not have been given a more blatant misnomer. Dingy courts were entwined together in a maze of dark alleyways leading to cottages that defied all efforts by the occupants to preserve a state of cleanliness.
A great deal of the dust and grime came from the works spread along the river and there seemed no cure for it except perhaps closure of the very works that gave the inhabitants of Green Hill their livelihood.
‘Morning Ben.’ Sterling strode into the office a few minutes later after parking his Ascot in the end stable cleaned out and modified for the purpose. ‘Good day for the ticketing wouldn’t you say?’
‘Aye, not bad sir.’ Ben took his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his whiskers. ‘Good load in from Chile for the auction, so I’ve heard,’ he continued, his voice slightly muffled by the folds of linen. ‘Course you can’t beat the Cornish ore but nowadays we must take what we can get.’
Sterling took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the sheds, then, see how the new furnaces are shaping up.’
‘The workmen have not finished installing them yet sir.’ Ben spoke almost reprovingly as though Sterling was expecting miracles.
‘Let’s get over there anyway,’ Sterling said a trife impatiently. ‘You know I like to check everything over at least once a day.’
As always the sheds were a steaming cauldron, the remaining calcinating furnaces roaring full blast. Each one of them was capable of devouring over three tons of ore, reducing the rock-like substance to a shimmering, molten mass, glazing over with dross that must continually be skimmed away, ‘fishing’ as the workers called it. This was the first stage of refining and would take anything up to twenty-four hours to complete.