by Iris Gower
The coins amounted to five pounds, a good sum, more than some men would earn in two weeks, and Mali was touched and grateful for the gesture. She swept the money into an old tea tin and put it on the shelf, knowing that the day might come when she would be very glad of it.
She was just about to change from her damp skirt and blouse into fresh clothes when there was another knock on the door. Wearily Mali rubbed her hand across her eyes and brushed back her tangled hair, wondering who else would be coming to call on her. She was in no mood for talking to neighbours, however well intentioned, and she only hoped that whoever it was would not stay long.
Her heart almost stopped beating when she opened the door and looked into the windy street. Her face felt suddenly hot as though it had been slapped and she stepped back a pace instinctively.
‘Sterling.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. He moved past her into the kitchen and Mali stared at him in anguish. He stood tall and elegant, his bright hair falling across his forehead, his deep blue eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. In spite of everything, all she longed to do was to rush into his arms.
‘What do you want here?’ Her cold tone revealed nothing of her feelings.
‘Mali, I want help.’ He made a move to take her hands but she shook her head wildly.
‘No, don’t touch me!’ She pushed back a strand of tangled hair and stared up at him, loving him so much that the pain of it swamped her senses. He stood upright, his eyes bright and hard. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stared at her for a long moment in silence.
The tension between them was almost tangible. Mali closed her eyes briefly and the sensation of lying in his arms enveloped in his love was so strong that she felt almost faint.
‘Then you won’t listen to any of my explanations,’ Sterling said in a hard voice. ‘We must talk, Mali, surely you realise that?’
‘Why talk?’ she said fiercely. ‘Do you think words can right the wrongs you’ve done me and mine?’
He looked away from her, shaking his head. ‘Mali, what happened to your father was an accident, a terrible, awful accident but I had nothing to do with it.’
She wanted to believe him, to go and put her head on his shoulder and cry out all her hurt and pain, but she could not.
‘Did you and Dad have words about me just before it happened?’ she asked more quietly. Sterling stared at her, his eyes clear.
‘Yes, we did, Mali, I can’t deny that, but it didn’t end there.’
She took a deep breath and turned her back on him, closing her eyes, refusing to hear any more even though he was explaining that he had offered Davie a new job away from the copper.
‘Don’t say another word.’ She spoke in a hard voice. ‘You wanted me for one thing only, used me as you did that poor lady, Miss Cardigan.’
His hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him once more and his eyes were lit by anger so that they appeared deep violet.
‘What are you talking about?’ His grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘Bea Cardigan is an adult woman and what happened between us was over before I’d made love to you.’
Mali bit her lip, even now he would not admit that he was the father of Miss Cardigan’s child and that he had done wrong by her. ‘Just go,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more to say, I don’t think I ever want to set eyes on you again.’
‘Oh, don’t you now.’ He pulled her to him and Mali struggled uselessly for a moment. He was so close that their breaths mingled and their hearts seemed to beat together as one. Slowly but surely, his lips moved to hers and clung. Mali ceased to fight and lay quiescent in his arms. Love seemed to flow between them, enveloping them in a mist of emotion. She was sinking into a great whirlpool which was carrying her ever downwards.
Mali became aware then that his lips were not tender but savage and bruising. Fool! The word rang in her mind and she pushed against Sterling so fiercely that he released her. She moved away from him and stood behind the table, that formed an effective barrier between them. He stared at her, his eyes cold now like blue ice. Mali rubbed at her lips, trying to erase the sting of his kisses. He had treated her like a woman of the streets and if he had intended to wound and hurt her he had succeeded.
‘Will you just get out of my life and leave me in peace?’ She spoke bitterly, resisting the temptation to cry out to him that he loved her, must love her for she had given herself to him body and soul. Pride came to her aid and she straightened, smoothing back her hair, her face set, her lips pressed together to stop them trembling.
He moved to the door and then paused, his hand going to his pocket. He drew out a package and dropped it on the table.
‘Don’t plan on refusing this,’ he said, ‘it’s compensation for your father’s injuries. It is not charity but comes from a fund set up for cases such as these.’
‘Cases such as these,’ Mali repeated after him, ‘and money is supposed to make up to my father for all that’s happened to him, is it?’ She paused and there was contempt in her eyes. ‘Isn’t there any humanity in you at all?’
He was opening the door when he spoke his voice was curt. ‘There will be an enquiry into the accident and you can be sure that the blame will be placed squarely where it belongs. Does that satisfy your need for revenge?’
‘Take your blood money and go,’ she said, stung into anger once more. She was on the verge of tears but she would not reveal one hint of weakness.
‘It’s not yours to return,’ he replied. ‘Your father works for the copper company and if he refuses compensation then that’s entirely up to him but I believe he will show better sense than his daughter.’
Mali remained silent as he left the house, there was nothing more she could say. As the door clicked quietly shut, she put her hands to her face, feeling empty and alone.
‘Sterling, come back to me.’ She whispered the words, knowing that now he would never hear them from her lips.
A coal shifted in the grate and Mali knew she must build up the fire, anything to keep herself occupied. Soon she would go to see Dad again and she must try to appear cheerful even if he didn’t recognise her.
‘But he will know me, he must,’ she whispered desperately. She made herself some tea and the hot fragrant liquid soothed her a little. Reluctantly, she turned to look at the package Sterling had left on the table.
Several bundles of notes fell onto the scrubbed boards and Mali realised there must be at least a hundred pounds there. Not much to a man like Sterling Richardson but enough to keep herself and Dad for more than a year. She put the package away inside the old tea tin with the rest of the money. She must talk to Dad, tell him of the kindness of the neighbours and of the generosity of his boss. The first part would be easy enough but to speak of Sterling would break her heart.
She picked up her coat and let herself out into the street. Dai End House was playing ‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ on the accordion and Mali’s lips quivered. But then she was composed once more, nodding to Dai, passing the time of day with him just as if her world had not broken into fragments all around her.
Chapter Twenty-five
Dean Sutton sat in the smoky bar of the Cape Horner feeling uncomfortable and more than a little conspicuous. He was too well dressed, his large hat and the fur collar on his overcoat making him the object of curiosity. He was very much aware of the riff-raff in the bar eyeing him speculatively, doubtless thinking him easy pickings. Well, just let one of them start and they would soon learn differently.
He looked out of the window at the russet leaves blowing along the ground and his mind drifted to Bea Cardigan. She was a lovely, gorgeous butterfly and just as delicate. If she would only allow him to, he would take care of her for the rest of her life, he would cherish and cosset her and make sure that she was never hurt again.
As the time had passed since that beautiful day they’d spent together on the beach, Dean had become more and more convinced that there was something he didn’t know. It
had been all very well for Bertha to say that Bea and Sterling Richardson had quarrelled but there must have been a damned good reason for her to turn against the man so completely that she had shut him out of her life.
His hands clenched into fists as he thought of what he’d like to do to Richardson. He’d become cocky of late, his hopes raised no doubt by the small success he was having with this zinc wire. In all probability, it was simply a flash in the pan and would not bring any lasting profit to the company.
Dean drank a mouthful of whisky and put his glass down on the stained surface of the table with an impatient gesture. It had indeed been a mistake to meet Rickie in this grimy public bar, he mused. Here they would stand out like a boil on a flea. He glanced at the large clock on the wall telling himself that if the young man did not show up in the next few minutes he would leave.
The huge fire roaring in the grate beside Dean’s chair flared up in the draft from the suddenly opened door. Dean sighed and glared up at the new arrival.
‘About time you came,’ he said briskly. Then he noticed the boy was not alone, Glanmor Travers was with him and a young dark-haired fellow who by the cut of his clothes was one of the copperworkers.
‘Not late, are we?’ Rickie spoke pleasantly but Dean would not trust him as far as he could see him. He might find it expedient to throw in his lot with the younger of the Richardson brothers for the moment but that did not mean he would harbour the viper in his bosom.
Rickie took a chair and drew it gratingly towards the table. ‘This is Will Owens, the one my brother thought was his songbird but he was working for me all along.’
‘Is that so?’ Dean looked away from the boy with complete lack of interest. The young whippersnapper was the sort you could buy for ten a penny, not worth a light.
Travers the chemist was a different kettle of fish, he thought with some satisfaction. Although the man had his own personal axe to grind, at least he would use a little intelligence in working out his revenge. He was pleased now that he’d waited, this promised to be a very interesting meeting.
‘You know of course that Sterling is branching out into coal?’ Rickie said, leaning back and folding his arms. ‘Already taken possession of the Kilvey Deep and it won’t stop there, believe me. He’s got his teeth into something that will pay, not only as a sideline but to provide coal for the copper and steel works.’
Dean stared at the boy with raised eyebrows. ‘So?’ he said, impatient with the histrionics, wanting to get down to the real reason for such an unlikely crew getting together.
Rickie smiled slowly and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I’ve thought of getting the men out against him but they’re past that now, they can see that the new foundry is paying out good wages. And so, more drastic action is needed. I think I’ll leave it to Glanmor to outline the plan.’
There was a sudden silence at the table while Travers looked at Dean as though trying to get his measure. Around them, the sounds of the public bar ebbed and flowed like the tide, there was the chink of glasses and the raucous voice of the landlord and Dean waited, wondering what sort of ideas this chemist might have to offer.
Travers leaned closer and his voice was so low that Dean had to strain to hear it.
‘The Kilvey Deep is the mine with the Cornish beam engine,’ he said slowly. Dean shook his head, resisting the urge to tell the man to get on with it. Travers narrowed his eyes and leaned even closer.
‘If there was to be an unfortunate accident, say the beam became jammed or exploded because of a blocked valve? The result would be that the entire chain of pits from the Kilvey Deep down through the Landore Copper Pit and the Big Andrew would be flooded in a matter of hours.’
Dean put his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together, displaying an outward calm while his mind raced, trying to gauge the effect this action would have on Sterling Richardson. Rickie was there ahead of him.
‘Without coal, the works could not operate, no one can make copper or zinc without furnaces. At the moment, the stocks of fuel are fair but they would be used up long before the mines could be made operational again.’
Dean stared at him. ‘And what good would that do us? We both stand to lose if the profits fall.’
‘Only for a time,’ Rickie said triumphantly, ‘then we could buy Sterling out at a very low price.’
Dean suddenly saw why he was being allowed to participate in this little scheme of Rickie’s. The boy did not have the necessary sheckels to buy out an empty beer barrel.
‘There’s one flaw,’ he said. ‘What would we use for coal ourselves?’
Rickie smiled, though there was no warmth in his eyes. ‘Strange you should ask, did you know that the small slants just outside the town boundary are being outclassed by the larger pits and the owners are desperate for capital investments? Small the seams may be but rich enough, and all ours for the asking.’
‘And what if Sterling decides to import coal from another area?’ Dean challenged. Rickie shook his head.
‘Time is of the essence. When my brother realises how low his stocks have become it will be too late to do anything about it. If he fails to deliver his orders on the due date, he will be out of business.’
Dean was silent for a long moment, staring at the men seated around him, and they waited anxiously, as well they might, for his reaction.
‘It seems to me that I’m taking the entire financial risk here,’ he said slowly. ‘What if your plan fails, I’m down in the gutter while you, Rickie, will be still sitting pretty.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, this needs thinking about.’
Rickie smiled and folded his arms across his chest. ‘We can go ahead without you, Dean,’ he said softly, ‘and we will if we have to. Don’t forget, you stand to make more than any of us. If we are successful, you’ll have the biggest share of the copper company.’
The prospect was a pleasing one, Dean thought to himself, and he could well afford to put out a little cash for his shops were doing well. He wasn’t really going to risk a great deal, all he would actually be doing was to buy into some of the smaller mines, nothing illegal. This man Travers would shoulder the blame if anything went wrong.
‘All right,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll finance the deal.’ He saw Rickie exchange relieved glances with Glanmor Travers and knew that in spite of his brave words, Rickie had been worried in case the funds he needed would not be forthcoming.
‘There’s been some heavy rainfall of late and the pump has been working overtime trying to keep the pits clear,’ Travers said. ‘And so I suggest we go ahead as soon as possible.’
Dean nodded. ‘Fine by me, I’ll leave all that to you.’ He glanced at the three men, bags of wind all of them though perhaps Glanmor had a little more backbone than the others. Dean rose from his chair abruptly.
‘I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen.’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘But keep me informed, won’t you Rickie?’
He went outside and the wind gusted around him, lifting the brim of his hat, but Dean scarcely noticed the cold, he was exultant, he must go to visit Bea at once. Yes, he would enjoy telling her that Sterling Richardson was going to get his comeuppance.
While Dean was thinking of visiting Bea, she was sitting on the edge of her chair in the drawing room, making a pretence of drinking tea. Seated on the long scroll sofa was Victoria Richardson, her hair slightly dishevelled by the wind that whined and moaned in the branches of the trees outside. The room was silent for neither of the women could think of anything to say and Bea was too weary and too low in spirits to make a great effort at small talk. Victoria put down the fine bone china cup and sighed softly.
‘I do hope, Bea, that you don’t object to your father and me becoming . . . close?’ She drew her skirts round her legs and her eyebrows were raised anxiously as she waited for a reply.
‘You and Daddy have your own lives to lead,’ Bea said softly. She did not add that it was time the couple were married, for it might help ri
ght the wrong that had been done so many years before.
She would probably never reveal to Victoria that she knew the truth, knew that Sterling was James’s son and her own half brother. Nor would she ever be able to forgive, she thought bitterly.
She still ached to be in Sterling’s arms and even after the awful events that had taken place since, she could not forget the times she had lain with Sterling and known his love.
Her one great sorrow was that she had been forced to forfeit the joy of bearing his child and she still suffered nightmares about her visit to Mrs Benson.
‘I know we are old enough not to need approval,’ Victoria continued, ‘and yet I would like you to be pleased for us, Bea.’ She pushed back a dark strand of hair. ‘Of course, we shall wait a while before we marry, at least a year, for I must abide by the period of mourning for poor, dear Arthur.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Bea agreed though inside her there was a jeering voice that said concern for the proprieties was surely misplaced in such a situation. Mrs Richardson and James Cardigan were only resuming a relationship after all, not entering into a new one.
It was with relief that she saw her father come into the drawing room. She rose from her chair, trying to conceal her eagerness to escape, and kissed his cheek as she passed him by.
‘I think I’ll go down onto the beach for a while,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll take Bertha with me so there’s no need to worry.’
James looked at her anxiously. ‘But I do worry about you, Bea, you are still very fragile. I’m sure you don’t realise how badly that fever you contracted affected your health.’ He came to her and pressed his lips against her hair. Bea closed her eyes, feeling that old familiar guilt wash over her. It had not been a fever, her mind cried. But how could she put into words the truth of her illness? She would break her father’s heart and he would never get over the fact that his folly as a young man had resulted in such tragic consequences for his daughter.