by Iris Gower
‘Yes, I told you, he said Rosa plain as anything. Going to see him, later are you?’ Rosa pulled off her hat and threw it onto a chair. ‘God, where’s the dinner, I’m so hungry my belly thinks my throat is cut.’
Mali picked up her coat. ‘Get your own dinner, I’m going down to see my father,’ she said lightly, almost laughing at the look of comic dismay on Rosa’s face.
As Mali hurried past the canal, she drew her coat more tightly around her, for the wind was keen. She stared up at the shooting sparks from the copper works and waved her fist at them. ‘You haven’t won,’ she said to herself, ‘my Dad is getting better.’
When Mali entered the infirmary, she was greeted by a smiling nurse who knew her at once.
‘Miss Llewelyn, good news, your father is much more his old self today and his back is healing beautifully. Go along in, he’ll be pleased to see you.’
Davie was propped up against the pillow. He still looked thin and gaunt but his eyes were clear and he attempted to smile when he saw Mali.
‘Dad, thank God you’re better.’ Mali put her arms around him and he felt fragile beneath her hands.
‘I want to come home Mali,’ his voice was painfully weak. ‘Tell them you want to take me home, I can’t abide it here any longer.’
Mali took a deep breath, ‘I’ll speak to the doctor later, Dad,’ she said. ‘But for now, rest, there’s a good boyo.’
By the time she was ready to leave the infirmary, Mali was exhausted. ‘See you tomorrow, Dad,’ she said gently. ‘And I’ll ask the doctor about you coming home, I promise.’
Davie looked as though he was about to cry. ‘See that you do, my girl,’ he said with as much energy as he could muster.
The walk down the ward seemed never-ending and by the time she reached the double doors, Mali felt as if she was wading through cotton wool. She paused just outside and closed her eyes for a moment. The world was spinning away from her; she was falling down into a deep black pit and it seemed there was nothing she could do to save herself.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on one of the beds in a small side room, a doctor was bending over her and the nurse who had spoken to her earlier was watching with a strange expression on her face.
‘There’s silly of you to go and faint like that,’ she said sympathetically. ‘But then your dad’s accident has been a terrible strain on you hasn’t it, cariad?’
‘Would you like Nurse Evans to bring you a drink of tea, perhaps?’ The doctor was smiling kindly and Mali shook her head, wanting only to get off home.
‘I feel so foolish,’ she said, ‘there’s nothing wrong with me, nothing at all, except that I haven’t been eating very well.’ She spoke almost apologetically. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’ She attempted to swing her legs to the ground but the nurse put a restraining hand on her arm.
‘You do know about your condition, don’t you?’ she said, staring at Mali curiously.
‘Condition, what do you mean?’ Mali stared at her, knowing that her worst fears were about to be realised.
The doctor exchanged glances with the nurse. ‘I’ll leave it to you to break the news, Nurse Evans, and perhaps afterwards, the young lady would like that cup of tea.’
‘What is it, what’s wrong?’ Mali asked when the doctor had left the room. A feeling of dread was creeping over her and she leaned back weakly against the hard pillows.
‘You are about four months gone. I mean you’re having a baby, didn’t you even suspect, Miss Llewelyn?’ She spoke kindly but the words seemed like spears flung into Mali’s heart. She stared around her anxiously as though seeking a means of escape.
The blood seemed to pound in Mali’s head. She covered her burning face with her hands, closing her eyes tightly, trying to swallow the tears that formed a hard lump in her throat. It was pointless to panic, she must try to be calm and rational, crying would solve nothing at all.
Yet it was so bitterly unfair, she had given herself for one night only to Sterling Richardson and now she was going to bear his child.
‘Here my dear, drink this tea.’ Nurse Evans had left the room and returned without Mali even noticing and now she put a hand on Mali’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. ‘It’s been very hard on you with your dad so sick but you must begin to look after yourself, no going without decent food. Your baby will need nourishment and only you can provide it.’
Mali drank the tea, grateful that it provided an excuse not to reply. At last she put down her cup, realising that the nurse was staring at her curiously. She was no doubt wondering about the father of the baby but that was Mali’s secret and no one would hear the truth, not from her lips.
‘I’ll come tomorrow to see how Dad is,’ she said, brushing down her skirts. ‘He wants to come home, you know.’
Nurse Evans smiled. ‘I’m sure he does and if he continues to make progress then it shouldn’t be too long.’
Mali found herself out in the cold once more, staring across the sands, grey now under the cloudy sky with a dark sea running swiftly shorewards. How on earth was she going to manage to support herself and Dad now? And soon her condition would start to show, people would gossip and doubtless the deacons would want to call her before the Set Fawr to impress upon her the sinfulness of her ways. But nothing mattered against the worry of earning money enough to put food in their bellies.
Mali stood for a long time staring out to sea and slowly an idea formed in her head. At first it seemed impossible and yet after a time, she knew it was her only lifeline.
She began to walk home back along the winding street, past the shops closed and shuttered and past the busy chapels full of people in their Sunday-best dress, calloused hands holding hymn books, singing praises to God as though their lives were one long bed of roses. But she must not become bitter, Mali reproved herself, she would be strong and face up to the consequences of her own actions, not blaming anyone but herself.
Tomorrow, she would take the money Sterling had given her, blood money she still felt it to be, and give it to Mr Waddington in exchange for a share in the business. And then she would begin to make all the alterations that she felt were necessary to bring the laundry to a peak of efficiency. It was a risk, God knew it was, but the alternative was to live fairly comfortably on the hundred pounds for a year or at the most two, and then to be responsible for a young child as well as an invalid father and no money coming in.
Her steps were more certain now as she made towards home. She felt pangs of hunger inside her and somehow a softness seemed to fill her as she thought of the child she was carrying. Her hand unconsciously went to her stomach, fleetingly, and she felt a momentary lifting of her spirits. They would be all right, all of them, she Mali Llewelyn would make up to the unborn child she carried and to Dad for the harsh way fate had dealt with them. She would make the Canal Street Laundry the most successful business in Sweyn’s Eye even if it meant doing the washing herself.
She stepped out along Copperman’s Row, her head high, and high it would remain, she told herself fiercely. Even when her condition became obvious to everyone, she would still keep her pride for she would one day pay back all Sterling Richardson’s ‘compensation’ and then he could go to the devil for all she cared.
Immediately she opened the door of the cottage, the smell of burning meat overlaid by the sickly stench of gin caught at her, making her retch. She looked around at the disordered room and saw with disgust that the remains of a crude meal of bread, and chunks cut from the meat, were still on the table.
She closed the door moving further into the room, looking around her despairingly. Rosa’s dirty washing lay on the floor near the sink in amongst debris from the meal. All the cleaning that Mali had done was wasted effort and she knew she could not go on like this.
The house was empty and silent and Mali felt a scream rise in her throat and she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. But Rosa would have to go, and when Mali next saw her, she would give her the order of
the boot in no uncertain terms.
She sank down then in her chair, staring at the almost dead fire and after a moment, she put her head down on her hands and wept.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As Sterling drove the Ascot towards the Kilvey Deep, his thoughts were on Mali and the strange way she had behaved towards him, almost as though he had committed some vile crime. He was puzzled by her reference to Bea Cardigan. All right, so he’d slept with her but that was Bea’s wish and in any case, as he’d told Mali in no uncertain terms, it was none of her business. He wondered how Mali had come to hear of the brief affair – servants’ gossip he supposed, for there were not many families in Sweyn’s Eye who weren’t related to each other in some way or other.
He had been taken aback by Mali’s uncompromising attitude and concerned too, for she had looked pale and thin, with large violet shadows beneath her beautiful eyes. She was deeply affected by her father’s accident, which was only natural, and yet her bitterness against himself was something he had not expected.
He drew the automobile to a halt and climbed down swiftly. The coal dust crunched beneath his feet as he moved forward to the engine house, where he was pleased to see the beam engine was working perfectly.
At first, Sterling mused, the miners of the Kilvey Deep had looked upon him with suspicion – he was a hard-nosed man who had deprived Alwyn Travers of his livelihood. But as the weeks passed, he had been – albeit grudgingly – accepted as the boss man, the rightful owner of the pit, the one who paid their wages and a darn sight more promptly than the old boss had done. And so easily was allegiance changed, Sterling thought ruefully.
‘Morning, sir.’ Ceri Morgan touched his cap respectfully. ‘Rain’s still causing us trouble, keeps the pump working full stretch.’
He was a young man, this Ceri Morgan, and Sterling had taken a liking to him from the start. He had an open honest face, dark-eyed and with the thick hair and stocky body of the Welsh, and a pleasing way of looking at Sterling as though he really saw him and not just a wage packet.
‘Morning Ceri, the weather is bad, more rain fallen in the last weeks than all through the year, I think, but the beam engine can cope, can’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, good engine this, cope with much worse weather than we’ve been having. Which is lucky for the pits further down the mountain.’
Sterling looked around him searchingly. Everything was well maintained, the machinery greased and operating smoothly. He saw Ceri Morgan watching him and smiled his approval.
‘You look after things pretty well in here, can’t fault you however hard I try.’ He smiled and the Welshman nodded.
‘Got to be fussy, something as simple as a blocked valve could lead to an explosion that would blow me to kingdom come. I’m fussy, all right.’
When Sterling left the engine house a few minutes later, he hurried across the yard to the small office. The old manager was not unlike Ben, he thought wryly, managers seemed to be a dying breed, now, for instead of gentlemen with waxed moustaches and spectacles, owners seemed to be employing rough tough youths who would beat the living daylights out of anyone who dared to disagree with the boss.
Alwyn Travers himself had briefly engaged such a man and a guard dog to boot, but it had done him no good. Sterling smiled wryly to himself as he remembered the encounter; thank God he was young enough to stand up for himself or right now he would be sitting twiddling his thumbs instead of looking over his latest acquisition.
He spent only a short time studying the figures for the last month for he could tell at a glance that production had improved dramatically, due no doubt to the bonus he had offered as an incentive for the man who brought out the most coal.
He had concluded the business more quickly than he’d thought and as he left the mine, he felt somewhat at a loose end. Just the same he was pleased with the progress he had made over the last few months. For a start, the bank balance was certainly much healthier now he had taken the mine over.
The production of zinc wire had exceeded all his expectations, too, selling as fast as he could manufacture it. Sterling felt a sense of pleasure as he contemplated his future. For the moment at least, the copper company was in the clear.
Plas Rhianfa was still being held as surety of course, but fairly soon now the profits he was making would more than cover that debt.
As he drove into town, the streets were full in spite of the inclement weather and he had to concentrate on guiding the Ascot through the maze of horse-drawn vehicles. He would have to head back to the works soon but on an impulse, he decided to stop off and see Ronnie Waddington.
The old man had not been very well and had been confined to bed for the last few days. Sterling felt quite concerned about the older man, who had been a close friend of his father, Ronnie being of a similar age to Arthur Richardson. And only yesterday Sterling had heard his mother say she had taken a basket of delicacies to try to tempt the invalid into eating a little.
He drew the Ascot to a halt and even from the large house near the Strand he could smell the hot steamy odour of the laundry. He supposed it was natural for Ronnie to want to live near his business premises, it was very convenient for him, but give Sterling the fresh air of the western hills any day.
The maid opened the door and recognising him stepped back. ‘Come in sir, I’ll tell Mr Waddington you’re here.’
Ronnie was looking decidedly pale and there were huge dark circles under his eyes, but his smile was cheerful enough.
‘Come in Sterling my lad, you’ve just caught me.’ He indicated a chair and gestured for the maid to bring in another cup.
‘I’ve been back to the office today, can’t take too much time off you know, put too much of a strain on young Mali Llewelyn and since her father’s accident, she’s been looking under the weather herself.’
He paused and looked up at Sterling from under bushy brows. ‘How is Davie coming along?’ He did not wait for a reply but hurried on. ‘It’s a dismal situation and from what Mali tells me her father has lost the will to live. Do you know yet how the accident occurred?’
Sterling took the tea the maid offered him and smiled grimly. ‘I’ve got a very good idea.’ He stirred sugar into the hot liquid, seeing not the tea but Will Owens’ cocky face. There was no proof to be had of course because no one knew what had really happened.
The story was that Davie had stumbled backwards, tipping Will Owens’ ladle over, but in view of the known bitterness between the two men, it did not seem at all likely.
‘How’s business?’ Sterling deftly changed the subject and Ronnie Waddington shook his head, frowning. ‘Not too good, though Mali has proved herself invaluable in many ways and has made my position much clearer. I still need to make a great many improvements if the laundry is to survive.’
He rose to his feet. ‘Talking of which, I suppose it’s time I was getting back, I’ve had quite a long lunchtime as it is.’
There was a sudden ringing at the doorbell and Ronnie shrugged impatiently. ‘Who is this now?’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I tell you, my boy, it’s very tiring being in a sickbed and I’m thankful to be out of it, the visitors you get are no one’s business.’
The maid ushered a girl into the room and she stood in the doorway with the odour of the laundry emanating from her clothing.
‘Yes, Sally, what is it?’ Ronnie adjusted his glasses and stared at the girl whose close-set eyes were taking in every detail of the room.
‘Big Mary sent me, sir.’ She bobbed a curtsey. ‘It’s them papers they wanted in the office, I’m to ask you can I have them.’
‘Just a minute, I’ll go and get them. I’m glad Mary thought of reminding me, I’d quite forgotten all about them.’
Sterling rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be away then, Ronnie,’ he said affably, ‘glad to see you on your feet again.’
He was tinkering with the Ascot when the girl came out of the house. She stood staring at him for a moment and at last he looked up at her ques
tioningly. He had recognised her at once, she was the girl who had been involved in the fight with Mali.
‘You’re Mr Richardson aren’t you?’ she said ingratiatingly, and he returned her gaze coolly.
‘Yes, I am, what of it?’ He gave his attention once more to the Ascot, wondering what Sally Benson was waiting for. She came nearer and stood beside him.
‘Too snooty to talk to the likes of me, aren’t you?’ Her tone was derisory now and Sterling straightened, wanting only to be rid of her.
‘That’s right,’ he said flatly. ‘Why don’t you just run along back to your work? Mr Waddington doesn’t pay you to hang around.’
‘Well I know something about you,’ she said nastily. ‘Me mam is a midwife, see, clears up little troubles for ladies, she does. Miss Bea Cardigan from a fine house up on the hill came to see Mam and the talk is you’re the father of the little babba she was havin’.’
Sterling looked at her closely, suddenly giving her all his attention, and he saw a pleased smile twist her lips.
‘Thought that would get you,’ she said. ‘Awful to let her down like that, you might be rich but you’re no gentleman so me Mam says.’ She stepped back a pace as though suddenly afraid of the look in Sterling’s eyes, and without stopping to say any more, she hurried away down the street.
He stood looking after her for a long moment and was unaware of Ronnie Waddington’s presence until the older man put a hand on his arm.
‘Anything wrong, dear boy?’ he said in concern and Sterling forced himself to smile.
‘No not wrong, not really, but there is something I want to check up on. Can you tell me where that girl lives?’ He pointed to Sally’s disappearing figure and Ronnie nodded.
‘Just along the road in Canal Street, not a couple of minutes away. Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘No,’ Sterling answered. ‘There is something I have to do for myself.’
It was about half an hour later when Sterling drew the Ascot to a halt outside Bea’s house. He was in full possession of the facts now, for he had confronted Mrs Benson and frightened her into telling him the truth. He realised at once that the child must be his, but why had Bea not confided in him?