by Iris Gower
Jinny was buried in the cemetery, he remembered now that she lay quietly at rest beneath the tree growing on the slopes of Kilvey Hill. She was removed from the stench of sulphur, hidden behind the bulk of the mountain.
He realised now that the pounding he’d heard was the rain on the window and he thought fretfully that the downpour would undo all the good work he had done on the grave. The rain would be turning the soft banks into slurry and the power of the wind and rain combined might even be enough to disturb Jinny’s resting place.
It took him a long time to find a pair of trousers and when he did, they hung on his thin frame like washing on a clothes line. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, exhausted with his efforts, and then he folded his thick leather belt around his belly and took a deep breath before hoisting himself to a precarious but upright position.
The stairs were steeper than he’d remembered them, dark and full of shadows. He was fearful of going on but he could not return to his bed and become a lifelong prisoner.
He moved downwards one step at a time, sitting awkwardly on the thinness of his haunches, trying to ignore the searing pain that racked his body. He was determined to go to Jinny, for only she could want him the way he was.
There was no one in the kitchen but he could hear voices outside the open front door. Slowly he made his way past the table, scrubbed and white, glowing up at him like dead bones. And then he was in the yard and the rain was tumbling down upon his bare head as if God himself was crying tears, Davie thought.
The wind was high and Davie moaned as he suddenly realised that he could never make his way to the cemetery unaided. His face crumpled and he remained still, not knowing what to do next.
It was the soft neighing of a horse that gave him his answer. Outside in the lane was Tom Murphy’s fish cart and there was Big Jim standing patiently between the shafts. Now Davie could go to the graveyard, travelling in the same manner as his Jinny had done. He took the broom from against the wall and tucked it beneath his arm using it as a crutch.
He did not notice the stink of fish or the coldness of the silvery scales clinging to his clothing. As he struggled, with jerky, ungainly movements into the cart he trembled with weakness. But as soon as he got the reins in his hands, he clucked his tongue and reluctantly, the animal moved forward.
Through the wind, Davie heard Jinny’s voice encouraging him, urging him on, and he did not notice the spiteful rain beating down on his unprotected head. His nightshirt was soon clinging to his thin body but it was not an unpleasant feeling.
He drove between the slag heaps and down to the river, taking the bridge easily for he felt a new power in him, a fresh strength now that his goal was in sight. The hill rose above him, the craggy summit shrouded in mist. ‘I’m coming Jinny.’ He breathed the words and laughed as the wind lifted his damp hair from his forehead.
He drove Big Jim now as if he was young again, he felt he was going courting, a lover hurrying impatiently to meet his girl. He would soon be lying with his Jinny and she would hold him in her arms and soothe his pain. They would cling together as they had done in the first, happy years of their marriage, they would never be parted again, not for the whole of eternity.
He lifted his head triumphantly as the gates of the cemetery came into view.
‘I’m here, Jinny,’ he cried.
Marble headstones stood out sharp and grey against the wet grass and drunkenly, wooden crosses leaned over as though bent beneath the battering rain. Davie stumbled down from the cart and moving forward, slowly, painfully, he gave Big Jim a slap.
‘Go home boyo,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve no need of you now.’
He did not see the large Richardson vault, the resting place of the rich and dead, he saw nothing but the hill and the tree and the ground beneath which his Jinny lay.
He slipped once and fell, and hot irons seared his flesh. A stream of water rushed by him, covering his hand with mud, but he scrabbled in the wet earth and managed to rise up on his one good knee.
‘Be patient, Jinny,’ he whispered but he knew that she would hear him. He moved forward slowly, his thin hands sinking into the mire. The hill rose steeply upwards and Davie paused, gasping for breath. A boulder rolled towards him, bouncing against his shoulder and then he was face down in the mud, gurgling as some of the slurry went into his mouth and coated his eyelashes so that he could scarcely see.
He rubbed at his face then and struggled onwards and the tree, Jinny’s tree, was torn up by its roots, bending towards him, like a tooth half drawn from a gaping mouth. The branches stretched out in his direction, skeleton hands, trying to reach towards him, to ease him forwards, nearer to Jinny. He edged forward, inch by inch, his clothing heavy with mud, hampering, taking his strength.
At last he was beside her grave and the earth was being washed away, he pushed at the mud with shaking hands and sighed in contentment.
‘I’m here, Jinny, your Davie’s come to be with you.’ His voice was lost in the moaning of the wind and tiredly he lay his cheek against the sodden earth, closing his eyes as though in sleep.
Above him, the mountain shuddered as though settling deeper into its foundations. The rough stone wall on the high bank creaked and groaned like a live creature in distress and Davie stared up at it, his vision blurred.
There was a sharp, cracking noise and the wall split asunder. Slurry pitted with heavy rocks bore downward, unable to withstand the weight of the rainwater.
Davie saw the avalanche coming towards him and smiled, suddenly lucid. ‘Jinny,’ he said and then a deep, eternal blackness overwhelmed him.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Will Owens was strolling along the street in the direction of Green Hill, keeping a sharp lookout for Katie. He did not want to go calling for her, she would get ideas about him then, start planning a wedding, go on at him about buying a pretty little ring and like hell he would! He had not seen her for several days now for she seemed to have changed of late. She was not half so willing and eager to fall into his arms the way she used to be. And the strange thing was it hurt.
He became aware quite suddenly of the local youths standing leaning against the wall of one of the houses. They did nothing menacing, just stood and stared and yet Will felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. He held his head high, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He would show them he was not afraid of them, or of anything under the sun, he told himself stoutly.
He knew he was being blamed for Davie Llewelyn’s accident but he had done nothing wrong. Llewelyn had only got what was coming to him, surely everyone realised that.
He was the one who had started the whole shebang. After all, when he had dropped a sket of molten copper onto Will’s legs he had thought it a great lark.
Mind, he had not meant to tip up his whole load of blistering hot copper onto the older man, Will thought angrily, it was just that Davie had stepped back at precisely the wrong moment and had collided with him, an accident, that’s what it was.
Davie Llewelyn was home from the infirmary and back in his own bed, badly enough injured though, so it was being said round the public bars. But that was nothing to do with him, Will mused.
It had been wrong of Mr high and mighty Richardson to give him the sack, suspending him, that’s what he called it, but to every copperman working for the company it meant that Will was to blame for what had happened. He gritted his teeth, that was just one more reason for getting his own back.
He wished that Travers would get a move on with his plans for blowing up the Kilvey Deep, at least then Sterling Richardson would know he had enemies who could hit back. He was so sure of himself, so secure in his rich little world that he thought nothing could touch him. Well soon he’d learn differently.
Too late Will saw a tall youth step out of a shop doorway directly in his path. He made to grasp the boyo by the throat but suddenly his arms were caught from behind and twisted painfully.
‘What’s this, what do you want with me?’ Will asked roug
hly. ‘Got hold of the wrong man, haven’t you, I haven’t done anything, don’t know you from Adam.’
A blow caught him in the pit of his stomach and as Will doubled over, gasping for breath, his vision blurred with the pain, he felt another blow catch his chin and he was knocked sprawling to the ground. He doubled over, curling himself into a ball for protection but a booted foot aimed straight for his kidney and with a yell, he rolled over, lying on his back looking up at the grey sky.
His heart was pumping madly, he should get up and run he told himself, otherwise, he would have the living daylights kicked out of him. He was too late, two or three youths were on him, hitting out with fist and boot indiscriminately. Will felt blood run from a cut over his swiftly closing eye and tasted blood in his mouth. His body was savagely and repeatedly kicked so that at last, a darkness swamped him and he lay still.
He dimly heard a voice talking excitedly above his head.
‘Jesus, we’ve near kilt him, that’s not what Mr Richardson wanted, let’s get the hell out of here.’ To his relief, he heard the pounding of footsteps receding into the distance and he lay panting, trying to breathe though the pain in his chest was agonising.
After a time, he managed to push himself up onto his knees, nearly fainting with the pain in his stomach. He leaned against the wall, easing himself into an upright position, gasping as he felt his ribs begin to throb. He was a right mess and no mistake and lucky to be alive. If those thugs had beaten him a little harder he would not be here to feel his aches and pains, he told himself angrily.
Sterling Richardson, he was behind all this, Will thought savagely. He might have known that someone with money had put the local bully boys up to giving him a beating. Anger burned low in his gut, he would get even with the copper boss if it killed him. He remembered, with a feeling of satisfaction, of the plan formed by Glanmor Travers to blow up the Kilvey Deep, and his anger began to abate a little.
If he kept his eyes and ears open and used his head, he reasoned, he might just be able to get Sterling Richardson to the engine house at the right time, at the very moment of the explosion.
He was meeting with Travers and Rickie later that evening but it would be as well to keep his mouth shut about his own little idea. Rickie might just balk at the thought of killing his brother.
Will began to move slowly and painfully along the road, trying to make up his mind where to go. If he returned home in this state, his Mam would have hysterics and would doubtless insist on calling in the constable and Will did not want to draw attention to himself in any way, not right now.
‘William!’ He heard a voice calling to him frantically. He looked up and saw Katie running towards him, her arms outstretched, her eyes swimming with tears.
‘Oh, my darlin’ what’s happened to you? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you look as though a tram has run over you.’
‘I’m all right, I’ve just had a tussle with some cocky young bastards that’s all.’ He spoke abruptly, though he was beginning to see a way out of his dilemma. If he went with Katie to her home he could at least clean himself up a little before facing Mam.
It was as though she was reading his thoughts for Katie took his arm and drew him along the road towards Market Street.
‘Come along home with me, I’ll see to your cuts and bruises so I will. Sure you can’t go home to your mammy looking like that now can you?’
It was comparatively peaceful in the Murphy household, there was only Mrs Murphy sitting in the kitchen with the youngest child in her arms.
‘It’s all right Mam, don’t fuss,’ Katie said as her mother rose from her chair in astonishment. ‘Will’s had an accident, he’ll be all right when I’ve cleaned him up a bit.’ She drew Will towards the sink and gently began to wash the blood from his face.
‘Don’t make too much noise, now,’ Mrs Murphy said as she subsided into her chair once more. ‘The boys are asleep and I need the rest so for God’s sake try not to wake them.’
Mrs Murphy watched her daughter attending to Will for a moment in silence and then as Katie wiped Will’s wounds, peered intently at his face.
‘Looks like someone’s given you a fine beating to be sure; made enemies by the look of it, Will Owens.’ Her tone implied that she could understand why, though when she had finished speaking, Mrs Murphy folded her mouth into a straight line as though she meant to say no more on the subject.
Instead, she changed her tack. ‘Poor Davie Llewelyn, that accident has changed the man out of all recognition, lost his mind so he has. Did you know he’s gone missing now?’ Her attitude to Will was hostile and he felt his hands clench into fists, he’d had about as much as he was going to take. Katie’s fingers were gentle on his cheek as a warning not to allow her mother to goad him and he made a conscious effort to relax, but Mrs Murphy’s voice continued relentlessly.
‘Funny thing, our horse and cart went missing for a time, wondered if Big Jim had strayed to look for grazing or if poor Davie had driven him, though where would the man go? He’s got no relations round here, that I know of.’
Katie spoke up, obviously trying to change the subject. ‘There, Will, you look a new man so you do. The cold water has brought down the swelling on your eye, don’t look too bad at all, sure you don’t.’ Katie’s eyes were twinkling and Will knew she was happy to see him even under such circumstances.
‘I’d better be getting off home then.’ He rose to his feet and stared down at her and somehow a softness seemed to come over him, he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close, kiss her shining red hair and thank her for taking care of him. He must be going soft in the head, he thought abruptly, the sooner he got himself out of here and away from Katie’s blue, beseeching eyes the better.
‘I’ll see you round some time, Katie,’ he said as she went with him to the door. He thrust his hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly awkward. He had never been beholden to anyone for a kindness before and it gave him a strange sensation in his gut. On an impulse, he drew Katie towards him and kissed her soft willing mouth. She responded to him sweetly and he held on to her for a long moment before releasing her.
‘Thanks for everything,’ he said gruffly and then he was striding away down the road, wanting to kick the dust of Green Hill from his shoes as quickly as possible. He was a fool to let a woman, any woman, get so near to him. Katie was a good sort but then so were millions of other women. That didn’t mean he wanted her like a millstone around his neck, did it?
As he left the narrow maze of courts and terraces behind him and drew nearer to the town, he heard the engine of an automobile. He looked around just in time to see Sterling Richardson riding past in his gleaming Austin Ascot, sitting high in the seat, lord of all he surveyed.
All Will’s anger and bitterness returned. You had to do people down before they did it to you, as this afternoon’s little episode proved. He stopped walking and stared round him; it was growing dusk, the winter evening closing in. He might just as well go to the Cape Horner, to keep his appointment with Travers and Rickie and have a mug of ale before he returned home.
As Sterling drove slowly along the road, his attention was suddenly caught by someone waving a bright silk scarf at him from the pavement. He drew the Ascot to a halt and pulled off his goggles.
‘Ronnie! What are you doing out in the cold night air, you should be indoors. Come along, you can treat me to a drink of whisky and hot water, take some of the chill out of my bones.’
When they were both seated in the cosy living room, Ronnie drew off his glasses polishing them nervously with the end of his scarf. He coughed in embarrassment and Sterling wondered what on earth was wrong with him.
‘I had to talk with you,’ Ronnie said at last, ‘been wanting to get in touch but I never knew where to find you.’ His smile was rather strained. ‘Busy man you’ve been of late Sterling, but then you’ve much to do I don’t doubt. I’d better ring for that whisky, you do look a little cold.’
Sterling could see
that Ronnie was nervous and it puzzled him. He waited patiently while the maid brought the drinks and built up the fire, and then leaned forward in his chair.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little on edge.’
‘Well, nothing’s wrong, no, it’s just that I wanted to talk to you about Mali Llewelyn.’
Sterling felt himself grow tense. ‘What about her, is she ill?’ he asked quickly. ‘And you know if there is anything I can do to help financially, I’ll be only too happy to oblige. She need never know that I’ve been involved.’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘No indeed, on the contrary dear boy, Mali is coming into business with me. Under her management the laundry will flourish, I’m sure of it. Once the initial problems have been overcome, she will make us both a fortune.’
Sterling stared at him in surprise. ‘You are taking Mali Llewelyn into business with you?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? After all she’s simply an inexperienced girl.’
‘You underestimate her,’ Ronnie said softly, ‘Mali learns quickly, knows the books inside out and she has good ideas, she’ll be an asset, don’t you worry.’
‘This is all very interesting, Ronnie.’ Sterling tried to speak affably though he still did not know what the older man expected of him. ‘But it really has nothing to do with me, has it?’
Ronnie leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his hot whisky and his hand was holding the glass so tightly that his knuckles gleamed white.
‘Sterling, I’ve known you a long time and you might very well feel I should mind my own damn business but there’s something I must tell you.’
Sterling wondered if Ronnie was ever going to get to the point. He waited in silence and after a moment the older man sighed.
‘There’s no easy way to put this. Sterling, Mali is expecting a child and I’m damn sure it’s yours.’
At first the words did not sink into Sterling’s consciousness. He stared down into the flames of the fire, watching as a log fell between the bars in the grate, sending up a blaze of sparks.