Firebird

by Iris Gower

  She opened cupboards and drawers with frantic haste. All were bare. She sank onto the neatly made bed, her head in her hands and the tears forced hot trails between her fingers.

  ‘Joe!’ She spoke his name but she knew there would be no reply. Joe had gone away. He had simply packed his few belongings and left and she had the feeling that he might never return.

  ‘Llinos! Come down here, have a look at this.’ Her father was calling from the bottom of the stairs. He sounded anxious and she wiped her eyes, not wanting him to see her tears.

  She descended the stairs two at a time. ‘Father, what is it, have you seen Joe?’

  He was in the hall, holding out a letter and she took it with trembling fingers. The words did not make sense, the letter was not from Joe but from a solicitor. Llinos swallowed hard and tried to concentrate.

  ‘They can’t do this to us, Father,’ she said at last.

  ‘They’ve already done it.’

  Llinos stared at the official-looking document, trying to think clearly. ‘So we may not even have access to the end of the road without the permission of this . . . this Mrs Sanders. Who is she, anyway?’

  ‘That’s easy enough to work out.’ Lloyd sounded bitter. ‘Morton-Edwards has got a dupe to front the scheme for him so that no speck of dirt can fall on his precious name.’

  ‘That’s not true, Father. I spoke to Philip about it and he was as concerned as we are.’

  ‘Can’t you see further than your nose, girl?’ Lloyd sounded weary. ‘The man is a Janus, he has two faces.’

  ‘No, Father, you’re wrong, I know you are.’

  ‘I’m not wrong.’

  Llinos took the letter and went slowly into the drawing-room, trying to sort out her bewildered thoughts. She sank down into a chair and read the letter again, staring at the fine sloping handwriting. The tone was official, warning the proprietors of the Savage Pottery not to trade across the land to the fore and the side of the buildings. Furthermore, an injunction had been taken out to prevent any building work being carried out on the land to the rear of the property.

  ‘So what are we supposed to do, fly up into the air with our pottery?’ Llinos said angrily.

  ‘I can’t fight any more,’ Lloyd said. ‘That man has beaten me. I had looked to Eynon to get us out of this, but so far there has been no word from him.’

  ‘Father, I know you are worried sick about this, but I have to ask, have you seen Joe?’ Llinos knelt beside him and hugged him, feeling the bristles on his chin rough against her cheek.

  He seemed not to have heard her. ‘I’m old and sick and in pain. I’d be better off dead.’

  ‘You mustn’t say that. What would I do without you?’ Llinos was close to tears again.

  ‘You would marry Joe. From what you’ve told me he’s a wealthy man now, a man of property. I should not have stood in your way in the first place.’

  Llinos bit her lip. Why did her father have to say all this now when it was too late?

  Lloyd rubbed his face and frowned. ‘Where is Joe?’

  ‘I don’t know, Father, but he’ll be back soon, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes, of course he will.’ Lloyd sounded unsure, his memory was bad now and sometimes he grew confused.

  ‘Excuse me, miss.’ Wenna looked into the room. ‘Mr Morton-Edwards the younger is at the door. Shall I show him in?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Llinos said heavily. ‘He’s used to us, he’s more of a friend than a visitor.’

  Eynon came in through the door, bringing a breath of fresh sunny air with him. ‘Eynon, thank God you’ve come,’ Llinos said.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Look, read this letter.’

  ‘It’s my father, of course,’ Eynon said. ‘He’s reacting to my plan to make a new road for us from the pottery into town. He’s madder than ever.’

  ‘Oh, Eynon! Why do you blame Philip for everything bad that happens?’

  Eynon sank down onto the lumpy horsehair sofa. ‘Mrs Sanders is my Aunt Catherine, Llinos. Now do you understand?’

  ‘She won’t listen to anyone.’ Lloyd waved his hand dismissively. ‘I’m past talking to her, she’s headstrong and stubborn, she will go her own way whatever I say.’

  ‘Where’s Joe gone?’ Eynon asked. ‘My father intends to punish him, he thinks Joe is involved in my plan to build the road.’

  Lloyd looked at him vaguely. ‘He’s gone away for some reason or other. I can’t remember why.’ Lloyd sighed. ‘Everyone I care about seems to be deserting me.’

  ‘That’s not true, Father, I haven’t deserted you. Joe hasn’t either, I’m sure.’ Llinos was not sure at all, not sure of anything any more.

  Some time later, Llinos stood at the window of her bedroom staring out into the garden. Behind the house, the pottery was still in full productior. The crocks were piling up, stocked in the sheds. The goods must be sold soon or the pottery would begin to lose money.

  She would see Philip, beg him to talk to Mrs Sanders who now owned the roadway and the surrounding land. Perhaps she could offer Mrs Sanders a cut of the profits. It was not fair but at least that way they would survive.

  She sank down on the bed and put her hands over her eyes. ‘Joe.’ She whispered his name softly and at once he seemed to be there, in the room with her. She breathed in his scent, felt his presence so strongly that she opened her eyes. The room was empty, all she could see was the fluttering of the curtains against the open window.

  Joe stood in the large drawing-room of the house that had been his father’s and searched the faces of his sisters. Neither of them would meet his eye.

  ‘Well, Letitia, Charlotte, I came as soon as I got your letter. What can I do for you?’

  ‘You did say we could come here whenever we liked, didn’t you, Joe?’

  It was Charlotte who spoke, her small voice trembling. Letitia was stiff-necked with pride as always and looked at him disdainfully.

  ‘Of course I did and I meant it. This is your home, too.’

  ‘We’ve lost all our money.’ Charlotte blurted the words. ‘The money you so generously gave us, Joe, we lost it all.’

  She began to cry and Joe crouched before her, touching her hands lightly. ‘It’s all right, Charlotte, this is your home, remember?’

  He looked at Letitia; she was watching him and her eyes narrowed. Joe straightened.

  ‘I mean it, Letitia. There are no strings, no catches, I promise.’

  Letitia heaved a great sigh. ‘I will never agree that it was proper for Father to leave you everything, not when we had looked after him all his life. But I will admit I might be wrong about you, you are not a fortune-hunter.’

  ‘Just as we were wrong about Mr Abbot,’ Charlotte said, dabbing at her eyes with a small square of lace.

  ‘We were gullible fools, I can do nothing else but admit it,’ Letitia said.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened, Letitia. Who is this Mr Abbot?’

  ‘He was selling us a property.’ Letitia spoke tersely. ‘We saw the house and liked it. The solicitor Mr Abbot recommended took the money and gave us the key, only, when we went to take up residence in the house, someone was already living there. We were fools, fools!’

  For a moment her iron reserve deserted her. She sniffed and coughed and after a moment sank into a chair. ‘We have never needed to handle business on our own before, what are we going to do?’

  Joe felt anger burn in his gut. What sort of man defrauded two defenceless women? ‘Tell me all you know about this Mr Abbot. I’ll find him and get your money back.’

  ‘You watch him, Joe, he’s a slippery customer,’ Charlotte said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t like him from the start, his eyes were too close together.’

  ‘Tell me, Letitia.’ Joe’s voice was deceptively calm.

  ‘I’ll tell you where his office is but you must promise not to try to see the man tonight. Another day will make no difference, I doubt he’ll bother to run away, he holds us
in such scorn.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Very well, we shall leave it for tonight and in the morning I’ll find this Mr Abbot.’

  In his room, Joe sank onto the bed and closed his eyes. Cocooned in the silent darkness he was free to think about Llinos. She was in his pulse, in his heart and soul. He loved her as he could love no other woman. In the eyes of his native kinsmen, Llinos was his wife. She should not have chosen her father above her husband whatever the reason.

  He turned on his side. All the same, Lloyd Savage was a beaten old man. He needed his daughter now if he had never needed her before. And Joe had felt obliged to come to the aid of his sisters. The future of all of them was in the hands of fate and the gods.

  He woke early, it was still dark and his first thought was of Llinos. He longed to touch her hair, to feel her skin cool against his. Their lives were inextricably joined, they belonged together. When he had dealt with Mr Abbot, he would return to Swansea.

  Downstairs, the house had an air of chill about it. Joe realized that the fires had not been lit for days. He smiled, he could not see Charlotte being any good at menial tasks. Letitia on the other hand was the sort of woman who could do anything she turned her mind to. All the same, he would suggest that Letitia employ help in the house.

  He bathed in the coldness of the river at the end of the garden and emerged tall and magnificent into the early-morning sunlight.

  The breeze was sharp against his skin, the water ran from his hair and into his eyes and so he did not see his attackers creep up on him. He heard them nevertheless. He heard the soft whinnying of a horse and the cracking of twigs that betrayed a heavy man to his left. The soft whisper of leaves indicated another man to his right.

  He ran the short distance down the bank and dived cleanly into the water. He surfaced to the sounds of cursing and when he shook the water from his eyes, he saw two men brandishing heavy clubs.

  ‘The bastard foreigner, he’s got away from us!’ One of the men began to run along the bank and Joe submerged himself beneath the water. He swam downstream and emerged on the banks where the river curved away from the house. Stealthily, he made his way round to the spot where the men had paused to argue, voices loud against the silence of the morning.

  ‘He’s drowned I tell you, the river’s done the work for us.’

  ‘We don’ know that, Gifford. I says we wait a while and then look for him at nightfall. If we let him go Mr Morton-Edwards will not pay us, you know that.’

  Joe moved swiftly. He caught the bigger of the two men at the side of the neck and the man fell to the ground without making a sound.

  Joe heard the whoosh of the club as Gifford aimed a blow at his head. He ducked, turned and hit the man on the point of his jaw. It should have felled him but Gifford shook his head and came forward again, the club swinging in a protective arc around his body.

  Joe dodged sideways, his wet feet slipping on the grass. As Gifford advanced on him Joe saw the cruel spikes jutting from the end of the club.

  ‘I’ll get you, you bastard!’ Gifford growled the words low in his throat like an animal. ‘I’ll beat your head in before I’m finished.’ He looked at his fallen companion, who was shaking his head as though to clear it.

  ‘Get up, Soames, for Gawd’s sake!’

  Joe backed against a tree and braced himself to lash out with his feet. Gifford came closer and raised the club above his head, intending to smash it against Joe’s skull.

  A loud blast of shot rang out and a cold voice carried clearly across the garden.

  ‘Put down that weapon, I am an excellent shot.’ Letitia stood firm, a pistol held firmly in her hand.

  Gifford dropped the club. ‘Come on, Soames, let’s get the ’ell out of here. I didn’t reckon on getting shot or nothin’.’

  The men disappeared into the trees and Joe looked after them thoughtfully.

  ‘Please, Joe, put on some clothes, you look like a heathen.’ Joe turned and saw Letitia’s shoulders shake and he knew she was laughing.

  ‘You know something, Letitia, you are not half the dragon you make yourself out to be.’

  Later, when he entered the drawing-room, he found Charlotte sitting near the fire, luxuriating in the warmth. ‘I’ve made some tea for us,’ she said. ‘Letitia is cleaning Papa’s gun.’

  ‘It’s all done and the pistol is locked away.’ Letitia came into the room. ‘Who were those men, Joe? Did Mr Abbot send them, perhaps?’

  Joe looked at her and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Charlotte handed round the tea. ‘Let’s forget all the nasty people, shall we? Perhaps they were just itinerants looking for someone to rob.’

  She smiled and drew a shawl closer around her thin shoulders. ‘Isn’t this cosy? You know, Joe, I think we are all going to get on very well, after all.’

  Joe smiled. ‘I hope so.’

  He drank the weak, tepid tea, his thoughts racing. He wondered why Morton-Edwards had sent men after him. Why on earth should Eynon’s father want him out of the way?

  ‘Will you go looking for Mr Abbot today?’ Charlotte asked and Joe forced his thoughts back to the problem in hand.

  ‘Yes, I’ve enough information to find this man, always supposing he hasn’t gone into hiding.’

  But then, why should he? As Letitia had pointed out, Abbot did not expect any retaliation from two old ladies.

  Joe rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be on my way.’ He smiled at Letitia. ‘But I don’t expect to be long. When I return, Charlotte, perhaps you will make me more of your wonderful tea.’

  He left the house and stood for a moment, staring up at the cloud-filled sky. At such times, he longed for the open plains of America and the sunlight and the rivers and in the winter the white of the snow, pure and virgin. There a man was free from intrigue and no-one harmed a neighbour unless it was in self-defence.

  Joe set out for the small town which was set in the curve of the river only half a mile from the house. He felt he would have little trouble finding Mr Abbot and his crooked accomplice, who was probably no more a solicitor than Joe was. And when he did catch up with them, they would both pay dearly for their sins.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Pottery Row was alive with voices, angry voices. The bailiffs stood stolidly waiting as furniture was carried from the houses into the street.

  Celia-end-house caught Llinos’s arm as she came out of the gate.

  ‘We’re all being evicted! Oh, my lord, Llinos, can’t you do anything to stop it?’

  Llinos watched in bewilderment as a table and a group of chairs were dumped into the roadway. ‘I don’t know what to do, Celia, I only wish I did.’

  The rattle of pots and pans made a cacophony of sound in the air of early evening. A kettle fell and bounced along the cobbles, the noise a knell of doom in Llinos’s ears.

  ‘Fifty years I’ve lived here,’ Celia wailed. ‘Born here, I was, and I thought I would die here.’ She leaned heavily on her wooden stick, watching as her precious box of herbs was dumped on top of a pile of chairs.

  One of the bailiffs caught Celia’s arm. ‘Come along, missis, you got to get your stuff out of here.’

  Llinos looked at him, her eyes steely. ‘Take this lady’s belongings to the Savage Pottery. At least that’s still ours.’

  The man recognized quality when he saw it and touched his hat. ‘I’ll get that done, right away, miss.’

  Celia hung on to Llinos’s arm. ‘There’s good of you, love, I thought it was the workhouse for me.’

  Llinos led Celia into the grounds of the pottery. The old woman was trembling, her face parchment white.

  ‘I’ll have to do something,’ Llinos said more to herself than to Celia. ‘I can’t let this go on. Celia, go inside, tell my father you’re to stay with us. I won’t be long.’

  The evening sun was slanting through the trees, dappling the countryside with patches of light and shadow. Llinos lifted her skirts and stepped across the pool of water left by an ear
ly-morning shower. She crossed the yard and climbed over the boundary between the two potteries; she must see Philip, he was the only one she could turn to.

  Georgina Fairwater was in the garden of the Ty Mawr, her large bonnet shading her eyes, but as she watched Llinos draw nearer, her shoulders were tense.

  ‘Miss Savage, how kind of you to come over, but as you see, I’m cutting flowers for the table. We shall be eating supper within the hour.’

  Llinos read her well. ‘I don’t intend to stay long, don’t worry.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worried. Indeed, I’m glad you’ve called, you can congratulate me.’ She held out her left hand. A clear blue sapphire gleamed against her skin. ‘Philip has proposed, I’m going to be his wife.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Llinos said drily. ‘He’s quite a catch.’

  ‘I thought you might think so.’ Georgina sounded smug. ‘Well, you’d better come inside.’

  Llinos bit back the retort that she had every intention of doing so and followed Georgina into the house. The scent of beeswax hung in the air rich and pleasant, the sun shone through the huge window above the staircase sending spears of light onto the polished wood of the curved banister. It was all peace and quiet, a far cry from the chaos of Pottery Row.

  ‘Philip, darling, we have a visitor.’ Georgina’s voice trilled girl-like across the expanse of hallway and after a moment Philip appeared in the door of his study.

  ‘Llinos! My dear, how good to see you. Please, come into the drawing-room, have a glass of cordial with us.’

  ‘Philip, darling, supper is almost ready.’

  ‘I wanted to see Llinos, anyway, Georgina; you know that, darling.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, you intend to give her notice, don’t you?’

  Llinos glanced at Philip, expecting him to deny he would do any such thing. He remained silent.

  ‘Might I speak to you alone?’ Llinos said as Georgina hurried past her into the drawing-room.

  ‘Will you excuse us, my dear?’ Philip said. ‘We shan’t be long.’ He closed the door on Georgina’s retreating figure and gestured for Llinos to take a seat.