by Iris Gower
Llinos hesitated but she had no choice but to comply. Already tired, she found progress over the uneven ground was intolerably slow, and Philip was breathing heavily. He must be very sick indeed to ask her for help. The sooner she got him home the better.
It was a relief when the grounds of the Tawe Pottery came into sight. Llinos guided Philip towards the door and, as it swung open, the maid looked at them with raised eyebrows.
‘Call your mistress,’ Llinos said. Philip grasped her arm and drew her into the sitting-room. Georgina rose to her feet, staring in open-mouthed surprise at them.
‘Philip is not feeling well,’ Llinos said abruptly. She helped him to a chair and he held on to both her hands. To her surprise, his grip tightened, became stronger and when she struggled to pull away, he held her fast.
‘She is a meddlesome nuisance.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘But she has reminded me of some very interesting information.’
‘What information is that, darling?’ Georgina stared at Llinos as though she was little more than a creature to be trampled underfoot.
‘There is a will made by my conniving first wife. Her brothers were involved in all this and Timothy Beresford, too, for if I’m any judge he always did have a soft spot for my wife.’
‘Let me go!’ Llinos said, trying to free herself, but Philip’s grip became cruel, his nails biting into the flesh of her wrists.
‘I’m afraid you are not going anywhere,’ he said reasonably, though his eyes seemed to burn like coals in his head. ‘At least not until we’ve dealt with these wills, if they exist at all.’
‘What’s to stop me talking to people when you do release me?’ Llinos said hotly.
‘Once I’ve attended to the matter, you can do your worst, my dear. No wills, no proof. I’m sure you understand.’
He looked up at his wife. ‘I’ll take her down to the disused shed and lock her in there. She can scream her head off and no-one will hear.’
Llinos saw Philip lift his hand. Saw it clench into a fist. And then the world exploded into a myriad of colours that slowly faded away into blackness.
‘Good work, men,’ Jim said. ‘That’s the explosives in place.’ He was waist deep in river water. ‘It’s high tide tonight,’ he said. ‘With luck it will flood all the buildings of the Tawe Pottery. We’ll show Philip Morton-Edwards that we can play dirty tricks just as well as he can.’
He looked across the narrowest part of the river. The bank rose to a height of about ten feet. The blast, he judged, would cut a swathe in the earth and allow the water to gush into the pottery. The water would eventually find its own level but it would flood landwards just long enough to cause trouble for that bastard Morton-Edwards.
The best part of it was that no-one would be harmed. The houses were too high to be flooded. After an hour or two the tide would be on the ebb and the river would return to normal.
‘What about the Savage Pottery?’ Old Ben looked doubtfully along the line of the water.
‘That will be all right. It’s further along the bank and quite a bit higher. Only Morton-Edwards will be affected, don’t you worry.’
Ben sighed. ‘I wish I was as sure about that as you, Jim. Looks right dangerous to me.’
‘I know this river like the back of my hand,’ Jim said. ‘I’ve fished it since I was a little lad. Everything will go to plan, you’ll see.’
‘It’s going to rain,’ Ben said.
‘That’s what I’m hoping for. Stop worrying.’
‘Might flood the whole damn place,’ Ben mumbled, but Jim ignored him and waded onto the bank, pulling off his breeches.
‘Watt, get me that clean pair of trews, there’s a good lad. And for Gawd’s sake let’s get off to the Angel for a drink, the cold’s getting into my bones.’
Jim followed the trail of men walking along the bank of the Tawe towards the road. He paused and glanced back at the river. Already the water was building up. It should do the trick very nicely.
It took the crowd of men little over half an hour to walk to the Angel and as the last man stepped inside, the first drops of rain began to fall.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Joe looked up at the sky. It was beginning to rain; he had been sitting at the grave of the dead horse and making prayers to the spirits for far too long. Clouds were racing across the sky, the moon trembling between the clouds.
He rose to his feet, and began to run. The wind threw the rain into his face like the darts of an enemy. And yet he smiled as he imagined Llinos indoors, sitting near a blazing fire, her small feet tucked up beneath her.
His breath caught in his throat, soon, very soon, he would have the right to take her in his arms, opening the floodgates on the passion that had burned so long for release.
The rain was coming down harder now, cold needles against his skin. Ahead of him was the friendliness of candlelight behind windows. And yet there was an air of foreboding in the rushing clouds that now extinguished the moon.
When he arrived at Pottery House there was no sign of Llinos, neither was Lloyd at home. The fires burned brightly in the empty rooms. The candles flickered, sending shadows leaping along the walls. The servants were in the kitchen, huddled round the huge open grate, the logs spitting and hissing as rain touched their heat with icy fingers.
‘Where’s Mr Savage, Sally?’ Joe asked the young maid who was kneeling before the fire, fresh logs in her hands. The girl looked at him and frowned.
‘I don’t rightly know, sir, I think he’s gone down the Angel with the men from the pottery. I know old Ben was going and Jim Cooper. Talking about work, I reckon.’
She knelt placing the logs strategically on the fire. ‘Miss Savage has not been back since before teatime, leastways I ‘aven’t seen her.’
She was probably still up at Eynon’s house, nursing the injured boy. Joe felt a twinge of unease but he brushed it aside.
‘Shall I fetch you a bite of supper, sir?’ The scuttle hung from Sally’s smudged hands, there was the shadow of dust across her face. Joe shook his head.
‘No, thank you. What you can do is bring water upstairs for me to bathe.’ He would wash away the earth of the horse’s burial mound and then he would go to Eynon’s house.
Upstairs, he glanced through the windows. There was something in the air tonight, something he could not understand, and he did not like it. The sooner he fetched Llinos home, the better.
‘Will it work, Jim?’ Lloyd sat back in his chair, aware of the cruel ache in his legs. His wound was plaguing him again, so badly that he needed an extra toddy of rum to dull the pain.
‘Sure it’ll work. I know the moods of the Tawe so well, sir. When I sets off the explosives, the bank will cave in and the water will run towards the Tawe Pottery sure enough.’
‘I hope you are right. Ben, what do you think?’
Ben rubbed at the whiteness of his whiskers. ‘I don’t know, Captain Savage.’
‘Doubtful, are you?’
‘The banks will go, all right, and the water will run. But the river has her moods and she might run too far and flood the lot of us.’
‘Naw, nothing will go wrong, I guarantee it,’ Jim said. He lifted his arm. ‘Landlord, bring more rum, the nights are getting colder or I’m growing old.’
Lloyd allowed the landlord to refill his own mug. The rum shimmered enticingly, promising him sleep and release. He looked at Jim, he was a good man, he had always shown a great deal of common sense. Jim knew what he was talking about and yet a strange sense of uneasiness persisted and Lloyd wheeled his chair a little nearer to Ben’s.
‘I hope this is going to work.’
‘Aye, I suppose it will be all right. What else can we do, we can’t let the man get away with his wickedness, can we?’ Ben puffed on his pipe. ‘Trying to put decent people out of house and home and then bribing them to work for him. It’s not right.’
‘Well, those who went to work for him have found him out,’ Lloyd said. ‘I think they have all real
ized that Morton-Edwards is a ruthless man, he’ll stop at nothing to ruin me, but I’ll beat him yet.’
Ben smiled. ‘He’ll have a rude awakening when the water ruins all his stock, turns his pots back into clay. Won’t do the porcelain much good either, the lot will be smashed, if we’re lucky.’
The door swung open, letting in a rush of cold air. Lloyd looked up to see Joe framed in the doorway, his shoulders large beneath the cloth of his coat, his hair tied back so that it hung darkly down his back. He was a handsome man, his noble face gleaming red gold in the candlelight. It was no wonder Llinos had lost her head over him.
Well, he would not make a bad husband. Joe had money now, a large house of his own. In any case, Llinos loved the man, perhaps in the end that was what was important.
‘Joe, come and join us, have a mug of rum to warm you up.’ He shifted to allow Joe to sit close. ‘Where have you been, sweet-talking my daughter, is it?’
‘There was an accident,’ Joe said quietly. ‘Eynon came off his horse, broke his leg. Llinos came back to town with him in the wagon. I stayed behind to give the animal a decent burial.’
Joe was a strange man, talking about a horse as though it had a mind and a soul. He was filled with strange beliefs in spite of his excellent English education but then, he was still an Indian half-breed, when all was said and done.
Joe’s eyes met his, it was as if the man knew exactly what he was thinking. It was Lloyd who looked away. Joe rose to his feet.
‘I’m going over to Eynon’s house now to fetch Llinos home. I’ve taken the horse and trap, I hope that’s all right.’
‘Of course it’s all right.’ Lloyd could feel the rum warming his blood, bringing the heat to his cheeks, loosening his tongue. ‘You’ll do me as a son-in-law in spite of everything.’
Joe remained silent, his eyes were unreadable. Lloyd moved restlessly. ‘Well, get on with it then, fetch my girl home. I want her safe tonight.’
Joe’s farewell nod included the rest of the men and Lloyd saw that all of them, with the exception of Ben, were still wary of him. To them Joe was an outsider and not even a proper Englishman.
He watched as Joe walked to the door, light on his feet as though he wore no shoes. He recalled a moment during the war when Joe had been scouting. He had walked in that same sure-footed manner as he had stalked the enemy. In that moment, Lloyd wanted to call Joe back, to ask him if planning to flood the Tawe Pottery was the right thing to do. But it was too late, Joe had swung through the door and into the darkness.
‘Come on, Jim, let’s have another drink, it’s my turn to call.’ Lloyd spoke with a cheerfulness that was forced. But Jim did not notice.
‘Last one,’ he said, ‘then I’m off to do the necessary.’ He was drinking heavily. Perhaps Lloyd should caution him to take it steady. But no, Jim was a grown man and Lloyd was not his keeper. In any case, the pain was creeping back. Lloyd needed more rum, not more worry. To hell with it, he intended to forget everything and drink himself into a stupor.
It was cold outside the light and warmth of the Angel Inn, and Jim Cooper turned up his collar as he made his way along the low road beside the river. The lamp swung crazily in his hands, almost dousing the candle inside. He had drunk a little more rum than was good for him but he was still up to the job in hand.
He stumbled and dropped the bag containing the black powder. Cursing, he fumbled for it, and, picking it up, he staggered along the road, unaware of the trail he was leaving in his wake.
He reached the spot on the bank where he wanted to set his charge and sank down on his knees in the mud.
His fingers were slow, clumsy. He felt sick, the rum seemed to rise to his head, drumming in his ears. He shook his head to clear it but the action only made it worse.
‘Jim!’ The voice reached out to him in the darkness. Fuddled, Jim looked up towards the road.
‘Captain Savage, is that you?’
‘Yes, Jim, it’s me.’ His voice was faint and Jim realized dimly that the wheelchair would be dangerously close to the bank.
‘I’ve changed my mind. Come back out of it, you’re in no fit state to handle that stuff.’
‘Go away.’ Jim waved his hand in the air. ‘Get back, it’s not safe for you to be down by here, man.’
He swayed a little, that would have to do. The charge was set in a good place, just near enough to make trouble but not to do any real harm.
He staggered as he tried to rise. The lamp tilted and fell onto the ground, igniting the trail of powder. Jim knew he should run. His feet seemed to sink into the mud, he could not move, it was a nightmare. And then the world exploded into a glowing ball that engulfed him.
Llinos slowly became aware of the cold and the darkness that seemed to be pressing in on her. She struggled to sit up and realized that her wrists were bound in front of her with a tough rope that bit into the flesh. When she tried to move, she realized her ankles, too, were bound.
She struggled to push herself into a sitting position and leaned back against rough boards. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she realized she was in a small shed and from the sound of rushing water nearby, she knew she must be somewhere on the banks of the river.
Her jaw ached and she remembered in a flash of fear mingled with anger the way Philip had punched her. She could not believe that she had been fooled by him for so long. They had all warned her, Joe, her father and Eynon but, headstrong to the last, she would not listen to sense.
From outside, she heard the sound of the wind moaning in the trees and rain drumming against the roof of the shed. A storm was building up and Llinos shivered. What if the river rose? It was high tide tonight and if the rain continued to fall, the river could overflow the banks. How close to the water was she?
But she was being foolish, Philip might be greedy, unfeeling even, but even he would not leave her there to drown. All he wanted was time to destroy the wills that were made in Eynon’s favour. Then he would let her go. Wouldn’t he?
She began to work at the ropes on her wrists. She pulled against the knots with her teeth but they were securely tied. She managed to turn over onto her knees and she gasped trying to ignore the pain of the ropes biting into her flesh. She paused for breath and then made an effort to push herself to her feet.
If she could reach the small window, perhaps she could attract attention and get help. But the window was too high for her to see anything. She rested her head against the wooden planks and tried to think calmly.
She needed something to stand on. She peered around in the gloom and saw a box lying near the door. She edged her way across the floor towards the box. With her feet, she shuffled the box awkwardly towards the window.
The rain was beating down more fiercely now, she could feel the dampness as water trickled in through holes in the shed roof. She took a deep breath and attempted to climb onto the box. She did not make it. She fell heavily to the floor and lay there breathless, trying to clear her head.
She moved her feet and felt that the ropes around her ankles were looser. She leaned over almost double and pulled at the knot. She could hardly move her hands, they were so tightly tied, but her heart leapt with hope as she felt the rope at her feet break. With one more tug, the rope fell from her ankles.
She peered through the dimness of the shed and found a piece of broken bottle. She rubbed the rope at her wrists against the sharp edge of the glass. Once she caught the skin of her inner arm and felt the warmth of blood oozing from the wound. She seemed to be getting nowhere and all the time the sound of rushing water was coming closer. It seemed that an eternity passed before the ropes fell from her chafed wrists, but at last she was free.
To her dismay, she found that the door was securely locked. Frantically, she pushed her weight against it but it did not budge. She stood on the box and looked outside. She could see nothing but sweeping rain and darkness. No-one would be fool enough to be out on a night like this, it was hopeless.
Llinos closed h
er eyes and thought of Joe, willing him to find her. She concentrated hard, trying to send him her thoughts and, for a moment, she was with him on the sweeping plains, touching his golden skin, feeling his hair brush her hands.
The noise of an explosion crashed through the night. It was like the booming of a cannon, the very earth seemed to tremble. The shed vibrated and pieces of timber tumbled down onto her head. She might have screamed, but if she had no-one would have heard her. The rushing, swirling flood of water was like a monster coming to devour her.
‘What in the name of all that’s holy was that!’ Philip looked down from the carriage and pair towards the river. He had taken the low road to town, intending to visit the chambers of Timothy Beresford at once. Georgina grumbled about the rain but was determined to keep watch while he found a way into the building and destroyed any paperwork that might be there.
‘It sounds like an explosion of some sort.’ White-faced, Georgina leaned closer to him. ‘My God, Philip, the water’s rising up the sides of the carriage, turn back, for heaven’s sake!’
‘Not on your life, rain and flood water will not stop me now!’ Philip flicked the reins angrily, lashing out with the whip, and one of the animals reared in fright.
‘Do something, Philip, don’t be a fool!’
‘I’m going on,’ he said. ‘I’ll beat that no-good weakling who claims to be my son, you see if I don’t.’
‘Philip, the water’s getting higher, we’ll be drowned! For heaven’s sake see sense.’ She clutched at his arm and tried to pull the reins away from him. He slapped her hard and she fell back in her seat, numbed with shock.
He tried to urge the animals into a gallop but they were wild-eyed, trembling as the water surged with the sound of thunder behind them. Philip whipped the animals mercilessly, anger raging through him. He would deal with Eynon and then he would deal with the Savage family. His enemies would learn that it did not do to cross Philip Morton-Edwards.
A flash of fire seemed to run along the bank through the mud. There was a series of small explosions and suddenly the terrified horses broke free of the shafts.