A Handful of Ashes

by Janet Woods

  ‘So, it’s Siana Matheson you wish to see. I don’t know whether she’ll see you.’

  Wynn blinked back a tear. ‘Will the pair of you be turning me aside when I’ve travelled all this way? Is that what you’ll be after doing to your own kin?’

  ‘Isn’t that what happened to my own mother?’ he said bleakly. ‘I believe she was cast from her village, and not one of you cared whether she lived or died.’

  ‘It wasn’t my doing. I was also sinned against, for the preacher man, Gruffydd Evans, had promised himself in marriage to me. I chose to believe the lies rather than the truth your mother presented when it was seen she was with child. My heart was full of revenge and I had no pity in me,’ she admitted. ‘But if a sinner finds it in her heart to repent, surely to goodness those sinned against can forgive what is past and gone.’

  He laughed and gently mocked her. ‘Indeed to goodness, Aunt Wynn, you have a glib tongue. I think you could talk the moss off of a stone if you put your mind to it. My ma has been dead and gone since I was a young lad of twelve years. But the song in your voice brings back memories of her, as if she were standing in front of me. Her voice was full of love, though, where yours is not. She was a good mother, for all our poverty. For that, I’ll acknowledge you. My sister, no doubt, will make her own mind up. Here she comes now.’

  With Siana was the mother of the two newly christened babes. She was hand in hand with the Welsh-born boy, and smiling down at him. Behind her came the dark-eyed man, with the beak-nosed countess, whose eyes darted this way and that in case she missed something.

  Siana gave her brother a smile. ‘There you are, Josh. Prudence has left her reticule on the seat, have you seen it?’ When he turned and stepped to one side, the smile suddenly fled from her lips. ‘What are you doing here, Wynn Lewis?’

  Goodness, such agitation the girl had in her face. ‘Your great-grandmother has died. She asked me to bring some bits and peices she wanted you to have.’

  The day was fast turning into a nightmare, Siana thought as Richard White smiled at her, oblivious to the undercurrents in the air. ‘I’ve employed Miss Lewis as my housekeeper, and she expressed a desire to meet you.’

  ‘I hope your God forgives you for what you’ve done this day, Richard,’ Siana breathed, sensing darkness and danger crowding in on her.

  Maryse was poised with her hand against her heart, her face ashen.

  Sensing there was something amiss, something she should know about, the countess said, ‘Since Miss Lewis is part of Siana’s family, perhaps you’d like to bring her along to the christening feast, Reverend?’

  ‘No!’ Maryse said sharply. ‘I won’t have her.’

  ‘Mamma,’ Bryn said, cuddling himself against Siana’s skirt. She picked him up, snuggling him almost defensively against her as she stared at the woman.

  Wynn Lewis shrugged. ‘Your boy, then, is he? He looks so much like the lady here, I thought it was the infant she gave birth to at Bryn Dwr. It was her infant who was buried up on the hill, then? Stillborn, was it?’

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ Siana hissed. ‘It’s none of your business. Go back to Wales, you’re not welcome here.’

  Francis slanted her a puzzled frown. ‘Siana?’

  Maryse gave a low moan and sank into a pew.

  Marcus chose that time to stride into the church. ‘What are you all—? He gazed at the small, frozen tableau, then crossed to Wynn. His face was as still as stone, yet the devil’s fire burnt in the depths of his eyes. The Welsh woman shivered when he spat out, ‘What spite have you been spouting, you witch?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Get out, before I kill you,’ Marcus said, his voice a whiplash. He turned towards Maryse, bringing her into his arms so she was sobbing against his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, my love. I’ll never let anybody hurt you.’

  She lifted her head then, gazing at him through tragic, tear-sodden eyes. ‘Tell me the truth, Marcus. Is Bryn my son?’

  Marcus’s glance came over Maryse’s head to join with Siana’s. There was no profit in lying now, but neither of them could get the words out, so they remained mute, staring at each other.

  ‘I’ll have your answer on this, and I’ll have it now, Siana,’ Francis said sharply.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Bryn is Maryse’s son.’

  ‘Hah!’ Prudence said triumphantly. ‘I knew something funny was going on with that girl, but nobody would listen. Got herself into trouble, did she? That’s what happens when you bring the lower class into the family, Francis. Their morals are inferior and it’s bound to rub off.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said, his face stricken.

  Siana flinched, for his words had inflicted a damaging wound.

  The countess became shrill. ‘I did try to tell you. And who fathered the child, that’s what I’d like to know?’

  ‘No doubt you would,’ Marcus cut in, ‘but it’s really none of your business, my lady. I’d be obliged if you’d join your husband and ask him to send everyone on their way. Your insensitive remarks are only adding to my wife’s distress.’

  ‘And so they should do, for she’s brought shame down upon the Matheson name. When I’ve finished with her she won’t be able to show her head in decent society again.’ Prudence stomped off in an affronted fashion, her eyes glittering.

  ‘Ryder will stop her,’ Francis said almost inconsequentially, sinking onto the nearest pew.

  Siana knew the earl wouldn’t be able to prevent the gossip spreading through the family. She also knew that Maryse would find it impossible to face their censure.

  Francis gazed at Bryn, who’d joined him and was trying to climb on his knee. Harshly, he said. ‘Who fathered him? Is anyone going to tell me?’

  ‘I want up, Papa,’ Bryn said, holding out his arms to him.

  Francis ignored him. ‘Siana?’

  Placing her hands over her ears Maryse shook her head from side to side. ‘Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell him, Siana. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘He will have to know, my dearest. I’m so sorry.’ She turned to her husband, the sense of doom inside her almost deadening. But not here, Francis. We will go where it’s quiet and I’ll tell you everything. Just know that my actions were motivated by the best of intentions.’ The glance he offered her was bleak. ‘Don’t look at me like that, my Francis. I can’t bear it.’

  Picking up the fact that all was not well between the two most adored people in his life, Bryn began to grizzle and cling to his knee. Francis set the boy away from him and rose to his feet. ‘You can’t bear it? It’s I who have been deceived. Take the child to the carriage, Siana. You are right. This must be sorted this out at home. I will insist on knowing everything. Marcus, bring Maryse.’

  ‘Maryse has done nothing wrong, Francis, as you will learn,’ Marcus replied. ‘I’m taking her home so she can rest. Tomorrow, we’ll talk, but only if she feels she is able.’

  Francis looked set to explode. ‘You’re overriding me, her father?’

  ‘I think I have that right as her husband. You’ve allowed your pride and, dare I say it, your temper, to override your good sense. Once the facts are set in front of you, you’ll see that what was done was for the best.

  ‘If you think that Maryse having an infant out of wedlock, concealing the fact from me, her father, then having that infant foisted upon me as my son, is for the best, you must be insane. My daughter has brought shame down upon my head.’

  ‘If you were not her father, I’d kill you for saying that.’

  The two men stared hard at each other, father and husband both seething with passion.

  Bryn began to scream, went to Maryse and laid his head in her lap in a bid for sympathy. A shudder went through her and, with loathing on her face, Maryse pushed him roughly to the floor. ‘Get away from me!’

  Picking up the bewildered boy, Siana cuddled him against her and left the church, stopping for a moment to speak to
an ashen-faced Pansy, who stood at the door clinging to the jamb for support. ‘I beg you not to hate your sister, Pansy. It wasn’t her fault. She was attacked and violated and she’ll need your support, for I doubt if she’ll ever accept mine, now.’

  The girl seemed to gather strength to her. ‘I could never hate my sister, whatever she did. Poor, poor Maryse. Aunt Prudence was telling everybody, gloating about it before uncle Ryder silenced her. It was awful. Alder was laughing about it, said he hoped I wasn’t promiscuous like my sister. I shall never marry him now. Never.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m glad. I hate them all. They’re shallow and mean. All they care about is position and money.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on them. Pansy. This has come as a shock to them and they’re coping the best way they can at the moment. Once they’re made aware of the facts they’ll be more forgiving.’

  Josh came to where they stood, sliding his hand under her elbow. ‘I’ll settle you in the rig. Will you be all right? I’m taking the twins and their nurses back to the manor. I could take Daisy off your hands for a while, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Josh. I’ll tell Miss Edgar to pack her a trunk. Daisy needs a firm hand so I’ll send Miss Edgar too. As for the rest, this has to be between Francis and myself. Look after Pansy for me now. She wants to be with Maryse.’ She gave her stepdaughter a hug. ‘I love you, my sweet girl. Stay strong. Whatever happens, try not to take sides, for the only innocents in this whole affair are Bryn and Maryse. If the issue is not handled with compassion and love they’ll become victims for a second time.’

  ‘You’ll cope with it, Siana.’

  But how she was going to cope with it was beyond her now. All she could do was tell Francis the truth and hope he’d understand. But already he’d erected a barrier between them. She could feel it, like an impenetrable wall.

  The christening party was scattered by a sudden downpour of rain. Tears in his eyes and looking as though his heart was breaking for her, Marcus lifted his softly weeping wife into his arms and carried her out into a rain-soaked day. She hid her face from the light, burying it against his shoulder.

  Siana waited a long time, sitting in the rig and sheltering herself and the children as best she could. She was glad Susannah wasn’t with them, for the girl’s throat was slightly sore, and the long wait in the rain might have worsened it. Bryn, his usual exuberance deserting him, fell asleep between herself and Daisy. Her sister knew something was wrong, but she said nothing as the horse fretted between the shafts.

  Finally, Francis strode from the church, his face looking as if it had been carved from granite. He ignored them all. Picking up the reins, he set the rig in motion. Soon, the passing countryside was a blur.

  ‘Slow down,’ she cautioned.

  He ignored her. The rig began to sway and mud sprayed up over them. The horse’s breathing became laboured and Daisy began to cry as they were tossed about.

  Siana struck him on the arm. ‘Stop it, Francis. You’re frightening Daisy.’

  Her hand was flicked off, but he heeded her warning, gradually easing off the reckless speed. They turned into the carriageway of their home at a more sedate pace. Throwing the reins to the stable hand he jumped down and strode into the house, leaving them to fend for themselves. She’d never seen him so out of control, and she wondered what the outcome of today’s events would be.

  As they entered the house, the door to his study slammed shut ominously.

  Reverend White was shocked to the core by the events that had taken place. His attempts to counsel Francis had brought him an ear-blistering reply – a blunt warning to keep his nose out of Matheson affairs. Falling to his knees, Richard began to pray long and hard.

  Back at the rectory, Wynn Lewis’s mind was in turmoil. What had she set in motion today with that careless remark? It was as if the devil himself had sent her amongst the sinners to wreak havoc.

  But who were the sinners? She had seen the girl called Maryse go into the cave of the Gwin Dwr and emerge, free of sin. The legendary virgins whose blood stained the water red, had let her go. Wynn had watched her emerge triumphant, her soul and body cleansed, her husband waiting for her. Only he hadn’t been her husband then. And neither was he the father of that boy.

  Hugging her hands against her body, Wynn rocked backwards and forwards, hating herself. What sort of God could set something so awful in motion? Why had she been appointed the devil’s advocate in this, when all she’d ever wanted was to love and be loved?

  Would the Gwin Dwr judge her and find her free of sin? As soon as the thought lodged in her head, the idea grew so strongly she began to believe that the sight her mother had possessed had now embraced her too. She was so certain of what she must do, as if a voice inside her head was giving her direction.

  Going into the reverend’s study, she drew a piece of paper towards her and began to write. When she’d finished, she set the letter on top of the small legacy Grandmother Lewis had left for Siana.

  All she owned in the world was her blue and white quilt, an item she’d stitched with such hope in her heart so long ago. It had been intended for the marriage bed she’d never reached. She folded it, adding it to the pile. If she came back she would make another, stitching it with love as she sat by the reverend’s fire in this house where she’d found herself, and discovered a different life. Now the chance of happiness had eluded her again, and by her own actions.

  Stoking up the fire so the house would be warm when the reverend returned, she left quietly, closing the door behind her.

  She didn’t bother looking back as she set off along the road. She had no need, for she knew every stick and stone of the place, and if she came back it would be waiting for her.

  If she didn’t come back . . . ? She shrugged. She was a woman who’d never experienced the love of either a man or a child. Nobody would miss her.

  Wynn had enough money in her purse to pick up a stage coach when she got to Dorchester. With each passing mile the sense of doom inside her increased.

  When she reached Wales, she had nothing of value left, except a pair of stout boots, a warm cloak and a stick to lean on. That was all she needed.

  ‘My soul comes before you naked,’ she said to God.

  But it was the pagan gods of her mother who stirred in her blood and answered. The Black Mountains were shrouded in mist, but they seemed to call to her as she climbed the foothills, to the sanctuary of the house called Bryn Dwr.

  There will be a reckoning.

  8

  Siana spent a nerve-racked night, searching her conscience as she tossed and turned. She finally fell asleep at dawn, waking towards noon. As she struggled out of sleep she saw Francis sitting in the chair by the window, his face in profile. He looked haggard, as if he’d been awake all night.

  Of Rosie, her maid, there was no sign. ‘Francis?’

  He turned to gaze at her, his eyes devoid of expression. ‘Tell me what happened. Now, when you’ve just woken from sleep and have no time to concoct a story.’

  Hurt thrust through her. ‘Remember the harvest supper the night before you left for Van Diemen’s Land, when Maryse hurt her ankle?’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Maryse had been raped by two of the itinerant workers.’

  The silence was broken only by the harshness of his breathing as he tried to keep the horror she saw in his eyes under control. ‘And you let me depart without telling me? What type of woman are you, Siana?’

  ‘One who requests a fair hearing from her husband before he passes judgement.’

  He sighed and inclined his head.

  ‘I didn’t know until a few months later, when I learned she was with child . . . indeed, that we were both with child. Maryse was so upset and ashamed by what had occurred that she’d gone up onto the cliff top to try and kill herself.’

  Anguish filled his eyes.

  ‘She nearly succeeded. My father had died and left me his ho
me up on the Welsh hills. So I took her there, I didn’t know what else to do. I was going to farm the child out. Maryse never knew she’d given birth to a son. She didn’t want to know so I thought it would be best if I told her the infant was dead.’

  ‘What happened to the child you were carrying?’

  ‘Our daughter, Elen? She was stillborn. I lost her as I was taking Bryn to the farm where he was to be left. We buried her on the hill, Marcus and I.’ She closed her eyes for a few seconds, remembering the sweet, pale face of her daughter, so peaceful in death. ‘We said words over her.’ Her voice faltered as she murmured the words she’d spoken then: ‘May the womb of the earth goddess nurture my daughter, Elen.’

  ‘Marcus answered, “And may the daffodils and lilies reflect her purity every spring.” Then, knowing how much I’d wanted our child, he placed Bryn against my breast to suckle. I had no choice, then, but to love Bryn, for we fulfilled the need in each other.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough of this pagan rubbish. You said Marcus Ibsen touched your breast?’

  ‘Not in a disrespectful way. He knew what was in my heart and acted on his instincts. Bryn looked so much like you, it was easy to love him and make him my son. Mine and yours, as if it had been I who’d carried him in my womb and brought him into the world.’

  ‘He’s not your son, Siana. He’s the result of a base crime. A bastard of uncertain parentage, a child who is the lowest of the low.’

  Siana winced at such a cruel description. ‘Children aren’t just blood ties. They’re bonded to the heart of their parents by love, as you bonded to Bryn.’

  He shrugged her words aside. ‘I thought Bryn was my son, born of my seed. What kind of woman would dupe her own husband in such a manner?’

  ‘Didn’t you make him yours? When I got back from Wales it was to the news that you’d been lost at sea. Then I lost my son, Ashley, to scarlet fever. Bryn kept me sane, for part of you lived in him. I did it with the best of intentions, believing Maryse would never discover the truth.’ She rang the bell for Rosie. ‘I must get dressed. I want to find out how Maryse has fared. She’ll need all the support she can get now, though I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.’