Beggars and Choosers

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Yes, Mrs James.’

  The bell ceased to ring after Mari left the room and the atmosphere in the drawing room gradually calmed.

  ‘You should be in bed, Mrs James,’ the doctor advised.

  ‘I am not going into the hall, not with all those people there.’ She set her mouth into a grim, defiant line.

  ‘I’ll carry you up the back staircase.’ Before Edyth could protest, Geraint· swept her into his arms.

  ‘You will stay here, in the house with me and Geraint, Sali?’ Edyth pleaded after Geraint and the doctor had left her bedroom.

  ‘If I do, Owen might come here,’ Sali warned.

  ‘Your brother is staying in the house. Between him, the police and the footmen, Owen Bull will soon be put behind bars where he belongs.’ Mari tucked the blankets around Edyth. ‘Are you comfortable, Mrs James?’

  ‘Very.’ Edyth smiled wanly at Sali. ‘Mari has been taking good care of me since you left.’

  ‘I am only sorry that I wasn’t here to see it.’

  ‘But you will stay now?’ Edyth begged.

  ‘I’ll stay,’ Sali promised, ‘but I have to go back for Harry.’

  ‘He can grow up in his father’s house, playing with his father’s toys, reading his books ...’ Edyth patted Sali’s hand. ‘Get him now and I’ll see you both later when you bring him back.’

  ‘I’ll return as soon as I can,’ Sali promised.

  ‘Take the carriage. Mansel’s son should travel in style.’ Edyth had always been thin, but as she closed her eyes and her features relaxed, Sali could see the skull beneath her aunt’s flesh. It was as if the dreadful confirmation of Mansel’s death had robbed her of the will to live.

  Sali looked back at her aunt and Mari sitting beside the old woman’s bed as she opened the door. ‘I am glad that we finally found out what happened to Mansel, Aunt Edyth, Terrible as it is, I would rather know than live in uncertainty.’

  ‘At least we can finally begin to grieve for him.’ Edyth opened her eyes. ‘You promise me faithfully, Sali, you will come back and live here with Mansel’s son?’

  ‘I promise, Aunt Edyth.’

  ‘Then I will sleep for the first night since Mansel disappeared. Give me one last kiss.’ Sali bent over her and she stroked her face. ‘You’ve grown into a handsome woman, Sal. Grieve, but not for the rest of your life. Mansel wouldn’t have wanted that.’

  Geraint and the doctor were alone in the drawing room. They looked to the door as Sali joined them.

  ‘I was discussing your aunt’s condition with your brother, Mrs Bull. She’s had a dreadful shock, she’s Exhausted –’

  ‘And she has just lost her reason to live.’ Sali hooked her arm through Geraint’s. ‘Today is the first time that I have seen my aunt since I left the infirmary, but I think that now she knows for certain that she will never see Mansel alive again, she is prepared to die.’

  The doctor glanced from Sali to Geraint. Realising from Geraint’s bleak expression that he had also accepted Mrs James’s mortality, he dropped the jocular, blustering manner he used to chivvy the spirits of the relatives of the terminally ill. ‘I believe you are right, Mrs Bull. But if her condition worsens, please send for me. Any time, day or night. I may not be able to help her regain her health, but I can alleviate her pain.’

  Geraint offered him his hand. ‘We will, Doctor, and thank you.’

  ‘I’ll see myself out. No,’ he held up his hand as Geraint moved to the door, ‘you don’t want to face all those people out there until you have to.’

  Sali hugged her brother when they were finally alone. ‘Despite everything, it is good to see you.’

  ‘And it is good to see you and looking so well. We have all been worried sick about you. Gareth, Llinos and me, as well as Aunt Edyth.’

  ‘And Mother?’

  ‘Is so sunk in laudanum, thanks to Uncle Morgan, that she barely opens her eyes long enough to eat her meals these days,’ he said scornfully. ‘Thank you for the letters you sent at Christmas. Aunt Edyth asked Mr Richards to smuggle them to us. It was a relief to hear from you. I tried everything I could think of to find out where you were hiding. I suspected Mr Richards knew, but he wouldn’t tell us anything other than you and your son were safe and well.’

  ‘Which we were.’ Sali sank down on the sofa and he sat beside her. ‘As your birthday isn’t until next week, I am surprised Uncle Morgan let you stay here.’

  ‘He had no choice. I threatened to take him to court and sue him for mismanagement of father’s estate if he didn’t. And I still might do just that. He has sold the house.’

  ‘Our house! Danygraig House!’ she cried in disbelief.

  ‘To someone who wants to tear it down and build on the site,’ Geraint muttered angrily. ‘He also sold the Watkin Jones Colliery to a consortium along with all the shares we owned in other collieries just after Father died.’

  ‘I know.’ Sali recalled her outrage after her uncle’s argument with Lloyd, when she discovered what he’d done.

  Geraint left the sofa and slammed his right fist in his left hand just as he had done as a boy when something had annoyed him. He paced restlessly to the hearth. ‘I had a long talk with Mr Richards when I came home yesterday.’

  ‘Didn’t you finish university in July?’

  ‘Yes, but one of my friends invited me to go to Italy with him for the summer. Although I applied to Mr Richards for the money to finance the trip, I was surprised when Uncle Morgan didn’t try to prevent me from going. His reasons for wanting me out of the way are now all too obvious. He’s done just what he damn well pleased with our estate, trust funds and property while I’ve been away. Mr Richards blames himself for not keeping a closer eye on Uncle Morgan, but it’s not his fault.’

  ‘But Mr Richards is our solicitor as well as joint guardian. Surely he could have prevented the sale of the house?’

  ‘He could have if he’d known about it,’ Geraint agreed tersely. ‘But Uncle Morgan engaged another solicitor to act for him, or rather us, as he’s supposed to be in guardianship of our interests.’

  ‘Could he do that?’ Sali moved to the edge of the sofa.

  ‘Legally, it’s questionable. Mr Richards found out what Uncle Morgan had been up to purely by chance, when the man who has bought our house consulted him about developing the site. The solicitor Uncle Morgan has been using has an office in Cardiff. Mr Richards has already written to him and intends to visit him next week. Although it appears one hundred per cent certain that our dear Uncle Morgan has been selling things he had no right to sell, supposedly on our behalf, to perfectly respectable and well-meaning people. We have no idea of the extent of his dealings.’

  ‘Geraint, you have to go to the police,’ Sali broke in urgently.

  ‘If Morgan Davies has taken our money, shares, house, sold them and re-invested the money elsewhere in our name or placed it in the trust fund, he has done nothing wrong except for not informing Mr Richards. And, as Mr Richards pointed out, if we take Uncle Morgan to court for mismanagement of our estate, the legal fees will be prohibitive and all we’d succeed in doing is wasting our own money to no good end.’

  ‘Have you confronted Uncle Morgan about this?’

  ‘Mr Richards and I cornered him in the house yesterday morning. Ten minutes later the sexton came to tell us that he had found a body in the Horton family grave that shouldn’t have been there.’ He stared blindly into the hearth.

  He doubted that he would ever blot the sight of Mansel’s remains lying in the earth from his mind. Mr Richards hadn’t lied when he’d told Sali that Mansel had been recognised by his hair. But what neither of them would ever tell her or Aunt Edyth was that Mansel’s hair hadn’t been attached to his pitifully splintered skull.

  There had been precious little left, apart from a few rags and dirt-encrusted bones to connect the remains they had lifted from the top of Mrs Horton’s coffin with the vibrant, healthy, young man who had courted his sister.

 
‘You’re thinking about Mansel, aren’t you?’ Sali said perceptively.

  ‘Yes. And I could kill Owen Bull ... and not just for murdering Mansel.’ His eyes were moist. ‘I heard what he did to you. I even gave Uncle Morgan the slip when I came home on holiday and hid in the doorway of the shop opposite Owen Bull’s in Mill Street hoping to catch a glimpse of you.’

  ‘Did you ever see me?’

  ‘No, but I saw the filthy conditions he forced you to live in, smelled the stench of the river. Saw the workhouse clothes he made his sister wear ...’

  ‘It’s over, Geraint. There is no going back.’ She unconsciously repeated the words Lloyd had spoken to her earlier in the carriage and for the first time since she had walked out of the infirmary, she actually believed them. In a week Geraint would be in control of their father’s estate. Owen was wanted by the police and even if he was innocent of Mansel’s murder, which she doubted, he was no longer the respectable deacon her uncle had promoted and protected. No one could force her to return to Owen, not now that Uncle Morgan had lost his hold over her and her family.

  And most important of all, she had her independence and a job that paid enough to keep both her and Harry in necessities, if not luxuries. She had Lloyd and the Evanses...

  She recalled the promise she had made to her aunt to live in Ynysangharad House with Harry so he could grow up surrounded by his father’s things. When her aunt was better she would find a way to tell her that she would stay – for a while. But not permanently. The Evanses needed her to run their house – and she needed Lloyd. Desperately.

  ‘I promised Aunt Edyth I would fetch my son and move in here.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Tonypandy.’

  ‘Tonypandy! Do you mean to tell me that all the time we were searching for you, you were only living in Tonypandy?’ He smiled and for the first time that afternoon she saw traces of the boy he had been in the man he had become. ‘I imagined Aunt Edyth had sent you to London or North Wales, or tucked you away in a cottage in West Wales.’

  ‘I couldn’t risk Aunt Edyth sending me anywhere because I was terrified that Owen would hurt her if he suspected she knew where I was. And Tonypandy was far enough away from Pontypridd for people not to recognise me.’ She looked her brother in the eye and braced herself for rejection. ‘You do know that Owen’s not the father of my son.’

  ‘Frankly, I’d be more concerned if he was.’

  ‘But being Mansel’s, he’s a bastard.’

  Geraint returned to the sofa and wrapped his arm around her. ‘He wouldn’t have been if Mansel hadn’t been murdered.’

  ‘Uncle Morgan said I brought disgrace on all of you. On Llinos...’

  ‘I think we’ve all heard more than enough of Uncle Morgan’s pontificating. In time, I might forgive him for selling everything Father spent a lifetime building, but I’ll never forgive him for marrying you off to a monster like Owen Bull. When I heard what he’d done I could have killed him. Do you know he wouldn’t allow Gareth and me to come home that first Christmas? He ordered the school to send us to a Methodist mission in London so we could see how unfortunates live. I tried to run away and get back here ...’ He looked into her eyes and saw her pain. ‘You’re right. It is over. I’ll order Aunt Edyth’s carriage to be brought around and we’ll go and get your son. What is he like, Sali?’

  ‘He’s three years old and looks exactly like Mansel. He has the same blond hair, blue eyes and smile. He’s very bright. I’ve taught him his letters and he loves drawing, colouring, singing ...’

  ‘What did you call him?’

  ‘Owen christened him Isaac Bull, but as he never spoke to him from the day he was born, I doubt he would even recognise the name. I call him Harry Glyndwr and we’ve been using the surname Jones since last August.’

  ‘Harry Glyndwr Jones. A good name. Put in Watkin and it sounds even better.’ He rang the bell.

  Jenkins opened the door. ‘Mr Watkin Jones, sir.’

  ‘Will you order the carriage to be brought around to the front door please, Jenkins. Mrs ...’ He turned to Sali. ‘Mrs Jones and I are going to Tonypandy to fetch her son.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The butler hesitated.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mr Jenkins?’

  ‘The person who arrived with Miss Sali has returned from the police station where he has been helping them with their enquiries. He is asking if he can see her.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Sali exclaimed. ‘I almost forgot he was here. Please, Jenkins, show Mr Evans in.’

  ‘If you wish me to, Miss Sali.’ Jenkins’s tone suggested that if it were up to him he would show the man the door. He turned his head and glanced at someone standing behind him in the hall. ‘If you would come this way. Mrs Jones will see you now.’

  That time Sali noticed the condescending inflection in the butler’s voice.

  ‘Mr Evans.’ Geraint stared at Lloyd in amazement. ‘The last time I saw you was the day of Father’s funeral.’ He looked from Lloyd to Sali.

  ‘I have been living with Lloyd’s family, Geraint,’ Sali explained. ‘It was he who recognised Mansel’s jewellery when Owen lost it at cards.’

  ‘You took in Sali and her son, Mr Evans.’ Geraint held out his hand. ‘I am extremely grateful to you ...’

  ‘My father, brothers and I are colliers, Mr Watkin Jones, and in no position to take in anyone who doesn’t work for a living.’

  ‘I am Lloyd’s father’s housekeeper, Geraint.’

  ‘A housekeeper!’ Geraint whirled round and faced Sali. ‘You mean to tell me that you have been working for Father’s assistant as a housekeeper?’

  ‘If Lloyd’s father hadn’t offered me the job, I doubt I would have survived, and I certainly wouldn’t have been able to keep Harry with me.’

  ‘All you had to do was appeal to Aunt Edyth, she would have given you money –’

  ‘It wasn’t merely a question of money, Geraint. I was terrified to go to her, even to write to her, and Lloyd and his father –’

  ‘You call one another by your first names! Sali, I accept that Uncle Morgan gave you little choice in the matter of marrying Owen Bull, but to deliberately seek out a home with colliers –’

  Jenkins knocked on the door. His shoulders were bowed, tears fell unchecked from his eyes but his voice remained steady and he spoke as formally as usual. ‘I am sorry to interrupt, Mr Watkin Jones, Miss Sali. But Mrs Williams has just informed me that Mrs James died five minutes ago.’

  She has just lost her reason to live.

  Sali’s own words came back to haunt her. She had accepted her aunt was dying but dear God, not immediately, and not without saying goodbye.

  She rushed past Lloyd, her brother and the butler and ran upstairs. Mari was standing next to the bed.

  ‘It was peaceful, Miss Sali. She never woke up after you left, not once. A few minutes ago she stirred, gave a small sigh and that was it, she was gone.’

  Geraint helped the butler to the sofa and poured him a glass of brandy. He looked across at Lloyd.

  ‘Would you call one of the footmen?’

  Lloyd held Geraint’s look for a moment, then left the room.

  Numbed by Edyth’s death, Sali was forced to set aside her own grief to comfort Mari, Jenkins, her aunt’s housekeeper, maids and footmen, most of whom had spent all their working lives in Ynysangharad House.

  Not wanting to entrust her aunt’s body to strangers, she and Mari washed Edyth and laid her out. Afterwards, they dressed her in the hand-stitched, beautifully embroidered brushed cotton grave clothes Edyth had made for herself after her children had died. There was a gown that proved too large and long for her shrunken body, a white shawl, a cap with streamers and a pair of fine white silk stockings. When they finished, Sali combed out her aunt’s long white hair, laid it over her shoulders and sprinkled it with lavender water before placing the cap on her head.

  They changed the sheets and pillowcases and laid Edyth in the centre of the four-poster bed
in which she had slept as a bride, and where she had given birth to the children destined to live such short lives.

  The light had faded by the time they finished. Sali lit the candles on the bedside tables and sent Mari to get the massive four-foot wooden candlesticks from the dining room. She placed two at the head and two at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Master Geraint asked me to tell you that the undertaker is here, and he’ll be leaving soon,’ Mari whispered as she returned with more candles for the bedside tables to replace the ones that would burn out before morning. ‘But I told him that someone has to sit with Mrs James.’

  ‘You and Jenkins can sit with her.’ Sali hadn’t intended to sound brusque but she was overwhelmed by the demands being made of her. And there was so much more to be done. She had to apologise to Lloyd for her brother’s attitude, fetch Harry, organise funerals for her aunt and Mansel ...

  ‘We’re servants, Miss Sali.’

  ‘Jenkins worked for Aunt Edyth for over sixty years and although you were only with her a year, I could see that she loved you,’ she added in a marginally softer tone. ‘Geraint and I will pay our respects as soon as we have finished making the arrangements for the funeral. I’ll send Jenkins up.’ Sali left the room, closed the door and took a moment to remember her aunt, not as she was, lying stiff and cold in her bed, but smiling, happy, full of life and mischievous plans to thwart her Uncle Morgan, just as she had been when she and Mansel had announced their engagement.

  She opened her eyes and had a sudden image of Edyth walking down the stairs, her widow’s dress trailing behind her, the scent of lavender water clouding her wake, her voice soft, silvery as she called to Jenkins. It was so real, so tangible, she could almost believe she wasn’t dead. She placed her hand on the doorknob. It wasn’t easy to resist the temptation to return to the room but she squared her shoulders and walked down the stairs into the hall.

  If anything there were even more people there than when she and Lloyd had arrived. The maids were clearing the dining room table of leftover food and dishes, and the footmen were moving furniture out of the morning room into the study under the direction of the undertaker’s assistant.