‘Anything, Mari,’ Sali answered absently as she picked up the list of staff.
‘Put yourself second.’
‘I think I had too much to drink last night, Sali,’ Geraint apologised clumsily as he blundered in on Sali in the library.
‘I know you did,’ she said, without looking up from the letter she was writing.
‘Look, until I can sort out something more permanent, we would be very grateful if you allow us to stay here. And despite what I said last night, I do know that it is down to me to find somewhere for Mother, Gareth, Llinos and me to live.’
‘I have already arranged everything that needs to be done on the domestic front with Jenkins, Mari and the housekeeper. You will be pleased to know that Mari is going to look after Mother.’ Sali signed her name with a flourish at the bottom of the page she’d written, returned her pen to the rack and blotted her letter.
‘I am surprised you managed to persuade her. Mother has become impossible since we moved her into this house. And she still flatly refuses to believe that Uncle Morgan has stolen all our money.’
‘Mari has always put our family before herself.’ She poured him a cup of coffee from the tray the parlour maid had set on a table behind her and handed it to him. ‘I suggest you don’t put milk in that.’
The significance of her suggestion wasn’t lost on him. ‘I won’t.’
‘If you want to help,’ she indicated the pile of correspondence on the desk, ‘I have only answered a tenth of the condolence letters we received.’
‘I’ll look at them after chapel. Are you and Harry going to morning or evening service?’ He sat at the table.
‘Neither.’
‘You don’t go to chapel?’
‘We wouldn’t be welcome,’ she informed him flatly. ‘I was probably only allowed in yesterday for the funeral on sufferance for Aunt Edyth’s sake. When Gareth and Llinos come downstairs, ask them what time train they intend taking back to their schools tomorrow.’
‘What about Llinos’s fees?’
‘If the trustees turn down my request for a loan that she can repay, I have a ring Mansel gave me that I can sell. I was keeping it to pay for Harry’s education but now his future is assured, I think it important that you, Gareth and Llinos make independent lives for yourselves.’
Geraint left his seat and carried his coffee to the window. He gazed over the fields towards the river and the town on the opposite bank. ‘I have considered your suggestion that you ask the trustees to find me a position in Gwilym James.’
‘And?’ She sat back and looked at him expectantly.
‘It would be a start. I’m not saying that I will make a career for myself there, but at least I will earn some money while the police look for the swindling directors of the company Uncle Morgan gave my money to.’
‘I will bring it up at the Trustees Meeting tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Sali.’
‘Thank my ... son.’ She paused in the hope that he’d remember and feel guilty for calling Harry a bastard.
‘We will be living off Harry’s charity, but it was you who made the offer and even after the foul way I behaved last night, you haven’t made me beg for any favours.’
‘You’re my brother, Geraint.’ She looked him in the eye, but his gaze shifted uneasily from hers. She began to wonder if the life she had been forced to lead for the last four years had created an unbridgeable gulf between them.
An hour before lunch Sali set the unanswered letters aside, cleaned the nib of her pen and screwed the top on the inkbottle. She wanted to write to Lloyd but every letter she had begun had started and ended with ‘Dear Lloyd’.
She simply didn’t know what to say to him. She even considered writing to his father instead, but felt that a thank you for everything he and his sons had done for her and Harry might sound like a goodbye. And she wasn’t ready to say that. Not yet. But neither could she offer any assurances that she would return to live with them.
Eventually she decided to postpone writing until after the Trustees Meeting and she had finished finalising all the domestic arrangements that needed to be made in the house. And there was the question of her mother’s health, school fees and finding careers for Llinos and Geraint. Then she had to persuade Geraint to think in terms of finding permanent employment, rather than rely on the police to recover anything of his fortune.
She dressed Harry in his cap and jacket, put on her coat and hat, and picked up the letter she had written to Rhian to tell her that Owen wanted to see them, suggesting that if Rhian could face him, they meet in Cardiff. Refusing Jenkins’s offer to post her letter for her or order the carriage, she left the house.
It was a cold, damp, miserable autumn day and a long walk down the drive for Harry, but after they had posted the letter, Sali continued towards Taff Street. No sooner had the melodic sounds from one chapel choir faded as they passed it, than the air was filled with hymns from the next. A few people nodded to her and she returned their acknowledgements, but she knew they were meaningless gestures. Her ‘sins’ had relegated her to the role of pariah. A position she had reinforced when she had taken the post of housekeeper to colliers. The crache might have flocked to the funerals of her aunt and Mansel in a house her son owned, but no one other than Mr Richards had sought her out and she had overheard Llinos, Geraint and Gareth discussing luncheon and dinner invitations after the mourners had left. Invitations that hadn’t been extended to include her.
She stopped outside Danygraig House. The windows and doors were already boarded, waiting for the demolition hammer, and she stood at the gate for a moment, remembering, grateful that there were more happy memories than sad ones. She knew Harry was watching her but she didn’t want to burden him with stories of what had been lost. Not when he had so much to look forward to.
Instead she walked up to Market Square and stopped outside Gwilym James. Bored with the window display of women’s dresses and household linens, Harry tugged at her hand and pulled her across the cobbled square to the toyshop.
While he studied a display of more elaborate and expensive horses and carts than the one she had bought him for Christmas, she reflected on his future. As Mr Richards had said, he was going be an extremely wealthy young man, but if she told him about his inheritance now, would he end up with the same expectations of a life of ‘managing’ his investments as Geraint? Or would he strive all the harder to acquire the education and skills he would need to run an organisation that employed people dependent on the wages he could pay?
‘Look, Mam, look at that enormous horse and cart full of barrels. I think they are beer barrels.’
‘Do you now?’ She unconsciously used one of Mr Evans’s favourite expressions as she crouched down to Harry’s level. ‘And what do you know about beer?’
‘It tastes funny.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘Uncle Joey gave me a sip at Christmas when you weren’t looking.’
She smiled. ‘He would.’
‘When are we going home, Mam?’
‘Don’t you like living in Ynysangharad House and having your own big bedroom, a toy room and a bathroom?’
‘Yes, but it’s not like home and I miss the uncles. Do you think you can lift those barrels out of the cart?’ he asked with one of his maddening switches of conversation.
‘I don’t know, darling. We’d have to go in when the shop is open and ask.’
‘Can we?’
‘We can ask, but I don’t have enough money to buy it.’
‘I know, but I could see it and touch it.’
‘Yes, you could.’ She looked at him. What did she want for him? And more important still, what would he want for himself when he was older? If she made the wrong decisions on his behalf, would he end up despising her and being as ashamed of her as Geraint, Gareth and Llinos were?
The idea was even more painful than the thought of losing him to a boarding school in four years’ time.
Sali r
eturned to the house to find the sergeant closeted with Geraint in the drawing room.
They’ve found Uncle Morgan,’ Geraint announced.
‘His corpse, Mrs Bull. In the river at Taff’s Well,’ the sergeant elaborated.
Sali sat abruptly in one of the chairs. All she felt was an immense sense of relief that she’d never have to face the man again.
‘His pockets were filled with stones.’ Geraint poured her a brandy.
‘Anything else?’ Sali asked.
‘Less than a pound in small change. A pair of silver cufflinks, a wallet, a Bible and a hymnal,’ the sergeant listed. ‘On the basis of the evidence, it appears to be an open and shut case of suicide, but there’ll have to be a post-mortem and an inquest. Someone from the family will have to identify the body in order to claim it.’
‘Not me.’ Sali took the brandy Geraint handed her and laid the glass untouched on the table beside her.
‘Mr Watkin Jones?’ The sergeant looked expectantly to Geraint.
‘Am I right in thinking that if I claim the body I will have to pay the funeral expenses?’
‘You are, sir.’
‘You are aware that my uncle bankrupted me.’
‘Yes, sir. But if no one claims the body, your uncle will be buried at the parish’s expense in a pauper’s grave.’
‘I am afraid I cannot help you, Sergeant,’ Geraint demurred. ‘I am living on my nephew’s charity as it is.’
‘Mrs Bull?’
Sali shook her head. ‘As Geraint says, Sergeant, we are all living on my son’s charity and I am not prepared to ask the trustees of my son’s estate to advance burial funds for a great-uncle who has done my family such a disservice.’
‘Would you like me to inform you when the funeral is to take place?’
‘No, thank you, Sergeant,’ Sali said politely.
‘Mr Watkin Jones?’
Geraint shook his head. He’d clung to the hope that the finding of Morgan Davies might lead to the recovery of a portion of his fortune. Now even that slight hope had been dashed, he had no sympathy for the man who had robbed him of every penny of his inheritance. ‘When I think of it, Sergeant, my uncle lying in a pauper’s grave seems poetic justice, of a kind.’
‘I really don’t see why you are so insistent on visiting Owen in that place,’ Geraint castigated Sali, as Robert the footman, whom Sali had promoted to coachman at his own request, turned the carriage into station square. ‘After what he did to you.’
‘That is precisely why I do have to see him, Geraint,’ Sali interrupted testily, ‘because of what he did to Harry and me. I am not visiting him for his sake but my own. I spent four years living in fear of the man. And even when I finally managed to escape, I had nightmares every time I thought of what he would do to us if he ever discovered where we were hiding.’ She put Harry’s gloves on for him.
‘At least allow me to go with you.’
Sali shook her head as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘But you could see if the nurse needs help with Mother. If anything, she’s become even more difficult in the last month, and the doctor reduced the dosage of her medication again yesterday.’
‘Jenkins and the housekeeper can keep an eye on the nurse. I hate the thought of you and Harry in that place.’
‘Mari can take Harry to a toyshop or a café while I make my visit. But we’ll be together on the train, won’t we, poppet?’ She gave Harry a reassuring smile as she checked his bootlaces. ‘And we’ll see Auntie Rhian.’
‘She wants to see her brother?’ Geraint asked.
‘She has as many ghosts to lay as I do. It’s strange to think she is still only fifteen. I doubt I would have survived a month of marriage to Owen if it hadn’t been for her help.’
‘Where does she live now?’
‘She works as a parlour maid in Tonypandy.’ Sali looked out of the window so she wouldn’t see the look on Geraint’s face. More than a dozen times during the month since the funeral, he had accused her of being too familiar with the staff and lectured her on ‘proper relations’ with the servants. She knew he wouldn’t recognise Rhian’s estimable qualities or her kindness, only her lowly status as a maid. ‘Today’s her day off and as she’s never been to Cardiff, she went in early to look around. I arranged to meet her outside the station at half past three.’
Robert climbed off the box, opened the door of the carriage and folded down the steps.
Geraint alighted first and held out his arm to Sali. As she reached the ground, he muttered, ‘Damn it, Sali, I am going with you. And you can’t stop me.’
‘Not into the prison.’
‘Yes, into the prison. But I won’t interfere with your visit. I’m not sure how I’d react if I came face to face with the man. In my opinion, hanging is a damned sight too good for him.’
Sali lifted Harry from Mari’s arms and set him on the ground.
‘I’ll get the tickets. As I’m going with Sali, do you still want to come?’ Geraint asked Mari.
‘I don’t want Harry going near that place,’ Sali reminded.
‘Then I’ll get three and a half first-class tickets.’ Geraint went ahead to the booking office.
‘You can’t blame Mr Geraint for wanting to protect you, Miss Sali,’ Mari commented, as Sali stared at his retreating figure.
‘I don’t. My God!’ Stunned, she turned her head to see a sea of uniformed policemen thundering down the steps that led from the platforms. What’s going on?’
‘Police reinforcements down from Tonypandy, ma’am.’ Robert broke one of Mr Jenkins’s cardinal rules. Servants do not address their betters unless asked a direct question. And in such a case a ‘yes or no, ma’am or sir’ as required should be the response. If more words were needed, they should be as few and respectful as possible.
‘There’s trouble in Tonypandy?’ Sali’s heart was thundering so violently she could barely speak.
‘The milkman said this morning that there have been riots there all night. The miners put out all of the boiler fires in the Cambrian Collieries yesterday morning and since then there’s been nothing but trouble. Management are trying to run Glamorgan Colliery in Llwynypia with blackleg labour. Fighting broke out between the pickets, police and blacklegs around Glamorgan yesterday. The police forced the picketing miners back into Pandy Square and then they charged in with their truncheons. The miners fought back with everything they could lay their hands on. He said they attacked the Power House and ripped up the railings from around the Glamorgan to use as weapons .. .’
Sali noted the bandages beneath some of the police helmets, and the bloody noses and black eyes sported by a couple of dozen of the officers. ‘Has anyone been seriously hurt?’ she broke in urgently.
‘The police didn’t get everything their own way by the look of them,’ Robert answered laconically.
‘I mean the miners.’
‘Dozens, or so the milkman said, but who knows what the truth is, ma’am? The town is full of rumour.’
Fighting palpitations, Sali tightened her grip on Harry’s hand, as the police marched out of the station yard in formation. She had never seen so many policemen in her life. There had to be a hundred or more. They filled the Tumble in a tide of blue uniforms within seconds. ‘But the police are here now, so the trouble must be over,’ she murmured, desperately wanting to convince herself that was the case.
Robert shook his head. ‘Looks to me as if that’s just one shift coming off duty. From what the milkman said, the government’s out to break the strike and as the miners are refusing to accept a pay cut, who knows where it will end.’
‘Have all the miners come out on strike from all the pits?’ Sali couldn’t believe that she had been so wrapped up in her family and Ynysangharad House’s affairs as to forget Tonypandy and Lloyd’s concerns that a strike would propel the miners into open warfare with the establishment.
‘The official strike began a week ago, ma’am. The Coal Owners’ Association requested police protectio
n a day later and they drafted in police from all over Glamorgan, Bristol and Monmouth. They say thousands more are coming up from London.’
‘Thousands,’ Sali echoed faintly.
‘So they say, Miss Sali, but there’s been so sign of them yet,’ Mari interrupted.
‘Comes to something when the bloody government send in the police to fight men who are only asking for a living wage so they can feed their families.’
‘Robert! You are forgetting your place,’ Mari reprimanded.
‘It’s all right, Mari. Your father was a miner, wasn’t he, Robert?’ Sali asked.
‘And my four brothers. They used to work for your father and had nothing but praise for him, but since your uncle sold out ... begging your pardon, ma’am, Mrs Williams is right. I am forgetting myself.’ Bowing to her, he folded the steps back into the carriage and closed the door.
‘Why wasn’t I told about this?’ Sali asked Mari.
‘It didn’t seem to concern us, Miss Sali,’ Mari replied evasively. ‘And you’ve been so busy, what with the Trustees Meetings and settling Mrs James’s estate and her personal affairs and seeing to your mother and Miss Llinos’s school ...’
‘Did Geraint ask you to keep the newspapers from me?’ Sali enquired bluntly.
‘If I did, Sali, it was for your own good.’ Geraint stood in front of her, tickets in hand. ‘The train is coming in. We are going to have to move quickly if you don’t want to miss it.’
Trying not to stare at the police still flooding down the steps from the platform, Sali grasped Harry’s hand. ‘Come on, darling, we’re all going on a train.’
Rhian was waiting outside the station dressed in a navy blue coat, her blonde hair tucked beneath a matching beret to protect it from the rain.
Sali opened her umbrella, holding it more over Harry than herself. ‘Here’s Auntie Rhian.’
‘You’ve grown enormous,’ Rhian lifted Harry and hugged him. ‘And heavy.’
Harry’s smile faltered uncertainly.
‘He doesn’t know me, Sali,’ Rhian cried out in disappointment.
‘But he soon will once you see him regularly again,’ Sali assured her. ‘You’ve met Mrs Williams.’
Beggars and Choosers Page 48