Footsteps echoed in the hall, then the kitchen door opened and a short, wiry, middle-aged man glowered at them through piercing blue eyes. His cap was so grimy it was impossible to determine what colour it had originally been, his grubby brown moleskin trousers were tied with twine in place of a belt at his waist and again just below his knees, his red flannel shirt was collarless and his tweed jacket more hole than cloth.
Megan stared at him. He was smaller, more wrinkled and older than she remembered. ‘Dad?’ she murmured tentatively.
‘So you do remember me, girl,’ he lisped through yellow, broken teeth.
She felt that she should have hugged him, but the moment was over. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ianto Williams removed his cap to reveal a shock of grey curls. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘How did you get here?’ She was too taken aback to attempt to make sense of his answer.
‘I left the farm at two this morning and rode into Swansea Market on Jones’ cheese and cream cart. Then I got a ride on the fresh fish and cockle donkey cart that travels up here from Penclawdd. It’ll be leaving before dawn in the morning.’ He settled a hostile glare on Victor. ‘Your uncle or his brothers in?’
‘He and the other men have gone down to Porth,’ Megan stammered.
‘The children?’
‘The younger two are in school, the older boys out playing.’ Colour rose in her cheeks as her father continued to stare at Victor. ‘This is Mr Victor Evans, Dad. He lives next door. He brought us some coal and laid the fire for me.’
‘I remember the name. You’ve laid just the one fire?’ He eyed Victor’s blackened face and filthy clothes.
‘I’ve been working a drift on the mountain, Mr Williams,’ Victor explained.
‘Isn’t that illegal?’
‘That depends on your point of view,’ Victor replied easily. ‘It is good to meet you after all this time, Mr Williams. Megan talks a lot about her family.’
‘To you?’ Ianto Williams enquired sternly.
‘Sometimes.’ Victor refused to be intimidated. ‘Our families are close and Megan and I are friends.’
‘Friendly enough to persuade her to write to me and ask my permission to get engaged to you. And friendly enough for you to be left alone with her in the house after I wrote to her at Christmas expressly forbidding her to see you or talk to you.’
‘Victor lives next door, Dad ...’
‘So you said, girl.’
Ignoring Mr Williams’ outburst in the rapidly diminishing hope of winning him round, Victor said, ‘I would offer to shake your hand but, as you can see, I’m covered in coal dust.’
‘I wouldn’t shake the hand of a Papist if it was disinfected.
‘I have to cook the dinner, Victor.’
Victor saw the pleading look in Megan’s eyes and realized he was making a bad situation worse. Careful to step on the newspaper he retraced his steps to the basement door. ‘I’ve a few more bags of coal to deliver, so I’ll be off.’
‘Thank you for the coal, Victor,’ Megan called after him when he closed the door behind him.
‘So that’s the Catholic you’ve been making a fool of yourself with.’ Ianto moved in front of the fire to warm himself.
‘I haven’t been making a fool of myself with anyone, Dad.’ Megan gathered the dust-stained sheets of newspaper from the floor.
‘No?’ Ianto said. ‘I suggest you look at yourself in the mirror, girl, before you say another word.’
Megan dropped the coal-smudged papers on top of the coal bucket, went to the sink and picked up the men’s shaving mirror. Black imprints of Victor’s hands covered both her cheeks and there were coal smuts on her lips. Dampening the corner of a tea towel under the tap, she scrubbed at her face.
‘Have you anything to say for yourself?’
‘As you said, I did write to ask you if I could get engaged to Victor at Christmas. And it’s not as if it’s sudden. We’ve known one another for over five years.’
‘And I wrote back telling you that I’d prefer to see you dead than married to a Catholic. And I forbid you to see or talk to him again.’
‘Victor’s a good man –’
‘I’ll have no more said about him.’ Ianto scraped a wooden chair over the flagstones and plonked it in front of the fire. ‘You can make me a cup of tea and give me some bread and cheese to keep me going until tea’s on the table.’
‘I can make you tea and give you bread, Dad. But there’s no cheese. With so little money coming into the house we’ve had to cut back.’ Megan filled the blackened tin kettle, opened up a hob and put it on to boil. ‘You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.’
‘As I said when I came in, it’s obvious. Your uncle’s emigrating and I’ve come to take you home, not that we can afford to keep you there. You’ll have to find another job – and quick.’
‘Emigrating ...’ Her voice died to a whisper.
‘To Canada. With no job or home to go to, your uncle won’t risk taking his two youngest and he’s asked your mother and me to take them in. We’ve room now that your brothers and sisters have left home. Tea, girl,’ he reminded, as she stood, pale and trembling, beside his chair.
The Brothers &Lovers series
by Catrin Collier
For more information on Accent Press titles, please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Beggars and Choosers Page 53