by Iris Gower
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Also by Iris Gower
Kingdom’s Dream
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
About the Author
Iris Gower was born in Swansea, where she still lives with her husband in a house overlooking the sea she loves. The mother of four grown-up children, she has written over seventeen bestselling novels. She received an Honorary Fellowship from the University of Wales Swansea in 1999 and was recently awarded an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Cardiff.
www.booksattransworld.co.uk
Also by Iris Gower
THE LOVES OF CATRIN
WHEN NIGHT CLOSES IN
The Sweyn’s Eye Series
COPPER KINGDOM
PROUD MARY
SPINNERS’ WHARF
MORGAN’S WOMAN
FIDDLER’S FERRY
BLACK GOLD
The Cordwainers Series
THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER
THE OYSTER CATCHERS
HONEY’S FARM
ARIAN
SEA MISTRESS
THE WILD SEED
The Firebird Sequence
FIREBIRD
DREAM CATCHER
SWEET ROSIE
DAUGHTERS OF REBECCA
KINGDOM’S DREAM
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Epub ISBN: 9781407083834
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
KINGDOM’S DREAM
A CORGI BOOK: 0 552 14451 7
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,
a division of Transworld Publishers
PRINTING HISTORY
Bantam Press edition published 2001
Corgi edition published 2002
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4
Copyright © Iris Gower 2001
The right of Iris Gower to be identified as the author of
this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77
and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the
subsequent purchaser.
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Printed and Bound in Great Britain
by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire
To my dear friend D.L. Anne Hobbs, M. Ed.,
the real expert on the Great Western Railways,
with much love
CHAPTER ONE
It was growing dark and fog crept between the rise of Kilvey Hill and the sheltering heights of the Town Hill. It blanketed the stink from the copper works, holding it low over the houses. In Swansea, candles and lamps were being lit but the lights scarcely penetrated the gloom. A fine rain had begun to fall and Katie Cullen shivered, pushing back a curl of dark hair that had escaped from under her bonnet. She was sheltered in the porch of St Joseph and she was the last one of the twenty members of the choir left at the church, except for old Tom Walters who was locking up.
‘Night, Katie!’ He slammed the door with an almighty bang, startling her out of her reverie. ‘I’m sorry I can’t walk you home tonight, especially with those navvies from the Great Western Railway roaming the streets, but I promised my daughter I’d go round there for a bite of supper.’ He hesitated. ‘I did tell you, didn’t I? I’m so forgetful these days.’
Tom was the mainstay of the Bethesda choir, organizer, conductor and general dogsbody. He had forgotten to tell her and she would miss his company.
‘Not to worry, Mr Walters.’ Katie brushed a raindrop from her cheek but another dripped from her bonnet and splashed on to her fingers. ‘I’m big enough to see myself home.’ She glanced up uncertainly at the lowering clouds.
‘Found yourself lodgings yet, child?’ Mr Walters said gently. ‘I know you’ve got to get out of that house by the end of the month now that your mammy’s, well . . . you know.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ll be all right, Mr Walters,’ Katie said, brushing away his sympathy, touched but embarrassed by it. ‘Go on you, your daughter will be waiting for you. I’ll be just fine, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘See you next week.’
She watched the old man hobble away, leaning heavily on his stick, and suddenly felt lonely. ‘Mammy,’ she whispered, ‘why did you have to die and leave me by myself?’ She rubbed her cheeks as tears mingled with the raindrops. She was so alone now, with no one to care if she lived or died. Except, perhaps, Mr Walters who would miss having a good contralto voice in the choir. She smiled and pulled her bonnet forward to shelter her face.
Yes, Mr Walters would miss her. It was a small consolation but warming for all that. She began to hurry towards Greenhill. She was not looking forward to letting herself into a cold dark house and spending another night by a cheerless fire built with nothing but sticks and cinders – the coal had run out almost a week ago and the weather had turned spiteful, as if to punish her.
Katie felt insubstantial, as if she did not really exist, for her footsteps were muffled by the rain and fog. She chewed her lip, telling herself that tomorrow she must concentrate on finding a job where she could live in.
As she reached the hi
gher ground on the road running up from the town, she quickened her step as she passed the bar room of the Castle from where she could hear the sound of Irish voices raised in drunken song. She smiled: the choir could take some tips from the navvies, sure enough.
A gang of them was coming down the street towards her and Katie dodged into a doorway, not wanting to draw attention to herself. The railwaymen had taken over the town: they earned good money and were not shy of spending it, not on their women or their living quarters though – the navvies’ homes were hastily built huts on the side of the tracks – but on beer.
Katie saw the camp women each time she ventured into town. They cooked outdoors when the weather was fine, the smoke from their fires adding to the stench of the copper works that dominated the town. Katie wondered what would happen when the railway line was finished. Would the navvies vanish from Swansea leaving a trail of broken-hearted women behind them?
Abruptly she stopped walking as the door of Tom’s Tavern opened and men spilled onto the roadway. Two fell to the ground, limbs entwined, and began to punch each other with more enthusiasm than accuracy while the others cheered them on.
Katie attempted to sidestep them but as she edged past a hand shot out and caught her ankle. ‘A colleen, look, a sweet young girl and she’s mine!’
The men clambered to their feet, fight forgotten. The one who had hold of Katie transferred his grip to her waist.
‘Let me go!’ Katie tried to slap his face but he laughed, holding her away from him with ease.
‘Don’t be like that, lovely. Seth only wants to take care of you.’ He dragged her into the doorway of Taylor’s grocery store and pressed himself against her. ‘You’re out looking for business, aren’t you? Well, your search is over. Seth will pay you well for a bit o’ pleasure but, for pity’s sake, stop struggling.’
‘I’m not one of the bad girls who roam the street so leave me alone!’ Katie kicked out sharply and her booted foot caught the man’s shin. He hollered with pain. ‘You bad bitch!’ He grabbed her by the throat and shook her.
‘Right, Seth, that’s enough.’ The voice was low but full of suppressed anger. ‘It’s the likes of you get us navvies a bad name.’
The man spun round, releasing her at once. ‘Right, Bull.’ He stepped away from her. ‘Sorry, Bull, I got carried away, like.’
‘Are you all right, miss? I’m Bull Beynon, foreman of the Swansea line, and I apologize for the way my boys are behaving. They’re a bit drunk, that’s all.’
He towered over her, dark and strong, his shoulders broad under his jacket. He had a kind voice but Katie was not taking any chances. She pushed past him and ran as fast as she could towards the lamplight further along the street. She heard shouting behind her as she darted out onto the road, unaware of the carriage and pair thundering towards her. And then the horses were on her, eyes rolling, hoofs raised. She scarcely felt the blow as everything swirled around her head and darkness claimed her.
‘Hell and damnation! We’ve hit someone! Stop the carriage, Jacob.’ Eynon Morton-Edwards leaped down onto the road, his eyes straining to see the figure lying on the cobbles. He heard the roar from the navvies, and although he was one of the richest, most powerful men in Swansea he felt a dart of discomfort as he saw the crowd of men milling across the road.
‘It’s the Great Western navvies, sir,’ his driver shouted. ‘They’re drunk again, and this is no place for a gentleman on a Saturday night. Get back in the coach, sir, please.’ He had to raise his voice to make himself heard.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jacob. Hold the animals still – it looks like we’ve run into a young girl.’
Eynon Morton-Edwards bent over the slim figure on the ground. The girl looked respectable enough: she had a silver cross hanging across her small breasts and it was clear she was not one of the doxies who plied their trade along the town’s streets.
‘Is she all right?’ A big man hurried into the roadway. ‘I’m Bull Beynon, in charge of the navvies.’ He knelt in the road beside the girl, lifting her head and cradling her in his arms.
‘Do you know her?’ Eynon asked, and when the man shook his head he said, ‘All right, come on, then, man, help me get her into the carriage. I’ll take charge of her now.’
Bull Beynon picked up the girl easily and waited until Eynon was in the coach, then handed her over to him.
‘Turn the horses, Jacob,’ Eynon said quietly to his driver. ‘We’d best get the hell out of here.’
Jacob flicked the reins and the horses set off at speed. ‘Those damn navvies,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘There’s always trouble with them on pay day. Ought to be locked up,’ he continued.
Eynon settled the girl on the seat beside him and ran his hand over her thin limbs. ‘Nothing broken, by the look of it,’ he said, ‘though there’s a nasty bump on the child’s head.’
‘Well,’ Jacob said defensively, ‘we’re not to blame. It’s the navvies. I wish they’d get out of Swansea. The place would be much safer without them.’
‘Ah, but maybe they’re a necessary evil, Jacob,’ Eynon said. ‘They’re laying the track for the railway and we’ve got to put up with them until the job’s done.’ The girl’s head lay against his shoulder and her eyes flickered. She stirred in his arms. ‘I think she’s all right,’ he called, relieved. ‘She’s coming round. We’d better find out where she lives.’
The girl opened her eyes and looked up at him in alarm. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, as she drew away from him, a frightened expression on her face.
‘I’m Mr Morton-Edwards, child.’ He peered at her in the gloom. She looked very pale. ‘Are you feeling all right? That was a nasty tumble you took.’
‘I’m all right. Could you please take me home?’
Before Eynon could speak, Jacobs turned in his seat. ‘Out, my girl. If you’re feeling all right you can find your own way home. You’ve given Mr Morton-Edwards enough trouble as it is.’
‘Hush, Jacob,’ Eynon said, ‘and you, child, stay where you are. Tell us where you live and we’ll get you safely home to your parents.’
‘I got no parents, sir,’ her eyes were large and beseeching, ‘but if you’ll take me to Greenhill I’ll be all right.’
‘What are you doing out at this time of night anyway?’ Eynon frowned. ‘You’re little more than a child and yet you mix with the navvies.’
‘I wasn’t mixing with them.’ The girl was near to tears. ‘I came to town for choir practice. The Bethesda choir are singing tomorrow at Alderman Stanley’s banquet.’
Eynon studied the girl. She was a few years younger than his daughter and she smelt of roses and freshness. Even though she was of the lower orders she was neatly dressed and obviously intelligent.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, as Jacob set the horses in a trot, disapproval clear in the line of his shoulders.
‘I’m Katie Cullen, if it pleases you, sir.’ Her voice was a little stronger. ‘And I’m sorry to be a trouble to you.’
‘Nonsense. It’s I should apologize for knocking you down.’
The fog that had hugged the valley was thinning a little as the land rose towards Greenhill and Eynon sighed. It had been a wasted evening as far as he was concerned: all he’d wanted was a good night of conversation and wine with his friend Father Martin. Well, that was ruined now.
‘We’re nearly there, sir,’ Jacob’s surly voice broke into Eynon’s thoughts, ‘but it looks as if more navvies are up by here and they’re making a nuisance of themselves too.’
But the sound of Irish voices singing into the night was sweet enough to bring tears to the eyes, and Eynon smiled. ‘They seem peaceable to me.
‘Is this where you live, child?’ he asked, as Jacob drew the carriage to a halt. The girl nodded and got shakily to her feet. Reluctantly Jacob jumped down from the driver’s box, ready to help her onto the road.
A navvy came towards the carriage. ‘Evening, sir. Is this little madam free for the rest of the n
ight?’
‘I’m not a madam and I’m not free. Go away and leave me alone.’ She sounded near to tears, and Eynon held up his hand to Jacob indicating that he should wait a moment.
‘Ah, a little Irish girl, a fresh young beauty. Come here, colleen, it’s a long time since I held a girl in me arms.’ The man rested his hand on her arm and she drew away so sharply she almost slipped on the wet cobbles. ‘You go, sir,’ she said to Eynon. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘Oh, no, you won’t,’ Eynon said. ‘Get back into the carriage.’ He reached out and drew her up the steps. ‘Jacob, take us home, there’s a good man.’
‘But, sir, that girl is no good – a doxy for the navvy, she is, and you can’t get lower than that.’
‘Be quiet.’ Eynon spoke harshly. ‘I won’t have disrespect shown to my guest. Drive on, Jacob.’
Jacob clucked his tongue in annoyance and flicked the reins at the horses.
‘Where are you taking me, sir?’ the girl stammered. Her head was bent low and her hair, loose from its pins, hung over the soft, childlike curve of her cheek.
‘I’m taking you to my house,’ Eynon said. ‘No one will bother you there, Katie Cullen. We’ll sort things out in the morning.’ He heard Jacob’s cluck of disbelief. ‘Just do as you’re told, there’s a good man, and put some pace into the horses, will you? I just want to get indoors and pour myself a stiff brandy. I think I need it – it’s been a bloody awful night.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily, wondering what his daughter would have to say about a strange girl being brought home at this time of night. Well, it was only a temporary arrangement. Come daylight, the girl could make her way back to wherever she belonged. For now she would share the room of one of the maids. At least she would be safe there and he owed her that much.
The next day Eynon was up early and had long finished breakfast when his daughter put in an appearance. She said she wanted to talk to him and he knew exactly what she was going to say. She’d give him hell over Katie Cullen and then she’d forget all about it.
He could hear the impatient tap of her foot as he stood in the drawing room, gazing out over the long stretch of land that led down to the bay. The fog of the previous night had vanished and the gardens of the Big House were bright with early spring blooms. Drifts of daffodils glowed yellow among the trees and crocuses lent patches of brilliant colour to the flower-beds.