Kingdom's Dream

by Iris Gower

  As Llinos stepped down from her carriage she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Dafydd’s tall figure disappear through the polished glass doors of the Mackworth Hotel. Almost in a dream, she followed him, wanting to talk to him, touch him. She was a fool – she had put her past behind her and now that she was Joe’s wife again she intended to remain faithful to him. So why did her heart miss a beat whenever she caught sight of Dafydd?

  The doorman doffed his hat to her and Llinos hesitated before she stepped into the foyer. She tried to spot Dafydd in the crowd of people enjoying morning coffee or a glass of tea. And then he was standing in front of her. She took in his thick hair, the square cut of his jaw, and most of all the joy in his eyes as he looked down at her.

  ‘Llinos,’ his voice was a caress, ‘I was just thinking about you, and how the sight of you would make this a wonderful day for me.’ He took her arm and guided her across the room to a quiet corner. She breathed in his familiar scent joyfully.

  ‘I love you so much, Llinos, my darling, but you know that, don’t you?’

  She resisted the urge to put her arms around his neck and hold him close. She wanted him as much as ever. ‘You’re getting married, then, Dafydd.’ Pain crept into her voice. ‘I suppose I should congratulate you.’

  He took her hand. ‘It’s you I want – you I’ll always want, Llinos – but I have to get married some time. I need children, sons to inherit my fortune.’

  ‘You have a son,’ Llinos said.

  ‘I know that, and I’ll always be there if Sion should need me, but I have to have legitimate heirs, Llinos. You must see that.’

  She found herself praying that he would never have another son. Her fingers curled around his and she was just about to speak again when a shadow fell over her. She looked up sharply. ‘Joe, I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘Evidently,’ Joe said.

  ‘I was just congratulating Dafydd on his marriage to Jayne,’ she said quickly. ‘What are you doing in town? I thought you were out with Lloyd today.’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get home,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to leave at once, if you don’t mind.’

  Llinos got to her feet. ‘Joe, there’s nothing wrong, is there? Sion or Lloyd – they aren’t hurt?’

  ‘No, but I would prefer to discuss family matters in private.’

  Llinos turned to look at Dafydd. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’ The words were stiff, formal, and in her heart Llinos knew she did not mean any such thing. She followed Joe from the hotel and grasped his arm. ‘Joe, tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Nothing is wrong. There’s something we have to talk about but there is no need for hysteria.’

  ‘Joe,’ she said, ‘how did you know where to find me?’

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. You and Buchan are still the talk of Swansea and some are eager to tell me when they see Mrs Mainwaring with her fancy man.’

  She heard the anger in her husband’s voice and caught his hand. ‘Joe, I’m sorry. I just saw Dafydd and I had to talk to him. I didn’t mean to be deceitful or to make you angry.’

  ‘Angry? Of course I’m angry! What’s a man supposed to feel when he sees his wife sitting cosily with her lover?’

  Suddenly Llinos was as angry as Joe. ‘He is not my lover! He hasn’t been for a very long time.’

  ‘And I must believe that when I find you with him in an hotel?’

  ‘At this moment I don’t care what you believe,’ she said. ‘I bumped into him and I spoke to him about his marriage, that’s all.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Look, Joe, you’re no saint, are you? Were you not the first to break our marriage vows?’

  ‘Look,’ Joe said, more calmly, ‘I thought we’d put this behind us, but the sight of you with him just drove me mad.’

  ‘I can’t ignore him,’ Llinos said. ‘He is the father of my child.’ As soon as the words passed her lips she could have bitten out her tongue.

  ‘Oh, I know that. So does half of Swansea.’

  ‘At least I never lied to you, Joe. I never pretended it was my destiny to love Dafydd, as you did with your Indian woman.’

  ‘Did I lie?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Well, you told me your son would one day be the head of your people, and you were wrong about that, weren’t you? Your son by your squaw wasn’t meant to live.’ She paused. ‘Admit you were wrong, Joe.’

  ‘Was I?’ Joe was quiet and Llinos stared at him in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s Lloyd. He’s going to America – he wants to learn the ways of the American Indian.’ He paused. ‘So you see, Llinos, one day my son might be ruler in my land.’

  ‘No!’ Llinos said. ‘I don’t want my son living among . . .’ Her words trailed away and she looked up at Joe in despair.

  ‘Go on, say it! You don’t want your son to live with savages. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’ He bundled her into the waiting carriage and sat stiffly beside her, his face turned away. She knew she had hurt him badly, but all she wanted now was to beg Lloyd not to go away.

  ‘I’ll be glad to get home,’ she said, breaking the silence.

  ‘Aye, the pottery is your home, isn’t it, Llinos? But have you ever asked me about my home?’

  ‘Where is your home, Joe?’ Llinos asked, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Is it the estate in England your father left you, or is it in America, or here with me?’

  Joe did not answer, and they finished the journey in silence.

  When Llinos alighted from the carriage she breathed in the all-pervading smell of damp clay, felt the heat shimmering from the kilns and knew that this was her world. She could not give it up to live in America, not for Joe and not for Lloyd.

  ‘You are happy enough here, though, aren’t you, Joe?’ she asked. ‘Swansea has become your home, hasn’t it?’

  He took her arm, drew her across the yard and into the house. He did not speak until they were inside the hallway. ‘I’m going to America with Lloyd,’ he said, ‘and I want you and Sion to come with us.’

  ‘When do you expect all this to happen, Joe? Nothing like this can be planned in a few weeks.’

  ‘I’ve booked us a berth on the Marigold. She’s sailing out of Swansea next week.’

  Llinos stared at him, aghast. ‘So soon? You must be mad! I can’t uproot Sion and take him away from everything he knows and loves. In any case, I don’t want to go to America, not at my time of life.’

  She went into the drawing room where she found Lloyd. He got up at once to embrace her.

  ‘Lloyd,’ she said, ‘tell me it’s not true. Tell me you’re not going to throw up your career for a dream.’

  ‘But, Mother, it will be an adventure. You and Sion will enjoy living beneath the sun, breathing fresh air and seeing the stars shine at night, instead of looking up at the clouds of smoke from the copper works.’

  ‘I can’t go traipsing about the world now, Lloyd. I’m too old for that.’

  ‘Nonsense, Mother! You’re still young and beautiful.’

  ‘I’m not going to America,’ Llinos said flatly. ‘This is my home. This is where I was born and this is where I will die.’ She walked to the door and stood to look back at her husband and son, two men so alike yet so different.

  ‘I’m going to lie down. I’m tired.’ She went slowly up the stairs. Once in her room, she closed the door and locked it. Then she fell on the bed and muffled her sobs in the pillows.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning sun brought light and colour to Swansea’s shop windows. Spirals of steam rose from the dew-wet cobbles of the Stryd Fawr lending the high street an aura of mysticism and magic. Jayne Morton-Edwards stepped down from her carriage. Her spirits were high as she gazed around her, drinking in the sights and sounds of the town she loved. Then she glanced at the splendid ring that graced her elegant white hand, which was accustomed only to needlework and painting or playing the piano. Those were the sort of skills a woman needed
if she was to make a good marriage.

  She paused before the large window of Howell’s Emporium and stared eagerly at the fine gloves and dainty slippers; all fit for the wedding of the year.

  ‘Oh, look, miss. Isn’t that posy lovely?’

  Jayne looked at the flowers, the daffodils and the brightly coloured tulips, none of which would be available when she married at the height of summer. ‘You stupid girl, Katie!’ she said impatiently. ‘I shan’t be choosing my bouquet until much later in the year.’ She resented Katie: her father had more or less insisted that the girl become her personal maid and Jayne felt that a young girl from the back-streets of Swansea was more fitted to kitchenmaid than lady’s maid.

  ‘Still,’ she relented a little, ‘it is very pretty.’ She supposed it was natural for the girl to be excited: all this luxury must be overwhelming for a girl of her sort.

  ‘Come along, let’s go inside. The air is a little chilly out here.’ Jayne swept into the shop without so much as a glance at the doorman, who doffed his cap to her. She was immediately aware of the stir her appearance caused among the shop assistants. An obsequious salesman crossed the expanse of good carpet, so anxious to serve her that he almost stumbled over one of the finely carved chairs.

  ‘Miss Morton-Edwards, how may we help you this morning? A bolt of fine silk suitable for a wedding gown?’ He looked at her archly. Jayne was gratified that he knew of her engagement and smiled, unaware of how her face was transformed: all at once, she was a happy young woman with smoky grey eyes and pale golden hair. She was in love and happiness radiated from her like perfume.

  ‘Thank you, Frazer, but bring me something really expensive and special, because I haven’t yet seen a cloth I like and time is getting short.’ Not that Jayne worried about that: any seamstress worth her salt could make up a wedding dress in days.

  ‘I think we have just the thing.’ The man bowed and disappeared through a door. Jayne took a seat, relishing the feeling of being a bride. Since she was a child she had dreamed of a fine wedding to a handsome man, and hers owned acres of fine farmland as well as a flourishing pottery.

  She spent a happy hour while Frazer brought out bolt after bolt of the finest silks and satins. At last she had seen enough. ‘I’m tired now,’ she said, ‘so I’ll look at the slippers and gloves another day.’

  Then she felt a draught – the doors of the emporium had swung open. Looking over her shoulder she saw Shanni Morgan sweep into the store as if she owned it. Her red hair was tumbled about her face in a most disgraceful way, and even though she wore ordinary clothes there was still something about her that drew everyone’s attention.

  ‘Good morning to you, Jayne.’ There was a knowing look in Shanni’s eyes. ‘I hear you’re marrying Dafydd. Congratulations.’ She spoke in the cultured voice she had learned from Llinos Mainwaring.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jayne said. ‘I was not aware that we were on familiar terms. It’s Miss Morton-Edwards to you.’

  ‘Ah, but you will soon be the wife of my dear friend.’

  Jayne’s eyes narrowed. It was impossible to guess how close Shanni had been with Dafydd – she might even have been intimate with him during the time she’d spent fighting the toll charges with him. The thought made Jayne burn with anger and jealousy and she could have slapped the pretty face that smiled at her now. Instead she used her tongue to bring the upstart down to earth. ‘I hear you found your proper place in society, then?’ She forced a smile. ‘You married a humble potter, didn’t you?’

  ‘I might never be as rich as you,’ Shanni said, ‘but I’m better educated and more of a lady than you’ll ever be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve more important things to do than talk to you.’

  Jayne watched as Shanni made her way towards the millinery counter. Then, anger searing her, she got up. ‘Come along, Katie. I need a little air to get the smell of that woman out of my nostrils.’

  Without waiting to say goodbye to the bemused salesman, Jayne hurried out of the shop. The cool breeze soothed her burning cheeks and she climbed up the carriage steps and twitched her skirts into place as she sank into the padded leather seat.

  ‘That Shanni Morgan is nothing but a slut from the slums, yet she gives herself such airs.’

  Katie lowered her head. She’d learned it was best not to interrupt when her mistress was in a bad mood. She hadn’t realized when she became a lady’s maid that it would mean putting up with a spoiled madam like Jayne Morton-Edwards.

  ‘If Llinos Mainwaring hadn’t taken her in, she would be in the workhouse now and that’s good enough for her sort,’ Jayne fumed. Why had she allowed that common little peasant to get the better of her? If only she could find out how close Shanni had been to Dafydd she might be able to deal with the situation more appropriately.

  When the carriage stopped outside the pillared door of her home Jayne pushed aside the driver and climbed down onto the driveway. Without a backward glance she hurried into the house and flung her coat on the floor. She went immediately to her room and slammed the door behind her. The meeting with Shanni had spoiled her day.

  She sank down on the bed, trying to control the trembling in her hands, telling herself to be calm: she was the one marrying Dafydd not Shanni. And what if Dafydd had lain with her? She would have been no more than a casual diversion, quickly forgotten.

  She sighed deeply and sank back on the pillows, her thoughts turning to her wedding day. She anticipated the stir it would cause in Swansea. The sun would shine on the pale satin of her gown and a gentle summer breeze would lift her veil to reveal her beauty. Dafydd was a lucky man to have her, and she would never tire of telling him so.

  The men in her life, Dafydd and her father, saw her as a child but she had brains in her head and one day she would surprise them. She slipped off the bed, opened a drawer in a chest that smelt of beeswax and camphor and took out the crackling documents nestling beneath her night clothes. ‘Great Western Railways.’ She waved the papers in the air. ‘Now that I own part of you I’ll bring a great deal more to the marriage than Dafydd ever dreamed of.’

  Carefully she folded the papers away again, smiling to herself as she covered them with a soft cambric gown. They might call the enterprise the South Wales Railway for the moment, but everyone knew that the much-respected Isambard Kingdom Brunel had set his stamp on the venture and what he touched always turned to gold.

  She returned to her bed, sank back once again into the pillows and turned her mind to more important matters: her gown, the headdress of real pearls, and the golden band that would tie her and Dafydd together in a bond that would never be broken.

  Shanni was pleased that she had triumphed over Jayne Morton-Edwards. Now she would shop to her heart’s content, secure in the knowledge that she had got the better of the other woman. As well as being intelligent, Shanni was also quick to hear any gossip and what she had overheard had come from the horse’s mouth.

  She had been about to leave her small room at the pottery when she heard voices in the office across the passageway. Dafydd had been talking to his brother. Shanni peeped round the door and saw that Ceri Buchan looked so pale and thin that a puff of wind might have blown him away. At first the talk was about business and she had been about to leave when she heard the word ‘marriage’.

  ‘I think you’re doing the right thing in marrying Miss Morton-Edwards.’ Ceri spoke as if it was an effort to get the words out of his mouth. ‘I know you think she’s a spoiled brat but marriage will tame her, especially when children are on the way.’

  ‘Well,’ Dafydd replied, ‘you know how I feel about Llinos, and that will never change.’

  ‘You’ve accepted that Llinos will never be yours and we must all compromise a little in life.’

  Shanni had returned to her chair to think over what she had heard. So Dafydd was not head over heels in love with his bride. Somehow that gave her a fleeting sense of satisfaction.

  Now Shanni chose a frivolous hat, decked with feathers an
d hand-stitched roses, and a pair of lace gloves. It pleased her that she could shop in the same emporium as Jayne Morton-Edwards. Perhaps her purchases were small, but although Pedr was only a potter he was skilled and earned a generous salary.

  Later Shanni took a hansom cab home. She wondered briefly what Pedr would say about the money she’d spent. He was a practical man who did not believe in fripperies, as he called them. On the other hand he loved her to distraction, and Shanni could always coax him out of a bad mood with soft words and passionate kisses.

  He was waiting for her in their small neat cottage. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and the flames of the cooking fire roared up the chimney.

  ‘Hello, husband.’ Shanni kissed him soundly. ‘I’ve bought a new hat,’ she said. ‘Guess who I saw in the emporium?’

  ‘Well,’ Pedr sighed – a sigh of exasperation, Shanni knew, ‘who did you see? Surprise me.’

  ‘I saw Jayne Morton-Edwards and I ruffled her feathers, I can tell you. When I’d finished with her, she flounced out of the place in a fine temper.’ She sat on his knee and put her arm around his neck. ‘You’re not cross with me, are you, Pedr? I didn’t spend much.’

  ‘What do you need a new bonnet for, love? You’re not going to get an invitation to the wedding of the year, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not, but as an employee you’ll have to turn up to watch Dafydd tie the knot and of course I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You’re right as usual, girl. Come here and give me a proper kiss.’

  Shanni responded to him eagerly. She might not love Pedr as she should but she enjoyed the intimacies they shared, and Pedr was a wonderful lover. When his fingers brushed her breast, she pushed them away teasingly. ‘Not when I’m wearing my best going-to-town clothes,’ she said softly.

  ‘To hell with your town clothes! I want you, and I want you now.’

  ‘No, no!’ Shanni laughed. ‘You won’t have your wicked way with me, you naughty man.’

  It was a game they often played, when Pedr was the hunter and she the hunted, he would chase her upstairs and throw her on the bed.