by Iris Gower
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Llinos read the letter from Joe for the third time. He was not coming home – at least, not yet. He told her that their son was settling well into the life of the village and had made a great many friends. She felt angry as she crumpled the letter into a ball. There was no telling what her menfolk might be getting up to. She thought of the Indian squaw who had played such an important part in Joe’s life. Had he found another just like her?
She stared out at the cold winter landscape: soon it would be Christmas and she would spend it with only her younger son for company. She was a prisoner in her own house. Since the night of her row with Jayne, Llinos had been virtually a recluse.
She sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Could she really blame Joe if he was enjoying the love of another woman? Abroad, life must be lonely for him and she was as much to blame as he was for the problems in their marriage.
Nevertheless, sitting here making herself miserable would do no good at all. It was time she paid some attention to the pottery. The old patterns were stale and a new line of decoration was needed if she wanted to keep up with the ever-increasing competition. It was almost with a sense of relief that she sat at her desk and took up her pen. At least in creating something beautiful she could put her anxieties out of her mind.
The patterns on her potteryware had ranged from exotic American Indian to the more usual willow pattern, depicting a stylized tree, a pagoda, and sometimes one or two figures. Now it was time for something fresh. Her pen flew across the page as she drew the mountains of Snowdonia, a bunch of daffodils, then finally, and most pleasing, two dragons facing each other, one red, one white.
She started a fresh page and composed the dragons in more detail, fining down the wings and emphasizing the talons before she became aware of the symbolism in her work. One dragon was bad, one good, both fighting for survival. Perhaps she was portraying her own inner conflicts. If so, she was the wicked dragon and had beaten the good one hands down.
An hour later she stretched her arms above her head. She felt stifled – she needed some air. She rang for the maid to fetch her outdoor clothes: she would go for a walk.
The air was sharp and Llinos turned up her coat collar. She could hear the sounds of the pottery and see the shimmer of the kilns. The cheerful whistling of the apprentices brought tears to her eyes. It was all so familiar, so dear to her, and it seemed to be the one constant element of her life. She walked a little way from the house and down to where the river Tawe ran swiftly towards the sea. Her head felt full of cobwebs and she hoped the fresh air would clear her mind.
At first she saw the figure on the bank with little curiosity but as she drew nearer she could see that the woman was perilously close to the water’s edge, about to walk into the river.
‘Stop!’ Llinos hurried forward, and saw the flash of red hair peeping from under the bonnet. ‘Shanni, wait! Don’t be foolish!’ She caught the girl’s arm and drew her away from the bank.
‘What on earth are you thinking about?’
‘Let me go!’ Shanni’s voice was flat, hopeless. ‘I’m not fit to live.’
Llinos took a deep breath. ‘If you think I saved you from the slums only for you to throw away your life like this you’re sadly mistaken.’ She dragged her onto the road. ‘Whatever has happened, nothing is worthy dying for.’
Shanni began to cry, and Llinos hugged her. ‘Please come home with me, Shanni.’ She drew the unresisting girl towards the house and almost pushed her inside.
‘Sit down by the fire in the drawing room, get the chill out of your bones. I’ll ask the maid to bring us a cup of chocolate.’
Shanni sat down on the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap. ‘I didn’t really want to die in the river,’ she said, ‘but I’ve done something dreadful.’ She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
‘Well, you can talk to me for a start, see if I can help.’
Llinos rang the bell and the maid came into the drawing room. ‘Bring some hot chocolate, there’s a good girl, and be quick.’ She waited until the maid had brought the tray, then sat opposite Shanni.
‘So, why were you about to throw away your young life like that?’
‘I don’t know if I should tell you my troubles. It doesn’t seem fair.’
Llinos had not seen the girl in such a bad way since the day she had taken her from the slums of Swansea and given her a home. She thought of Shanni as a girl of spirit, but now she was looking defeated.
‘I’m having a baby.’ Shanni dropped the words into the silence. ‘And I don’t think my Pedr is the father.’ She glanced up at Llinos.
‘I see.’ Llinos hesitated. ‘But we all make mistakes, Shanni, me included, and nothing is worth killing yourself over.’
‘But you haven’t heard the worst. I . . . I think the father is Dafydd Buchan.’
‘Oh, no!’ Llinos said. ‘It can’t be – Dafydd, surely he would never . . .’ Her words trailed away.
‘Well, he did.’ Shanni’s lips were trembling. ‘It was only the once but it’s then I must have fallen for a baby.’
Llinos tried to hide her shock: she must put aside her own feelings for Dafydd. Common sense told her Shanni would not lie about such a thing. ‘Can you be sure the baby is not Pedr’s?’
‘He was away at the time. I’m so ashamed, so frightened, I just don’t know what to do.’ She looked up at Llinos. ‘Should I tell Pedr the truth, do you think?’
Llinos’s hand shook as she poured the chocolate. She needed time to think. ‘I don’t know what you should do, Shanni, except that you certainly mustn’t kill yourself. Think how devastated your husband would be.’
‘But how can I live a lie?’ Shanni asked. ‘You told your husband the truth, didn’t you? And it was the right thing to do because the child looked the spit of Dafydd. What if my baby looks like him too?’
‘If you tell Pedr he’ll want to kill Dafydd. It’s only natural. Is that what you want?’
‘Your husband didn’t fight Dafydd, did he?’
‘No, but Joe is a special sort of man.’ Llinos took a deep breath, realizing how much her husband must have suffered for having another man’s child under his feet. It was no wonder he had wanted to go to America and leave behind all the pain and humiliation.
‘The chances are that the baby will look like you, red-haired and fair-skinned. Wouldn’t it be kinder to keep your husband in the dark? As you said, it was only the one slip and you will never do it again, will you?’
‘No, never.’ Shanni was weeping again. ‘It was after I’d . . . done it that I knew how much I loved Pedr. What I felt for Dafydd was always a dream, and when it became real it wasn’t what I wanted.’
‘I think it best if you keep all of this to yourself for now. Give yourself some time to think it all out carefully.’ Llinos took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’ll be discreet – you know that. No one but you and I will ever know what has been said here today.’
‘Thank you for listening to me,’ Shanni said tearfully. ‘I know that no one can help me but I’m so confused – I only know that I can’t bear the thought of hurting Pedr.’ She got up, her chocolate untouched. ‘I’d better be going. Thank you for being so kind.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you than listen, but you will have to sort this out yourself, Shanni.’ Llinos then felt she had been too abrupt. ‘Shall I send for the coachman to take you home?’
‘No, I’d rather be on my own. Thank you.’
Llinos watched Shanni walk down the drive towards the town, a pathetic figure, her shoulders bowed beneath the shawl she was hugging round her.
She returned to her drawing, but somehow it no longer seemed important. In a sudden burst of anger she pushed aside the papers. ‘You swine, Dafydd Buchan – you treacherous swine!’ Somehow, his dalliance with Shanni seemed a worse threat to Llinos than his marriage had ever been. She straightened her shoulders. She would go t
o see him, tell him to his face what she thought of him. It might not touch him, but it would make her feel better.
As Shanni walked, despair settled around her like a thick cloud. Llinos had been right: she must sort out this problem alone, for if she told anyone the truth several lives would be ruined.
The wind and rain bit through her clothes. Why had she let herself come to this? She had risen from the slums, had seen at first hand what happened when a woman strayed, for her own mother had been publicly shamed for bearing a child by a married man.
She walked down to the beach and stared at the sea rushing towards the shore. The movement of the water seemed to calm her, and suddenly she knew what she must do.
She turned back into the winding streets of town, walking swiftly in case she changed her mind. She stopped at Fennel Court, which was worse even than she remembered, with its mean houses crouched together, each building housing many families. Her childhood house seemed to stare at her in disgust. The windows were grimy and the door, still rotten, hung off its hinges.
Mrs Keen lived in the end house. It was cleaner than the rest of the street and faded but cheerful curtains hung at the windows. Shanni knocked rapidly at the door. After an interminable wait, Mrs Keen opened it, more aged now but with the same bright stare that looked right through a person, as if reading hidden secrets.
‘It’s Shanni, Dora’s daughter. Can I come in?’
The old woman led the way along the passage to the back kitchen where a cheerful fire sent flames leaping up the chimney. ‘Sit down, girl.’ Mrs Keen eased her bulk into a rocking chair. ‘What you here for? In trouble, is it?’
‘Yes, I’m in terrible trouble.’ Shanni’s voice cracked a little in fear. ‘I should have learned my lesson when my mam was dragged out and put on the wooden horse, and shamed by the neighbours.’
‘Aye, your mam was sorely punished for going to the bed of the wrong man. Surely you haven’t been doing the same thing?’
Shanni bowed her head and swallowed. ‘My husband was away and I—’
Mrs Keen put up her hand. ‘I don’t need to hear any more. I’m not doing my old trade, these days. Hasn’t anyone told you?’
‘Oh, please, help me! Tell me what I can do to slip the baby before it’s too late!’
‘You know what will happen to you, child?’
Shanni stared at the old woman fearfully.
‘You will suffer, girl. Slipping a baby is not to be taken lightly. Have you thought long and hard about it?’
Shanni nodded. ‘If I want to save my marriage I’ll have to do it. Please, just tell me what I must take.’
‘Wait by here then, girl.’ Mrs Keen shuffled through the passage and Shanni wished now she was anywhere but in Fennel Court, waiting for a medicine that might kill her as well as the baby she was carrying. The thought was like a sharp pain.
Mrs Keen returned and handed her a brown packet. ‘Here are some fern roots. I gathered them at midsummer.’ Her eyes seemed to pierce Shanni’s now. ‘These are particular ferns, see? They’re very rare, my girl, and very dangerous, so you must not let anyone else tamper with them.’
Shanni felt the rustling packet with a sense of hope. If they worked all her wickedness would be hidden away and no one need know what she had done. She would make it up to Pedr, if she had to spend the rest of her life doing it.
‘You must bruise and boil the roots of the fern first, then add them to mead, or water and honey, and boil them up like a stew,’ Mrs Keen said. ‘When the potion cools add some of the leaves to the mixture and drink it at once. Use it sparingly, girl, or you will do more harm than good. Do you understand?’
‘Thank you, Mrs Keen. I’m so grateful to you – you don’t know what this means to me. What do I owe you?’
‘Call it a gift for the sake of your dead mother, and I hope you’ve learned your lesson, girl, for if you haven’t now, you will by the time your ordeal is over, believe me.’ She opened the door. ‘Go on, now, and don’t tell anyone that Mrs Keen’s been helping you, understand?’
Shanni left the house and walked along the court that had once been her home. Here, her mother had lain in great pain, and at the last had given birth to a dead child. Nothing could be worse than that, could it?
Briefly she considered throwing the packet away, but then she thought of Pedr, dear, trusting Pedr, and with a determined thrust she pushed it to the bottom of her bag.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jayne looked at Dafydd across the length of the dining-table and smiled a secret smile.
‘So, you still haven’t managed to buy shares in the railway, then?’ She toyed with the idea of telling him about her own investment but he scarcely looked up from his paper.
‘I’ll get some, don’t worry,’ he mumbled.
‘Oh, I’m not worried.’
‘Neither am I.’ He looked at her then and put down his paper. ‘I usually get what I want in the end. Now, don’t concern yourself with business matters, Jayne.’
He was being patronizing, treating her like a brainless idiot. She threw her napkin on to the table. ‘Don’t talk down to me, Dafydd. I’m not a child.’
‘Oh dear, have I offended my lady wife?’ He stood up and planted a kiss on her head. ‘I’d better be off if I’m to get any work done today. I hope you’ll not be sulking when I get home.’ He laughed, and Jayne could have slapped him.
‘Oh, you are infuriating!’ she said, but he was already gone, closing the door behind him.
She got up and left the dining room, wondering what to do with her day. Life was monotonous, and she had expected more from her marriage. She had hoped that in Dafydd she would find a soul-mate but he always treated her like a beautiful but silly child. It was a pity she had no close friends, someone of her own age in whom she could confide. She wished she had not quarrelled with Llinos, who had always been a friend, ready with a comforting word.
She could go and see Llinos, make her peace . . . Jayne made up her mind to try, and rang for the maid. As soon as the girl came to the door she said, ‘Tell Norman to get the carriage ready – and fetch my good coat. It’s cold outside and I don’t want to get a chill.’
Later, as Jayne sat in the carriage watching the passing scenery she wondered how she would be received. She should begin by apologizing to Llinos and trying to repair their friendship. As it was, her only real friends were her papa and Father Martin, which did not say much for a woman of Jayne’s standing. Llinos might be getting old but at least she was the daughter of a gentleman. She was also a good businesswoman, which Jayne admired.
Llinos was seated at her table in the drawing room, a sheaf of papers before her. Jayne stood inside the door, wondering what to say.
‘Is everything all right, Jayne?’ Llinos got to her feet quickly. ‘It’s not like you to arrive unannounced.’
‘I just came to apologize for my awful behaviour to you.’ The words tumbled from Jayne’s lips. ‘I’m sorry, Llinos, I’ve behaved like a child. May I sit down?’
‘Of course,’ Llinos gestured to one of the chairs, ‘and don’t apologize. I can understand how you feel.’
‘But all that happened before Dafydd married me,’ Jayne said quickly, ‘and I’m truly sorry for what I did. I know you and Papa have always been such good friends and I was very wrong to try to shame you in front of his guests.’
‘You’re young, Jayne, and intolerance is the privilege of the young. Please, think no more of it.’
Jayne was surprised at how humble she felt in the face of Llinos’s generosity. Llinos was a lady – and a fine one at that.
‘Now we shall have some tea with a drop of brandy in it to keep out the chill,’ Llinos said, and rang the bell for the maid. She continued, ‘It’s so good to have the company of another woman. It’s surprising how lonely it gets sometimes.’
‘That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling,’ Jayne said. ‘I haven’t even one true friend of my own age.’
The maid brought in th
e tray and Llinos dismissed her. ‘I’ll pour, thank you.’
Jayne studied Llinos. Old she might be, but she was still a beautiful woman, and she didn’t seem to care a jot that she had lost her position in society.
‘Is everything all right with your father?’ Llinos sounded anxious. ‘I haven’t seen him for quite some time.’
‘He has a slight cold, but that’s all.’
‘Is it you, then? Are you well?’ It was obvious that Llinos was not going to mention Dafydd.
‘I’m very well, Llinos, and there is nothing wrong except perhaps . . .’ Then words burst from her lips: ‘Dafydd sees me only as a pretty child. He doesn’t even make love to me very often. Can’t he see I’m a passionate woman?’ She hadn’t meant to talk about Dafydd or say anything about their private lives together. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be disloyal.’ She picked up her cup and looked into it as if she could take back her words.
‘He is probably being considerate, that’s all,’ Llinos said slowly. ‘I’m sure he loves you dearly.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Llinos.’ Jayne sighed. ‘But I do wish he’d let me show him I’m not brainless.’
‘Tell him your feelings, then,’ Liinos said gently. ‘Men can be a little obtuse when it comes to their wives.’
‘Even Joe?’ Jayne asked.
‘Even Joe, though he is special and I love him very much.’ She looked at Jayne. ‘I do love him, you must believe me.’
‘I know. I’ve seen you together. What on earth possessed you to take up with Dafydd?’ She was saying all the wrong things but Jayne knew they had to come out: they had been buried inside her for too long.
‘I don’t really know the answer to that,’ Llinos said. ‘But I do know that I never stopped loving Joe through it all. And, Jayne,’ she stared directly into Jayne’s face, ‘I would never ruin your marriage. I couldn’t hurt you like that.’