by Iris Gower
The front-door bell rang. That would be Martin – he was due to arrive at any minute. Lucky man, all he required in life was to serve God, and put as much food into his belly as he could. Martin always had a soothing effect on him.
But it was not Martin. It was Jayne.
‘How lovely to see you, Jayne.’ He hugged her. She was visiting him so often these days it was clear that she needed her father’s support.
She disentangled herself from his arms. ‘It’s bad news, Papa. Poor Ceri Buchan died at three o’clock this morning.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Eynon said. ‘He was always a gentleman and he will be sorely missed.’
‘Especially by his wife and children.’ Jayne took a seat and fanned her hot cheeks with her hand. ‘I’m going to ask you a great favour. Will you come to the funeral?’ She held up her hand. ‘I know how you feel about Dafydd, but this would be out of respect for Ceri and his family.’
‘Of course I’ll come,’ Eynon said, ‘so long as I don’t have to play the fond father-in-law to his brother.’ The bell rang again. ‘It will be Martin, this time,’ he added. ‘He’s fifteen minutes late.’ He was relieved he wouldn’t have to talk any more about Dafydd Buchan. ‘Martin, come and say hello to my beautiful daughter.’
‘You get more lovely each time I see you,’ Father Martin said, and kissed Jayne’s hand. He eased his great bulk into a chair and folded his hands across his belly. ‘I have to say, Jayne, how sorry I am about Ceri Buchan. I didn’t know him well, but he was a fine man.’
‘A pity his brother wasn’t cast from the same mould,’ Eynon muttered. ‘Anyway, Martin, a glass of wine?’
A smile spread across the vicar’s angelic face. ‘That sounds very good.’
‘I’ve just been asking Papa to come to the funeral with me.’ Jayne looked to Father Martin for approval and he nodded.
‘And I expect he has agreed. No one has anything against poor Ceri Buchan.’ Then Father Martin leaned forward. ‘And, Eynon, it looks like your Jayne has made a shrewd move in buying all those railway shares. They’re going up at an amazing rate. Anyone who sells now will make a lot of money.’
‘But the shares will go on climbing for a long time yet,’ Jayne put in. ‘I won’t sell mine. Indeed, I might pick up some more when I talk to my friend at the bank.’
Eynon laughed. ‘Will you listen to my daughter, Martin? A woman with such a business sense, have you ever seen the like?’
‘Not since Llinos Mainwaring saved the pottery from ruin,’ Father Martin said. ‘It seems you surround yourself with intelligent women, my friend.’
Eynon nodded, pleased. ‘Well, Jayne,’ he said, ‘are you going to let your husband know that more shares are available? I understand he’s desperate to lay his hands on some.’
‘No fear!’
Jayne had spoken so fiercely that Eynon laughed. ‘That’s the spirit, girl! You’re your father’s daughter, all right, don’t you agree, Martin?’
The clergyman held up his hand. ‘Don’t drag me into this. I’m a man of the cloth and I’m supposed to forgive all sins.’ His tone was stern but there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘And man might sin, but as long as he repents all must be forgiven him.’
‘Balderdash!’ Eynon said. ‘Buchan has upset my daughter and I’ll never forgive him.’
‘Well, then,’ Father Martin said, ‘let’s compromise and say you mean the man no harm. Be charitable, Eynon, for no man is without sin, not even me.’
‘Oh, Uncle Martin,’ Jayne put her arms around his neck, ‘you haven’t committed a sin in your life.’
‘But I have.’ He patted his belly. ‘I commit the sin of gluttony every day of my life.’
‘Well,’ Jayne got to her feet, ‘I’m not answering that! Anyway, I think I have urgent business at the bank.’
Eynon took Jayne in his arms. ‘Now, look after yourself, my dear, and let me know about the funeral when you have the details.’
When Jayne had gone he sank back into his chair. ‘I can’t help it, Martin, but Buchan makes me so angry.’
‘Why?’ the vicar asked gently. ‘Is it because of your daughter or our sweet Llinos?’
‘A bit of both, I suppose,’ Eynon conceded. ‘Buchan has shamed my family publicly and he treats Jayne like a fool.’
‘And Llinos?’
‘You know what I feel about her. And how can I trust Buchan to look after Jayne when he brought Llinos nothing but shame?’
‘I know how you feel, old friend,’ Father Martin nodded sagely, ‘but these things have a habit of resolving themselves. “As ye sow so shall ye reap”.’
‘Buchan has been getting away with things for far too long,’ Eynon said. ‘I never liked the man and I never will.’
‘Leave it to Jayne. She will see that Buchan suffers for what he’s done. Women have a way of meting out vengeance as a surgeon wields a knife.’ When he smiled he looked more cherubic than ever. ‘That’s why you see so many men patronising the local beer shops. And that reminds me, where is that drink you promised me?’
‘What do you say if we forget the wine and have something stronger?’
‘Excellent!’
Eynon poured him a generous quantity of brandy. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s talk about anything but family matters, shall we?’
Jayne took the first opportunity to go to the bank for a meeting with Jason Prentice.
‘Good morning, my dear Mrs Buchan. Please take a seat.’ He held the chair for her and Jayne smiled warmly up at him.
‘I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Mr Prentice.’
‘This time I could only manage to get a few shares. I wish it could have been more but other bankers have their sources too.’ He leaned forward confidentially. ‘I heard on the grapevine that Mrs Llinos Mainwaring got there before us. However, I think these –’ he took a sheaf of papers from his drawer ‘– will give you a strong voice in any negotiations into which the other shareholders might enter.’
‘I’m so grateful.’ Jayne allowed her gloved hand to cover his.
‘I have to look after my best customers,’ he mumbled. ‘And you, Mrs Buchan, are one of my dearest – I mean very best customers.’
‘Well,’ Jayne removed her hand and stood up, ‘I’ll not forget your kindness, Mr Prentice, and some time, I feel sure, I might be able to reward you for your astuteness and loyalty.’
She left the bank, feeling as though she was walking on air. The acquisition of the shares had been a good business move, another weapon in her armoury against her husband. Dafydd would learn that he couldn’t play fast and loose with Jayne Morton-Edwards. One day he would discover that she was made of sterner stuff than he had ever imagined.
She wondered how in just a few months all her joy in marriage had vanished. It hadn’t taken her long to learn that her husband was not the great man she thought him.
Dafydd stood beside his brother’s grave and listened while Father Martin intoned the words that would send Ceri to his last resting place. He could hear women weeping and, indeed, tears blurred his own eyes. Ceri had fought a courageous battle against his sickness until it had overwhelmed him.
He was relieved when the service ended and the mourners began to leave the cemetery. Jayne was walking ahead of him, her arm around one of Ceri’s children. His mouth tightened. They would never have children of their own, not while she kept him out of her bedroom, but short of forcing himself on her there was nothing he could do.
Father Martin fell into step beside him. ‘Once again may I offer my condolences, Mr Buchan?’
‘Thank you, Father,’ Dafydd said.
They walked in silence for a moment. Then the clergyman stopped and looked at him. ‘Still, you have your lovely wife to comfort you. Jayne is a clever woman, and it’s easy to underestimate her.’
Dafydd looked at him sharply.
Martin smiled beatifically. ‘I’m impressed with Jayne’s business sense – it’s unusual in a well-brought-up yo
ung lady. She’s acquired even more shares in the Great Western Railway while I . . .’ he shrugged ‘. . . would not be able to buy even one.’
Dafydd digested the fact that, once again, Jayne had outwitted him. She knew he wanted some of the shares and it was her wifely duty to tell him if there were some on offer. He endured the traditional after-funeral tea with scant patience – he couldn’t wait to let Jayne know how angry he was. He glanced at her and saw that her cheeks were blooming. If he did not know better he would say she had a lover.
At last it was time to leave his brother’s house. He patted his sister-in-law’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. ‘Try to rest for a while,’ he said. ‘You look all in.’
‘Thank you for your support, Dafydd,’ she said gently. ‘You’ve been a pillar of strength.’
He climbed into the carriage and seated himself beside Jayne. ‘Thank heaven that’s over,’ he said feelingly. ‘I never could stand funerals.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jayne said. ‘I know you’re going to miss Ceri badly.’ She sounded truly sad. ‘He was a lovely man but, then, the Lord seems always to take the good ones first.’
He glanced at her to see if she was being sarcastic but there was real sympathy in her eyes. He touched her hand, but she snatched it away. ‘For heaven’s sake, Jayne! I am your husband.’
‘I can’t forget that I’m tied to you, can I, Dafydd? I despise you and all you stand for.’
‘I have noticed,’ he said. ‘Is that why you grab all the shares in the Great Western Railway like a greedy child?’
She shook her head. ‘Do you know something, Dafydd? I actually feel sorry for you at this moment.’
‘Well, you needn’t waste your pity on me. I can easily do without your wifely duties but trying to best me in business is insulting to say the least.’
Jayne relaxed against the upholstery and actually smiled. ‘That’s what you can’t forgive, isn’t it? That I succeeded where you failed.’
‘It was not business acumen that brought you those shares but your ability to make sheep’s eyes at that fellow at the bank. And your father’s influence didn’t go amiss either.’
Jayne’s laugh grated on his nerves. ‘What’s funny about that?’ he demanded, feeling that the argument was slipping away from him.
‘I’m laughing because I used my feminine attributes as well as my brain to get what I wanted, and you don’t like it.’
She looked so lovely with her pale hair lifted from her face and her large eyes bright with triumph that for the first time he felt a real desire to make love to her.
‘Look,’ she said, more gently, ‘I might be able to get my hands on one or two of the shares for you if you like.’
He was silent, not wanting to be beholden to his wife.
‘Just think,’ Jayne said, ‘the Great Western will get stronger, other lines will be built. The railways are our future, don’t you agree?’
‘You might just have a point,’ he said slowly. He was suspicious of her motives in making the offer now but he could afford to buy the shares and take a loss on them. ‘I might take you up on that, Jayne,’ he said at last, then leaned back in the carriage and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time he began to woo his wife in the way a loving husband should. Clearly there was more to her than met the eye . . . but however much he might admire her, even desire her, she would never have his love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Shanni finished packing her bag and snapped the catch shut with an air of determination. Soon, she and Pedr would shake the dust of Swansea off their feet for good. Standing there, in the little bedroom of the home they had made together her courage failed her. Leaving everything she knew was not going to be easy.
Pedr came into the room hauling a box of their possessions; papers fluttered off the top onto the floor and Shanni picked them up. ‘What are these, Pedr?’
‘Can’t you see what they are?’ His tone was sharp. ‘Or have you lost your senses yet again?’
Shanni ignored the barb. ‘Of course I can see what they are – they’re patterns from the pottery – but why are you taking them?’
‘Potting is the only job I know and I’ll need to find work in England. With these,’ he took them from her, ‘I’ll have something to bargain with.’
‘But why should an English pottery owner care about Llanelli patterns?’ Shanni frowned. ‘The painters up there are skilled and they have their own.’
Pedr put down the box and closed the lid. ‘Many potteries use the same designs and I think the Persian Rose pattern would suit any painter, even those living in Staffordshire.’
‘But that’s stealing!’
Pedr looked at her. ‘Wasn’t Buchan stealing from me when he took you?’
‘Look, Pedr, I don’t know why I let . . .’ Her words trailed away. ‘Please, Pedr, try to forgive me. I know it’s hard to forget what I’ve done but I’ll never let you down again.’ A few minutes passed before she spoke again. ‘Are you ready, Pedr? We’re getting the mail in half an hour.’
‘I’ll just tie this box securely then I’ll be as ready as I’ll ever be.’ Shanni saw him looking around his home, and his regret at leaving it was plain to see in his eyes. Shanni realized now that not only had she shattered Pedr’s trust in her but that she was driving him away from all he held dear. ‘Do we have to do this, Pedr?’ she asked, in a small voice. ‘Can’t we stay here and try to put the past behind us?’
‘With everyone pointing the finger and calling me a cuckold? You’re not thinking straight, Shanni.’
‘But not many people know about it, do they?’
‘Well, now,’ Pedr began to make his way downstairs, ‘let’s see, there’s Buchan himself, and his wife and his father-in-law. Then there’s Mrs Mainwaring and her husband. Oh, and, of course, Mrs Keen and her customers. I couldn’t face the pitying stares, Shanni, I just couldn’t.’
In the small kitchen, he put down the box and gazed at the cold dead fireplace, the neat furnishings. Shanni took him in her arms, her head against his chest.
‘Oh, Pedr, what a fool I’ve been. What a silly, evil woman I am.’ Pedr was standing stiffly, his arms at his sides, and Shanni began to sob. ‘I love you, Pedr, I would give anything to turn back the clock, you know that.’
He sighed and rested his chin against her hair. ‘No one can do that.’
She looked up at him. ‘I know, but we must stop tearing each other apart or our marriage will be over.’
‘You’re right, I know you are, but it’s the very devil thinking of you letting that man touch you – never mind make love to you.’
She cupped his face in her hands. ‘I’ll make it up to you, Pedr, you’ll see. Now, let’s pull ourselves together and go and get the mail. Our new life is just about to begin.’
‘Not long now before the station opens at Swansea.’ Bull glanced at Cookson, who was bending over a sheaf of plans. ‘I can’t wait to see the Great Western train pull in alongside the platform.’
Cookson looked up, shading his eyes from the bright sun shining through the office window. ‘You’ll get to meet the great man himself, Bull.’ Cookson’s face was full of pride. ‘Mr Isambard Kingdom Brunel will be the first to step off the train at Swansea. How I admire that man.’ He dipped into his pocket and drew out a silver flask. ‘Here, have a nip of this.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Bull swallowed some. ‘Damn!’ he spluttered. ‘That’s hotter than the fires of hell.’
Cookson shrugged. ‘I don’t notice it myself – used to it, I suppose. Right, let’s get over to the high street and see how the work is progressing, shall we?’
The two men left the building and stood in the street while Cookson checked his papers. ‘Let’s take the carriage, shall we? We’ll travel in style this morning.’
The groom touched his hat and handed the reins to Bull. ‘Here we are, sir. The beasts are gentle enough. They shouldn’t give you any trouble.’
Bull clucked his tongue and lifted th
e reins, and the horses jerked the carriage into motion. As he sat far above the heads of the shoppers he felt as if he owned the world. He looked around him and everything seemed different, but it was not the town that had changed, it was Bull.
He was looked upon as a gentleman now. He wore well-cut clothes and a shiny hat, but for him the real satisfaction came from his work. He was asked for his opinion on important matters, such as which gauge would serve the railway best. Mr Brunel wanted all the tracks to be broad gauge but that plan had attracted opposition.
The drive across town took less than half an hour, and when the two men alighted they stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the scene before them.
‘We’ve made good progress,’ Cookson said. ‘A congratulatory drink is in order, I think.’
Bull shook his head: he did not need the stimulus of drink. The sight of the navvies working side by side with the masons and carpenters was excitement enough. This was all he could ask of life. He had a worthwhile job and a beautiful wife-to-be, what more could he want?
Soon he was pointing out difficulties, solving problems, fulfilling all his ambitions. That morning. Bull Beynon was a happy man.
Rhiannon was exasperated with Cook. ‘Can’t you forget that I was a camp follower for one day?’ she challenged.
‘Well, can you? That’s more to the point, my girl.’ Mrs Grinter was in one of her moods again. ‘You’re so used to lying on your back all day that it’s hard to get a day’s work out of you.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Rhiannon said. ‘I do more than my share here, and in any case I did a lot more than lie on my back.’ She knew it was foolish of her to rile Cook – the other woman had the power to make life a misery for those working under her if she chose.
‘I had to look after Bull, mind,’ Rhiannon said, more quietly. ‘He needed clean clothes and good food to put in his belly, and who do you think did that for him?’
‘As well as warming his bed.’ Cook was not to be mollified. ‘Decent women do that every day of their lives and a job of work as well. You lived like the gentry, my girl, and now you don’t like to work hard for a living.’