‘She’s in one of her moods,’ Mari warned.
Sali looked at Harry, who had finished his tea and cake. ‘Would you like to come upstairs and say hello to your grandmother with me?’
Harry squirmed on his chair. Sali knew he hated visiting her mother. It wasn’t just her stuffy bedroom, which she insisted be kept as dimly lit and shrouded as a tomb, it was also the peevish, whining tone she used to air her endless complaints to anyone courageous enough to venture into her company.
‘After you’ve visited your grandmother you can go into the nursery and play with the toys,’ Sali coaxed, reminding Harry of the nursery across the landing that had belonged to Edyth’s late nephew, Harry’s father Mansel. She picked up the tray.
Lloyd left the table and opened the door for her. He looked questioningly at Harry, who made a face at him. When Lloyd didn’t laugh as he usually did, Harry gave a theatrical sigh, slipped off his chair and followed his mother out of the room.
‘Did Mrs Jones tell you what her brother said at the trustees’ meeting this afternoon, Mr Evans?’ Mr Richards asked Lloyd when he returned to the table.
‘She did,’ Lloyd replied shortly.
‘She had every right to be upset.’ It was the closest Mr Richards had ever come to criticizing a member of the Watkin Jones family.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Evans, this isn’t an easy time for either you, or Miss Sali.’ Mari poked at the uneaten cake on her plate with her fork. ‘Her brothers and sister will never accept your marriage.’
‘Never is a long time, Mrs Williams.’ Mr Richards attempted to inject some optimism into the conversation. ‘Things are difficult at the moment, but circumstances change. And if there is ever anything you think I can do to speed up those changes, Mr Evans, please, let me know.’
‘Thank you, Mr Richards. Your friendship means a great deal to Sali, and to me,’ Lloyd added sincerely. He took his teacup and wandered over to the window.
‘Won’t you even consider moving into this house, Mr Evans?’
‘Move in here –into Ynysangharad House?’ Lloyd turned and stared at Mr Richards as if he had taken leave of his senses.
‘Mrs Jones did say that it was out of the question. But it would make her position with the trustees so much easier if you did.’
Lloyd set his teacup on the sofa table. ‘The trustees want Harry to live here and Sali told them I wouldn’t move in?’
‘You said she told you what happened at the meeting ...’
‘She told me that Geraint asked the trustees to make him Harry’s guardian so he could bring Harry up in this house and send him away to school. Not that the trustees wanted the boy to live here.’
‘Shame on Mr Geraint,’ Mari understood only too well what Geraint Watkin Jones was trying to do. ‘Rather than work to regain the family’s inheritance that his Uncle Morgan embezzled and lost when he was his guardian, he’d part Master Harry from Miss Sali to make himself more important in the eyes of the world.’
‘So you haven’t discussed moving in here with Mrs Jones?’ Mr Richards asked.
‘No, but Sali knows the last thing I want to do is live off Harry’s inheritance.’
‘Her mother, brothers and sister have no such compunction, Mr Evans.’ Mari pursed her lips disapprovingly.
‘As they all live here rent and board free, courtesy of the trustees of Harry’s estate, do you really think they would welcome Sali, Harry and me with open arms if we did move in?’ Lloyd didn’t wait for them to answer. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go upstairs and play with Harry in the nursery while Sali visits her mother. His favourite game at the moment is war and he believes that it takes two sides to make a battle.’
The windows and curtains in Gwyneth Watkin Jones’ bedroom closed out both world and light. And, if the musty atmosphere in the room was any indicator, no breeze had been allowed to stir the air for months. The fire was banked high, the temperature unbearably hot. The scents Sali had associated with her mother for the last ten years filled the air. Pungent medicinal odours from the dozens of bottles of patent medicines ranged on her bedside cabinet, a faint fragrance of lavender that failed to mask the stench of the chamber pot and slop bucket, and the stale smell of gravy and meals left to congeal, although there was no evidence of food.
Gwyneth lay in bed on pillows that had been plumped high to support her in a half sitting, half reclining position. The oil lamp was lit and a book lay within her reach but Sali knew she hadn’t read to herself in years. She was wearing a robe over her nightgown, and although the doctor had told her that she was well enough to leave her room weeks ago, Sali doubted that she ever would.
The psychological ill-health Gwyneth Watkin Jones had taken refuge in to escape the world after the birth of her youngest son had become more real to her than anything or anyone else. Mari had mentioned that it took half an hour of coaxing, which in Mari’s terms Sali suspected meant bullying, to get her mother out of bed just so the maids could change the sheets and even then Gwyneth only went as far as the day bed next to the fireplace.
‘It’s Sali, Mother, I have brought Harry to see you.’
‘Sali?’ Gwyneth opened her eyes languidly. ‘So, you’ve finally come. I could die and rot in this room for all that anyone cares.’
‘You know that isn’t true, Mother.’ Sali set the tray she’d carried up on a side table and moved the medicines on the cabinet to make room for the tea and cake.
‘You should be living in this house so you can take care of me. I get lonely lying here day after day with no company.’
‘You have Mari and Geraint, Mother.’ Sali knew better than to mention the servants. Her mother regarded them as beneath her. She looked around. The stale smell was due to her mother’s abhorrence of fresh air, but every surface gleamed with polish, the fireplace was clean, the hearth swept, and there was fresh linen on the bed and tables.
Harry pulled at her skirt to remind her of his presence.
‘Harry would like to say hello to you, Mother.’
The boy stood behind the footboard of his grandmother’s bed, waved and mouthed, ‘Hello.’
‘Harry.’ Gwyneth squinted at the child, who had been named after her late husband. ‘You have no idea what agony it is to be in ill-health, Harry.’
Harry frowned, uncertain whether he should answer.
‘I live every day in pain, Harry. Have you any idea how that feels?’
‘No, Grandmother,’ he replied politely.
Sali saw her son hop from foot to foot and knew he couldn’t wait to leave the room. ‘You can go to the nursery now, Harry.’
‘Children are so noisy,’ Gwyneth complained irritably, as Harry ran across the landing. ‘He needs curbing, Sali.’
‘Harry is a well-behaved, normal child.’ Sali handed her mother the cup of tea.
‘He has a sly look about him that I don’t like. You need to move in here to see that this house is run properly,’ she added, returning to her favourite topic of conversation whenever her eldest daughter visited. ‘Mari and your aunt’s housekeeper are extremely wasteful.’
‘Mr Richards checks the household accounts every week and he has found no evidence of waste, Mother,’ Sali contradicted.
‘There you go, crossing me again. If your Uncle Morgan had only moved into this house with us ... or better still, if you had allowed me to stay with him in our house, instead of moving into this great draughty pile of Edyth’s ...’
Sali walked to the grate and pretended to check the fire. Her mother’s brother, Morgan, had embezzled and lost Geraint’s fortune, including their family home, before killing himself. But, categorically refusing to believe Morgan capable of suicide, Gwyneth constantly referred to him as if he were still alive, and the only person who cared for, or understood her. Sali glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece to check the time. ‘Geraint will be home from the store soon.’
‘That will make no difference to me. Geraint can never spare five minutes to sit and talk to me. I
n that respect he takes after your father. He doesn’t care how ill I am.’
‘Geraint has to work, Mother.’
‘I don’t see why, when your father left us well provided for. Or perhaps that’s only what he told me before he died. Your Uncle Morgan said we were short of money. He had to make economies ...’
Unable to listen to any more of her mother’s ramblings, Sali confronted her. ‘You know Uncle Morgan lost all our money in bad investments.’
‘That’s right, blame my brother. He never comes to see me either.’ Gwyneth plucked nervously at the lace bedcover and Sali wondered if her mother actually believed her own stories.
‘I am getting married again.’
‘Widows shouldn’t remarry,’ Gwyneth snapped with sudden and astonishing vigour. ‘Those whom God has joined together should stay together. Your father may be in heaven, but when the time comes for us to be reunited I couldn’t face him, or my maker, if I had married another. It is a sin on a level with adultery.’
‘Lloyd Evans and I are very happy, Mother, and he will make a good stepfather for Harry.’
‘Selfish to the last. Your place is here, caring for me.’
‘You are well looked after, Mother, and I have Harry and my future husband and his family to consider.’
‘Mari doesn’t even allow me to keep my medicine in the room.’ Gwyneth’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘And she never gives me enough. I am in such pain.’ Gwyneth snatched at Sali’s arm with a claw-like hand. ‘I need more medicine. Now!’ she hissed. ‘You must know where Mari keeps it. Twelve drops –just twelve drops ...’
‘Mari keeps it under lock and key, Mother, and you know the medicine wasn’t doing you any good. The doctor told you that it was making you ill.’
‘It was the only thing that was keeping me alive.’ Releasing her, Gwyneth buried her head in her pillow and started howling hysterically. Sali felt intensely sorry for her but pitied Mari more. She had heard some of the abuse her mother hurled at Mari for following the doctor’s orders. But Mari had stuck determinedly to his advice and had succeeded in halving Gwyneth’s consumption of the laudanum Sali’s Uncle Morgan had been feeding her.
‘I’m sorry, Mother. I will tell Mari that you are upset. Perhaps she can bring you some cocoa.’
Gwyneth lifted her head from her pillow and screamed, ‘I want my medicine!’
Sali kissed her on the forehead and left. The pretence of ill-health had become reality and there was nothing that she could do to help her mother, beyond ask Harry’s trustees to continue paying her living expenses and medical bills.
‘That was wonderful.’ Megan’s eyes shone, as the audience –who filled every seat in the Empire Theatre, courtesy of the manager, who allowed union men in for half price on production of their cards –rose to their feet and applauded the artistes taking their final bows. The loudest applause and noisiest catcalls were reserved for the star, vocalist Miss Zena Dare, but the ventriloquist Charles Lewis drew the most laughs when his doll bowed and lost his head.
‘Do you want to stay to see the bioscope?’ Victor asked.
‘Not really, we saw it at the beginning. And although Mrs Palmer didn’t tell me what time to come in, I don’t want to get back too late.’ Megan lifted her cloak from her seat behind her and handed it to Victor who draped it around her shoulders.
‘I’ll have to send Joey round here to help shift the scenery more often while the strike is on.’
Megan followed him to the end of the aisle and they waited for the crowd to disperse ahead of them. When they reached the foyer, Beryl Richards’ husband Alun stepped out in front of Megan.
‘I wonder that a coppers’ whore has the guts to show her face among decent people!’ Before Victor could stop him he spat full in Megan’s face.
Megan cried out. Victor tried to hold her, but she slipped past him and ran into the Ladies’ cloakroom.
Victor turned to Alun, pulled his fist back and punched him. He hit the wall and slid to the floor.
‘Your bloody girlfriend is working for the enemy, Victor Evans,’ Alun’s companion shouted. But he was careful to remain out of Victor’s reach.
‘Megan Williams is my fiancée, and like the rest of us, she is only trying to make a living.’ Victor glared at the men around him. ‘If anyone else speaks out of turn to her, touches her, or does what he just did,’ he pointed to Alun who was crawling towards the door on his hands and knees, ‘they’d better be prepared to answer to me.’
Intimidated by the determination on Victor’s face, the crowd began to drift away.
‘What’s going on?’ Constables Wainwright and Shipton walked in from the street and confronted the manager, who had run out of his office in time to see Victor floor Alun.
‘Nothing,’ the manager lied slickly. ‘If you officers would like to come into my office ...’
‘Nothing?’ Constable Wainwright gazed enquiringly at Alun, who was being helped up from the floor.
‘Nothing.’ Alun didn’t dare look Victor in the eye.
‘Funny nothing that puts you on the floor and makes your mouth bleed.’ Wainwright looked from Alun to Victor and back again. ‘If you want to make a complaint, Mr -’
‘No complaint.’ Alun brushed the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Mr Evans here is well known to us as a troublemaker,’ Shipton added.
‘I said I had no complaint.’ Alun shook off a helping hand.
Victor went to Megan as she emerged from the Ladies. Her face was bright pink from the scrubbing she had given it. She saw the policemen and Alun’s bloody lip.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.’
‘You didn’t.’ Victor laid his arm protectively around her shoulders and led her out into the street. ‘Has anything like that happened to you before?’
Megan shook her head, but he wasn’t convinced.
‘I’d rather you told me the truth now, than hear it from someone else later.’
Realizing it was only a matter of time before the gossip reached him, she said, ‘A crowd of women called me names when I went to town this morning.’
‘I’ll -’
‘You can’t hit everyone who objects to me working for the police, Victor.’
‘No, but I can go everywhere with you when you’re not working.’
‘You already are. The furthest Lena and I go from the house is the backyard.’
‘So today isn’t the first time you’ve been assaulted?’
‘Yes, it is. But Lena was spat on and knocked down by a crowd of women outside Rodney’s shop a couple of weeks ago when she went to place Mrs Palmer’s grocery order. Since then Mrs Palmer has sent her order with Mrs Rodney’s boy so there’s no need for any of us to leave the house.’
‘Bloody animals!’ It was the first time Victor had sworn in front of Megan but he was so angry he didn’t realize what he’d said.
‘Lena and I wouldn’t be able to go far anyway. We’ve too much work to do.’
‘Promise me that you won’t go out without me or Mrs Palmer.’
‘Not even up to your house next Saturday?’
‘I’ll come down and fetch you.’ He kept his arm around her shoulders, as they pushed their way through the crowds towards the lodging house. ‘Good evening, Ned, Berry,’ Victor greeted his neighbours.
‘Hello, Mr Morgan, Mrs Morgan.’ Betty and Ned pretended that they hadn’t seen or heard them. Megan looked down at the pavement. ‘I hate this strike.’ She spoke through clenched teeth.
‘You think we should go back to work?’ Victor asked seriously.
‘Not without getting the wages and conditions you are fighting for. But it’s made everyone in the town hate me and now you feel that you have to fight them. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt because of me, which is why I don’t want you boxing. You still haven’t promised that you won’t.’
He led her into the alley that ran at the back of the lodgin
g house. ‘I promise you that I love you,’ he whispered huskily before kissing her.
‘I love you too.’
He hugged her. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the back door.’
The only light in the alley came from the kitchen window of the lodging house. The blind had been drawn, but Victor and Megan could see a woman’s shadow moving behind it.
‘Mrs Palmer, washing the supper dishes.’ Megan stopped in front of the door, wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. ‘Until next week.’
‘What time can I pick you up?’
The door opened and light flooded out. ‘Megan will be able to leave at midday next Saturday, Mr Evans, but you’re forgetting that she gets time off tomorrow to go to chapel. Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea instead of standing out there in the cold?’ Joyce invited.
Victor hesitated and Joyce sensed why he hadn’t accepted her invitation.
‘I have my own private stock of tea, Mr Evans. Bought and paid for out of my wages. So you wouldn’t be drinking the enemy’s tea. Or do you also object to the way I earn my money?’
‘I can hardly do that, Mrs Palmer, when Megan earns her living the same way.’ He allowed Megan to walk into the kitchen ahead of him.
‘Take your coat off and sit down.’ Joyce picked up the kettle, filled it, opened the hob and put it on to boil. She watched Megan hang up her cloak and Victor’s coat. ‘I’m guessing from that look on both your faces that Megan’s day off hasn’t gone too well.’
‘You’re wrong, Mrs Palmer. It was lovely. Victor and I went for a walk up the mountain and to the theatre. I really enjoyed myself.’
‘Right up until the time Alun Richards spat in her face and called her a coppers’ whore,’ Victor said quietly.
‘I could tell Sergeant Martin.’
‘There’s no need for you to do that, Mrs Palmer.’ Megan set three cups and saucers on the table.
Winners and Losers Page 19