Smiling at the thought of what she and Victor would be doing on her next day off, she left the bed, washed, dressed, made her bed, opened the curtains and pushed up the casement window.
Leaving the room, she ran down the steep narrow staircase. A young constable was standing on the second landing holding a glace kid, low-cut evening shoe.
‘This yours, Miss Williams?’ He held it out to her.
‘No,’ she took it from him. ‘It’s Miss Jones’.’ She glanced up and cried out in horror.
Lena hung above them, suspended by a rope that had been tied around her neck and secured to the topmost newel post. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle, her face black.
Megan sat on the sofa in Joyce Palmer’s sitting room; a glass of brandy was on the sofa table beside her but like everything else around her, it seemed unreal. She had the oddest feeling that if she tried to touch anything it would dissolve beneath her fingertips. It was as though she’d stumbled into a nightmare. Any moment the alarm clock would ring, Lena would switch it off and shout, ‘Good morning,’ before leaping out of bed to take first turn at the washstand.
She glanced at Mrs Palmer who was sitting beside her, then at the clock set precisely in the centre of the mantelpiece. It was a quarter past seven in the morning and because it was high summer there was only the kitchen fire to see to, but nothing had been done. None of the rooms had been tidied or dusted and the cloth hadn’t been laid on the breakfast table. Yet no one, not even Sergeant Lamb, was complaining.
Joyce patted her hand and Megan looked at her employer as though she were seeing her for the first time –a middle-aged woman, who was struggling to remain brisk, efficient and in complete control of herself and the household, even in the face of Lena’s suicide.
‘We haven’t done any work,’ Megan muttered numbly.
‘I sent one of the constables up to Mrs Morgan’s house. She would have been in at eight anyway. I’m sure it won’t make much difference to her if she comes in an hour earlier.’ What Joyce didn’t say was that she had also asked the constable to knock on the Evans’ door and fetch Victor and Sali. Megan was clearly in shock and someone had to take care of the girl, preferably away from the lodging house. She had yet to shed a tear for Lena, and in Joyce’s experience, the longer the grieving process took to begin, the more crushing it was when it finally took hold.
‘It’s my fault, Mrs Palmer. I should have realized what Lena meant when she said she would tell Huw in the morning. I saw her writing the letter and I did nothing ...’
‘You have to put that idea right out of your mind, Megan,’ Joyce said sternly. She had listened carefully to Megan’s account of not only what Lena had said to her the day before, but also the sordid story of Fred Wainwright’s seduction and betrayal. She had seen but not read the letter Lena had written to Huw Davies and left together with the ring on her bed.
If anyone was to blame for Lena’s death, Joyce believed it was her. She had taken Lena out of the workhouse and assumed responsibility for her welfare. But instead of protecting the young girl, she had allowed a married man to take advantage of her naivety and innocence.
If only Lena had come to her with her problems, if only she had been in a position of knowledge, so she could have talked sense to the girl and told her that one mistake didn’t mean your whole life was ruined ... if only ...
Joyce grasped Megan’s hand. She had long thought ‘if only’ to be the saddest words in the English language. But whatever else, she was determined Megan wouldn’t be blighted by them.
‘You did all you could for Lena and more. You were her first true friend. I heard you two laughing and gossiping in your room night after night. Her work improved beyond all measure from the day you came to this house.’ She looked Megan in the eye. ‘Now listen to me and believe me,’ she said solemnly. ‘The only person responsible for Lena’s death is Lena. No one else tied that rope around her neck and no one pushed her off that banister, she jumped.’
‘And Fred Wainwright?’ Megan hated even mentioning his name.
‘It was Lena’s choice to do what she did with the man. Fred didn’t force her in any way, did he?’ She looked earnestly at Megan.
Megan recalled the time she had walked into the bedroom Fred Wainwright shared with seven other men and found him and Lena in a compromising position, and the threats Fred had made about arresting Victor and the Evans’ if she told anyone what she had seen, which Lena didn’t even remember afterwards. ‘He didn’t force her.’
Joyce continued to hold Megan’s hand, keeping the guilt that was eating at her conscience to herself. The least she could have done was warn Lena. She should have realized that there were men prepared to use an innocent young girl, men without integrity or morals, who put themselves and their own pleasure before everything else.
‘Joyce.’ Betty Morgan rapped the door and opened it.
When Joyce saw Betty standing next to Sali in the hall, she had to fight the urge to rush over and hug them. Leaving the sofa, she held herself as stiffly upright and straight-backed as ever. ‘Would you please lay the table and make a start on the men’s breakfasts, Betty? As you see, we’re at sixes and sevens this morning.’
‘I’ll do that right away, Joyce.’
‘Sali, if you have time, perhaps you’d sit with Megan while I help Betty?’
‘Of course.’ Sali went to the sofa and took Joyce’s place...
Megan rose to her feet, her movements slow and jerky. ‘I have to work ...’
‘You have to sit down and rest.’ Joyce pushed her back on to the sofa.
‘Victor came down with me, Megan,’ Sali said quietly. ‘He went into the lodgers’ sitting room to offer Constable Davies his condolences.’ She looked at Joyce. ‘Victor said Constable Davies showed him an engagement ring yesterday that he had bought for Lena.’
Joyce nodded, unable to face any more discussion of the events that had led to Lena’s suicide. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Sali, I must see if the undertaker has finished. I wanted to lay Lena out myself, but because it was an unnatural death, the doctor had to be called. He brought a nurse with him, and she offered to help the undertaker lay Lena out in her coffin while I saw to other things. If you would like to see Lena, she is in the empty storeroom off the back porch.’
‘If you come back up to the house with me, Megan, we could pick flowers for Lena from the garden before we see her,’ Sali suggested. ‘One of Victor’s rose bushes is particularly lovely at the moment. It’s a mass of creamy white blooms.’
‘I’d like that,’ Megan whispered in a strained voice.
‘Mrs Palmer, if there’s anything that I or any of my family can do to help with the funeral ...’ Sali remembered that Lena was from the workhouse, and she shuddered at the thought of the small, vivacious girl being buried in the common paupers’ grave in Trealaw cemetery.
‘When Lena started working here I advised her to take out a penny a week burial insurance. My mother gave me that same advice when I married and when all my family were killed, I was grateful. It meant that they could be buried with dignity. As Lena can now.’
‘Outside the cemetery walls.’ Sali spoke her thoughts aloud.
‘Of course –that’s where they put suicides.’ Joyce struggled to contain her emotion.
‘Have you sent for the minister?’
‘I should have sent for him when I sent for you, Mrs Morgan, the doctor and the undertaker. It was stupid of me. The minister is the first person most people send for when there’s a death.’
‘Did Lena go to chapel?’ Sali asked.
‘I gave her Sunday evenings off, like Megan, but she never mentioned going to chapel to me and I didn’t ask her where she spent her free time. A person’s religion is their own affair,’ she said decisively. ‘I haven’t set foot in a chapel since my husband and sons died and that’s my choice. I know people talk about me behind my back for not going and I didn’t want to stoop to their level with Lena. The poor girl had been
ordered about every minute of every day when she was in the workhouse. I thought she should have a little independence ...’ Joyce realized she was talking too fast. ‘Did Lena ever say anything to you about going to chapel, Megan?’
‘No, Mrs Palmer.’
‘She had Baptist down as her religion on the form the workhouse gave me, but if she never attended a chapel it could be a problem finding someone to bury her.’ Joyce fiddled nervously with her collar.
‘I could ask the ministers on the Distress Committee if they’d be prepared to officiate at the funeral,’ Sali offered.
‘I’d be grateful. Now,’ Joyce looked around the room, ‘I have a lodging house to run and you,’ she turned to Megan, ‘are taking the day off, and that’s an order.’
‘No, Mrs Palmer.’ Megan rose to her feet again.
‘I am not arguing with you, Megan. I am telling you. You’re no good to me, or the lodgers, in the state you are in. And you won’t be any use until you get a good rest. Now go to your young man’s house with Sali and let them look after you. Come back and sleep here tonight if you want to, but frankly, I think you’d be better off staying there. I’ll ask Mrs Morgan to stay over for a night or two until you’re –feeling better,’ Joyce finished lamely, in a desperate attempt to push the traumatic events of the morning from her mind.
‘We’d love to have you, Megan. There’s a spare bedroom next to mine,’ Sali broke in.
‘You’ll never manage just with Mrs Morgan, Mrs Palmer, and to be honest I’d rather be kept busy. If I sat around I wouldn’t stop thinking about ...’ As the finality of Lena’s death hit her, Megan began to cry. Her quiet sobs soon escalated into raw howls that tore at Joyce and Sali’s heartstrings. Gathering Megan into her arms, Sali sat back on the sofa with her.
‘I will stay with her, Mrs Palmer. You see to the house.’
Joyce fled. Her own emotions were in too fragile a state to risk remaining in the same room as Megan.
Sergeant Martin opened the door of the lodgers’ sitting room at Victor’s knock. He showed him in and left. Victor looked around and, at first glance, assumed the room was empty. Then he saw Huw Davies slumped in a chair in the furthest corner from both the window and the fireplace. A brass and glass screen framing an embroidered spray of sunflowers blanked off the bare hearth, but although there was no fire, the room was oppressively warm. He noticed the signs of neglect that meant it hadn’t been cleaned that morning. A thin layer of dust on the mantelpiece, waste-paper baskets overflowing with yesterday’s newspapers and toffee wrappers, ashtrays spilling cigarette butts and grimy pipe cleaners over the surrounding surfaces. Dirty cups encrusted with dried tea leaves ...
He imagined Lena and Megan, dusters in hand, emptying the mess into buckets, restoring the room to order. And now Lena ... he swallowed hard. If it was painful for him, it had to be a hundred times more agonizing for the man who had loved the girl enough to buy her an engagement ring.
Victor moved towards Huw, who remained motionless in the chair, like a carefully balanced waxwork figure. His head was hidden in his hands, his fingers buried in his ginger hair. He was so still that if it hadn’t been for his peculiarly uncomfortable position, Victor could have believed he was sleeping.
He debated whether to disturb him. Perhaps it would be kinder to tiptoe away. Then he thought, kinder for whom? He and his family owed Huw Davies a great deal. The officer had badgered his fellow policemen into making substantial and generous donations to Father Kelly’s soup kitchen after he had seen the deprivation in the Hardy’s hut. He had risked, if not his career, certainly a severe reprimand two nights ago when he had slipped away from the police station to tell Sali that he, his father and Lloyd were safe in the cells. He recalled the tickets to the concert Huw had offered him and Megan.
Taking a chair from beneath the table, he set it beside Huw’s.
‘I am so desperately sorry, Huw.’ Victor would have liked to been more eloquent, but he couldn’t think of any other words to express his feelings.
Huw dropped his hands and revealed his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, raw, but not from tears, and Victor sensed that Huw’s grief went beyond weeping.
‘You saw the ring I bought her. You said she’d like it.’
‘Any girl would have, it was beautiful, Huw.’
‘She said she liked it. I loved her and she said that she loved me.’ Huw opened his hand to reveal a single sheet of crumpled paper covered in spidery writing. ‘But not enough to trust me. She thought that I wouldn’t forgive her. That I’d be angry with her. You knew about her and Fred Wainwright?’
‘No,’ Victor replied honestly.
‘Megan did. She told me this morning that she knew about them, and that she’d advised Lena to tell me about Fred.’
‘If Lena told Megan anything in confidence, Huw, Megan wouldn’t have talked to me about it.’
‘As if I would have cared about anything Lena had done before she met me. It was none of my business. All that was important was what we had together. Forgive her! I had nothing to forgive her for. And now ... now I’ve lost her ...’
Lloyd and his father were always telling Victor that he was too sensitive. That he suffered the pain of others as if it were his own. It was true. He only had to look at another being, human or animal, in torment, to feel their hurt. And it was all too easy for him to place himself in Huw’s position. He knew that he wouldn’t –no, couldn’t –go on, if Megan weren’t a part of his life. He would rather be dead than exist with the knowledge that he would never ever see her again.
Aware that Sali would stay with Megan as long as she was needed, he ventured, ‘If you need company ...’
‘Sergeant Martin’s given me four days’ leave.’
‘Are you going home to Pontypridd? Because if you are, I could travel down there with you.’
‘No! Legally I can’t claim Lena’s body, but Mrs Palmer already has, and I’m hoping that she’ll let me see her again and help arrange her funeral. It’s all I can do for her now.’ Although Huw’s eyes remained focused on the room around them, Victor sensed that his mind was drifting back into a world where Lena still lived.
Victor continued to sit quietly with Huw, waiting for him to make the next move. Time lost all meaning and he couldn’t have said with any certainty if it was minutes or even an hour later when Mrs Palmer knocked on the door and joined them.
‘Constable Davies, the undertaker has finished. Lena is laid out in her coffin in the room off the back porch if you would like to see her.’
Huw left his chair.
‘You don’t have to see her, it’s only if you want to.’ Mrs Palmer knew from painful experience that sometimes it was better to remember loved ones as they’d been when they’d lived.
‘I’d like to spend as much time with her as I can before the funeral. If that’s all right with you, Mrs Palmer.’
‘You have more right to be with her than anyone else in this house, Constable Davies,’ Joyce said shortly.
‘Huw,’ Victor laid his hand on his arm as the policeman went to the door, ‘afterwards –if you can bear to be around people –you would be more than welcome in our house.’
‘A policeman in a house of strikers?’ Huw shook his head. ‘But thank you for asking, Victor.’ He left the room.
‘Megan’s with your sister-in-law in my sitting room, Mr Evans. Sali and I have tried to get her to agree to spend the day with you, but she insists she’d prefer to work.’
‘May I talk to her, Mrs Palmer?’
‘I’ll take you to her.’
‘I need to keep busy, Victor.’ Megan sniffed back her tears and dried her eyes with her handkerchief. She felt oddly calm and completely numb after her outburst. ‘Nothing will seem right, whatever I do, but it would be even worse if I went home with you and sat around with your family. We’d only end up talking about Lena, you know we would, and that’s the last thing I need. I can’t stop thinking about her as it is. There’s a lot of work that ne
eds doing here. Two of the bedrooms need a thorough clean and their beds changed, and all the others need a quick once over. There’s the downstairs room to see to and the lunch and dinner to prepare, cook, serve and clear up after ...’ She realized she was talking for the sake of it. ‘Please.’ She looked into his eyes. They had never appeared so tender or full of love. ‘I need time to accept that Lena’s gone before I face even you, Victor.’
Victor nodded a resigned agreement. He understood what she meant, and he was also thinking about the meeting that his father and the strike committee had called that afternoon in the Empire. Megan would be safer in the lodging house than he and his family would be in the theatre.
‘Perhaps I’ll come up this evening,’ she conceded.
‘I’ll be in town this afternoon. I’ll call in around six o’clock, not to stay, or for tea, but just to see how you are. And,’ Victor considered the trouble his father and Lloyd were expecting, ‘if you change your mind and decide to walk up to the house beforehand, don’t come up by yourself, ask Betty or Joyce to walk with you.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for understanding, Victor. Either way I’ll see you tonight.’
‘There’s going to be serious trouble at the meeting in the Empire this afternoon, isn’t there?’ Sali asked Victor, as they walked up the hill.
‘Yes,’ he answered briefly.
‘You will be careful, won’t you? And watch out for your father, Lloyd and Joey.’
‘If by that you mean ducking Joey’s punches, because he’s as likely as any of the other hotheads to throw them if the vote goes against continuing the strike, I’ll try. And as Dad isn’t used to his new leg yet, I’ll make sure that his chair is placed well out of the firing line. I only hope that he and Lloyd have managed to pressgang enough of the cooler-headed members of the committee to police the meeting. We’re going to need all the help we can get to keep some of the younger colliers under control.’
‘And not just the younger members.’ Sali tried to ignore Luke Thomas and his friends, standing, surly-faced, hands in pockets, on the corner of the street.
Winners and Losers Page 37