‘She is.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ He pointed to the baskets. ‘I brought her some fruit.’
‘That is kind of you, sir.’
‘Not at all.’ Aware that he was making her uneasy, he backed out of the doorway.
She stared down at the banknotes before slowly, almost unwillingly, pocketing them. ‘Thank you for the fruit.’ She dropped the handle of the churn and picked up the baskets. ‘I’ll take these into the scullery and draw some water so Martha can clean them.’
‘Would you like me to carry the baskets for you?’
‘No, sir.’ Her refusal was emphatic.
Sensitive to her disquiet, he said, ‘Is it all right if I leave my car parked outside your house for a few hours? My friend has walked down to the reservoir and I’m going to join him.’
‘What has he walked down there for?’ There was resentment as well as suspicion in her voice.
‘He’s an artist, and he wants to paint a picture of it.’ She looked confused, so he added, ‘He wants to put it in a book as an illustration.’
‘Our reservoir? In a book?’
‘You may not realize it after seeing the mountains and reservoir every day, but your house is in a very lovely spot.’
‘We like it,’ she bit back defensively.
‘So do I, all the more after living in a city for the last three years.’
Weighed down by the baskets, she joined him in the yard. ‘I’ve never been to a city.’
It was the closest they’d come to a normal conversation. Wary of provoking further unease or aggression, he settled for a bland, ‘Never?’
‘I went to Swansea a few times with my mother, when she was alive. She used to sell our butter and cheeses to the farmers’ wives who had stalls on the market. She used the money they gave her to buy our clothes. But Swansea’s only a town.’
Harry glanced at her black cotton skirt and blouse. Both were patched with material of a lighter shade, and she coloured when she saw him looking at her. Hoping to alleviate her embarrassment, he asked, ‘and what did you think of Swansea, Miss Ellis?’
‘It was noisy and dirty.’
‘Most industrial towns in Wales are. They wouldn’t be anything else with all the coal mining that goes on here. But they do have their advantages. Theatres, dance halls, picture houses, shops, art galleries …’ He recalled how poor the Ellises were and how ridiculous it was to talk about picture houses, plays and the theatre to a girl who couldn’t afford to pay her rent. ‘Is there a picture house or theatre in the valley?’ he asked, wondering if he dare suggest that he take Martha, and any of the other Ellises who wanted to go as further atonement for knocking her down.
‘There’s a theatre in the sanatorium. Madame Patti used to give concerts there. My father and mother took me when I was little. But it hasn’t been used since she died.’
‘You don’t have any picture houses?’
‘There may be one in Pontardawe, and there are magic lantern shows in the chapel vestry sometimes. But it takes us so long to walk down there and we’re so busy in the evenings; we haven’t been for a few years.’
‘The farm must take all your time,’ he sympathized.
She went into the scullery and left the baskets of fruit next to an enormous stone sink before going to the kitchen door. ‘I have to start making the dinner now.’
He touched his boater. ‘Would you mind if I came up to enquire after your sister again?’
‘There’s no need. Miss Adams said Martha will be fine.’
‘Then, if you prefer, I’ll make my enquiries with Miss Adams in future.’ The girl was obviously frightened of him and he decided that it might be as well if he sent more fruit up with Diana.
‘David, you’re back early.’ Mary looked past Harry to her brother, who strode into the yard with his sheepdog and Matthew trotting at his heels.
The dog growled when David pointed an accusing finger at Harry. ‘I stopped shearing when I saw his car parked outside the house.’
‘Mr Evans called to give us money.’
‘At least a fiver, I hope.’ David glared at Harry and made no effort to silence his animal. Harry had never been afraid of a dog in his life, but after being attacked the day before, he stepped back warily.
‘He gave me ten pounds, David,’ Mary murmured.
‘Merlyn!’ David snapped, and the dog fell silent. If David was surprised by Harry’s generosity he showed no sign of it. ‘It’s no more than Martha deserves after what he put her through.’
‘I was just asking Miss Ellis if she would allow me to call and enquire after your sister’s health again …’ Harry debated what he should call David Ellis. ‘David’ was too familiar, boys under sixteen should be addressed as ‘master’, but there was nothing of the child about David Ellis. Fortunately, David interrupted him.
‘As long as you know that we expect you to carry on paying for what you did to Martha until she’s better.’
‘David, that’s bad manners,’ Mary said.
‘How much more do you want me to pay?’ Harry asked.
‘Her wages.’
‘I think the ten pounds will cover those.’
‘The doctor’s bills,’ David added.
‘Miss Adams has told me that she won’t charge you for her visits.’
‘She’s not a proper doctor,’ David said truculently.
‘Then when you call a proper doctor, please tell him to send his bill to me.’ Harry slipped his card case from his pocket, opened it and handed David one. ‘That’s my home address. I’m staying at the inn in Abercrave at the moment. The doctor can leave a message for me there if he calls in the next day or two.’
The boy took the card. ‘He will.’
‘I’ll wait to hear from him.’ Harry touched his cap again. ‘Miss Ellis, it was good to make your acquaintance. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances.’
Toby added a few lines to his rough sketch of the reservoir and the surrounding hills before shading his eyes and studying the scene for a full minute. Then he closed the book. He glanced across to where Harry was sitting, sketching surrounded by the tins and boxes he’d lifted out of their picnic hamper. ‘It sounds like your young David Ellis is a right charmer.’
‘He’s not “my” David Ellis.’ Harry gazed critically at the clump of grass he’d drawn in the foreground of his landscape. ‘And I can’t say that I wasn’t warned. Diana Adams told me this morning that he was going to try and get all he could out of me.’
‘Good for you for fighting back. A lesser man would simply have handed him more money.’
‘You think I should have given them more than ten pounds?’ Harry asked seriously.
‘Ten pounds plus a face full of scratches and bruises is more than enough for an accident that was as much the girl’s fault for walking in middle of the road in a storm as yours.’ Toby opened his knapsack and stuffed his sketchbook inside. ‘So, what are we eating?’
‘Ham and cheese sandwiches, pork pie, pasties, cheese straws, salad, apple turnovers and two of the biggest slabs of fruit cake I’ve ever seen. Oh, and four bottles of beer.’ Harry handed Toby a plate.
‘Thanks, I’ll take a piece of pork pie, a ham sandwich, cheese straw, salad and a bottle of beer. You do have an opener?’
‘On my trusty penknife.’
Toby sat next to Harry. ‘You know the major and most serious problem with the poor is that when you put baksheesh into their hand, they come to expect it on a regular basis.’
‘That a proverb or did you just come up with it?’ Harry pulled a handful of green salad from a tin box lined with greaseproof paper, and sprinkled it on to his plate, before handing the box over to Toby.
‘I came up with it. And it’s born of bitter experience. You start giving those children handouts, they’ll come to rely on them, and before you know it, you’ll either be keeping them or they’ll be in the workhouse. And if they’re incarcerated, you’ll be racked wi
th guilt even though you are not responsible for them. It wouldn’t surprise me if that grasping little beggar asks you for another ten pounds next week – and should you be idiotic enough to give it to him, another tenner the week after that.’
‘If he does, he’ll get short shrift.’
‘You say that now, but what will you do if he tells you that Martha is worse?’
‘I’ll ask to see her.’
‘And if she is?’ Toby pressed.
‘Diana Adams says she’ll make a full recovery and I believe her.’ Harry demolished a cheese straw in two bites. ‘From the way you’re talking, it sounds as though you’ve doled out charity once too often yourself.’
‘I did, with a young model in Paris. It was the closest I’ve ever come to a serious disagreement with Frank. And much as I hate to admit it, he was right and I was wrong. He said it would end in disaster, it did, and I’d rather not talk about it. So,’ Toby dusted the crumbs from his hands and looked enquiringly at Harry, ‘let’s see that sketchbook I gave you.’
Harry handed it over.
Toby opened it. ‘Not bad, not bad at all.’
‘Really?’ Harry would never have admitted that he was looking for a compliment. He only hoped that Toby wasn’t being sarcastic.
Toby pulled a pencil from his knapsack. ‘If you extend this line, shorten this one and add a bit more detail here …’ A few seconds and pencil strokes later, he had completely transformed Harry’s sketch.
‘One minute’s work and you’ve made it come alive,’ Harry said despondently.
‘Don’t forget it took four years of hard graft at the Slade to learn those tricks, and make no mistake, they are tricks.’ Toby handed the book back to Harry and picked up his ham sandwich.
‘I’d like to say it was just a doodle, but I really thought I was making headway,’ Harry complained.
‘You were.’ Toby consoled. ‘And I know just how you feel. There have been times when Frank has taken my efforts apart in the name of constructive criticism and left me thinking that I’d never produce any work worth a penny damn.’
Harry set the book aside and spread mustard over his slice of pie. ‘Can I see what you’ve done?’
‘Later, when I’m past the taking notes stage and know exactly how my lady’s arm is going to look coming out of the lake – when I find it. The arm, I mean. The lake is perfect, as are the surrounding hills. I can just see Arthur and Merlin riding over the crest of that hill on their trusty white steeds, draped in red tapestry stitched by the adoring court ladies, and looking down on this wild and lonely place – I’d have to paint out the farmhouse, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Harry agreed drily.
‘I told you all the ideas are Frank’s, but that’s not to say I won’t run this one past him.’ Toby finished his sandwich, lay back, crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the sky. ‘This really is glorious. I wish …’
‘What?’ Harry prompted when Toby remained silent.
‘That this moment would last for ever. That nothing would ever change.’ He sat up suddenly, and pulled the sandwich box towards him. ‘The weather, you, me, eating like kings in this peaceful place with nothing to do but try to produce art – whatever that word means. That publishers who demand at least two illustrations every Monday morning be content with what they have, without nagging me to hurry up and send more.’
Harry wasn’t fooled by Toby’s mention of publishers. He knew that he was thinking of Frank and looking ahead to a time when his uncle would exist only in memory.
He imagined his grandfather and sister lying in strange rooms, in strange beds surrounded by people who, for all their professional expertise and well-meaning attempts to care for them, were still strangers.
And he resolved to demand that he be allowed to see his grandfather first thing the following morning, whatever Dr Adams said.
Chapter Nine
‘If you wanted the hamper to weigh less, you should have eaten more.’ Toby grabbed the second handle and helped Harry haul it up the last fifty yards of hill that stretched between them and the main road.
‘After that walk my stomach tells me I should have eaten less, not more.’ Harry left the hamper with Toby and opened the boot of his car. ‘Here, put it in.’
Toby heaved it next to a pair of rubber galoshes and a mackintosh. ‘I see you’re well prepared.’
‘I wish I’d had the foresight to unpack them from my bag and put them in the boot yesterday.’
‘Leave them there, and we’re guaranteed to have great weather for the next week or two.’ He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Half past four; we’re in good time to get back to the inn and have a drink before we change for evensong. You coming with me?’
‘To have a drink? Do you have to ask?’
‘To evensong, you idiot.’
‘My face is a mess and I have letters to write,’ Harry prevaricated. After being forced to attend religious assembly every morning, and church three times every Sunday at his boarding school, he had come to resent the waste of time spent in communal worship. He would much rather have used it to read or listen to music on his gramophone. He’d been happier with his mother’s more relaxed attitude in the school holidays. He’d occasionally attended services in St Catherine’s with her and his sisters, but she had never criticized him when he had preferred to stay home and play chess with Lloyd. As a Marxist, his stepfather only attended religious services on family state occasions and then under duress.
‘Letters – what letters?’ Toby challenged.
‘The usual letters, to family and friends,’ Harry answered.
‘And you can’t write them later this evening, or tomorrow?’
‘Be honest, would you even think of going to evensong if you didn’t want to paint the vestry?’
‘That’s below the belt.’ Toby looked across the road at the arched entrance to the farm. Mary Ellis, wearing a black varnished straw hat, an unseasonably thick shawl thrown around her threadbare cotton skirt and blouse, walked through, carrying a baby dressed in a white knitted suit. He lifted his hat to her.
Harry followed suit. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Ellis.’
‘Mr Evans.’ She glanced behind her at her brothers. David and Matthew’s wild curls had been slicked down with water and flat caps, and they were both wearing shiny, darned and threadbare suits. David’s was too large for him, Matthew’s too small. White-faced and shaky, Martha walked between them.
‘How are you feeling, Martha?’ Harry asked in concern.
‘Better, thank you, sir,’ she slurred.
‘Not by much,’ David growled.
Mary risked annoying her brother by adding, ‘We all enjoyed the strawberries and raspberries you gave Martha, Mr Evans.’
‘Are you going somewhere?’ He closed the boot of the car.
‘Chapel.’
‘Isn’t it a little early?’ Toby suggested.
‘Our horse is lame so we have to walk there.’ David made it sound as though Toby was responsible for the horse’s injury.
‘Please, let me give you a lift.’ Harry opened the back door of the car, took Toby’s portfolio and their knapsacks from the seats and carried them around to the boot. He stowed them away carefully before slamming it shut a second time. He looked across the road. None of the Ellises had made a move towards the car, and all five were standing, watching him.
‘I am driving down to Abercrave. You are going that way?’
‘Yes,’ Mary answered diffidently.
‘Then please, get in. You really won’t be putting me to any trouble.’
He couldn’t have sworn with any certainty that David Ellis said it, but he thought he heard him hiss, ‘Pity’ as he pushed past him and climbed into his car.
Harry ran out of conversation while he could still see the Ellis Estate in his rear-view mirror. Toby wasn’t so easily deterred. He made several attempts to instigate a discussion, starting with the change in the weather, and when that elicited m
onosyllabic responses, he tried talking about livestock. But as the only thing Toby knew about cows, pigs and sheep were their shapes from a painter’s point of view, and as the Ellises weren’t prepared to tell him more, he eventually gave up. It was left to Matthew to break the ice when they were speeding down the hill.
‘This car can go faster than Dolly.’
‘Is Dolly your horse?’ Harry was glad he had a question to ask.
‘Yes, but she was slow even before she went lame. Why did you poke me, David?’ he said with the artful innocence of a child.
‘I didn’t. Don’t make up stories,’ David snarled.
‘Stop it, you two,’ Mary cut in sharply.
‘David’s still poking me, and I’ve done nothing,’ Matthew whinged.
‘Do you like cars?’ Harry smiled at the boy in the mirror. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘I’m Matthew.’
‘Do you like cars, Matthew?’
‘I like to look at them, but this is the first time I’ve ever been in one.’
‘And we’re going to cause a right stir, turning up in the village in this, especially with his face all painted with iodine,’ David muttered sourly.
‘I wouldn’t think so,’ Harry contradicted. ‘It’s common for drivers to give people lifts where I come from.’
‘That’s where you come from,’ David said. ‘It’s not common around here.’
‘Only because not many people have cars,’ Mary said quietly. ‘Miss Adams always stops to give Martha and me a ride if she is travelling our way.’
‘And all the carters stop when they see someone walking on the road,’ Matthew added. ‘A car is a sort of cart, isn’t it?’
‘A rich man’s cart,’ David muttered darkly.
Harry adjusted his rear-view mirror and saw Martha sitting very still with her eyes closed. ‘As you’re going to be early for chapel, why don’t you come to the inn with us?’ he suggested, earning himself a peculiar look from Toby. ‘Mrs Edwards serves very good lemonade; we could all have a glass. She may even have some cake or biscuits.’
‘You going to chapel?’ David asked belligerently.
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