‘That is a grave accusation for anyone to make, especially against a respected member of the community,’ the sergeant said heavily. ‘I advise you to consider your position very carefully, Mr Evans. If you hope to draw attention away from the charges levelled at you by making counter-accusations of a more serious nature against Mr Pritchard or Constable Porter, your ploy could backfire with adverse and severe consequences for yourself.’
‘I suggest you contact Mary Ellis, who will verify my version of the events of that night.’
‘According to Constable Porter’s report, Mary Ellis is a moral degenerate who has been placed in the workhouse.’
‘She is no more degenerate than any other respectable, family-loving woman I know,’ Harry countered angrily, ‘and the last place she and her family should be is a workhouse.’
‘I can see that we are not going to make any progress this morning, Mr Evans.’ The sergeant pushed a piece of paper in front of Lloyd. ‘Will you sign this assurance that your son will appear before the magistrates tomorrow morning at nine o’clock? And that he will not leave town before then?’
‘I have taken a suite at the Castle Hotel; we will be there until this matter is cleared up,’ Lloyd pulled a fountain pen from his top pocket and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the form, ‘speedily, I trust. I have urgent parliamentary business to attend to.’
Mr Richards took Harry’s arm as he left his seat. ‘We’ll call for a doctor as soon as we reach the hotel.’
‘I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble.’ Harry was touched by the old man’s concern. Given Mr Richards’s age and frailty, he felt that he should be the one assisting him.
‘I have a feeling that you are going to be sorrier still before the day is out,’ Mr Richards commented enigmatically. ‘Your father and I took a taxi from the station, and asked the driver to wait. Looking at you, I think it is just as well that we did.’
‘There is something that I have to do before I leave.’ Harry went to the desk. ‘Constable Smith, my property, if you please. And I recall exactly what I had when I came in here.’
‘You may have problems breathing through your nose for a while, young man, and your bruises could inspire another verse of “Two Lovely Black Eyes”, but you’ll live to fight another day.’ The doctor closed his bag and reached for his coat.
‘I hope not, Doctor,’ Lloyd left his chair. ‘I think my son’s done enough fighting in the last week to last him a year or two.’
Harry shook the doctor’s hand. ‘Thank you, I feel better already.’
‘These may help.’ The doctor placed a bottle of pills on the table. ‘If the pain gets too much, you can take two with water, but not more than every four hours. On the other hand, should you prefer to imbibe, a glass of brandy would probably have the same effect.’
‘I’ll see you out and pay your bill, Doctor.’ Lloyd shrugged on his coat. ‘I’ll meet you in the bar, Mr Richards; we’ll have a quick one before lunch. I promised Sali I would telephone to let her and the girls know what was happening. You have no idea of the worry you have caused, Harry.’
‘I’d argue with you there, Dad.’
‘Brandy or pills, Harry?’ Mr Richards asked after Lloyd left the hotel suite with the doctor.
‘Brandy.’ Harry tried to smile but every muscle in his face hurt and his nose felt numb and stiff.
‘Then let’s go downstairs. Given the state of your jacket, it will have to be the “Gentlemen only”. They won’t mind you sitting in shirt-sleeves. I’m glad we have these few minutes to ourselves, there’s something that I want to talk to you about.’
Harry knew better than to hurry the old man, and Mr Richards waited until they were comfortably settled in the bar with two double brandies in front of them before broaching the subject again.
‘Your father was telling me on the journey here that you may not go to Paris after all.’
‘It is a possibility.’ Harry sat back and savoured the sensation of warming brandy hitting his empty stomach.
‘But you’re not sure about running the businesses that you have inherited.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Harry stared into his brandy glass. ‘I told Dad that I would think about it, but with everything that’s been happening I haven’t had time.’
‘Cigar?’ Mr Richards opened his cigar case and offered Harry one. They were thin and black, his favourite small Havanas.
‘Thank you, but I’d prefer to have one after the meal if I may. I feel light-headed enough after the brandy.’
‘I should imagine you do, given your injuries. Tell me, do you have an opinion on E and G Estates?’
‘They are a disgrace to the name of the landlord, and whoever owns it should be ashamed of themselves for employing an agent like Robert Pritchard and not monitoring his activities,’ he said heatedly. ‘They have caused untold misery to dozens if not a hundred or more families around here. They handed their agent the power and the means to assault and thieve from helpless people, and all in the name of profit.’
‘Unfortunately, I agree with you, Harry.’
‘Why unfortunately?’ Harry asked suspiciously.
Mr Richards met Harry’s eye. ‘E and G Estates was set up by Edyth and Gwilym James, You own it.’
‘I …’ Harry stammered into silence, barely able to comprehend the gravity of what Mr Richards had told him. He thought of all the lectures Lloyd had given him on the responsibilities of wealth and being an employer. How families depended on the wages his companies paid their breadwinners. And how tiresome he had found them. And now … ‘Does anyone else know I own it?’ he croaked, hoarse with shock.
‘The entire board and the trustees who work in the Capital and Counties Bank, and my office, which is nominally in charge of the firm.’
‘My father?’ Harry asked.
‘You know that he has deliberately distanced himself from the day-to-day running of your businesses and your money.’
‘I wish he hadn’t,’ Harry said feelingly.
‘So he could have done what you should have?’ Mr Richards questioned. ‘If he had spent his time overseeing your estate, Harry, he wouldn’t have been able to stand as an MP or work for the miners’ unions.’
Harry recalled the pocket watch he had found. ‘Robert Pritchard has been working for E and G Estates for over ten years. He was given his job when I was still in school.’
‘And in short trousers,’ Mr Richards said. ‘No one can blame you for hiring him then, Harry.’
‘I can blame myself for not finding out about him since. Did you know that the estate sold the farms to the tenant farmers in 1919, only to buy them back for half the price they paid for them when the slump came and the banks that held their mortgages foreclosed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you did nothing to stop it!’
‘Harry, I am your mother’s adviser and solicitor. I am not and never have been one of your trustees. And even if I had been, and had seen fit to question what E and G Estates were doing on moral grounds, the bankers would have reminded me that someone had to buy up the bankrupt farms, so why not E and G Estates? They would have also shown me a balance sheet to prove that your money was doing exactly what money should – making more money. You may not be aware of it but you are a millionaire, Harry. I doubt there are more than ten in Wales.’
‘But my mother, Uncle Joey, they are on the board -’
‘And they know everything there is to know about Gwilym James the department stores. They have ensured that all six are managed the way ideal businesses should be, with profit, customers and – very importantly – employees in mind. The staff are treated fairly and paid well in return for hard work. The conditions and contracts of employments are excellent, and the side benefits of paid holidays, medical care, subsidized canteens and retirement pensions among the best in Britain. All of that is down to your mother and uncle. But they only oversee the stores. E and G Estates is the province of the bankers and solicitors on t
he board.’
‘And they don’t care how they make their money?’ Harry asked furiously.
‘Your money, Harry,’ Mr Richards corrected. ‘And in answer to your question, all they care about is doing their job to the best of their ability, making their employer rich and seeing a balance sheet in the black at the end of the year.’
‘As if all I care about is money,’ Harry declared bitterly.
‘Now that you know about the situation, you can put it right.’
‘It’s too late for the Ellises and all the other families who have been broken up and dispersed in workhouses.’
‘Is it, Harry?’ Mr Richards said.
Harry glanced up as Lloyd entered the bar. ‘Dad, what’s wrong?’
White-faced, Lloyd sank down on to the chair next to Harry’s. ‘Craig-y-Nos telephoned the house this morning when they couldn’t get through to you at the inn. Dad …’
Harry gripped his father’s hand. ‘I should have been there.’
‘He died in his sleep, Harry, in the early hours. Doctor Adams told your mother that the end was quiet and peaceful. He never woke. It was what he wanted. We have to comfort ourselves with that thought.’
The next hour passed in a flurry of activity and telephone calls. Lloyd telephoned his brothers and agreed to meet them at the sanatorium so they could make arrangements to accompany their father’s body back to Pontypridd.
Mr Richards contacted the senior staff in his office – judging by the sharp words he exchanged with them, they weren’t happy at being disturbed on a Sunday – but they arranged for a clerk to bring all the papers he could find pertaining to E and G Estates on the first available train to Brecon.
Lloyd checked the time of the next train to Craig-y-Nos, and discovered he had time for lunch with Harry and Mr Richards, but none of them had much appetite, not even Harry who hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours. And they were all relieved when the taxi arrived to take Lloyd to the station.
‘I only wish I could go with you,’ Harry said, when he and Mr Richards accompanied Lloyd on to the platform.
‘And I wish that I could stay here with you.’
‘Don’t worry about him, Lloyd. He won’t be returning to any police cells,’ Mr Richards stated confidently.
‘Joey and Victor and I won’t have anything to do other than make the necessary arrangements with the undertaker, and it won’t take three of us to do that. If you did come you’d just be sitting around the inn with us, Harry.’ Lloyd picked up his overnight case when the train drew in.
‘I paid for my room on Friday and told Mrs Edwards that I’d be needing it for at least another week.’
‘Do you want me to clear it for you and settle up with her?’ Lloyd asked.
‘No. If they let me go in the morning I’ll come straight home, but afterwards – after Granddad is buried – I’ll go back there. I would like to say goodbye to a few people.’
‘See you soon, Harry. Mr Richards, thank you for coming up with me this morning and volunteering to stay with Harry.’ Lloyd entered the nearest carriage.
‘Tell everyone that I’ll be home the moment this mess is cleared up,’ Harry called out.
‘I will.’
Mr Richards and Harry were standing watching the train pull out when a man walked up behind them and coughed diffidently.
‘Mr Richards?’
Mr Richards turned around. ‘Mr Beatty.’ He shook his hand. ‘You made good time. You have brought everything I asked for?’
‘Yes, sir, all the files on E and G Estates.’
‘Harry Evans, allow me to introduce Anthony Beatty, one of our clerks, who has been working on the E and G portfolio for three years. Have you lunched, Mr Beatty?’
‘No, sir, there wasn’t time,’ the young man replied shyly.
‘I’m sure they will be able to find you something at the hotel. I suggest we retire there, order refreshments and take a look at what you have in that briefcase.’
‘No! Don’t!’ David Ellis flung himself between Ianto Williams and Merlyn, the dog that had been his inseparable companion until the day before, when Ianto had moved all the livestock from the Ellis Estate to his own farm.
‘The dog went for me. He needs to be taught who’s master.’ Ianto unfurled his horsewhip.
David struggled with the chain that fastened one end of Merlyn’s collar to the wooden post in the centre of the farmyard. Ianto unfurled the whip, lashed it and caught the dog’s ear. Blood flowed. David unbuckled the dog’s collar. ‘Go, Merlyn, go, run … run …’
The dog hesitated and licked David’s hand.
‘Run, Merlyn!’ David screamed. ‘Run!’
The dog still lingered, crouching low, watching Ianto furl his whip again.
‘Run!’ David struggled to his knees and slapped the dog’s rump. Merlyn finally charged off, seconds before Ianto cracked his whip short of his heels.
‘Call him back,’ Ianto shouted.
‘No.’ David glared defiantly at his new employer.
‘A shepherd’s no good without his dog; call him back.’
‘So you can whip him again?’ David asked. ‘No!’
The whip cracked, and caught David across the face. He grabbed it. The leather cut his hand, but he wrapped it around his fingers and tried to pull it from Ianto.
‘Let go.’
‘No.’ David tugged it, and Ianto stumbled forward.
‘Let go or I will complain to the workhouse master and it will go badly with your brothers and sisters,’ Ianto threatened.
David reluctantly released his hold. Ianto cracked the whip again and caught David across the shoulders.
‘I’ll teach you to disobey me. That thieving son-in-law of mine will make me pay for that dog and you’ve sent it the devil only knows where. I should have left you in that workhouse. You spit on my Christian charity …’
David crouched on hands and knees, curling himself as small as he could to lessen the impact of the blows. When the pain began to consume him, he thought of Martha and Matthew, and the look of bewilderment on Matthew’s face when he had sat up in the dormitory bed.
‘Ianto?’
David heard Mrs Williams. He opened his eyes and watched her long, thin feet, encased in pale-blue leather shoes, cross the farmyard. A weakening tide of relief washed over him. No woman would stand by and watch her husband whip a helpless boy without lifting a finger to help the victim …
‘You’ll have to leave that until later. It’s time to go to chapel.’
‘I’ll put him in the cellar.’ Ianto dropped the whip on to a stone wall. He walked up to David and kicked him in the ribs. ‘Get up.’
David struggled to his knees only to fall back again. He had been locked into the dank cellar the night before and was in no hurry to return there.
‘Get up!’ Ianto kicked him again.
‘I can’t stand,’ David mumbled.
‘Then crawl.’
David did just that. He struggled to the door behind the kitchen. Hauling himself up on the metal rail set in the stone wall, he inched his way down the steps. Before he reached the bottom Ianto Williams slammed and locked the door.
He was back in the cold and dark. But he had never been afraid of the dark and he was used to the cold winters on the mountain. The pain was bad but he had two good thoughts to cling to. He had prevented Matthew and Martha from being thrashed. And he was alone with his memories – the happy ones.
*……*……*
The grief at his grandfather’s death, so long anticipated yet so sudden at the end, consumed Harry. It was a raw and constant pain that was almost physical. But Mr Richards forced him to concentrate on the task in hand. And the first papers he handed to him were Robert Pritchard’s balance sheets.
Harry was shocked to see that the agent had banked less than twenty pounds against the Ellis Estate’s arrears of rent in the last year. He recalled the back-breaking work he and David had put into carting the 120 fleeces that the Ellises
had put aside to sell to the wool merchant – and they had been a fraction of what Robert Pritchard had taken from the sheep pens. He thought of the long hours Mary spent making cheeses, churning butter, scouring milk chums, trussing poultry. Even little Matthew collecting eggs. To his own knowledge, the agent had taken cartloads of fleeces, dairy produce, poultry, eggs, sheep and bullocks that had had to be worth twenty times that amount.
And it wasn’t only the Ellises. Some of the other farms that the agent collected rents from seemed to produce absolutely nothing, or were boarded and derelict.
Harry set his coffee cup back on the tray of refreshments that Mr Richards had ordered to be brought to their suite. ‘I don’t understand, Mr Beatty.’ He rifled through the papers on his lap. ‘How can E and G Estates be making any money when the agent collects so little in rent?’
‘A proportion of E and G Estates holdings are a tax loss, Mr Evans.’ Mr Beatty held out his cup when Mr Richards offered to refill it. ‘Basically, the company has so many assets it doesn’t matter if a quarter, or even half, don’t make any profit, or even if they lose money, because the loss can be offset against the returns on the more lucrative properties. And E and G makes thousands of pounds from the buildings you own and rent out in the centre of Cardiff and London.’
‘London?’
‘Yes, Harry, London,’ Mr Richards affirmed. ‘I did tell you that you are an extremely wealthy young man.’
‘As I was saying, Mr Evans, sir, the farms might be idle but we can offset the cost of keeping the houses boarded up and maintaining the land for possible future cultivation against the profits of your urban rentals. All the bankers want to see is an account sheet that balances. And E and G Estates has always had one of those. It is only the bottom figure that counts, and that is, and always has been, black not red.’
‘I know how much the agent has taken from the Ellis Estate in the last month and barely a fraction of it is detailed on this sheet.’ Harry tapped the paper in his hand. ‘Do you know the agent, Robert Pritchard?’
‘No, sir, I don’t,’ Anthony Beatty replied.
‘Have you ever met him?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Who appointed him?’
Finders and Keepers Page 39