by Iris Gower
John Pendennis sat in the snug corner of the Castle Inn and listened as Watt Bevan eulogized about the charms of the sweet Lily. She was a pretty enough girl but limited in intelligence. Watt could do a lot better for himself, but then he was being led by what he had in his breeches, not by his brain.
John had failed to settle at the Savage Pottery. Even though working in an office was better by far than working at the quarry face. And he had done young Richard a favour too: the boy was happier, better fed and clothed than he had ever been. No, it was not the work or the conditions he objected to, it was the boredom of the daily routine.
He had heard Watt talk once about a chap called Binnie. The man had got out of it, shaken the dust of Swansea, of Britain, off his feet and made a new life for himself in America. That was a possibility that held a growing appeal for John. America was young and new; rich in minerals, with vast unchartered miles of land. A place of opportunity for a young man of intelligence.
‘We should go to America, Watt,’ he said, interrupting the flow of the other man’s words. ‘Seek our fortunes. Then, when we are rich, you could come home to your Lily.’
Watt was silent, it was clear the words had jolted him out of his obsession with the little pottery painter. ‘You know, you might just have something there,’ he said after a moment. ‘If Binnie Dundee can do it, so can I.’
‘Have you any money saved?’ John asked pointedly. ‘A passage to America would cost quite a bit.’
‘I have a fair bit of money saved,’ Watt said proudly. He smiled suddenly. ‘After all, what is there to spend it on round here? What about you, how are you fixed?’
‘Ah, there’s the rub,’ John said. ‘I have only my few weeks’ wages, otherwise I’m a pauper. I could always work my passage, I suppose.’
Watt laughed. ‘I doubt it. You look and sound like a gentleman, your life would be hell living in the crew’s quarters and you know it.’
‘I still have my father’s gold cuff links and studs and his gold watch and chain. I could sell those.’ John was thinking aloud.
‘No need of that,’ Watt said. ‘I have enough money for the both of us, at least to make a start.’
‘I doubt that. In any case, I couldn’t take your money!’ John was touched but the last thing he wanted was to take advantage of the Welshman’s good nature.
‘No, listen!’ Watt spoke eagerly. ‘You could talk to people, moneyed people, on an equal footing. You could get us a good start, a loan or something to start us up in business.’
‘Hey! You’re going too fast, what business?’
‘Well, what we both know, the pottery business of course. You know the clay to choose and the stone; you know what it is to handle money, to put on a good front, all that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, know the potting business from the ground up, literally.’ He smiled. ‘My first job was picking up pieces of discarded clay pots and taking them to the bin at the bottom of the yard.’
The idea of going to America was growing in John’s mind. He had made the suggestion casually, not expecting much response, but Watt’s enthusiasm was inspiring. Another thing, Mrs Mainwaring might well encourage the trip if he suggested taking samples from the Savage Pottery with him. It was clear she was troubled about her husband but she still had enough control over her emotions to run the business in his absence.
‘Right then, let’s think seriously about this.’ He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘The docks would be a good place to start.’ He smiled. ‘What do you know about shipping out of Swansea going deep sea?’
Watt shrugged. ‘Not much but I can find out quick enough. I’ll go down there first thing in the morning.’
‘What about Lily?’ John asked and Watt smiled. ‘I’ll marry her before I leave, later she can join me out there, when we are well set-up.’
John doubted the wisdom of Watt’s plan. ‘You might possibly meet an American lady to fall in love with. Have you thought of that?’
‘Not a chance!’ Watt said. ‘I love Lily more than anything in the world and I want her for my wife.’
‘Well, it’s your funeral.’ John lifted his hand for the landlord to bring another mug of beer. ‘Let’s have a final drink before we start back to the pottery.’ He could not see the self-important Lily wanting the hardships of a voyage to a new country but it was just as well to keep his own counsel on that.
John sank against the wooden seat, his head full of plans. America, the great new country, beckoned to him. Nothing could be as bad as staying in Britain wasting his talents, his education. He would make more of his life than his father had ever done. John Pendennis had no intention of ending up a pauper. He looked across at his workmate. Watt was a good chap, sound and honest, but perhaps lacking in enterprise. Still, John had enough initiative for both of them.
‘Come on, Lily, just one little kiss can’t hurt anyone, can it?’ Watt threw a stone into the river and watched the swirling circles it made as it sank out of sight. He knew he sounded petty; his proposal had not received the whole-hearted reception he had anticipated. Indeed, Lily had demurred, saying she was too young to consider marrying anyone just now.
‘Why won’t you marry me, Lil?’ he asked, suddenly humble. ‘You know I love you, I’ll make you a good husband and, when I come back from America, we’ll be very rich.’
‘I don’t want a husband who is miles away across the sea, Watt.’ Lily spoke in a low voice but there was a mutinous expression on her face. ‘And as for a “little kiss” not hurting anyone, it’s what it leads to is the problem.’
This was a side of Lily he had never seen. She was alarmingly prudish. At first this had thrilled him, he had taken it as a sign of her chastity, but now they were walking out together she could at least show a little warmth. Was she a cold woman, would their marriage be restricted to a quick coupling when Lily chose to do her duty? He had heard of such things many times, working as he did with men in the pottery.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Lily demanded and Watt leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.
‘Don’t!’ she drew away sharply. ‘I don’t want you to kiss me. Not here in the fields like a hussy.’
Watt was stung to anger. ‘Anyone would think you were a high-born lady, not a girl from the orphanage,’ he said.
She rounded on him. ‘And why was I there, tell me that, Watt Bevan?’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘It was because my mother didn’t have the sense to say no to a man like you who only wanted to satisfy his lust!’
She spun away from him, her skirts flying, and disappeared between the trees. Watt felt the colour burn in his face; she was right, it was lust that was prodding him with pointed barbs, not love. He felt the hardness in his groin and felt that he would go mad if he failed to find release for his feelings.
He thought of Pearl, rounded and willing, bawdy and smelling of sweet grasses. Then he was on his feet, ashamed of the immoral longings he had to bed a married woman who was twice his age. Still, if she should come along now and offer herself he would be too out of control to refuse her. Pearl did not come along and soon Watt began to retrace his steps, heading for the pottery.
Well, damn Pearl, damn Lily and all women. He, Watt Bevan, would go to America, seek his fortune and then the women would want him soon enough.
‘So, Judge Cornwall, you will release the prisoner into my keeping?’ Grantley concealed a smile: that the judge was confused by the high-sounding legal phrases and the pompous manner of a lawyer from London was all to the good.
‘I suppose I have no option, not the way you have put the case.’ He paused. ‘You believe it to be illegal to keep a rich and educated man in jail without positive proof of his guilt then?’
‘I most certainly do.’ Grantley paused, enjoying himself hugely. ‘Tell me, when did you last have a man who was well-educated and wealthy into the bargain locked up in the castle without even the benefit of a proper trial?’
The judge frowned. ‘I can
’t think of one, sir, not right at this moment.’ He smiled suddenly, showing an unexpected flash of humour. ‘Nor do I remember a lawyer who talked in riddles and who I felt had tricked me into agreeing with him.’
‘Best be on the safe side then.’ Grantley winked at the judge. ‘So that no slur can taint your good name.’
Judge Cornwall rose to his feet. ‘Here,’ he held out a sheet of paper, ‘take this to the jail and the prisoner will be released to you. But,’ his voice held a warning, ‘if the man should abscond, it is you who will be held responsible.’
‘I accept the responsibility with every confidence in the honesty of Joe Mainwaring,’ Grantley said easily. He was not sure at all, but being a lawyer was all about being able to bluff others.
In less than an hour Grantley was seated in the Mainwaring carriage alongside the man accused of murder. He studied Joe covertly, his clothing was crumpled and yet, apart from that, he appeared respectably turned out. His hair, though unfashionably long, was tied back and his high-boned face was clean. The man wore an air of calm which was surprising in the circumstances.
‘Have you made up your mind about me?’ Joe’s voice was cultured and that was a shock. If Grantley had been sitting there with his eyes closed he would have imagined himself to be beside a high-born English gentleman.
‘My father was a gentleman.’ Joe had an unnerving way of reading his mind. ‘I am a bastard,’ Joe continued, ‘but a very well educated and very privileged bastard.’ There was a smile in his voice.
Grantley turned and looked him full in the face. ‘You are a strange man, indeed,’ he said. ‘You have the colour and appearance of a foreigner, the mind of an educated man and you’re a mystic to boot; a powerful combination. And to answer your question, I have made up my mind about you. I believe you incapable of killing a man you had grown to love.’
‘Even though the man’s death might be a merciful release?’
‘Even then.’ Grantley smiled. ‘Is not the taking of life against all you believe in?’
‘It is,’ Joe said. ‘But then the influential men of the town would not believe me when I told them that.’
‘We shall change their minds, never fear,’ Grantley said. ‘For now we must get you home to your wife.’
The night was soft and dark with a plethora of stars gilding the heavens. Llinos was wide awake, lying close to her husband’s side. He was home, and her heart was bursting with joy. She could breathe in his scent, touch his silken hair, lay her hand on his chest and feel the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Love washed through her like a tide. Passion had been spent in the frantic joy of their reunion, now what was left was the glow of tenderness he always created in her.
‘You can’t sleep,’ Joe said turning over to face her. ‘Neither can I.’
Llinos looked at him in the silver light from the window and saw his beloved face, thinner now, his cheekbones more prominent. ‘I don’t want to sleep,’ she whispered. ‘I want to stay awake to drink you in, to assure myself that you are really here with me.’
He slid his arm beneath her and pulled her close to him. His heart beat against hers and her breasts tingled with reawakened desire. He kissed her hair, her eyelids, her mouth, and then his lips moved to her neck.
She was ready when he came to her, his body one with her own. Their rhythm echoed the seas, the grasses, the breezes that rustled the leaves in the trees. Her mind flew from her singing flesh and became elevated to a plane where there were only sensations of joy and love and passion. And, perhaps, a small voice whispered in her head, tonight, on this wonderful night of reunion, another child might be conceived.
In the morning she woke to the sun and turned immediately to look at her husband lying beside her. He touched her hair.
‘I’m still here, my little Firebird.’ He smiled, his teeth very white against his golden skin. He kissed her once and then rose from the bed and stood in the morning sunshine; tall, majestic, a man possessed of such beauty that Llinos felt breathless at the sight of him.
He disappeared into the dressing room just as there was a knock on the door. Meggie entered with the breakfast tray and Llinos sat up against the pillows.
‘A messenger has called from Mr Morton-Edwards to say he will be here with the lawyer man at nine-thirty sharp.’ Meggie averted her eyes from the crumpled bed and placed the tray on the table.
‘Thank you, Meggie.’ Llinos bit back a sigh. The magic of the night was past and the business of the day was about to begin.
CHAPTER NINE
NOW THAT JOE was home again, Llinos felt she could take charge of her life and remember that she was the owner of the Savage Pottery. The first thing she did on resuming work was to appoint Lily as chief painter, much to the indignation of some of the older women.
‘But, Mrs Mainwaring, I’ve been here ever since the pottery opened.’ Pearl was flushed, her meaty arms folded across her breasts. ‘Well, except for the time when your dad was missing.’
‘You are a very good artist, Pearl.’ Llinos smiled. ‘But you have responsibilities at home. If one of the children fell sick or if your husband had one of his “turns” you would need time off, wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s true and good you are about it I must say, but all the same . . .’ Her voice trailed away. She knew as well as Llinos how many times her husband had been too drunk to get out of his bed and she had been forced to take care of him.
‘But, as a mark of respect for your work and your seniority, Pearl, I intend to make you second in command to Watt. If he’s busy, or off work, you will be in charge of the painting shed.’ The idea of such a post had only just entered Llinos’s head. It would be an honorary one; Watt was reliable to a fault, he was never off work. But she was rewarded with a huge smile from Pearl.
‘I’d be good at that, Mrs Mainwaring,’ Pearl said. ‘I was always good at bossing folks around.’
Little did Llinos realize how quickly Pearl would be elevated to the promised position. Later in the evening, as Llinos and Joe, supper finished, were sitting together in the garden enjoying the scents of the flowers and the singing of the birds, Watt, accompanied by the Cornishman John Pendennis, asked to speak to her.
‘Bring the visitors out here, Meggie.’ It was Joe who gave the order and the maid ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. She felt that she had done him an injustice and was ashamed of herself.
‘Sorry to bother you in the evening, Llinos.’ Watt twisted his hat in his hand. ‘But it would not be a good idea to discuss my plans with the rest of the paint shed looking on.’
Joe looked at Llinos and then gestured for the visitors to take a seat. ‘Plans, Watt?’ he said quietly.
Watt smiled. ‘John and I have decided to go seek our fortunes in America,’ he said. ‘I will be sorry to leave you, Llinos, we have been together since we were children. We’ve seen hard times, painful times, but now I feel the need to stretch my wings, to be independent.’
Llinos felt that John Pendennis had more to do with the decision than Watt’s wish to be independent.
Joe leaned back in his seat. ‘Well, America is a wonderful country, I can attest to that personally. In fact I have had plans for setting up a business there myself.’
‘Joe!’ Llinos said, suddenly trembling. ‘You can’t mean to go away?’
‘Of course not!’ He rested his hand on her arm. ‘No I won’t go myself but I have been thinking about appointing someone to oversee the project for me.’ He smiled. ‘Who better than Watt? He has the necessary enthusiasm and know-how. And the wish to travel. What’s more he’s loyal so I don’t feel I need look further.’
Joe took her hand and Llinos felt his fingers close, warm and secure, around her own. She wanted to hold him, to touch his hair, to kiss his sensuous mouth. The thought of being parted from him again had unnerved her. She squared her shoulders and turned to Watt.
‘If my husband intends to back you, you can be sure of success, Watt. You too, John.’
It was Joe who replied. ‘I follow my instincts,’ he said. ‘And my instincts tell me you are an honourable man.’ He paused. ‘What if I were to fund your trip, pay for you to find lodgings and give you time to search for a site for a new pottery? For your part you will be responsible for exploring the area, I don’t want to throw money away on a business which is not viable.’
‘So you mean we would look out for competition?’ John said. ‘Choose a place that is busy and thriving but not one which already supports a pottery.’
Joe smiled. ‘I already have a site in mind; somewhere near Albany or West Troy would be a good place to start looking.’ He paused to note the reaction of the men before continuing. ‘With your charm, John, and Watt’s experience in the potting business, I would expect you to do well. But there’s no need to rush into anything. If you do decide to work in America, look around you, see what sort of opportunities are open to you. Providing you explore the land I have in mind, that’s all I require. You would be free then to do some searching around on your own account; find out what sort of positions might be open to you.’ He rose to his feet, indicating that the meeting was over.
‘If you decide to work for me all well and good, but if not there will be no hard feelings. As I said, none of us need rush into anything.’
Llinos looked up at him. ‘Hang on! I feel as if the ground has been cut from under my feet. You men are making all the decisions. What if I don’t agree?’
Watt looked concerned but Joe, knowing her, smiled. Llinos went to Watt and hugged him. ‘Of course you must go if you want to but I’m going to miss you so much.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Oh, my Lord! Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve just made Pearl overseer at the paint shed.’