Beggars and Choosers (18 page)

‘What, Mrs Williams?'

‘It wouldn't go well with them,' Mari answered evasively.

‘He beats them?'

Mari bit her lip. ‘Mrs Hughes said that sometimes late at night and especially at weekends they hear cries coming from the Bulls' house. They even wake the children.'

Edyth clenched her fists. ‘And she's never thought to call the police?'

‘They wouldn't interfere, Mrs James. Not between husband and wife or a man and his family. And everyone suspects that the baby Sali is carrying is Mr Mansel's.'

‘If she is with child, then of course the child is Mansel's,' Edyth said warmly.

‘Mrs Hughes said there's no doubt about it. The last time she saw Miss Sali ... Mrs Bull, she was big in the way.'

‘If only Mansel were here,' Edyth cried impotently. ‘I can't understand where he could possibly be ...' She looked keenly at Mari. ‘There is something else, isn't there?'

Mari set down her teacup.

‘It's about Mansel isn't it?' Edyth asked perceptively.

‘You know what people are. They love to gossip. I for one don't believe it for a minute.'

‘What is it, Mrs Williams?' Edyth interrupted. ‘Whatever it is, it can't be worse than lying here day after day wondering if he's alive or dead. And if he is alive, what could possibly have driven him away, leaving Sali to face Morgan Davies alone?'

‘There's a girl, Mary Jones. She's just come back to Pontypridd after spending two years in London. She used to work in the store. She's not married and she has a three-year old son ... and ...'

‘And she says the boy is Mansel's.' Edyth's eyes clouded in misery.

‘You know?'

Edyth stared into the fire and watched the flames lick around the coals. Mr Richards had tried to shield her, but after her husband's death she had learned to read account books and seen the payments marked in the store's ledgers. Pensions of five shillings a week paid to young women who had worked there for no more than a year or two, when men who had given over twenty years' service to the business left with nothing. Girls she had seen in her husband's office. Girls he had smiled at in her presence and later sworn meant nothing to him.

Her husband had loved her, she never doubted that, but she had been forced to accept that she had never been quite enough for him. And when she had checked the store's accounts eighteen months after Mansel had taken over, there had been two new pension payments carefully detailed and marked ‘miscellaneous' by Mr Richards in the hope that she wouldn't pry. But she had pried, and confronted Mansel with the evidence of his philandering. Telling him in no uncertain terms that the example his uncle had set him was wrong and he couldn't expect any decent woman to marry him while he continued to seduce young girls.

He had sworn he would change his ways and shortly afterwards had begun to pay attention to Sali. And there had been no more payments, not in the two years before his disappearance. Years during which he had been totally and completely in love with Sali to the exclusion of all others, she was sure of it.

‘I know about Mary Jones,' Edyth confessed wearily. ‘But Mansel swore to me when he began to court Sali that he had given up other women. And I believed him. They were happy together and he was looking forward to settling down. But with hindsight, perhaps I should have said something to Sali to warn her in case she heard something about this woman and her child ...'

‘What could you have said?' Mari asked practically. ‘And even if she heard the rumours, I doubt that Miss Sali would have thought any the less of Mr Mansel for something he did before they became engaged. Young men make mistakes and the ones with money in their pockets will always turn the heads of pretty young girls with none. It's human nature. And with a young man as good-looking as Mr Mansel ...' Mari only just stopped herself from saying ‘was', ‘who is to say who did the chasing? By all accounts this Mary Jones is a right baggage, out for whatever she can get.'

‘Do people really think Mansel left town because she came back?'

‘Only the ones who don't think. As Tomas said, why would Mr Mansel leave town when he had more than enough money to pay the girl to keep quiet?'

‘Mary Jones has been and is being well paid.' Edyth moved restlessly in her chair. ‘But this doesn't help Sali. There has to be something I can do. I could visit her ...'

‘You are not well enough to go out, Mrs James, and even if you were, Mr Bull would only turn you away the same he has everyone else.'

‘There has to be a way to get in touch with Sali.'

‘None that I can see, Mrs James. She never leaves the house. Not even to go to chapel.'

‘The doctor,' Edyth said eagerly. ‘He must visit her.'

‘I doubt anyone down that end of Mill Street can afford to call him out and certainly not for a baby. They make do with a midwife and there are several of those in town. One or two drink more than is good for them and all of them like a good gossip. You give a letter to a midwife to pass on to Miss Sali and everyone in Pontypridd will know about it in a week.'

‘If Owen Bull won't allow his wife to receive a letter, perhaps he'll read one from me,' Edyth persisted earnestly.

‘Be careful, Mrs James,' Mari warned. ‘From what Mrs Hughes told me, an act of kindness to Sali could result in her being treated worse by Mr Bull than she already is.'

‘You can't expect me to simply stand back and do nothing while Owen Bull works the girl half to death, while doing God only knows what else to her.'

‘No, Mrs James. All I'm saying is you have to tread very cautiously. For Sali's sake.'

Chapter Ten

‘You have a fine boy, Mrs Bull.' The midwife cut the cord, bundled the squalling baby in a towel and set him on the pillow next to Sali.

Worn out by a thirty-six-hour labour, Sali barely had the strength to hold the child. She cried out softly as she moved the towel from his face. The baby was a miniature replica of Mansel. His soft, downy hair the exact same shade of wheat-blond, the eyes that squinted into hers a deep cerulean blue she sensed wouldn't change, and even his tiny hands had the same long, elegant, tapering fingers.

The midwife took her time over washing her hands in the iron bowl on the cheap, metal-framed washstand. She had believed herself immune to the squalid conditions her poorer patients lived in, but she had been shocked by the state of the rooms above Owen Bull's shop. Considering he was a councillor and deacon as well as a businessman, she had expected better.

The bedroom she had delivered Mrs Bull's baby in was so narrow there hadn't been room for her to move around the truckle bed. The linen was old and darned, there was only one blanket and no provision had been made for the baby beyond a towel. No cot, baby carriage or baby clothes, not even napkins.

Given Councillor Bull's reputation as a God-fearing, Christian man, she had also been taken aback by the scars, cuts and bruises on Mrs Bull's body, but she had seen worse on the wife of another councillor, and she hadn't been carrying a bastard on her wedding day. She reflected that Mrs Bull was more fortunate than some. Her bastard hadn't been born in the workhouse and wouldn't be taken away from her when it was six weeks old.

‘I'll tell your husband it's over. I expect a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss. Do you want something to eat?' She dried her hands and went to the door.

‘No, thank you.' Sali clutched her baby closer as the midwife's footsteps echoed down the passage. She was engulfed by a sudden, overwhelming wave of love that encompassed every fibre of her being. But she couldn't suppress her tears, not when she thought how different his birth would have been if she had married Mansel and the child had arrived at Ynysangharad House instead of Mill Street.

Owen looked up from his tea when the midwife opened the kitchen door.

‘I heard a baby crying.' Rhian left her seat at the table.

‘Mrs Bull has had a baby boy,' the midwife revealed flatly.

‘A boy!' Iestyn grinned.

‘Can I see him and Sali?' Excited, Rhian ran to the door, then looked back at Owen. He gave a curt nod and she opened it and left.

‘It's been a long labour. Your wife is worn out. She'd like a cup of tea.' The midwife walked to the stove and warmed her hands. It had been a cold April and the bedroom at the front of the house was freezing.

‘I'll make it.' Iestyn jumped up from the table and picked up the kettle.

‘How soon before my wife can resume her household duties?' Owen enquired.

‘Ten days or so, although as I said, she is worn out and quite weak. But if I know your neighbours they'll be willing to help.'

‘I'll have no meddling women in my house outside of family,' Owen said sternly. ‘I'll get help in the shop and my sister can run the house for a week.'

‘I couldn't find any baby things,' the midwife said pointedly.

‘My wife is in my brother's room. We thought it best she go in there so she wouldn't disturb the rest of us.'

‘Then the cot, napkins and baby clothes are in your bedroom, Mr Bull?'

‘No. The baby came early,' he muttered. Sali had been begging him to allow her to prepare for the birth for weeks but he had refused. Now the baby was here – a boy ... He left his chair and walked to the kitchen window so the midwife couldn't see his face. It would be un-Christian of him to wish the bastard dead. But he was here, in his house...

The midwife glanced at the clock. ‘The shops will all be shut now, Mr Bull.'

‘My wife can make do until morning.'

‘Only if you have plenty of towels and sheets.'

‘I've made the tea, Owen,' Iestyn said proudly.

‘You'll want to see your wife, Mr Bull,' the midwife prompted.

Owen took the cup. ‘Stay and have your tea here,' he ordered the midwife. ‘I'll send Rhian back. You can tell her what we need.'

Owen set the tea Iestyn had made on the floor beside the bed, straightened his back and looked down on Sali and the baby.

‘Your bastard is here.'

‘Yes, Owen.' There was a peculiar expression in Owen's eyes Sali couldn't decipher and she was terrified he'd hurt her baby.

‘It is not easy for a man to accept another's leavings. No other man in Pontypridd would take you and the bastard, and I wasn't the first your uncle asked.'

‘I didn't know,' she whispered, wanting to, but not daring to move her baby out of his reach, lest she provoke him.

‘And what with your keep and his, your dowry won't go far. In fact, most of it has gone.'

‘So soon?' Her father had told her that she was unworldly when it came to money, but three thousand pounds had seemed a vast sum.

‘My father left debts, the shop was mortgaged, I have heavy expenses and responsibilities. There are Iestyn and Rhian's mouths to feed as well as yours and now this bastard.'

Unnerved by his strange mood, she shrank back in the bed.

He looked down at the child and moved the towel away from his face. ‘He looks like Mansel James,' he pronounced in disgust.

‘All babies are born with blue eyes and most with fair hair. Both will darken as he grows older.' She thought of her own and her father's colouring and hoped for her son's sake that he would follow her side of the family, and not his father's.

‘I'll not give the bastard any of my family names.'

‘I'd like to call him Harry Glyndwr after my father. If that is all right with you,' she added, afraid he would reject the name simply because she had suggested it.

‘It is just as well your father is dead. If he weren't, he'd hardly think it a compliment that you want to name your bastard after him.'

Wanting to appease Owen for the child's sake, she almost suggested he name the baby, then realised as he would be the one to register the birth he could put whatever he wanted on the certificate, including ‘unknown' next to father if he chose to.

‘Before I married you I promised your uncle I would give you a roof over your heads. I am not a man to go back on my word.'

‘Thank you, Owen,' she cried in relief.

He stared at the child and again she trembled at the strange expression in his eyes.

‘I think something biblical to remind the child of his Christian duty and obedience to his elders.' He thought for a moment. ‘Isaac would be suitable. The sacrifice Abraham was prepared to make and would have if it were not for God's intervention and mercy.' When she said nothing, he barked, ‘You disapprove?'

‘No,' she acquiesced, realising that her son was even more vulnerable than her.

‘Then I will register him as Isaac Bull.' He went to the door. ‘Everyone in Pontypridd will know that my wife has given birth to a bastard. That is hard enough to bear, but God will give me strength to cope. However, I warn you, I'll kill you and this boy before I'll allow you to drag my name any further into the dirt.'

‘I won't bring any more shame on you, Owen, I swear it.' He was threatening her with the life of her baby and there was nothing she could do except obey him, in the hope that he would treat the child more kindly than he treated her.

‘You were a spoiled, useless creature when I married you. A good for nothing. You couldn't even comb your own hair let alone run a house.' He bent over the bed and she moved the baby protectively closer as he folded the towel away from his face. ‘Keep the child quiet and away from me. I'll expect you to resume your duties in a week.'

‘Owen,' she braced herself for an outburst, ‘the baby will need clothes and a cot.'

‘You think he deserves them from me?' he said venomously. He turned his back and walked through the door.

Rhian carried a bowl of stew and a spoon into Iestyn's room. She stood holding it when she saw Sali sitting up in the bed feeding the baby.

‘Your uncle came this morning. He brought things for the baby.'

‘My uncle?' Sali trembled at the mention of his name. ‘Are you sure it was him?'

‘I see him in chapel every week.'

Since Sali had been excluded from the congregation, she had ceased to think of chapel as a place to worship and more as a respite from the treadmill of life. She had to cook the dinner when Owen, Iestyn and Rhian went to morning service, but she didn't mind because as soon as they left the house she was guaranteed two hours to herself. And because of Owen's edict that no work other than the cooking of Sunday dinner be done in the house on the Lord's Day, Evensong meant another two uninterrupted hours, the only two in the week she was free from domestic drudgery.

Knowing she wouldn't be disturbed, she defied Owen's command that she spend the time praying, and read one of the library books Iestyn smuggled into the house.

There were times when she would have gone mad without those solitary hours. But the week since the baby's birth had been a good one. Owen hadn't been near her since his visit just after the baby was born and, as he had forbidden Iestyn to go into his old room, that only left Rhian, who was run off her feet, but never too busy to bring her food, cups of tea, and help her with the baby at intervals throughout the day.

‘I made tea for your uncle and Owen. They drank it in the parlour.' That in itself was an event for Rhian. She couldn't remember Owen inviting anyone into the house, let alone the parlour before. ‘There's a load of things. I helped carry them upstairs. A cot, baby carriage, clothes and a lovely shawl. I'll get the clothes now if you like.' She slipped the spoon into the bowl, set it on the floor and returned a few minutes later with a pile of baby nightgowns, knitted cardigans, bonnets, shawls and bedding. Sali recognised them. Under Mari's supervision she had even stitched and embroidered some of the nightgowns for Llinos.

Rhian pushed the door shut. with her foot and whispered, ‘The coachman tried to give me a letter for you but I couldn't take it, not with Owen around. He asked after you and the baby. I said you were fine.'

‘Did he say anything else?'

‘There wasn't time, because Owen came with Iestyn to unload the carriage.'

Sali flicked through the stack of neatly folded, newly laundered blankets, napkins and clothes, and suspected the gifts had been Mari's idea. The housekeeper would have known how to get round her uncle. By giving her Llinos's cast-offs, her Uncle Morgan could appear generous without paying out a penny.

It was just as well. Rhian and the midwife had compiled a list of things she'd need for the baby but all Owen had allowed Rhian to get was a dozen napkins and three nightgowns. At night the baby slept in one of Iestyn's drawers padded with a pillow from Rhian's bed.

‘Owen said that as they are from your family you may accept them.'

‘I will have to thank him.' Terrified for her child, Sali spoke without irony. She lifted the baby from her breast. His head lolled sleepily, his mouth still full of milk.

Rhian sat at the foot of the bed. ‘I'll take him while you eat your stew,' she offered, as Sali blotted the surplus milk from his mouth with her handkerchief. ‘Make the most of today.' Rhian lifted the baby on to her shoulder and rubbed his back gently to wind him. ‘Owen has given notice to the woman in the shop. Today is her last day, but as tomorrow's Tuesday, it should be fairly quiet and Iestyn can keep an eye out for customers when Owen isn't around, so I can help you.'

‘I wouldn't want you to get into trouble on my account.'

‘I won't.' Rhian looked at the baby clothes on the bed. ‘Some of these things are really beautiful,' she said wistfully, fingering a finely crocheted woollen shawl.

‘They were my sister's when she was a baby.'

‘Don't you miss having nice things?'

‘Do you?' Sali asked softly, lowering her voice. Without a watch or clock she had lost track of time and had no idea whether Owen was home or not.

‘I've never had any, but when I see girls wearing lovely clothes and shoes I wish I could buy ones like them. Owen says fancy clothes are a waste of money.' She plucked at her flannel smock and canvas overall. ‘You can hardly call these pretty.'

Footsteps resounded in the passage and Sali froze. ‘Thank you, Rhian,' she said loudly. ‘You may take the bowl.'

Rhian deposited the baby in the bed next to Sali and took the bowl. Owen entered and stood silently until Rhian left.

‘From tomorrow you will run the house again.'

‘Rhian told me, Owen.' Sali wrapped the baby in the shawl Rhian had admired.

‘You can sleep in here with the baby for six weeks. When you return to our room, the child will sleep in the kitchen. You may set the cot your uncle sent you in the corner behind the door.'

‘Yes, Owen. Thank you for allowing me to keep the things Uncle Morgan brought.' Sali knew there was no point in arguing, or asking for an explanation as to why the baby was to sleep in the kitchen. Owen didn't want her bastard in his bedroom. It was as simple as that. She only wished she had the courage to ask if she could sleep in the kitchen alongside her son; the boards were no harder there than the bedroom.

‘Why are you shaking?'

‘A sudden chill, that is all, Owen.'

‘It is not cold in here.' He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘The last thing I need is a sickly wife.'

‘I will be fine tomorrow.'

‘Just see that you are.'

When Owen left, Sali cuddled her baby and concentrated on the good things in her life. Her baby was beautiful and healthy, and she would be allowed to keep him. Thanks to Mari, she had everything she needed for him. And once she was busy again she wouldn't have time to brood over the loss of Mansel, her past life, or might-have-beens.