Finders and Keepers (26 page)

Ignoring Mary's scowl, Harry offered her the tin box. ‘As it appears we're having an impromptu picnic, please join us.'

‘I have a butter churn to scour, Mr Evans. And I need to get Luke somewhere safe.'

‘He is safe here with me and Matthew, and as for the butter churn, if you're short of helpers, I could do it for you.'

‘You're used to scouring butter churns, Mr Evans?'

‘It would be a new experience for me.' Harry's smile faltered in the face of her stony glare.

‘If it isn't done properly the next batch of butter I make will turn bad, the agent won't be able to sell it at market and we'll get even deeper into debt.'

‘I'm a quick learner, and if you won't trust me with the butter churns perhaps you'll trust me with something else?'

‘He has a car so he could take the cheeses and eggs down to the Colonial Stores in Pontardawe, Mary.' Still pale, but looking brighter than when Harry had last seen her, Martha joined them.

‘And move the fleeces from the pens to the storage shed in the yard,' Matthew added.

‘David will cart the goods and the fleeces when Dolly's hoof has healed. And you, Martha, are supposed to be resting in the house,' Mary reprimanded.

‘David said this morning that there's no sign of Dolly's hoof healing.' Martha sat next to Matthew and Luke on the grass. ‘Can I have one of those, please, Mr Evans?' She pointed to the cheese tartlets.

‘Of course you can, Martha.' Harry handed her the box.

‘Martha! That's begging!' Mary exclaimed.

Sensing that Mary Ellis felt he was undermining her authority with her brother and sister, Harry said, ‘It's hardly begging when I offered to share my picnic with all of you, Miss Ellis.'

‘I refused.' Mary frowned at Matthew and Martha.

‘What's in that box, mister?' Unabashed, Mathew pointed to the one labelled ‘Sweet'.

‘What it says on the label,' Harry answered.

‘What's that?' Matthew persisted.

‘Can't you read it?'

‘No, mister.'

Harry looked from Matthew to Martha and back to Mary, who turned bright crimson when Martha said, ‘None of us can read, Mr Evans.'

Chapter Eleven

The silence that followed Martha's announcement was embarrassing, and not only for Mary. Realizing that she was mortified by her sister's revelation and unsure how to respond, Harry searched his mind for something sympathetic to say. He eventually settled for, ‘It's hardly surprising that none of you can read considering you weren't able to go to school.'

‘Davy says farmers don't need book learning.' Matthew sneaked a second slice of pie from Harry's box.

‘That's Davy. I don't want to be a farmer, and I've wanted to learn to read and write for ages,' Martha persisted.

‘It wouldn't do you no good,' Matthew declared emphatically.

‘Yes, it would. Cook in Craig-y-Nos is always reading things that help her with her job. Recipes and books on food and how to plan menus and run a kitchen. If I learned, I could get a better job as Cook's helper and perhaps even become a cook myself one day. They earn good money. Could you teach us to read and write, Mr Evans?' Martha asked hopefully.

‘Martha! How dare you pester Mr Evans with your begging!' Mary turned to Harry. ‘I'm sorry we interrupted you, Mr Evans. I'm sure you have work to do -'

‘No, he doesn't,' Matthew broke in. ‘He's just drawing pictures of our house and the hills. You can't even tell what they're supposed to be and that's not work.'

‘It is for some people, Matthew.'

Harry could tell from Mary's tone of voice that she held the same views on producing art as her brother.

‘If Mr Evans taught Martha to read, she could ask to look at the agent's books and see if he is diddling us like you and David think he is.' Matthew demolished the piece of pie in four enormous bites.

‘You think the agent is cheating you, Miss Ellis?' Harry handed Luke, who was crawling towards his food tins, another cheese tartlet.

‘Matthew, you have no right to tell a stranger about our personal business. Back to the house, and take Luke with you. Go with them, Martha,' Mary ordered sharply. They hesitated.
‘Now!'

Matthew grabbed Luke and began to haul him, cheese tartlet in hand, up the hill. Martha looked to Harry. He sensed she was expecting him to say something, but wary of offending Mary any more than he already had, he remained silent. When he refused to meet her steady gaze she trailed gloomily behind her brothers.

Mary watched them go but she didn't speak to Harry until they were out of earshot. ‘I am sorry that my brothers and sister troubled you, Mr Evans,' she apologized stiffly.

‘No trouble, Miss Ellis, and if you would allow me to, I would enjoy teaching Martha, and Matthew if he changed his mind, to read and write.'

‘We couldn't pay you.'

‘No one would pay anyone who wasn't a proper teacher. But I used to help my sisters with their homework when they were younger, so I do have a little experience.'

‘We have no free time. Martha will be going back to work as soon as she has recovered, and the rest of us have more to do than hours to do it in around the farm.'

‘What about the evenings?' he suggested.

‘We go to bed early.'

‘Surely not straight after supper?'

‘We go to bed after supper and get up at four in the morning. Would you like us to get up at three so you can give us lessons?' she bit back caustically.

‘Miss Ellis, I realize you don't know anything about me other than that I knocked your sister down in my car, and that is hardly a good introduction. But the fact is, Matthew is right. I don't have any real work to do in between visiting my grandfather while I'm here – that is why I am drawing and painting. And I can only do that when the light is good. So,' he gave her the full benefit of his warmest smile, ‘you'd be doing me a favour by allowing me to spend some of my time with Matthew and Martha. Martha is obviously keen to learn -'

‘As soon as we can afford to do without her wages she'll be back here, working with the rest of us. Then she won't have any need for book learning.' She turned and walked away from him.

‘And the agent's books?' he shouted after her.

She stopped but didn't turn around.

‘Do you really think that he is cheating you?'

Mary clenched her fists as though she were trying to contain her rage. ‘I don't know.'

‘And you won't know unless you can check his figures.'

She finally turned and faced him. ‘Why do you want to help us?'

He shrugged. ‘I don't particularly. I told you, I'm at a loose end and have nothing better to do than practise my hobby, which I can only do when the light is right.'

‘Miss Adams said you have a relative in the sanatorium.'

‘My grandfather. He is very ill and I am the only one in my family who can spare the time to stay close to him.'

‘How do you live?'

‘As you see.' He held out his hands and smiled at her.

‘Someone must pay for your food, fancy clothes, car and your room at the inn,' she probed.

‘I do.'

‘You're rich?'

‘No.'

‘But you don't do any work, so where do you get your money from?'

Not wanting to mention his inheritance, he said, ‘My family give me an allowance.'

‘If they pay you to do nothing, they must be rich.'

‘No, they aren't. My father and his two brothers were miners when they were younger, but one of my uncles works in a shop now and the other is a farmer, like you.' He chose not to tell her that he owned the shop Joey worked in, Victor owned his farm and his father was an MP. ‘All three are very fond of my grandfather, who was also a miner. As I have just finished university and have yet to find a job, the family decided that I should be the one to remain close to him. So, I am stuck here with very little to do after I have made my morning visit to the sanatorium. It's too far to travel from my family's house in Pontypridd every day. I can only spend so much time painting, drawing, walking and reading, therefore,' he gave her another smile, ‘as I said, you really would be doing me a favour if you allowed me to pass some of my time with your family.'

‘We don't need your charity.'

‘The charity would be all on your side, Miss Ellis. The only person I know in the Swansea Valley besides my landlady, her son, and Doctor and Miss Adams, is Mr Ross, whom you met on Sunday. And he has hardly any time to spare as he is busy illustrating a book. Frankly, I find it lonely here. Doctor Adams won't let me spend more than ten minutes with my grandfather when he allows me to visit him at all. I miss my sisters, brother and parents.'

‘So you want to amuse yourself with mine?'

‘Amuse is hardly the right word, Miss Ellis.' He tried to be diplomatic. ‘Martha is so keen to learn, it would be a pity to forgo the opportunity while we both have time to spare.'

‘I'll have to talk it over with David.' She turned her back to him again.

‘Wait, I'll walk back up with you. You were going to show me how to scrub out a butter churn, remember?'

‘Farming is work, not play, Mr Evans,' she called back over her shoulder before carrying on up the hill.

Infuriated by her stubborn attitude, antagonism to ‘book learning' and willingness to leave her family in ignorance, Harry stared at the reservoir. Deciding that the vantage point he'd chosen was all wrong, he gathered his things together and moved on.

‘Good day?' Toby asked Harry when he came down to dinner that night and joined him in the dining room.

‘I made some sketches of the reservoir in the sketchbook you gave me and one on canvas – thank you,' Harry said to Enfys who brought in two pints of beer and Toby's whisky chaser. ‘It's not brilliant but as I have an idea of what I'd like it to be when it's finished, I thought I might start painting tomorrow.'

‘Then you're staying here?'

‘I spoke to my father on the telephone half an hour ago. Both my uncles are travelling down by train to see my grandfather on Saturday morning. So I may as well stay until then so I can visit him again in the morning. That's if Doctor Adams will let me in again. Then I'll drive them back to Pontypridd on Saturday afternoon.'

‘Good, I'll have company.'

‘About the sketches I made -'

‘Get the composition right for a painting, and the chances are it will be successful. Frank's maxim, not mine,' Toby smiled ruefully. ‘Do you want me to look at what you've done?'

‘Please. I'd really appreciate your comments, even if they're more helpful than flattering.'

‘Uncle Toby would be delighted to look at your efforts. What's so funny?' he demanded when Harry burst out laughing.

‘You. I doubt that you're anyone's idea of an uncle.'

‘I'll have you know, I would have made a very good one if I'd been given the opportunity.'

‘You haven't any nieces or nephews?' Harry asked.

‘I haven't a relative in the world apart from Frank.'

‘I know you said he was your guardian, but I had no idea that you two were all alone.'

‘I should have said that he was my guardian by default. We are the last survivors of our unique line of Ross.' Toby downed his whisky in one and reached for his beer. ‘You, I suppose, have dozens of relatives.'

‘Parents, five sisters, a brother, uncles and aunts, masses of cousins.'

‘Five sisters?' Toby grinned.

‘You can wipe that smile off your face. First, you're not likely to meet them unless my father brings them down here. And he will only do that if Doctor Adams allows them to see our grandfather. And secondly, they are all younger than me. Bella's the oldest and she's only sixteen.'

‘Pity, I like the idea of having a ready-made family of sisters-in-law to cosset me. Thank you.' He leaned back as Enfys set plates of lamb chops, roast potatoes, peas and cabbage in front of them.

‘Cosset!' Harry exclaimed. ‘That shows you know nothing about girls. They like nothing better than to play at boxing and fencing. Being the oldest and the only boy for years, I was expected to show restraint. Not that they ever did. One slight accidental tap from me and it was “Mam, Harry's playing rough.” But whenever I complained about the bruises they inflicted on me, they ganged up and called me a sissy.'

‘Poor you.'

‘That was the most unsympathetic “poor you” I've heard in my life.' Harry unfolded his napkin and picked up his knife and fork.

‘So where's the sketchbook?' Toby held out his hand. ‘I promise not to get gravy over it.'

‘It's here, actually.' Harry lifted it from the seat of the empty chair next to him.

Toby opened the book out above his plate and turned the pages, studying the sketches in silence in between mouthfuls.

‘Well?' Harry demanded, unable to stand the suspense a moment longer.

‘You know what you're doing wrong, don't you?'

‘If I did, I wouldn't be talking to you about it,' Harry retorted touchily.

‘You've been looking for the perfect angle from which to paint the lake.'

‘I thought that was the point of making sketches, to see which one is the best.'

‘They're all the best. I mean that, Harry, some of these aren't half bad.'

‘Is that meant to be a compliment?' Harry asked cautiously.

‘Coming from me, high praise indeed. Like Frank, I'm overcritical of everyone else's work as well as my own. But then every artist worthy of holding a brush knows there is no such thing as a perfect perspective. And there won't be until he sees whatever he's painting through his own eyes, not some pseudo-critical view he's developed after reading a failed and disillusioned painter's guide to
Art and Its Creation.
You've swallowed too many books on art, and listened to too many opinions, Harry. But not to worry, it's the common mistake of a novice. Take my advice: be brave, bold and courageous, trust your own judgement more and listen to people less. Including me,' he added ironically.