Sea Mistress (10 page)

She washed quickly, the morning air was chill in spite of the sunshine, and dressed in her Sunday clothes. Today, there would be no work in the tannery, it would be a quiet day spent reading the Bible and if Jubilee was up to it attending morning and evening service at St Mary's church situated at the centre of the town.

Ellie tied a fresh linen apron over her good skirt and stood for a moment staring down at Jubilee. He was breathing heavily in his sleep. His eyelids fluttered as though he was beset by dreams. Ellie smiled indulgently, he was so precious to her, her buffer against the world.

It was cold in the kitchen, the rag mat before the blackleaded fire grate offered little protection from the bare flagstones beneath. It was surprising that in such a finely built house, so gracious in its proportions, there was little comfort.

When the fire in the kitchen was glowing with life, Ellie moved to the parlour and lit the fire there. It was lit only on Sundays, to save coal, most of the weekdays and nights were spent in the kitchen.

She cursed the cold fire grate and tried again to kindle the sticks. She was as inept at this sort of work as she was at any other but then she had never been used to manual labour, not of the rough kind.

In her parents' house, there had been servants to do the menial tasks and Ellie had accepted the everyday luxuries her comfortable way of life had afforded her without a second thought.

It took some time to set fire to the sticks and the paper and lumps of strategically placed coal but at last there was a cheerful glow in the parlour.

Back in the kitchen, the kettle danced and spat, issuing forth steam. She poured some of the boiling water into an enamel bowl, she would cool it with water from the jug in the bedroom, then she poured hot water into a mug ready for Jubilee to shave.

She wished for a moment that she could afford the services of a cook and a maid but Jubilee would have laughed at such an idea.

Jubilee liked his day of rest to be special, Ellie liked it too, the ceremony of Sundays made a happy break in the working week. She would rouse Jubilee from his sleep and then, when they'd talked awhile, she would cook him a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs and fried bread. Or maybe today he'd like some salt fish for a change, she had a few pieces soaking in a bowl overnight just in case.

She climbed the stairs, balancing the bowl on her arm and pushed the door open with her foot. The sun was filling the room with bars of light now. She rested the bowl on the table near the sunwashed window and turned to the bed. Jubilee's eyes were open but he didn't appear to see her.

Ellie sat down on the patchwork quilt beside him and stroked his face. His eyes seemed to focus then, lucidity returned.

‘This is it, my love, time to say goodbye.' His voice was thin, his chin under the stubble of his beard quivered but with weakness rather than fear. ‘Time to say goodbye,' he repeated.

Ellie felt a moment of sheer panic. ‘No, Jubie, you were fine yesterday, you were talking about the future, about Matthew being married with a brood of children. Oh, I must do something, I must call the doctor.'

‘Don't bother with the doctor,' Jubilee was struggling to speak, ‘too late for that, my lovely girl.' His eyes closed for a moment with the effort. He opened his eyes very slowly again, staring into her face, as though memorizing it.

‘I've loved you the best way I knew how, Ellie. I'm sorry I'm going to leave you before I've sorted everything out.' He sighed softly, ‘Matthew will be married soon, he told me, it will be all right . . .' His voice faltered a little, ‘You must think only of what's best for you now, my girl.' His chest heaved once and then the light slowly faded from his eyes. He looked, Ellie thought abstractedly, like a small boy fallen asleep.

‘Jubilee!' she said his name urgently but there was no response. In truth, she had expected none. She put her head on his chest where only hours ago she had felt the beat of his heart, now there was only stillness.

Ellie wished she could cry, tears would bring some relief but her pain went too deep, she had lost the man who had become dearer to her than her own father. She tucked the covers under her husband's chin as if, even now, she could warm him to life.

She didn't know how long she sat there with the spring sunshine patterning the bed, the walls, the ceiling, in a mockery of lightness and hope, she only knew there was a great emptiness inside her, love had gone completely from her life. But then love was a painful thing, it was best done without.

At last, she rose to her feet; there were matters to attend to, she must occupy her thoughts and her hands with necessary arrangements, arrangements that would remove the last vestiges of her husband for ever from her life. Perhaps, she thought, though with faint hope, once the funeral was over, once Jubilee was laid properly to rest, the pain within her would ease but she did not believe it.

At the door she turned and stood for a long moment, looking back at her husband. Already he had changed, he was a mere shell, he was no longer her Jubie.

‘God bless, my love,' she whispered the words before she closed the bedroom door firmly behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

‘You want me to go to see Mrs Hopkins, just me?' Daniel felt excitement flow through him. He squared his shoulders, this was his first real assignment for
The Times
and though he would only be writing an obituary, at least Miss Smale was evincing a measure of trust in his abilities that was gratifying.

‘You will handle it sensitively, of course.' It wasn't a question, Arian was speaking matter of factly and Daniel was flattered.

‘I will choose my words with care, you may be sure of that, Miss Smale.' He picked up his pen from the desk and tucked his notebook into his pocket. ‘How many words would you suggest?'

‘I'll leave that to your judgement, Daniel.' Arian looked beautiful this morning, Daniel could hardly keep his eyes from her. She wore a crisp white blouse with a frilled neckline and the black, rather plain skirt emphasized her slimness.

He was well aware that she looked on his regard as nothing more than puppy love and perhaps she was right but he had never met a woman he admired more than he did Miss Smale.

Daniel came from a good background, his parents were not rich by any means, certainly not in Arian Smale's league but the Bennetts were a well respected Swansea family with a modest property on the edge of the Uplands. He'd been to the college on Mount Pleasant hill and had enjoyed his studies tremendously. But all the while he'd been learning Geography and Mathematics, he'd wanted more from life. He had always harboured a love of words and so it seemed the sensible course to pursue was to learn the art of journalism.

‘Well, off you go then,' Arian Smale looked away from him as Mac entered the office in a rush of fresh air. Daniel recognized that Mac was a brilliant writer, he had a gift for words that Daniel envied. He was sometimes dour and unapproachable but then, out of the blue, he would offer a gem of good advice which Daniel would seize upon eagerly.

‘Right. I'll do my best, you can be sure of it.' Daniel picked up his hat from the stand near the door and Mac looked at him with large brown eyes filled with something very much like amusement.

‘You're going to do the obit on Jubilee Hopkins, then?' He allowed the smile to creep across his mouth. ‘Beware of the stink up at the tannery, it's to be hoped that you've got a strong stomach, lad.'

Daniel hated being called ‘lad' especially with Arian standing there looking on. Still, he was determined to allow nothing to spoil his moment of triumph. ‘Strong enough,' he said smoothly. ‘I know enough about tanneries to understand it's no bed of lavender.'

There was silence and Daniel had the feeling, suddenly, that he'd been a trifle too confident, this was after all his first lone assignment.

‘I'd better go then,' he still hesitated wondering if there was something he could say to retrieve the situation, he didn't want anyone, especially Arian, thinking he was conceited.

‘It's a long walk.' Mac's laconic remark goaded Daniel into movement and he left the office determined that he would come back with some unusual angle on this old man and then he would write the best obit he was capable of.

It was indeed a long walk out to the tannery but even before he reached the folds of Kilvey Hill and passed beyond, he thought he could detect the faintly nauseating smell of drying animal skins.

He would be spared actually going into the tannery itself, the yard was no place for a lady. He guessed he would find Mrs Hopkins weeping within the confines of her house. And so it turned out to be when he enquired after her at the tannery entrance.

From the outside, the house appeared quite grand, sprawling across a large piece of ground higher up than the tannery boundary. The curtains were drawn against the morning sun, a sign of mourning and suddenly Daniel felt ill equipped to deal with the pain of a bereaved old lady.

The door was opened to his knock quite quickly and a petite young woman dressed in black looked out at him shading her eyes with her hand, apparently dazzled by the sudden fall of sunlight across her face.

She was very pretty in a fair, rather delicate way, her hair was caught back in a bun and her breasts swelled becomingly beneath the dark pleating of her bodice. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief, at least he would not be seeing the widow alone. This young lady, he presumed, was a daughter of the deceased.

‘I'm from
The Swansea Times
, miss, Daniel Bennett, I'm sorry to intrude on such a sad time but I would like to write an obituary that will do justice to Mr Jubilee Hopkins. Are you his daughter?'

She stood back to allow him to enter and he could see that the proportions of the hallway were impressive. At some time, years ago, this would have been a very much sought after property but now with the adjacent tannery it would be less than desirable.

‘Come into the parlour won't you?' The girl spoke in cultured tones and looked up at him with large beautiful eyes and he felt a wave of protective warmth sweep over him. She seemed so vulnerable and yet so dignified in her grief.

The room was empty. The grate was swept clean, innocent of coal, there was no fire and the air was chill in spite of the sunshine outside. Also, he noticed, it was surprisingly shabby.

‘Please sit down,' she gestured to a chair and though her hands were small, Daniel could not help noticing that they were work roughened and stained. It must be that the girl was obliged to carry out manual work in the tannery but this was not unusual where a business was a family concern. And yet, she was so soft, so delicate, she should be spared the toil of the yards.

How Jubilee Hopkins conducted his affairs was none of his business, he reminded himself. He was here to do a job, nothing more. The first rule of journalism was not to get involved and he was in danger of breaking it already.

Would you like some cordial, perhaps?' She moved to the door as though anticipating his acceptance and he smiled.

‘That would be lovely, thank you.' It might be easier to talk if his mouth wasn't so dry. He recognized that he was nervous. This was a part of writing he'd not anticipated. This was dealing with real flesh and blood people, people who were grieving and he wasn't sure he was experienced enough to cope with such a situation.

She returned after a few minutes with a tray, apparently there was no maid and, handing him a glass, she sat down opposite him. ‘Sorry there's no fire in here, we're waiting for a delivery of coal. Jubilee usually brings in a stock but he's had other things on his mind lately.' She looked at him with those large, lovely eyes and he swallowed hard. He desperately tried to think of something to say.

‘I'm Mrs Hopkins, Ellie,' she broke the silence. ‘I'd be pleased to give you any information about my husband that you need. I want you to do him justice, he was a fine man.'

Shock waves ran through him, this pale girl was wife to the old man, that was a surprise. He made an effort to marshall his thoughts. To give himself time, he consulted his sparse notes. ‘Mr Hopkins was past eighty, is that correct?'

‘Yes,' her voice was low. ‘My husband was hale and hearty until a few weeks ago.' Her voice trembled, ‘It was only lately that he . . . well I'd never seen him sick before, it was dreadful.'

She put her hand up to her face for a moment as if overcome and then she seemed to draw a deep breath and regain her self-control. ‘Sorry, I didn't mean to sound self-pitying.'

‘It's quite understandable in the circumstances,' he coughed. ‘I'll personally take care to give your husband his due, I do assure you, Mrs Hopkins.'

It seemed scarcely credible, this girl looked little more than his own age, how could she bear to be married to an old man like Jubilee Hopkins, however fine he was? Was her grief genuine? It certainly seemed it.

‘Perhaps you can tell me when he was born and where, that sort of thing.' Daniel searched his mind for the information usually contained in obituaries. ‘And what works he did for the community, you know the sort of thing.'

‘I don't really.' The girl, he couldn't think of her as Mrs Hopkins, seemed at a loss and Daniel knew it was his fault. He should be asking pertinent questions not expecting her to know the form.

‘Just tell me all about him, I'll write it down and sort it out when I get to the office,' he tried to sound reassuring but he didn't quite succeed.

Ellie smiled at him then and he saw the charm and beauty of her, the fragile loveliness illuminating her pale skin. Her hair was fair, almost silver. She was like a madonna. He was embarrassed by the extravagance of his feelings and coughed again to hide the rush of colour to his face.