Authors: Iris Gower
Brad had been warm and welcoming from the first, Maeve, harder to win round, was a staunchly independent old lady with strong views on life but she had softened as the days went on and had even offered Catherine advice: ‘Love is sometimes a mirage, here today and gone tomorrow. You know what they say, a bird in the hand is worth two in a bush.’
Catherine had not credited Maeve with such perception, that she was a woman of sound common sense was obvious, but Catherine felt that in Liam’s grandmother, she had found a friend.
She looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky. Soon it would be winter, the lands of Honey’s Farm would be lying asleep, waiting only for the spring sunshine to bring forth a new harvest.
She shook her head, without seed there would be nothing to grow, no harvest to gather. The farm would be plunged into desolation, the fields would grow wild with untamed grasses that would be hard to shift. Brambles, prickly, strong and remorseless, would reclaim the lower slopes of the farm.
She could picture it now: Honey’s Farm, little more than a wild hill on which children would play. Would it be such a bad thing? But she could not give up her birthright so easily; for the sake of her father’s memory, if nothing else, she must try to build the farm into a thriving business once more.
She felt strength surge through her. No! She would not give in without a struggle, she would just have to sell the bull. With the money she could make a fresh start, try to pull the lands back into shape, see the fields rich with golden corn once more.
She must go home, stand again on Welsh soil, breathe in the fresh sea breeze, stare at her beloved coastline; there, perhaps, she would find the courage to decide on her future. She might even entice her mother home to Honey’s Farm, one day.
Catherine felt fired with enthusiasm, she would show them all, especially Boyo Hopkins, just what she was made of. She would have to tell Liam of her decision as soon as possible. He had wanted to marry her right away, here in Ireland and, for a while, she wondered if that was what she wanted too. She rubbed her eyes, she did not know what she felt, for Liam or for Boyo. Damn them! Damn the men in her life, they tossed her emotions about as if they were playing God with her life. Well, she would find her own way, without either of them. Then, when she was financially secure, perhaps she could think about love and marriage and relationships with a clearer mind.
If she could put the farm back on its feet, she could consider selling it for a reasonable price, she would be free to make a fresh start in whatever direction she chose.
She rose to her feet and stared out at the coastline of Ireland; the green of the trees had turned to the brown of autumn, the sea washed the shore with clean white-edged waves. Ireland was a beautiful land but it was not her land; she must go home.
‘I don’t know why you are even thinking of taking this girl as your wife.’ Patricia was peeling potatoes, the bowl in her lap, the peelings dropping onto newspaper on the floor. ‘She’s nothing better than a street girl. She could be with child, have you thought of that, Liam?’
Oh, she was not with child, had she been pregnant Catherine would have hastily accepted his offer of an early marriage. In any case, she was not like that, she was the sort who would tell the truth and shame the devil. Catherine knew he would take her as his bride whatever the circumstances. He loved her, that much would be obvious to a blind man.
He was about to speak when his grandmother leaned forward and tapped her stick on the flagged floor. ‘Don’t be hasty, Patricia.’ She looked dryly at her granddaughter, ‘Just because your blood has never flowed hot enough for you to lie with a man, don’t blame those women who have been more fortunate.’
‘Gran!’ Patricia was outraged, ‘Anyone would think you admired the girl for her sordid past.’
Maeve smiled a dry little smile. ‘There are those of us who would not wish to see our past brought up before us, we are the women who are fortunate, who have enjoyed the favours of more than one man, who have lived, child, lived.’
‘So you think it fine to be loose then, do you, Grandmother?’ Patricia stopped peeling potatoes and stared across the room, her eyes hot and angry. Maeve shrugged.
‘I think ’tis sad to be a virgin when you are past five and twenty years.’
Patricia rose and banged the bowl against the table with a resounding thump. ‘So, if I go and lie in the barn with one of the field hands I will be considered fortunate, is that it?’
‘At least you would be considered human.’ Maeve sat back in her chair and closed her eyes indicating that the conversation was at an end. Patricia stared at her with two spots of colour in her cheeks, it was clear she was about to launch into an argument and Liam held up his hand.
‘No need for everyone to get so angry,’ he said evenly. ‘I am going to marry Catherine and that’s an end to it.’ He moved to the door and looked back into the kitchen. ‘Pat, try to like her, it would be so much easier if you did, we will be living together after all.’
Patricia turned her face away and, after a moment, Liam shook his head and closed the door behind him. He strode out across the fields, forging uphill to where he knew Catherine would be sitting.
The top of May’s field had become a favourite spot, perhaps one day he would build her a house up there so that she could watch the moods of the tide from the windows. There was enough land and enough money for him to do just as he liked. The farm had passed to Liam from his mother, his father had a stake in it, but only a small one, for it was Liam who had turned the land into the profitable arable and dairy farm it now was.
It had been troubling at first, the way he had spent money on newfangled ideas – the steam-ploughing machine had been a great bone of contention but it had paid off very quickly. The crops in the outer fields grew without the problems of root rot or worm; it seemed he had the touch, the golden touch which made everything turn into profit.
He had been a happy and contented man, enjoying the occasional favours of the country girls, making no commitments, wanting nothing more from life, until Catherine. Now he wanted her with a fire that burnt in his heart and in his guts. He would have her, however long he had to wait and instinct told him that he would need to be patient.
In the first flush of having consummated their union, he had believed she would marry him; later, he had not been so sure. Catherine, he learnt, was not the usual sort of woman, she did not take one night of lovemaking for a declaration of undying love. Once, Liam had welcomed such liberal thinking, enjoying the freedom of indulging in passion without the necessity of offering more. With Catherine it was different, so different.
She was there up on the hill, standing with the wind moulding her clothes to the lithe lines of her beautiful body. Her hair, free of ribbons, streamed like red-gold silk behind her, she was a goddess and he worshipped at her feet.
As he drew near, she turned to him with a smile and he took her in his arms, burying his face against the warmth of her neck. He breathed her sweetness and the urge to possess her rose irresistibly within him.
He drew her down into a hollow and touched the swell of her breasts. She clung to him, her eyes closed, not resisting him but not welcoming him either. He drew away from her. ‘Catherine, I would not take you against your will,’ he said softly, looking down into her face.
‘I’m glad,’ she said simply, ‘not all men are as considerate.’
Anger flared in him, so Hopkins had taken her by force, that was why Catherine had become his mistress. He felt the urge to kill and sat up, running his hand through the dark redness of his hair.
‘Liam, I’ve come to a decision: it’s time I went home,’ Catherine said and he turned to her, striving to keep control of his feelings.
‘When shall we leave?’ He was surprised to hear that his voice was calm.
‘Not us, me, I must do this alone. I will sell the bull and with the money buy seed, employ labourers again, try to pull the farm back to its feet. Then and only then can I think about marriage.’
‘I do have a chance then, do I?’ His attempt at lightness failed.
She reached towards him and touched his hand. ‘Of course you have a chance, Liam. You are a wonderful man, you do not sit in judgement on me, you do not try to force your will on me and I love you for it.’
So that was the secret of her, she needed to be gentled, like a nervous beast; led, not pushed. He rose to his feet. ‘Come on, then, let’s get back in time for supper or Gran will take her stick to my back.’
Catherine laughed, ‘Not much danger of that, my boy!’
‘You don’t know Grandma, a real dragon she is when she is angry.’
Together, they ran, hand in hand, like children, down the slope of the hillside and towards the welcoming smoke rising from the chimney of the farmhouse.
Resting in the large room that looked on to the grey rock-face, Bethan stared unseeingly into the darkness. She had successfully completed her sale of the inn and all its contents and her bank balance was even healthier than it had been before. But that brought her small consolation.
She had left the home she had shared with Boyo since her marriage and moved to Ty Craig to be with her father. He had told her not to harbour any regrets, that Boyo was not worthy of her, but none of it made her feel any better.
As for regrets, she had a great many of them but she also had an iron core of determination. She could not and would not endure being scorned by her husband, have him sleeping under the same roof but knowing it was another woman he wanted.
She had believed, at first, that she could deal with it, weather the storm, so to speak; after all, many husbands strayed. But in the end, his love for Catherine had become like a wound festering inside her.
A knock on the door startled her, she knew who it would be. She had arranged for him to call during the time her father took his afternoon rest. She moved slowly from her chair and crossed the room, opening the door just enough to admit the man standing outside in the corridor. Behind him, a maid fluttered anxiously and Bethan waved her away impatiently.
‘It’s done.’ The man was well-dressed as he should be; he was one of her father’s oldest acquaintances.
‘Well done, Uncle Tom.’ She led the way towards the ornate fireplace and gestured towards one of the upholstered chairs. ‘Tell me all about it.’
Tom took a seat and stared at her, a small smile curving his mouth beneath the greying moustache. ‘The beast has been gelded, there will be no more prize heifers from that source.’
‘The creature has not been harmed?’
Tom smiled more broadly. ‘Well, the taking away of a creature’s fertility is no laughing matter, especially when it is such a fine specimen as the bull on Honey’s Farm turned out to be, but no, the animal will live a healthy life, but its only use will be as beef to put on the table.’
For a moment, Bethan felt a pang of horror at what she had done. It had been quite calculating, she had wiped out the one disposable asset that might save Honey’s Farm. Well, it was no more than that bitch deserved! If you took another woman’s husband, you asked for all you got.
‘You will be able to buy the land at a rock-bottom price in a matter of only a few weeks, though why you should want it beats me.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Uncle Tom,’ Bethan said quietly. ‘I have been feeling restless lately, not knowing what it is I want out of life, perhaps the farm will prove a new challenge for me.’
‘Look,
cariad
,’ Tom said quietly, ‘the girl is ruined, the farm is in a terrible state, forget it, the land will be a liability to you.’ He paused, waiting for Bethan to speak but she remained silent.
‘In any case,’ he said hastily, ‘you and that fine husband of yours can patch things up, can’t you? After all, a great many men have a little fancy piece on the side, it means nothing and I should know, I wasn’t always faithful and yet I loved my wife dearly.’
Bethan sighed. ‘This girl, the one who owns the farm, I just can’t forgive her, she’s beautiful, she could have any man but she took mine.’ She felt the heat of anger rise to her cheeks as she waited for Tom to tell her she was a wicked woman. Instead, she heard him chuckle.
‘Well, well, it’s true then, hell hath no fury!’
She sat up straighter. ‘That’s right, Uncle Tom, I’m a scorned woman, my husband would prefer a little tramp to me. Well, he can have her and she can have him but she must feel hurt as I feel hurt, she must learn that one cannot have everything in life.’
Tom sighed, his laughter vanished. ‘Just so long as you don’t hurt yourself, my lovely girl; revenge is not very sweet, take it from me.’
When he had gone, Bethan sat in the chair near the window and stared out into the darkness for a long time, lost in unhappy thoughts. At last she closed the curtains and lit the lamp, her eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light.
Over the fireplace, the portrait of Elizabeth Llewellyn looked down at her and it seemed there was a hint of sympathy in those dark eyes, but that was just a trick of the lamplight.
Bethan prepared herself to join her father for dinner but her thoughts kept returning to Boyo and to that woman who had ruined everything for them.
What would Catherine O’Conner feel when she came home and learned that her prize bull had been castrated? Would she know, with some deep, womanly instinct, who was behind the evil deed? Bethan clasped her hands together, a thin smile on her lips, she hoped so, she sincerely hoped so. It was time Catherine learned that she had made a very powerful enemy.
It was strange to be back in Swansea. Liam had wanted to come with her but Catherine had persuaded him she would be better off going alone. She needed to be her own woman, to give herself time to think clearly about her life.
She walked from town up the hill towards the farm, pausing once or twice to regain her breath. Turning, she looked back to where, in the valley, the untidy buildings of Swansea huddled together, lit here and there with lamps as the darkness moved in. It was a long walk and a tiring one but soon she would be in her own house, asleep in her own bed, the thought warmed her.