Authors: Iris Gower
‘Quite rightly.’ Craig took up his glass and watching him, Hari thought what a handsome man he still was. There was a touch of grey at his temples, there were creases around his mouth but his lips were still as tantalizing as ever; his body strong, his shoulders broad.
‘Remember how we first met?’ She leant her chin on her hands and stared across the table at him.
‘How could I ever forget? There you were, a scared little rabbit, standing in the kitchen of the house at World’s End. You were staring at me with those huge eyes and yet defying me at every turn in spite of your fear.’
‘And you looked like a wild man,’ Hari retorted. ‘Hair hanging over your shoulders, your clothes in tatters, I thought a mad man had come into my kitchen.’
‘I think I fell in love with you then.’ Craig spoke soberly. ‘I had never met a girl like you, a girl of spirit, of fire as well as beauty.’
‘Go on, I was far beneath you,’ Hari said softly. ‘I was Angharad Morgan, shoemaker’s daughter and you were the great Craig Grenfell, owner of a thriving leather business.’
‘Ah! But I was also a convicted criminal, accused of betraying the trust of my shareholders. But you believed in my innocence, I’ll never forget that, not if I live to be a hundred.’
He rose from the table and took her hand, drawing her from her chair. ‘Come here, I want to make love to you.’ He kissed her neck, his mouth warm and Hari responded, as she always did, to his touch.
‘Have I ever told you how much I love you?’ he whispered against her hair. He placed his hands on her cheeks and looked down at her. ‘Don’t ever leave me, will you, Hari? And don’t ever change from the lovely, loving woman you are.’
She closed her eyes and leaned against him. ‘I want to go to bed with you.’ She whispered the words though no-one else was there to hear her.
In the bedroom, she fell across the silk quilt. ‘What would our strait-laced neighbours think of us?’ she giggled. ‘Behaving like children at our time of life.’
‘I think the neighbours must be used to our funny ways by now, Hari, don’t you? In any case, we have much more interesting things to do than talk about them.’
His mouth was hot on hers and her laughter vanished as she clung to him, loving him, wanting him as much as she had when she was seventeen years old.
‘You’d better start talking before I beat the living daylights out of you!’ Boyo shook the man, his hands around his skinny throat. ‘Talk to me, where is she? Where is Catherine O’Conner?’
‘Leave him alone.’ The voice rang out behind him and Boyo, turning, saw a tall woman bearing down on him, her sacking apron flapping in the wind. ‘Jacob don’t know nothing, I’ll tell you what I know but leave the boy alone.’
Boyo released the man so suddenly that he fell on his back into the mud of the yard.
‘The girl was brought here by Jacob and it’s grateful to him you should be, not shaking the living daylights out of him. Bad she was, hurt, like; I cared for her as if she was my own.’
‘Where is she now?’ He strode towards the small hut and held his breath at the meanness of the place. Through an open door, he saw a narrow bed and his heart contracted in fear as he thought of Catherine lying there sick and in pain.
‘Where is she now?’ He repeated the words in a hard voice and the woman looked away.
‘Gorn ’ome I suppose, left here some days ago.’
‘How? Did she walk? Was she driven? Speak, woman.’
The woman swallowed hard. ‘Jacob took her in the cart, wheel broke though and he had to let her off, somewhere between here and Swansea. She’d be ’ome by now I ’spects.’
‘You said she was sick, hurt. What happened to her and was she taken proper care of?’
‘Don’ know what happened but we had the doctor to her. Not too bad, she wasn’t, just bruises like.’
‘And who paid for the doctor?’ Boyo said quickly, too quickly. The woman looked away.
‘Came for nothing, friend of mine, see. She’s not here now though and I can’t tell you no more.’
It was clear that there was more behind the story than the woman was prepared to tell, someone had paid her very well to keep her mouth shut.
He caught the skinny young man by his collar. ‘You are coming with me, you are going to show me exactly where you took Catherine.’ He turned for a moment to glance back at the hut and he shuddered. ‘Come on,’ he said harshly to the cowering man, ‘the sooner we get on our way the better.’
Catherine woke to the sound of birdsong and, at first, when she opened her eyes, she thought she was home in Honey’s Farm, safe in her own bed. Then the unfamiliar room came into focus, the light of the morning spreading patterns across the bed. Catherine blinked and sat up straight and memories came flooding back. She was destitute, she had lost everything.
She rose and washed quickly, shivering in the cold bedroom. Tentatively, feeling as though she was prying, she opened the wardrobe and took out a few of Hari Grenfell’s clothes. After a moment, she selected a clean blouse and a dark, sensible skirt and a neat jacket which buttoned all the way down the front from throat to hip.
It was warmer in the small living-room, the stove was still alight but it was clear it would need stoking. Careful not to damage the borrowed clothes, Catherine built up the coals and soon the stove began to roar like a beast, the flames bursting into comforting life.
With tea on the way, Catherine began to feel her spirits rise. She moved to the small window and looked out at the green of the grounds around the big house. She felt hope rise within her, perhaps today Hari Grenfell would learn something more about the farm. She was a powerful lady, there was no doubt about that, but even Hari Grenfell could not claim back the farm for Catherine if it really had been sold.
Soon Catherine began to hear sounds of movement on the shop-floor, the girls were arriving for work, chattering voices drew nearer to the door and then the room seemed full of people.
‘
Duw
, what are you doing here. New girl, are you?’ A tall thin young woman was looking down at Catherine with some surprise, her rather elegant hat slipping from her head, her coat buttoned unevenly so that the hem dipped lopsidedly over her thin legs.
‘I’m just staying here for a few days,’ Catherine explained, liking the girl’s open expression and strangely odd appearance.
‘I’m Doreen Meadows, chief hatter here, though you wouldn’t think of it to look at me would you?’ she said ruefully. ‘Cup of tea on the go, is there, love?’
Catherine refilled the kettle. ‘Sorry, I seem to have drunk the potful.’
‘Don’t be sorry, that’s my salvation first thing in the morning, a nice cuppa, couldn’t come to without it. Aye, as I was saying, I’m chief hatter, make the designs and supervise the cutting and shaping, been doing it all my life. These young things here work in the glove department, noisy lot they are too.’
A few of the girls stared at Catherine in curiosity but Doreen flapped them away with her hands. ‘Go on then, the work won’t do itself, mind. There’s shelves to be filled, chairs to be dusted, plenty of things to do before the customers start arriving.’
When they were alone, Doreen turned her cheerful smile on Catherine. ‘How come you’re staying here, then?’ Doreen looked neat now in a black skirt and matching jacket which, with care, she had buttoned correctly.
‘I had nowhere else to go.’
‘Right, that sounds like the boss.’ Doreen was making a futile effort to tidy her bird’s nest of hair. ‘Bugger it, it will have to do, the customers won’t be looking at my kisser anyway. Too busy looking down their noses at the likes of me to actually notice me.’
‘Don’t you live in, any of you?’ Catherine asked and Doreen shook her head.
‘No spare rooms here except these few. In any case, Mrs Grenfell takes on married women, mostly, like me, with sick husbands or no husbands at all. Lets us all live out ’cos it’s handy-like for the kids. Don’t moan if we have to take a day off now and then, don’t dock our pay, either. Marvellous woman Mrs Grenfell, not many bosses like her about. Well, I suppose I’d better be getting my girls organized or there will be no orders filled this side of Christmas!’
When Doreen had departed, the room seemed strangely empty and Catherine refilled the kettle. She needed hot water to wash up the accumulation of cups and saucers. Apart from the ache in her ankle, Catherine felt almost normal, as if she was beginning to rejoin the human race.
It was late afternoon when Hari Grenfell let herself quietly into the rooms at the back of the emporium. She seated herself in a chair and folded her gloves in her lap. It was clear she had just returned home from town and had news for Catherine.
‘Have you found out anything?’ Catherine could hardly breathe for the suspense she felt as she waited for a reply to her question. Hari looked at her for a long moment.
‘It seems that there were two bidders for the farm.’ Her words fell into the silence and Catherine felt her heart sink; so it was true her home was gone for ever.
‘Who were they?’ tears threatened to run, humiliatingly, down Catherine’s cheeks.
‘One, the successful bidder, was Mrs Hopkins, wife of Boyo Hopkins who owns the local tannery.’
Catherine bit her lip. So Boyo’s wife had bought the farm, though what interest she had in farming was a mystery.
‘The other interested party was someone I don’t know,’ Hari said, ‘a Mr Liam Cullen from Ireland.’
‘I see.’ Catherine was silent. Liam and Boyo, both of them wanting to take her home from her, to make her beholden to them. Well, they could both go to hell, they would find she could not be bought, not at any price.
‘Mrs Grenfell, do you think you could find me a job here?’ she asked. ‘I know I’m ignorant of shop work, I don’t know if I would fit in but I promise I would do my best to be a good worker.’
‘Of course I can find you a job and I’m sorry about the farm, I know it’s been in the family for a long time.’
‘Well, that’s in the past, I have to make my own way in the world now. I’ve been frightened, I’ve felt beaten and ill-used, now I am just angry and I am determined to make my life a success without depending on any man.’
Hari smiled. ‘You remind me of myself when I was your age,’ she said softly.
‘Well, I don’t think I have a chance of being as successful as you, Mrs Grenfell.’ Catherine’s tone was rueful. ‘You are talented, poised and beautiful, I’m just a simple farm girl, a foolish girl, putting my trust in faithless men. From now on I’m going to put all my energies into working and making something of myself.’
‘Don’t be too hard on men,’ Hari said, ‘they are not all rogues and despots.’
‘I know,’ Catherine said, ‘I can’t blame anyone but myself for what’s happened. But I was a fool, I gave too freely of myself and I realize it doesn’t pay.’
Hari Grenfell sighed and shook her head. ‘You will get over your bitterness in time. You are a lovely young woman, with the most glorious hair and such looks that would turn any man’s head. One day, you will find true love. In the meantime, like me, you need to be your own woman.’
Mrs Grenfell rose to her feet. ‘Take this week to recuperate from your accident and then you can start work in the store. You will start at the bottom as all my ladies did, you will be making the tea and cleaning the floors at night. Show aptitude and you will earn promotion. For the time being, until you are better suited, please treat these rooms as your home.’
Catherine watched as Hari took up her gloves and moved to the door. ‘Mrs Grenfell, thank you for giving me this chance, you won’t regret it, I promise you.’
When she was alone, Catherine stared around her, she had a home and she had a job, at least that was a start. She was well aware that Mrs Grenfell took in women who were lame ducks but, she thought, she would rise above it, she would drag herself up out of the mire and, one day, she would show the world what she was really made of.
‘What do you mean, someone is out to make trouble for me, who is it?’ Bethan stared at her solicitor, her brow furrowed, anger surging through her.
‘This man, this kin of Catherine O’Conner’s, he wishes to have an inquiry into the way the farm was sold.’
‘I see, you mean that Irishman, Cullen. Well, Riddler, if you can’t deal with this person yourself, then perhaps I can.’
‘Take care, Mrs Hopkins, you must handle this with caution. Please do not do anything hasty.’
‘Caution? Don’t be so weak-kneed, man, this Irish fellow needs to be drummed out of town. Who does he think he is, coming here and dictating to his betters?’ Bethan glared at the man and he looked away, unable to meet the scorn in her eyes.
‘Liam Cullen,’ the solicitor said uneasily, ‘is no fool and you and I know that the sale was rather … rather …’ his words trailed away and Riddler rubbed his nose anxiously.
‘Rather hasty? So what? There’s nothing to worry about, not if you keep your nerve. Where will I find this Cullen fellow?’
‘He’s staying at a hotel in town, he is a very rich and influential young man. He has brought a clever Irish lawyer over here with him; he means to make trouble, I think it would be just as well to placate him.’
‘You could be right.’ Bethan rose to her feet. ‘The name and address of this hotel, if you please.’
Riddler sighed and tore a leaf from his notepad, writing hurriedly. ‘Again, I urge you to be cautious.’ He looked at her but avoided her eyes. ‘You must be seen to be an honourable businesswoman, there can be no hint of anything untoward.’
‘I am well aware of that, I am not an idiot.’ Bethan gave him a withering glance. ‘I had expected more guts from you but there, you are a mere man, easily outwitted. Good day to you.’
Outside, Bethan waved away the coach driver and began to walk towards the Castle Hotel. A pale sun was shimmering through the trees but Bethan did not notice, she had more important matters to think about.
She found Liam Cullen in residence. A servant showed her into the plush sitting-room where a few middle-aged men and an elderly lady working at her needle-point were sitting.
‘That’s Mr Cullen there, madam.’ The servant pointed to a young man with reddish hair relaxing near the sunny window.