Authors: Iris Gower
‘You’ve been with
her
, haven’t you?’ It sounded like an accusation and Boyo looked at her in surprise.
‘Sometimes I wonder where you get your powers of perception from, Bethan.’
She knew, oh, yes, she knew all right, the spirits were around her now, friends brought by Elizabeth gathered close, supporting her, leading her. Elizabeth spoke from within her, Bethan’s mouth opened and the words came out. ‘She’s evil, she will do you harm. You must keep away from Catherine O’Conner or she will bring about your downfall.’
Boyo’s shoulders stiffened but he didn’t look at her. When he spoke, he sounded defensive. ‘She’s an ordinary girl, she has had everything she knew and loved snatched away from her. The harm you speak of has been done to her, not to me.’
It was a rebuke, Bethan knew that and she longed to cry out to her husband, tell him that what had happened to Catherine O’Conner was simple justice. The girl would be the death of Boyo, he was a fool not to realize it. She held her tongue as the door opened and a maid bobbed a curtsey, her eyes downcast.
Cara was afraid of Bethan, her manner made that obvious. She thought her fey, mysterious and had talked below stairs of hushed voices in the bedroom. Bethan was aware of the maid’s feelings but did not feel it necessary to do anything to dispel the girl’s fears.
‘There’s a … gentleman to see you, Mrs Hopkins.’ Bethan stared at her, aware of the hesitation before the word ‘gentleman’. She knew at once who the caller was.
‘Take him to the drawing-room, give him tea, tell him I shall be with him presently.’
‘A gentleman caller, is it?’ Boyo’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell on stony ground. Bethan rose from her chair and faced her husband.
‘If you will excuse me, I have some business I must attend to. Perhaps you will call to see me again, Boyo; I’d like that.’ She rested her hand for a moment on his cheek and with an involuntary movement, he drew away.
Behind her, the spirits whispered their disapproval and in her mind she comforted them, telling them it was the evil influence of Catherine O’Conner that made Boyo act in such a way. Boyo must be worked on, persuaded to see where his best interests lay. Bethan was confident that he would be a loving husband once more, given time.
Boyo paused at the front door, peering across the dark hall towards the sitting-room, trying to see who her visitor might be. Bethan hid a smile, so he was not so insensitive to her as he liked to pretend, perhaps he was even a little jealous of her mysterious caller.
She watched as the groom helped Boyo to mount his horse. As he rode away, he looked tall and handsome, it was only when he was hidden from sight by the sheltering trees that Bethan turned towards the drawing-room.
As she entered the room, Meadows rose to his feet, bowing slightly as though she were royalty.
‘Please sit, Sergeant Meadows. Tell me, have you found out anything I should know?’
He half smiled. ‘I certainly have. I put one of my trusted men to watch on the household where this woman lives.’ He paused and Bethan waved her hand impatiently.
‘Go on.’
‘Catherine O’Conner paid a visit to a certain type of woman, a medical woman, if you get my meaning.’
‘Speak plainly, man.’ Bethan felt a prickling of excitement as she recognized what the policeman was trying to say but she wanted him to spell it out, so that she could be sure.
‘This woman was a backstreet midwife, of sorts, the type more inclined to get rid of a nipper rather than bring one into the world.’
‘An abortionist, a backstreet abortionist, that’s what you mean isn’t it?’
‘Yes Mrs Hopkins, that’s just what I mean.’
‘Any idea who the man is?’
‘Well, Jerry Danby, one of my constables, has been hanging round the house quite a lot lately. Fancies the girl, he does, been sniffing round the place like a dog after a bitch on heat.’
Bethan, who had urged the man to speak plainly, now deplored his crude remarks. Nevertheless, the gist of what he was saying pleased her. It was clear that Catherine O’Conner, not content with bedding a married man, was now sleeping with this Constable Danby and had found herself in trouble.
Bethan took a deep breath of triumph, the O’Conner slut had conceived a child and it had been aborted. That choice piece of information would be useful. She could picture the disbelief on Boyo’s face but that disbelief would be wiped away by the testimony of Sergeant Meadows.
She moved to the ornate sideboard, seeing her own reflection in the oval mirror above it with a sigh of displeasure. She was old, an old woman and Catherine was young, zestful, eager for the joys of the flesh. Bethan sighed; but those joys would turn to sorrow, when the time was right.
She took out an envelope containing some money and handed it to Meadows. ‘You have done very well, keep up the good work.’ She forced a smile even though she despised the man for his gauche, common manner. She despised his false air of servility, his coarse speech, his dirty nails. Yet he was useful to her, at least for the moment. He was the perfect spy: he had access to the house because of his estranged wife, so he could watch on Catherine O’Conner at close quarters.
When Meadows left, Bethan sank down in a chair and closed her eyes. The room was quiet, dreamy in the soft sunlight. Outside the windows the birds sang, bees droned in the honeysuckle but Bethan heard none of it, she had retreated into the private, comforting place where the spirits communed with her. They were her comfort and support, the spirits were her friends, they would take care of her, lead her to her destiny. She sighed softly as she felt herself drop into the other world, the world where she could forget she was old, where she could be beautiful and loved, where she could be happy.
Catherine opened the door and froze as she saw Meadows standing on the doorstep. His mouth twisted into a sneer as he pushed past her into the heat of the sunlit kitchen.
‘What do you want?’ Catherine demanded, hiding her hands as she tried to stop them trembling. The man moved closer and Catherine could smell the stale odour of him.
‘Shut your gob, slut.’ He spoke the words so casually that Catherine did not at first believe she had heard right. Anger burned through her, replacing her fear.
‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ she said hotly. He caught her arm and twisted it behind her back.
‘I’ll speak to you any way I want to, whore!’ He slipped his hand into her bodice, grasping her breast with cruel fingers.
Catherine moved swiftly, she kicked Meadows as hard as she could and put the breadth of the kitchen table between them. She dragged open a drawer and took out a knife. ‘Touch me again and I’ll kill you.’ She said in a cold flat voice. Meadows drew back a little, seeing that she meant every word.
‘Like you killed that baby you were carrying?’ His words were like stones and for a moment, he wondered if he was wrong when he saw the naked surprise on her face. ‘It was you saw that old woman, wasn’t it?’ His voice had hardened.
Catherine swallowed hard, her thoughts were whirling, she could not give Doreen away, could not tell this man that Doreen’s hatred of him was so great she could not stand the thought of his child growing within her. ‘And if it was me, is that any business of yours?’ she hedged.
‘So you can let Jerry Danby up your skirts but not old Meadows.’ He had recovered his composure and sat astride one of the kitchen chairs leering at her. ‘Like to ride the young bucks, is that it? Well, don’t forget there’s many a fine tune played on an old fiddle, I could show you some things that Danby hasn’t even learned yet.’
Catherine swallowed hard, she had driven herself into a corner and it was going to be difficult to escape from it. She forced herself to speak firmly. ‘Mind your own business, I don’t have to answer to anyone, least of all you, do you understand me?’
He rose threateningly and Catherine stood her ground staring up at him, the knife held before her, challenging him to come any nearer.
‘I could break you in two with my bare hands, you silly bitch,’ he said in a growl. ‘I could have my way with you and you couldn’t stop me.’
‘You would have to kill me then,’ Catherine said, her voice deadly calm. ‘Because after you’d done with me, I would be straight round to your superiors to make a complaint about you. You’d be discredited, out of a job, all your petty power gone and I don’t think you’d like that one bit.’
Her words had the desired effect, Meadows was silent for a moment and then he shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want you anyway, soiled goods are not to my liking, fussy I am about where I gives my favours.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘Gone to the market. Search the place if you don’t believe me.’ Catherine stared at him unwaveringly. He turned without another word and left the house and she sank down into a chair, feeling suddenly weak. She dropped the knife, she had been clutching it so hard that there were grooves along the palm of her hand.
She was still sitting there when Doreen came into the house, her steps slow, she was still weak after losing the baby. She was carrying a bag, from which jutted a stiff piece of board and she smiled cheerfully. ‘I’ve been buying materials for making some new hats.’ She was still pale and thin, her eyes shadowed, but she was as perceptive as ever.
‘Hell fire, what’s got into you?’ She dumped her bag on the table and leaned forward, her bony shoulders protruding through the thin material of her coat. ‘You are as white as a sheet, love you, what’s happened?’
Catherine swallowed hard. ‘It’s nothing, Meadows…’
‘So that bastard has been here, has he?’
Catherine made an effort to gather her wits and sat back in her chair, easing the tension from her arms and hands. ‘Aye, he’s been here, he knows about the … the visit you paid to that woman.’
Doreen sank down into a chair opposite her and shook her head, her mouth compressed into a straight line. Appearing suddenly, as though painted on with a brush, harrowed lines settled across her forehead. ‘Oh, my Gawd!’
Catherine forced herself to speak reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I let him think it was me who was seeing Ma Piper.’
Doreen banged the table with her fist. ‘The bastard had no right to come here in the first place, we pay the rent, not ’im.’ She looked down at the knife, pushing it away gingerly with her foot. ‘He threatened you, didn’t he?’
‘He tried to, I said I’d report him to his superiors if he touched me, that stopped him in his tracks.’
Doreen sighed heavily. ‘Your good name will be dragged through the mud, that’s what my precious husband will do. He can’t stand anyone facing up to him. He’ll have it in for you now, girl.’
Catherine rubbed her eyes, ‘Why can’t he leave you alone? What makes him come back here time after time, can’t he see you don’t care about him any more?’
‘He likes to have me in his power, he can’t dampen my spirit, not for long, but he tries his best. He thinks he’ll win with his beatings and by using force to get “his rights” as he calls them but he won’t grind me down, the bastard.’ She looked at Catherine with worried eyes. ‘Don’t walk anywhere dark, Cath, ’cos he’ll get even one way or another. He’ll pounce where no-one can see him, so that you can’t prove nothing against him, clever he is, evil and clever.’
Catherine tried not to show how frightened she was by Doreen’s words. She had seen the hate in Meadows’s eyes, seen the lecherous way he’d looked at her. It was clear he would like to hurt and humiliate her in any way he could.
‘Let’s forget him,’ she said, suddenly brisk. ‘Tell me what you’ve brought home with you, show me again how to make a fine hat for a toff, you never know when it will come in useful.’
Doreen smiled wanly. ‘You got guts, I’ll give you that. Right, we’ll do some work but not before we have a hot, sweet cup of tea. Your turn, love, I made the last one.’
Catherine returned her smile. ‘A likely story but all right then, I’ll make the tea you old dragon.’
Bethan was lying in bed, the clothes drawn up to her chin. She was waiting for Boyo, she had sent a servant to fetch him with a message that she was not well. He had replied saying he would be there within the hour.
Bethan looked across the room towards the cliffs and saw the ghostly figure sitting there, on a ledge outside the window. Once Bethan had walked to the top of the cliffs and looked down into her bedroom and was not surprised to see that the entire room was visible from outside. Below her was a sheer rock-face, falling away below the fence that supported the perimeter of her garden.
Her house was built on what must have once been a plateau in the rocks, a flat piece of ground broken away over the years from the face that towered behind and above it. From the front of the house, the land sloped downwards, guarded by random outcrops of grey rock, making the traffic of carriages difficult. But Ty Craig was her house, part of her; it had always been waiting for her to come home, she realized that now.
The oil painting she had taken to her room took pride of place above the mantel. The face of the young Elizabeth Llewellyn was strong, lovely, the eyes large, the mouth firm. The same face now looked into her bedroom from the rock-face outside, smiling at her, encouraging her.
Elizabeth had owned the house once. She had died young, at least that was what Bethan’s father had told her. Elizabeth had never married, never had children. They shared the same family name and Bethan was becoming more fond of her, more dependent on her, with every day that passed.
Usually she would invite Elizabeth inside her bedroom and they would talk at great length about the problems that beset Bethan’s marriage. Now, Elizabeth would wait in patience, knowing that Bethan must be alone with her husband, she had something of importance to tell him.
Bethan sat up and looked into the mirror on the far side of the room. Her face looked thin, her cheek-bones high, she appeared wan and helpless, a woman in need of care. She smiled, oh, yes, that’s what Boyo would believe, she knew him inside out, knew the guilt that drove him, the conscience that smote him whenever he was with his wife.
She heard footsteps outside the door and fell back against the pillows, closing her eyes. The door opened and she sensed Boyo crossing the room, his feet making no sound on the deep carpet. She felt his weight as he sank onto the bed beside her. ‘Bethan, how are you, love?’