Authors: Iris Gower
‘It’s so wonderful here, I only wish your dad could see me now.’ Fon’s voice was wistful. ‘I still miss him, Cath, I suppose I always will but at least here I’ve found peace and a funny sort of contentment. Can you understand that?’
Catherine rubbed at her eyes. ‘Yes, I can understand it, Mam, this is just the sort of place to heal wounds.’
She knew, with a feeling of sadness, there would be no possibility of her mother coming home to Wales; not now, perhaps not ever.
They were silent for a long moment and then Fon leaned forward eagerly, her eyes alight. ‘Come on, tell me, when are you and Liam getting married?’ She touched the garnet ring and smiled, ‘I see you have made the first move, mat’s something.’
Catherine forced a smile. ‘Liam is outside the grounds, waiting for me.’ She spoke brightly. ‘We brought a friend to Ireland with us, Doreen, her name is. She’s had a bit of a tough time of it and we thought she needed a rest.’
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Fon said gently. ‘You are going to marry Liam, aren’t you, Cath?’
‘Oh, yes, of course I am but, Mam, I’ve got the most wonderful job, I don’t want to give it up, not yet.’
‘Job? What do you mean, job? Why aren’t you working on Honey’s Farm? Catherine, you can’t have sold it, the place where you were born, where Jamie and I lived so happily together for so many years?’
‘Mam, I can’t hide the truth from you any longer, at first you were in too much pain and grief to take it all in but, now you are strong again, I have to tell you what happened.’
Fon slumped back in her chair, her face suddenly drained of colour. ‘Go on then, tell me everything.’
‘I couldn’t make the farm pay, Mam,’ Cath said awkwardly. ‘The harvest failed, the bull got sick … everything went wrong. I was in so much debt that the bank moved in.’ She hesitated, ‘Anyway, the outcome of it was the farm was sold.’
‘Sold, to who?’
Catherine swallowed hard. ‘Bethan Hopkins, Boyo’s wife, bought it.’
Fon was silent for a long time. ‘I can’t believe it of Boyo, I always thought he was such a fine boy. But then he came into a lot of money and money can corrupt the nicest of people. He’s been bad news for you from the moment you met him.’
‘Mam, it wasn’t like that at all, it wasn’t his fault, his wife, Bethan, she wanted to punish me for …’
‘I know,’ Fon said softly, ‘I know why she wanted to punish you. You can’t really blame her for that, I suppose I would have felt the same if some young girl had tried to take your father away from me.’
Catherine felt like a snail withdrawing into a shell. She was hurt by her mother’s rebuke but she realized that, to Fon, in her new life, everything was black and white, the choices were simple, you did what was right. Her mother had become removed from her.
‘So what’s this wonderful new job then?’ Fon asked tartly.
Catherine took a deep breath. ‘It’s at Mrs Grenfell’s emporium, Mam. Mrs Grenfell is kind and considerate and she says I have every chance of bettering myself if I stick it out.’
‘So what will you be when you “better yourself?”’
‘I’ll be head shop girl, maybe even manageress, I don’t know.’
‘And you really think all this is better than being wife to a good man like Liam Cullen?’ Fon did not look at her. ‘You intend to break the promise you made your father on his deathbed, then?’
‘No, Mam.’ Catherine tried not to show her sudden anger. ‘I just want a little independence. I was brought up to have Dad care for me, I never did have to stand on my own two feet. If I marry now I’ll never know what I might achieve. I must try being my own woman, Mam, at least for a year or two.’
‘Catherine, by then your chance might be gone, Liam could easily grow tired of waiting, find another girl more grateful than you are. Why not get married now, stay in Ireland? It would be wonderful if I could see you more often.’
‘Look, Mam, I’d better go.’ Catherine rose to her feet. ‘I’ll come again before I go home.’
‘Oh, don’t put yourself out, you go and live your life of independence, I don’t want you to feel obligated to me in any way.’
‘Please, Mam, don’t be like that. I just can’t make you understand, can I?’
‘I understand that you have let your father down, it was his dearest wish that you marry Liam. You are throwing that away for some headstrong foolish idea about being your own woman.’ Fon’s voice had risen a little and Catherine bit her lip, trying to keep at bay the waves of pain flowing over her.
‘Give me a kiss, Mam, I’ll see you in a few days’ time and we can talk again.’
Fon allowed Catherine to kiss her cheek but there was no warmth in the tautness of her face or in the stiffness of her shoulders.
With a sigh of resignation, Catherine turned and walked across the quadrangle and into the shade of the old building. She glanced behind her but the square of grass was empty, Fon had disappeared.
Outside, in the wide open spaces of the Irish hills, she took a deep breath, tears stung her eyes but she brushed them away impatiently. Why couldn’t her mother try to understand how she felt? She would marry Liam, one day, but not yet.
For just a little while she wanted her freedom, wanted to explore the world she lived in. She had not even explored the town of Swansea yet. She was drawn to the oyster-beds at Mumbles, the place where her mother was born. She knew nothing of Swansea except for the occasional visit on market-day. What she really meant was that she wanted to explore life as an independent woman, just for a while.
Once she was married, she would have to leave it all behind her, leave Mrs Grenfell and worst of all leave Doreen, the only friend she had in the world.
She saw Liam sitting on the edge of the hill, his arm outstretched as he pointed something out to Doreen. She swallowed hard, could she fall in love with Liam if she tried really hard?
‘Hello there, Cath, you’re looking down in the mouth, what’s the matter?’ Doreen had seen her coming and was hurrying towards her. She slipped her arm through Catherine’s and hugged it. ‘Your mammy, bad is she?’
‘No, she’s very well, she looks better than I’ve seen her in a long time, brown as a berry…’ her voice trailed away.
‘So what’s wrong then?’ Doreen leaned closer. ‘Is your mam nagging you to get wed?’
‘Worse than that, she is angry with me, angry about the farm, angry about Boyo and disappointed that I won’t marry Liam now, while I’m here in Ireland.’ Catherine sighed heavily. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later.’
‘What are you two girls whispering about then?’ Liam was standing looking at them, his hands in his pockets, the breeze ruffling his reddish hair. He was very handsome, a rugged man, part of the countryside just as her father had been and Catherine’s heart missed a beat. Why was she so reluctant to tie herself to him in marriage? What was wrong with her?
She knew why of course, she knew exactly why she wanted to be free: just in case, by some miracle, Boyo might come for her and carry her off to a love-nest where they would live happily ever after. It was a dream, a child’s dream, it would never happen.
‘Girl talk, so mind your own business, right?’ Doreen smiled impishly and Catherine’s throat constricted with tears. She was surrounded by fine people, good people; why couldn’t she just be happy with her lot?
‘Come on, then, let’s go home.’ Liam walked easily, as if sure of his ground. He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth.
‘Patricia is in fine form, her condition seems to suit her.’ His hand remained on her shoulder, as though he was asserting his right to be close to her. ‘Pat will have made us a fine broth and some crispy bread and sure I can tell you now, I’m fair famished.’
He took her hand as they walked away down the hill and Catherine turned briefly to look at the tall buildings of the convent rising against the sky. She thought of her mother within the walls and for a moment, longed to run back, retrace her steps, tell her mother how much she loved her, would always love her. Liam tightened his grip on her fingers, she looked up at him and caught his eye.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ he said softly, ‘we’ll come back again tomorrow and you can talk to your mammy some more.’
Comforted, she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘You’re such a kind man, Liam Cullen, I don’t deserve you.’
He was silent and she saw the frown on his brow and knew that she had hurt him with her lukewarm praise.
‘We’ll be married soon, I promise.’ The words tumbled out before she could stop them and echoed inside her head, mocking her weakness.
Liam made no reply and Catherine knew that she could not hold him at arm’s length any longer, decisions would have to be made. No, not decisions, the deciding had already been done. She must name the day, that’s all there was to it. She took a deep breath, feeling the unhappiness well up inside her and she wondered if she could ever again be the carefree girl who had climbed into bed with Boyo Hopkins.
Bethan was still angry with Hari Grenfell, she had tried to talk reasonably to the woman and she would not listen. She would be punished, along with all those others who tried to thwart Bethan Hopkins in her bid for justice.
Bethan had spent many days in her room with Elizabeth, who was becoming more solid and real as each day passed. Elizabeth, her confidante and friend, the only person she could trust with her true thoughts.
Hari Grenfell’s business was rocky, made even more so by Bethan recalling her loan, but it was clear that the main thrust of Bethan’s attack on the woman would be through the husband she adored, Craig Grenfell.
A smile curved Bethan’s mouth, her plans had been put into action, soon Hari Grenfell would be sorry she had not listened to reason, had not dismissed the whore, Catherine O’Conner, on the spot.
The alacrity with which Hari Grenfell had repaid her debt had disconcerted Bethan at first but she had the consolation that it was money the woman could ill afford to do without. And then Bethan, with Elizabeth’s help, had hatched the most brilliant idea, one that would ruin the common little shop owner and make her sorry that she had ever crossed Bethan Hopkins.
That slut O’Conner would be out of work then, all right; she would be on the streets, if Bethan had her way, shunned by everyone for the cheap trollop she was.
Bethan looked up at the overhanging trees, the garden was small but secluded, a place for secret meetings. Bethan had found that wherever she was, Elizabeth would find her, come to her. This afternoon, full of pale sunshine, was no exception. Elizabeth sat down, her full crinoline touching the grass, a contrast to Bethan’s modern skirt and high-necked blouse with the cameo at the throat.
Elizabeth had exciting news: she leaned closer and whispered to Bethan that, while she could not have Boyo with her in the flesh, she could enjoy his company by calling his spirit to her whenever she chose.
Bethan nodded and smiled, Boyo could come to her bedroom, lie with her as he used to when they were first married. He could be her husband in spirit until the moment came when she possessed him once more in the flesh.
Bethan was elated, this was a gift indeed, the finest gift anyone could wish for. She asked Elizabeth what she required in return, some favour, something tangible that Bethan could do for her. The answer was quite simple, the grave at Dan-y-Craig was overgrown, the headstone fallen to the ground. A new marble monument to Elizabeth would please her, as would fresh flowers every day. Bethan nodded, that was a small price to pay for having Boyo back with her once more.
If anyone at the graveyard thought it odd that after many years the resting place of the Llewellyns was being beautified, no-one spoke of it. The fine marble angel with wings spread wide as if rising up to heaven graced the head of Elizabeth Llewellyn’s tomb, glinting like white icing in the sun. Men worked for a week to cut the grass and place marble stones around the perimeter of the grave and it was Bethan Hopkins, née Llewellyn, who herself came every day to lay fresh flowers.
Bethan knew that Elizabeth was pleased, for once the work was done, as promised, the spirit of Boyo came to her in the night.
Bethan thrashed about the bed in a frenzy of passion such as she had never experienced before. Boyo was full of vigour as if his long absence from her had made him more eager. He was there in her arms, his mouth was on hers, his body possessing hers. She felt herself grow hot and in her joy she cried out his name.
At the door, the maid stood shivering, staring into the moonlit bedroom where her mistress was apparently having some sort of fit. Mrs Hopkins’s pale arms protruded from her nightgown, she heaved beneath the bedclothes, grunts escaping from her open lips. They were, Cara recognized with a shock, the sounds of a woman in the arms of her lover.
Cara crossed herself hurriedly, her mistress must surely be possessed by the devil. She wondered if she should call someone but by now the fit seemed to be over, Bethan Hopkins was quiet. A cold wind seemed to blow through the corridor and the maid turned and hurried back to her bedroom, scurrying up the narrow staircase and sliding into her still warm bed with a sigh of relief. She pulled the bedclothes over her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, promising herself that, whatever she heard, she would never venture to her mistress’s bedroom in the still of the night again.
Boyo was tired of the unsatisfactory relationship he shared with Catherine. One minute he thought she was softening towards him and the next the barriers would go up again. Now that she was back from Ireland, he must see her, talk some sense into her. They would go away, leave Swansea and start a new life somewhere where they would not be recognized. He could not offer her marriage but he could make provision for her for the rest of her life.
It was evening, cool and growing dark, rain-clouds raced across the sky and, as he walked along the street, he wondered at the feeling of lethargy that had overtaken him lately. It was almost as though some invisible force was sapping away his energy, except that it was a fanciful idea, more suited to his superstitious wife than to a man like him with his feet planted firmly on the ground.