Daughters of Rebecca (16 page)

Joe nodded. ‘I suppose mine was an unusual upbringing to say the least. I hardly knew my father. I spent more time with him when he was on his death-bed than I ever did as a child. I used to think he was ashamed of me because he was white and I was of mixed blood.'

‘And you were proved wrong?' Binnie asked.

‘Yes. He left me his fortune. But, more important than that, we became quite close at the end.'

‘Well, now you've got your own little family and I can understand your impatience to get home to them.' Binnie handed him the jug of whiskey. ‘If you're determined to go to bed at least take some of this to help you sleep.'

Joe took the whiskey and walked soundlessly up the stairs to his room. He put down the jug and fell back against the pillows. He wanted to sleep but all he could see was his wife, his own Llinos, and clouds of mist wrapped round her, closing him off from her embrace. Had he lost her? The heaviness in his heart told him that something was wrong at home. The sooner he set sail for Swansea, the better he would be pleased.

ROSIE GLANCED UP
at Watt Bevan and her heart missed a beat. Even now, after all this time, he was so familiar to her. The cut of his jaw, the way his hair would never lie flat, even the scent of him was enough to remind her of the time she had spent as his wife.

‘I vowed to keep away from you, Rosie,' Watt took her hand, ‘but I just couldn't. I had to see you, to try again to make it all up to you.' He glanced up at the sky. ‘Come on, let's run. It's going to rain.'

It felt good to be linked to Watt, fingers entwined as he drew her towards the cottage. This man was her husband. She had made love with him, slept beside him and woken to find him next to her when the sun rose. But had he ever loved her? He professed love now, but was that just his conscience bothering him? How could she trust him, and how could she trust her own instincts?

‘I want you back as my wife, Rosie.' He pushed open the door to her small home. Below, the sea swept into the shore, the clouds raged over Mumbles Head. They had ended their walk just
in time because all the signs indicated that a storm was brewing.

Inside the house the fire glowed in the grate, the smell of baking bread emanated from the kitchen and all was welcoming. Could she give this up? Now that she had become independent, how would she adapt to being a wife again? On the other hand, did she want to live out her life alone?

‘Sit down, Watt.' She pushed open the door to the sitting room. ‘I'll just get changed. The hem of my dress is covered with mud.'

He sat like a visitor on the edge of his seat. He stared miserably at his boots, and Rosie wanted to run to him, to hold him close and tell him she loved him, she had always loved him. She restrained herself, this time. She must be really sure of Watt or she would always be insecure and afraid.

In her bedroom, with the beams cutting across the corners of the room, Rosie studied herself in the mirror. She was still young: her hair was bright, her skin had a bloom of health. She was young enough to bear children, to fulfil herself as a mother. Was that what she wanted?

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, remembering when she had first noticed how handsome Watt was. It had been her birthday and her mother had invited Watt to join them in the small celebration she had planned. Rosie had seen Watt before: he was a manager at the pottery where her mother worked. Then she had never really looked at him as a man, but as he sat opposite her at the table, his face scrubbed, his
linen fresh and clean, she had known he was a man she could love.

She sighed. It was all in the past now and she had changed a great deal from the dewy-eyed bride she had once been. Living with Alice Sparks had seen to that.

Dear Alice, she had clung to Rosie in her dying days, the gulf between them breached by friendship. Alice had been born to riches, had enjoyed the best that life could provide, at least until she had married Edmund Sparks. And Rosie, well, she was simply the daughter of a pottery worker.

Rosie changed her petticoats and drew on a clean gown. She found her house slippers near the window and pushed her feet into them. She looked out across the bay: the storm clouds had become blacker and the Mumbles Head was shrouded in mist. Even as she watched the rain began to fall in heavy bursts, flaying the window, driven by the winds coming in from the sea.

‘Rosie, are you all right?' Watt's voice startled her. She glanced once more in the mirror before hurrying down the stairs. She knew Watt would want an answer, but was she ready to give it?

He was seated on a chair in front of the fire his head in his hands. He sat up as she entered the room and there was such longing in his eyes that Rosie knew beyond doubt that he wanted her. But would it work this time? She was so unsure of her own feelings and needs, how could she deal with his?

‘This would be an ideal time for us to try again, Rosie,' Watt said, watching as she took a seat on the opposite side of the room. ‘Your brothers are
independent now. My job of bringing them up was over and done with long ago.'

‘I'll always be grateful to you for that,' Rosie looked into the fire, ‘but I won't make the mistake you made.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You married me because you felt you should, not because you loved me. Please don't try to make me feel obligated to you – that's no basis for a marriage.'

Watt made to rise but Rosie held up her hand. ‘I have to think everything over very carefully,' she said. ‘I'm not sure I'm ready for marriage right now.'

‘But you
are
married!' Watt was becoming impatient.

Rosie lifted her head and stared directly into his eyes. ‘In name only,' she said calmly. ‘And I will decide if and when that is to change.'

Watt got to his feet. ‘Very well, Rosie, you win, but don't blame me if I find someone else. I'm only a man, after all, and I need a woman beside me.'

‘You need, you need! It's always you, isn't it?' Rosie was on her feet, her hands clenched into fists. Suddenly she was furious with him. ‘What about my feelings? What do I need to make me happy? Have you asked yourself that?'

He took a deep breath, but she shook her head at him. ‘Just go away and leave me. Find someone else if you haven't done so already.'

‘I have been faithful to my vows!' Watt seemed outraged. ‘I have led the life of a monk since you left me.'

Somehow Rosie knew he was lying. ‘I don't believe that of you for one minute! You can't even tell me the truth now.' She opened the door of the sitting room. ‘Go home, Watt. Make what you will of your life. I'm not sure that I have a part in it any more.'

‘But, Rosie, can't we just talk?'

‘It doesn't seem like it, does it? Just give me time, Watt. I've got a lot to sort out in my mind. Now that I'm back home in Swansea I don't seem to know what I want any more.'

‘You've grown up, Rosie.' Watt stood in the doorway. ‘You've grown into a fiery, beautiful woman.' As he opened the front door, the rain lashed inwards and he stepped back. ‘Lord!' he said. ‘I think the heavens have opened.'

‘Wait a while,' Rosie said quickly. ‘You can't go out in that – you'd be soaked to the skin before you walked half-way down the hill.'

‘I'll be all right,' Watt replied harshly. ‘In any case, I can't trust myself to stay here any longer. I might forget to behave like a gentleman.'

He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Rosie hurried to the window and watched him disappear over the brow of the hill. Suddenly she felt lonely. Had she done the right thing in sending him away?

Gloom settled over the house. Darkness had come early because of the lowering clouds. Rosie sank into a chair in front of the fire and it was only then that she realized her eyes were full of tears.

Llinos opened her fingers and allowed the letter to fall on to the table. So Joe was coming home. His ship had docked in Bristol several days ago and his first thought had been to visit Lloyd, not to rush to his wife's side. Llinos stood before the window and stared out at the drizzle. It had rained for almost a week now: the bushes in the garden drooped miserably and droplets fell from the overhanging branches of the alder trees. The landscape was grey, misty, and Llinos shivered.

In his letter, Joe had not mentioned Sho Ka. Was he coming home to settle his affairs and to tell his wife he was leaving her?

He would know about Llinos's altered feelings. Joe, in the mystical way he had of knowing everything about her, would know she had been unfaithful. What would she say to him? Did she want to leave him for Dafydd? She had asked the question of herself more than once, but as yet she had no answers.

Was it possible to love two men at once? Llinos bit her lip. She could not give up Dafydd: he was like an addiction. She wanted him badly, wanted his lovemaking, but did she love him? She was confused, uncertain, but one thing was clear: life was never going to be the same again.

‘Excuse me, madam, but there's a visitor. Mr Morton-Edwards would like to see you. Are you at home?'

Llinos turned at once. ‘Of course, Flora, I'm always at home to Mr Morton-Edwards, you know that.'

Eynon swept into the room and took her hands in his. ‘You smell of rain,' she said accusingly.

‘So would you if you'd just ridden miles on a reluctant horse, my love. Now, instead of insulting me, get me a good hot toddy, there's a darling.'

‘Flora, fetch some glasses and a jug of hot whisky, and tell the cook to put some herbs in it this time.

‘Sit down, Eynon, and tell me what's been going on in your life. I've scarcely seen anything of you these past weeks.'

‘Well, I've been courting.' Eynon smiled wickedly. ‘She's a very polished lady – and this is not one of my usual dalliances.'

‘Tell me!' Llinos smiled, even though she was somewhat taken aback by his revelation. Eynon had always been in love with her, or so he claimed. ‘Who is this special lady?'

‘I met her here, actually, Llinos,' Eynon said. He paused as the maid returned with a tray.

‘Just put it down there.' Llinos was impatient for Flora to be gone. When the door closed behind her Llinos prompted him, ‘You met her here? Who could that be?'

‘Who else but Isabelle?' Eynon leaned forward in his chair. ‘Shall I pour the drinks, Llinos?'

She nodded, trying to hide her sense of shock at his words. Isabelle was a cultured lady, there was no doubt about that, but she was hardly Eynon's social equal.

He seemed to know what she was thinking and smiled. ‘I know she's not rich but what does that matter? I have more money than I can ever spend. Isabelle has a brain.' He tapped his forehead. ‘She
can talk about serious matters, affairs of state, that sort of thing.'

Llinos attempted to see Madame Isabelle as a woman to be courted. She was a mature woman . . . but there was fire behindher eyes that belied her calm exterior. ‘So are you serious about her?' Llinos asked. ‘I mean, serious enough to ask her to be your wife?'

‘Yes,' Eynon said. ‘Llinos, no-one will ever replace you in my heart, but I'm a man, I have needs, and I'm tired of chasing women who have only fast living on their minds. No, Isabelle will suit me very well, I think.' He lifted his glass and Llinos sank back in her chair, trying not to show how much his words had shocked her.

They sat in silence for a while, and Llinos reflected that nothing remained the same. People changed – even she had changed. Once, long ago, when she stood beside Joe in the little church and made her vows she would never have imagined she would be unfaithful to him.

‘What do you think of the troubles, then, Llinos?' Eynon asked. ‘It seems another gate was burned and the toll-keeper badly injured. How do the people expect to get justice that way?'

‘I suppose there's no other way for farming folk to express their anger,' Llinos said mildly. Being with Dafydd had shown her the injustice of the continued toll rises. ‘No-one will listen when they complain that the tolls are ruining them.'

‘You sound just like Isabelle,' Eynon said. ‘She's on the side of the underdog too.'

‘Is she?' Llinos asked. ‘I suppose I have never really talked to her. She is simply here to teach Shanni the pianoforte.'

‘I told you she was intelligent, didn't I? She tells me that the discontent goes far deeper than the injustice of the tolls. Even in eighteen thirty-four there was unrest among the people because of the Poor Laws.' He sipped his drink. ‘But they have to accept that there is a price to pay for progress.'

‘A price that they have to pay, not people like us with money in our pockets. Do you think that's just?'

‘I have no intention of getting into a debate with you, Llinos. Come, now, tell me what has happened to put the sparkle in your eyes. Have you taken a lover?'

The unexpected question brought rich colour flooding into her face and Llinos looked deeply into her drink. ‘I don't know what you mean,' she said. ‘I'm just happy because Joe is coming home.'

‘Oh, I see. Your beloved Joe has had enough of his foreign mistress and is returning to his wife. I don't know why you put up with it,' Eynon said. ‘I've always liked Joe, always thought what a wise man he is, but for him to treat you this way makes me so angry. You are a woman of spirit, Llinos. Don't put up with being used.'

Llinos tried to think of some excuse for Joe's behaviour but there was none. What he was doing to her and to Lloyd was unforgivable.

‘So, are you looking elsewhere for comfort, then?' Eynon asked. ‘I don't believe you're so
bright and sparkly because your faithless husband chooses to pay you a visit.'

Llinos had a high regard for Eynon. He respected her, even loved her in his own way. How would he feel if she admitted to her infatuation with a younger man?