Daughters of Rebecca (2 page)

Grumbling, the crowd thinned and when the coachman came swinging round the corner of the square, a huge stick in his hand, even May O'Sullivan thought it politic to move away. ‘That'll teach you to act the whore, Dora Price.' Her parting shot was emphasized by a lump of mud that caught Dora's cheek.

‘Come on,' Mrs Mainwaring said, breathlessly, ‘let's get you home.' She untied Dora and put a cloak around her shoulders. ‘Can you manage to climb up into the coach?'

When Dora was seated, Mrs Mainwaring wrapped a warm rug around her knees with gentle hands. Shanni sat on the opposite seat, sunk in misery, hating the barbarism, the injustice in punishing a woman for loving the wrong man.

The coach manoeuvred its way through Potato Street but was too broad to tackle Fennel Court. The coachman lifted Dora and carried her gently into the tiny kitchen of number 13.

‘Fetch some water, Graves.' Mrs Mainwaring was rolling up her sleeves. ‘Is there any left in the kettle, child?'

Shanni nodded and poured the water into a bowl. Mrs Mainwaring took it from her and gently washed the mud from Dora's swollen stomach. ‘Come on, now, get into bed. Try to rest and to forget this dreadful day.' Mrs Mainwaring pulled up the thin blankets as tenderly as if Dora had been a child herself.

‘I'll get more water, Mrs Mainwaring,' Graves said, and went out into the yard. When he returned, he pushed the kettle on to the fire, his head discreetly turned away from the woman on the bed.

‘Thank you, Mrs Mainwaring.' Shanni stood awkwardly in the gloom of the kitchen, not knowing what to say. ‘Thank you for being kind to Mam. She's not to blame for any of this. It's Dan Spencer who should be punished. He's a liar and he led her astray.'

Mrs Mainwaring nodded and touched Shanni's shoulder. ‘Look, I shall bring this to the attention of the magistrates. It's rough justice and should not be tolerated in our society, not in these enlightened days.'

Shanni nodded, but she did not hold out much hope that Mrs Mainwaring's intervention would do any good. She was about to say something when the silence was shattered by her mother's
terrified cry. ‘The waters have broke. The baby is coming – oh, Lord above, help me.'

Mrs Mainwaring took charge. ‘It's getting very dark so light some candles, find clean cloths – is that water hot yet? Graves, fetch the doctor. Tell him I need him at once.' She turned to Shanni. ‘We'll both have to help your mother until the doctor comes. I can't manage alone.'

Shanni fetched the tin bowl and some pieces of rag from the clothesline. Her heart was still beating rapidly and she felt sick. She hated people, she hated the whole world, and one day she would have her revenge on them all.

Mrs Mainwaring worked hard, encouraging, admonishing, as Dora struggled to bring forth her baby. Shanni built up the fire, boiling more water, but in her heart she knew it was useless. Today the heavens were against them and nothing good would come from the birthing of the infant conceived in shame.

Graves returned and stood in the doorway, shaking his head. ‘The doctor is out, Mrs Mainwaring, but I've left a message with his wife. He'll come as soon as he can.'

‘We'll just have to manage till then.' Mrs Mainwaring glanced at Shanni. ‘I don't suppose the local midwife would come, would she?'

Shanni shook her head. No-one in the vicinity of Fennel Court would help them, not now. The moon was gliding across the sky by the time the child slid into the world, white and dead. Dora Price sighed wearily. ‘It's for the best,' she whispered. ‘The little mite wouldn't stand a chance.' Her eyes closed and her lips were pale.
Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and a streak of dirt still darkened her cheek.

‘Where's the damned doctor?' Mrs Mainwaring said tersely. ‘Go to Graves, Shanni. Tell him to try again to fetch a doctor or a midwife – anyone will do.'

‘It's too late to help me.' Shanni heard her mother's voice, thin and threadlike. ‘But, please, take care of Shanni, my lady.' Her hand fumbled for Shanni's. ‘You must forget all this and have a good life, Shanni. May God in his mercy take care of you.'

Shanni clung to her mother's hand for a long time until, at last, Mrs Mainwaring drew her away from the bed. ‘Let's go now,' she said softly. ‘Graves will come back here and see to everything, so don't worry.'

Dumbly Shanni allowed herself to be led back along the silent court towards where the coach was waiting. She sank into the cold leather seat and closed her eyes. Her mother was dead and nothing Shanni could do would bring her back to life.

Llinos Mainwaring stared across the breakfast table at her husband. ‘I'm so sorry for Shanni Price, deprived of her mother in such dreadful circumstances.'

Joe Mainwaring put down his paper. ‘I know. The barbarism of the wooden horse was a terrible thing for you to see, my love, and you must try to put it out of your mind.' His dark hair was streaked with a ribbon of silver and hung to his shoulders. He looked noble and proud, every inch
a man of mixed race. His American-Indian blood showed in the gold of his skin, and his inheritance from his white father was the bluest eyes Llinos had ever seen.

And the years had been good to him, Llinos thought lovingly. She felt her heart swell with joy. He was her husband, and though he was past his fortieth birthday he was as dashing and handsome as the day she first met him.

‘You did your best for the poor woman,' he said. ‘You ensured she had a decent Christian burial and you found the little girl a position in service.'

‘I worry about Shanni Price, though,' Llinos said. ‘She's so young, so vulnerable. What effect will her mother's death have on her, I wonder?'

‘She'll survive,' Joe said. ‘You suffered a great deal of hardship when you were young too and you survived, didn't you?'

‘I suppose you're right, but then I had you.' Not always, insisted a small voice inside Llinos's head. Once Joe had left her for another woman. He had fathered an illegitimate child, a child growing up even now somewhere on the plains of America. As always, it was the woman who bore the consequences of an affair, and Joe had come out of it unscathed. Like the awful Mr Spencer. She pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside.

She took a piece of toast, ignoring the dish of devilled kidneys and steaming bacon. Whenever she thought of Joe's mistress her appetite left her. She forced her mind on to other matters. ‘Perhaps we'll hear from Lloyd this week.'

‘Our son is growing up now,' Joe said. ‘He is
becoming a man. We must stand back from him, let him mature in his own way.'

‘But he's still very young.' Llinos protested, ‘and I hate him being away. I'm sure a local school would have served just as well as one in England.'

‘He's at my old school,' Joe said. ‘I received an excellent education there and I wanted Lloyd to have the best.'

‘I still think of him as a baby,' Llinos said softly. ‘I know he's into his teen years now but I still want to hug him close, to feel his arms around me.'

‘Llinos, my love, to you Lloyd will always be a child. That's the way of it with so-called civilized people. In the animal kingdom a newborn matures fast or dies.'

‘Don't start on your American-Indian philosophies!' Llinos said lightly. ‘Not over breakfast – you'll give me indigestion.'

Joe helped himself to more toast. He ate silently, his whole being contained. Anyone would think he was still on the plains of his homeland, wary lest an enemy creep up on him. He looked up, and Llinos was comforted by the love she saw in her husband's eyes. Would she ever understand this man who, after years of marriage, was still an enigma to her? She doubted it.

‘Why the scrutiny?' Joe asked. ‘Not thinking about the past again, are you, Llinos?'

She shook her head. ‘I try not to, Joe, but sometimes I'm overwhelmed with the pain of it.' She looked down at her hands, hands that had moulded clay into shape, had toiled long hours in
the pottery in an effort to make the business the success it was today.

Joe regarded her steadily. ‘I know you were hurt, my love, and I'm so sorry for betraying you, but all that is past. We can't let it affect our future.'

‘I do realize that, Joe. But how would you feel if I was unfaithful, if I had a child by another man?'

He sighed heavily. ‘I would want to kill you both,' he said simply. He threw down his napkin and got to his feet. ‘I'd better get some letters written,' he said more easily. ‘I, too, have a business to run.'

His words seemed like a reproach and Llinos sighed. Would she and Joe never fall back into the easy, loving relationship they once had?

She drank her tea in an effort to clear the obstruction from her throat; she would not cry the bitter tears that were always present whenever she thought of Joe in the arms of another woman. She would have to be brave like any other woman forced to swallow the pain of infidelity. ‘I think I shall take a look at the order books,' she said, to his retreating back.

Her days were empty now: she was not needed in the flourishing pottery; she was not needed in her own house, come to that, not without her son. There were servants to cook and clean, and book-keepers to see to the financial side of her business. She was adrift, a woman without purpose. Suddenly her life seemed futile. Biting her lip, Llinos Mainwaring watched her husband leave the dining room and disappear into his study.

The idea of looking over the order books had lost its appeal. Instead, Llinos climbed up the broad staircase to the bedroom she shared with Joe. The windows were open and the breeze brushed the curtains into a frenzy of dancing. Llinos was restless; she stared out into the grounds where the lawn was sun-scorched. She felt downcast, her heart heavy with the knowledge that Joe, ensconced in his study, would be writing a letter for his mistress to read to their son.

She would go out, she decided, take a ride in the carriage, walk in the park and get some fresh air into her lungs. Then, maybe, she would go visiting. She paused before the mirror, examining her reflection. She was slim still. Her hair was dark with hardly any silver running through it, her complexion smooth, yet there was a sadness in her eyes that never left her.

Later, as the carriage took her along past the promenade Llinos looked out at the sea. The flow of the tides always made her feel calmer, as though the world was so big that her worries were diminished by the grandeur of the ocean, spreading away to merge with the sky. Beyond the bay the rocky head of Mumbles formed a sheltering arm around the town of Swansea. How she loved it here where she had been born and bred and where, doubtless, she would die.

The coach pulled into a long driveway and as Llinos leaned out of the window to stare at the house, large and mellow in the sun, she saw a familiar figure on the step. He stood tall, his hair pale and shining, her dear friend Eynon Morton-Edwards.

As soon as the coach stopped, Eynon opened the door and held out his arms to lift Llinos on to the drive. ‘Llinos, my lovely girl, you grow more beautiful every day.'

He kissed her cheek and she clung to him for a moment. Eynon had been her friend through the good times and the bad. He had always loved her and never had that love been needed so much as the day Joe left her.

‘Come inside. I must tell you about the season in London, the theatres, the brightly lit streets. It was such a sight, so much pomp and splendour. You would have loved it.'

He led her into the house and Llinos felt the coolness of the old mansion wash over her. ‘It's always so peaceful here,' she said softly.

‘Not when my beloved daughter is at home!' He opened the door of the drawing room with a flourish. ‘Jayne is back at school now and I was glad to have her off my hands.'

‘I don't believe that for one minute,' Llinos said. She pulled at the tips of her gloves and handed them to the maid who hovered, waiting to take her coat.

‘Shanni, how nice to see you again. Are you well?' She studied the girl, who was sombre in a long black skirt covered with a pristine apron. ‘You're certainly looking very grand.'

She felt in that moment that she shared a common bond with the girl: they had both been orphaned, had struggled to survive. Llinos remembered the old days when her father had gone to the war against Napoleon. Her mother had been feckless, unable to control her own life, let
alone keep a business afloat. After her mother died, Llinos had tackled the future with courage – courage that seemed to have deserted her now.

She watched as Shanni left the room. She was so pretty with her red hair, tied back in a knot now and covered with a cap as befitted a servant girl.

‘How is she settling?'

‘Shanni, you mean? She's done very well in the few weeks she's been here. Now, let me tell you all about London.'

Eynon was bent on talking about his trip and Llinos smiled indulgently. It would be good for her to listen: the trivia of court life would be a distraction from her own, often uncomfortable, thoughts.

Shanni Price returned to the kitchen and sat down near the window. She had taken to occupying this particular chair when she had some time off from work. From it she could look down at the sea rolling away below her, and think of things more important than being lady's maid to the precocious Jayne when she was at home and maid-of-all-work when she was not.

‘Don't sit there dreaming, girl!' Mrs Pollard was the housekeeper and wielded her power over the other servants with great enthusiasm. She glanced at the cook. ‘Any tea going spare, Mrs Davies?'

‘I'll warm the pot,' Mrs Davies said obligingly. It paid to keep in with Mrs Pollard.

‘It's my day off,' Shanni said. ‘I shouldn't be working at all, though I don't suppose Mr Morton-Edwards even notices I'm here.'

‘Why on earth should he notice a jumped-up little serving wench?' Mrs Pollard's tongue could be acid on occasions. She turned her attention to the cook. ‘I just do not understand the young people of today, Mrs Davies, do you?'