Sweet Rosie (2 page)

‘Not for me, I’d better get back, I have other patients to see.’

As he left the room, Mrs Cottle grimaced at his departing back. ‘Doctors! Not one of them worth a half-penny dab.’

Mrs Cottle followed the doctor to the door and Llinos heard her calling for some tea. Mrs Cottle was a good woman, careful and kind, but even her skills had failed to save the baby.

‘Rosie is bringing a tray for us,’ Mrs Cottle said with satisfaction. ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa, mind.’ She spoke cheerfully, as if to dispel the air of sadness in the room.

Rosie was new to the job and she bustled into the room with her eyes downcast. She was a shy girl, unlike her mother Pearl who worked in the paint shop.

‘Put the tray down by there, love,’ Mrs Cottle said. ‘I’ll do the honours.’ Rosie bobbed and curtsied and risked a look at the bed.

‘How are you doin’, Mrs Mainwaring?’

Llinos made an effort to lift her head. ‘I’m all right, Rosie, thank you.’

‘But you had a bad time, I can tell. My mam just births easy, like shelling peas.’ Rosie smiled; she was a sweet girl, smaller than her mother and finer boned. She had curly hair and a peachy skin that enhanced her blue eyes.

‘All right then, girl,’ Mrs Cottle said briskly, ‘enough chattin’. Be off with you now. Mrs Mainwaring needs a bit of peace after all that work.’ She looked at Llinos. ‘I’ll take my tea down to the kitchen.’

She hesitated near the door. ‘Shall I send one of the maids for the vicar?’ She glanced quickly at Joe. ‘But perhaps you don’t want no vicar, sir, you being foreign-like.’

Llinos shook her head. ‘My husband will see to it.’ Would the people of Swansea never stop thinking of Joe as a stranger? Llinos was glad when she was alone with him. She glanced across to the silent crib and Joe followed her gaze. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she wiped them away. She watched Joe cross the room and lift the sheet away from the face of his daughter.

He carried her to the window, holding the tiny motionless body above his head. He was chanting some words, a prayer, Llinos thought, to the Great Spirit and the monotonous sound of his voice brought her some sort of comfort. She knew Joe’s beliefs were strong, they sprung from the American Indian culture into which he had been born. After a moment, he kissed his daughter’s face and returned her to the crib.

‘I haven’t cried, not in all the long hours of my labour,’ Llinos said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Now I can’t stop crying.’

‘You’ve had a bad time,’ Joe said, pushing back her tangled hair. ‘I prayed to the spirits to help you, my little firebird, but this was woman’s work and something you had to do alone.’

He bent and kissed her mouth. Llinos felt his lips, warm, loving, and her heart contracted. She put her arms around his neck and held him close.

‘There will be no more children.’ The words were a sigh and Llinos fell back against the pillows exhausted by her efforts.

‘I know,’ Joe said and he did. Her husband was wise beyond imagining. Joe seemed to know most things about her without being told. ‘But we have a wonderful son, you must never forget that.’ He paused. ‘Are you strong enough to see him? Lloyd’s been asking for you.’

Llinos’s heart lifted as she thought of her son; she felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude that Lloyd was a strong healthy boy. She had so much to thank God for. ‘Of course I’m strong enough,’ she said.

The boy came into the room slowly, he was not used to seeing his mamma in bed. He stood beside her, head bowed.

‘Come on, Lloyd, give me a kiss.’ Llinos drew him nearer, holding him and kissing him and he wriggled away. He was growing up, the plumpness of babyhood was leaving his face.

‘You grow more like your grandad every day, Lloyd,’ she said softly. ‘You could be the spit out of his mouth.’ She was glad she had named him after her father. She and Joe had debated long and hard about the name of their first-born; they had considered many names but, even from the first, the boy had the stamp of Llinos’s family and so he had become Lloyd Mainwaring.

‘Grandad was a soldier,’ Lloyd said proudly. ‘Will I be a soldier too, Mamma?’

‘I hope not!’ Llinos looked down at her son; he was tall for his age and held himself well. He learned his lessons quickly and was blessed with a good memory. But then he had been given a good start, a secure home life had seen to that.

Llinos thought briefly of her own young days, unhappy days with a stepfather who abused and insulted those he claimed to love.

Lloyd walked towards the crib. Llinos opened her mouth to protest but Joe held up his hand warningly.

‘Is the baby asleep? She’s very small, isn’t she? Will she grow big enough to play in the trees with me?’

Joe touched his son’s shoulder. ‘She’s gone to her long sleep. You know what that means, don’t you, son?’

Lloyd nodded. ‘She has died and gone to heaven.’ Over her son’s head, Llinos met Joe’s eyes. She was grateful to him for breaking the news gently.

‘I didn’t want her to die, I wanted to play with her, to show her the wind in the trees and the grasshoppers in the hedge.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I want Granny Charlotte. Can she come and see us, Father?’

‘What does your mother think about that?’ Joe looked at her and Llinos nodded. ‘You can fetch her in a minute,’ she said, her voice small. It would be just as well to let everyone know at the outset there would be no new baby in the house. ‘But give me a kiss first.’

Joe sat beside Llinos and took her hand in his. ‘This is so hard for you, I know that, my love, but together we’ll come through it.’

Llinos sighed. ‘It’s hard on all of us. I know Charlotte’s looked forward to the baby so much.’

‘She still has Lloyd.’ Lloyd was Charlotte’s two eyes; she loved the boy as if he was the child she had never borne. Charlotte was Joe’s sister, older than he was by many years. She insisted on being called ‘Granny’ by her brother’s son. It gave her a sense of belonging, she said.

‘Go on,’ Joe urged as his son hesitated in the doorway, ‘fetch your Granny Charlotte, if it will comfort you.’ He forced a smile. ‘We shall let her see how well your mother is looking, shall we?’ It was a lie; Llinos was looking pale and worn. There were tears on her lashes and lines of strain etched around her mouth. Joe touched her cheek.

‘I know you’re exhausted but you’ll always look beautiful to me.’

Charlotte entered the room peering from beneath her mourning veil. She continued to wear her widow’s weeds even though she had lost her husband some years ago.

Lloyd tugged Charlotte’s hand. ‘Come and see her, Granny. Our baby has gone to the long sleep. She’ll be in heaven with grandpa and Uncle Samuel. They’ll take care of her.’

Joe took his sister’s arm and shook his head. Charlotte understood at once. Her face paled, she put her hand to her lips to stifle a cry. Then she looked down at Lloyd and took a deep breath before turning towards the crib.

‘She is so beautiful!’ Charlotte touched the delicate hands with the tips of her fingers. ‘What name are we going to give her to take her on her journey?’ Charlotte drew Lloyd close to her side. ‘Do you think your mamma will let me call the baby Letitia? It’s a name I like very much.’

Llinos felt weariness seep through her. ‘Yes, we’ll call her after your sister, Charlotte. It’s a lovely idea.’ She closed her eyes. She was so tired. She felt the late sun on her face and with the hum of voices, hushed now as a background, she slept.

‘She had a bad time, then, Watt.’ Maura pinned up her long red hair, twisting it into a bun at the nape of her neck. In her grey gown and with her chatelaine of keys hanging from her belt, she was once more the efficient housekeeper. ‘Still, she must be well over it all by now, lying abed for weeks is a privilege given to the rich.’

Maura’s lips tightened. ‘I was up and about only days after my baby was born.’

Maura had lost her child when she was at her most vulnerable and alone, carrying the stigma of a deserted wife.

‘Still an’ all it’s sad for Llinos to lose her daughter after waiting so long. But she’s got her boy and to be sure Llinos Mainwaring is a woman with more than her share of God’s gifts.’

Watt lay across the bed, wondering if the stern-looking woman standing before the mirror was the same one he had just bedded. Maura was older than he by a few years and she was an enigma, a woman of depths, depths he had not yet plumbed which was probably the reason he remained loyal to her.

He loved Maura and, though he could never make her his wife, he would always love her. It was strange to think that Maura was still married to a man who lived far across the sea in America. She seemed to pick up on his thoughts.

‘It doesn’t matter a jot about Binnie Dundee.’ She glanced at him. ‘You’ve been more of a husband to me than ever he was. Now get up and get dressed, you shameless man or you’ll tempt me back into bed again.’

‘If only,’ he said, feeling aroused at the warmth in her eyes. ‘I can never get enough of you, Maura, my love.’ They were fortunate that they could be together so often. Eynon Morton-Edwards was a good employer and a kind man. He turned a blind eye to their illicit affair. He welcomed Watt into his home as though he was an equal.

In return Maura had been good to Eynon. When his wife had died it was Maura he had chosen to care for his daughter. When the child was older it was Maura who selected the best tutor for the girl. She did all this as well as seeing to the smooth running of the Morton-Edwards’s household.

‘Get up, you lazy idle wretch!’ Maura leaned over and poked Watt’s chest. ‘Come along now, we’ve both got work to do, we’re not privileged like the idle rich, remember!’

Reluctantly Watt slid from the bed. He stood for a moment at the window, staring out at the long garden and the river beyond. ‘You are pretty privileged if you ask me,’ he said. ‘Look at this room, fine bed, rich drapes, good paintings on the wall. You are valued in your job here, which is more than I feel in mine at the moment.’

‘Ah well, I’m older and wiser than you, lad.’ She pushed him playfully in the back. ‘And, remember, Eynon is far wealthier than Llinos Mainwaring even though she married a rich foreigner.’

Watt was aware of her watching him as he dressed. He smiled at her as she stood neat and ready for duty, impatiently waiting for him.

‘You never did like Llinos, did you?’

‘Sure, I don’t care one way or another about the woman,’ Maura said icily. ‘She seems happy enough with the Indian fella but it’s not the sort of life for a lady, is it?’

‘I thought you didn’t care one way or another about her?’ There was a touch of asperity to Watt’s tone that was not lost on Maura.

‘Go on, defend her!’ Maura’s colour was high. ‘You’re like a little lap dog around her. I just don’t understand you.’

‘I’m not a lap dog,’ Watt said. ‘I’m grateful to Llinos, she gave me a home when I was alone. I love her like a sister.’

Maura’s shoulders were stiff. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Watt relaxed suddenly. ‘You’re jealous!’ he said. ‘You are actually jealous of my affection for Llinos Mainwaring.’ Laughingly, he swept her into his arms and threw her on the bed. ‘You silly goose!’ He leaned close to her, his fingers twined in her red hair. ‘I love Llinos like a sister, I love you like an eager lover should love the woman of his dreams.’ He kissed her and though she wriggled a little, her mouth was warm against his. Finally, she pushed him away.

‘Sure an’ now I’ll have to comb my hair again!’ She pretended to be angry but the glint in her eyes told him she was mollified.

‘Right then, I’ll be off back to Pottery House.’ Watt allowed his arm to linger around Maura’s shoulders. ‘Will I see you tonight?’

‘You’d better!’ She touched his face lightly and her features were softened with love. Watt’s heart beat faster; she made him feel ten feet tall. He was loved and that was the most precious gift any woman could give a man.

The kilns above the pottery wall shimmered with heat and Watt, approaching uphill towards Pottery Row, watched, without really seeing it, the cloud of mist rising from the ovens. As he drew nearer, the sharp smell of turpentine and lead oxide brought a wave of nostalgic memories. Watt had worked at the pottery as a child; he had come from the workhouse and his first job had been collecting the shards of pottery, cleaning up the yard and acting as a dogsbody for all the other workers.

Watt smiled; now he was manager, handling imports of china clay, ordering the raw material for the work. He had the power to hire and fire. He was a fair man and so long as folk gave their best, that was enough for him.

As Watt neared the house, Joe emerged holding his son by the hand. Joe was a handsome man; he stood tall and powerful, his long black hair framing a strong-boned face. But today there was an air of sadness about him; a drooping of the shoulders that was uncharacteristic of the man. Joe usually dealt with life’s blows with fortitude and courage.

‘How is Llinos feeling today, Joe?’

‘She’s much stronger now. Go talk to her, Watt, I’m sure she won’t rest until she begins to take charge of the pottery affairs again.’

Watt entered the house, the sun shone across the hallway in a slant of warmth. The hall and stairs were richly carpeted now, unlike the old days when threadbare rugs were the only luxury Llinos could afford. The curving banister shone with polishing and Watt sighed in contentment. Pottery House was his home and though it was not as palatial as the home of Eynon Morton-Edwards, it suited him just fine.

Llinos was sitting near the window of her bedroom; the sun was sending shards of light across her face and Watt’s gut contracted, she had a pureness of features that brought an ache to his heart. Her face lit up when she saw him.

‘Watt, I’m glad you’re back. Come and tell me about the pottery, how are the new patterns coming along?’

He stood at her side, staring down at her. ‘You are still very pale,’ he said. ‘It’s not long since you lost the baby. You’d better concentrate on getting well again and leave the potting to me.’