Sweet Rosie (5 page)

But he could never forget that part of him was white. He had been sent to an English school, he had learned new ways. He had learned his lessons well, both in the classroom and on the playing fields of the Merton School for Young Gentlemen. And then he had gone to war.

Joe had, in a strange way, enjoyed the fight against Napoleon Bonaparte. On the fields of France and Belgium he had been in his element, using his tracking skills and his native intuition to beat the man who single-handedly threatened the peace of Joe’s world.

Joe had been batman to Lloyd Savage; they had become companions, forging a bond and a mutual respect for each other that rose above rank. But Lloyd had not wanted Joe as a son-in-law, indeed he had done everything he could to prevent the marriage. And yet, at the end, Lloyd had been happy enough that Joe would be there to look after Llinos when he had gone to his heaven.

Joe paused, looking down the hillside towards the rolling fields. The sea beyond sparkled like diamonds in the sun. Why did men seek material riches when there were riches all around in nature for them to enjoy?

He did not want to dwell too much on the past, on the days after Lloyd’s death when he had been accused of his murder. Since then Joe had never used the herbs and spices used by the Mandan to treat sickness. That sort of medicine was not understood by so-called civilized people. He sighed, wondering if Lloyd would have approved of him now that his fortune had increased. It was strange the way money came to those who did not seek it. Fate had played a trick on him: here he was standing on the hills of Wales, staring out to sea, feeling proud that all the rolling greenery before him was his. Was he losing his Indian beliefs, the beliefs he had grown up with?

Among the men of the Mandan tribe, land was for everyone. No-one owned the earth, the sky or the waters. Perhaps he thought differently now that he was a husband and father. Now he wanted security for his wife and for his son. Was that the spur that drove men to toil in smoky sheds and pits?

He heard his name being called and looked downwards to where a tall figure was climbing the hill towards him.

‘Eynon!’ He held out his hand as the man drew close. ‘It’s good to see you. We don’t see enough of you since you sold the pottery.’

‘I know.’ Eynon sank onto the ground and took a small sketchbook from his pocket. ‘I have become something of a recluse, I’m afraid. The only people I see these days are my servants and my old friend Father Martin.’ His face lit up. ‘I have my darling daughter, of course, my Jayne. She’s become the centre of my universe.’

‘I can understand that,’ Joe crouched down beside Eynon, watching his slim fingers capture the curve of the hill and somehow, even in pencil, the sparkle of the sea. Eynon was a talented man.

‘I’m sorry about the baby.’ Eynon stared outwards, seeing the vista before him in a way that another man might never see it. Perhaps the reason they got on so well was that Eynon saw the land as Joe did, as the property of no man.

‘We are coming to terms with the loss of our daughter,’ Joe said. ‘As for Lloyd, I think my son is sometimes lonely for the company of children his own age. Tutors are all well and good but being with adults doesn’t teach a lad how to grow in the world of a child.’

‘Perhaps I should bring Jayne over some time,’ Eynon said. ‘I suppose she should mix more with other children, too.’ He glanced up at Joe. ‘It’s just that I’m afraid of losing her.’ He chewed the end of his pencil. ‘I suppose there’s also the guilt about her mother, who died giving me my child.’ Eynon sighed. ‘I wish I could have loved her, just a little. Annabel was a good woman.’

He smiled suddenly. ‘Of course it’s all the fault of that wife of yours. I’ve loved Llinos since the moment I first set eyes on her.’

‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘And she loves you too in her way.’ He watched the picture grow under Eynon’s skilled hands; it showed the sea, the sky, the hills and the outline of a sailing ship on the horizon.

‘That’s very good. It’s so full of life.’

Eynon shrugged. ‘It’s all right, I suppose, but I’ll never make a real artist; my father wouldn’t allow me to have the training.’

‘I think natural talent outweighs any training,’ Joe said quietly. ‘In any case, why not hire an art tutor for your daughter and take lessons yourself?’ He smiled. ‘I expect you would find you knew more than the person supposed to be teaching you.’

‘It’s an idea,’ Eynon said. ‘Anyway, what are you doing up here on the hillside alone? Working something out in your head, if I know you.’

‘There, you have answered your own question.’ Joe smiled.

‘Well, only half of it. Do you feel like telling me more?’ Eynon closed his sketchbook and gave Joe his full attention. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘Possibly,’ Joe said. ‘My mother is an elder now, I should go to America and see her.’

Eynon’s fair hair covered his eyes for a moment but not before Joe saw the glint in them. ‘That’s not quite the whole truth, is it?’

‘It’s all I’m going to tell you.’

Eynon got to his feet. ‘That’s all right, old chap,’ he said. ‘But if you go, remember that I specialize in taking care of ladies deserted by their husbands.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Joe said dryly. He could hardly fail to hear the gossip about Eynon and the wife of the new bank manager. ‘Mrs Sparks is an attractive lady and her husband is not even absent I understand?’

‘Not in body, perhaps,’ Eynon said. ‘But he is a dry stick for all that he’s a young man and pompous to boot. I think his lady wife is glad of an escort to the balls at the assembly rooms.’

Joe had heard tales of Mr Sparks’s pomposity from Llinos. When he had gone home last night she had been bursting with indignation. Mr Sparks thought he could dictate business terms to Llinos. He had actually advised her to sell the pottery. He was chancing his luck taking on a woman like Llinos.

Joe had been glad of the distraction. How could he have explained his absence for the night to his wife? He could hardly explain his reluctance to resume intimacy with Llinos to himself. Was it the loss of the child? Or perhaps it was the knowledge that Llinos was barren. It was not her fault of course; the prolonged birth had ruined her chances of ever conceiving a child again. He wanted to love her, to comfort her and yet he was almost afraid to touch her.

‘You have met him?’ Eynon asked. ‘This man Sparks I mean.’

Joe’s eyebrows lifted. ‘No but I have heard of him all right! The man was foolish enough to try to tell my wife how to run her business. I believe he received the sharp edge of Llinos’s tongue.’

‘I can just imagine it.’ Eynon laughed. ‘But then Sparks is a small man in every way, small framed and smaller of mind. All the same, I think Mr Sparks will make a bad enemy.’ He folded his sketchbook away. ‘Are you going back towards the pottery now?’

Joe nodded. ‘Aye, I’ll walk so far with you. Finished your drawing then?’

‘For today.’ The breeze drifted in from the sea as they walked across the hills. It was Eynon who broke the companionable silence.

‘I’ve seen a great deal of Watt Bevan lately but I don’t mind because his presence makes my housekeeper very happy. Maura seems to have quite got over that husband of hers.’ He glanced sideways at Joe. ‘Some of us find our pleasures outside marriage, you see?’

Joe looked towards Eynon; he was smiling, he was a man who had flaunted all the codes of etiquette and enjoyed it.

‘I think that Maura and her Watt are as respectable as any couple who walked down the aisle of a church,’ Eynon continued. ‘Though my friend Martin would be horrified by my attitude.’ He paused. ‘At least that’s what he says.’

‘And you don’t believe him for one minute?’

‘No, Joe, I don’t believe him for one minute.’

The two men walked in silence for a time until the green of the hill led down to where the trail met the river.

‘This is where our paths diverge,’ Eynon said. ‘Perhaps I can call over to see Llinos one evening? If she’s up to visitors that is.’

‘Llinos would like that. We both would like that.’ Joe paused. ‘Could I ask you a favour?’

‘Anything.’

‘When I go to America I would like you to take care of my family for me.’

‘I would be honoured.’ Eynon was suddenly serious. ‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’

Joe looked away across the vast sky. There was a great deal wrong, his mind needed clearing. He had been troubled ever since the death of his baby daughter and now he was troubled about his mother. He had recurring dreams about Mint, dreams of her drowning in a river that flowed swiftly, taking away the very breath of life. He must go to her, for her days on earth were numbered.

There was more troubling him. He felt bewildered by his feelings for Llinos. He loved her still and yet he could not bring himself to go to her, to hold her in his arms and make love to her. While he lived in the same house as Llinos he would never find the answers to his problems.

He did not say as much to Eynon. ‘It’s just that I’ll be gone for several months and I like to think of Llinos with a friend she can depend on.’

‘You didn’t really answer my question, Joe,’ Eynon said. ‘But I won’t push you. Perhaps I will persuade Llinos to come with me to one of the balls; I will dance with her all night and pay her every attention.’ He waved. ‘Bye, Joe, take care.’

Joe watched as Eynon swung along the road towards where his house stood tall and golden in the evening sun. He waited until the other man was out of sight and then he turned and, with his head bowed, made his way home.

CHAPTER THREE

Lily was finding it more difficult every day to live in the same house as James Wesley. At first, she had thought to ingratiate herself with him, to seek his protection. She had even contemplated marrying him but it was becoming more and more obvious that he had no interest in her.

She watched now as he stretched out in the easy chair, his feet before the fire. The evenings were becoming chilly and Lily felt the cold badly. He glanced up and caught her eye and smiled. For once, there was no sarcasm in his voice when he spoke.

‘We’re like an old married couple here, aren’t we?’

His words shocked her. ‘Well, I don’t know about that, I thought you hated me being here.’

‘You are a foolish little lady! Of course I don’t hate you being here. You are quiet and decent with none of the forwardness of some women I’ve met. All in all I find you a pleasant companion.’

Lily began to glow; her cramped inner feelings began to unfold a little. Being described as a pleasant companion was certainly not great praise but at least it was a start.

‘Lily,’ James said, ‘are you a good needlewoman?’

‘I’m not bad.’ Lily had always mended her own clothes. Never rich, she had patched petticoats and sewn on buttons more times than she cared to remember.

‘I wonder; would you do a little sewing for me?’ He pointed towards the stairs. ‘Up in my room, in the corner of the wardrobe, there’s a good shirt. It’s a little too large for me and needs to be altered. Could you tackle it for me?’

Lily was eager to please though she could see that the job would be a little more than sewing on buttons or doing some patching. ‘I’ll have a look at it.’

‘Go on then, you little goose, go get it.’

Lily hesitated for a moment, not sure if she was being friendly or simply acting like James’s servant. Then, with a shrug, she left the room. She was deep in thought as she climbed the winding stairs of the cottage. On the small landing, she paused to look out of the deep-silled window. It was dark in the garden with only a slant of moonlight to highlight the rosé arbour.

She loved it here so much; the cottage had become her home, had given her a feeling of being in a safe haven. Even when her husband died, she had not been lonely, well only a little. Sometimes she missed Tom but mostly she felt relief that at last she was free. And then James had come along to destroy her dreams. But perhaps even now, she could rescue something from the situation. It seemed her hopes of a relationship with James might still come to fruition.

She lit the candles and opened the wardrobe door. There were suits and breeches, jackets and shirts. Lots of shirts. She took them out one by one, trying to judge which one needed altering. At last, she gave up. She went to the top of the stairs and called out to James.

‘I can’t find the shirt you want altered, will you come and show me?’ She glanced around uneasily, was she wise inviting James to come up to the bedroom? The girl James had employed to clean and cook for him was asleep in the lean-to at the back of the cottage. If James meant to ravish Lily, there would be no-one to hear her screams.

But would she scream? Or would she let him have his way? Men once tasting the fruits of lust found it difficult to stop. Giving a man your body seemed to enslave him, at least in Lily’s experience.

James came up the stairs reluctantly. He stood beside her and peered into the darkness of the wardrobe. He was very close; she could smell the clean scent of soap and she glanced up at him from under her lashes. He was quite a handsome man; she would not find his advances too distasteful, would she?

Lily had never enjoyed being with a man. The strange excitement that seemed to fill them when they took her had never affected her. She was unresponsive as a lover, she knew it and yet that had done nothing to deter the men in her life. Of course Tom had been an old man and grateful that she allowed him any intimacies at all.

‘Fetch the candle over here, Lily,’ James said. She did what he asked and he held it aloft moving the flame precariously close to the clothing. ‘Ah, here we are.’ Triumphantly, he held out the shirt. It hung limply in his hands, like a headless corpse in the candlelight.

‘Where does it need to be altered then?’ Lily asked.

‘Ah, now I’m not quite sure. I’ll try it on and then we shall see. Take the candle, Lily, there’s a good girl.’