The Wild Seed (47 page)

Catherine looked into the hot coals, feeling the warmth of the flames leaping from the hearth, feeling like a drowning man clutching at straws. ‘I’m going up there, after supper. Mrs Bethan Hopkins is going to have a piece of my mind.’ She sank into a chair, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded. She looked down at her hands, her fingers were sore from fashioning the brim of a straw hat which lay now, like a misshapen beast, against the chenille of the tablecloth.

Doreen picked up the hat and looked at it with raised eyebrows. ‘Not doing very well today, are you, love? Don’t try so hard, work on the felt hats, you’ll find those easier.’

‘I must try to do it all. If Mrs Grenfell is good enough to pay me for doing work at home then I must do it. I can’t expect you to come to my rescue all the time, you’ve enough to do in the shop.’

Doreen did not meet Catherine’s eyes, how could she tell her there was no pay for home work? All that was extra was Doreen’s pay for overtime, some of which she transferred to a fresh envelope and gave to Catherine. It was some salve to the girl’s pride, it gave her the chance to believe she was paying for her bed and board at Doreen’s house.

‘As for going up there to Ty Craig,’ Doreen said, steering the conversation onto safer ground, ‘forget it! That cow will have the servants throw you off the place, she won’t listen to a word you have to say.’

‘I have to try,’ Catherine said quietly. ‘You know as well as I do that she’s selling good stuff from Clarks at cut-price. Mrs Grenfell doesn’t stand a chance against that kind of competition. If I don’t at least try then the emporium will close down, Mrs Grenfell will be ruined and all because of me.’

‘I told you before, keep out of it, leave it to the big girls. Mrs Grenfell can hold her own, once she gets her fighting spirit roused there will be no stopping her.’

Catherine sighed, ‘I hope you’re right but I’ll have to say my piece anyway.’

It was a cool evening with the sun setting in splashes of red and gold behind the silhouette of the hill when Catherine began her long walk from Watkin Street to Ty Craig. Ruefully, she sucked at her finger where a needle had jabbed at her, drawing blood. She tried her best with the hats, conscious of Doreen’s praise and help but in her heart she knew she would never make a first-class milliner.

The street out of town was busy with traffic: vans returning to depots, dray-horses, tails flying, freed of the burden of heavy carts laden with beer barrels, travelling now at a trot. A messenger boy on a cycle, basket jutting forward empty of goods, was whistling cheerfully as he rode past her. He winked saucily. ‘Lovely day, miss, feel like a ride on my crossbar?’

‘Cheeky brat!’ Catherine said trying not to smile. As she left the main roadways and began to ascend the narrow lane leading away from town, Catherine paused and looked for somewhere to rest. The terrain was becoming rockier, more rugged and she chose a flat piece of grass and sank down gratefully. In her pocket, a letter crackled and she took it out and read it again; it was from Liam. It began without preamble:

‘I miss you, Catherine, I want to be with you more than ever now. I will have you on any terms you choose, I will come to live in your country, if that is what you wish. I long to hold you in my arms once more, to taste your sweetness. How could I ever want another woman now that I have possessed you?

Please, Catherine, forgive me for my anger, let me back into your life.

Yours as ever,

Liam.

Catherine folded the letter and replaced it in her pocket, wondering what she could say to Liam. Could she tell him there was no hope of them being together, she had merely encouraged him to buoy her own faltering pride? She could not flatly reject him, she cared too much for him for that. And she missed him, she realized with a sense of wonder, she really had missed him.

She rose to her feet and began to walk briskly up the hill, pushing away the unwelcome thoughts. She had not realized how far away Ty Craig was. The darkness was closing in now, the rocky outcrops becoming larger and more numerous. Catherine looked up, almost willing the moon to appear between the clouds, but the skies remained overcast.

At last, the house came into view, the tall gables disappeared into the night sky but the windows of the lower floors were lit with lamplight. Catherine paused at the large wrought-iron gates and looked with a sense of sudden apprehension at the twisted dragons frozen in metal, heads turned, tongues protruding, as though to dart towards her at any moment.

She tried to laugh at her own foolishness and began the walk along the rutted driveway. The large house seemed part of the rocks that reared around it, the walls stood fortress-like against the backdrop of the sheer cliff face. She wondered how anyone could bear to live in so dismal a house but then Bethan Hopkins was a woman of mystery, a woman of darkness.

She paused near the arched doorway, wondering if she should go to the back of the house, but no, she would ring the bell, she was a visitor not a servant or a tradesman.

After a time, a white-faced maid opened the door and Catherine was relieved, she had been expecting a sour-faced butler who would give her short shrift. This nervous young girl would be much kinder.

‘I’ve come to see Mrs Hopkins.’ She spoke firmly and the maid looked at her with surprise, unable to decide how to treat the unexpected caller.

‘Mrs Hopkins don’t have visitors, she don’t like ’em,’ she said at last. She made to close the door but Catherine stepped forward into the hallway and the maid looked at her open-mouthed, wondering what to do next.

‘Please let Mrs Hopkins know I’m here. I’m Catherine O’Conner, she will see me.’

The maid looked sulkily down at her boots, still uncertain, wondering how to deal with such persistence. At last, she nodded sulkily. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Hopkins but you’ll get me into trouble, I’m warning you.’

‘No, I won’t get you into trouble,’ Catherine’s tone was soft, reassuring, ‘you would get into trouble if you sent me away.’

Catherine watched as the maid mounted the stairs reluctantly, lifting her skirts away from the rich carpet, stepping gingerly as though complete silence was required of her. Poor girl, she seemed terrified of Bethan Hopkins, probably with good cause.

The maid returned almost immediately and nodded to Catherine. ‘You can go up, Mrs Hopkins will see you. Her room is the first one on the left of the corridor.’

Catherine mounted the stairs, feeling nervous now that she had accomplished her wish. What if Bethan railed at her, or worse, threatened her with violence? At the door, she took a deep breath and then rapped loudly.

The voice that bade her enter was neither angry nor pleading but low, almost sleepy. Catherine entered the bedchamber and blinked at the gloom; the curtains were partly drawn, the dark, heavy furniture crouched in shadow against the wall. The bed stood near the largest window and outside loomed the grey mass of the cliff face.

Bethan was lying against the pillows, her hair spread around her. Strangely, she looked younger than Catherine remembered, her eyes were large, luminous, her skin, though pale, glowed with inner light. She looked like a woman sated by love.

Catherine felt a dart of anger and pain, it seemed that Boyo and his wife had made up their differences in no uncertain terms.

‘I want to know why you’ve come.’ Bethan spoke quietly, without hostility and if Catherine had not known better, she would have felt that here was a reasonable, almost kindly human being.

‘I’m here to say I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you. Please, will you leave Hari Grenfell alone, none of this is her fault.’ The words fell into the silence, they sounded hysterical, absurd. Bethan’s eyebrows lifted.

‘I don’t understand you.’ She seemed to be enjoying herself, playing a game of cat and mouse and Catherine repressed a shiver. What other schemes did this strange woman have on her mind?

‘Of course you do,’ Catherine said quietly.

‘But why should I harass Mrs Grenfell? You are ill informed, girl, I once invested a great deal of money in her business. Not that it is any concern of yours.’

‘Then why did you try to force her to dismiss me and why are you taking away her best trade?’

‘I have no interest at all in where you are employed, I think you flatter yourself that I should take such trouble over you. As to taking away trade, if you are referring to my new venture, selling shoes directly to the public, then I can only conclude you have no sense of business. Competition is healthy, it is also inevitable, as I’m sure Mrs Grenfell will appreciate.’

Catherine was getting nowhere, Bethan Hopkins was adept at deflecting questions and accusations, she was a very clever woman.

‘Tell me why there are a gang of louts on the road barring the way to the emporium, then?’ Catherine felt she was losing grip of the conversation; put into words she could see that she had flimsy evidence to support her arguments.

‘Are we talking here about thugs on the roadways of Swansea? If so, my dear child, this is none of my doing, I cannot be held responsible for all the ills that befall Swansea or the inhabitants thereof.’

‘Look,’ Catherine made a last desperate attempt, ‘I am no longer involved with Boyo … Mr Hopkins, it’s over and done with, you have nothing to fear from me.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ Bethan smiled. ‘A wife knows these things, you see. What my husband did with you was to amuse himself for a short time. It is not unusual for a husband to seek a particular sort of gratification elsewhere, it’s the way of mankind.’

Catherine was speechless, Bethan Hopkins had twisted the whole thing, her affair with Boyo had been based on love, or had it?

‘Have you said what you came to say?’ Bethan lay back against the pillows. ‘I’m tired, I must rest, you see.’ She smiled brightly. ‘This very afternoon I saw the doctor, he confirmed what I suspected, that I’m pregnant again. This time I will allow nothing to upset me, do you understand?’

Catherine’s mouth was dry, so the rumours were true. She could not speak, she saw the look of triumph come into Bethan’s face and she turned away to hide the rush of tears. As she left the room, Bethan’s voice carried towards her.

‘If my husband
should
seek solace with you this time, I trust you will do the honourable thing and send him back to me. You caused the death of my first baby, I don’t know how women of your kind can sleep at nights.’

Catherine hesitated, battling with anger and guilt. ‘I will have nothing to do with Boyo ever again but that is my own choice, not yours.’

She left the room and hurried down the stairs feeling as though dragons were at her heels, as though unseen eyes were watching her. She had come here to reason with Bethan Hopkins and instead she was running away like a whipped dog.

Outside, it had grown dark, the feeling that eyes were following her flight persisted and she realized she was frightened, but of what? Bethan Hopkins was inside, in her bed, a delicate woman, a pregnant woman.

The knowledge brought a bitter taste to her mouth but whatever she was, Bethan Hopkins was not a witch. She had no supernatural powers, she could not reach into the past or the future, she was an ordinary mortal like any other. Then why did the feeling persist that Bethan was all-powerful, that she could accomplish anything she wished?

Catherine hurried through the wrought-iron gates, her vision blurred, her throat aching with unshed tears. Ahead of her, the roadway was shadowed by overhanging trees. She stopped suddenly as she saw a huge, dark shape bearing down on her. She half screamed as she darted into the hedge, the sharp twigs catching on her clothing. She tripped and fell headlong, her head hitting the pitted roadway.

‘Catherine!’ The voice was achingly familiar. ‘Catherine, what are you doing on this road in the darkness? You could have been killed.’

‘Boyo … I …’ She stopped speaking, his arms were around her lifting her to her feet. For a moment she was dazed, she lay against his shoulder, breathing him in, love and hate twisting inside her like the iron dragons on the gate.

‘Catherine …’ his voice had softened, he was trembling. He touched her hair with his lips, his arms were around her and for a moment she revelled in the feeling of coming home being with him always gave her.

Bethan’s words reverberated in her mind and she drew away from him, clasping her hands together tightly.

‘Catherine, I love you, God help me, I love you, I want you so much it’s like a physical wound inside me day and night.’

She took a deep, ragged breath. ‘Oh, yes, you want me so much, you miss me, you love me, those are empty words, Boyo. Your wife has just told me that she is pregnant again.’

She heard him gasp in the darkness, he lifted his hand and brushed away a lock of hair and for an endless moment, he was silent.

‘That cannot be,’ he said at last. ‘I have not … no, Bethan can’t be pregnant, it just is not possible.’

‘I have just spoken to her, why should she lie?’ Catherine said quickly. But perhaps she had been lying; desperate women took desperate measures. And yet there had been the ring of truth in her voice when Bethan Hopkins had told her the news.

‘Pregnancy is not something a woman can hide for long, the truth will out, Boyo. Whatever the truth of the matter, it means nothing to me, you and I are through, we have been for a long time.’

He sighed heavily, ‘Catherine, I can’t be responsible for what Bethan has been telling you. I know I have no rights over you but I want you to believe me when I say from the first moment we met, I’ve loved you. If I had been free …’

‘But you weren’t free.’ Catherine looked up at him trying to see his expression in the darkness. ‘And we should have known better than to start something that could only lead to disaster.’

She began to walk away. There was a chill in the air and the scents of the night were all around her, the salt of the breeze blowing in from the sea, hidden from sight by the folding hills. An owl hooted, a small creature scuttled through the grass.

‘I’m taking you home.’ He spoke heavily, he was defeated and Catherine felt her throat constrict. ‘I will take no arguments, it is not safe for a young woman to walk in these deserted hills alone.’