Beggars and Choosers (20 page)

‘I want to hold him.'

‘I wouldn't advise that, Mrs Bull.'

The sergeant squatted beside Sali. ‘Can you remember what happened, Mrs Bull?'

‘Mrs Bull isn't in a fit state to answer any questions, Sergeant Davies,' the doctor said firmly. ‘If you check with me in a day or two, you might be able to send someone to the Graig Infirmary to question her.'

‘The workhouse ... you can't send me to the workhouse,' Sali pleaded. ‘Who will look after my baby?'

‘I will, Sali,' Rhian reassured. ‘Don't worry, I will take care of him.'

‘Owen ...'

‘Owen is not here, Sali. The baby is safe.'

The sergeant gave Rhian a hard look. In his book, there was a world of difference between a man hitting his wife to keep her in order and a man venting his drunken rage on a defenceless child. But he couldn't see a mark on the boy.

‘Please, let me stay with my baby,' Sali begged. ‘Don't send me to the workhouse.'

‘You are going to the infirmary, not the workhouse,' the doctor said calmly.

‘The infirmary costs money.'

‘That is nothing for you to worry about.' He grimaced as he studied the extensive injuries to her face. When the police had woken him in the early hours, he had been furious, but as the constable had outlined the events in Mill Street, he recalled Edyth James asking him to do whatever he could to help her niece if he was ever given the opportunity.

He would never have recognised Sali Watkin Jones if the police hadn't told him who she was. Her face was battered beyond recognition, her eyes sunk into black bruises, her eyelids and lips split, bleeding, and the whites of her eyes crimson with burst blood vessels. She was so painfully thin he could count her ribs. Her hair, which had always been immaculately styled, had burned away on the back and crown of her head, leaving singed, broken stubble, the rest was matted, unkempt and clotted with blood. She looked like an old woman of sixty. Whatever the girl had done, she had undoubtedly suffered for it, and he felt sorry for her and her child.

‘Don't worry, Mrs Bull, a few weeks of rest and care, and you will be fine, And you'll be in a private room,' he promised, knowing Edyth James would pay any amount of money to ensure Sali's comfort.

‘What's the damage to Mrs Bull?' the sergeant enquired, holding his notebook.

‘She has a dislocated arm, severe bruising and cuts to the head and face, a cracked cheekbone, and a fractured skull. She'll need at least six weeks rest and I don't want her interviewed until I give you permission to do so.'

‘I have a dead man out there and another man in custody. A girl,' he gave Rhian a scathing look, ‘who doesn't seem to be at all sure what happened, other than her brothers were fighting, possibly over the baby. Mrs Bull's evidence could be crucial.'

‘She is in no condition to give it.'

‘Could you examine the child to see if he has any marks or bruising?'

‘As soon as Mrs Bull is on her way to the infirmary.'

As if on cue, a constable entered the kitchen and announced, ‘The ambulance is here, Sarge.'

‘Send the driver and his mate up with a stretcher, Constable.' The doctor stretched his legs as he rose to his feet. ‘Would you order your officers to clear the street so we can put Mrs Bull in the ambulance, Sergeant Davies?'

‘You promise to look after the baby?' Sali reached out to Rhian as they loaded her on to the stretcher, but all she could see was her shadow.

‘I promise.' Rhian stooped to the floor and picked up the parcel Sali had thrust at Owen. She laid it on the stretcher beside Sali. ‘You'll need your best clothes.'

The doctor took time to examine Isaac after the ambulance left. The child looked up solemnly and silently from his cot as he was poked and prodded. ‘He has a temperature.'

‘Sali thought it was a summer chill,' Rhian murmured.

‘It could be.' The doctor folded his stethoscope and placed it in his bag. ‘The child is malnourished, but there's no sign of violence.'

‘So, your brother Owen never touched the child, Miss Bull?'

‘I never said he did,' she remonstrated.

‘No? You weren't sure, were you?'

Constable Griffiths tapped the door. ‘The second ambulance is here, Sergeant Davies. The men want to know if they can move the body.'

‘Not until the doctor has seen it.'

The doctor picked up his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and followed the sergeant out of the room. Rhian crept on to the landing but not down the stairs. She watched from above while the doctor examined Iestyn.

‘No doubt about it,' he declared flatly after a few minutes. ‘His neck is broken.'

‘What I want to know is, was he pushed or did he fall?'

‘Could have been either from the way he is lying,' the doctor answered.

‘There's no way of knowing?' the sergeant pressed.

‘Not for certain. All I can say is he fell backwards down the stairs, landed on his head and broke his neck. How he came to fall is for you to decide.'

‘There was blood on his brother's knuckles.'

‘There's none on him.'

‘The men are anxious to get on, Sarge. Can we move it,' the constable glanced up at Rhian, ‘Mr Bull to the mortuary in the Graig Hospital?' he amended.

‘Yes, Griffiths. And while you're at it, clear the street of nosy parkers. Tell them there's nothing more for them to see tonight.'

‘If you don't want me for anything else, I'll be on my way.' The doctor snapped his bag shut.

‘Nothing else. Thank you for coming out, Doctor.' The sergeant closed his notebook and walked up the stairs.

‘You'd best lock the door behind us, Miss Bull.'

‘What about Owen?'

‘The way things stand, once he's sober, we'll let your brother out first thing in the morning. If as you say, Iestyn fell downstairs, the only charge we can make against him is drunk and disorderly. I don't know what the chapel or the town council are going to say about it, but that is their problem, not mine. You sure you want to take care of the nipper? I could arrange to have him taken to the workhouse.'

‘I'll take care of him,' Rhian said firmly.

‘Are you sure you can't tell me any more, Miss Bull?' Sergeant Davies looked Rhian in the eye.

‘I am sure.' She watched him walk back downstairs.

‘Miss Bull?'

‘Yes, Sergeant?'

‘Lock the door,' he said again as he closed it behind him.

Chapter Eleven

Thoughts whirled without reason or coherence in Rhian's mind when she returned to the kitchen. The sergeant had said he'd release Owen when he was sober. That meant he'd return, and there was only her and the baby. She couldn't face living with him alone. She simply couldn't! Not without Iestyn to help and protect her.

What if Owen attacked her the way he had Sali? And he hated the baby. She was no match for Owen but she had no money, nowhere to go, no friends ... She looked at the clock. It was half past five. How long would it take Owen to sober up?

She took a sheet from the baby's cot and spread it on the floor. Removing the child's clothes and blankets from the outgrown baby carriage where Sali kept them, she bundled as many as she could on to the centre of the sheet. Tying it in a knot, she left Isaac in his cot and went to her room. Setting a sheet from her bed on the floor, she wrapped her spare clothes in it. Taking both bundles she lifted the baby from his cot, wrapped both of them in his shawl, Welsh fashion, crept down the stairs and slipped out of the house.

A misty dawn had broken, portending a fine day. Trying not to think about the enormity of what she was doing, she turned right towards Taff Street.

‘Rhian, where you off to at this time in the morning?' Mrs Hughes shook an eiderdown out of an upstairs window.

‘Nowhere, Mrs Hughes.'

‘Funny nowhere, carrying the baby and two bundles that size. Wait.'

Uneasy, lest Mrs Hughes try to persuade her to stay, Rhian reached the corner of the street before her neighbour caught up with her. Heaving for breath, Mrs Hughes pressed something into Rhian's hand. ‘It's not much, but it may help.'

Rhian didn't opened her hand until she reached Taff Street, then she saw that Mrs Hughes had given her three shillings.

Bless me, child, what are you doing here at this hour with the baby?' Mari glanced anxiously around the yard of Danygraig House before opening the back door wider. ‘Quick.' She took one of Rhian's bundles and ushered her into the passage that linked the pantries with the preparation kitchens. ‘Down here.' She led the way to the butler's pantry and knocked on the door. ‘It's me, Tomas, let us in.'

‘Good God!' Tomas opened the door and stepped back when he saw Rhian and the baby.

‘I can't allow her in the kitchen, you know how Mr Morgan prowls round every inch of the house as soon as he gets up.' Mari dropped the bundle she was carrying inside the door and took the child from Rhian. ‘Sit down, girl, you must be worn out after carrying those through town. Has Sali sent you here?'

‘Sali couldn't send me anywhere.' Fighting tears and sheer weariness, Rhian proceeded to tell them about the traumatic events of the night. They listened in an attentive tight-lipped silence that Sali would have recognised as the beginning of slow anger, but it unnerved Rhian. ‘I know I shouldn't have come here,' she apologised. ‘But I didn't know where else to go with the baby and he's not well, you only have to look at him to see that. If it was just me I'd try to get a place somewhere, but I couldn't leave the baby. My brother hates him and without Sali and Iestyn ...' She finally shed tears for the simple-minded brother she had loved.

‘It's right you came here.' Mari glanced at the clock. ‘Tomas and I have to go, but you'll be safe here and I'll bring you food and milk for the baby as soon as I can. The beautiful little lamb.' Mari dropped a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Considering what he's been through, he's ever so good.'

‘He's wonderful. But where am I to go?'

‘You leave that to me. I have to see to the breakfasts but I'll be back.'

‘Why don't you and the baby curl up in my bed?' Tomas offered. ‘You both look as though you could do with some sleep.'

‘I have to change him first.'

‘There's clean water in the jug on the washstand. Everything else is where you'd expect to find it.'

‘Thank you.' Rhian took the boy from Mari.

Tomas reached for the bottle he kept hidden under his mattress and poured her a small glass of sherry. ‘Drink this.'

‘Don't make a sound,' Mari warned. ‘Mr Morgan has never come down here but that's not to say that he won't take it into his head to do so.'

‘We'll lock you in. Don't answer to anyone, no matter what they say. We have the only key to the room. So long as you remain quiet, no one will know that you are here.' Tomas patted her arm, stroked the child, checked his tie was straight and followed Mari into the corridor.

‘If Morgan Davies sees her or that child in this house, we'll both be on the streets,' he cautioned as they scurried towards the kitchens.

‘I know.'

‘Have you any idea where they can go?'

‘My sister is housekeeper to a big house in the Rhondda. Her master's a bit of a soft touch.'

‘Unlike ours,' he commented dryly.

‘Ours is in his grave,' she countered sharply. ‘And my sister could probably use another kitchen maid.'

‘The girl's not trained. She has no character.'

‘The girl's been keeping house for Owen Bull since she was eight years old. She's trained and I'll give her character enough for my sister.'

‘And the boy?'

Mari pursed her lips. ‘There are always women willing to look after a child for a few shillings a week.'

‘What kind of women?' he enquired warily.

‘Hopefully, good-hearted ones,' she replied unconvincingly.

‘While Mr Morgan eats his breakfast, send the stable boy to the station yard. If a cab comes into the back yard from Crossbrook Street at ten past eight Mr Morgan won't see it. The cab can take her ...'

‘Not to the station, she'll be seen. And if Owen Bull is released this morning he'll be looking for them.'

‘Not at Trehafod station he won't.'

‘And who is going to pay for a cab to take her and the child to Trehafod and their train tickets to the Rhondda? And she'll need more if your sister can't find a place for her, or a woman to look after the child. It's not often I disagree with you, Mrs Williams,' he lowered his voice as they approached the kitchens, ‘but I think we should send her and the child to Mrs James.'

‘Mr Bull knows Mr Mansel is the father of Miss Sali's baby and that Mrs James is fond of Miss Sali. It's the first place he'll look for them.'

‘Let him look.'

‘The girl is his under-age sister. He is the legal father of that baby. If he wanted them back, the law would be on his side. And once they are under his roof, who knows what he'll do to them?' Red-faced with suppressed anger at the thought of Sali's injuries; Mari heaved for breath. ‘I have some money in my box.' She wished she hadn't put quite so much of her savings in the bank. The last time she had looked she had only two pounds and no one would look after a child for less than five shillings a week.

‘I have five pounds.' Tomas held up his hand as if to ward off Mari's thanks. ‘Let's just hope that your sister can find the girl a job and knows someone who can care for the child. If she can't, we'll all be in trouble.'

As Sali awoke to a painful consciousness she sensed she was in a strange place. She could hear the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes moving over hard floors. The distant rattle of enamelware banging and the clink of cutlery and china provided a musical accompaniment to whispers delivered in the muted tones of a sick room. She struggled to open her eyelids. They felt heavy and gritty as if sand were trapped beneath them. She attempted to focus, looked and looked again, wondering if she were dreaming.

Her Aunt Edyth was sitting in a chair next to her bed, thinner and older than she remembered.

‘How are you feeling, darling?' Edyth reached out and took her hand.

Before Sali could answer, a nurse appeared. Taking her wrist, she lifted it and checked her pulse rate against the watch pinned to the top corner of her apron.

Edyth tried to smile. Sali didn't attempt to because her face felt as though it were on fire. She remembered a doctor telling her that he was going to send her to the Graig Infirmary. She remembered waking afterwards, but she had lost count of the number of times and she could recall being given injections whenever she opened her eyes, numbing, sleep-inducing injections that deadened the sharp throbbing in her head.

‘My son ...' Her voice was hoarse, rusty from disuse.

‘Is well, happy and being looked after, Sali,' Aunt Edyth murmured.

‘Owen ...'

‘He is not with Owen and neither is Rhian.'

‘Iestyn ... he tried to help me ...'

‘Iestyn fell down the stairs and broke his neck, Sali. He is dead.' Edyth said the words as gently as she knew how, but she could not cushion their devastating effect. The nurse nodded to someone standing behind her. A second nurse stepped into view carrying an enamel tray that held a glass phial and a syringe. The first nurse helped her aunt from the chair as the second turned back her bedclothes.

‘I have to leave now, Sali, but I will be back to see you soon.' Edyth dropped a kiss that didn't quite reach Sali's bruised forehead, picked up her cane and tottered unsteadily from the room.

‘The man deserves to be horsewhipped,' Edyth declared to the doctor when he joined her in the corridor.

‘I don't disagree with you, Mrs James, but his punishment is for the police and the law to decide.' He opened the door for her and offered her his arm.

‘I can't understand how they could let him walk free from the police station the morning after he did this to my niece.'

‘Without any witnesses or evidence ...'

‘Evidence!' Putting her full weight on his arm, she turned and shook her stick in the direction of the ward. ‘Isn't that evidence enough?'

‘Mr Bull said his wife tripped, fell and hit her face on the range,' he reminded her.

‘As well as the back of her head?' Edyth enquired sceptically. ‘And his brother fell downstairs? Isn't that rather too much falling in one house in one night?'

‘Put yourself in the position of the police, Mrs James,' he remonstrated. ‘The only witness was his sister who has vanished. Mrs Bull was too ill to give a statement –'

‘And the police will not interfere between a man and his wife,' she broke in acidly, quoting the sergeant she had summoned to visit her.

‘I'll grant you Mrs Bull looks dreadful now, but she will make a full recovery.'

‘And the scars?'

‘Will fade in time.'

‘I can see her next week?'

‘Visiting is every Sunday, two until three o'clock.' The doctor escorted her to the front door of the infirmary where her carriage was waiting. ‘Goodbye, Mrs James, and don't worry about your niece. We will take good care of her.' The doctor handed her over to Jenkins who opened the door of the carriage. The butler settled her on one of the seats, spread a travelling rug over her legs, closed the door and joined the coachman on the box.

Edyth stared blindly through the window, as they passed through the gates set in the high walls that surrounded the workhouse, infirmary and fever hospital complex. They reached the bottom of High Street and drove under the railway bridge into Tumble Square. She rapped her cane on the roof in Taff Street and shouted, ‘Drive home via Mill Street, Catherine Street, Gelliwastad Road and Bridge Street, and drive slowly in Mill Street.'

‘Yes, Mrs James,' came the coachman's muffled reply.

Edyth removed a lavender-scented handkerchief from her handbag and held it over her nose and mouth as she studied the dilapidated terrace that backed on to the river. The heat of August had abated, the evenings were growing shorter, and people were taking their coats out of mothballs to prepare for the winter, but the stench of sewage, rot and decay was still overwhelming. She saw the sign over Owen Bull's shop and imagined Sali and her child living within those mouldering walls, breathing in the foul air day after day.

‘No more!' she promised herself fervently. No matter what the police said, or what ‘rights' Owen Bull claimed as Sali's husband, there was no way that she was going to allow her niece, or Mansel's son to return to that slum to live in those foul conditions with a man she regarded as a murderer, even if the police didn't. Not while she still drew breath.

‘He was banging the front door and shouting, Mr Jenkins. He wouldn't listen to anything we tried to tell him, so I sent for the police. Did I do right?' Robert, the footman who had once worked for Harry Watkin Jones, looked apprehensively at the elderly butler who was busy opening the door of the carriage and folding down the iron steps.

‘You did right, Robert,' Jenkins replied gravely. He helped Edyth alight from the carriage and they watched two burly policemen and Sergeant Davies bundle Owen Bull from the porch of Ynysangharad House into the back of a Black Maria.

‘I came for my sister!' Owen Bull shouted, struggling to free himself.

‘Your sister isn't here, Mr Bull,' Edyth said calmly.

‘The child.'

‘The child isn't here either, Mr Bull.'

Her cool assertions only served to infuriate Owen all the more. ‘They are my family, and they should be living with me ...' He kicked out, losing his temper as the sergeant closed and fastened the back doors of the van in his face.

‘We'll charge him with disorderly behaviour and breaching the peace, Mrs James.' The sergeant signalled to the driver to move off. ‘The magistrates will most probably sentence him to be bound over to be of good behaviour. Then, if he comes back here or tries to bother you again, we can re-arrest him and he'll lose his bond or be sent to prison. I think it's safe to say that a man of previously good character like Owen Bull won't risk that, or forfeiting his bond, which should be set at quite a considerable sum. I doubt you'll be seeing him again.'