Beggars and Choosers (21 page)

‘I sincerely hope so, Sergeant Davies.' She laid a hand on his arm to delay him. ‘I have just come from visiting Mrs Bull in the infirmary.'

The sergeant ran his finger inside his collar as if he were suddenly too warm. ‘How is Mrs Bull?'

‘As well as anyone can be two weeks after she has been beaten half to death.'

‘We've no proof that she was beaten, Mrs James,' he retorted defensively. ‘Her husband says she fell.'

‘Forgive my cynicism, Sergeant,' she interrupted, ‘but how many other people have you known to cut and bruise every inch of their face, as well as fracture the crown of their skull and burn the hair from the back of their head from a single fall? My niece is also right-handed. Don't you think it more likely that she would have dislocated her right, not left arm, if she were trying to save herself from a fall?'

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘That is not for me to say, Mrs James. And we've no evidence that contradicts Mr Bull's side of the story.'

‘So when you charge him with breaching the peace, you couldn't also charge him with assault?'

‘Not on his own wife, Mrs James.' The sergeant evinced a sudden interest in the geraniums that filled the flowerbeds either side of the front door. ‘In my experience, wives will never give evidence in open court against their husbands.'

‘And if I guarantee that Mrs Bull will?'

‘Mr Bull could plead provocation or any number of things in his defence. There are bound to be things that have happened in private between Mr and Mrs Bull that Mrs Bull wouldn't want aired in public court. You do know that the
Pontypridd Observer
sends representatives to the courts?'

‘I read the local paper, Sergeant.'

‘In my book, whatever goes on between husband and wife behind closed doors shouldn't become the subject of gossip.' He gave her a tight smile.

‘I think everyone in Pontypridd is aware of what went on behind Mr Bull's doors two weeks ago, Sergeant.' She nodded to the coachman who dismounted and led the horses around the house to the stables at the back.

‘Let's say for argument's sake that the court does find Mr Bull guilty of assaulting Mrs Bull, not that they will because there's no evidence,' the sergeant amended hastily, ‘Mr Bull wouldn't get a long sentence, not for a domestic altercation. A few months, a year at the most and he'd be free again. And then where would Mrs Bull be? I dare say homeless and penniless without a man to run Mr Bull's business.'

‘Mrs Bull would be safe with me.'

‘Every minute of every day?' The sergeant lifted his eyebrows.

‘Are you saying that Owen Bull is free to murder his wife when she leaves hospital, Sergeant?' she enquired with a detachment that belied her rage.

‘Not murder, Mrs James. If he does that, we'll arrest him.'

‘And apologise to Mrs Bull at her funeral?' Edyth didn't wait for the sergeant to answer. She leaned on her cane and hobbled in through her front door.

Sali washed her face and patted it gently dry with a towel marked ‘Property of Pontypridd Union'. She felt weak, faint and her left arm, newly freed from the restricting bandages that had been wound in place to help her torn muscles and tendons heal, ached dreadfully, but she was elated. She had been allowed to walk unaided from her cubicle to the bathroom, and after four weeks spent in bed and another week of being escorted to the bathroom by a nurse, the independence felt wonderful. Soon, very soon, she would be reunited with her son.

She set the towel aside and studied her face in the blotched mirror above the washbasin. It didn't even look like hers. Misshapen and swollen over her left cheekbone, it was pockmarked by scabs and discoloured by bruises that had lightened during the past six weeks from black, through purple to a dark then lighter yellow which lent the impression she was suffering from jaundice.

She lifted her right hand and felt her head. The paralysing, nauseous headaches of the past few weeks had lessened until they were just about tolerable. Her hair was half an inch long, soft, silky and, to her amazement, curly. She had been upset when the sister had said that they'd had to shave her head in order to stitch three deep wounds on her scalp. But she had also told her that it had been just as well, as the hair on the back of her head had burned away when she had fallen against the stove.

She pulled out a tiny curl and watched it spring back into a corkscrew. Mari had described her hair as ‘poker straight' when she had been a child, and said it was a sin that Geraint should have curls and she none, because boys didn't need them. But then it had been Mari's job to wind her hair in rags every night so it could be curled into ringlets the following day. She wondered if it would remain curly, then reflected it didn't matter how her hair, or indeed she looked any longer because with Mansel gone there was no one left to notice, let alone admire her.

She left the bathroom and walked slowly down the corridor. Nurses were moving swiftly between the twin lines of beds in the general ward, straightening bedclothes, removing cups from lockers and stacking them on a trolley. The staff nurse looked up from the duty desk where she was making entries in a ledger, set aside her pen and went to her. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Bull?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

‘It is good to see you up and about, Mrs Bull.' The nurse walked alongside her as she returned to her room.

‘It feels good,' Sali tried a smile. Whether it was her imagination or not, it seemed to hurt less than it had done the day before.

‘Is Mrs James visiting you today?'

‘She promised she would.'

‘We'll miss her fruit baskets, fresh eggs and cakes, when you are discharged next week.'

‘Knowing my aunt she'll keep sending them.' Sali sat on the bed. ‘Do I have to get into bed for visiting? My aunt said she might bring ... a friend and I'd like both of them to think that I'm better.'

‘Your aunt and your friend will see that you are making a good recovery. And regulations are regulations.' The sister waited until Sali lifted her feet up on the bed before tucking the sheets around her and under the mattress. ‘That's the first bell. They'll be coming in any minute. Don't tire yourself out by talking too much. You may feel better but that's only because you've done nothing but rest for five weeks. It will be different when you go home.' Seeing Sali's eyes round in horror, the nurse turned around.

‘I'm Councillor Bull.' Owen strode into the cubicle. ‘Sali's husband.' He pulled a wooden stool up to the bed.

Sali trembled as Owen sat next to her, as self-possessed and unconcerned as if nothing had happened between them.

‘I've not visited you before, Sali, because I've been busy arranging Iestyn's funeral and trying to keep the shop going.'

Sali heard her aunt's voice, high-pitched and anxious, further down the ward.

Owen smirked. ‘I told your aunt to wait. As your husband and nearest relation I take precedence.' He looked at the nurse. ‘I have private matters to discuss with my wife. Close the door behind you when you leave.'

‘Regulations state that all doors in the ward have to be left open during visiting, Mr Bull.'

The sister walked briskly into the room. ‘Mrs Edwards needs urgent attention, Nurse.' After the girl left, she went to the foot of Sali's bed and picked up her chart. She flicked through it before addressing Owen. ‘I am sure that I don't need to warn you not to upset Mrs Bull, Mr Bull. She has been extremely ill.'

‘How can a visit from me possibly upset my wife, Sister?'

‘Mrs Bull is in an extremely fragile state.'

‘But she is reconvening after her fall.' It wasn't a question.

‘Yes, she is making a recovery,' the sister conceded.

‘Then, if you don't mind, I think we have wasted enough of the visiting hour. I'd like a word with my wife in private.'

‘If you feel worse, Mrs Bull, or you are in any pain, ring the bell.' The sister removed it from the locker and pressed it into Sali's right hand, on the opposite side of the bed to where Owen was sitting. ‘We'll look in on you at regular intervals.' The sister gave Sali a sympathetic look as she retreated.

Owen rose from the stool, hitched up the trouser creases on his best suit, and sat back down. ‘Not that you've asked, but Iestyn's funeral went well. Over sixty people turned out to bury him.'

‘Everyone liked Iestyn.' She moved as far away from him as the bed would allow.

‘Where are Rhian and the baby, Sali?' he asked, his voice ominously soft.

She plucked nervously as the bedcover. ‘I don't know.' All Aunt Edyth had said was that they were together and safe, away from Pontypridd. And now she understood why her Aunt had refused to disclose their exact whereabouts.

‘Before I repeat the question, you will remind me of a wife's first duty to her husband.'

‘Obedience.' She chanted the reply he had beaten into her.

‘Where are Rhian and the baby?'

‘I honestly don't know, Owen.' An ice-cold trickle of fear oozed down her spine, chilling her blood and raising goose pimples on her skin.

‘I don't believe you.' He leaned forward, locking his fingers together as if he were about to pray. ‘Are they with your aunt?'

‘No.'

‘For someone who doesn't know where they are, you seem very certain of that fact.'

‘She would have told me if they were with her.'

‘Since Rhian left, the shop has been costing me money. The woman I have employed says there are no customers.' His round piggy eyes appeared to have sunk deeper into the rolls of fat that wreathed his face since she had last seen him. ‘Will they return when you come home?'

‘Home?'

‘You are coming home.'

Although they had never discussed it, she knew her aunt expected her to move into Ynysangharad House when she was discharged. But wherever she went, the one thing she did know was that she couldn't bear the thought of living with Owen Bull. Not ever again. She bit her lip and turned away from him to the high window. The square of sky was grey, overcast ...

‘When are you leaving here?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Look at me when I speak to you.' He gripped her hand and squeezed her fingers painfully, until she faced him. ‘You do intend to come home?'

‘I haven't thought about leaving here yet ... I've been very ill, Owen ...'

He smiled at her, a smile crueller than his scowl. ‘You wouldn't listen if any of your friends tried to persuade you to go and live with them, would you?'

‘No one's asked me to go and live with them, Owen.'

‘Not even your aunt?' There was malice in his voice.

‘I have nowhere to go, you know that. My uncle –'

‘Your uncle is a God-fearing man who knows a wife's place is with her husband.'

As a nurse in starched long skirts and apron swished past the door, he relaxed back on the stool but did not relinquish his grip on her hand. ‘I warn you, Sali, a wife who leaves her husband is nothing. She may as well cease to exist. She has no place in society. The only profession open to her is that of whore. But then you've already been a whore, haven't you, Sali?' His fingers compressed hers until she thought he would crush her bones. ‘Mansel James's whore.'

‘If you think I'm a whore, Owen, why stay married to me? Divorce me.'

‘That is the sort of thing only a whore would say. There is no divorce in the eyes of our Lord,' he pronounced sternly. ‘I warn you, and it is a solemn warning, leave me and you, and whoever you run to, will suffer. I have a husband's rights under God's law “and those whom God has joined together let no man break asunder”.' He watched the tears roll down her cheeks. ‘You are overwrought, which is understandable after five weeks in this place. I will find out when you will be discharged and when you are, I will be outside, waiting to take you home. Once you are busy again with your household duties, you won't have time to gossip with your aunt or pine for the luxuries of your past life.' He fingered the silk and lace nightgown and lace bed jacket her aunt had given her. Releasing her hand, he stroked it. ‘Whatever I've done, I've done for your own good, Sali. You know that. You needed to be taught obedience and you are still learning. But I have hope that one day you will become a dutiful, God-fearing wife. When you come home I will ask your uncle to consider re-admitting you to the congregation of the chapel. You would like that, wouldn't you? Acceptance that might ultimately lead to forgiveness for your sin.'

Worn down by his bullying, she whispered, ‘Yes', in the hope that by agreeing with him, he'd leave her in peace.

The sister looked in. ‘Mr Bull, you have taken up more than half of the hour. Your wife does have other visitors.'

‘I am sorry. It is selfish of me to monopolise her. Send them in and I'll leave. After all, I'll soon have Mrs Bull to myself when she comes home. When exactly will that be, Sister?' he enquired artfully.

‘I am afraid I can't tell you, Mr Bull. It is for the doctor, not me, to decide.'

‘You must have some idea from similar cases.'

‘No, because I have never seen such severe injuries as those sustained by your wife before.'

Owen looked back at Sali as he went to the door. ‘I will be up to see you next Sunday, Sali. In the meantime I will make daily enquiries as to when you will be discharged. If Rhian should write to you, tell her to bring the boy home so she can prepare for your return.'

Trembling and fighting tears, Sali curled into a tight ball as Mari helped Edyth through the door. Mari settled Edyth into a chair before sitting next to Sali on the bed. Opening her arms, she hugged her as she had when she'd been a child.

‘Don't cry, lamb,' she reverted to a pet name she hadn't used since Sali was six years old. She made a face at the empty doorway. ‘I don't know how that man has the nerve to come here after what he did to you.'