Finders and Keepers (41 page)

‘You'll see Miss Adams again, not the Diana you took out tonight.' She kissed his cheek. ‘It's been fun knowing you, Harry.'

‘Likewise. Good luck in London.'

‘Thank you.'

He climbed back into his car and waved to her before driving out through the gates. Feeling as though he had made the most momentous decision of his life, and needing to think about his future, he drove up to the farm. He parked by the entrance to the reservoir so the sound of his car wouldn't disturb the family and walked towards the lonely farmhouse.

The scene looked picture-postcard peaceful beneath the waning moon, and he started to plan out another picture for when he had finished his second watercolour of the reservoir. Perhaps he could try one in oils? If he took the road as a vantage point, and looked through the arched entrance into the farmyard in daylight, he could portray a glimpse of farm life …

Something moved in the archway of the farmhouse. He was surprised to see a pony and trap standing there. The rig looked new even in the muted shadows. He was crossing the road to take a closer look at it when a piercing cry shattered the quiet. It echoed towards him a second time, faint but unmistakable, more human than animal. The sound of someone in pain.

Running stealthily, he charged past the trap into the farmyard, setting the dogs barking. Whistling the way David had taught him to silence them, he waited for them to settle. The stable door was ajar, which he found odd. He hadn't seen any of the Ellises go near it since Dolly's death. He stole towards it and peered inside.

The blackness was devoid of shadow and he recalled there were no windows in the old stone building. He detected movement and scuffling in the stall nearest the door. Then the cry came again, an anguished, muffled scream that culminated in a sob.

He pushed the door wide. Dim grey light flooded in from the yard. A silhouette moved upwards from the floor revealing a second figure beneath it. A fist flew towards him and connected with his jaw. He reeled back, falling awkwardly on the cobbled yard, cracking his elbow and scraping his hand. A crippling electric shock of pain shot down his arm. He watched his assailant waddle out of the stables and realized his movements were hampered by his trousers pulled down around his ankles. The shadowy figure heaved them to his waist and the few seconds he took to fasten his braces gave Harry time to collect his senses.

He saw the second blow coming and rolled to avoid it. Winded, fighting the pain in his arm, he heaved for breath. A flash of white appeared in the stable doorway. He looked up and saw Mary clinging to the frame. It was a glance that cost him pain. A boot connected with his ribs. He groaned and doubled up.

A rasping voice grated, ‘Mary, who the hell is this?'

‘Please, sir, don't hurt him -'

‘I'll kill the bastard!'

Harry grabbed the boot before it connected with his body a second time and wrenched it upwards. His attacker thudded on to the cobbles beside him. Harry rose to his knees and listened. He could hear his assailant's breathing, the creak of the pony moving in harness in the archway and a fox calling to its mate on the hills behind the house.

He tried to stand but it felt as though red-hot knives were piercing his lungs. The slightest movement was torture but he managed to crawl towards the man who had attacked him. He touched his head. The man sighed and turned. He ran his hands over him. Apart from a lump on his temple he seemed to be in one piece, if out cold. Glad he hadn't killed him – whoever he was – he looked to where he had last seen Mary. She was crouched in the doorway of the stable, her head buried in the skirt of her nightgown.

He crept towards her on his hands and knees. ‘Mary?'

She shrank back.

‘Mary?'

She didn't move, or look up, but mumbled, ‘Please, go away.'

‘Not until I'm sure that you're all right.'

She finally lifted her tear-stained face, but she couldn't look at him. ‘You saw what he was doing to me. I'll never be all right, never again.'

It was only then that he realized she'd been raped.

‘Mr Pritchard was the reason my father hung himself.' Mary sat with her legs curled beneath the hem of her nightgown on the floor outside the stable stalls. Harry had tried to comfort her but every time he had drawn close, she had retreated, until she succeeded in boxing herself into a corner between the wall and the wooden partition. So he remained six feet away from her, his legs sprawled on the floor, his back supported by a post.

‘Your father hung himself because of the agent?' he murmured in bewilderment.

It had taken Mary years to find someone she could confide in, and now she had, it was as though the floodgate that had dammed all her pent-up misery and shame had finally burst. ‘Every woman who lives on the farms Bob Pritchard collects rent from knows what he's like. They're all afraid of him and try to keep what he does to them a secret from their men, but they talk to one another.'

‘Then you're not the only one he has raped?'

‘The agent's forced dozens of women to sleep with him,' she revealed bitterly. ‘My mother knew what was going to happen to her the day my father told her he couldn't pay the rent. She'd spoken to Mrs Jones – Mr and Mrs Jones used to work for us when my father could pay them. They lived in the house down the road before they were evicted. Mrs Jones told my mother that as soon as they were in arrears, the agent came round, offering to stop the landlord from sending in the bailiffs, but only if she gave him what he wanted “in kind”.'

‘She didn't tell her husband or go to the police?'

‘She didn't dare because she knew no one would believe her, except perhaps her husband. And she was afraid that Mr Pritchard would hurt him. As you've found out, Mr Pritchard's strong, but it's not just him. The bailiffs do whatever he tells them to because he pays them. He even boasted to Mrs Jones about the other wives who gave him their rent “in kind”. We used to see some of them in Pontardawe and Swansea on market day. They were all ashamed of what he was doing to them. They used to whisper to one another about it, but they couldn't stop him from using them.'

Harry didn't doubt for one minute that Mary was telling the truth. He was appalled by the thought that a man could misuse his position of trust as a rent collector to commit crimes against dozens of women – and to carry on doing so for years – when so many people knew about it. ‘I'm beginning to wish I hurt him more than I did,' he said feelingly.

‘I knew what he was doing to my mother from the very beginning because I was there when he told her what she had to do if she didn't want us to get thrown out of the house. And the whole time he talked to her, he looked at me. I was twelve years old. My mother told him she'd do whatever he asked, provided he left me alone and allowed us to stay here. From then on, he used to come here once or twice a month and always when he knew that my father would be in Pontardawe or working in one of the far fields. I looked after David, Martha and Matthew while he took my mother into the stable. Then, one day, my father returned unexpectedly. He'd gone down to buy our goods in Pontardawe but Dolly threw a shoe. He went into the stable and saw … saw … he saw …'

‘The agent raping your mother,' Harry finished for her, unable to bear the pain in her voice.

‘When I saw my father and Mr Pritchard fighting in the yard I shut Martha and the boys in the front of the house so they wouldn't see what was going on. My father accused the agent of raping my mother and threatened to go to the police. Mr Pritchard laughed in his face and said he'd never had to force himself on a woman in his life because they all threw themselves at him. That he had trouble choosing which one to have because every tenant's wife and daughter wanted him.' She dropped her voice until it was almost inaudible. ‘He said my mother had begged him to make love to her. And it was true. He always made her ask him to take her into the stable, and he would never go until she said please.'

‘That's horrible. The man's a sadist. Can't you see, Mary? The agent didn't need to beat your mother to get her to ask him to take her into the stable, because she was afraid that if she didn't, he'd assault you and evict your family. If that doesn't amount to rape, I don't know what does.'

‘There was a woman once, on one of the farms. She'd only been married a few weeks. She complained to the police about Mr Pritchard. He said she'd led him on and when he'd done what she wanted him to she'd asked him for money. And the only reason she'd complained to the law was he'd refused to pay her. Wherever she went afterwards, people used to point at her and call her vile names. No one took her side. They were too afraid that they'd be treated the same way if they did. The minister wouldn't even allow her over the doorstep of the chapel. In the end her husband threw her out. She had nowhere to go except the workhouse. And they sent her off to London to become a maid in a hospital.'

‘That is an appalling story. And the fact that the police didn't believe her doesn't make Robert Pritchard innocent. He raped you, your mother and all those other women,' Harry insisted.

‘But the police wouldn't see it that way. Just like when that girl complained, they'd believe the agent. He'd tell them that he hadn't forced himself on any of us and we'd made up stories to blacken his name to try to stop the landlord from evicting us because we couldn't afford to pay the rent. And then me, my mother and all the others – the police would say we were prostitutes.'

‘You're victims, Mary.'

‘I wish I could think the way you do,' she whispered dully.

‘Did your father hang himself the day he fought the agent?' Harry hated himself for asking, but he had to know.

‘No, a month later. It was horrible. He just stopped talking.'

‘To your mother?'

‘To my mother, me, Davy – everyone. It was as if he wanted to be dead just to get away from my mother because of what the agent had done to her.' She shuddered at the memory.

‘I doubt he wanted to get away from your mother or you, Mary. I imagine that any man would find it impossible to live with the knowledge that he couldn't protect his own wife against a rapist.' Harry felt in his pocket for his cigarettes.

‘After my father – after we buried him, my mother found out that she was having Luke. She didn't know if he was my father's baby or the agent's and when she grew big, Mr Pritchard came here. David had taken Martha and Matthew into Pontardawe to buy our goods. I think the agent must have seen them leave the farm. And that day he dragged me into the barn instead of my mother, he bolted the door on the inside and …' She screwed her eyes shut. ‘My mother hammered on the door and cried until he opened it. But by then it was too late.'

‘You do know that you could have a child?'

‘He told me he's too careful to father a bastard on an unmarried girl. The married women are different.' She finally looked at him. ‘My mother was having Luke, we had the little ones to think of, I didn't want to … I didn't … I didn't … but he would have thrown us out of the house and we had nowhere else to go … and after my mother died, he still threatened to evict us. If he does we'll have to go to the workhouse and then they'll separate us and I wouldn't be able to take care of Davy or the little ones …' Her voice rose hysterically.

Harry stole closer to her and reached for her hand. He took it into his, and to his relief she didn't try to pull it away. ‘That day you ran into the reservoir. You were running away from the agent?'

‘Not him, he'd already left, but what he'd done to me,' she answered in a small voice.

Harry wished she would let him put his arms around her but he sensed that she would find it hard to bear any man to touch more than her hand, not yet, and perhaps not ever again. ‘Does David know what the agent did to your mother – and is doing to you?'

‘No!' she exclaimed fearfully. ‘You won't tell him, will you?'

‘No, I won't. But you have to promise me that you won't allow him to rape you ever again.'

‘But that would mean we'd have to go into the workhouse.'

‘No, it won't, Mary. I'll help you,' he promised recklessly.

‘How can you?'

The grey light that drifted in through the gap at the top of the door had lightened to silver while they'd been talking, and Harry could see her face quite clearly. Her dark eyes looked enormous in her pale, thin face, and the thought occurred to him that he had never seen anyone look so desolate or tortured. His mind groped to assimilate the full horror of her suffering – and what she would continue to endure if he didn't help her.

But nothing could alter the fact that, far from being innocent, the girl he had been about to propose to had been systematically raped for years by a cruel and callous rent collector.

It was so unjust, so unfair. All the plans he'd made for his own and the Ellises' future came crashing down. He felt as though he'd been allowed to see everything he'd ever wanted, only to have it snatched away at the last moment. He was only sorry that he hadn't killed the man when he'd had the chance.

As if she sensed what he was thinking, Mary shrank back within her nightgown making herself even smaller. ‘I told you not to get involved with us, Harry. You can't help us.'

‘Yes, I can,' he snapped, disillusionment turning to anger. ‘I've never thought much about money, but in this case it can help. I'll pay off your rent arrears.'

‘They're over a hundred pounds.'

‘I can afford it.'

‘You're angry with me, because of what I let Mr Pritchard do to me. You'll never think of me the same way you did before. I am a -'

‘Don't say that word,' he ordered her. ‘And I'm not angry with you. But I am bloody furious with Robert Pritchard and whoever owns this estate for giving a man like him the authority to exploit helpless women. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sworn, but when I think about what you and your father and mother have suffered …' Harry realized he was frightening her. He took a few moments to light a cigarette and calm himself.