Firebird (2 page)

‘I have been working, as usual.'

‘I thought I saw you dawdling with the young apprentices.' He leant forward and she hesitated, looking directly at him for the first time. ‘That's right, I promised the boys some supper.'

‘Supper?'

‘Yes, supper. They've been working hard, they must be as hungry as I am.'

‘But, my dear, you are the daughter of the house, those boys are just poor folk.' Mr Cimla spoke in kindly tones but Llinos had seen the sudden gleam of dislike in his eyes.

‘That doesn't make them less hungry than I am.'

‘Tut, backchatting your elders, that's not nice, is it?'

‘Look, Llinos,' her mother intervened. ‘Take a jug of soup and some bread to the boys in the outhouse. Have your food with them, if you like.'

Llinos nodded, grateful for the excuse to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the dining-room.

As she carried the tray of food along the passage towards the yard, Llinos heard Mr Cimla remonstrating with her mother.

‘You spoil that girl, Gwenie, darling. A little discipline would not come amiss.'

Llinos resisted the temptation to kick the door shut with her foot. Mr Cimla should have been out of the house by nightfall; he seemed to be unaware that he would be compromising her mother by his rash behaviour. Especially now that the last of the servants had left, tired of empty promises of payment of their wages.

‘Oh, boy!' Watt looked up at Llinos as she entered the big, roomy outhouse where the apprentices slept. ‘Supper!'

‘Give that to me.' Binnie relieved her of the heavy tray and placed it on a stool. He rubbed at the red marks on her arms. ‘You should have called me, the tray's too heavy for you.'

‘I'm all right, don't worry so much.'

‘Who's worrying? Where are the bowls?'

‘Mam was too busy getting rid of me to think of bowls.' Llinos smiled. ‘Go and get some from the china we've packed ready for market day.'

‘Are you sure?' Binnie hesitated.

‘I'm sure, we can wash them and put them back when we've finished.'

‘I'll go.' Watt moved over to the corner where the finished china was stacked in baskets. He lifted a pile of plates, balancing them on one arm while he tried to locate the bowls.

Llinos saw what was about to happen and she held out her hands as though to ward off the disaster. But it was too late. Slowly, the plates slid away from the pile, crashing one by one onto the stone floor. Almost immediately the door opened and Mr Cimla looked in, his face dark in the candle light.

‘I just knew something was going on in here.'

Llinos stood looking at him, her hands on her thin hips. Suddenly, she was so angry that she could not think straight.

‘It's because of you we are reduced to eating like beggars. How dare you interfere? What business is it of yours if I choose to break all the dishes in the pottery? It's my inheritance or have you forgotten?'

He smiled scornfully. ‘You're only a bit of a kid! Your inheritance indeed, you don't know what you are talking about.' He turned to leave but the tone of command in her voice stopped him.

‘While you
are
here, I have something to say to you.' She paused. ‘It's not a year since we received news of my father's death. Mother is in mourning and it's not proper for you to come at such an hour. Have you no sense of propriety?'

‘For your information, madam, I was just about to leave for home.' He moved into the building and closed the door behind him. Llinos stepped back, frightened by the look on the man's face.

‘Just as well I was,' he continued. ‘It seems you have been playing high jinks with the apprentices and you have the gall to talk to me about propriety. Look at the mess in here.'

‘It was an accident,' Llinos said, staring at him, wondering what her mother saw in him. ‘Please leave.'

Mr Cimla paced across the floor with deliberate steps, his eyes never leaving her face. He looked down at the broken plates, at the shards of pottery strewn around the baskets, and shook his head.

‘This is a wicked deed. Someone has to be punished for it.' He jerked his head towards the apprentices. ‘You, out!'

Watt slid along the wall and edged past Mr Cimla, his eyes wide with fear. The other two youngsters followed him. Only Binnie stood his ground.

‘I said out!' Mr Cimla repeated. Binnie lowered his eyes and slowly walked towards the door.

‘Now, Miss High-and-Mighty Savage, I think it's about time you and I understood each other.'

He caught her arm and Llinos flinched as he lifted his hand. She thought for a moment that he was going to hit her, then his hand was hot on her neck. ‘It doesn't have to be like this between us, girl,' he said. ‘We could so easily be friends.'

She jerked away abruptly. ‘How dare you touch me.' Her voice was heavy with disgust. Mr Cimla did not seem to hear it.

‘You'll grow to like me, lass,' he said. ‘All I want to do is to be kind to you.'

Mr Cimla grasped her arm. She pulled away from him tearing her dress from shoulder to waist. She pushed him away.

He made a lunge and caught her, holding her fast; she felt the heat of his hands pressing against her spine and she slapped out at his face with all her strength.

Suddenly he was jerked backwards. Llinos saw Binnie grasping Bert Cimla's hair, pulling back the man's head, a thick shard of pottery held to his throat.

‘Go into the house, Llinos,' Binnie said. ‘I'll deal with this bastard!'

It took Llinos a few moments to gather her wits. ‘Get out of here, Mr Cimla,' she said. ‘Or I'll rouse all the occupants of the row with my screams. See what my mother thinks of you then.'

Bert Cimla shook free of Binnie and moved towards the door. He was smiling as he opened it and looked out into the darkness.

‘Gwenie!' he called. ‘Gwenie Savage, come here at once!' His commanding voice echoed along the row and Llinos met Binnie's eyes questioningly. He shook his head, as bewildered as she was.

Her mother came to the door of the shed, a cloak hastily pulled over her shoulders, her hair hanging loose.

‘Good God in heaven, what's happened here?' She stared from one to the other of them, her eyes coming to rest on her daughter.

Llinos opened her mouth but Mr Cimla spoke first. ‘I found them together, on the floor, like a pair of animals, they were. Didn't I always say she was too friendly with the boy?'

‘Mother, don't believe him, it's not true!' Llinos said. ‘He attacked me, he was hurting me.'

‘Rubbish! I never laid a finger on you except to try to salvage something of your chastity. Look, Gwen, see how the girl's dress is torn? She's a common hussy, exposing herself to all who care to look.'

‘I don't know what to think.' Gwen Savage rubbed her eyes.

‘Mother!' Llinos wound her arms around her mother's waist. ‘I have never lied to you before, have I?'

‘Furthermore' – Mr Cimla was merciless – ‘I was the one who was attacked. The boy came at me with a piece of broken china. Get rid of him, Gwen, he's a danger to all of us. It's a wonder you haven't been murdered in your bed.'

Gwen held her daughter at arm's length. ‘Come along, Llinos, tell me the truth, what really happened here? How did the plates get broken?'

‘Does that matter now?'

‘Tell your mother, madam, tell her how you sent the younger boys to get the china. You wanted to distract them while you and he' – he gestured towards Binnie – ‘had your bit of fun.'

‘How do you know what we were doing?' Llinos challenged, suddenly calm. ‘Are you saying you were deliberately spying on me? If so, that is not the act of a gentleman, is it?'

‘I just heard the noise of smashing china, so I came to look. I saw you through the window. I saw him hold your arms, rubbing them real friendly he was. You were all set for a nice bit of canoodling before you got down to the real thing.'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' Llinos said.

‘Binnie' – Gwen moved towards the boy – ‘did you touch my daughter?'

‘Not in the way
he
says, never. He was forcing himself on Llinos, trying to kiss her, that's why I jumped on him.'

‘Come on now, Gwen, who do you want to believe, this young torn cat or me? Do you think I'd want anything to do with your daughter when you are the light of my life?'

Gwen took a deep breath. ‘Llinos, go in the house. I'll speak to you in the morning. And you, Binnie, pack up your belongings and get out.'

‘No, Mother!' Llinos protested.

Her mother glared at her. ‘Go inside the house at once. Any more nonsense from you and you can pack up your things and get out as well.'

Llinos swallowed hard, she was tempted to defy her mother and throw in her lot with Binnie. Her mother read her mind.

‘If you go with him it will only convince me that what Mr Cimla said is true and then it will be the worse for Binnie, believe me.'

‘I'll sort this out, Binnie,' Llinos said. ‘I won't let him do this to us. This is
my
property, not his.' She held her head high and crossed the yard to the house, holding back the hot tears of frustration and anger.

She watched from the bedroom window as Binnie walked along the row, his small bundle of possessions under his arm, his one pair of clogs on string around his neck. ‘Damn you, Mr Cimla, damn you.'

She heard footsteps on the stairs and her mother entered the room, holding a candle high so that she could look into her daughter's face.

‘Have you lost your virtue to the boy? Come on now. Llinos, tell me the truth.'

Llinos sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around her thin body.

‘Answer me, girl.' Her mother shook her shoulder. ‘Don't you know you are a woman now and could conceive a child, a bastard?'

‘Mam, Binnie has never touched me, not in the way you mean.'

‘You swear this is the truth?'

‘I swear.'

Her mother looked at her rumpled clothes, at the tear in her dress and her eyes narrowed. ‘Then why is your bodice in such a state?'

‘Mr Cimla did it.' Llinos lifted her chin. The light shifted and the flame flickered as her mother's hand shook.

‘Liar!' Gwen said harshly. ‘I don't understand you, Llinos, you want to ruin my one chance of happiness. How could you be so thoughtless? Haven't I suffered enough, losing your father? Do you want me to lose Bert too?'

She turned and left the room and Llinos sat numbly on the bed unable to see anything in the sudden gloom. Her mother had called her liar, she would prefer to believe a man like Mr Cimla than her own daughter.

Llinos crawled into bed and huddled beneath the blankets and lay wide-eyed in the darkness.

A shaft of moonlight lit the wall opposite the window, outlining the shape of the jug on the sill. Llinos turned and looked at it, it was one her father had made when she was just a child. Why did he have to go to the wars? It was nothing to them what wars were fought on foreign lands. It had not touched them, not here in the peace of Swansea.

She screwed her eyes tightly together and against the darkness she saw the figure of Binnie, shoulders slumped as he walked away down the row, and she felt she had lost the only friend she had ever had.

Hundreds of miles from Llinos, across the stretch of water called the Bristol Channel, a soldier lay awake in the darkness of the night, staring up at the stars. He had been dreaming of her again, the black-haired girl with the pale skin.

Wah-he-joe-tass-e-neen, half Indian, half white man rolled himself more securely into his coarse blanket and looked at the star-studded sky. He could feel her close to him now, feel her sadness. Somewhere she was waiting for him to come into her life and they would meet, one day.

Across the camp, Joe heard the sounds of men shifting in their sleep. Someone coughed and Joe turned on his side and instead of the stars he looked into the flames of the fire.

He knew that she was his destiny. She had not been born on the plains of America where he had been given life but in a small town that touched the edges of the sea.

Joe abandoned any attempt to sleep and considered the strange pattern of his life. At nineteen, he had seen a great deal of the world. Born of an American Indian mother, he had grown up with the Mandan Indians near the river Missouri. But he had gone to school in England, his white father had wanted him to be educated in the ways of the white man. But then Joe was half white: that was what his name meant.

Now here he was in France, fighting on the side of the English against Napoleon Bonaparte. He looked across the fire to where his captain lay. Lloyd Savage was a big man in every way. He was big of stature and in strength of character.

He had welcomed Joe as his guide and his batman, treating him with every courtesy. This was not the usual response of the British to one they perceived to be a half-breed.

Lloyd turned in his sleep and in the flickering firelight Joe saw the same dark hair, the sculptured features he had seen in his dream. It came to him then that the girl he had never met, the girl he already loved, was the captain's daughter.

He and the captain had faced war and life and death together. Once they had been given up for dead but, by Joe's wits and the captain's courage, they had survived.

Joe wrapped his blanket closer; he must sleep, tomorrow there was an enemy to face. Tonight he would dream again, she would come to him like a bird in the spring. His maiden, his Firebird.