Firebird (23 page)

‘Good, my son needs friends.' He sat up straighter. ‘I understand you have been staying with my son since you left home.'

‘You are very well-informed, Mr Morton-Edwards.'

‘Where my only child is concerned I make it my business to be well-informed. How did you find him? Is he well?'

Llinos smiled. ‘He is very well. He has asked me to marry him.'

Morton-Edwards' eyelashes flickered momentarily as he digested her words. ‘And you obviously declined, preferring to work at a menial task rather than be the wife of such an ill-favoured man.' His voice revealed much. He was bitter where his son was concerned.

‘I love Eynon,' she said, ‘and I would be honoured to be his wife, but I don't love him in that way. He is kind and truthful and caring. Physical strength is not everything.'

After a moment Mr Morton-Edwards nodded. ‘I see.' He sat up straighter. ‘Perhaps in time you will grow to love him, I can only hope so. A good woman would make a man of him. Well, we shall talk no more about it.'

He took out his pipe and pushed a wedge of tobacco into it. ‘Back to business. I hate to see a young lady of obvious breeding and talent wasting both those things turning a fly wheel. What would you like to do, Llinos?'

‘I enjoy most of the jobs necessary for making pots but now, here in your pottery, I would love to learn about the new porcelain you are making.'

‘I see. Go on.'

‘I am fascinated by the excellence of the few pieces I've seen but it still needs some work,' Llinos said. ‘I'm sure that in a few more months you will be producing the best porcelain in the world.'

‘Ah, praise indeed.' He hesitated for a moment and then looked up at her. ‘Very well, you shall work with Mr Wright. He is a very gifted man, though I am probably telling you something you already know?'

‘I know of Mr Wright's work, he not only creates porcelain bodies but he paints exquisitely, too. I admire him very much, I would be honoured to work with him.'

‘But you will not go running back to your father's pottery and tell him of my designs and use them on the earthenware products, would you?'

Llinos shook her head. She thought of the bold colours and the strong patterns of the Indian designs used at the Savage Pottery and smiled.

‘Oh, no, my father is well served with his own patterns.'

‘Very well. One more thing, are you happy sharing a house with some of my other workers or would you like a room in my house as befits a lady of your station?'

‘I would prefer to keep to the arrangements already made to share with the other girls,' she said carefully. Mr Morton-Edwards smiled.

‘I do understand, you need to be independent, but if you change your mind don't hesitate to tell me.'

As she left his room, she was smiling. Her new employer was not half the devil she had been led to believe him to be. He was kind, fatherly and he had a keen sense of humour. Mr Morton-Edwards was a man she could grow to like and admire.

Later, as evening was beginning to fold the hills in shadow, Llinos walked towards the top of Poppets Hill. She was breathless by the time she crested the peak. Once there, she stood admiring the vista of the town spread out before her. Beyond was the curving bay, the sea darkened now under the greyness of the sky.

‘Beautiful.' The voice was so close that, for a moment, Llinos thought she had imagined it. Her heart began to beat so rapidly she found it difficult to breathe. She spun round, her eyes glowing.

‘Joe. Oh, Joe, you've come to find me.'

She was tinglingly aware of him standing beside her. He towered over her, his hair flowing around his strong features. His eyes were shadowed, his expression hidden from her.

She had to control the urge to throw herself into his arms. ‘Your father, how is he?'

‘He died shortly after I arrived at his home.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘No need to be sorry, it was his time.'

‘Oh, Joe.' She made a move towards him, she was so very conscious of the scent of him. ‘Joe . . . I . . .' He turned fractionally away from her and her hands clenched together in frustration.

‘Joe! Why do you treat me like this? You know how I feel about you. One minute you are kissing me and the next you are barely polite.'

His eyes gleamed for a moment. She had the feeling he was laughing at her. ‘You know something, Llinos? You should not be here alone with me, it is not seemly for a young lady of breeding.'

‘You forget,' she said without looking at him, ‘I am no longer Llinos Savage, daughter of a pottery owner, but a humble working girl.'

‘Don't working girls behave properly then?'

‘Some of them do, Joe. But you know that. You're teasing me.'

‘Yes I am. But I'll be serious. Why did you run away from your father, Llinos?'

‘You probably heard from him why I ran away, why ask me?'

‘He's sick and in pain. Don't be so hard and unforgiving. He needs you.'

Llinos looked at him sharply, trying to read his expression, but it was too dark now to see his face.

‘He's hard and unforgiving to me, trying to force me to go away to school.'

‘It's for your own good. Look, Llinos, he loves you but he's had no opportunity to be a father to you until now, all he wants is to do the very best for his child, is that so wrong? At least speak to him, Llinos, you owe him that much.'

‘I will speak to my father, but I will not be sent away to school whatever he says.'

‘Our lives follow a course just as the river does. We have very little say in the larger scheme of things.'

Llinos was suddenly irritated. ‘Spare me the homespun philosophy, Joe. I'm not going away so save your breath.' Frustration gripped her. She wanted Joe, wanted him to lay her down in the sweet grass and make her a woman, his woman.

‘You are too damned honourable for your own good, do you know that, Joe?'

‘Swearing oaths is not very ladylike.' Joe was laughing openly at her now and that infuriated her.

‘I want you, Joe, and I will have you.'

She heard him sigh into the darkness. ‘If we were together now, how long would it last? We both have lives to live, destinies to fulfil.'

‘I do not subscribe to your beliefs in the iron hand of fate. We make our own fortunes, we shape our own destiny.'

‘I'm not arguing. Come on, I shall see you home to wherever it is you are lodging.'

‘To hell with you!'

She was running away from him then, leaping over uneven clumps of grass, taking the risk of falling down the steep sloping hill. If she did not put as much distance between herself and Joe as possible, she would be begging him to hold her in his arms and make love to her.

By the time she reached the lodging house in Morton-Edwards Street, she was breathless. Martha Reeves was there to supervise the girls and she looked reprovingly at Llinos with her windblown hair and her bonnet bouncing from its ribbons.

‘I suggest you go up and tidy yourself before supper,' Martha said.

Llinos hurried upstairs to a small attic room. It was sparsely furnished with only a table and two beds. A high window let in a pale diffused light. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up on top of the blankets and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. But nothing would take away the image of Joe, his hair blowing in the breeze, his eyes so blue looking into hers.

He was the man she wanted more than anything in the world and all he did was to laugh at her. She thumped her fist against the pillow.

‘I'll show you, Joe, just you wait.' But quite what she was going to show him, she did not know.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘This girl, Savage's daughter, she might be of use to me.' Philip Morton-Edwards, glass in hand, stood before the ornate fireplace.

Estelle looked up at him. ‘In what way?' She was impatient with her husband; sometimes he did not have the wit he was born with. But she was a second wife, she needed to handle her husband with care. She had not yet produced a son, one who would take the place of the namby-pamby boy produced by the first Mrs Morton-Edwards.

‘I don't see how a chit of a girl born of some lowly tradesperson could possibly be of use to us.'

Her husband's sardonic gaze disconcerted her for a moment. Had she spoken too forcefully? Philip did not like women to be too forceful.

He held out his glass and dutifully she put down her embroidery and freshened his drink. He swallowed it in one gulp.

‘You are an ignorant woman, do you know that? Savage is
not
a lowly tradesperson, he has a good name hereabouts. Apart from which, the man is some kind of war hero. Mark my words, it does not do to underestimate your opposition.'

Was there a hidden meaning to his words? Could it be that he was subtly threatening her? Estelle shivered, watching nervously as Philip looked down into his glass.

‘My son seems taken with the Savage wench. By all accounts he's been courting her for some time.' He laughed drily. ‘She might even be able to persuade him to marry her, I bet that's what she's angling for.'

He stared at his wife with open hostility. ‘That way, I might just get myself a child about the place again.'

Estelle looked down at her hands, they were shaking. ‘But my darling, I will give you a son – in time.'

‘I doubt it! No, Eynon is my heir, he will carry on my name. And anyway, his mother's family tied up her estate so that he should benefit from it.'

She had not thought of that. She knew that traditionally the estate would pass to the eldest son of course but surely her own sons would benefit, too?

‘We'll have children, I assure you, I'm a healthy woman. Even if we have daughters, you will be pleased, won't you?'

‘You talk nonsense, woman! Don't you understand anything? A man is judged by his male heirs. If you can't give me any then I will have to look to another woman to do it.'

‘Eynon is a weakling, he will never father a son.' As soon as the words were spoken, Estelle regretted them. Philip stepped towards her with a slow, deliberate movement and before she could move he had slapped her face.

For a moment she saw nothing but a haze of lights against the darkness of pain. Her vision gradually cleared; she watched her husband refill his glass once more.

‘Get up to bed.' He growled the words. ‘Get yourself ready for me, at least do something to earn your keep.'

She hurried from the room and, lifting her skirts, took the stairs two at a time. She was afraid of Philip when he was in this mood. He seemed driven, as though by an inner torment. In some ways she could even feel sorry for him.

She undressed quickly, waving away her maid. ‘Leave me.' She did not explain, she did not have to. Becky knew these moods, knew when the lord and master of the household intended to claim his conjugal rights. Becky had witnessed the bruises on the body of her mistress more than once. In the morning she would bring witch-hazel, she would apply it as a salve, thanking the good Lord that she was a widow this many a year.

Estelle shivered beneath the bedclothes, dreading the moment when Philip would come into the dressing-room next door. He would be undressed by his manservant, they would share a coarse joke at her expense and then Philip would stride naked into the room.

She closed her eyes and shuddered, no decent woman should have to endure the humiliation she suffered at the hands of her husband. Tears trembled against her lids and she brushed them away. Crying would serve only to excite and inflame Philip, he loved the sense of power that her tears gave him.

She closed her eyes tightly, praying that he would drink too much and fall into a state of oblivion as soon as his head touched the pillow. It was a false hope.

She heard him next door, heard his voice and heard the laughter of his man. Then Philip came into the bedroom and bid the servant to light the multitude of candles in the ornate holders.

The manservant glanced towards her. There was a knowing look in his eye, it was almost as though he could see her naked form beneath the bedclothes.

Before the man had even left the room, Philip had thrown back the sheets. Then, without preliminary, he was kneeling astride her. ‘I will get me a child on you if it is the last thing I do!' He ground the words between his teeth, spittle falling onto her face.

‘Please, Philip, you are hurting me!'

‘Not woman enough for me, eh? Why, the whores down Market Street could do better than you.'

Estelle turned to face the wall, she would just have to pray that Philip's lust was sated quickly. She was out of luck; it was a long, wearisome time before Philip lay gasping beside her.

The blessed darkness folded around her and she lay still, frozen in fear, until she heard her husband's deep, even breathing. Assuring herself that he was asleep, she climbed wearily out of the bed and in the dressing-room began carefully to wash herself.

In the morning, Philip breakfasted early. He looked well, as though the excesses of the night had never been.

‘My dear son is coming to see me this morning,' he said. ‘He was reluctant to pay a visit until he read my missive informing him that I wished to discuss Llinos Savage with him.'

‘Will he agree? To marry the girl, I mean?'

‘I think he will agree once he has heard what I have to say.' When Philip laughed it was an unpleasant sound, and Estelle shuddered. Perhaps she should run away from Philip and his increasingly sadistic demands. What good were fine clothes, rich food and cool sheets to sleep in when it all had to be shared with a sadist?