Firebird (29 page)

‘Are you proud of yourself, madam?'

She saw the servant stand against the door as if to bar her exit.

‘Proud of myself? I don't know what you are talking about! How dare you bring me here against my will, Father? Have I no right to my freedom, then?'

‘You are the talk of the whole town! You, my daughter, sleeping with a man whose wife has just breathed her last. I can scarcely believe it of you.'

She sat down suddenly. ‘You have been misinformed, Father.'

‘You did not spend the night in the man's bedroom then, is that what you are saying?'

‘No. I am saying I did not “sleep with him”. I slept in a chair at his side. He was distressed, he had just seen his wife die. Surely you can understand that?'

Lloyd Savage shook his head. ‘So it is not true that a maid saw you kissing the man and then, come morning, saw you dressing?'

‘Father, how could you believe this of me? I am your daughter, I am a respectable person, I do not deserve to be treated like a streetwalker.'

‘Then why act like one?' He wheeled his chair to the window and looked out. ‘I saw you once with Joe, in his arms, kissing him. You were behaving like a streetwalker then.'

Llinos looked at his back, straight and unyielding. ‘Where is Joe?'

‘He's left, gone to England. I expect he is as disillusioned with you as I am. I thought you were in love with the boy, what a fool I was! Joe did not own a pottery and he was a half-breed to boot.'

He turned to look at her, his face pale with anger. ‘Oh, I see now that Joe was just a dalliance, your real aim was to win the favour of Philip Morton-Edwards.'

Despair washed over her. Joe was gone away, probably believing the worst of her; she would never see him again.

‘I will never forgive you for this, Father,' she said. ‘You have such little faith in me that you believe the gossip of servants. Now you even accuse me of wanting Philip's money. You must have a very low opinion of me.'

He just shook his head as though he was lost for words. She stared at him defiantly. ‘All I did was comfort a bereaved man. I stayed with him all night, yes. I sat and watched at his side, that was all.'

Her father opened his mouth to speak but Llinos rushed on.

‘And now you have ruined my life! You have taken me away from a position I enjoyed and, worse, you have sent away the only man I will ever love.'

Lloyd flinched as though she had struck him. For a moment, his gaze wavered. His shoulders slumped and his head rested on his chest. ‘I can't believe a word you say, girl. I know I'm not an ideal father but you will obey me.'

‘I might have to obey you, Father, but that won't make me love or respect you.'

‘I can't help that. You are still a child in spite of your precocious ways. I know you would run away from school so I'm sending you to your aunt's house where you will have time to grow under the influence of a lady.'

‘I will not go, Father,' Llinos said.

‘You have no choice in the matter. Take her back to her room.'

The servant took her arms and propelled her up the stairs. He pushed her into the bedroom as though glad to be free of her and the bolts slid ominously into place. She peered through the window and saw Ben, his hair sparse and grey, and a lump rose to her throat as she remembered the happiness she had once enjoyed.

The days passed, the long tedious hours enlivened only once when she heard Philip Morton-Edwards' voice raised in anger outside the house. She could not see him but it warmed her that he had come to her defence. And then the silence had descended once more and she sank into a state of lethargic acceptance. Joe had gone, believing the worst of her; there was no purpose in life any more.

It was early morning, the dawn paling the blue of the night into daylight, when Llinos woke. She heard voices outside the house and rose quickly from the bed.

A carriage stood at the roadside, the horses patiently waiting, heads down, tasting the dried grass at the verge. The door was opened and the servant beckoned for her to come downstairs.

Her father was waiting for her. ‘After breakfast, you are going to your aunt in Bristol.' He did not look at her. ‘She has kindly sent her carriage to pick you up. I hope, in time, you will learn the manners of a young lady. At least under the care of Aunt Rebecca you will not be able to act like a serving wench. Mark my words, you will not find your aunt an easy companion.' He paused but Llinos was too dispirited to reply.

‘Go and change into clothes appropriate for a young lady of your station in life. And, Llinos, don't try to cross me in this or it will be the worse for you.'

Later, in full view of the neighbours of Pottery Row, Llinos climbed into the carriage and sat back in the seat along with two servants who were strangers to her.

Leaning forward to look through the window, Llinos saw the door close on her father's uncompromising face. She put her hand over her mouth forcing back the tears as the carriage jerked into movement and began the first stage of the journey from Swansea to Bristol.

‘So, I hope you are happy.' Letitia stared at Joe, hostility in every line of her aged face. Beside her stood a box and a huddle of baggage. ‘We shall be out of here this very day, have no fear.'

‘There is no need to leave,' Joe said softly. ‘I don't need the house or your possessions.'

‘None of it is ours,' Letitia said. ‘Father made sure of that. No, we will not stay and bear your charity, we have more pride than to live in the same house as Father's bastard half-breed son.'

‘Your bitterness does you no good, sister.' Joe's mild tone belied the anger that burnt in his gut.

‘I am not your sister. I never will be your sister. Your sisters are doubtless running wild in some outpost of the Americas, half clothed like the savages they are.'

‘Savages sometimes come in the guise of a lady,' Joe said.

Letitia's gaze swerved away from his. ‘Come, Charlotte, we will not stay under this roof a moment longer, we shall wait for our carriage outside.'

Charlotte paused for a moment, hesitating before putting a hand gently on Joe's sleeve. ‘I'm sorry if Letitia's words hurt you, I'm sure your mother must have been very beautiful for Father to have fallen in love with her.'

The tightness of Joe's jaw softened. ‘Your God go with you, Charlotte. Remember, if there is anything you need you must come to me.'

The house was silent. Joe wandered around the spacious rooms, dark with heavy panelling and rich carpets. Heavy drapes hung at the many windows. It was a magnificent house and it was his but it was not what he wanted.

Joe wanted the sun on his face, the wind through his hair. He wanted to hunt buffalo. Above all, he wanted Llinos.

He sat at his father's desk and opened the letter left there for him. Joe could imagine his father dictating the letter with difficulty before his illness had become acute. It outlined the modest provision he had made for his two daughters and Joe's eyes narrowed as he read the body of the letter.

A scrawled signature, barely decipherable, lay spider-like across the paper. Joe folded it away and leaned back in his chair. The land of his birth, what would it be like now? He had left it as a child, left the lodges of his mother to learn to survive in the so-called civilized world. Could he return and belong once more to the tribe? He doubted it, too much time had elapsed, too many moons had passed.

And yet the same rivers would flow, the same buffalo would run, the same sun and sky and earth would greet him. He rose and walked outside. If he returned to the plains, he would be able to breathe in air that was free of scorn and prejudice, inhale the winds that did not carry the smell of death. He would sleep and make his decision in the morning.

He woke suddenly in the night. He had fallen asleep on the large sofa in the conservatory, admiring the stars in the softness of the night sky. He was alert, his eyes seeing not the darkness but the face of Llinos Savage. She was near him, he felt it, knew it. He rose and padded softly into the garden, pausing to think rationally about his feelings.

Before Joe had received a summons from his sisters, he had talked with Lloyd and he understood the captain's anger but he knew the gossips were wrong. Llinos would not do anything to shame herself or her father. Joe tried to say as much, but Lloyd was in no mood to listen. He had decided to send Llinos to her aunt in Bristol and nothing was going to change his mind.

Joe had the feeling that Lloyd would be happy to see the back of him. The captain had offered him a fine horse to take on his journey and Joe, wondering what could be wrong with Letitia and Charlotte, had accepted gratefully.

He had ridden almost non-stop to the border, reluctantly exchanging the rugged Welsh hills for the softer plains of the Marches. During the journey, he had thought deeply about Llinos.

He had seen in his mind's eye the way she was held captive in her own home. He had sensed her despair. And he knew that by now she would be on her way to Bristol, to be kept prisoner in the house of her aunt.

He thought of the lie of the land, of the route a carriage might take. To travel from Swansea to Bristol would mean at least one overnight stop. He closed his eyes, picturing the post houses along the roadways of Wales and through into Gloucester.

He returned to the house and made his way to his father's study. Joe lit a candle and carried it into the dusty room; there was a huge map on the wall and Joe needed to study it. His blood racing in anticipation, he looked at the skeletal lines of the map. He saw the hand-coloured hilly areas and traced the line of the rivers. He knew then where she would be resting.

He snuffed out the candle and closed the doors of his father's house behind him.

‘Why did Maura leave me?' Binnie was sitting, head bowed, his thin features obscured by his work-roughened hands. Eynon shook his head impatiently.

‘Look, Binnie, how do I know what was in Maura's thoughts? It seems to me that everything just became too much for her. She couldn't cope, not with the baby, the housework, nor with the way you left her day and night to her own devices.'

Binnie looked up sharply. ‘You are blaming me?'

Eynon sighed. ‘I'm not blaming anyone but facts need to be faced, Maura was not happy.'

‘I wonder where she's gone.' Binnie rubbed at his stubbled chin. ‘She might be gone to folks in Ireland, I suppose.'

‘Or she might simply have returned to Greenhill whence she came,' Eynon said softly.

‘You think so?' There was hope in Binnie's eyes. ‘Perhaps I should go up there, have a look for her. What do you think?'

‘I think you need to give her some time to herself.'

‘Aye, perhaps you're right, but that bed is cold and empty without Maura in it.'

‘Perhaps that was the trouble, bed was the only place you had contact with each other. Maura talked to me more than she ever talked to you, Binnie, do you realize that?'

‘I suppose I never thought about it.' Binnie rose and walked towards the window, staring out into the darkening day. Eynon watched him with a feeling of sadness. Life was hard for Binnie as well as for Maura. They had snatched at life without giving themselves the chance to grow up properly. But perhaps a failure in love was better than never having made the attempt at all.

And Binnie was not the only one who felt bereft; Eynon was missing Llinos badly even though she had been gone for less than a week. The way Lloyd had handled the situation was nothing short of barbaric but he was her father and he had his rights.

He rose abruptly. ‘I'm going down the Castle Inn. Coming?' He opened the door and stared out at the sky streaked with scarlet as the sun finally set behind the hills.

Binnie rose from his chair and together they made their way down the slope towards town. There was a striking contrast between them of which neither was aware. Eynon was slim, with fine features and softly curling hair. Binnie was short and wiry with strong, irregular features. It was a strange, uncomfortable situation, Eynon Morton-Edwards in company with a lowly pot worker, but they were drawn together by a mutual feeling of loss.

The inn was filled with smoke. A fire blazed in the huge open hearth and the corner seat was occupied by the two Anglican vicars.

Father Martin saw Binnie and nodded to him. Binnie returned the salute with little grace.

‘Evening.' Eynon felt obliged to be polite, something that Binnie had no intention of doing.

‘Fine red sky, augurs well for tomorrow.' He took some coins from his pocket and waved his hand to the landlord.

‘Sit with us, gentlemen, our talk has become too insular, a little lightening will do us good.' The older man, Father Duncan, smiled and Eynon reluctantly took a seat opposite him.

Binnie stood awkwardly ill at ease for a moment and then sat down. ‘Seen anything of Maura?' He spoke abruptly and Father Martin blinked behind his spectacles.

‘Come now, Binnie,' the older vicar said amiably, ‘we are not on duty here, we are having a quiet smoke and enjoying a short respite from the dragon of a housekeeper that Martin, in his rather dubious wisdom, saw fit to employ.'

‘But . . .' Binnie stopped speaking as Eynon laid a restraining hand on his arm.