The Legacy (8 page)

Evelyne was drained, but she knew her Da depended on her and didn’t give in. She stood, straightbacked, her arm ready for Hugh to lean on. Will wouldn’t meet her gaze, he was ashamed, like his father. The little boy who had been left in their care now lay alongside their Ma and the baby with no name.

THE BIRTH of Lizzie-Ann’s daughter was a noisy affair. Red-faced, bawling her lungs out from the very beginning, she started as she meant to go on. She was christened Rosie.

They now had two lodgers, and Evelyne worked part-time in the bakery. They paid her a proportion of her wages in bread. Will still worked in the mines. It was 1916, and the fear of conscription hung over every household. Every day saw another boy leave for the Front, and lorry-loads of workers were brought to the mines, which caused ill-feeling and fights among the men. Uniformed soldiers were a common sight, some on leave and some new recruits. The village was being torn apart.

Doris had taken Evelyne to Cardiff three times. She treasured these trips, but she rarely discussed them at home as she knew Lizzie-Ann was secretly jealous. Fussing with the baby, she would make snide remarks, ‘Oh, off again, are we? Well it’s all right fer some, others have more important things to be doing than traipsin’ to Cardiff. What ya do there that’s so special?’

Evelyne would quietly continue with the housework.

‘We just go round the museums, spend time in the library.’

‘Very borin’ if you ask me. Are there nice young men there? You should be thinking of looking, you know, being so tall you won’t find it easy.’

Evelyne never mentioned David, but then she had not seen him since her first visit, and it was not until her fourth trip that she saw him again. He strode into the lounge. He was now a captain in the Artillery, and wore his gold-buttoned uniform with dashing flair, his greatcoat slung round his shoulders and his riding boots highly polished. ‘Well, my dear aunt, oh, and your little friend, well, what a surprise.’

If David was aware of her infatuation he gave no sign, and spoke to her as if she was a child. Alone with his father he was less than enthusiastic.

‘Good God Pa, I’ve only got a few weeks at home and they’re here. That girl positively reeks of carbolic’

David was enjoying his new status, as he had his time in France. He had not as yet seen any fighting, but the social life was exhilarating, and he did cut an exceptionally elegant figure. He was determined to flirt with all and sundry, setting about it like a military campaign, and was extremely annoyed when his father suggested he give Evelyne a tour of Cardiff.

‘All right, Pa, but then I’ve done my bit, I am on leave, you know.’

Evelyne gasped as David carefully tucked the blanket around her knees. She had never been in a private motorcar before, only in a taxi and on a tram, and here she was in David’s sports car. He wore goggles and drove carefully, but to Evelyne it seemed very fast, nearly thirty miles an hour. Whenever anyone got in the way, David would hoot at them. He even let Evelyne squeeze the large, squashy rubber bulb of the trumpet-shaped horn, it was wonderful. Evelyne was like a child. The wind had brought a lovely colour to her cheeks and her hairpins had slipped out as usual. She wore no scarf, and her hair tumbled down, blowing in the wind. At first she held on to it, but then she laughed and let it fly free. In spite of himself, David enjoyed the little trip, and found ‘Carbolic’, as he called her, quite sweet in her gawky way. Occasionally he pointed out features of the city to Evelyne.

When they arrived home David removed the blanket from around Evelyne’s knees, folded it and helped her out of the car. Her face was flushed, and she smiled, it had been the happiest day of her life. His gentle grip on her elbow thrilled her right through and made her head buzz. She wasn’t sure why he felt he had to help her through doors and up stairs - she wasn’t frail or anything - but she liked it.

‘Care for a glass of sherry?’ He handed it to her with a flourish, ‘Drive did you the world of good, got some colour into your cheeks.’

Evelyne was so nervous that she spilt her sherry. The thimble-shaped glass was so small and she had difficulty in raising it to her lips.

‘Here, allow me.’ He handed her his handkerchief and she dabbed at her mouth. ‘If you will excuse me, I must bathe and change.’

David swept out, leaving Evelyne to finish her sherry and look forward to dinner when she would see him again, but the sight of the two places set at the table made her heart drop like a stone. David was dining out, murmured the Doctor, who then spent the remainder of the meal reading the Cardiff Gazette.

Later, Evelyne slipped in between the cool sheets and lay listening to the night sounds. From beneath the pillow she drew out the handkerchief with his initials, the one he had given her when she spilt her sherry. She would keep it as a memento, a keepsake of her love.

At breakfast David fairly glowed. He stood up smartly when Evelyne entered, sat down again and whacked the top off his egg. Doris was too ill to come down, in fact she felt so bad she had decided she couldn’t return to the valley until the following day. Evelyne wanted to sing with joy, another whole day here with her love. David noticed that she was wearing exactly the same clothes as on the previous day, and there was a piece of newspaper sticking up from her shoes.

David ate ravenously, and more and more toast was brought in in a silver toast rack. He swamped it with thick butter and marmalade, and Evelyne couldn’t believe her eyes. He took so much that sometimes he even left some on the edge of his plate. He poured tea, munched and chatted, then laughed as he noticed that Evelyne could eat just as fast as he could. In fact he reckoned she had wolfed down two more slices than he had, and joked that she must have been at the Front along with his men. Evelyne flushed with embarrassment, making a mental note not to eat so fast.

David excused himself and walked out to the hall, and Evelyne heard him pick up the telephone. He caught her staring and closed the dining room door, but she could hear the low murmur of his voice and then his laugh. The door swung open and he lolled against the jamb, smiling. ‘Care for another little drive?’

All Evelyne could do to stop herself bursting into song was to pinch herself. She had never known such delight, and being tucked up in the motor, feeling his hand brush her thigh even though it was covered by at least three or four layers, made her shiver. David smiled into her upturned face, then cupped her chin in his immaculate, white-gloved hand.

‘Comfortable? Think we’ll have a spin in the country.’

David had arranged to meet a friend, Captain Ridgely, at a small country inn. The inn was frequented by officers on leave, and a number of rooms had been set aside for their private use. Captain Ridgely had assured David he would enjoy himself, and that he had two exquisite creatures for him to meet. Desperate to ingratiate himself with the social set,. David accepted, believing he would be meeting acquaintances of Ridgely’s. Evelyne, of course, had no idea she was being used to cover any potential gossip.

David drove Evelyne out past the casde and into the country, and they had to shout above the roar of the engine. They passed the railway station, leaving the town behind them, and headed along narrow lanes between the fields.

Evelyne sat smiling, taking sidelong glances at her beloved’s beautiful face. Eventually they drew up at an inn with small tables covered with checkered cloths under the shade of a huge oak tree. Again he helped her out, and guided her to a secluded table. He snapped his fingers at a rotund man wearing a big white apron, turned to Evelyne, ‘Sherry? Or would you prefer something else?’

Evelyne sat with her sherry under the tree. David excused himself and entered the inn; just like the men from her village, they always left their womenfolk outside. Making sure she would be able to see David if he came out, Evelyne went for a short stroll.

The fields smelt wonderful, the sun was warm and lovely … she sniffed, stretched, twirled, and up bubbled a laugh of perfect happiness. It took her by surprise and she wanted to shout out. Why was it she never had anyone near when she had things to tell them? She walked on across the fields then turned to stroll behind the inn. It was part of a farm complex and she could see the cows being led into the milking sheds. How little Davey would have liked to see these cows, big fat ones, browns and blacks …

A car similar to David’s roared through the farmyard at the back of the inn. Evelyne stared down the hill as a uniformed officer, accompanied by two women, entered the inn. The women were laughing and clinging to the soldier’s arm. Evelyne was so busy watching the car that she didn’t see the big cow pat right in front of her. Splosh! In went her shoe, and it was such a shock that she slid forwards, lost her balance and slithered down the embankment. Evelyne had cow dung on her skirt, her knees, and her left hand - and her right shoe, the one with the newspaper inside, was covered in it. The silk scarf had slipped from her hair and was mucky too. Almost in tears she squelched towards the brook that circled the field. She took off her skirt and, dipping the hem into the icy water, rinsed it out. Then she put the whole of her shoe in. It was stinking so she picked up a stick and scraped the muck off. She smelt her hands, noticed that the cuffs of her blouse, the one Doris had given her, were covered too, so off it came … she was trying to clean her shoe, her skirt and blouse all at the same time, and it was disastrous. The next thing she knew she had toppled over and was sitting waist-deep in the brook.

David had already downed half a bottle of wine, and was growing impatient. The room was stuffy and smelt of stale beer and cigarettes. He was about to leave when the door opened and there stood Ridgely, with a wicked smile and a blonde on either arm. ‘Now, gels, I want you to meet a very dear friend, and more than that, I want you to make him feel very special - after all, he is on leave, so let’s not waste any time, eh?’

David had to turn away to conceal his astonishment. The blondes wore nothing but lacy panties and stockings beneath their coats. Ridgely came to his side and nudged him in the ribs.

‘Get what you pay for? Nothing like these two in France, I assure you … this one’s on me, old chap.’

David took another covert look at the two girls who had sat down and were casually sipping wine, waiting.

‘Which one is mine?’

‘Both, I’ll be back in an hour.’

Flamboyantly, Ridgely kissed each girl, then with elaborate winks and gestures he left them. David gulped his wine and before he had put his glass down one of the girls was unbuttoning his uniform.

Ridgely tiptoed into the adjoining room, locked the door behind him, and crept to the dividing wall. Moving a picture aside he peeked through the spyhole. He would have a jolly story to tell the lads at the barracks tonight.

Evelyne had spread her skirt out flat in the sun, her blouse on a thorn bush. Her left shoe was all right, but the right one was very squashy and still smelt dreadful. She crept to the hedge and peeked over, looking for David, and sighed with relief that he was not there. Dear God, please don’t let him find me this way, not in my mother’s old shift and a cut-down vest of my father’s. Please, dear Lord, I’d do anything, but don’t let him find me this way. Make the sun hot to dry out my skirt and Doris’ hand-me-down blouse or I will kill myself. The square silk headscarf David had given her was drying on the grass, but it was full of wrinkles. Evelyne’s hair had tumbled down, all the pins flung everywhere in her panic to wash her clothes free of the cow dung. She wished she’d at least brought a comb with her. The water had made her hair curl and frizz, it was sticking out like a bush and she knew it. Her nails were full of dirt and her knees were scratched.

Freedom Beshaley Stubbs approached the field where his stallion was. It was his own gry. The farmer had allowed Freedom to field him separately from the ponies. The gry was a wild one, with a temper, but Freedom believed he was a racer and intended to keep him, not sell him with the rest of the pack. The camp was six miles from the farm, and they were moving on. Freedom didn’t want his stallion broken in yet. Any travellers seeing him might try for him, the horse was a rare one. This way, keeping him wild, only Freedom could handle him and would break him when he was ready.

Apples and crusts bulged in Freedom’s jacket pocket, and as he came close to the gate he saw the great beast toss his head, his black eyes flashing. In one movement Freedom legged it on to the gate, and sat on the top bar. He called the stallion ‘Kaulo’, the Romany word for black, and black he was. The horse pawed the ground, snorting.

‘Choom, choom!’ Freedom whispered, meaning ‘kiss, kiss’, and the stallion moved slowly towards his master, tossing his powerful head. He nuzzled Freedom’s open palm, got his apple and crust of bread, and then as if playing a game he backed away. Freedom was too fast for him, he grabbed the flowing mane and jumped, heeled his beauty forwards and they galloped around the wide, open field.

Evelyne lay back, the brook bubbled and gurgled, and she looked up into the bright clear sky. The sound of horse’s hooves seemed to come from beneath her, underground. She sat up, waded across the brook and stood on tiptoe to look into the distant field.

The black-haired boy and the stallion galloped round and round and, bareback, the boy seemed to be part of the horse, his hair as black as the stallion’s gleaming coat. The boy wore a red neckerchief and an old striped flannel shirt. Evelyne knew at first glance that he was a gypsy - she had seen them come to the village often enough with their ponies to sell to the pits. She and her brothers had never been allowed near the camp, their Da decreeing that his children would not mix with the gypsies ever. No matter how they had pleaded with him they were not allowed even to go to the fairs. They had cried bitter tears because all the other village children had been allowed to go, but on this one subject Hugh Jones was adamant.

Evelyne shaded her eyes, watching the boy riding, and tutted like a little old maid. Those wild gypsy boys would never come to anything. Maybe her Da was right, they were a bad lot and always thieving, so everyone said. She closed her eyes - oh, how very different her David was, now there was a gentleman.