Tiger Bay Blues (21 page)

‘There is no need to resort to crude language,’ he reprimanded.

‘Oh yes, there is, if it’s the only way I can make myself heard,’ she contradicted. ‘My parents wouldn’t listen when I told them that I didn’t want to take the place I’d been offered in college. I thought that if I came to see you, you’d understand and …’ She turned away, unable to meet his steady gaze.

‘And?’ he questioned.

She tightened her grip on the chair. With hindsight she realised she’d been stupidly naive to believe that her father would change his mind and consent to her marriage to Peter after the way she’d left Swansea. If anything, it would only confirm his conviction that she was too immature to make any serious decisions about her future.

‘You don’t seem to understand how important it is for a woman to have an unblemished reputation, Edyth,’ Peter lectured as though he were in a pulpit. ‘Especially down here in the Bay. Respectability is everything, and doubly so for the wife of a vicar. Last night you were arrested by the police –’

‘Not arrested, Peter,’ she corrected. ‘I was the victim of an attack.’

‘But you were taken to the police station in the company of known streetwalkers,’ he emphasised. ‘I don’t seem to be able to make you understand how serious that is.’

‘I understand perfectly.’ She was livid at his greater concern for her reputation than her safety. ‘I was the one who was kicked, scratched, scalped and beaten by those women. I dread to think what would have happened to me if those men hadn’t happened along when they did. Then I was hauled off by the police, who would have put me in the cells if Mr Holsten hadn’t vouched for me.’

Peter lowered his voice. ‘Mr Holsten is hardly the most respectable person on the docks.’

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘He is a pastor.’

‘He is renowned for having some less-than-savoury friends. And you spent the night with him in his private accommodation.’

‘Chaperoned by his sister.’

‘Mrs Brown is married to a coloured man.’

‘There is no need to state the obvious, Peter. I met her brother-in-law.’ Taught by her father to deplore racial and religious prejudice she raised her voice. ‘Isn’t it your Bible that teaches us all men – and presumably women – are born equal?’

‘Isn’t it your Bible, too?’ He threw the question back at her.

They stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity to Edyth who was light-headed from lack of sleep. Finally her anger was supplanted by sheer weariness. ‘What do you expect me to do now?’

‘Do?’ he repeated. ‘I rather think that you’ve done enough for one day and night, don’t you?’

‘One thing’s certain,’ she murmured flatly, only just beginning to realise the finality of the decision she had made the previous day, ‘they won’t take me back in college, not after the way I left.’

‘Did you tell them that you were coming to see me?’ He sat on the edge of the desk and looked at her in alarm.

‘I told the bursar that Harry’s wife was ill and I was needed to look after her.’

‘You lied?’ he gasped. ‘On top of everything else, you actually told a lie?’

‘Yes, I lied!’ she confirmed. ‘I wanted to see you.’ She knew she was repeating herself but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Dizzy, shocked by his anger, she suddenly had the oddest feeling that she was standing outside of herself.

For the first time she saw Peter objectively and began to wonder if it was possible that he truly considered propriety and respectability and other people’s opinions more important than her? She pushed the idea from her mind. Not Peter, not even now when they were arguing and he was angry with her. He loved her. Hadn’t he told her so? And she loved him – no amount of quarrelling could change that. Given her upbringing and her father’s aversion to organised religion, she wasn’t used to Peter’s dogmatic way of thinking. That was all.

On his own admission his parents had been middle-aged when he was born. They had probably instilled Victorian values in him that they had been brought up to regard as sacrosanct. Once she’d convinced him that she’d left Swansea solely because she’d wanted to help him realise his dream to run his own parish, he would forgive her. But when he continued to glare at her, she wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Eleven

Peter’s voice, loud in anger, resounded up the stairs of the Norwegian church into the public sitting room. Micah listened for a moment before folding and setting aside the copy of the
Sunday Pictorial
he was reading; because it had been the only newspaper left in the rack. He left his chair, went to the counter, lifted a tray from the stack set neatly to one side, and laid two mugs, a sugar bowl, milk jug and coffee pot on it. Then he picked up the coffee-grinder, filled it with beans, closed it and turned the handle.

‘What are you doing, Micah?’ Helga dumped the tray of dishes she had collected on to an empty table and watched him.

‘What does it look like I’m doing, Helga?’ he answered mildly.

‘Making coffee for two?’ she suggested.

‘Then that’s what I’m doing.’

‘You’re asking for trouble. No man should walk in on an argument between lovers. If that’s what they are,’ she qualified in a whisper that didn’t go any further than his ears.

‘That poor girl has been through enough in the last twelve hours without Peter Slater screaming at her for losing her reputation.’

‘You’ve been listening hard,’ Helga commented.

‘When someone is shouting that loud, it’s difficult not to hear what they’re saying.’

‘Apparently not.’ She couldn’t resist adding, ‘Especially when you’re determined to listen.’ She pulled a stool close to the counter and sat down. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t interfere in things that don’t concern you.’

‘I’m not you.’ He tipped the coffee he’d ground into the pot, and turned up the electric hotplate, setting the water boiling.

‘You must have heard what people are saying about Peter Slater.’

‘There’s always gossip going around the Bay.’

‘Gossip – but not the kind of things I’ve heard.’ She picked up a tea towel and folded it.

The kettle began to hiss steam. Micah took it off the plate and poured it on top of the grounds.

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Edyth might be better off without him?’ she asked.

‘It has. In general, vicars’ wives lead miserable lives, subservient not only to their husbands but to their parishes, parishioners and bishops.’

‘Then why are you trying to get them together?’

‘Who says I am?’

‘You’re obviously intent on playing the mediator.’

‘All I’m trying to do is save Edyth Evans from a dressing-down she doesn’t deserve.’ He checked the tray, picked it up and headed for the stairs.

Peter answered the knock on the office door.

‘My sister thought you’d like coffee.’ Micah Holsten breezed in and laid the tray on the desk. Edyth noticed there were only two cups and wished he would stay. Ever aware of propriety and other people’s opinions, Peter would never argue with her in front of Micah.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘Glad to see your fiancée safe and sound, if a little scratched and bruised, Peter?’ Micah surprised Edyth with the familiarity with which he used Peter’s Christian name.

‘It would have better if she hadn’t ventured into the Bay so late at night in the first place,’ Peter answered tartly.

‘There’s no harm done. Edyth only gave the officers her name and address in relation to her stolen property which has now been recovered.’ Micah gave Edyth an encouraging smile and she suspected that he’d heard Peter arguing with her. ‘No charges have been made against her and no official complaints. The officer who came down here first thing this morning to check the contents of Edyth’s handbag and suitcase against the list she gave them last night, told me that all the women had been released without charge or caution – at Edyth’s instigation. To them it’s just one more fracas in the Bay. It will be forgotten by the end of the week, if not tomorrow.’

‘You weren’t charged with anything?’ Peter looked to Edyth for confirmation.

‘If you’d listened to what I’ve been trying to tell you, you’d know that I wasn’t,’ she snapped irritably, angry with him for believing Micah before her.

‘Are you sure?’ he pressed.

‘The police wouldn’t have allowed me to take Edyth out of the station last night if she had been charged with an offence.’ Micah poured the coffee. ‘Frankly, from what the officer told me this morning, I think the Inspector is relieved that Edyth chose not to press charges against the women. In fact, he mentioned that the Inspector had commented on her common sense. A less mature person might have wanted revenge for a totally unprovoked attack by strangers. As it is, there’s no police report – and no paperwork – to connect Edyth to any event, other than, of course, her stolen handbag and suitcase.’

‘That does put a different complexion on things.’

Edyth wished Peter didn’t sound quite so relieved. It only confirmed her suspicions that he thought more of propriety than of her.

‘I told the officers that Edyth’s character is beyond reproach. They won’t be so ungentlemanly as to bring up the incident again. You have my word on that.’ Micah was so emphatic that Edyth wondered what exactly he had told the officer who had called that morning when she’d been asleep. ‘You take sugar in your coffee, don’t you, Edyth?’ He held the spoon above the sugar bowl.

‘One, please.’ Edyth gave him a small smile of gratitude.

‘Miss Evans telephoned her parents after I contacted you this morning. They are on their way. You’re welcome to wait for them here,’ Micah offered. ‘I have to conduct a service in twenty minutes.’

‘I must return to the vicarage. Reverend Richards took a turn for the worse this morning before I left for church. Mrs Mack sent for the doctor and I would like to speak to him.’

Edyth summoned her courage. ‘Would you like me to come with you, Peter?’

‘I think you’ve trespassed on Micah’s hospitality quite long enough, Edyth,’ he replied evasively.

‘Not at all,’ Micah interposed. ‘Feel free to pay us a visit any time you like, Edyth, you’d be most welcome. Shall I ask Mr and Mrs Evans to call at the vicarage when they arrive?’ Micah finished pouring and sugaring Edyth’s coffee and handed it to her.

‘If you would, please.’ Peter took the cup Micah gave him.

The coffee was hot and burned Edyth’s throat, but she drank it quickly and in silence. As did Peter. Micah brought down her overnight case and handbag from upstairs and showed them to the door. Edyth shook his hand, thanked him again and asked him to remember her to his sister and to Moody.

Peter offered her his arm when they reached the street, but any hope she had that it was a conciliatory gesture ended when he walked her to the vicarage without saying a single word. It didn’t help that he chose a route that took them through all the back lanes. She couldn’t help feeling that, despite Micah’s spirited defence, Peter regarded her as being ‘in disgrace’ and was ashamed of her and her tell-tale cuts and bruises.

The lanes weren’t totally deserted. Children and adults ran in and out of back gates, calling on family and friends, and Edyth and Peter encountered a few groups walking purposefully towards the main thoroughfares dressed in their Sunday best, talking, laughing and smiling as they made their way to church, chapel, Sunday school, or to visit friends and relations.

Peter said hello to a few people but only after they had greeted him. He was clearly embarrassed by her because he didn’t attempt to introduce her to anyone. He also kept lifting his hand to his head to raise the hat he had left in his church vestry in his haste to get to the Norwegian mission.

They saw a police constable talking to some Chinese men outside a café, but Edyth didn’t recognise him from the previous night and, to her relief, if he remembered her, he was diplomatic enough to ignore her.

The lane that led around the church to the vicarage was as narrow as she remembered, but nowhere near as sinister in broad daylight. The front door of the vicarage was unlocked. Peter opened it and called out, ‘I’m back, Mrs Mack.’

A skeletally thin, elderly woman came down the passage to meet them. Her grey eyes were watery and swollen.

‘Reverend Slater, the doctor says Reverend Richards has to go to the Infirmary. He’s …’ She stopped and stared at Edyth when she saw her standing behind Peter.

‘This is my fiancée, Miss Evans, Mrs Mack. As you can see from her face, she has met with a slight accident.’

Edyth’s spirits rose at Peter’s introduction. Only a few minutes before he had reminded her that they weren’t even officially engaged, now he was introducing her as his fiancée. Surely that meant that he had forgiven her for dashing up from Swansea to see him and getting embroiled with the police?

‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Evans. I hope those cuts and bruises on your face will soon heal.’ She wrinkled her nose suspiciously. The woman spoke oddly, slurring her words.

Edyth presumed that grief at Reverend Richards’s condition was making it difficult for her to talk. ‘I’m sure they will, Mrs Mack.’ Hoping the housekeeper wouldn’t recognise her voice from the night before, Edyth said, ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you, too. Reverend Slater has written to me about you.’ She held out her hand but Mrs Mack bobbed an old-fashioned curtsy.

Peter glanced up the stairs. ‘Is the doctor still here?

‘Doctor Williams arrived an hour ago. He took one look at Reverend Richards, picked up the phone and called for an ambulance.’ She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and noisily blew her nose. ‘The doctor said he’d wait with the Reverend until it arrived. It’s bad, Reverend Slater. When he was talking to the hospital I heard him say,’ she dropped her voice until it was barely audible, ‘pneumonia.’

‘I’ll go up and see if there’s anything that I can do for the Reverend Richards or the doctor, Mrs Mack. Please show Miss Evans into the drawing room.’ Peter ran up the stairs.

Feeling very much in Peter’s and Mrs Mack’s way, Edyth followed the housekeeper into a dismal, cheerless room. It was larger than the sitting room in her parents’ house, but the only window overlooked the high wall of the church barely six feet away. And the furniture did nothing to lighten the gloom. The sofa and chairs were covered in a slippery, shiny, bottle-green rexine. The blue and gold patterned Persian rug, which covered most of the dark wood floor, clashed with the suite and the green and red wallpaper. The sofa table and bureau bookcase were of age-stained mahogany. Every available inch of mantelpiece and table was covered with china dogs and cats of varying shapes and sizes. In pride of place on the chimney breast, above the massive slate fireplace, was an oil painting of Scottish cattle. It either hadn’t been cleaned in decades or else had been painted in a thick and dirty mist. The general effect was that of a freezing, musty-smelling junk shop crammed with unwanted Victoriana.

Mrs Mack was tearful but she remembered her manners. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Miss Evans.’

Edyth moved a solid cross-stitch cushion that might have made a more serviceable hassock, and perched on one of the hard, rexine chairs. After the comforts of the Norwegian mission she found the room cold and unwelcoming. There were sticks and coals in the brass settles in the hearth, but from the chill in the air, which had surprisingly survived the summer heat, she surmised that it had been a long time since a fire had been lit in the room.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Evans?’

Having drunk more than double her normal quota of coffee that morning, Edyth shook her head. ‘I’ve only just had breakfast, but thank you for offering, Mrs Mack.’

‘If you’ll excuse me, I have Sunday dinner cooking. The Reverend Richards is fond of his midday meal on the Sabbath. Perhaps the ambulance will be late and he’ll have time to eat before he is carried away … although his appetite is quite gone these days … he eats next to nothing … nothing at all …’ She lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.

‘Can I do anything to help you in the kitchen, Mrs Mack?’ Edyth jumped to her feet when the old woman started sobbing.

‘The old Reverend would be angry if he heard me say this,’ Mrs Mack gulped out between wails. ‘But someone has to, Miss Evans.’ The housekeeper straightened her back and her eyes flashed in anger. ‘You might be the young Reverend’s fiancée, but that doesn’t give you the right to be here. Not with the Reverend Richards lying ill upstairs. It’s as though you and the young Reverend are moving in, and taking over before the old Reverend is cold.’

‘It’s not like that at all.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘The Bishop sent Reverend Slater here to help, because he knew Reverend Richards wasn’t well and he was concerned about him,’ Edyth explained.

‘And now the old Reverend’s going to the Infirmary. He’ll die there and I’ll be thrown out on the street,’ she cried despairingly. ‘I’ll have nowhere to go and no one will care whether I have a roof over my head or not. Or even if I live or die. That’s all the thanks I’ll get for taking care of the Reverend and Mrs Richards for over forty years. And when she passed into God’s glory, God and all the saints rest her soul, I looked after the Reverend’s every need. Cooking and washing and cleaning for him and chivvying him to eat when he said he wasn’t hungry. He would have starved to death after Mrs Richards went if it wasn’t for me, Miss Evans. And that’s God’s own truth.’

‘I believe you.’ Edyth wouldn’t have dared say otherwise.

‘I’ve looked after the old Reverend like he was my own father ...’ The rest of her words were lost in a bout of incomprehensible howls.

‘The doctor wouldn’t send the Reverend Richards to the Infirmary if there was any alternative, Mrs Mack. But I’m sure the Church,’ Edyth hoped that she wasn’t taking too much upon herself, ‘won’t see you thrown out on the street.’

‘You and the young Reverend will need a housekeeper, and as I’m already here and know the house, it would make sense to keep me on.’ Mrs Mack dropped her handkerchief and stared hopefully at Edyth.

‘Reverend Slater may not be the next vicar here, Mrs Mack,’ Edyth replied, noticing that Mrs Mack’s tears had miraculously dried.

‘Of course he will. Everyone in the Bay says so,’ the old woman dismissed. ‘And you’re his
fiancée.
Now the old Reverend is sick you’ll marry Reverend Slater and live here.’