Copper Kingdom (7 page)

Sterling looked at the older man curiously. ‘Did my father never think of making changes, Ben?' he asked, and the older man smiled ruefully.

‘Joss Travers tried to persuade him once. Told him that some sort of manure could be made from the smoke, almost got his head blasted off for his troubles.' Ben gave one of his rare smiles.

‘
Duw
your father was angry, you should have seen his face. “Manure”, he said, “what's wrong with good old horse droppings?”'

Sterling could well imagine that his father's remarks had been far more pithy than that and were modified now by Ben's ingrained sense of the proprieties.

There was silence for a moment in the small office, both men lost in their own thoughts. The stove, warming the room, made soft noises like the breathing of an animal and outside, a cold breeze ruffled the feathers of the birds clinging to the bare branches of the trees.

Sterling sighed. ‘Well we should get an engineer to look at the reversing machine and as soon as possible,' he said. ‘See to it, will you, Ben?'

As the older man left the office, a cold rush of air lifted the papers on the desk. Sterling shivered and moved across to the stove, lifting the top to place the canteen of coffee over the blaze. He stood beside the window staring out at the corrugated waters of the river swept into swift movement by the wind. A sailing ship moved gracefully downstream, masts pointing to the sky. It was a sight that was growing rarer with each passing day, soon steam would take over entirely and the picturesque barques would vanish for ever.

Sterling's eyes roved to the huddle of buildings in the yard. The gatehouse stood near the cobbled street and the small window that was manned by a watchman most of the time was empty and staring like a blank cyclops eye at whoever came into the premises.

To the rear of the office block and just visible from where Sterling stood was the mass of the works. The sloping roofs of the sheds slanted against the dark sky and the forest of chimneys sent out the stench that was like eggs gone rotten.

This, Sterling thought, was his inheritance, and he would build it up into the greatness it had once known. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, determination eating at his gut like a fire. The Richardson Copper Company would not die, not if he could help it.

The inside of the sheds was something Mali could never have imagined. It was a shimmering, steaming, sulphurous place where the air was hot and acrid, almost unbreathable. As soon as she entered the doors, she felt perspiration break out on her brow. She pushed back the shawl that suddenly felt unbearably heavy on her shoulders and stood for a moment looking around her.

She seemed to be in some nightmare world where men did not appear as humans at all but as strange, ill-shapen devils, arms and legs swathed in canvas and caked with mud their only protection against the fierce heat.

Tentatively, she moved forward, her gaze drawn to the nearest open, roaring mouth of the calcinating furnace. A copperman was pushing a long green sapling into the boiling metal which gushed and spewed forth smoke.

It was a dragon, Mali decided, a beast devouring everything in sight. The red-gold liquid grew agitated as the tree was swallowed up, appearing like an exotic stew composed of gold and fire and gushing gases.

‘Mali, what are you doing here,
cariad
?' Davie's voice at her side startled Mali and she stared at him anxiously.

‘I've brought your grub pack, Dad.' She found it difficult to breathe, it was as though her throat was on fire. She blinked rapidly and stared up at Davie, trying to see through the haze of heat. His chest was damp with sweat and the muscles of his upper arms bulged hugely, the sinews standing proud. Mali wanted to take him home with her to the safety of the house in Copperman's Row.

‘I didn't know it was going to be like this, Dad.' She watched as he dipped his arms in a bowl and slapped mud over the faded canvas around his wrists and hands.

‘It's not as bad as it looks, mind.' He smiled at her. ‘Lucky you are to see it, the secret of the smelting is passed on only from father to son but there's no reason girls can't know it too, I suppose.' He continued to plaster his arms with clay as Mali watched fascinated. ‘See the copper is roasted for more than a day, takes six furnaces to bring out the real rich heart of the copper. Long job it is but worth it when the metal is rolled out as sweet as silk.'

Mali brushed her hair from her forehead and coughed a little and Davie stared down at her in concern, his task of covering his hands completed.

‘Come on, now Mali, off home with you, the other men in my tew gang will be after my guts if I don't pull my weight.'

Mali stared at him questioningly. ‘Tew gang, Dad, what's that?' Davie waved her away impatiently. ‘Something like a chain gang it is, now go on home, will you?'

Outside, the air was so cold after the heat of the sheds that Mali shivered, drawing her shawl more closely round her shoulders. As she hurried over the cobbles of the yard, she saw the door of one of the buildings open and a tall figure stepped out in front of her.

‘Mr Richardson.' Mali felt guilty as though she'd been doing something wrong. She squared her shoulders, discomfited by the cool lift of his brows and the scrutiny of the eyes that were so dark a blue that they appeared almost violet. He took in her appearance in a swift glance that encompassed her from head to toe.

‘Trespassing?' he said lightly. ‘Perhaps I should send for the constable.'

He folded his arms, barring her way and she felt foolish as though he was making fun of her.

‘I'll walk with you to the gate,' he said, taking her arm firmly. ‘I don't think my manager would be very pleased to find that someone had slipped past him, Ben prides himself on his vigilance where the works are concerned.'

She listened to his strong, masculine voice as he talked to her. She knew he was being polite, making conversation with the daughter of one of his coppermen, but he spoke pleasantly and she was happy to listen.

There was a pause and she looked up at him, suddenly aware that he had asked her a question. Flustered, she waited for him to repeat it. He smiled slowly and his eyes seemed to look deep inside her.

‘I was wondering if you had another name, apart from Miss Llewelyn,' he prompted pleasantly. She felt her colour rise.

‘Mali,' she said quickly, ‘but I know it's a strange name, Welsh you see.'

‘Mali,' he said and the sound of it was magic on his tongue.

They were amid the huddle of the buildings now, hidden from sight. Here there seemed to be quietness and Mali felt conscious that she was alone with Mr Richardson. She glanced up at him, her heart beating uncomfortably fast and he returned her gaze with disconcerting openness.

‘You are very pretty, Mali,' he said and he seemed to move a little closer to her. Suddenly Katie's warnings loomed large and threatening in her mind and she backed away from him, stumbling a little in her haste.

He caught her in a steadying grip but she pulled away from him quickly as though his touch burned.

‘Leave me be, you think I'm some cheap little flossy don't you? I know your sort. I'm a respectable girl and I don't care if you are the copper boss, I wouldn't touch you with a barge pole.'

He gave a short laugh. ‘I don't think you are a – flossy, was it? Indeed, I don't think of you at all. There's the gate.' His tone was dry.

Humiliated, Mali retaliated the only way she knew how – her booted foot shot out and caught him a sharp blow on the shin. Then she was running, through the gate and along the street, wanting only the sanctuary of her own hearth.

Once indoors, she stoked up the fire and pushed the big kettle onto the flames. Her hands were trembling and she knew deep within her that she was beginning to take too much interest in Mr Richardson. He was a boss, a rich, handsome man and doubtless he would want nothing to do with a girl of her sort except for a quick tumble as Katie had said. And yet the pleasant way he'd made conversation with her and the coolness of his eyes as they'd looked into hers were all imprinted on her mind.

A strange feeling uncoiled within her and she wondered desperately what was wrong with her judgment. Here she was, a silly little fool, fancying a man she scarcely knew. The sooner she put him out of her mind the better.

She sat in the rocking chair wishing Mam was here to advise her but Mam was lying beneath the trees in Dan-y-Graig Cemetery. And those last days had been so hard to bear, with Mam coughing her life away, afflicted by the Dolur Ysgyfaint that stole the breath and burnt out the lungs.

There was a sudden rapping on the door and Katie's voice calling from outside. ‘Let me in afore I catch a chill.'

Mali realised that in her haste she had pushed the bolt in place as though she could shut out her very thoughts.

‘What's wrong Katie?' she asked as she flung open the door, ‘why aren't you at work?'

Katie shrugged. ‘Been sent home,' she said with maddening calm. ‘Big Mary said I could have some time off.' She looked casually at her hands, as though examining her nails and Mali stared down at her friend with a smile stretching the corners of her lips upwards.

‘Come on Katie, there's a good girl, you've got news for me haven't you?'

Katie pouted. ‘You're no fun so you're not, guessing what's in me mind like that. Oh, all right then, I might as well tell you, there's a job for you in the laundry and you start today, right now if you've a mind to.'

Mali sat down abruptly in her chair, excitement and apprehension warring within her; she was going to work for the first time in her life and suddenly, she was afraid.

Bea Cardigan sat in the conservatory, her sewing lying idle on her lap. A pale winter sun shone in through the windows, shedding a slant of light over the glossy aspidistra plants that rose stoutly from thick china pots. A feeling of discontentment pulled down the corners of her full mouth and her dark eyes held a dreamy faraway expression, for her thirtieth birthday was fast approaching and there was no sign of marriage anywhere on her horizon.

Her father seemed content to keep her at his side indefinitely and who could blame him? In his daughter, James Cardigan had a convenient hostess and companion, the roles she had undertaken on her mother's death ten years ago now almost to the day. She was beginning to think that her father did not wish her to marry, ever.

It was true that he had occasionally brought home some presentable young man for Bea's inspection but she had always been indifferent, the would-be suitor had invariably been immature and somewhat gauche and she had begun to doubt the true sincerity of her father's intentions. She smiled softly, wrapping her arms around her body as though hugging the secret, kept to herself these many years, that of her love for Sterling Richardson.

He had been part of her life ever since she could remember and the mere sight of his strong clean features and his thatch of golden hair was enough to set her heart fluttering. She believed that he cared for her too for he was always kind and considerate and yet thus far, he had not seen fit to approach her father and ask his permission to court her.

At that moment, James Cardigan entered the room. He moved towards her smiling, a big handsome man with a strong nose and a high intelligent forehead. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head.

‘Day dreaming again, Bea?' he asked goodhumouredly, holding out his hand to take hers. She looked up at him, suddenly concerned.

‘You look tired, Daddy,' she said softly. ‘Is anything wrong?'

He sat down beside her and pinched her cheek playfully. ‘Of course nothing's wrong.' He rested his arm lightly around her shoulders. ‘I'm just wondering what will happen to the company now that old Arthur Richardson is gone. I haven't played a very big part in the running of things these last years but then I felt I wasn't needed, perhaps now I am.'

‘Everything will be all right,' Bea said lightly. ‘I'm sure Sterling is very capable, he did help his father a great deal, you know.'

James looked at her thoughtfully and Bea felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Had she betrayed her true feelings for Sterling? But her father was engrossed in his own thoughts and did not notice her discomfort.

‘I expect the boy's capable enough,' he said. ‘And yet he's still so young and there are wolves in the business world only too ready to dupe someone inexperienced.' He sighed. ‘Well, I've invited Sterling to take tea with us, so I suppose I'll soon learn all about his plans for the company.'

Bea rose to her feet, suddenly flustered. The thought of seeing Sterling was like wine to her senses. She looked down at her dull tweed skirt and bit her lip in vexation. She felt a momentary impatience with her father for not warning her of Sterling's visit sooner but as she looked at him, slumped on the hard-backed oak settle, her ill humour dissolved in a rush of love.

‘Everything will be all right, Daddy, you'll see.' She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, laughing as the coarse hair of his sideburns tickled her nose.

‘I'm going to my room to change, I refuse to be seen looking like a frump,' she said in mock reproof. ‘You really should let me know when anyone is coming to call, you know I want to be a credit to you always.'

She was aware of her father's quick look. ‘You don't have to make any special effort for Sterling,' he said gruffly. ‘You played together as children, if you remember.'

‘Well there's no harm in me wanting to look pretty, is there?' Bea asked lightly and at last, James shook his head. ‘I think you look perfectly well as you are but go and change if you must.'