Firebird (21 page)

‘Father, I am not turning against you,' Llinos said. She was dismayed at the direction the argument was taking but she must have her say.

‘I will not be dictated to, not when I kept this pottery going almost single-handedly.'

‘You keep saying that but a fine mess you were in when I came home.' Lloyd was angry. ‘Your mother dead, the pottery almost ruined. You need me, child, and I won't have you disobeying me.'

‘I am not a child, Father, can't you see that?'

‘What do you think you are then? A woman? Well, you are too young to think you know what life is all about.' He swung his chair away from her. ‘I have seen men die in their own filth. I have heard the cries of the wounded pleading to be put out of their misery. I have lived and I have faced death and here I am with my chit of a daughter defying me.'

‘For heaven's sake, Father, don't start feeling sorry for yourself!'

‘How dare you!' He was white. ‘That's the last straw, get out, then, go.' His voice was low.

Llinos stared at his back for a long moment then turned and hurried up the stairs. The situation had got out of hand. Why had she allowed it? She should have kept her dignity, been adamant but polite. He was her father and he deserved respect. She sat on the bed. ‘Oh, Joe, where are you now when I need you?'

Later, Llinos retraced her steps to the sitting-room but it was empty. She looked outside. There was no sign of her father, he could be in any of the pottery buildings. She heard a faint sound, it seemed to come from the room he called his den. Tentatively, she knocked on the door.

‘Father, let me in, I'm sorry.'

‘It's too late to be sorry. I have nothing to say to you.'

Angrily she turned away. She would show him that he could not treat her like a child.

A few minutes later, she had packed her bag. As she left her room, she came face to face with Binnie; his eyes were shadowed.

‘I wanted a boy, Maura was sure it was going to be a boy,' he said.

‘Well, your daughter is healthy and beautiful, be grateful for that, Binnie.'

His eyes widened as he saw the bag. ‘Where are you going?'

‘Anywhere out of here. Look, Binnie, your future is up to you, I can't help you any more.'

She touched his arm and then made her way down the stairs and out of the house, leaving the door open. The row was unusually empty of people. Even the door to Celia's house was closed. Llinos walked along the cobbled road with her head high. She did not want to go to school, she wanted to work at . . . what
did
she want to work at? She no longer knew. The pottery was her life blood, she could not imagine being in any other occupation. It was all she knew.

Her mind was racing. Where would she go? There was only one answer. She struck out towards the streets beyond the town where the scattered houses stood in large grounds facing the sea. It was a long way from Pottery Row but the walk would do her good.

Eynon greeted her with a lifting of his eyebrows. ‘To what do I owe this honour, my little friend?' He drew her inside the high-ceilinged hallway of his house. ‘I see you have come to stay and on foot, too. What's wrong, Llinos?'

She dropped her bag on the floor and put her arms around him, resting her head wearily against the starched front of his shirt.

‘I've left home.'

‘I can see that but why, what's happened?'

‘My father wanted to send me off to school.'

Taking her hand, he led her into the sitting-room. It was a beautiful room. At one end were French doors leading to the garden. At the other, in the huge bay window, stood a spinet, the wood shining like golden syrup in the sun. Eynon was rich, far richer than the Savage family had ever been. Much wealthier than ever Llinos had imagined.

‘Can I stay for a few days?'

‘Of course. Need you ask?'

Llinos rubbed her eyes. ‘I'm sorry to land myself on you without warning but . . .'

‘Look, you are my dear friend, my little
cariad
, I would be hurt if you did not come to me for help. I'll ring for some tea and you can tell me all about it.'

Llinos watched as the young maid set the fine china on the table.

‘Thank you, Mena,' Eynon said. ‘Tell cook there will be a guest for supper. Oh, and make sure there is a decent fire in the guest room, would you?'

After the maid had gone, Llinos drank some of the hot, fragrant tea gratefully. ‘Am I wrong to disobey my father, Eynon?'

‘Well, going off to school does not seem such a terrible fate to me, I must say.'

‘But I have to stay in Swansea. I could not bear to go away to some strange school where I would learn to stitch and sew and to speak foreign languages. Dead ones too, like Latin and Greek. What do I want with all that?'

Eynon shook his head. ‘I don't know, my sweet Llinos, but I think you might have talked things over reasonably with your father before you went rushing off.'

‘He became angry with me. He told me if I did not obey him I was no longer his daughter.'

‘He is in pain, you must remember that, Llinos. Pain of any kind makes people behave in strange ways.'

Llinos knew he was right. She had seen her father ease the bandages on his legs and knew he was missing Joe's administrations.

‘It's because of Joe, that's the real problem, isn't it?' Eynon said, picking up on her thoughts. ‘Your father is afraid you will lose your head over Joe. Have you, Llinos? Lost your head over Joe, I mean?'

‘Would it be such a bad thing if I had?'

Eynon rubbed his chin where a light stubble of fair hair curled against his skin in an apology for a beard. ‘In the eyes of the townspeople, yes, it would. Joe is a native American. He even looks foreign. On the other hand, you would be the one having to live with him and in my book he is a fine, honourable man.' He smiled wryly. ‘I'm sure I don't have to list his virtues.'

‘I know them all, every one. Oh Eynon, I'm so confused.'

‘Sleep on it, you'll feel better then,' Eynon said, and Llinos nodded even as she doubted his words.

Later, lying in bed in the strangely huge and elegant room, Llinos tried to sort out her tangled thoughts. She could not stay here and live off her friend, not indefinitely. So what were the options? She would either have to return home and agree to her father's demands or she would have to find a position where she could earn herself a living. That meant approaching the owner of the Morton-Edwards' Pottery, Eynon's father and her own father's rival.

She sighed and turned over on her side, watching the dappling of moonlight on the wall.

‘Joe, please come home and tell me what to do,' she whispered and wondered if, somewhere in England, he would be picking up on her thoughts.

CHAPTER TWELVE

In the tall house on the borders of England and Wales, in a small town with a name taken from the river Wye on which it stood, Joe was sitting beside his father's bed, his head raised, his senses alert as he listened to the hoot of the night owl and the rustle of small creatures in the grass outside.

It was silent in the house, even his father's breathing seemed to be hushed. Peter Mainwaring was asleep, but by his pallor it was clear he was entering the last phase of his earthly life.

Joe had kept vigil at his father's side without respite for three days and three nights. He had seen the sun rise in the morning and watched it set at nightfall. During this time, his father had not spoken, he might not even be aware of his son's presence.

Joe's sisters, two ladies older than he by many years, had allowed him into the house with great reluctance, consistently refusing to acknowledge him as a brother. But he understood them. They were frightened by the thought of being alone with no male protector except a half-breed stepbrother.

His father moaned a little and Joe leaned forward to touch the dry, hot brow. Peter Mainwaring opened his eyes and after a moment they focused with recognition on his son. He made an attempt to lift his hand and Joe took it, engulfing the fragile fingers in the warmth of his own strong hands.

‘You came. How did you know?' The voice was threadlike, insubstantial, but Joe's hearing was acute.

‘I knew, Father.'

Peter inclined his head. ‘Yes, of course you did. So like your mother.'

‘Don't try to talk.' Joe leaned closer. His father's breath was fetid, death was grasping him and drawing him downwards.

‘Last chance to say I'm sorry, Joe.'

‘No need.'

‘I hurt you and your mother. I have always regretted it.' He paused, struggling for breath. ‘But I have done my best to make amends. I have left you funds enough to go to see her. And when you go to her, tell her I always loved her.'

His eyes closed and he sank once more into the cloud of unconsciousness. His skin had taken on a greyish tinge, it was parchment thin. Death was ready to take him by the hand and lead him into the world beyond. Joe rose to his feet. It was time to call his sisters.

They came unwillingly. Charlotte and Letitia, joyless beings, both.

‘Time to say your farewells.' Joe stepped aside and watched the women kneel at the bedside, heads bowed in prayer. He did not doubt that the prayers were pious ones but a touch of a hand, a last look into the face of their father, might have served him better.

He left the room. It was over, his father would not open his eyes again. He packed his small roll of clothes, fastening it with a leather thong, and then made his way downstairs. There, he sat and waited.

He was joined shortly by his sisters. Charlotte was weeping but Letitia, the eldest one, stood erect, her face unrelenting as she spoke to Joe without once looking at him.

‘You can leave us now, Father is dead.'

‘You don't wish me to stay and make arrangements for the funeral?'

Letitia shook her head. ‘No! We do not want you at the funeral. You would be an embarrassment.'

‘Then I shall be on my way.'

Letitia sniffed. She had made her feelings more than plain but she intended to make them even plainer. ‘There will be no need for you to call here again, ever.'

‘Oh, I will return, do not doubt it.' He spoke mildly. His eyes rested for a moment on Charlotte, her head was bent and she turned away as if she, too, wished to disassociate herself from him.

‘Goodbye to you, my sisters,' he said and let himself out of the house.

He began the long walk towards the nearest town where he could pick up a post-chaise. He wished impatiently that he could fly like the eagle and cover the hillsides and the wooded glades. Swoop over high waterfalls and low, winding rivers.

In the hours of night, Llinos had called to him and he had heard her. Now he was free to go to her but though his legs were long and his stride wide, his progress was slow.

‘Don't worry, Llinos, I'm coming home.' The wind took the words. A large bird pecked at them, swallowed them and flew like an arrow towards Wales.

It took him more than two sunrises to reach the post house in Swansea. He left the coach happy to have his feet back on solid ground after the rocking and buffeting of the journey.

He tipped his hat to the other occupants as he took his leave. His fellow passengers had taken him for an English gentleman. One of the elderly ladies had enquired whether he had served His Majesty abroad, remarking on the tan of his skin. He had concurred with a nod of his head but had deflected the questions by enquiring about her heavily bandaged wrist.

Thereafter the conversation had consisted of a list of ailments to which the old lady was a martyr but he had borne it gracefully, allowing his thoughts to wander towards home and Llinos.

It did not take Joe long to reach Pottery Row. The water wheel was turning swiftly, the rush of water swelled by the thawing of the winter ice. But as Joe looked at the straggle of pottery buildings, he knew that Llinos was not there.

‘Joe! Good to see you back!' Captain Savage pumped Joe's hand with a great warmth. ‘These old legs of mine been giving me hell and tarnation. Can't wait for you to mix up one of your potions. I'll get the maid to make you something to eat.'

Joe set his roll down on one of the oak chairs. ‘Maid?' His eyes regarded the captain steadily.

‘Yes, I've taken on some staff at last.' The captain looked away but not before Joe had seen the pain in his eyes. ‘Llinos has left home.' His statement was bald, the words clipped.

‘I've employed an old woman as housekeeper and a young girl to look after the place. The Irish girl and Binnie went with Llinos.'

‘Why?'

‘I'll tell you all about that later. Now how was your father?'

Joe sat astride a chair. He felt an ache in his chest and a fire in his loins, he was in love with Llinos. He desired her with all his being but he knew there would be many battles to be fought before he could possess her.

‘My father has gone to whatever he sees as his heaven,' he said. ‘His passing was peaceful enough. The great spirit was kind to him.'

Captain Savage rang a bell and the strident noise echoed through the house. The maid came at once, her eyes on Joe, appraising him, trying to place him in the scheme of things at Pottery House.

She dipped a curtsy as Captain Savage told her to bring a jug of ale and two tankards.

The girl went swiftly about her business, her eyes pale blue, her lashes fair and long, sweeping her cheeks modestly. She was aware of Joe's scrutiny and made the most of it. At last, her task completed, she bowed her way out of the room.