Firebird (28 page)

A sense of release surged through Llinos. She felt unburdened, as though Mr Wright's words had exonerated her. Though from what she did not quite know.

‘That's it, little lass, smile, be young and carefree while you have the chance. You should be falling in love, flirting with a beau, not worrying your little head the way you do trying to solve the ills of the world.'

He pushed back his untidy bush of grey hair. ‘Right, now let's look at this glaze, is it going to work, do you think?'

‘Well, put it like this,' she said cheerfully, ‘the lead-alkaline silicate, the borax and the china stone in the quantities you specify make one of the finest glazes I've ever seen.'

As she worked with Mr Wright, Llinos became absorbed. She watched his old but deft fingers at work and forgot all about Estelle and her sickness.

That night her worries returned. She had not seen Estelle at dinner and she had thought Mr Morton-Edwards looked more anxious than usual. Her queries concerning the doctor had yielded little response and he had retired early, leaving her alone in the drawing-room.

She rose restlessly and moved to the window. It was a fine night and the long gardens were half in shadow. In front of her, beyond the gardens, the two potteries sat side by side, the Tawe Pottery sprawling over much of the land close to the river while the smaller Savage Pottery crouched self-effacingly on the higher ground.

Suddenly the urge to walk around what she still thought of as her own pottery was too strong to resist. Llinos took up a cloak and let herself out of the house.

The Savage Pottery was silent, all the sheds were in darkness. As she walked through the yard, the warmth from the tall bottle kilns reached out towards her. She heard the gentle roaring of the fires and was filled with a feeling of nostalgia. If only she could turn back time to when she and Binnie and little Watt had worked like slaves to run the pottery, how many times had she wished that? But if she could go back in time, then she would never have met Joe. How she longed to see him, to talk to him about her doubts.

He appeared at her side silently. She was no longer startled by his strange habit of answering her thoughts. She pressed her hands to the outside of the kiln, feeling the heat of the bricks beneath her fingers.

‘What's the matter, Llinos?'

‘There's a great deal the matter, not least my father's attitude to me.'

‘You hurt him when you walked out and when he asked you to come home you refused. What do you expect from him?'

‘Nothing!' Llinos faced Joe. The moonlight made a raven's wing of his hair. Light touched his high cheekbones, skimmed the contours of his jaw. He looked like the noble Indian he was. He appeared like a stranger she was meeting for the first time.

She pushed the thought away, Joe was not a stranger, he was the man she loved.

‘I expect nothing from my father. He's made no attempt to understand me. He wanted to force me to be his little girl again and that was impossible.' She was suddenly angry.

‘But you, Joe, I expected something more from you. You take everyone's side but mine. You insist on reasoning everything through. Why can't you just give in to your feelings, Joe?' Her anger evaporated as suddenly as it had come. ‘Joe, can't you just love me?'

He took her in his arms, his cheek was against her hair. She breathed in the scent of him, savouring the moment. He was so near and yet he was far away, somehow untouchable. She no more possessed him than she could possess the wind blowing in from the sea.

‘I love you, Joe, I want to live with you.' She looked up at him. ‘Take me away to your land. We can live together on the plains, fish in the rivers. You can build us a house, we can forget all this.'

Joe took her face in his hands, his palms were warm and firm against her skin.

‘You have your own destiny to fulfil, Llinos. You are young, the world is before you. Don't throw away your chances as if they were nothing.'

She put her arms around his neck, forcing his head down to hers. ‘Stop talking, Joe, please.'

He looked into her upturned face and then, almost roughly, his mouth was on hers. She felt incandescent as though flames lapped around her, enveloping her in shades of red and orange and gold.

‘Llinos, my nightingale, my Firebird.' Joe was whispering, his lips against her neck. She knew with a piercing joy that he desired her as much as she desired him.

‘I love you, Joe,' she said softly. ‘I have to be with you or I will die.'

He released her abruptly. ‘No, Llinos, you will not die. You will grow up into a beautiful woman, you will have many admirers. You are destined for great things, a great many joys and a great many sorrows and even I cannot alter the path of your destiny.'

‘Excuses, Joe! You are not man enough to flaunt the opinions of men like my father, men who judge you as an inferior being because of your heritage. I love you, Joe, I love you because of what you are not in spite of it. I would give up everything for you.'

‘And that I will not allow.' Joe was a stranger again, he half turned from her, his long hair lifting a little in the breeze. ‘I'm a man without means, don't you realize that, Llinos? What could I offer you?'

Llinos stared up at him, and was struck again by the almost primitive beauty of him.

‘Joe, whatever you say, I will never love another man. If I can't have you then I won't marry anyone.'

She turned and ran from him, her feet scarcely touching the dusty earth. She hated Joe and she loved him all at the same time. Why could he not see that she cared nothing about money, she had been without money before, it was love she wanted, his love.

When she returned home, it was to find the Morton-Edwards house full of lights. A carriage stood in the driveway and maids scurried from the kitchen to the upper regions of the house carrying a variety of bowls and cloths.

Llinos stopped in the hallway, brushing back her hair from her face, wondering what was happening. She caught the arm of one of the maids.

‘What is it, what's wrong?'

‘Begging your pardon, mam, it's Mrs Morton-Edwards, sickly she is, real poorly. The doctor is with her now.'

She shook her head. ‘The vicar's there, too, not that I hold with all that nonsense, mind. Don' know what Mr Morton-Edwards was thinking about fetching him in, what good can he do now?'

‘Is she very sick?' Llinos asked anxiously. The maid nodded.

‘I don't hold out much hope, bringing up awful black stuff she is.'

Llinos felt a sense of horror, it was almost as though she was facing her dead mother again. She forced herself to climb the stairs, telling herself to be calm. The door to Estelle's room was open. Inside, kneeling beside the bed, she saw Philip, his head bent as though in prayer.

She moved towards him, half-afraid to look at the woman in the bed. The doctor stood silently shaking his head. On the opposite side of the bed, a vicar, Bible open, intoned prayers.

‘Llinos.' Philip saw her and lifting his hand urged her closer. ‘I am losing her, my dear wife is so sick . . .' His voice broke.

Llinos leaned towards the white mask of Estelle's face, seeing her eyes open briefly. Then Estelle sighed and her head rolled to one side. The doctor glanced at his pocket watch.

‘Your wife is at rest now, sir,' he said.

Philip rose to his feet. His face was set, he appeared to stumble.

‘There is no more you can do now, Mr Morton-Edwards.' The doctor caught Philip's arm. ‘Allow me to give you one of my potions so you can rest.'

‘All right, Doctor, if you think it will help. Llinos, come with me, please.' Philip held out his hand and Llinos took it.

‘I'm so sorry,' she whispered, ‘so sorry.' She went with him to his bedroom and stood uncertainly in the doorway. Philip threw himself down and his servant pulled off his boots.

‘Leave me.' Philip waved his hand. ‘No, not you, Llinos, stay with me just for a while, I beg you, I don't want to be alone.'

She looked at the doctor, who had followed them into the room. He held out a cup with some liquid in it. The vicar had remained in the bedroom reading from the Bible.

‘Drink this, sir, you will feel better then.' The doctor nodded to Llinos. ‘Stay if you will, I shall send one of the maids to sit with you.' He spoke softly but Philip heard him.

‘I want no-one but Llinos.'

‘I'll be all right,' she said. The doctor looked at her doubtfully and then back at the man on the bed. ‘He'll be asleep in a few minutes, I don't suppose it would be considered improper for you to stay, not in the circumstances.'

Improper, did folks have nothing more to worry about than the proprieties? Llinos drew a chair to the bedside and took Philip's hand and smoothed it gently. ‘There, go to sleep, rest now.'

‘You are so kind, such a comfort to me, Llinos. I don't know how I would survive the night on my own.'

‘I will stay with you, I promise,' Llinos said gently. She saw Philip's eyes close, his breathing became soft and even. In sleep he appeared younger, more vulnerable. There was the look of Eynon about him. Impulsively, Llinos bent and kissed his cheek.

‘Sorry, miss.' The young maid was standing in the doorway looking at her curiously. ‘Brought a blanket to put round you, if you need it, that is.'

Llinos shook her head. ‘I will be all right, thank you. Just close the door to keep out the draught, will you?'

‘Close the door, miss?'

‘Yes, close the door.' Llinos wondered at the girl's stupidity, ‘There's a draught from the landing, can't you feel it?'

‘Yes, miss, of course, miss.' The girl left the room and closed the door and Llinos leaned back against the plush cushions of the chair. She kicked off her shoes, she was so tired, she must sleep.

She woke with the sunrise and sat up rubbing her neck. Philip was still asleep, he lay on his back, his arm stretched out across the bed as though reaching for her.

Llinos poured water from the pitcher and splashed her face and hands. She was aching, she had not been able to rest properly in the upright chair. But at least she had kept her promise and remained with Philip through the night.

The maid entered the room just as Llinos was slipping her feet into her slippers. She bobbed a curtsy and put a tray of hot cordial down on the table beside the bed. She looked at Llinos with open curiosity and bobbed a curtsy once more before leaving the room.

The gossip spread through the Tawe Pottery and beyond the walls to the Savage Pottery next door and thence to the town. It was said that on the night of his wife's death, Philip Morton-Edwards had spent the night alone with Llinos Savage.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Llinos was standing next to Mr Wright watching the glaze running silkily from the plate he was holding when she heard the rattle of wheels against the stone floor. She looked up and was startled to see her father coming towards her. He trundled his chair awkwardly over the uneven floor, his face dark with anger. Walking behind him were two of his men. He made an impatient gesture towards Llinos. ‘Bring her,' he said harshly.

The men caught her arms and, outraged, Llinos tried to pull away. ‘How dare you lay hands on me!'

‘Bring her, I said.' Lloyd Savage repeated the command and the men obeyed, drawing Llinos towards the door.

‘What in the name of hell's teeth is going on here?' Mr Wright, his face red, took up a stand before Lloyd Savage's chair, staring down at him in outrage.

‘I am Lloyd Savage and this young lady is my daughter. Out of my way before I take my stick to you, sir.'

‘I am quite aware of who you are, sir, but you are acting with uncalled-for aggression towards your daughter. You should be ashamed of yourself.'

‘Out of my way, fool!' Lloyd rammed his chair forward and Mr Wright moved smartly to one side.

‘You just wait until Mr Morton-Edwards hears about this. He will not take kindly to your invasion of his property, sir, or your high-handed attitude to the young lady.'

Mr Wright was pushed roughly aside by one of the men.

‘How dare you treat Mr Wright so roughly!' Llinos protested. No-one replied and she was marched unceremoniously over the short distance between the potteries. Once she was inside Pottery House she was taken upstairs and thrust into a bedroom. She heard the bolts shoot home and realized with a feeling of disbelief that she was a prisoner.

She hammered on the door, angry and bewildered. What did her father think he was doing? What had come over him?

‘How dare you treat me this way, Father!' she called. ‘Have I no rights at all?'

There was no reply, the house seemed silent, empty. She looked down at her hands. A spot of glaze dried against her palm, a good glaze, the best yet. And she was not there to see the china after the final firing. She felt like weeping tears of frustration.

She sank onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, tucking her legs under her skirts. She stared up at the soft sunshine slanting in between the curtains and thumped the pillows with her fists. ‘How could you do this to me, Father!' she shouted, but no-one heard.

It was a long day. Llinos watched from the small window as the sun set over the river. She was hungry but she would not ask for food. In any case, she doubted anyone would hear her even if she called.

She was almost asleep when, at last, the door was opened. A manservant whom Llinos did not recognize stood on the threshold. ‘Your father wishes to see you, Miss Savage.'

She was tempted to run past him, down the stairs and out into the street. She resisted the temptation, she would talk to her father, demand an explanation for his barbaric treatment. His first words startled her.