Firebird (41 page)

Llinos looked round the small room and felt a pang at the thought of leaving the comfort and security of the lodging house. Here, in this room, she and Joe had shared their thoughts and their dreams. Llinos had teased him and herself with the delights that would be theirs once they were truly married.

It had been a testing time for both of them. Joe had shown great restraint, it had been Llinos who was tempted to shrug off her hidebound ideas about a church wedding and make passionate love to Joe. But soon, she told herself, she would be his wife in the eyes of God and the Church, then everything would be wonderful. There came the sound of a light tapping on the door.

‘Llinos, the coach is here.' Even his voice had the power to thrill her.

She picked up her bag and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as though she was stepping out into a new world.

He smiled down at her, his hair tied back, his skin fresh. His eyes were so blue it was as though the sun was shining in them.

‘I'm ready, Joe.' Outside, the sunshine was dappling the roadway between the trees. The ostler took the bags from Joe and flung them onto the roof. Llinos looked behind her at the low doorway and the mullioned windows of the old inn. It had been a wonderful few days. Days when she and Joe had talked together, made plans and grown closer than ever before.

Inside the coach it was dim and the cold upholstery creaked as Llinos took her seat. Joe settled beside her and, opposite, the plump woman with her two young sons moved her feet a fraction to accommodate Joe's long legs.

‘Nice day for it.' She spoke in a pleasant West-Country accent. ‘The journey, I mean. Going to visit your folks, are you?'

Llinos wished she and Joe could be alone. She longed to kiss his mouth, to feel the heat of his passion for her.

‘Returning home,' she said.

‘Oh, been away have you, dear?'

Llinos took a deep breath. ‘Yes, we've been visiting Joe's folks in America.'

‘Fancy that, American are you, sir? I thought you looked sort of foreign, in a handsome way, mind. Good journey, was it?'

‘Wonderful,' Llinos said.

‘I expect your dear husband was made much of on board ship, such good looks. Are your folks rich, sir, like all those Americans?'

Joe's eyes sparkled. Llinos knew that look, it meant that Joe was going to exercise his wry sense of humour.

‘It all depends on what you mean by rich. My mother owns the land, the buffalo herds, the sky, sun and moon. She's an American Indian. She wears animal skins, oh, and feathers in her hair, of course.'

‘Oh dear. But your father . . . is he . . .?' The woman's words trailed away and she coloured in confusion. Joe took pity on her.

‘My father was an Englishman and so here I am, half Indian, half white.'

The lady sank back into her seat, clearly sorry she had begun the conversation. One of her sons stared across at Joe, leaning forward to get a better look. He finally slid from the seat and stood close to Joe, examining him from head to foot.

‘You got no feathers in your hair, you can't be an Indian.' His tone was accusing.

‘Billy, be quiet, don't be rude. Come and sit back down here at once.'

‘I wear feathers when I'm home,' Joe said reasonably.

‘Where do you live, then, if you're an Indian?'

‘In America I live in a lodge, a sort of tent. Here, I live in a house.'

The young boy digested this in silence and his mother tugged at his sleeves, pulling them down over bony wrists.

‘They grow so fast, these boys.' She was trying to appear unflustered. ‘Got any youngsters yourselves?'

‘Not yet,' Llinos said. She caught Joe's eye and smiled.

The coach jerked over the bumpy roadway obviously having a soporific effect on the lady opposite because, shortly, she began to snore gently.

Llinos put her head against Joe's arm and closed her eyes, wondering what sort of reception she would have when she arrived at her father's house. Would he welcome her or would he turn her away? There was no way of knowing how he would react. But surely by now he would have come to his senses? He must accept that she loved Joe and meant to be with him, otherwise her father would lose her altogether.

Joe kissed her hair. ‘Try to sleep a little,' he said. ‘It's going to be a long journey.'

Philip had been angry when Jessie came to him and told him what she'd overheard. She was paid handsomely for her trouble and as she bobbed a curtsy and made for the door she was smiling.

Philip thought the matter out. He did not want Eynon to go away, he wanted him here in Swansea where he could keep an eye on him.

He sat now in the vicarage and smiled sadly at Father Duncan. ‘So you see, it would not be suitable for Father Martin to have any further communication with my son. It's unhealthy.'

‘I'm not sure what you mean, why is it unhealthy?'

‘My son is a weakling; he will grow to depend too much on the man. I want him to stand on his own two feet, to grow up and take responsibility for his own life. Until then I must keep an eye on him.'

‘Well, sir, what do you suggest I do? If your son wishes to move away, I'm not clear what you expect me to do about it.'

Philip looked at the old priest; he had the feeling that the man saw right through him.

‘Just make sure that Father Martin is sent far away, perhaps to England or Scotland, I don't know.'

‘I have no power to do that, Mr Morton-Edwards, it is a decision the Bishop must make.'

‘Very well then, I shall speak with the Bishop myself,' Philip said affably. ‘I mean to make an extra donation to the church fund this year in any case.'

‘Right.' The vicar rose to his feet. ‘God go with you, my son.'

Philip left the house feeling he had been subtly, but surely, dismissed. Well the old fart would soon learn it did not do to cross Philip Morton-Edwards. A word in the right ear, a hefty donation and everything would be arranged. Father Martin would be sent out of the country and Duncan would find himself pensioned off.

Later at Ty Mawr Philip sat at the dining table with Georgina and her godmother. As he had predicted, the girl had soon found Eynon was a dull companion.

Georgina's family was extremely rich, and Philip had begun to toy with the thought of proposing to the girl himself. She had good child-bearing hips and was not too intelligent. And she would certainly bring him a rich dowry both of money and lands.

He had harboured hopes of taking Llinos Savage as his next bride – until he had read her letter. He had been somewhat taken aback by her abrupt departure from Swansea but had been prepared to overlook what appeared to him a sign of her spirited nature.

However, it seemed she had taken part in some sort of marriage ceremony with the Indian. By now she was no longer a virgin and he, Philip Morton-Edwards, was too good to take any man's leavings, let alone those of some half-breed.

Still, life had its compensations. Rising, he took a small key from his breast pocket and unlocked the hidden drawer underneath the lid of the cabinet.

The bills of sale were growing satisfyingly large in number. Piece by piece, Philip was buying up all the land surrounding the Savage Pottery. Once the deal for the last piece of ground was settled, Savage would have to beg for a right of way into his own property.

Philip smiled to himself. Savage would be obliged to sell up and get out, there would be nothing else for him to do. He could hardly trade if there was no access to and from the gates of the pottery.

He sank back in his chair. Matters were working out very nicely in his favour. Soon, Eynon would be out of the way for good, Philip would see to it. Then he would inherit all the money that his first wife's family had left Eynon. Philip would be free to breed a fine family. All that remained was to choose the lady who was to become his wife. His options were not many, perhaps the answer was here at his own fireside.

In the dining-room, Georgina was staring moodily at her godmother. ‘He's old, far too old for me.'

‘Nonsense, child! In any case, from what I've heard you would find more life in the father than in the son. Eynon Morton-Edwards is something of a foppish young man, not very interested in ladies by the look of it and certainly not able to offer anyone protection. He can't even look after himself.'

‘Well, I'm sure I could change him, make a man of him.'

‘I doubt it, my dear. Some men are not cut out for marriage, you know. Some are too selfish by far to expend any energy on a woman.'

‘I'm not sure that Eynon is like that.'

‘Well, just take it from me, Georgina, Eynon will do you no good between the sheets.'

‘God-Mamma!'

‘I'm only speaking the truth, the boy is a weakling, you can see he has no stamina to speak of.'

‘Well I don't want his father, that's for sure.'

‘I wouldn't be so hasty, if I were you. You haven't exactly been the centre of attention at home, have you? Not since you were foolish enough to be caught in a most compromising situation with that young man, Frederick Haines. Well, he quickly left the scene, didn't he?'

‘Oh, God-Mamma, people will forget all that in time.'

‘No, they won't, that's why we came away. What you must remember is that Philip might be rather old for you, but he is a very rich and powerful man. As his wife, you would be given calling cards to all the best houses.'

Georgina looked thoughtful. ‘I shall see Eynon tomorrow,' she said. ‘I shall ask him if he intends to marry and if the answer is no, I shall think about what you say.'

‘Very wise, dear, very wise.' Aunt Catherine rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘I'm going to retire, I would advise you to do the same. I think Philip is probably consoling himself with the brandy bottle and men can be notoriously unsettled by drinking brandy.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘You don't understand much at all, do you, girl? Well put it like this, you won't get a wedding veil by giving a man what he wants before the ceremony.'

Georgina shrugged but she followed her godmother up the wide curving staircase without demur.

‘Good night.' She let herself into her room and closed the door, grateful to be away from the old lady's nagging. She sat before the mirror and stared at her face critically.

She wasn't bad-looking, she decided. She had very fair skin and rather sandy hair but her eyes were nice; hazel with flecks of green. Why had she been unable to get herself a husband? Well, if the worse came to the worse, perhaps she should think about accepting Philip Morton-Edwards. At least then she would not be left sitting on the dusty shelf while other girls her age were sprouting babies left, right and centre.

She heard Philip go to his room and tried to imagine him in his drawers. The thought made her giggle. Would he have a paunch like her grandfather? Would his chest be covered in greying hair?

Oh, lord, how awful! Could she really contemplate marriage to an old man? She thumped at her pillow, wishing it was Eynon's face. Why could he not have been a red-blooded man, willing, even eager to marry her? Fate could be so unkind.

Her last thought as she fell asleep was of Philip. He wasn't so bad, really, was he?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Llinos felt her heartbeats quicken as the carriage entered Pottery Row. Everything seemed different, diminished, the houses crouched together in a huddle. Even the bottle kilns seemed smaller than she had remembered them. She knew why, of course. In contrast to the vast open plains of America, anything would appear small.

‘Llinos! Welcome home, love.' Celia-end-house stood on the doorstep, waving her stick in welcome. She looked older, more frail than Llinos remembered.

‘Nothing stays the same,' Joe whispered, and she smiled at him, knowing he had picked up on her thoughts.

Llinos alighted from the carriage and hugged Celia, feeling the thinness of the old lady beneath her layers of dark clothing.

‘Your father will be glad to see you,' Celia said. ‘He's been right miserable lately with a face like a bulldog on him.'

Llinos smiled wryly. ‘Then I'll probably make him feel ten times worse!'

‘Go on with you.' Celia looked shyly at Joe. He was an enigma to her, she was never quite sure how to talk to him. Llinos came to her rescue.

‘I've been staying with Joe's folks in America.'

Celia's eyes opened wide. ‘
Duw!
America, is it?' She looked round. ‘Where's our Binnie, then? Gone home to his wife, is he?'

Llinos was saved from replying by the sound of her father's wheelchair rumbling over the rough ground. She turned, her heart in her throat, not knowing what sort of reception she was going to get.

‘Llinos, my little girl, you've come home then.' Her father's voice was mild. He held out his arms and hope filled her heart. It seemed he had forgiven her.

‘Father! I'm so glad to see you.' She hugged him, breathing in the familiar smells of clay and oxide mingled with the tobacco from the pipe in his pocket.

‘Come on in, girl, let's talk in private.' He did not look at Joe, not once, and Llinos bit her lip.

‘I'll talk to him on my own, shall I?' she whispered to Joe. ‘I'll try not to upset him.'

‘No,' Joe said, ‘we are together now, one.' He followed Llinos into the house.

‘Have you come to your senses, Llinos?' Lloyd Savage was looking up at her, his eyes almost begging her to understand his rejection of Joe. He did not look away from her face but focused all his attention on his daughter. A bitter sense of disappointment filled her.