Firebird (5 page)

‘But,' Gwen had protested, ‘my daughter can't go to market! Good heavens, the Savage family are above that sort of thing.'

When Mr Cimla insisted, Gwen had meekly submitted to his wishes. Her eyes had been filled with tears and she mouthed the word ‘sorry' behind her husband's back. But far from being offended, Llinos was happy to go to market, relieved that she would have a few hours of freedom from the brooding presence of her stepfather.

She stood in the early spring sunshine oblivious of the cold, and though self-conscious at first soon became engaged in a brisk trade. After only a few hours, the supply of jugs and bowls was almost gone. Llinos arranged a few of the flat plates to better advantage at the front of the stall and smiled down at Watt, liking the feeling of being in charge.

‘We doin' all right, aren't we, Llinos?' Watt had grown taller in the last few weeks but his face was small and pinched. He looked, Llinos thought, as if he could do with a good meal. Which was not far from the truth.

‘We are indeed! I didn't realize what a good saleslady I'd make.'

Even so, the morning's work would bring in scarcely enough money to replenish the diminishing stocks of clay. Sales had been good but bore no comparison to the huge sales of a year ago.

By early afternoon, most of the stock had gone and the weight of the money in Llinos's bag gave her a warm sense of achievement. The Savage family might be living in reduced circumstances but she, at least, was doing something about it.

She felt Watt pull at her sleeve. ‘Look out,
he's
coming.'

‘So, girl, how are you doing then?' Mr Cimla stood in front of her, his hands thrust into his pockets, his stomach bulging over his breeches.

‘Very well, thank you.' She spoke coldly but Bert Cimla was not deterred.

‘Come on, then, let the dog see the rabbit, what have we got here?'

Reluctantly, Llinos handed over the bag. Mr Cimla weighed it in his hand and with a smile of satisfaction slipped it inside his coat.

‘Right then, when you've finished here, get off home and keep your mother company. I won't be in till late. I might not be in at all come to that.'

He loped away into the crowd and Llinos fought the anger that seethed inside her.

‘Come on, Watt, let's get back.' Llinos packed away the few remaining items of pottery. ‘I don't see why we should work ourselves to death to give that man drinking money.'

With Watt in the driving seat beside her, Llinos urged the horse in the direction of home. Her legs were aching from standing so long and her feet felt as though they were on fire.

As she rounded a curve in the roadway, she saw a large gleaming carriage coming towards her. In the driving seat was a footman in livery. An elegantly scrolled monogram bearing the initials ‘M.E.' graced the carriage doors.

The driver made no attempt to slacken the pace of the horses but drove on as though nothing barred his way. Llinos was forced to turn the cart towards the hedge. The wheels slid slowly to a halt, entrenched in the ditch at the side of the road. Llinos heard the crashing sound of china behind her and bit her lip in anger.

‘Blutty hell!' Watt said. ‘Our stuff's all smashed, we'll be for it when we gets 'ome.'

The richly appointed carriage drew to a halt a short distance away and Llinos saw a slim young man climb out onto the road.

‘It's the folks from the Tawe Pottery,' Watt said in awe. ‘That must be Mr Eynon Morton-Edwards home from his posh school.'

Llinos knew the younger Mr Eynon by sight. He seemed nice enough but rather reserved. He would sometimes touch his hat to her in passing but he never spoke. Now, as he approached, she noted that his clothes were immaculate, his boots highly polished and that made her even more angry.

‘Your driver is a maniac! I suppose you think that people like us don't matter.' She spoke more aggressively than she had intended. The young man stopped in his tracks, the colour leaving his already pale cheeks.

‘I do apologize.' The words, delivered with a fine, precise sense of diction, were so inadequate that Llinos shook her head.

‘I suppose that's all you would offer if you'd killed me and Watt here – your apologies.'

‘Please. I'm sorry.' He came nearer and Llinos saw he had the sort of boyish charm that had never appealed to her. His fair hair curled over his brow and the brightly coloured scarf at his neck seemed to emphasize the softness of his features. His eyes were dark, almost black.

‘Oh, forget it, I'll sort things out here, you go on your way.' Llinos looked down into the ditch. ‘Come on, Watt, let's see if we can get back on the road again.'

‘Here, let me help.' Eynon Morton-Edwards spoke anxiously. ‘It's the least I can do.'

‘It's all right,' Llinos said. ‘We don't need your help, we can manage on our own.'

The driver of the coach had climbed down from his seat and was walking reluctantly towards them, a sheepish expression on his face. ‘We'll need to pull you out of there, miss, won't do it by yourself.'

‘All right then, if you have to.' Llinos stood back and rubbed her eyes wearily. She was bone tired, she could have done without this mishap. All she wanted to do was to get home, curl up in her bed and sleep.

When the cart was righted, Eynon Morton-Edwards looked at the broken pottery. ‘Perhaps I could pay you for the damages?' he asked tentatively.

Llinos shook her head. ‘No, thank you.'

‘I'll say good day to you, then.' He returned to the carriage and with a last look back, climbed inside. Dust rose from the road as the carriage moved away.

‘Pompous ass!' Llinos said sulkily.

‘He was trying to be kind,' Watt said. ‘He's a good artist, mind. They say he paints all the designs for the Tawe china.'

‘Oh, well, it's none of our business.' Llinos climbed back into the driving seat. ‘He's such a dandy, he looks every inch a spoiled brat, he's not my type of person at all.' She flicked the reins. ‘Walk on!' she called and the old horse ambled along the road, head down.

‘Poor Brandy,' Watt said, ‘poor horse, he's as tired as we are.'

‘Never mind, not far now, we'll soon be home,' Llinos said, as much to encourage herself as the young boy. The candles gleamed from the windows of Pottery House and her mother was waiting for her with an anxious look in her eyes.

‘Where's Bert?' She was peering over Llinos's shoulder, her eyes narrowed. She had changed over the weeks from a woman radiant with love to one who was subdued by a bullying husband.

Llinos shook her head. ‘Take the horse and cart round the back, ‘Watt, will you?' she said. ‘There will be supper tonight, tell the other boys.' She smiled ruefully. ‘I'll get rid of the broken pots.'

Later, Llinos joined her mother in the sitting-room. Gwen was sunk into a chair, her hands clasped in her lap.

‘I thought he would come home with you. But he's not coming home, is he?' She covered her face with her hands. ‘I love him. Am I a fool, Llinos?'

‘It seems that way, Mother.' Llinos flopped into a chair and looked at Gwen with pity. If her mother had changed so had Mr Cimla. At first he had at least affected an air of charm. He had kept himself reasonably clean and groomed. Now he had sunk into a perpetual mood of sullen anger and his appearance left a great deal to be desired. His moustache and beard remained untrimmed for days and usually carried a residue of anything he had consumed. Worst of all, he stank. How her mother could share the intimacies of the bedroom with him, Llinos could not imagine.

‘Are you sorry you married him, Mother?'

‘The answer to that is not a simple one.' Gwen's voice was heavy with sorrow. ‘He means well and he loves me, I know he does, but he's weak like most men.'

Llinos resisted the urge to say that her father was not weak, he had never raised his voice to his wife or his child and he had made sure they were well provided for. She put her arm around her mother's shoulder. ‘Perhaps it will work out, if only he would take some responsibility for our future, it would help.'

‘I'll try talking to him,' Gwen said. ‘I'll be strong and tell him to mend his ways.'

‘Leave it for tonight, Mam,' she said softly. She new he had the day's takings with him and if she had judged him correctly, he would be spending it all on ale. ‘It will all keep till morning.'

Her mother straightened. It was as if she had not heard a word Llinos had said. ‘I'll have to say something, he must respect me, a marriage is not a marriage without respect.'

‘See what mood he's in tomorrow,' Llinos insisted. ‘You never know, he might have taken the money to the bank.'

‘What money? Do you mean he has today's takings?' Gwen covered her eyes for a moment with her hand. Llinos could see her mother's veins blue against the thin skin.

‘He'll be drinking, then. Perhaps you're right, we'd better wait until morning.'

Llinos fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow but she was woken a short while later by the sound of singing from downstairs. She opened her eyes; it was still dark. She climbed out of bed, wrapped a robe around her shoulders and stumbled towards the door. She met her mother on the landing.

‘What is he up to now?' Gwen sounded frightened. ‘He's drunk, he must be.'

Llinos followed her mother downstairs and crossed the hall to the sitting-room. The door stood open and the room was filled with smoke and the smell of ale and with people.

Mr Cimla was sprawled across the lumpy sofa and on his knee was a gaudily painted woman. Her trade was quite obvious even to Llinos and Llinos put her hand to her mouth to stop the angry words from spilling out.

‘Ah, here comes my dear wifey and that miserable kid of hers. Come here, Gwenie, dear, meet my friends.'

Gwen lifted her chin. ‘What are these people doing in my house, Mr Cimla?'

‘I think you mean
my
house, Mrs Cimla,' he sniggered and Llinos clenched her hands together at her sides. How dare he humiliate her mother in this way?

‘Nice little girl you got there, Bert.' A man with a bright waistcoat barely covering his barrel chest peered through the smoke at Llinos. He put his head sideways consideringly. ‘She's a bit on the skinny side but I suppose she'll fill out given time.'

‘Fancy her as a wife, do you, Brendan?' Bert Cimla asked, his eyes gleaming with malicious humour. The man rubbed his chin.

‘Don' know 'bout that but I wouldn't mind a bit of fun, like.'

‘No, can't have that, Brendan. I wants her off of my hands, see. It's marriage or nothing.'

‘Don't be absurd, Bert!' Gwen's voice was unusually sharp. ‘Tell these people to leave at once.'

‘Shut your cackle, Gwenie, before I give you a back hander. Anyway, Llinos is not a baby, time the girl was wed.'

Gwen was deathly pale. ‘You go too far, Mr Cimla.' She stared at her husband. ‘Get these people out
now.
'

‘Oh shut up, woman!' He pushed the strumpet from his knee and approached Llinos, ignoring his wife. He jerked open her robe and Llinos flinched.

‘See, nice little body, she'll fill out good, given time.'

Gwen gave a little cry and ran from the room. Llinos stared after her in consternation. She felt abandoned, as though her mother was leaving her to the not-so-tender mercies of Bert Cimla.

‘Moody cow,' he said. ‘But, back to business, Brendan, the kid is a thorn in my flesh, cold as ice but you might get a bit of fun warming her up. We'll need a proper dowry, like, she's a fine piece of merchandise is this one, a lady, the like of which you'll never see again.'

‘Take your hands off me!' Llinos kicked Bert's shin and he hollered and moved sharply away from her.

Brendan smiled, revealing stained teeth. ‘I like a pretty wench who ‘as a bit of spirit about her.'

Gwen reappeared as suddenly as she had vanished. She stood in the doorway and Llinos, alerted by the sudden dropping of Mr Cimla's jaw, looked round at her. Llinos recognized the musket Gwen was holding; it was her father's.

‘Get out of my house, all of you.' Her voice was hard. ‘Get out or I'll shoot you. Move!'

Mr Cimla was staring at her, his mouth open. He gulped and looked down the barrel of the gun.

‘Come on, you lot,' he said. ‘I'll deal with her when she's calmed down.'

In moments the room was empty. Mr Cimla reappeared in the doorway. ‘You made a fool of me!' he said harshly. ‘You'll pay for that, I swear you will!'

‘Get out and stay out until you can show us some respect.'

Mr Cimla suddenly seemed to become aware of the consequences of his actions. ‘Now, look, Gwenie' – his whining voice grated on Llinos – ‘I'm sorry if I did wrong but it's so damn quiet up here. I get lonely see.' His voice hardened. ‘In any case, you can't turn me out, I'm your husband and I know my rights. You can't put me out into the street like a dog, now can you?'

Llinos watched in dismay as her mother lowered the gun. ‘All right, get yourself cleaned up and mend your ways or you are out of here for good, do you understand?'

‘But Gwenie, aren't you forgetting something?' His voice held an undercurrent of triumph. ‘Your property became mine when I married you. I own everything.'

‘That's where you are wrong,' Gwen said wearily. She looked at her daughter. ‘Tell him.'

‘My father willed the house to me,' Llinos said, a feeling of triumph rising within her. ‘Last time my father came home on leave, he made a will. If mother remarries all the property goes to me. It's legal, witnessed before a notary. My mother has nothing except the clothes she stands up in.'