Honey's Farm (45 page)

April put down her book and rushed across the floor to hug Fon. ‘You've got me,' she said, holding Fon tightly around the neck, her small cheek soft against Fon's.

‘Hey, don't choke me, then,' Fon laughed. ‘Of course I've got you, and Patrick and Jamie.'

‘And my brother Tommy,' April added conscientiously. ‘You've got a lot of us to love you.'

‘Quite right.' Jamie swung in through the door, bringing with him a hint of mist and rain. ‘Lots of us love our Fonny, don't we, April?'

He kissed the little girl on top of her dark curls and then bent and kissed Fon's mouth.

‘Ugh!' Fon said, grimacing. ‘You smell like a beer barrel.'

‘Well,' Jamie sat in the chair near the fire and stretched his long legs before him. ‘Me and Tommy been out to the public; the boy needed a bit of diversion.'

‘I suppose so,' Fon said softly. It was only a few weeks since his mother had been buried in the windswept cemetery at Dan y Graig, and Tommy was bound to be feeling a little lost.

‘I saw the priest in town,' Jamie said. ‘He was talking about you, April; he said you should be going to school any day now.' He winked at her. ‘St David's has a place for you where you can learn to be a scholar.'

‘She's a scholar now,' Fon said. ‘But I think it's high time you went to school, April; you're a clever girl and I don't want you to grow up at a disadvantage.'

April's eyes widened. ‘I
want
to go to school,' she said, positively, ‘then I can be a teacher, or perhaps even a nun.'

Jamie laughed. ‘I wouldn't think that far ahead yet, madam. Let yourself live a little before you even consider shutting yourself away in a convent.'

‘She has plenty of time,' Fon said gently, ‘and April can be anything she wants. She has a very sharp mind.'

Jamie leant back and closed his eyes. ‘And your husband has a very great appetite,' he said lazily, a playful edge to his voice. ‘But I don't suppose I'm going to get any supper.'

‘There's cold meat and some crusty bread in the pantry,' Fon said, trying not to laugh. ‘Now Patrick's in bed I've got a chance to mend his clothes, and you are big enough to see to your own supper.'

‘I'll do it,' April said eagerly, and with a shy glance at Jamie she busied herself in the kitchen, clattering dishes with more gusto than finesse.

Fon looked after her thoughtfully. April was growing up, she admired Jamie, wanted his approbation; and he wasn't a bad figurehead to fuel a young girl's future dreams.

Eventually, April emerged from the kitchen, bringing with her the half-cut loaf and a dish of butter. Balanced precariously on her arm was a plate of beef and a small cut of salted pork. She placed them proudly on the table with an air of having produced a fine meal.

‘Do you want a bit of the beef, or would you rather the last bit of pork, Jamie?'

She sounded so grown-up and serious that Jamie winked covertly at Fon and leant forward thoughtfully. ‘Let me see now. The beef, I think; it looks good and lean, and I could just manage it, with a bit of home-made pickle to go with it.'

April hacked at the beef inexpertly, and Jamie rose and guided her hand, showing her how to slice the meat thinly and neatly.

‘Perhaps you are going to be a cook and look after a big house like your gran,' Fon said playfully.

April shook back her dark hair. ‘No fear! I'd rather read and write any day than stand in a hot kitchen cooking.'

Fon sighed. ‘I know how you feel, April.' The light was fading and her eyes were tired. Fon put down Patrick's half-mended trousers and rubbed at her face.

‘Tired, colleen?' Jamie asked softly, his hand resting for a moment on her shoulder.

Fon put her hand over his and smiled up at him. ‘Not
too
tired,' she said, her mouth twitching into a smile. ‘But I have had enough of sewing for tonight. That boy of ours is always tearing his trousers; I don't know what he gets up to half the time.'

‘He needs a hoard of little brothers to play with,' Jamie said, ‘keep the rip quiet.'

‘He's got me,' April said stoutly as she carried the plate of food to Jamie. ‘But then, if I'm to go to school, he
will
need some brothers and sisters. What do
you
think, Fon?'

‘I'll do my best to oblige,' Fon said, and yet a cold hand of fear gripped her. She was afraid of the pain, afraid of being big and ugly, and most of all afraid of the responsibility of bringing up a baby of her own.

Jamie's hand touched her cheek. It was as though he'd read something of her thoughts. ‘Plenty of time, colleen,' he said, reassuringly. ‘You are only a little bit of a thing yourself, yet; and you'll know when you're truly ready.'

She smiled up at him gratefully even as she wondered what was wrong with her. When had this strange fear begun to manifest itself, or had she always, secretly, been afraid?

She well remembered her wedding night; she'd been afraid then, too. Jamie had been loving and patient, and her fears had slowly been dispelled, to be replaced with the passion that seared her whenever she was in her husband's arms.

But childbearing was something different; a new being might come between Jamie and her, spoil the closeness they had come to enjoy.

She caught Jamie's hand and held it to her lips. Nothing must ever come between them, she thought fiercely – nothing.

The mists were slowly clearing from her mind. The darkness was rolling away, and Arian found she was staring up at a barn-like ceiling that loomed above her like a menacing, shadowy barrier between herself and the open sky.

She heard the hooting of a tug and then, as her ears became accustomed to the nearby sounds, she recognized the wash of the waves against the stone sea wall. She was, she guessed, in a warehouse on the docks, and, from the rancid smell, the stock around her was composed of animal skins.

She tried to sit up and realized that she ached from head to foot. Her throat was constricted, and she put up her hand to feel the weals embedded in her soft skin.

She pushed herself upright against a stack of boxes and saw that she was half-naked, her clothes hanging round her in shreds; and the memory of what had happened swamped her mind.

She felt a moment of pure hatred for the man who had violated her. Her hands clenched into fists, and her nails cut into the soft skin of her palms.

It took several moments for her to climb to her feet, holding on to the boxes and forcing herself up. She felt ashamed of what had happened, appalled at her own foolishness in being alone with Price Davies, a man she had known, deep within her, could be dangerous.

Her body burned with pain and humiliation. She felt bruised and battered and knew with deep bitterness she had only herself to blame. Perhaps the worst insult of all was that the coward had used her and then dumped her like a sack of potatoes, to face God only knew what fate at the dockside.

After a moment, she drew her tattered skirt around her and tied the edges together so that at least she was decently covered. Somehow she must make her way home, hide herself away until her wounds were healed.

Price would not get away with what he had done; but she would take her revenge in her own way and in her own good time. No-one else would ever know what had happened to her tonight.

The journey through the docklands was a nightmare. Once she was stopped by a drunken sailor and offered a handful of coins for a cheap stand-up. She stood her ground, staring at him with such hatred that after a moment the sailor had put his money away, appalled by her ferocious, almost deranged appearance.

How she reached her lodgings without being seen was a miracle, but at last Arian was safely indoors, the door locked and bolted behind her.

The first thing she had to do was to wash away all the dirt and the shame she felt at Price's treatment of her. She knew she would never cleanse herself of the feeling of being used, half-killed just to satisfy a man's lust.

The huge bath was a monument of luxury, an indication of the richness her employer had brought into Arian's life. Eline Temple, along with her husband, owned half the county, and she wasn't mean to those who worked for her.

She had been kind and thoughtful, finding Arian accommodation with just the right kind of genteel respectability and with a good landlady in the person of Mrs Maitland to chaperon and care for her boarders.

The disaster that had befallen Arian had been of her own making, brought about by her foolishness in consorting with a man she didn't trust.

It was a luxury to lie in the warm water, feeling the smell and the touch of Price Davies washing away from her. Arian looked down at her body in dismay; she was covered in bruises that were slowly turning black. Her throat ached; but, as she felt her face gingerly with her fingertips, she came to the conclusion that there was no bruising to her eyes or nose. He had spared her that at least.

Later she lay in bed, wide-eyed, reliving the nightmare of the past hours, the violence of the rape, the awakening in the dark womb of a warehouse on the docks, the painful walk back to her lodgings. She vowed to punish Price even if it took the rest of her life.

Arian returned to work the next day. In her belt was a sharp-bladed knife. As she walked into the shop, she was acutely conscious of Price standing at the bench, one foot raised on a stool as he worked.

‘Morning,' he said softly, and there was a hint of menace in his voice. ‘I see you found your way home, then; I knew you would.' His mouth curled. ‘Sluts usually do.'

‘You have a bad problem; you have made an enemy of me,' she said, anger pouring through her like wine. ‘I tell you this, you come near me again and I'll kill you. I mean it.'

His eyes glinted. ‘You enjoyed it as much as I did,' he said. ‘It was only your foolishness in attacking me that spoiled a perfectly good rogering.'

She was incredulous. She stared at his eyes, and saw that Price really believed what he was saying.

‘I'm more than capable of killing,' she said coldly. ‘I shot my own father at point-blank range, so I wouldn't hesitate to get rid of scum like you.' It wasn't quite an accurate account of what had happened that awful night at Honey's Farm, but Arian hoped it would be enough to put the fear of God into Price.

It did no such thing. ‘Tut, tut, temper.' He seemed unmoved by her revelation; perhaps he did not even believe her.

She turned away. Well, let him lay a finger on her again, and he would learn the truth.

Arian did not look at him after that; not once during the morning did she show even by a flicker of an eyelash that she was aware of his presence like a threat, hanging over her. She worked diligently on the built-up shoe she was making for a four-year-old child, trying to push all thoughts of Price Davies from her consciousness.

Eline came into the workroom and paused beside Arian, head on one side, a shawl draped about her shoulders and swamping her thickened waistline.

‘You're looking peaky, Arian,' she said in concern. ‘Are you sure you should be in work?'

‘My throat' – Arian heard the croak in her voice with dismay – ‘it's a little bit sore, but I'm feeling all right, really I am.'

‘I think perhaps you should take the rest of the day off,' Eline said quickly. ‘I don't want you going down with a fever.'

‘I'll take Arian back to her lodgings,' Price said, his voice casual.

Arian met his eyes, hoping he would take the venom in hers as a warning. ‘No,' she said. ‘I don't want anyone to walk me home, thank you. I can manage quite well on my own.'

‘It's no trouble.'

Price's brazenness amazed Arian. Anger and disbelief at the man's attitude warred within her, and for a moment she was at a loss for words.

‘No,' she said flatly at last, and Price shrugged and returned to his bench.

Eline accompanied her to the door. ‘Is anything wrong?' she asked, quietly. ‘Has Price Davies been pestering you with his attentions?'

Eline was an astute woman, and Arian recognized that she would have to tread carefully if she was not to give away too much.

‘I just don't like him very much,' she said, in a low, hoarse voice. ‘I'd rather not have him too close to me.'

‘I thought you were getting on rather well,' Eline said. ‘Perhaps his . . . his attempts to begin more than a working relationship are an embarrassment to you?'

‘Yes,' Arian agreed. ‘That's it. I don't want any involvements, not at the moment.'

‘Well, take a couple of days off,' Eline said. ‘Give yourself a chance to get over your – your sore throat. Then come back to work when you feel ready. And remember, Arian' – her voice was low – ‘you have the power to hire and fire whom you choose.'

It was clear Eline suspected there was more under the surface than Arian was prepared to reveal, but she was not a woman to pry.

‘That's quite all right,' Arian said. ‘I don't want to go home, but I'll bear in mind what you've said.'

And she would; the thought of getting rid of Price Davies was the only thing that would keep her sane. Too long spent on her own, thinking of the revenge she would like to exact on Price, would drive her mad.

It was a few days later that Eline approached Arian and invited her into her private sitting-room. Arian was prepared for the worst, a grilling about Price, a demand for an explanation as to why the workforce was not in harmony any longer, for the cordwainers had become aware of the tension.

‘Please sit down,' Eline said. Arian obediently sat on one of the soft upholstered chairs that graced the sitting-room.

Eline sank thankfully into a chair and, not for the first time, Arian noticed that she was looking pale and tired. The shawl she continually hugged around her had fallen open, revealing Eline's swollen figure.