Paradise Park (6 page)

‘It's come to my attention that you are of questionable reputation.' Jayne Buchan stared at her in open curiosity. ‘Is it true that you were once . . . how shall I put it? . . . a loose woman?'

There was little point in lying. ‘It's true, Mrs Buchan, but I gave up that life a long time ago. I worked as a respectable housekeeper for Mr Cookson the engineer for almost a year.'

Mrs Buchan stared at her. ‘And you were not averse to sleeping in his bed, I understand?'

Rhiannon sighed in resignation. ‘That's right. It seemed fair exchange for a life of comfort with only one man to please instead of many.'

‘Well, I don't see how I can keep you on here.'

‘That's all right, Mrs Buchan, I understand. I'll pack my things at once.'

‘What made you do it, Rhiannon? Surely working in service – indeed, anything – must be preferable to being a whore.'

Rhiannon was stung by Mrs Buchan's tone. She drew a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. She longed to ask if Hetty had been the bearer of ill tidings but what was the point? She decided to be truthful, and if it shocked Mrs Buchan out of her smugness so much the better.

‘I lost my innocence while I was still only a child,' she said flatly. ‘The lodger in the house where I lived thought he would teach me a lesson about life and he kept on teaching me until I was old enough to protest.' She shrugged. ‘After that it seemed easy to fall into another man's arms in return for food and a place to sleep.'

‘How dreadful.' Mrs Buchan stared at her in wide-eyed horror. ‘Was this man ever punished?'

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘Why punish a man for deflowering a girl from the slums? It probably happened every day where I lived. I lost my self-respect. I thought I was worthless, fit only for the company of drunkards who would use me for a night then pass me on to the next man. I'm sorry for it now and if I could go back I'd change my life.' She sighed heavily. ‘I don't expect you to understand, Mrs Buchan. I'll go and pack and get out of your way as soon as I can manage it.'

‘No, wait,' Mrs Buchan said. ‘I'm impressed by what you say and, what's more, I'm going to keep you. I think you deserve a chance in life, a chance you never had as a child. I can see you've repented of your old life and tried to reform.' She paused. ‘Another thing, Cook speaks highly of you and I have a lot of respect for her opinion. If you keep out of trouble while you're here I'll have no reason to dismiss you.'

Rhiannon looked at her in surprise. ‘Will you really keep me on?'

‘I never say anything I don't mean.' Mrs Buchan smiled. ‘I've got a feeling you and I are going to get on very well indeed. You may go now, Rhiannon.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Buchan.' At the door Rhiannon paused. ‘Was it Hetty who told you about my past, Mrs Buchan?'

‘Hetty? Why, no. It was that dreadful Miss Cookson. She was at a rather inferior gathering I attended at the assembly rooms and she forced her card on me. When I refused to take it she became quite sharp and told me I was employing a whore of Babylon. Silly woman.'

‘Well, don't worry, Mrs Buchan, I won't let you down. You have my word on that.'

‘I know you won't, Rhiannon, because if you do, you'll be out on the streets before you can look round.' She smiled. ‘But remember what I told you before. My bark is worse than my bite.'

Rhiannon nodded. ‘I'll remember, Mrs Buchan, and thank you very much indeed.'

Mrs Jones was waiting for her anxiously. ‘What did her ladyship have to say?'

‘She's heard about my past life but she's keeping me on anyway.'

‘Wait till I get hold of Hetty – I'll flay her alive.'

‘It was nothing to do with Hetty. It was that dried-up old spinster Miss Cookson who told Mrs Buchan about me.'

‘Nasty woman! Never mind – put the kettle on, Rhiannon. I'm that thirsty I could drink the well dry.'

‘Oh, one other thing, Mrs Jones,' Rhiannon said. ‘Mrs Buchan thinks very highly of you. She told me your good opinion of me was one reason she was keeping me on.'

‘Well I never!' Mrs Jones sank into a chair, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘And there was I talking of leaving.' She glanced over her shoulder, but the younger maids were in the scullery. ‘Not that I'd be likely to get a position at my age, mind. I think Mrs Buchan only took me on because she was desperate.'

‘Well, we're both in a good job and hopefully here we'll stay.'

The room fell silent – even Hetty and Violet were getting on quietly with their work. Rhiannon heaved a great sigh of relief. Tonight she would sleep easily in her bed, knowing her job was safe. Folk might talk about Mrs Buchan's temper but Rhiannon had seen another side of her today. Mrs Buchan had taken her on trust and Rhiannon vowed it was a trust she would never betray.

Sal Evans opened her still bruised eyes and looked across the room at the window: the slow, shadowy dawn was beginning to creep across the flagged floor and she felt reluctant to wake up. She heard the clock on the mantelpiece strike the hour and, sighing, sat up. The cold air struck her thin shoulders and she pulled the blanket quickly around her to sit cross-legged gazing sleepily around the none-too-clean kitchen.

The fire was almost out and reluctantly Sal crawled towards the hearth and threw a log onto the embers. The flames licked the log and sprang into life, giving off a comforting glow. She had been here in the bowels of the Paradise Park ever since the night of the beating, but how much longer would the caretaker allow her to stay? Even as the thought crossed her mind she heard steps outside in the passage and the door was pushed open. Quickly, Sal threw another log onto the fire and sparks flew across the hearth fading as she watched.

‘I'm keeping the place warm for you, Mr Bundy,' she said. He grunted, and as he drew nearer the rancid smell of him almost turned her stomach. Still, he'd been kind to her. He'd found her lying in a pool of blood and had carried her down the back stairs to the kitchen where she'd been ever since.

‘How you feelin' today, gel?'

‘I'm much better, Mr Bundy,' Sal said, then added quickly, ‘though my back still aches where that man kicked me, mind.' She was afraid that once she said she was better he would tell her to leave.

George Bundy scratched his backside. ‘Strange folk, these rich gents, one minute all nice to you then kicking you to death jest because they slept with you.' He shuffled closer to the fire. ‘They gets to feel guilty see, gel, 'shamed of themselves for sleeping with a whore and a young one at that. They take it out on folk like us to make themselves feel better, I suppose. My throat's fair parched – I drank a fair bit of beer last night and now I'm paying for it.'

Sal took the hint and scrambled to her feet. ‘I'll make some tea, Mr Bundy.'

As she leaned closer to the fire the stale smell of her own sweat reached her nostrils. ‘Are you working tonight, Mr Bundy?' she asked hopefully. With the old man out of the way she could boil up enough water to fill the enamel bowl and wash herself all over.

‘Aye, always working, me. They don't care if they kill off us old ones with too much work. So long as they gets their pound of flesh the bosses are happy.'

Sal couldn't have agreed more but it was not her place to say so. ‘The fire's going good now. Shall I fry you a bit of bacon and some eggs, Mr Bundy?'

‘There's an idea, gel. I could eat a good breakfast this morning – I feels in the mood, like.'

Mr Bundy had eaten a good breakfast ever since Sal had been sleeping on the kitchen floor. Still, he didn't ask anything else of her, never tried to feel her breasts or push his hand up her skirt, and for that she was profoundly grateful. He treated her like a lost puppy and she was happy to wait on him till her bruises healed.

Whether her mind would heal was another matter. Sal was afraid now to go into the dark streets outside the Paradise Park. Ever since the beating she'd cowered in the kitchen, afraid of her own shadow.

The appetizing aroma of bacon sizzling in the pan filled the room and Sal grinned. Today she would eat, and tonight she would fall asleep on the floor in front of the fire. For now that was all she could want.

KATIE TURNED OVER
in bed and opened her eyes. Bull was still asleep, his breathing soft and even. She admired his long eyelashes and resisted the urge to run her finger over the strong line of his jaw – it would be a pity to wake him.

She eased her heavy body into a more comfortable position and the baby inside her kicked a protest. Soon, her daughter would be born. Katie was sure it was a girl, and that Bull would adore her and be a wonderful father.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Are you all right?' He propped himself on his elbow, the bedclothes slipping away from his broad shoulders. ‘The baby's not coming, is it?'

Katie smiled and touched his cheek. ‘No, silly!' She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. A cramp caught her side and she fell back against the pillows. ‘You'll know when the baby's coming – I'll be screaming blue murder!'

He took her hand and they lay there silently as the sun began to poke inquisitive fingers through the curtains. Soon Bull would have to get up for work and the bed beside her would be empty. Katie savoured moments like this when she was with Bull in the warm bed.

‘I thought Rhiannon was looking very well,' Bull said, and the spell was broken.

Katie felt a dart of fear. Did Bull still have feelings for Rhiannon? ‘She's a beautiful girl, slim and lovely, not fat like me.'

‘Ah, but you're all mine.' There was a note of laughter in Bull's voice. ‘In any case, once you've had the baby you'll be like a willow wand again.' He squeezed her hand. ‘But I'll always respect Rhiannon. She's made the best of a hard life. It takes guts to leave such a past behind her.'

Katie took a deep breath. ‘I know you're right, Bull, but I worry in case you still have a lingering affection for her.'

He turned her face towards him. ‘Yes, I still have an affection for Rhiannon, but it's you I love. Don't have a moment's doubt about me,
cariad.
I will never betray you with another woman because when I took my vows I meant every word I said.'

Katie snuggled as close to Bull as her swollen belly would allow. ‘I know I look awful now, Bull, but I'll try my best to be lovely for you once the baby's born.'

‘Don't talk like that! You make my heart ache with love for you, Katie. I'm so full of love that sometimes I don't think I can bear it.' He kissed her gently and his hand slid over the swell of her belly. ‘Our baby was made in love and that love will never go away, my darling, so rest easy.' He kissed her cheek and then her mouth. ‘Now I've got to get up for work. There's some trouble on the line above Swansea and I have to sort it out.'

He slid out of bed and Katie looked at his strong naked body. This fine, handsome, loving man was all hers. Surely she didn't begrudge Rhiannon just a little bit of his affection.

Bull kissed her again then left the room. When he had gone Katie felt as though the sunlight had faded. She prayed that God would keep her husband safe. Sometimes Bull's work was dangerous: there were occasional landslides and once a tunnel had cracked sending a shower of stones onto the men servicing the line. She wished he could do some other work but the railways were in his blood: he had been a navvy and would always be a navvy in his heart.

There was a tap on the door and the maid popped her head in. ‘Can I get you up now, Mrs Beynon?'

Katie wondered if she'd ever get used to having people wait on her. ‘Yes, please, Bronnie.' Katie struggled to sit up. ‘I feel like a cow and my legs hurt like toothache. I didn't realize having a baby was so wearying.'

‘Oh, my mammy got five of us.' Bronnie put her arm around Katie's back and manoeuvred her towards the edge of the bed. ‘Had us all like shelling peas, she did. Five girls, mind.' Bronnie laughed.

It seemed an age before she was washed and dressed but at last Katie was sitting in the kitchen enjoying the toast Bronnie put in front of her.

The door opened and Mrs Davies, the cook, came into the room. ‘Anything else you want, Mrs Beynon? I got a nice bit of haddock on the cold slab, if you fancy it.'

‘No, thank you, Mrs Davies. I feel full already.'

‘I'm not surprised. You're carrying a big boy there, mark my words.'

‘I hope not.' Katie smiled. ‘I'd like a little girl to dress in pretty clothes.'

‘You get what you're given,' the cook responded. ‘By the look of it he won't be long popping out of there and then, my dear, you'll have a screaming baby to contend with.'

‘I can't wait,' Katie said. ‘I can't wait to hold my baby in my arms and I can't wait to be slim again.'

Mrs Davies put her head on one side. ‘You'll be all right. Your sort don't run to fat.'

‘I hope you're right.' Katie drank her tea and gestured towards the pot. ‘Have one yourself, Cook, you too, Bronnie.' She knew she was over-familiar with her servants but to Katie they were more like friends. She knew they would be loyal to her to the end.

‘
Duw
.' Mrs Davies shook her head. ‘Not many folk have treated me as kindly as you, Mrs Beynon.'

‘I'll second that,' Bronnie said feelingly. ‘I'm so happy here, Mrs Beynon, and my mam keeps telling me all the time how lucky I am.'

Katie was about to reply when a sharp pain caught her. ‘Oh dear!' She sucked in her breath and held her stomach. The pain intensified, and she felt a moment of panic. ‘What's happening? Do you think the baby's coming, Cook?'

Mrs Davies put down the tea cup. ‘Wouldn't surprise me. Begging your pardon, Mrs Beynon, let me just feel your belly for contractions. Aye, you're as tight as a drum. I'd say the boy
bach
is on his way into the world.' She began to roll up her sleeves. ‘Bronnie, put the kettle on, girl, let's have plenty of hot water. Get some clean cloths as well, and a sheet of brown paper to keep the bed fresh and dry.'