The Oyster Catchers (39 page)

Eline arrived in Bristol on a fine crisp day when the winter snows of February were thawing into the kinder days of blustery March. Daffodils waved splendid golden trumpets at the skies and stood firm against the winds that threatened to uproot their bulbs.

Eline took a cab through the windswept streets to the outskirts of the town. Mrs Charlotte Brentford lived in a beautiful house which stood on a softly folding hillside. Against the backdrop of the grassy slopes, the old building rose magnificent, more a mansion than a house.

Avon Manor was grander even than Summer Lodge. It equalled the fine Vivian mansion that stood in the parklands that rolled down towards the sea in Swansea.

Eline wondered what her reception would be as the cab jerked to a halt outside the arched doorway. She was so used to being alone and independent that it hadn’t occurred to her to bring a companion. In any case, who would she bring? She bit her lip, she supposed she could have begged one of Emily Miller’s maids to accompany her, perhaps it would have appeared more seemly. But it was too late now, the cab door was opened and she was helped to alight by a footman in scarlet-and-blue livery.

She was welcomed in a whirl of activity. Eline was aware of a large hallway lit by many lamps and of rich drapes and heavy doors, then she was relieved of her luggage and swept into an enormous drawing room. In one corner there was a splendid spinet and beside it a harp.

Charlotte Brentford introduced herself; she was a
beautiful widowed lady who had three unmarried daughters, all of them wishing to have their portraits painted. Mrs Brentford’s voice was soft and beneath the cultured tones was the charming rhythm of the west country.

‘Let Mrs Harries catch her breath, girls.’ Mrs Brentford admonished her daughters good-naturedly. ‘You will all have your turn to say exactly how you would like Mrs Harries to present you.’

‘The girls want miniature portraits,’ Mrs Brentford explained, ‘they are to be sent to cousins abroad.’

‘Cousins and prospective husbands,’ one of the girls said excitedly.

Looking at the girls objectively, Eline guessed they were about her own age, given a year or two either way. And yet she felt so much older than any of them.

‘You are all so lovely I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding husbands,’ she said softly.

‘Now girls,’ Mrs Brentford held up her hand, ‘allow Mrs Harries to sit down and have some refreshment, she has come a long way to see you, let her at least have some space to gather herself together!’ She gestured for Eline to be seated and then arranged her multitude of skirts elegantly around her on the plush love seat.

Looking around her, Eline felt a sense of excitement; this was going to be a very happy assignment.

Over the next few days, Eline found it quite an experience to be a guest in the Brentford household. She was treated with every courtesy; her bedroom was luxurious and had the added advantage of a dressing room attached. Along the corridor was a bathroom with a huge, highly decorated bath and every morning, a maid brought hot water to Eline’s room.

The fire in the grate was constantly alight though how the servants managed to get any sleep, Eline could not help but wonder.

After a few days, she had the Brentford daughters sorted out in her mind and had begun work on the
portrait of Maria, the eldest girl, who had an abundance of rich, brown hair that fell upon creamy shoulders. Maria was a dark-eyed beauty and an incurable chatterbox.

Eline was tempted to tell her that unless she kept her mouth closed for more than a few seconds at a time, it would be difficult to capture the fullness of her lips and the wide generosity of her smile.

The girl had an excellent sense of fun; the work took shape much more quickly and with much more success than Eline had anticipated. She did numerous sketches searching for the best angle at which to catch Maria’s impish sense of humour.

It was at night, lying in the luxury of the huge bedroom with the lamp turned down low and the glow from the fire sending a rosy light flickering across the ceiling, only then, when she was alone, did Eline think of home.

She sighed as she wondered how Joe was faring with his attempts to walk again. She feared for him in his single-minded determination to be as other men. Joe had lost much of his strength; his will might be strong, but was his constitution ready for the strains he was imposing upon himself?

Inevitably, Eline thought of William, she longed for him in a way that she knew was wrong. She wanted his arms around her and his lips upon hers and sometimes she turned her face into the pillow and wept with the futility of it all.

It took Eline almost a month to complete the portraits and when they were finished, she could not help but be pleased with them. The faces of the three Brentford girls were captured for all time in paint, and they had richness and colour and depth.

‘The portraits are exquisite!’ Mrs Brentford said happily. ‘You have caught the spirit of youthfulness in my girls, you are
so
talented, Mrs Harries, I congratulate you.’

Maria gazed at her image, her eyes wide. ‘Do I really look as lovely as that?’ she asked wistfully, ‘or is it your artistry that brings out the best in people?’

Eline laughed. ‘I paint only what I see, Maria, and if it’s compliments on your looks you want, I suggest you wait until your cousins and prospective husbands hand them out to you.’

At last, her work was finished and it was a sad moment for Eline as she prepared to leave Avon Manor. She had been happy in the weeks she had spent in Bristol, except for some lonely moments in the still of the night.

‘Come again any time you wish,’ Mrs Brentford said, taking her hands, ‘and be sure, you’ll have many more commissions when my friends see what you have done for my daughters.’

As the coach drew away from the lovely old building, Eline glanced back and saw the glowing walls and strong, stone turrets of Avon Manor. She felt that she was leaving an oasis of peace where for a time she had done nothing but be herself. And in the comfort and peace of Avon Manor she had had time to think. But now she must go home, she must see her husband, take up her old responsibilities and make sure that Joe had money enough for his needs.

Eline sank back in the cold leather seat suddenly; it was as though the weight of the world was pressing in upon her.

‘Joe, I told you you were doing too much!’ Nina shook her fist at the man in the bed and the gesture was only half-playful. ‘I wish you wouldn’t drive yourself so hard. You see what’s happened now, you’ve had a set back and you
must
rest.’

‘I’m all right, girl,’ Joe said edgily, ‘I’m not an old man yet, I can still flex the muscles when I need to.’

‘Aye, but you must take things more slowly.’ Nina emphasized the point by banging her hand on the
bedside table. ‘You have been hurt, your body is weak and needs building up again, you shouldn’t try to rush things.’

Joe sighed. ‘I’m sick of sitting here like a lost cause, I can’t live like it, Nina, if I can’t walk again then I might as well be dead.’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ Nina said angrily. ‘How do you think that makes me feel?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘I
care
about you, Joe Harries, not that you deserve it, mind, a selfish pig you are sometimes.’

‘Well,’ Joe said moodily, ‘you must be the only one in the world who does care about me.’ He pushed back his greying hair. ‘Where’s that wife of mine these days, I ask you? She hasn’t come near here in weeks.’

‘She’s away in Bristol, you know that well enough, Joe. Working that girl is, to support herself and you which is not easy, mind.’

‘Why should I care and why should I feel guilty?’ Joe asked sourly. ‘When did Eline ever consider my feelings? She wanted to work, didn’t she?’

Nina moved to the door. ‘I give up on you, sorry for yourself now, is it? Well, don’t moan to me, I got no patience with self-pity.’

Joe gave a roar. ‘I’ll show you that I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I’ll damn well walk if it kills me.’

He pushed aside the blankets and with an effort that made the veins stand out in his neck, slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed.

‘Joe, you stop that!’ Nina said urgently. ‘The doctor told you to rest, now stay put until you are feeling better.’

Joe made no reply but sighed heavily as his feet touched the floor. He paused for a moment and then pressing his hands against the bed, forced himself upwards.

‘Please, Joe,’ Nina sounded desperate, ‘get back into bed, please.’

Joe’s muscles were straining, his arms once so strong
were trembling with the effort to push himself upright. He grunted and his breathing was heavy, his colour high, his eyes glittering as though with tears.

Nina, watching him, felt fear drag at her, Joe was in no fit state for such an effort. Hadn’t the doctor told him that his heart was strained and needed a complete rest?

Joe’s colour receded and his skin took on a sheen of sweat that emphasized his sudden paleness, but he was on his feet, standing unaided.

‘I feel bad, Nina,’ he said suddenly and his voice was little more than a groan. He slumped back then, sitting awkwardly on the bed and his eyes seemed strange as if Joe was no longer inhabiting his body.

Slowly, so slowly that he scarcely seemed to move, he toppled over backwards, arms outstretched at his sides.

‘Joe?’ Fearfully, Nina made her way towards him, her breath ragged with horror as she stood beside him for a long moment, looking down at him, and she knew, with a strange sense of unreality, that the man she had loved for so long, her darling Joe was dead.

‘Joe, my lovely, don’t leave me.’ Her voice was a whisper. She sank down on the bed beside him and put her arms around him, holding his beloved head against her breast. ‘Joe, oh Joe, why did you do it? You know I can’t live without you.’

She rocked him to and fro as though he was a baby, his head heavy against her, his thick grey hair springing back from his forehead. She smoothed his hair; it was alive and strong giving her the fleeting impression that Joe was as alive and vibrant as ever.

Nina closed her eyes, her fingers twined in Joe’s hair and prayed that the nightmare would end, that she would wake and everything would be all right.

It was there that Eline found her some hours later and in one horrified glance, Eline saw that her husband was dead. She had returned from Bristol to find everything
had changed in her absence, nothing would ever be the same again.

‘Come away, Nina,’ she said softly, prising the older woman’s hand away from Joe’s hair, ‘there’s nothing you can do for Joe now.’

Eline went into the street and, tapping the window of the next house, called for Carys Morgan to come and to bring help. Soon the tiny cottage was filled with people.

Voices surrounded Eline, voices asking questions, making suggestions. The doctor came and went and then Eline and Nina were ushered into the kitchen while old Mrs Mortimer saw to the laying out.

Nina’s eyes were glazed, she sat as though in a trance and didn’t take the cup of tea that Eline tried to hand her.

‘Someone fetch Gwyneth,’ Eline said softly. ‘Nina is going to need one of her own.’

Sam Morgan touched Eline’s arm. ‘Sit down,
merchi
, you look worn out, no good you getting sick, is it?’

Eline suddenly felt very tired. She sank into a chair and put her head into her hands unaware that Gwyneth had entered the kitchen until she spoke.

‘Look at
her
!’ The voice was scornful. ‘It’s always the same, whenever something’s wrong
she’s
here pretending to be the grieving wife when we all knew that she didn’t give a fig for Joe Harries.

‘Who looked after him? I ask you that. Who cared for Joe and waited on him hand, foot and finger? My mam, that’s who.’

Gwyneth looked down at Eline and her face was red with fury. ‘And now, I suppose, you’ll tell my mam to get out of
your
house, her usefulness is ended now. Is that why you sent for me?’

Eline shook her head, unable to speak a word in her own defence. She had not been there when Joe died, she never was there when she was needed.

‘Now don’t be hasty.’ It was Sam Morgan who spoke. ‘Grief does a lot of funny things and there’s nothing to be gained by trying to place blame. Joe is dead, nothing can change that and bitterness now will only add to the pain.’

Eline rose stiffly to her feet. ‘I’ll go,’ she said softly, ‘Gwyneth is right, it’s Nina who was the true wife to Joe, her place is here in his home.’

‘Stop it, all of you!’ Nina was on her feet, her eyes glinting with tears. ‘Stop talking about my Joe, going over his name will do nothing to bring him back. Get out of here, all of you, just leave me alone with him.’ She dissolved into tears. ‘Just leave me alone with him,’ she repeated brokenly.

Out in the street, Eline felt conscious of the eyes of the villagers upon her as she made her way along the street in the direction of the train terminus. She saw women turn their backs as she passed or go inside and close their doors. Tears caught her throat, Eline knew she had never been truly accepted in Oystermouth Village, but never had she felt such an outsider as she did now.

She stood for what seemed a long time waiting to hear the clipclop of the horse’s hoofs heralding the approach of the Mumbles train and at last, sighing, she set off to walk the five miles into Swansea.

Eline felt disorientated, she had always known, even in the most difficult moments of her marriage that Joe was there, comfortingly strong in the background of her life. And now he was gone.

Eline swallowed hard, she could not bear to think about Joe dying and she not there to be with him at the last. It was Nina who was at his side, she who had held him in her arms and her grief at losing him had been plain for all to see. Eline, on the other hand, had appeared composed, almost unfeeling; could she honestly blame the villagers for treating her as an outcast?

She was just reaching the outskirts of Swansea when a coach stopped beside her and she looked up to see William climbing down and coming briskly towards her.