Daughters of Rebecca (10 page)

She was almost asleep when she was wakened by a muffled noise downstairs. Something crashed to the floor and then there was a shot. Shanni sat bolt upright and tried to see through the darkness. She slipped from her bed, pulled on a robe and carefully opened her door.

From the landing she saw a man lying on the floor, his arms splayed, another figure crouching over him. Someone brought a candle and, to Shanni's horror, she saw blood seeping into the pale boards of the hallway.

Shanni hurried downstairs and stared at the man on the ground. She recognized him at once: it was Thomas Carpenter, the man who had shouted down Dafydd's attempts to enthuse his listeners.

Madame Isabelle came to the foot of the stairs. ‘Go back to bed, Shanni,' she said sternly. ‘There's been a dreadful accident and I don't want you involved.'

Shanni hesitated, then returned to her
bedroom. She lit a candle and sat on the bed staring at the flame. There was a dead man downstairs and his shooting might be called an accident, but Shanni knew that Dafydd Buchan's fight for justice had claimed its first martyr.

‘
WELL, WHAT ARE
you looking so miserable about?' Llinos rested her hand on Watt's arm. ‘Is it Rosie?'

Watt nodded. ‘She's turned me down again. She had even forgotten I was coming to see her.' His face was tight with anger. ‘Well, it's the last chance she'll get. I'll not go cap in hand to her again.'

Llinos crossed the room and stood at the window, staring out at the pottery kilns beyond the garden. It seemed to her that Rosie was playing her own little game, giving Watt a taste of his own medicine, and who could blame her? There was nothing worse than the pain of knowing your man did not love and cherish you as he should.

The heat from the bottle-shaped structures shimmered in the bright winter sunshine, and Llinos breathed in the sights and sounds of the potting industry she had grown up with. ‘Don't be too hard on her, Watt.' She turned to face him. ‘Rosie is a good girl and she needs time. She has just lost her best friend after all.'

‘Anyway, I didn't come to talk about my own problems,' Watt said.

‘I know. Sit down, Watt. Let's talk in comfort, shall we?' Llinos sat back on the large sofa and pushed a cushion behind her back. She might not look as if she was past forty but sometimes she felt it.

‘It's about Ceri Buchan. He's asked if he might come to see how we work things here. I've told him he can call today.' Watt sat on the edge of one of the high-backed chairs and rested his hands on his knees. ‘He's the chap who founded the Llanelli pottery with his brother Dafydd.'

‘I know who he is,' Llinos said. ‘I'm not so out of touch that I don't read the papers. What does he want exactly?' She was a little angry that Watt had not consulted her sooner.

‘I think he just wants to ask our advice about a few things, the patterns we use, the transfer printing. I don't really know, to be honest.'

‘He had better curtail his brother's activities if he wants to succeed in business.' Llinos spoke sharply. ‘Dafydd Buchan is one of those leading the fight against the toll rises. That's not good for business, is it?'

‘Llinos,' Watt looked grave, ‘you
are
out of touch with the people. The men calling themselves Rebeccarites are fighting injustice.'

‘Maybe I am out of touch, but what good is anarchy?' Llinos felt the colour rise to her face. ‘I care about the people of Swansea, you know I do, but pulling down gates and burning toll-houses won't achieve justice for anyone.'

Watt shrugged, and Llinos knew by his
expression that he did not agree with her. ‘It will all end in the death of some innocent,' she said. ‘You know as well as I that the insurrections of the past were swiftly put down. Men were shot and killed, women left without a provider. Is that good in your opinion?'

‘I seem to have lost the Llinos I once knew,' Watt said sadly. ‘You have changed so much over the years. You've become like all the rest of the wealthy folk who hide their heads in the sand.' He stood up. ‘Any minute now you'll be telling me that it's better to pass on the other side.'

‘Watt!' There was a lump in Llinos's throat. ‘I do care, of course I do. I took Shanni in, didn't I? I've tried to educate her and make a lady of her. I'm not one of the heartless, idle rich, and you know it.'

Watt nodded slowly. ‘I'm sorry, Llinos. I may be airing my views too bluntly. I know you're a good woman at heart but you are oblivious to what's really happening on your own doorstep. Open your eyes, Llinos. See what's really going on around you.'

Llinos felt a moment of fear. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I'm just trying to warn you that the world is changing, values are changing. Ordinary folk want more out of life, a decent standard of living and the chance to earn an honest crust. The dissatisfaction of the poor has culminated in the need for a stronger voice and that's why houses are burned and gates hacked to pieces. It might not mean much to you, but those with little money are being penalized for needing to
pass through the roads of their own home town.'

Llinos was about to speak when there was a rapid knocking on the door. Flora peered into the room and the angry words died on Llinos's lips.

‘Your visitor is here, Mrs Mainwaring.' The girl stood aside. ‘Mr Dafydd Buchan.'

Llinos glanced at Watt, who frowned. The man who entered the room was about thirty. He was tall and dark, with an imposing air of authority. His hair was thick, and curls clung to the collar of his immaculate shirt. He bowed politely. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me, Mrs Mainwaring,' he said. ‘I apologize for my brother but he is indisposed and I've come in his place. I do hope it's not inconvenient.'

‘Come in, and let Flora close the door,' Llinos said. ‘There seems to be a draught in here.' For some reason she was breathless. She could almost believe her pulse was fluttering in excitement, but that was absurd. ‘I'm sorry I'm unprepared but your visit was sprung on me by my manager.' She gestured towards Watt. ‘I was unaware that such an eminent gentleman was visiting today.'

‘Shall I go away again?' There was a hint of laughter in his eyes.

As they met hers Llinos felt the magnetism of the man. She held her head high, unwilling to be persuaded by his obvious charm. ‘My husband is away on business at present or I'm sure he would have been delighted to meet you.' Now, why had she said that? Was it defence against Dafydd Buchan's rudely familiar stare?

‘What can we do for you, Mr Buchan?' she
asked sharply. The two men waited politely until Llinos had sat down and had arranged her full skirts. ‘Please, take a seat.'

‘I do hope this is not an imposition, Mrs Mainwaring.' Dafydd Buchan's voice seemed to ring through the room with power and strength. ‘I wondered if you would allow me to observe the processes you employ here in Swansea.' He spread his hands deprecatingly. ‘I am a comparative newcomer to potting, as you doubtless know.'

‘But your brother Ceri, he is the businessman, is he not? His name is always in the newspapers.'

‘Ah, my brother, yes.' His tone told Llinos that he was not impressed by the way his brother conducted his life. ‘He is a very clever man but sometimes he's . . . something of a pacifist shall we say?'

‘I find nothing wrong in that,' Llinos said. ‘Now, I'm sure Mr Bevan will be delighted to show you around our pottery. You do realize that we are not the biggest potters in the vicinity? Next door to us is the largest, most productive pottery in all of Swansea. Have you been to see the owners there?'

‘I have indeed,' Dafydd Buchan smiled, ‘but in my humble opinion the Mainwaring pottery is by far the most artistic and innovative.' His tone belied his words. There was nothing humble about Dafydd Buchan.

Llinos raised her eyebrows, thinking that the honeyed words were just so much flattery. ‘Watt, perhaps you'll show Mr Buchan our methods.'

‘Yes, of course.' Watt got to his feet. ‘If you'll
come this way, Mr Buchan, I'll be happy to give you a tour.'

‘And in return,' Llinos said, ‘I hope I might be allowed to look around your pottery in Llanelli some time.'

‘It would be my greatest pleasure to see you there.' Dafydd Buchan took her hand, bending towards her, his eyes on hers.

She stepped back unconsciously and took a deep breath. ‘Right, then, I have work to do. I will speak to you later, Watt.'

Llinos followed the men to the hallway, her heart beating absurdly fast. As the maid opened the front door Shanni swept into the house bringing the chill of the wind with her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. She stopped abruptly, almost cannoning into Dafydd Buchan.

‘This is my impetuous ward, Shanni.' There was a smile in Llinos's voice: Shanni seemed as struck as she was by Dafydd's magnetism. ‘Shanni, this is Mr Buchan. He's come to see how our pottery works.'

‘Oh, good day, sir,' Shanni blinked rapidly. ‘It's nice to meet you again.' She stood in the hall twisting her fingers together, and Llinos sensed that Shanni was discomfited by the presence of the visitor.

‘I'm happy to see you, too, Shanni. I hope you've been practising your music.' He was smiling as he walked away, standing a head taller than Watt. Shanni stared after him, her mouth open.

‘You've met Mr Buchan before?' Llinos asked, as she led Shanni into the drawing room.

‘I think I might have met him at Madame Isabelle's little tea party.' She spoke hesitantly, as if wondering at the wisdom of her words.

Llinos's curiosity was aroused: if Madame Isabelle was inviting a known troublemaker to her home perhaps she was not a good tutor for Shanni after all. She watched from the window as Watt led Dafydd Buchan across the yard and into the first of the painting sheds.

‘Strange man, Mr Buchan,' Llinos said. ‘He's very full of himself. Tell me all about him, Shanni. How does he know Isabelle?'

Shanni shrugged. ‘I don't know. They live in the same area and I suppose that's how they know each other. Apparently he's a wonderful orator.'

Llinos was surprised. A short time ago Shanni would not have known the word ‘orator', let alone understood its meaning. ‘Go on.'

‘He cares about poor folk. He wants social justice, a more equal society. That is what we all should be striving for.'

‘Is that your opinion, or the opinion of this Dafydd Buchan?'

‘It's wrong what is happening to people who are just trying to make an honest living for themselves,' Shanni said. ‘The farmers can't earn enough to pay all the tolls demanded of them. It's no wonder there's discontent in the world.'

Shanni was saying almost the same words as Watt had spoken earlier. Was she getting too insulated in her own comfortable home, Llinos wondered, too wrapped in her own bitter memories of the past? Was she out of touch with the people?

‘I shall have to come with you to one of Madame's
soirées
,' Llinos said. Anger was building inside her: everyone was treating her as if she was against justice for the poor. That simply was not true.

‘It's so hard for the farmers,' Shanni said quietly. ‘They sometimes have to pay three tolls to pass along a mile of road and it's ruining them.'

‘I'm just a little tired of hearing about the lot of the poor,' Llinos said, in a hard voice. ‘I was poor once and I worked my own way out of it. I faced great hardships when I was your age, and I had enough spirit not to let it dishearten me.'

‘But you are well educated, Mrs Mainwaring. Your father was a captain in the army. He was respected and well known for his cleverness and his bravery. You were never of the lower orders.' She paused. ‘I was, and it's a pit with sheer sides, too difficult to get out of.'

‘I do believe you're turning into a poet, Shanni,' Llinos said, forcing a tone of lightness into her voice. She took a deep breath. ‘I agree with what you say. I had all the advantages you talk about, but they vanished into thin air and I had to work until my fingers were raw.'

She looked down at her hands, soft and white now, showing no evidence of how she had worked the clay. ‘I had to grow up fast, to manage a business that was falling apart. It takes more than education and more than an accident of birth to make a success out of chaos.'

‘I think you are wonderful to have done all that.' There was genuine admiration in Shanni's voice and a little of Llinos's tension vanished.

‘Come, let me hear you play. Let's see if Madame Isabelle is deserving of the money I pay her.' There was an edge of sarcasm in Llinos's voice that was not lost on Shanni, but she sat obediently at the piano and placed her fingers on the keys.

Eynon stared at his daughter and smiled. She was turning into a beautiful young lady. She looked nothing like her dead mother – now that her features were maturing she favoured him more. It was a pleasing thought.

‘So you are going out with Lloyd Mainwaring today, then, are you?' He took Jayne's hand and held it lightly. ‘I think you youngsters spend far too much time away from your studies. In my day we had to work hard at our lessons.' He grimaced, thinking how old-fashioned he must sound.

He rested his hand on the girl's shoulder. ‘I hope you don't bowl Lloyd over with your beauty. Poor lad wouldn't stand a chance against your wiles.'

‘Father, you might just be a little biased, don't you think?' Jayne asked.

‘No, I don't. Come here.' He held her in his arms and kissed her silky, sweet-smelling hair. ‘You are a lovely-looking girl with a fine education and a rich dowry to offer. Any man would jump at the chance of getting you for a wife.'

‘You are jesting with me, aren't you, Father? I have no intention of marrying anyone for several years yet.' She drew away and stretched her arms above her head. ‘I want to be free to enjoy myself.
I want to be presented at Court – you know that's what Grandmother would have wanted for me.'