Daughters of Rebecca (8 page)

‘Before I start to play for you, may I ask you something?' Shanni said meekly.

Madame Isabelle smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. I'm not saying I shall have the answers you want to hear, but ask away.'

‘Was I wrong in believing only working women get shabbily treated by men? From what I've just been reading rich ladies have to put up with infidelity, and worse, just like the poor. Aren't they well enough educated to complain?'

‘Women can be well educated in the niceties of life,' Madame Isabelle shook her head and her combs threatened to fall loose from her thick hair, ‘but that does not mean they are educated
realistically or politically. Not everyone is given the opportunity to study the economy of the place in which they live, and any woman may fall foul of a wicked man who vowed before God to love and cherish her.'

Was Madame Isabelle talking from experience? Shanni glanced at her tutor's hand; she wore no wedding ring.

‘Rich women with a fortune inherited from their fathers give up everything when they marry. They are owned by their husbands, most of whom treat a mistress better than a wife.'

‘Why do women marry, then?'

‘Some, like me, do not.' Madame Isabelle shrugged. ‘But for others who are unequipped to look after themselves, what else is there? A spinster is expected to stay with aged parents, to tend and care for them until they die. Then she is forced to live on charity with relatives often reluctant to take her.'

‘It sounds such an awful fate,' Shanni said. ‘I will never let that happen to me.'

‘Well, then, you must learn all you can,' Madame Isabelle said. ‘Beginning with your piano lesson. Did you learn the little tune I set you?'

Shanni sat on the stool and played the simple piece without faltering. Madame Isabelle watched in silence until Shanni lifted her hands then smiled knowingly.

‘Ah, I see you have a good memory! You did not once look at the music, my dear, and you must learn the notes if you are to read music correctly.'

Shanni played some scales and glanced over her shoulder. ‘We both know I will never be any better than adequate as a pianist,' she said. ‘What I'm really interested in is putting right the wrongs inflicted on the poor, women in particular.'

‘Well put! Your vocabulary has improved greatly. And such high ideals, Shanni. I hope you keep them.' She paused, her brow furrowed in thought. ‘Perhaps you would like to come to a meeting tomorrow. I shall ask permission for you to have tea with me, if you wish. I'm sure Mrs Mainwaring wouldn't mind. And as I live so far out she might even allow you to stay overnight. After the meeting you shall be introduced to some of my friends.'

‘Oh, please, I'd like that!' Shanni said.

‘Very well, it shall be done. But now, back to your task. Show me how you transpose the little tune you've memorized from the key of F to the key of G.'

Madame Isabelle sank into a chair and closed her eyes. There was a satisfied smile on her face.

‘This pattern is selling well.' Watt held up a plate decorated with daffodils with trails of green leaves around the border. ‘At least there are not so many problems with potteryware as there were with the porcelain.'

‘Good heavens, Watt, it's years since the Mainwaring pottery produced porcelain.' Llinos took the plate to the window of the paint shed and Watt watched as she held it to the light. ‘The colour is a little intense, don't you think?' She returned the plate to Watt. ‘Perhaps you can
tell the artist to mix the colours a little more subtly.'

Watt nodded. ‘I'll speak to him before the next batch is painted and fired but we must remember that this pottery is designed for general use, not special occasions. Perhaps extra expense on painting would not be justified.'

‘Still, the product we sell should be of the best quality we can manage, and that means in the painting department as well as in the potting.'

Watt followed as Llinos moved to the door. ‘May I take the afternoon off, Llinos?' he asked. ‘I would like to visit Rosie. I've sent her a letter so she will be expecting me.'

‘You go and see her at any time you like, Watt,' Llinos said. ‘I know the pottery runs like silk because you have organized the workers so well.'

‘Thank you.' Watt was thinking how beautiful Llinos was. She still looked as fresh and lovely as she had in the old days when together they had struggled to make the pottery survive.

‘Why are you staring at me?' Llinos asked, standing in the yard, hesitating. ‘Was there something else?'

‘No, I was just thinking you've never changed since the day I first saw you. Straight from the orphanage I was, and terrified of your mother.'

‘Aye, and even more terrified of that awful Mr Cimla! Why my mother let herself be taken in by a good-for-nothing like him I'll never know. Poor Mother, that awful man was the death of her.'

‘Far-off days, Llinos,' Watt said. ‘We've both come a long way since then.' He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I'll always be grateful to
you. You gave me a new start, hope for the future and a job I love.' He kissed her cheek and she flapped her hand at him.

‘Go on with you!'

‘Right, then, I'll go home, get washed and changed, then go up to see Rosie.'

‘Give her my love and tell her she's welcome to visit any time she wants.'

Watt watched as Llinos went back towards the house and then he turned towards the gates of the pottery. His heart fluttered as he thought of seeing Rosie. How he loved his wife! It was just a pity he had taken so long to realize his true feelings. Now it might be too late.

He had meant well when he married Rosie, not understanding that a girl of her tender years needed love and care. That was something in all his reasoned reckoning he had not taken into account: how Rosie would feel. Watt had seen only that Rosie's mother was in trouble. Pearl had been very ill, she had two young sons to bring up and she needed a man's wages coming in. Wages he could provide.

And Watt had admired Rosie for some time. He thought her a lovely girl, with the glow of youth and health about her. He was a man alone, with many sad memories, and marrying Rosie seemed the ideal solution to his own problems as well as those of Pearl's family. How could he have been so wrong?

Watt walked alongside the river winding its way towards the town and felt the chill of the coming winter in the air. The leaves were turning brown, the smell of mist was in the air and Watt breathed
it in with a sense that life, if he was not careful, would soon be passing him by.

Shanni climbed from the carriage and stared in amazement at the tall, terraced house where Madame Isabelle lived. She had not expected anything so grand. A brass plate on the wall beside the door declared Madame Isabelle's credentials. There were letters after her name that had no meaning for Shanni but she could tell from them that her tutor was a woman of some importance.

The hallway was compact; the smell of beeswax permeated the air. A maid in a pristine uniform took Shanni's coat and Madame Isabelle led the way into one of the airy rooms.

‘We are having some of my cook's special egg sandwiches for tea, and then we shall indulge ourselves with delicious cake.'

‘Where is the meeting going to be?' Shanni asked.

Madame Isabelle closed the door before replying. ‘Here, of course.' She frowned. ‘Shanni, to all intents and purposes this is just going to be a social evening, a meeting of friends, and I shall expect you to keep very quiet. I don't want any airing of opinions, I just want you to listen.'

‘I understand,' Shanni said. ‘I will stay very quiet, I promise.' She sat on the edge of the plump sofa and studied the contents of the room. A heavy cloth obscured all but the carved feet of the table. On the walls pictures proliferated: scenes of country life alongside portraits of well-dressed women, presumably Madame's ancestors.
A large oil lamp with a rich pink glass shade dominated the window-ledge.

‘This is a lovely room,' Shanni said softly. ‘One day I will own a house like this.'

‘Well, to achieve anything in life you must be clever – and work exceptionally hard into the bargain.'

‘I am willing to work day and night, Madame Isabelle.' Shanni sank back against the soft cushions. ‘And when I am rich I'll help the poor. I won't turn up my nose at street beggars the way some of the gentry do.'

The door opened and the maid brought a tray of tea into the room. ‘Put it down on the table there, Sarah,' Madame Isabelle said. ‘And bring me more hot water, there's a good girl. You always make the tea too strong for me.'

Shanni was hardly conscious of eating the tiny sandwiches; she was staring at the bookshelves where some volumes were covered with brown paper concealing the contents. These, she guessed, were Madame Isabelle's private books.

After tea, Sarah showed Shanni to her room. ‘There's hot water on the stand, Miss.' The girl bobbed a curtsy, and Shanni opened her mouth to explain she was nobody of importance and did not warrant a curtsy but thought better of it.

‘Thank you, Sarah,' she said. ‘Would you open the hooks at the back of my dress for me, please?'

Sarah obeyed at once and Shanni felt a dart of pity. ‘Do you like working here, Sarah?'

‘Well, yes, Miss. I was lucky to get a position with such a fine lady and I thank the Lord
every night in my prayers for Madame Isabelle's kindness to me.'

Shanni sighed. It seemed that some girls had no ambition but were content with their lot.

‘Is that all, Miss?' Sarah asked meekly. She stood with her hands folded, waiting for Shanni to speak.

‘Will you always work here?' Shanni asked curiously. ‘I mean, don't you want to be mistress in your own house?'

‘I'll marry one day, Miss,' Sarah said, ‘but even then I'll be lucky to have a house of my own. Folk like me rent rooms in other people's houses, more often than not.'

‘Well, is that enough for you? It doesn't seem right to me.' Shanni frowned and Sarah stepped backwards towards the door.

‘I can't stay and talk, I have work to do, Miss.' She managed a small smile. ‘I'd better be going downstairs. There's not many good jobs going in Llanelli, so I must look after my place here.'

Shanni followed the girl across the room and closed the door after her. She stood for a moment before the window and stared out at the street below. Llanelli was not a very large town but it had charm. The small twisting streets that led out on to green pastureland were, for the most part, cobbled. The houses looked well kept with neat gardens. The perimeter was dotted with the occasional isolated cottage, the roof thatched, the windows mullioned. Yes, Shanni thought, she would be happy to live in Llanelli.

When Shanni had washed and dressed in fresh clothes she sat on the bed, not knowing if she
should go downstairs or wait until she was sent for. In someone else's house it was difficult to know how to behave. She heard the clock in the hall chime seven and, almost at once, the doorbell rang out stridently, echoing through the house.

After a moment voices filled the hallway, masculine voices. Words spoken in the Welsh tongue reached her, and Shanni listened shamelessly at the door, trying to pick up any hint of rebellion, of the wish to put the world to rights. All she heard were the usual pleasantries exchanged between visitor and hostess.

A knock on the door startled her and Shanni stepped away guiltily. Sarah's soft voice called, ‘Miss, Madame Isabelle would like you to come downstairs.'

Shanni waited a few seconds then opened the door. ‘Thank you, Sarah. It's kind of you to fetch me.'

‘It's just my job, Miss.' Sarah led the way down the carpeted stairs, her hand barely touching the well-polished banister. Shanni smiled to herself. It was Sarah who did the polishing and she was not above saving herself the pain of fingermarks ruining all her hard work.

The sitting room was filled with smoke and the smell of wine. Men stood around in good cloth coats and heavy twill trews. Gold watches hung at expansive waists and, to Shanni's critical mind, it seemed these rich gentlemen were only playing at reform.

‘Ah, Shanni,' Madame Isabelle drew her into the room. She introduced the gentlemen one by one and chuckled as Shanni pulled a face. ‘Don't
worry, dear, I don't expect you to remember all the names, not at once anyway.' She drew Shanni away from the others.

‘But there's one name I guarantee you will remember, and that's the name of our speaker for the evening.'

As if on cue the door was opened by the maid. A tall, well-set man, younger than the rest, stepped into the room, and a silence fell on the gathering. With him he brought an air of contained excitement. His dark hair fell in unruly curls over his forehead and his eyes gleamed almost with the light of the fanatic. He was a man of great presence.

Instinctively Shanni took a step back as, beckoned by Madame Isabelle's slender hand, the visitor came closer. She felt it then, the magnetism of the man, the power of him as he loomed over her.

Madame Isabelle rested her hand on Shanni's shoulder. ‘This is Shanni, our newest convert,' she said. ‘Shanni, I want you to meet our speaker, a man I admire greatly, Mr Dafydd Buchan.'

Shanni took a deep breath and looked into a pair of the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen.

‘
OH, WATT, COME
in. I forgot I was expecting visitors. Isn't Llinos with you?' Rosie pushed back her hair, tucking a stray curl behind a pin. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wondered if it was the heat of the oven making her hot or the presence of her estranged husband.

‘I'm sorry. Didn't I make it clear that I was coming alone?' Watt sounded a little disgruntled and Rosie hid a smile. She was far from mean-spirited but it would serve Watt right to feel his visit was an unimportant event in Rosie's life.