Sinners and Shadows

Sinners and Shadows

CATRIN COLLIER

First published in Great Britain in 2004 By Orion

First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2005 by Orion

This edition published by Accent Press 2013

Copyright © Catrin Collier 2004

The right of Catrin Collier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN 9781909840690

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Catrin Collier was born and brought up in Pontypridd. She lives in Swansea with her husband, three cats and whichever of her children choose to visit.
Sinners and Shadows
is the third novel in the acclaimed
Brothers & Lovers
series.

Works by Catrin Collier

The
Brothers and Lovers
series:
Beggars and Choosers
Winners and Losers
Sinners and Shadows
Finders and Keepers
Tiger Bay Blues
Tiger Ragtime

Other series:
Hearts of Gold
Swansea Girls

Novels:
One Last Summer
Magda's Daughter
The Long Road To Baghdad

As Katherine John:
Without Trace
Midnight Murders
Murder of a Dead Man
By Any Other Name
The Amber Knight
Black Daffodil
A Well Deserved Murder
Destruction of Evidence
The Corpse's Tale
(QuickReads)

For the best ‘big brother' I could have hoped for, my cousin David John Williams. With love and gratitude that I may not have fully expressed at the time, for giving me my first puff of a cigarette at five, teaching me to throw my rubbish over the cinema balcony in the ‘Workies' on to the hapless children below, smuggling me into cinemas under his coat so I could see X-rated Dracula films before I reached my teens, showing me what happens when you pull the communication cord on a train and fighting all my primary-school battles for me.

You added so much magic to my childhood by allowing me, a mere girl, six years your junior, to tag on to your ‘gang'.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone who helped me research this book and so generously gave of their time and expertise.

All the dedicated staff of Rhondda Cynon Taff's exceptional library service, especially Mrs Lindsay Morris for her ongoing help and support. Hywel Matthews and Catherine Morgan, the archivists at Pontypridd, and Nick Kelland, the archivist at Treorchy library.

The staff of Pontypridd Museum, Brian Davies, David Gwyer and Ann Cleary, for allowing me to dip into their extensive collection of old photographs and for doing such a wonderful job of preserving the history of Pontypridd.

Deirdre Beddoe for her meticulously documented accounts of women's lives in Wales during the last century.

The people of Tonypandy and the Rhondda, the friendliest, most hospitable people on earth, who are always prepared to talk to and listen to a stranger.

My husband John and our children Ralph, Ross, Sophie and Nick, and my parents Glyn and Gerda for their love, support and the time they gave me to write this book.

Margaret Bloomfield for her friendship and help in so many ways.

My agent, Ken Griffiths, for his friendship, inspiring imagination and sales technique.

And all the booksellers and readers who make writing such a privileged occupation.

And while I wish to acknowledge all the assistance I received, I wish to state that any errors in
Sinners & Shadows
are entirely mine.

Catrin Collier

Note

Again, I have taken the liberty of putting my fictional characters in events which actually occurred, occasionally with historical figures.

Broncho Bill toured with ‘Buffalo Bill' (William Frederick Cody) in his Wild West Exhibition in both the United States and Europe before setting up his own ‘Wild West Exhibition' and following in his ex-employer's footsteps.

Broncho Bill's two ring circus which afforded seating for 10,000 spectators visited Pontypridd in 1914. After setting up camp in the Maltsters' field he opened his exhibition (neither he, nor Buffalo Bill ever referred to their spectacles as ‘shows') on Wednesday 2 April 1914. The event was well documented in the issues of the
Pontypridd Observer
preceding and following the grand opening.

Ynysangharad House and the estate were bought by public subscription and donations from Miners' Union Funds in the early 1920s. The land was laid out as a public park and named the Ynysangharad Memorial Park as a tribute to all the men from the area who lost their lives in the First World War.

The munitions factory at Pembrey where Rhian, Julia, Bronwen, Jinny and Meriel worked was a ‘Controlled Establishment' (government-controlled for the duration and privately owned). The conditions of work there were generally agreed to be appalling and there is in existence a heartbreaking photograph of the funeral procession of two women who were killed in an explosion there, Mildred Owen aged eighteen and Dorothy Watson aged nineteen. Their funeral took place in Swansea and was described in the
South Wales Daily Post
of the 4 August 1917.

The names of the munitionettes who were killed in the factories of South Wales during the Great War can occasionally be found on war memorials of the period in recognition of the fact that they too laid down their lives for their country.

Chapter One

Rhian Jones stacked the last piece of breakfast china from the table on to her tray, left the dining room and sedately crossed the oak-panelled hall of Llan House. The moment the door to the narrow servants' staircase closed behind her, she charged as fast as she could down the stone staircase and into the basement kitchen.

‘Gwilym James opened their doors at half past seven this morning, it's almost half past eight and it will take you twenty minutes to walk to Dunraven Street.' The housekeeper, Mrs Williams, glanced up from the tradesmen's account books that she had spread out on the table.

‘It's not my fault I'm behind this morning, Mrs Williams.' Rhian dumped the tray next to the Belfast sink where the ten-year-old kitchen maid, Mair, was washing dishes.

‘I know,' Mrs Williams murmured sympathetically.

‘Some people will have camped out all night to get the best bargains. There'll be nothing left worth having by the time you get there,' Meriel the cook predicted gloomily from the stove where she was making stock from a chicken carcass.

‘Miss Julia reminded the mistress three times over breakfast that she had run out of perfume and wanted me to pick up a bottle of Zenobia Violets from Thomas the chemist's this morning. But the mistress still insisted on having a third cup of tea and a fourth slice of toast.' Rhian pulled the hairpins that secured her maid's cap from her blonde curls.

‘The way madam eats, I think her family must have starved her before she married the master. Have you noticed how much weight she's put on these last six months?' Meriel, who wasn't exactly a lightweight herself, dropped a bundle of bay leaves into the stock, moved the pan on to a smaller hob and set the lid on it.

‘We have,' Mrs Williams endorsed dryly. ‘Here's the grocery order for Rodney's, Rhian, and mind you tell Mrs Rodney that we don't want any of her substitutes this week. When I say I want Lifebuoy soap, I mean Lifebuoy not Sunlight, and the same goes for biscuits. If she hasn't any Huntley and Palmer's Bath Olivers, we'll go to a shop that has. Understand?' She handed Rhian the list.

‘Yes, Mrs Williams.' Rhian untied her apron and lifted it over her head, before taking her cloak down from the pegs on the back of the door.

‘This really is only fit for the rag bag, Rhian.' Meriel inspected the hem of the serge cloak Rhian had bought when she had started work in Llan House four years before. She had bleached out the dye along with mud stains and it was more rusty than black in places.

‘Which is why Rhian is on her way to the sale.' Mrs Williams looked out of the window. ‘I wouldn't wear your hat, Rhian, It will get ruined. It's hailing and sleeting out there. Take my umbrella.'

‘Thanks, Mrs Williams.' Rhian threw her cloak around her shoulders.

‘The family will all be out until tea-time and I'll give Bronwen a hand with the bedrooms when I've finished totalling these figures, so you can take as long as you like but mind you buy quality. It's easy to get carried away by low prices, but remember, even in the sales, you only get what you pay for. And don't forget to pick up Miss Julia's things in the chemist's,' Mrs Williams warned.

‘You have the list safe?' Meriel checked when Rhian went to the back door.

‘Yes.' Rhian lifted it from her uniform pocket to show her before buttoning it back in.

‘And your money?' Mrs Williams asked.

‘In my purse in my mitten.'

‘Then off with you, girl.'

Rhian dived out of the door. A gust of wind caught it, slamming it behind her. Frozen raindrops stung her face and snarled her blonde curls, which were prone to tangling at the best of times. Realizing that Mrs Williams's umbrella would blow inside out the second she tried to put it up, she gripped it and the front of her hood with one hand, held the edges of her cloak together with the other, put her head down and ran as fast as she could, while trying not to imagine hordes of shoppers bearing down on the sale rack of winter coats in Gwilym James.

The department store was the largest and most expensive in Tonypandy and it sold only high-quality goods. A ladies' slim-cut, black cashmere coat had been the centre highlight of the window display of winter fashions since last September. Coveted by every fashion-conscious woman and girl in the town, at seven guineas it was priced out of the reach of all but the wealthiest people.

Rhian earned her keep, plus washing, uniform and twelve pounds a year in Llan House. But when it came to buying clothes, her wages didn't go far. The week before Christmas the price tickets on the goods in the window display had been slashed to encourage interest ahead of the traditional first of January sale. The coat had been reduced from seven to two guineas and it had seemed almost within her grasp – until she had run late that morning.

Miss Julia and Mrs Williams had done what they could to help her get away early because they both knew that if she asked permission from the new mistress, who had married Mr Larch only two months before, it would be withheld. But even they couldn't arrange for her to get out of serving the family breakfast.

She crossed her fingers, and – not exactly prayed because she felt that it would be sinful to pray for something material – wished that just one black cashmere coat would be left in her size.

Her heart sank when she reached the main street. The pavement outside Gwilym James was so crammed with shoppers it was impossible to work out who was trying to get in and who was trying to get out of the store. Bracing herself, she joined the scrum, parrying inadvertent blows from elbows and knees as she fought her way inside. Buffeted first one way, then another by the crowd, she paused to take her bearings. The lingerie counter was surrounded by a five-deep circle of women pawing through the discounted underwear, the ones in the outer ring grabbing at anything and everything that they could reach.

She spotted the discounted racks of coats but a horde of women at the knitwear counter blocked her path and the store manager, Joey Evans, was attempting to calm a situation that was threatening to turn ugly.

‘Please, ladies, there are plenty of bargains for everyone.' He pitched his voice above the hubbub while smiling at two elderly women who had locked their fingers into the same grey cardigan. ‘Mrs Jones, looking beautiful as ever on this cold and miserable morning.' He clasped the fist she had raised to her rival, Mrs Hopkins, and kissed the back of her hand.

‘Save the charm for girls young and stupid enough to believe it, Joey Evans, I saw this first.' Mrs Jones snatched the cardigan from Mrs Hopkins but Joey intervened and held it fast.

‘Wouldn't you prefer it in your favourite navy, Mrs Jones?' He signalled over her head to the supervisor. ‘Miss Robertson, send one of the boys to the stockroom to get this cardigan in navy in a –' he ran a practised eye over Mrs Jones's ample figure – ‘forty-four-inch chest.'

‘We weren't going to put the navy out until tomorrow, Mr Evans,' she replied frostily.

‘We can make an exception for a special customer like Mrs Jones, Miss Robertson.' His smile broadened but it failed to reach his eyes.

‘Mr Evans … Mr Evans …'

Rhian ducked behind a display of mannequins in the hope of escaping Joey's attention. She knew him and his family well, because her closest friend, Sali, was married to his eldest brother, Lloyd. But then every girl in Tonypandy knew Joey Evans, and not just because he was the manager of Gwilym James.

Twenty-two years old, six-foot tall, with black curly hair and dark eyes that he had inherited from his Spanish mother, he looked more gypsy than Welsh. But he wasn't just handsome. He oozed charm, and it was his charisma, coupled with his ability to make friends in every strata of Rhondda society, that had won him promotion to the position of store manager at such a young age. However, his penchant for flirting with women – young, old, single or married – made her uneasy. She'd never known quite how to respond to compliments too lavish to be sincere.

Turning her back on Joey and his adoring audience of assistants and shoppers, she continued to fight her way towards the coat racks. There were plenty of grey, brown, blue and red woollen coats, but she had set her heart on the black cashmere. She could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw it on the rail. She lifted it close and ran her fingers over the cloth.

Just as she'd hoped from the sheen, it was the same quality as the mistress's and Miss Julia's Sunday coats. She retreated to a comparatively empty space close to the back wall of the store.

‘It's no use to you.'

She looked up. Joey Evans was behind her. ‘Why not?' Assuming he was teasing her, she tried not to allow her irritation to show.

‘It's a forty-four inch bust, it will drown you.'

‘I can take it in.' She pulled off her cloak, bundled it over her arm and slipped on the coat.

‘There's no way you can take this in.' He gripped the empty shoulders. ‘You could put a gorilla in there with you and still have room to spare.'

She glanced down at her feet. At five feet six inches she wasn't short, but the coat was dragging on the floor. ‘Do you have it in any other sizes?'

‘We did, but they were the first to go. Twenty people started queuing before we closed yesterday, and given the weather they had to put up with overnight, you can hardly blame them for grabbing the best bargains this morning.' He looked her up and down then took a plain black woollen coat from the rack. ‘This looks more your size. Thirty-four-inch chest, fifty-five-inch length?'

She shook her head. ‘No thank you.'

‘No thank you, I don't like the coat? Or no thank you, it's not my size? Or no thank you, I've set my heart on the cashmere?'

‘I know I shouldn't have set my heart on the cashmere, but I have.' Reluctant to let it go, she continued to hold on to it.

‘Tonia!' Joey shouted to an assistant who was carrying an armful of scarves out of the stockroom.

‘Coming,
Mr
Evans,
sir.'
Tonia smiled at Rhian. ‘Come down from Llan House to pick up a bargain?'

‘I had hoped to find one.' Rhian returned Tonia's smile. She was the same age as her, and they knew one another well. Tonia's mother, Connie, owned Rodney's, the grocers that supplied Llan House.

‘Tonia, do me a favour. After you've dumped those scarves, go into the office and ask Sam to telephone the Pontypridd and Cardiff stores and check if they've any of the ladies' cashmere coats in a thirty-four chest left on sale. If they have, tell them to set one aside for me.'

‘I will,
Mr
Evans,
sir.'

‘And less of your cheek, Miss George,' Joey reprimanded, not entirely humorously. Tonia was his cousin. Unhappy working for her mother in Rodney's, she had begged him to give her a job in the store. When he had finally capitulated, he had assumed – wrongly as it turned out – that she'd assume a professional distance and not presume on family connections.

‘Yes, Mr Evans.' Subdued, Tonia dumped the scarves on the knitwear counter and headed for the manager's office.

‘I always take a break about now, and given what I've had to put up with this morning,' Joey looked at the crowds and raised his eyebrows, ‘I think I've earned my tea and cakes ten times over. How about we go next door?'

‘I have to put an order into Rodney's and pick up some things from Thomas the chemist's.'

‘You can spare ten minutes.' He closed his hand around her elbow and steered her towards the door. Hemmed in by customers frantically searching for bargains, she had little choice but to comply.

The peace of the teashop was blissful after the noisy, teeming chaos of the store. Too late for tradesmen's breakfasts and too early for shoppers' ‘elevenses', they had the place to themselves apart from the waitress and a retired school teacher, who was reading the
Glamorgan Gazette
over a pot of tea.

‘Table for two, please, Ruby, there's a love.' Joey winked at the waitress and she blushed to the roots of her grey hair.

‘How about your favourite, Mr Evans?' She showed them to a corner table that couldn't be seen from the window. It was cleanly laid with a fresh linen cloth and napkins.

‘A pot of tea and a plate of cream cakes for two. That is all right, isn't it?' Joey flashed Rhian a smile.

‘Tea would be fine, thank you. But I'm not hungry.'

‘You don't have to be to enjoy the cakes here. They're little slices of heaven, baked by Ruby's sister, who has the touch of an angel.' He kissed the tips of his fingers and waved them in the air.

‘You have the gift of the gab, Mr Evans, and no mistake.' Ruby scribbled down their order and left for the counter.

Joey shook out Rhian's napkin and laid it with a flourish over her lap. ‘I've been meaning to talk to you for some time.' He sat opposite her and placed his hand close to hers on the table.

Rhian withdrew her hands on to her lap. ‘What about?'

‘I think it's time we got to know one another better.'

‘Why?' she enquired warily.

‘My brother is married to your best friend. That makes us practically family. And it's occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about you.'

‘There isn't much to know,' she countered. ‘And my being Sali's friend and you being Lloyd's brother doesn't make us related.'

‘You're their children's aunt and I'm their uncle.'

‘You're a real one, I'm honorary.'

He changed the subject abruptly. ‘When's your next day off?'

‘Why do you want to know?' She wasn't sure why she was asking, when she'd already guessed the answer.

‘Because I'm going to take you out. I know you haven't much chance of getting Sunday off and that's my only free day but –'

‘I have no chance. It's the family's favourite day for entertaining and between their lunch and tea parties, and church for them and chapel for us servants, it's the busiest day of the week.' She was glad of an excuse to turn down his invitation, but she couldn't understand why her heart was thundering loud enough for the waitress and their fellow customer to hear.