Sunlight on the Mersey (7 page)

An idea was taking shape in his mind. Why not? Florence was pretty enough, well brought up and probably not as strong-willed as Iris. It could be just the opportunity he was looking for to become both successful and well off and as far as he could see opportunities like that were as rare as hens’ teeth. He’d survived the war and he’d sworn that he wouldn’t waste the rest of his life, which was just what he would do if he remained a clerk with the Blue Funnel Line for ever, slaving away for a pittance to put money in someone else’s pocket. No, he hadn’t endured the horrors of the trenches just to come back to a menial position and a hand-to-mouth existence. He wanted something far better than that.

R
OSE WATCHED THROUGH THE
window of the bus as the Cheshire countryside slipped by: green fields dotted with trees in the shade of which rested black and white cattle. She’d bade a rather bittersweet farewell to her da and Iris and Charlie. Her emotions had been torn between the exciting prospect of a stay in Tregarron and the fact that she would miss them all. There had been tears in her eyes as her da had hugged her and said how he’d miss seeing her every day and Iris had said she’d have no one to relate the events of her day to; even Charlie had said it wouldn’t be the same without her chattering on at suppertime. But it was only for a few weeks, she’d reminded them.

The fields gradually gave way to gently rolling hills grazed by sheep as they travelled on and into the Vale of Clwyd. Kate
had taken this rare opportunity of some leisure time to read one of the magazines Mrs Taylor had sent her and they were both quite surprised at how soon the bus stopped in the small town of Mold. Kate helped Rose with her case as they transferred to another vehicle.

After an hour they reached the market town of Denbigh. Rose stepped on to the pavement outside the pub where the bus service terminated and looked eagerly around. In front of her was an open cobbled space where a tractor and cart had pulled up; the narrow street they’d come down was steep and lined with small shops and there seemed to be plenty of people about. Of course it was nearing lunchtime, she realised.

Kate was eyeing the farm cart with some apprehension as Gwen’s brother Bob climbed down from the tractor and came towards them, smiling broadly.

‘My, but you’ve grown up a fine woman, Katie Fairfax!’ he said in his musical voice, taking her hand.

‘It’s a long time since anyone called me that, Bob. It’s good to see you again. I hope the family are all well?’

‘Megan is looking forward to meeting you and those lads of mine can’t wait to meet young Rose but don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on them,’ he laughed, turning to Rose. ‘She must take after her da, Katie, but you’re a fine-looking girl just the same and very welcome, Rose.’

Rose blushed as she smiled at him. He took her case and effortlessly stowed it on the back of the cart.

‘Cause quite a stir in the village with those looks, she will, Katie,’ he said quietly to Kate. ‘Now, I’ll give you a hand up.
There’s clean straw and a rug over it so you should be comfortable. We’ll get back quicker than you would if old Glyn Morgan had come to fetch you in that little trap of his, the pony’s nearly as old as he is and can’t even manage a trot these days.’

To Kate’s relief they were both quite comfortable and as they drew out of the town and into the countryside she began to look forward to seeing Tregarron and Gwen again. Meanwhile Rose clung quite happily to the side of the cart, eagerly anticipating her first sight of the village.

When finally they reached the place where the road forked Kate pointed left. ‘Down there is Bob’s farm. They call that part of the road the “Garn”, it more or less goes in a complete circle around the village.’

‘So we’re here?’ Rose asked, noting a fine house with a yard behind it and a board which proclaimed it belonged to ‘Jenkins’s Builders & Carpenters’.

‘We are. There’s the school and chapel over there and beyond that is the forge, then over there is the lane that leads to the mill,’ Kate informed her gaily, thinking the place had hardly changed at all over the years.

Small cottages lined the road and then there was a butcher’s shop, a general store and finally the post office. ‘That must be Gwen’s cottage, just beside the shop,’ Kate said as the tractor slowed down and finally stopped. Bob jumped down and came to help them down.

Rose looked curiously at the small stone cottage; it looked just like something you saw on the lid of chocolate boxes, she
thought. It wasn’t thatched though, the roof was of slate, but the windows were small and there was a miniscule garden in front full of flowers and a climbing rose around the front door, laden with deep pink blooms.

Gwen Roberts appeared in the door of the post office, a neat navy shop coat over her white blouse with its cameo brooch pinned at the neck, her brown hair confined tidily in a small bun, her dark, bird-like eyes full of delight. ‘Kate! Ah, isn’t it lovely to see you,’ she exclaimed as she hugged Kate and then turned to Rose. ‘And you too, Rose, how are you feeling now,
cariad
? Come on into the shop till I finish sorting out Mrs Davies’s parcel, then I’ll close up for lunch and we’ll get Rose settled and have a bite to eat.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Bob, will you wait for a cup of tea?’

‘No thanks, Gwennie, luv. Megan will have the dinner ready for us. No doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon, Rose, and it was a real pleasure, Katie, to see you. Megan said be sure to tell you to call in if you’re passing by.’ He waved as he climbed back on to the tractor and Kate and Rose followed Gwen into the shop.

Rose was introduced to old Mrs Davies who inspected her closely from head to foot. The whole village was aware that the girl from Liverpool who had recently been poorly was arriving today and she was pleased she was the first to see her. Then Gwen put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door and they went next door.

‘Oh, it’s lovely, Gwen! Haven’t you got some nice things? I remember that clock, didn’t your mam have it in the hall at
Bryn-y-Garn?’ Kate asked, looking around the small living room with its chintz-covered sofa, gate-leg table and chairs, bright rag rugs and many highly polished brass and copper ornaments and utensils above the black-leaded range and the grandfather clock.

‘She did! Fancy you remembering it, Kate. Most things in here were Mam’s; Bob kept a few bits after she died and I got the rest. Now, I’ll put the kettle on and while it’s boiling I’ll take you upstairs and show you where Rose is to sleep.’

Rose followed her mother and Gwen up the very narrow stone staircase set beside the range which led to the two small bedrooms above, one either side of the tiny landing.

The room seemed smaller than her room at home but she deduced that was because of the much lower ceiling and small, low window. There was pretty flower-patterned wallpaper on the walls, a comfortable-looking bed with clean white sheets and pillowcases and a patchwork quilt, an old-fashioned marble-topped washstand with a china bowl and jug set and a fresh white towel, a wardrobe and a chest. As Kate complimented her friend on the comfort and cleanliness of the room Rose looked out of the window, kneeling on the cushion placed in the deep embrasure. There was a small garden at the back and beyond that fields stretching away for miles, bounded by dry stone walls, and in the distance she could see a copse of trees.

‘We’ll leave you to unpack, Rose. I’m going to help Gwen, then before I have to go back for the bus, we’ll take a walk around the village,’ Kate said before following Gwen
downstairs where Rose heard them chatting and laughing happily.

She pulled the sash window down further and breathed deeply. She could smell the perfume of the flowers in the garden and the only sounds were birdsong, the buzzing of the bees amongst the flowers and the faint, far-off lowing of a cow. It was so quiet, so peaceful here and she had immediately loved the cottage and felt at home. Yes, she really believed she would be happy here, just as Mam had been all those years ago, and she was looking forward to seeing the rest of the village.

Their progress on their walk was rather slower than Kate had envisaged for people called to them over garden walls or stopped to chat, a few remembering Kate but most only knowing what Gwen had told them about her friend and her daughter. When they were stopped by the minister’s wife, Kate remembered her as Bethan Jones who had been a friend of Gwen’s since they were at school.

‘It’s a very long time since I last saw you, Bethan. Quite a tomboy you were then if I remember rightly,’ Kate remarked.

‘Not an attribute that suits a minister’s wife, Kate, doesn’t go down too well with the parishioners,’ the woman laughed. ‘No, thankfully I grew out of all that. Since I married Owen Williams I’ve been dignity personified. This must be Rose. I hear you’ve been ill, dear?’

‘I’m much better now, thank you, Mrs Williams,’ Rose answered, wondering if everyone knew absolutely
everything
about everyone in this village.

‘I hope you won’t find it too quiet here? There’s not a great deal for the young ones to do, although there is the occasional barn dance.’

‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Rose replied. Was the dance actually held in a barn or was it just a name?

‘Of course there’s the Denbigh Show next month, that’s always a great occasion: people come from all over the county and it’s on for three days. We have our own village flower show at the end of next month too. I’d be very grateful for some help with that. I’ve helped to organise it ever since I came back to the village when Owen was sent here after the old minister died – apart from the war years, that is. We didn’t hold it then, things were just too . . . dreadful and everyone was far too busy. We have it in the grounds of the big house with marquees set up for various classes, and refreshments of course.’

Rose had been listening politely to all this, wondering what on earth she would be expected to do at a flower show, but at the mention of the ‘big house’ her interest increased. ‘You mean it’s held at Plas Idris?’

Bethan Williams was surprised. ‘You’ve heard of it, Rose? Not many people here ever refer to it by its full name.’

‘Yes, I read that it’s the home of Sir Richard Rhys-Pritchard’s family.’

‘It is. What’s left of them. Their grandfather built it, made his money from mining, he did, and a fine house it is. I’ve only ever been inside a few times. Lovely grounds too.’

‘I’d be delighted to help you out at the flower show, Mrs
Williams, really I would,’ Rose offered enthusiastically. She would love to see the place. Maybe she too would get to see inside it?

‘We’d better be going, Bethan. I’ve to get back to town for the bus but I’m sure Rose will be useful and it’s lovely to have seen you again.’ Kate thought how much she would have enjoyed staying longer, but she had a business to run and a home and family to attend to. It would be a relief to know that Rose was well and happy and ready to get involved in village life; she’d even been quite enthusiastic about helping at this flower show. That had greatly surprised her.

Kate was tired when she at last arrived home late that evening and was thankful that Iris had a hot meal waiting for her.

‘Sit down, Mam, you look worn out. Do you think Rose liked the place? Do you think she’ll be happy there?’ Iris asked as she poured her mother a cup of tea.

‘I have to say it is tiring travelling but I enjoyed seeing Tregarron again and meeting everyone. And yes, Rose seems to like it there. Everyone made her very welcome and she’s already been asked to help out at the village flower show.’

‘Really? Help out how?’ Iris asked, wondering what on earth Rose could do. As far as she knew her sister’s only interest in flowers was in receiving them as a gift.

‘I’ve no idea, Iris, but she seemed quite taken with the idea. Mind you, I think it has something to do with it being held up at that big house.’

Iris nodded slowly, remembering that when they’d read
about it in the book Rose had said she would like to go and see it. ‘I expect she wants to see how the “gentry”, as you called them, live.’

‘Well, she seemed happy enough when I left her and I know Gwen will look after her. She’s going to write regularly. Gwen very kindly offered to let her use the telephone in the post office once a month, until I reminded her that we don’t have a telephone or even know anyone who does.’

‘Florence’s da’s got one, I saw it in the hall,’ Iris informed her.

‘Well, you can’t go asking him to let our Rose call them. The man probably has it for business purposes. Besides it would be downright hard-faced to make a convenience of them like that. No, she can write and we’ll write back,’ Kate said firmly.

‘Is it all right if Florence comes again on Sunday? We won’t want tea or anything. If the weather is still good we’ll go out somewhere seeing as we haven’t got a garden to sit in.’

Kate nodded, suddenly too tired even to comment on Iris’s last remark. She would have to be up at the crack of dawn in the morning and she had been having twinges in her back all afternoon. Probably it was due to sitting for hours on that bus, she thought: she wasn’t used to long periods of inactivity. And of course she wasn’t getting any younger either.