The Wild Seed (27 page)

The journey seemed endless, though she had no way of knowing exactly how many miles she had covered. Suddenly, the cart rocked as the driver climbed down from his seat. He took her arm and drew her unceremoniously onto the rough track. She grew tense, imagining that he would take an axe and put an end to her out here miles away from anywhere.

‘Sorry, love, wheel is broken, can’t take you any further.’

Catherine looked at him in alarm. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with the wheels, even I can see that.’ As soon as she spoke, she regretted her words, why antagonize the man? She backed away from him, looking round her, trying to find some place she could run to.

The driver ignored her and swung himself into the driving seat, pulling at the reins so that the horse jerked forward in the shafts. Dust spurted up from the ground as the wheels turned and the cart began to move away from her at speed. She watched, long after horse and cart were out of sight, sighing with relief. She looked round at the hazy greyness of the land and it dawned on her that she had been abandoned miles from anywhere. But at least she was alive.

She stared around her at the empty hillside and the seriousness of her situation swept over her. Here she was, standing in the wet grass, in boots that were too big for her and a shawl that hung around her like a shroud, not knowing where she was.

‘You are still alive.’ She said the words aloud but instead of giving her courage, her voice echoed away from her emphasizing her loneliness. She began to hobble forward, making her way with painful slowness over the uneven land. The drizzle had turned to heavy rain and the path leading uphill had become slippery with mud. If only she had some way of knowing which direction she should go in but the mist, if anything, was becoming more dense.

She struggled up the rise in the land. Once, slipping to her knees, her hands in the mud, she nearly cried out at the pain in her ribs but she bit her lip and got to her feet again.

At the brow of the hill, she looked around her, here the mist was even thicker. Nearby, Catherine could hear the sound of a brook. Was she near home? Was it the Burlais brook she could hear?

Some of the mist cleared for a moment and Catherine saw only unfamiliar land, spreading away as far as the eye could see. Her heart sank but she forced herself to go on towards the next hill. Would she see yet another unfamiliar hill and another and another? she wondered desperately.

At one point, she felt as if she would have to give up the attempt to reach home, her foot was aching so badly now that every step was painful. The too-large boots did not make things any easier. She took deep breaths considering her position, she could remain here, try to find a hollow tree or an outcrop of rocks where she could shelter. She looked round, peering through the rain that was falling now in heavy darts against her face. There was no friendly tree, no outcrop of rocks, there was nothing but the unrelenting countryside rolling away out of her sight.

She tried to buoy herself up with hope, Honey’s Farm was her home, her refuge, once there she would be all right. She listed the homely chores she could do; light the fire, put on the kettle, make herself some tea. Most wonderful of all, she could climb into her own bed, in the room she had known since childhood, and sleep away her aches and pains. Then, when she was rested, she could try to work out how to bring the farm back to the thriving business it had once been.

She seemed to walk for hours, once she thought of changing direction but some instinct drove her on the same pathway. Exhausted now, barely able to stand, Catherine struggled on. She paused, tears running down her cheeks and she could not find the strength to brush them away.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to picture her home, the farm, the hills sloping to the sea. The sea. She lifted her head, she smelt salt, she was close to the sea. Excitement filled her, she could not be far from Honey’s Farm. With renewed hope, she walked on, numb now, ignoring the pain that every step brought her. She would be home, soon, she would be home and then everything would be all right. As she topped the rise, she saw the sea. It was there, spread out before her as she had known it would be but it was not the gentle tide that ran into Swansea harbour. The craggy rocks echoed to the buffeting of the waves and Catherine sank down on the ground, knowing that she was as far away from home as ever.

‘Why have you done it?’ Boyo said angrily. ‘You told me you had no interest in the farm, you lied.’ He strode to and fro in the gloomy sitting-room at Ty Craig, his hands thrust into his pockets. ‘You have taken Catherine’s home from her, deprived her of her livelihood; is your blood-lust satisfied now or do you have other schemes in mind?

‘Don’t be absurd, I didn’t lie. It was you who put the idea of buying the farm into my mind. The place was up for sale and for a very good price. I might develop the land, save it from becoming nothing more than a wilderness.’

Bethan stared at Boyo coldly. ‘Be reasonable. If this woman could not pay her debts that was her own fault, no-one could expect the bank to support her failures forever more.’

‘So you moved in like a bird of prey and took away the only home she has ever had. I wondered why you were taking an interest in the place but I never suspected you of such a low, vicious desire for revenge.’

‘Calm down, you are being melodramatic,’ Bethan said. ‘I saw a good prospect and I bought it, I am a businesswoman or have you forgotten?’

Boyo did not answer her question, he stared at her for a long time and shook his head. ‘Did I ever know you? To think I even liked you – once.’

Bethan rose to her feet, the colour flaring into her face. ‘Liked me? How kind of you, how very kind.’ Her eyes glittered with tears.

‘I
loved
you, Boyo, loved you, do you understand? I would have done anything for you but you had to sleep with a whore, shatter the marriage vows we made together. Can you blame me if I take back a little of what is owed to me?’

Boyo was silent. He stared at the woman who was his wife, would always be his wife if she had her way and anger swept over him in a powerful wave.

‘I have never hit a woman but I feel I could make an exception in your case.’ He turned on his heel and moved towards the door; there, he paused. ‘So where is she now? Tell me that. No-one can find her, not even that cousin of hers. Cullen has searched Swansea from one end to the other, by all accounts, and drawn a blank. What have you done, how did you get her to leave the farm, for she would never leave willingly?’

‘How do I know where the slut is?’ Bethan turned away from him. Then, slyly, she looked up at him from under her lashes, ‘Though I did hear a rumour …’ She broke off apparently considering her words and Boyo waited in a fever of impatience. ‘I did hear she had gone off with some ruffian, a common man of her own sort and is living with him somewhere far away from here. You see, she did not want you, after all, she’s just a little whore who will go to any man’s bed.’

‘Liar!’

‘Go and look for her then, if you are so sure.’ Bethan shook him away. ‘But I tell you this, you do not know the half of that woman. She sleeps with whomsoever she likes, she’s been intimate with that Irishman as well as with you and why should she stop there? She’s nothing but a slut, Boyo, will you never learn sense?’

Boyo left the coldness of the house but he did not feel the chill of the air. He was feverish with anger and with the need to find Catherine. He did not believe a word Bethan had said to him, she was out of her mind, a cruel vindictive woman and he was afraid she might have harmed Catherine in some way.

He mounted his horse and rode away down the track between the folding hills. He looked around him at the dripping trees and the boulder-strewn lane and shuddered, feeling as though he had just left a graveyard.

He rode his horse mercilessly over farmlands towards Rhosilli Downs. Even though Bethan no longer owned the inn, she knew the present owner well enough to beg a favour. Boyo felt sure she would have taken Catherine there, it would be the best place to keep her hidden until the sale of the farm was complete.

His horse was quivering with sweat by the time Boyo reined the animal in at the yard of the hotel. Here, the mists had cleared and the sea ran in to the long shoreline, white-capped and swift.

Inside the hallway, he paused as a discreet footman appeared at his side. ‘I’m Todd, can I help you, sir?’ The man wrinkled his nose and Boyo smiled at him disarmingly.

‘I have been riding hard,’ he explained, ‘I could do with a hot drink and my animal needs attention.’ He slipped some money into the man’s willing hand. ‘Is the owner here? It is important that I see him.’

‘I am expecting him back at any time, sir, perhaps you would like to pay me in advance, sir?’

Boyo followed the man upstairs to the first floor and was shown into a room with a cheerful fire burning in the ornate fireplace.

‘If sir would care to go into the dressing-room and change into the robe that is provided then I could have your clothes laundered by morning, sir.’

Boyo shook his head. ‘I will attend to that later. When the owner of the inn returns let me know at once.’

The man nodded and moved backwards through the door. ‘How many rooms are there in the hotel?’ Boyo asked suddenly. The man looked surprised.

‘I don’t rightly know, sir, about thirty, in all, I’d say.’ He looked curiously at Boyo and there was a trace of disapproval in the way his mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Is there any particular reason for the question, sir?’ Todd’s eyes were guarded.

‘No, just idle curiosity.’ Boyo palmed some coins into the man’s hand which quickly disappeared into his pocket.

‘The hotel has just changed hands, as it happens, the new owner is a man by the name of Mr Cousins, a gentleman from Devon, a good Quaker gentleman. Changing the place, he is, making it respectable, if you get my meaning. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you?’

Todd withdrew and closed the door and Boyo waited a moment before crossing the room and pouring himself a drink from the decanter.

A quietness descended over the corridor outside and Boyo moved to the door, it might be as well to begin searching the place. If Catherine was here, which he was beginning to doubt in the light of what Todd had told him, she would be in an attic room away from prying eyes.

He opened the door carefully and looked out into the corridor, it stretched long and silent towards the curving staircase leading to the hall below. To his left and facing him was a door marked ‘Private’ and he made towards it as quietly as he could. As he thought, behind the door was a staircase, plain and carpeted in cheap jute; here, he felt sure, he would find the servants’ quarters.

It did not take him long to search the upper floor, the rooms were empty, the servants would be working until the early hours. His spirits dropped as he saw there was no sign of Catherine’s presence, no locked rooms, no evidence at all that anything untoward had happened here.

‘Have you lost your way, sir?’ He turned to see Todd looking at him with a careful expression on his face. Boyo decided to take a chance, it was clear he was getting nowhere alone.

‘I’m looking for a young girl, a girl with red hair; Catherine her name is, have you seen her?’

Todd shook his head. ‘No-one of that description in the hotel, sir and I know.’ He smiled, ‘The place is practically empty, the new owner’s spoiled a good thing, the old customers liked the inn as it was. No, there is no young girl here, sir.’

‘But has she been here; please, this is very important, I must find her.’

The man looked around quickly as though fearing being overheard. ‘What’s it worth to you, sir?’ Todd said.

‘It could be worth quite a lot of money, if you give me the right information,’ Boyo said.

‘Well, I heard of a young girl, such as you describe, being found sick, near to death like. Jacob, who is a bit …’ Todd tapped his forehead meaningfully, ‘he took her to the hovel he calls his house, had old Winnie take care of her.’

Boyo moved closer to him, his shoulders hunched threateningly. ‘How do you know this? Why should she be brought all this way from her home?’

‘The tale is common gossip, this is a small village, see. As for why and wherefore, I can’t answer that, sir, but I tried to tell you that Jacob, he’s a halfwit, see?’

Boyo stared hard at the man. ‘Where does this “halfwit” live?’

‘Dunno that, sir, I told you the gossip; that’s all I know, honest, sir.’ He held out his hand and Boyo thrust some money at him and pushed the man aside.

‘My horse been stabled?’

‘Aye, sir, nice and warm the creature is, rubbed down and fed, like a pig in clover he is.’

Boyo made his way down to the bar. Here, near the fire, a few old men were sitting, obviously locals. One had a sheepdog at his side. Boyo sat down with them and ordered a round, getting information from them might take some time.

The rain was beating down outside the window of his hotel room but Liam did not notice. Anger raged within him: Honey’s Farm had been sold. First repossessed by the bank, it had later gone to the highest bidder, at least that was what he had been told. The fact that Catherine was missing did not seem to bother anyone, least of all that bastard Hopkins. Something crooked was going on, Liam was becoming more and more convinced that Catherine was being kept out of the way for some reason. He thumped the window-sill in frustration, he had been unable to find the remotest trace of Catherine’s whereabouts, every lead became a dead end. Where in the name of all the saints was she?

The records of the sale named Mrs Bethan Hopkins as the new owner but clearly it was her husband who was behind the deal. Someone had been well-paid to put off all opposition. Liam leaned against the coolness of the glass; now he would have expert help, he had written to a big firm of lawyers in Cork, a firm with which his family had done business for years.

Seamus O’Sullivan had been trained in London, a clever man, a man who, some said, sailed pretty close to the wind to get what he wanted. Seamus had arrived that morning and was installed in the room next door, sifting through the evidence, as he put it.