A Million Tears (19 page)

He staggered on. The gates were far behind now and he was in village streets. Llanbeddas was not much further. He fell, tried to get up and drifted into unconsciousness. How long did he lay there? He had no way of knowing. He only knew it took all his will power to bring himself back to consciousness. The pain is unimportant, he told himself . . . It is only pain. He was tired from loss of blood but he could sleep for a week in a few hours’ time. What was the effort needed compared to giving up, feeling the everlasting pain of not having Meg, of rotting in a stinking, rat infested jail? Move you idiot, move, he urged himself. He groaned as he got to his feet. Forget the pain. Bring out your reserves, use your bloody strength . . . think only of Meg. He hobbled on, fighting to stay on his feet with every fibre of his being. Ignore the pain he told himself for the thousandth time, think of Meg . . . Meg . . . Meg.

When did he recognise the baying of the hounds? Evan was unsure. All he knew was they were there. He shuddered, the thought of being torn apart sent adrenaline pounding through him and that in turn gave him the strength to continue, pain or no pain.

At last he was in Llanbeddas. William’s house was at the far end and up two or was it three streets? Evan shook his head to clear his thoughts. He stopped. He could not remember but it no longer mattered. He could not make it.

But he could not give in. He never knew how he reached Uncle James’ house, but that was where he found himself. He leaned against the door and lifted his hand wearily to the knocker. No answer. He knocked again. The dogs were much louder now and Evan was surprised no lamps were being lit in the houses nearby. But that was not the way of the valley. The dogs meant Sir Clifford, therefore it was better not to take an interest in what went on. He raised his arm to try again and fell through the door as it swung open. Uncle James stepped back startled, nearly dropping his lamp.

‘What the hell . . . Evan . . . My God.’ Evan leaned against the wall unable to speak. ‘What happened? Where are the others? You’re hurt. Come on, let me help you. What’s that noise?’ Uncle James put his head outside to listen. ‘Dogs? After you, Evan?’ he asked, incredulous.

Uncle James had been lying on his bed, unable to sleep, thinking about Sion and Dai and America. Had he done the right thing in not going? Yes, he was sure he had. They had not needed him, not really. He would have been a hindrance no matter how hard he had tried not to be. No, it was better this way. He had never told them he had not spoken to his son in six years. After the children, after the warmth, his loneliness was harder than ever. Complete and utter loneliness was a terrible thing. Just one more sunrise he had promised himself, stroking the barrel of his old shotgun. It was not much of a gun as guns went, but packed with powder and rammed tight with buckshot it would blow him in half. At thirty paces it scattered so much it covered an area of yards. This was the best way. Before, he had been able to live with himself, but not now. The Griffiths’ family had awakened too many senses he had long thought dead.

The knocking had startled him but curiously he had felt no fear. Perhaps, he thought, having decided to die, there was nothing further to be frightened of. He had lit a lamp and hurried downstairs.

‘Lean here.’ Uncle James helped Evan to his feet and quickly slammed the door and slipped the bolts home.

‘Sorry . . . sorry,’ Evan gasped, tiredness and nausea sweeping through him in waves. ‘After me . . . Sir Clifford and . . . and his hounds.’

‘Never mind. Come on. I’ll get you into the other room. Sit here. I’ll get some water and see to your leg.’ He rushed into the kitchen, poured cold water into a bowl and grabbed a towel. He washed the wound as best he could and bound it tightly. Evan was unconscious.

The dogs were in the street. Uncle James looked down at Evan with a smile. Providence, he was sure, had sent Evan to him. Especially tonight, oh yes, especially tonight.

He went upstairs and opened his bedroom window. In the clear night he could see the pack of six hounds, less than a hundred yards away. They were following Evan’s path unerringly. Behind followed half a dozen of Sir Clifford’s men, armed with staves and one or two with guns. Sir Clifford rode bareback, along the centre of the road. Uncle James saw curtains on the other side of the road move and had no doubt the whole street was watching.

Uncle James knew there was only one chance. To get Evan away he had to get rid of the man directing the others. It never entered his head to ask why they were after Evan, nor did he care. The dogs turned into his doorway, howling their frustration, pawing at the wood. The men stopped and waited for Sir Clifford’s orders. Nobody looked up at Uncle James standing in the shadows with barely two inches of gun barrel protruding, aimed at Sir Clifford.

‘Break down . . .’ Sir Clifford was starting to issue an order when the gun went off. He was blown nearly in two and was dead before he hit the ground. The horse, also wounded, reared up and bolted, the body of his master lying in an ever widening pool of blood. The other men took to their heels and ran back the way they had come, afraid for their own lives. Uncle James quickly reloaded and fired a parting shot to discourage an early return. The dogs, used to the sound of shooting had paid no heed but continued to paw at the door so Uncle James reloaded with only a little powder and fired into their midst. None were killed but they were frightened and hurt and ran home yelping. Sir Clifford lay still and, sure he was dead, Uncle James spat into the street: ‘Good riddance,’ he muttered.

He hurried downstairs knowing that it would take the men some time to get organised and come back. Rabble like those Sir Clifford employed were useless without a leader. He also knew none of the villagers would leave their homes to go to Sir Clifford’s aid. They would rather pretend they had seen nothing. By the time somebody came from the manor he and Evan had to be a long way away.

He wiped Evan’s face with a damp cloth and eased the tight bandage. He lit the fire and put the kettle on before rushing upstairs to dress. He hid what was left of his savings in a money belt next to his skin and took a spare pair of trousers and pullover for Evan. Evan did not stir even when Uncle James undressed him and dressed him in the other clothes.

He made a strong pot of tea and turned his attention back to Evan. He put a glass of rum to Evan’s lips and managed to force some into his mouth. Evan coughed and feebly pushed Uncle James’ hand away. Uncle James forced more rum into Evan who at last opened his eyes.

He sat forward suddenly, knocking the glass to the floor: ‘The dogs. I must get away. Down to the train, to Meg.’ Evan tried to stand but Uncle James put his hand on Evan’s shoulder and calmed him down.

‘It’s all right Evan bach . . . I’ve, eh, taken care of it. We have at least until dawn. Probably later than that.’ He ladled sugar into a cup of tea and added some rum. ‘Here, drink this. You’ll feel better and then we can leave.’

Still dazed, Evan took the cup, his mind unable to comprehend what was happening. ‘How have you taken care of it?’ He gradually remembered what had happened and said, ‘It’s impossible. I’ll finish this and go. I’m sorry Uncle James, but now you’re involved. God knows what they’ll do if they find out you’ve helped me.’

‘Evan, concentrate. We’ll get away. I told you I’ve taken care of things. I . . .’ he faltered, ‘I shot Sir Clifford. He’s lying in the street, dead I think. So now we’ve both got to go.’ He saw the shocked expression on Evan’s face. ‘Don’t worry – my mind isn’t wandering and I’m not senile. It was the only way to stop them. We’ve gained a few hours. If we don’t make it,’ he shrugged, ‘I’ll die trying. Where are you going?’ he asked alarmed when Evan pulled himself up, swaying on his feet. Uncle James grabbed his arm to steady him.

‘I must see,’ Evan gasped out. ‘The body, Uncle James. I must see the body.’ Helped by Uncle James he staggered into the passage to the front door. Cautiously Uncle James opened the door, his gun ready, and relaxed when nothing happened. He stepped to one side to let Evan look out. The body lay where it had fallen, an untidy heap in the middle of the street, the blood a black pool in the white moonlight.

‘Thanks,’ Evan said automatically. ‘Uncle James, why did you do it? Look at the trouble you’re in. Christ, it’s a hanging offence. Why did you do that for me?’ His voice was full of anguish for the trouble he had caused his friend – aye, and his children’s friend too.

‘I can’t explain. Leave me some dignity and accept I had nothing in this world to lose and everything to gain.’

‘What’ll you gain? My life isn’t worth it, Uncle James. You’re not that old. You’ve got years ahead of you yet. Now there’s nothing.’

‘Not true,’ Uncle James’ voice was harsh. ‘I had nothing ahead of me, nothing except loneliness. Now, Evan,’ his voice softened just as suddenly, ‘there’s everything. Especially if I can get you back to Meg and the children. That’ll be reward enough. Just to see them when I thought I never would again.’

‘You really love those kids don’t you?’ Evan said softly, emotion making his voice gruff.

‘Aye and I’m glad I’m able to help tonight. You’ve given me a reason to live a little longer.’

‘Uncle James, you’re wrong,’ Evan startled the old man. ‘It’s for a lot longer. If we get to Cardiff you’re definitely coming with us. You can’t stay. There’s nothing for you here. We’d meant it earlier on when we asked you to come with us. Well, now you can’t refuse,’ he paused. ‘What do you say?’

‘I’d hoped you might say something like that. Now the question is, where do we go from here?’

14

From somewhere Evan found the strength to grin. ‘The coal train leaves at five-thirty, and will be in Cardiff an hour later. What’s the time now?’ They both looked at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece which showed twenty minutes to five.

‘Time enough,’ said Uncle James. ‘Do you think we could manage to take a few of my things? Not much, just the clock and one or two bits and pieces. You know.’

‘I know,’ said Evan, ‘and we’ll manage somehow. Another tea and rum should get me down to the mine. I’ll help myself while you get your stuff.’

Five minutes later they were ready. Uncle James had packed a battered holdall. He grunted: ‘Not much to show for sixty two years is it?’

Evan pulled himself from the chair. ‘There’ll be a lot more soon, Uncle James, just you wait and see. America isn’t called the land of opportunity for nothing, you know. Can we get out the back way?’

‘Yes. Here, lean on me.’ Uncle James took his bag in his other hand and supported Evan as well as he could. He had one last look around, sad but somehow not sad. He had happy memories of the house but they were all from the time when his wife had been alive. Since then the place had been a prison, until the kids came along. The thought of seeing them again gave him strength. Damn but there was a life to live now. If, and it was a big if, they could get away.

Getting through the back gate was easy. Evan had new-found strength from his rest and the rum tea. His leg ached but the blood had been reduced from a flow to an oozing trickle. They half slid, half stumbled down to the bank of the Taff and stopped. Uncle James undid the bandage on Evan’s leg to allow the blood to circulate and replaced it after a few minutes. The movement had aggravated the wound and it bled more profusely, though not as badly as before. Slowly they continued. For all his determination Uncle James was old in body if young in spirit and Evan’s new found strength was ebbing rapidly. They fell a number of times when Evan’s leg gave out and Uncle James did not have the strength to hold him up. Each time it was more difficult to get up again. By the time they arrived at the place where they could ford the river, they were barely shuffling along. Close to exhaustion they sat on the frost-covered grass, badly in need of a rest. For a minute Uncle James looked at his bag and, before Evan could protest, picked it up and threw it into the river. It swirled along the water for a few seconds then disappeared.

‘We could have managed, Uncle James. You needn’t have done that,’ Evan said softly.

‘Never mind that rubbish, bach. Apart from the clock there was nothing of real value, just old memories which are probably best forgotten. Come on, it’s time to go. We’ve got to cross and climb up to the railway yet.’ Neither mentioned the fact it was already five past five and there was still a long way to go.

The cold water cut into them like a knife. Halfway across Evan fell to his knees but Uncle James managed to stay on his feet. Evan gasped aloud as the water came up to his chest. Groggily he stood up and they carried on, the water helping. In the frost laden air their clothes froze and Evan’s leg went numb. The pain lessened and they could make better time, scrambling up the steep bank to the railway track without stopping. To increase their pace they tried to step from sleeper to sleeper but every few steps Evan had to shorten his stride to ease his leg.

Evan’s pace grew shorter. The mine was visible, a stark outline suddenly lost when the moon slid out of sight behind the hills.

They could see the train now. The noise and bustle told them it was still being loaded. They had a hundred yards to go but now they moved carefully in case they were seen or heard. They had covered eighty yards when suddenly the train whistled, steam escaping in billowing clouds from underneath the engine as it started to move.

‘Oh God, no,’ said Evan. ‘So near. Uncle James, try and get on. I’ll hide around here. Get to Meg in Cardiff. She’ll be at the ship. Tell her to go to America and I’ll come down on tomorrow’s train. I’ll see them in America. Go on.’ He added harshly.

They both knew that at daylight the dogs would be after Evan again. He would be caught within hours.

The train was abreast of them moving with majestic slowness but still too fast for them to climb aboard.

‘We either go together boyo or not at all,’ Uncle James said softly. The trucks, heaped with coal, continued past. Half the train was gone when the truck nearest them shunted into the one in front, the movement repeated the length of the train. The momentum carried the heavy trucks along until the last but one had stopped next to them. Evan found a strength and determination he thought he no longer had. A last chance and Evan lunged for the train, teeth gritted, his leg ignored. Between the trucks he kneeled on the connecting device, grabbed the top of the truck and heaved himself up. He fell onto the mound of coal as the train lurched and started again. Uncle James had one leg on the ground, the other on the buffer, too tired to move. His foot dragged.