Kingdom's Dream (18 page)

He snuggled close to her, his head against her breast, and soon his regular breathing told her he was asleep.

Shanni stared at the doctor open-mouthed. ‘I'm with child, you say – but I can't be, surely?'

Dr Mortimer smiled and Shanni realized how stupid her question must seem. ‘You're a healthy young girl, Shanni,' he said, ‘and nature has taken her course. Aren't you pleased?'

Shanni did not know how she felt. She was confused, trying to count back to when she last saw the curse, and then she remembered: it had been shortly before she and Dafydd . . . but no, that was impossible, she must not even think the child could be his. ‘I don't know what to say.' Shanni tried to gather her wits. ‘I'm just so surprised, Doctor.'

‘Why? You came to me feeling sickly and complaining of aching breasts. What else did you think it was?' He was laughing at her gently.

Shanni put her hand over her stomach, trying to imagine a child growing inside her womb. For a moment she was filled with excitement and then she started to count the days. She swallowed hard, trying to remember when she and Pedr had been together. They had a vigorous love life so in all probability the child was his.
Please let it be his,
she prayed silently.

The doctor misread her silence. ‘It's perfectly natural, my dear. Women do it every day – give birth, I mean. You will be fine, so no worrying now.'

‘You're right, of course, Doctor, and thank you. I'd better get home.'

‘Anxious to break the good news to your husband, I imagine,' Dr Mortimer said. ‘I'm sure Pedr will be delighted, and you will too, once you take it all in.'

Shanni left the doctor's house with mixed feelings. She walked into the park and sat on a tree stump, trying to work out when the baby was conceived. The doctor had been vague about dates and times, and Shanni sought hope that the baby might be Pedr's child but she found none.

She clasped her hands together, trying to think things through in a sensible way. What if she had Dafydd's child? No one would know, would they? Dafydd was dark-haired, but so was Pedr. Both men were strong and well-built – perhaps even she would not know whose child she had borne. But did she want to be like Llinos Mainwaring, foisting an illegitimate child on her husband? Look at the trouble that had caused: Joe Mainwaring had gone to America, leaving his wife behind.

She sat for a long time, staring up into the sky, wondering what to do. She did not want to hurt Pedr – she loved him too much for that.

Could she live with a lie hanging over her head? And if not, what was the alternative? She closed her eyes, not wanting even to think of losing the child in her womb. But there seemed no other way out of the mess.

She made up her mind to go to see Mrs Keen, find out how to lose the baby. It was the only way and, really, it was not wicked, was it? Either she had the child and faced the consequences, or she could miscarry. It was a terrible choice but she had brought trouble upon herself when she chose to break her marriage vows.

She cooked Pedr a hearty meal of rabbit stew and fresh crusty bread – he was always hungry after a day at the pottery. When he came in, he grinned as he took her in his arms and hugged her close. ‘Looking after me well, aren't you,
cariad
?' He planted a kiss on her lips. ‘What are you after? A new coat, or is it boots this time?'

‘Hey, cheek! No, I had the day off from work so I thought I'd cook you something nice. I wasn't feeling very well and I decided the pottery office could do without me for a day or two. Perhaps you'll take a letter in to Mr Buchan explaining things for me.'

Pedr looked concerned. ‘What's wrong, my little love? You're not really sick, are you?'

‘Just a chill in the stomach, nothing to worry about. Now, come and eat your supper before it gets cold.' She sat at the table with him and stared in distaste at the stew. How could she even pretend to eat when she felt overwhelmed with guilt?

The idea of bearing Dafydd's baby made her want to vomit – yet how could she think of killing her child? Perhaps she could consider her options for a day or two. Tonight she would forget there was anything wrong and perhaps in the morning her mind would be clearer.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Llinos read the letter from Joe for the third time. He was not coming home – at least, not yet. He told her that their son was settling well into the life of the village and had made a great many friends. She felt angry as she crumpled the letter into a ball. There was no telling what her menfolk might be getting up to. She thought of the Indian squaw who had played such an important part in Joe's life. Had he found another just like her?

She stared out at the cold winter landscape: soon it would be Christmas and she would spend it with only her younger son for company. She was a prisoner in her own house. Since the night of her row with Jayne, Llinos had been virtually a recluse.

She sank into a chair and put her head in her hands. Could she really blame Joe if he was enjoying the love of another woman? Abroad, life must be lonely for him and she was as much to blame as he was for the problems in their marriage.

Nevertheless, sitting here making herself miserable would do no good at all. It was time she paid some attention to the pottery. The old patterns were stale and a new line of decoration was needed if she wanted to keep up with the ever-increasing competition. It was almost with a sense of relief that she sat at her desk and took up her pen. At least in creating something beautiful she could put her anxieties out of her mind.

The patterns on her potteryware had ranged from exotic American Indian to the more usual willow pattern, depicting a stylized tree, a pagoda, and sometimes one or two figures. Now it was time for something fresh. Her pen flew across the page as she drew the mountains of Snowdonia, a bunch of daffodils, then finally, and most pleasing, two dragons facing each other, one red, one white.

She started a fresh page and composed the dragons in more detail, fining down the wings and emphasizing the talons before she became aware of the symbolism in her work. One dragon was bad, one good, both fighting for survival. Perhaps she was portraying her own inner conflicts. If so, she was the wicked dragon and had beaten the good one hands down.

An hour later she stretched her arms above her head. She felt stifled – she needed some air. She rang for the maid to fetch her outdoor clothes: she would go for a walk.

The air was sharp and Llinos turned up her coat collar. She could hear the sounds of the pottery and see the shimmer of the kilns. The cheerful whistling of the apprentices brought tears to her eyes. It was all so familiar, so dear to her, and it seemed to be the one constant element of her life. She walked a little way from the house and down to where the river Tawe ran swiftly towards the sea. Her head felt full of cobwebs and she hoped the fresh air would clear her mind.

At first she saw the figure on the bank with little curiosity but as she drew nearer she could see that the woman was perilously close to the water's edge, about to walk into the river.

‘Stop!' Llinos hurried forward, and saw the flash of red hair peeping from under the bonnet. ‘Shanni, wait! Don't be foolish!' She caught the girl's arm and drew her away from the bank.

‘What on earth are you thinking about?'

‘Let me go!' Shanni's voice was flat, hopeless. ‘I'm not fit to live.'

Llinos took a deep breath. ‘If you think I saved you from the slums only for you to throw away your life like this you're sadly mistaken.' She dragged her onto the road. ‘Whatever has happened, nothing is worthy dying for.'

Shanni began to cry, and Llinos hugged her. ‘Please come home with me, Shanni.' She drew the unresisting girl towards the house and almost pushed her inside.

‘Sit down by the fire in the drawing room, get the chill out of your bones. I'll ask the maid to bring us a cup of chocolate.'

Shanni sat down on the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap. ‘I didn't really want to die in the river,' she said, ‘but I've done something dreadful.' She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I don't know what I'm going to do.'

‘Well, you can talk to me for a start, see if I can help.'

Llinos rang the bell and the maid came into the drawing room. ‘Bring some hot chocolate, there's a good girl, and be quick.' She waited until the maid had brought the tray, then sat opposite Shanni.

‘So, why were you about to throw away your young life like that?'

‘I don't know if I should tell you my troubles. It doesn't seem fair.'

Llinos had not seen the girl in such a bad way since the day she had taken her from the slums of Swansea and given her a home. She thought of Shanni as a girl of spirit, but now she was looking defeated.

‘I'm having a baby.' Shanni dropped the words into the silence. ‘And I don't think my Pedr is the father.' She glanced up at Llinos.

‘I see.' Llinos hesitated. ‘But we all make mistakes, Shanni, me included, and nothing is worth killing yourself over.'

‘But you haven't heard the worst. I . . . I think the father is Dafydd Buchan.'

‘Oh, no!' Llinos said. ‘It can't be – Dafydd, surely he would never . . .' Her words trailed away.

‘Well, he did.' Shanni's lips were trembling. ‘It was only the once but it's then I must have fallen for a baby.'

Llinos tried to hide her shock: she must put aside her own feelings for Dafydd. Common sense told her Shanni would not lie about such a thing. ‘Can you be sure the baby is not Pedr's?'

‘He was away at the time. I'm so ashamed, so frightened, I just don't know what to do.' She looked up at Llinos. ‘Should I tell Pedr the truth, do you think?'

Llinos's hand shook as she poured the chocolate. She needed time to think. ‘I don't know what you should do, Shanni, except that you certainly mustn't kill yourself. Think how devastated your husband would be.'

‘But how can I live a lie?' Shanni asked. ‘You told your husband the truth, didn't you? And it was the right thing to do because the child looked the spit of Dafydd. What if my baby looks like him too?'

‘If you tell Pedr he'll want to kill Dafydd. It's only natural. Is that what you want?'

‘Your husband didn't fight Dafydd, did he?'

‘No, but Joe is a special sort of man.' Llinos took a deep breath, realizing how much her husband must have suffered for having another man's child under his feet. It was no wonder he had wanted to go to America and leave behind all the pain and humiliation.

‘The chances are that the baby will look like you, red-haired and fair-skinned. Wouldn't it be kinder to keep your husband in the dark? As you said, it was only the one slip and you will never do it again, will you?'

‘No, never.' Shanni was weeping again. ‘It was after I'd . . . done it that I knew how much I loved Pedr. What I felt for Dafydd was always a dream, and when it became real it wasn't what I wanted.'

‘I think it best if you keep all of this to yourself for now. Give yourself some time to think it all out carefully.' Llinos took a deep breath. ‘Look, I'll be discreet – you know that. No one but you and I will ever know what has been said here today.'

‘Thank you for listening to me,' Shanni said tearfully. ‘I know that no one can help me but I'm so confused – I only know that I can't bear the thought of hurting Pedr.' She got up, her chocolate untouched. ‘I'd better be going. Thank you for being so kind.'

‘I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you than listen, but you will have to sort this out yourself, Shanni.' Llinos then felt she had been too abrupt. ‘Shall I send for the coachman to take you home?'

‘No, I'd rather be on my own. Thank you.'

Llinos watched Shanni walk down the drive towards the town, a pathetic figure, her shoulders bowed beneath the shawl she was hugging round her.

She returned to her drawing, but somehow it no longer seemed important. In a sudden burst of anger she pushed aside the papers. ‘You swine, Dafydd Buchan – you treacherous swine!' Somehow, his dalliance with Shanni seemed a worse threat to Llinos than his marriage had ever been. She straightened her shoulders. She would go to see him, tell him to his face what she thought of him. It might not touch him, but it would make her feel better.

As Shanni walked, despair settled around her like a thick cloud. Llinos had been right: she must sort out this problem alone, for if she told anyone the truth several lives would be ruined.

The wind and rain bit through her clothes. Why had she let herself come to this? She had risen from the slums, had seen at first hand what happened when a woman strayed, for her own mother had been publicly shamed for bearing a child by a married man.

She walked down to the beach and stared at the sea rushing towards the shore. The movement of the water seemed to calm her, and suddenly she knew what she must do.

She turned back into the winding streets of town, walking swiftly in case she changed her mind. She stopped at Fennel Court, which was worse even than she remembered, with its mean houses crouched together, each building housing many families. Her childhood house seemed to stare at her in disgust. The windows were grimy and the door, still rotten, hung off its hinges.

Mrs Keen lived in the end house. It was cleaner than the rest of the street and faded but cheerful curtains hung at the windows. Shanni knocked rapidly at the door. After an interminable wait, Mrs Keen opened it, more aged now but with the same bright stare that looked right through a person, as if reading hidden secrets.

‘It's Shanni, Dora's daughter. Can I come in?'