Moonlight and Ashes (29 page)

‘You’re right,’ Danny agreed. ‘We’ll do that.’ Taking a small handmade card from the inside of his blazer pocket, he handed it to Lizzie. He had sketched a lovely picture of the blacksmith’s cottage on the front and written inside it the night before for her, after taking a bath in Eric’s enormous bathroom.

‘Here, I know it ain’t the same as havin’ one from Mam, but at least you’ve got somethin’.’

She nodded and gave him a weak smile before moving off into their classroom.

‘I’m gonna get to the bottom o’ this,’ Gus declared angrily as he followed her. Seeing the look in his friend’s eyes, Danny had no doubt at all that he would do just that.

‘So, do you think I should tell the children that their father has been killed?’ Maggie asked as she chewed on the end of her pen. She was writing a letter to each of the twins and wasn’t sure what she should tell them. Of course, she knew that they would have to be told about their father’s death eventually, but wondered if it might not be best to wait until she could tell them face to face?

Jo confirmed her feelings. ‘Might be best to wait till you get to see ’em,’ she said. ‘I mean, it ain’t goin’ to be easy for ’em, but at least if you’re there they’ll have someone to turn to.’

‘You’re right,’ Maggie agreed relieved. ‘I won’t tell them what’s happened to your family either just yet.’ With her mind made up she bent to the letters in front of her with a heavy heart.

 

On 13 October the children were herded into the village hall to listen to Princess Elizabeth make her debut radio broadcast; she was helped along by her younger sister, Princess Margaret Rose, and the children listened in awe to her melodic voice as she addressed the evacuated children everywhere.

Gus and Sparky had come alone, as had Danny, but as usual, Mrs Evans stayed close to Lizzie’s side, ready to whip her away the second the broadcast was over.

Lizzie was totally enchanted as she listened to a real live princess address them all, but Danny had far more exciting news and could hardly wait to tell it to her as he waited for the broadcast to end.

At last the radio was switched off and Danny produced a letter from his pocket and waved it in her face. ‘Look, it’s a letter from Mam. Did you get one?’ he asked excitedly. When Lizzie slowly shook her head he frowned but was stopped from saying anything further when for some reason, Mrs Evans suddenly pounced on Lizzie, brandishing her coat at her.

‘Come along now,
cariad
,’ she breathed. ‘We want to get home before it starts to rain, so we do. It’s been threatening all day and I don’t want you getting wet and catching a cold now.’

For once, Lizzie chose to ignore her as she stared at the envelope in Danny’s hand. Why had her brother received a letter and not her? Mrs Evans flushed with guilt as she read the child’s mind. A letter
had
arrived for Lizzie that very morning - but she had flung it into the fire, just as she had done with her birthday cards. Of course, she excused herself, she had only done it to prevent Lizzie from getting upset. She didn’t want a letter from home to unsettle her. When she grasped Lizzie’s arm and tried to force it into the sleeve of her coat, the girl pulled away from her.

‘Never mind,’ Danny said as he looked at her downcast face. ‘Yer can have a read o’ mine. Perhaps yours will come tomorrow? Please may I show it to her, Mrs Evans?’

An angry flush stained the big woman’s cheeks as she saw that they were attracting curious glances. Grudgingly she nodded as Danny led Lizzie to a chair at the side of the hall.

Once he’d finished reading the letter aloud to her, Lizzie smiled. ‘Fancy Jo stayin’ with Mam at our house. I hope she’s still there when we go home. Jo was nice, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, she was.’ Danny nodded in agreement. ‘It’s funny Mam ain’t said why she’s stayin’ there, though. Jo was always harpin’ on about her little brothers an’ sisters, so I wonder who’s lookin’ after them now?’

Lizzie shrugged her slight shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea. I’m just glad Mam ain’t all on her own with Lucy. With Jo there she’ll have someone to keep her company, ’specially as Gran don’t get out an’ about so much any more.’

Soho Gus and Sparky looked on enviously. They’d already been in Wales for months but so far hadn’t had so much as a single letter between them; not that they expected one. Gus also looked slightly guilty, for up to now he’d had no luck at all in getting hold of the postman as he had promised to.

‘Right, if that’s all done I’m afraid I shall have to get her away home now,’ Mrs Evans said bossily. ‘And if the rest of you have got any sense, you’ll get yourselves away home too. There’s a rare storm brewing, you just mark my words, and sorry you will be if you get caught out in it.’

Lizzie reluctantly allowed her to do up her coat, and as she was marched towards the door she turned and waved to her brother.

Once they’d gone, Soho Gus sighed. ‘Word ’as it that Mr Evans is on ’is last legs,’ he confided in a whisper to his captive audience. ‘He ain’t opened the smithy fer three whole days now, an’ I heard the Thomases sayin’ as how they’d heard he’d got the dust on his chest.’

‘What’s the dust?’ Danny asked.

‘It’s a disease o’ the lungs that miners get when they’ve spent a long time underground,’ he replied. ‘Mr Evans spent years down the pit till they bought the smiffy an’ moved to the village. I’m surprised as Lizzie ain’t told yer.’

‘She ain’t had the chance to,’ Danny grunted. ‘Mrs Evans don’t give her a minute to herself so I’ve hardly had time to talk to her on her own fer days.’

‘Mmm, I know what yer mean.’ Gus nodded understandingly. ‘She lays it on a bit thick wiv her, don’t she?’

Dragging themselves to their feet, the three small boys made their way to the door where they stood surveying the wet cobblestoned street. Just as Mrs Evans had predicted the rain had begun to fall in a slow drizzle that soaked them to the skin within minutes.

Lifting Albert from his top pocket, Soho Gus tucked him down the front of his threadbare blazer.

‘Suppose we might as well ’ead fer home,’ he said mournfully. ‘Ain’t much point stayin’ out in this, an’ I’ve got me jobs to do at
Derwen Deg
.’

At the end of the street they said goodnight to Sparky before beginning the long trek up the hill towards their billets.

‘So ’ow are yer gettin’ on wiv Eric nowadays then?’ Soho Gus asked breathlessly.

Danny swiped a big raindrop from the end of his nose and grinned into the fast-darkening afternoon. ‘Just the job, to tell yer the truth, though he still tends to tuck himself away in that outhouse every chance he gets. I don’t mind though, ’cos he’s sorted me some oilpaints an’ watercolours an’ brushes out, an’ most nights I paint pictures now. Eric reckons I have a flair fer it.’

Danny glanced at him curiously. ‘What sort o’ paintin’ do yer do then?’

‘Anythin’ that comes to mind,’ Danny told him. ‘Last night I did a picture of Samson, an’ when Eric came across he said it was really good. He’s shown me how to mix the paints to make different colours an’ everythin’.’

Soho Gus was impressed but still intrigued as to why Eric should lock himself away so often in the huge barn-like building. As a thought suddenly occurred to him, his voice rose with excitement. ‘I reckon we should try to find the key to the outbuildin’ some time when he’s down in the village an’ let ourselves in to see what he gets up to in there.’

Danny was horrified at the very suggestion. ‘We couldn’t do that!’ he said.

‘Why not? We wouldn’t be doin’ any harm, an’ he ain’t never gonna be none the wiser if we put the key back before he gets home, is he?’

‘I suppose not,’ Danny admitted, ashamed that he found the idea appealing. By now the rain was coming down in torrents and they put all their efforts into staying upright as they laboured up the hillside.

At
Derwen Deg
they parted and Danny began the last leg of his journey as Gus’s suggestion rolled around in his mind. His curiosity was further fuelled when he arrived home to see the lights from the outbuilding shining through the heavy blinds into the darkness. Eric was obviously locked away in there again. Splashing through the muddy puddles as quietly as he could, Danny once again stood on tiptoe and tried to peer through the windows, but it was useless. He could see absolutely nothing. Shrugging, he entered the kitchen and began to peel off his wet clothes as Samson washed him with his great wet tongue. Minutes later, Eric appeared in the doorway, eyeing his bedraggled charge with amusement.

‘Get yourself upstairs and change into something dry,’ he said, ‘then come back down here and we’ll get something warm inside you. After that we could do some more work on your painting if you like? And then tonight, you really must have a bath.’

Danny placed his dripping shoes on the hearth to dry, then squelched across the room in his soaking socks and hurried away upstairs. He returned in his pyjamas, dressing-gown and slippers minutes later, with an armful of wet clothes which Eric hung across the wooden clotheshorse in the corner.

A large dish of rabbit stew and dumplings was steaming on the table and Danny’s stomach rumbled with anticipation. Once he had sated his appetite, and polished off a piece of bread pudding and cream, he rubbed his small bloated stomach and sighed with contentment. Eric might not always be the most friendly of hosts but he certainly couldn’t fault the meals he provided. Nor for that matter, the painting lessons he was providing him with. Already in just a few short hours, he had taught Danny the art of making skin textures look real and so much more, and Danny was becoming justifiably proud of his efforts. He had never used oils before, and there was so much to learn about painting on canvas.

Soon they were both seated in front of a big easel that Eric had erected at the side of the fireplace and yet another lesson began. But this one was due to be shortlived, for Eric suddenly remembered, ‘I’ve got to nip down to the village to post a letter while there’s still time. You’ll be all right here on your own till I get back, won’t you?’

Danny nodded as Eric thrust his long arms into a mackintosh. The firelight was playing on the black patch that covered one eye, and in this light the burns that ran down his face from beneath it looked even more vivid. Danny suppressed a shudder of revulsion as he turned his attention back to the painting in front of him. It was then that he saw Eric drop a bunch of keys onto the end of the draining board. They were the keys to the outbuilding, he was sure of it after seeing Eric use them so often. Temptation beckoned as he remembered what Soho Gus had suggested. He could nip across and take a look inside whilst he was gone and Eric need never be any the wiser.

Terrified that Eric might be able to read his mind, he fixed his eyes firmly on the painting in front of him and held his breath as the man strode towards the door.

‘Will you be going in the car?’

Eric shook his head. ‘No, not tonight with the roads as they are. With all this rain they’ll be treacherous but I shouldn’t be more than an hour. If you get tired, take yourself up to bed. You can have a bath tomorrow instead.’

Danny nodded, and once the door had closed behind Eric, his eyes strayed to the keys. It was the first time that he’d ever known Eric to leave them lying about and he wrestled with his conscience as his mind began to work overtime. What if he were to discover something terrible in the outbuilding? Perhaps Eric was a smuggler? After all, he did live very close to the sea. Or worse still, he might be a murderer and have dead bodies locked away in there. He gulped deep in his throat as his imagination ran riot. Perhaps things were better left as they were. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and yet . . .

Crossing to the sink, he lifted the keys from the draining board, and of their own volition, his feet began to move towards the kitchen door. And then it was open and he was looking towards the outbuilding, whose windows were still alight. It was like a magnet and he found himself splashing across the yard once more, oblivious to the rain that was lashing down. When he reached the door he fumbled with one key after another until one suddenly slid smoothly into the lock and he heard it click open. There was no stopping now as slowly he inched the door open. He had intended to do no more than peep inside before scuttling back to the warmth of the kitchen, but the sight that met his eyes made him walk to the centre of the room and stare around him in open-mouthed amazement.

He was in an artist’s studio, and everywhere he looked were canvases in various states. Some were finished, some had barely been started on and others were half-done. The one thing that they all had in common was that each and every one of them, even to a child’s untrained eye, was magnificent.

Now that Danny was actually inside the building he could see the attraction of the room for an artist. One wall on the other side of the room was taken up by a huge plate-glass window, through which he guessed the sun would stream during the day. It also overlooked the sea, although at the moment all he could see was rain lashing against it. Against another wall was a long trestle-like table and when Danny approached it he saw that it was covered in illustrations, each and every one beautifully done. Forgetting all about the fact that he shouldn’t even be there, he lifted them one at a time, marvelling at the detail and the colours. He was so absorbed that when a sudden sound made him turn round, he almost jumped out of his skin to see a stern-faced Eric glaring at him.

‘Just
what the hell
do you think you’re doing?’ The words came out on a growl and instantly Danny began to quake.

‘I . . . I’m so sorry,’ he stuttered, deeply ashamed of himself. ‘I was just so curious about what yer did in here that I thought I’d just take a little peep. But I didn’t mean no harm - honest I didn’t - an’ I ain’t hurt anythin’.’

The rain that was dripping from his mackintosh began to puddle on the floor about his feet as Eric stared coldly at the child. Danny could see that he was absolutely furious, and he trembled with fear.