Paradise Park (17 page)

A little shard of hope pierced Jayne's heart. Sal might be young but she was perceptive and, as she said, she knew men.

‘Mr Guy didn't say much at all about money, did he? He wasn't acting like a man wanting something from you. I could tell by the way he looked at you that he worshipped the ground you walked on. Let me take a letter to him, asking him to explain everything to you.'

‘Thank you, Sal, I'll let you know later when I've had time to think.' Jayne finished her drink and put the cup on the tray. ‘You can go now, and thank you for being so kind. I don't know what I'd have done without you and Rhiannon to take care of me.'

Jayne hardly heard Sal leave the room as she leaned back against the cushions. Her eyes were closing and her body felt weightless – the brew Sal had brought her must have been potent. She would sleep now, and when she had rested her head might be clearer. Then she could decide what to do about her future.

Dafydd rode swiftly through the streets, his whip in his hand, his head pounding. Guy would pay dearly for betraying him.

As he entered the town rain began to fall and thunder cracked overhead. Through the storm he could see the shimmer of lights from the windows of the tall houses along Henrietta Street. He stopped outside the one where Guy lodged.

The front door was locked but that didn't deter Dafydd. He put his shoulder to it and it gave easily. Rage gripped him as he made his way through the hall to Guy's rooms at the front of the house.

‘What on earth are you doing?' Guy demanded. ‘Why are you behaving like a thief, creeping around the place?' Slowly, Guy put down the pen he was holding and got up. ‘You know about me and Jayne.' It was not a question. ‘I've fallen in love with her, Dafydd. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself.'

‘
Sorry!
Is that all you've got to say, you bastard? Well, understand this, I don't take kindly to being cheated,' Dafydd roared. ‘I certainly don't take kindly to any man sleeping with my wife, especially one who called himself a friend.' Guy's head dropped.

‘Go on, deny it! Look me in the eye and tell me you never touched Jayne!' Dafydd bellowed.

‘I can't.' Guy looked up then. ‘I love her. I want to take her away from here – away from you.'

Dafydd moved swiftly and caught him by the throat. ‘Not only that but you wanted the shares as well!'

‘I don't care about the shares,' Guy retorted. ‘It's you who's obsessed with them, not me.'

‘Well, you won't have the shares and you won't have Jayne. I've taught her a lesson this morning, one she'll never forget.'

‘What do you mean? What have you done to her, Dafydd?'

‘I just took what was mine.' Dafydd shook him hard. ‘Mine, not yours!'

‘So you raped her,' Guy said coldly.

‘She's my wife and I asserted my rights over her and, yes, if you like you can call it rape but my sweet wife enjoyed every moment of it.'

Before Dafydd had time to think Guy's clenched fist caught him on the temple. Dafydd reeled away from him but Guy struck him again, a tremendous blow to the stomach. ‘You bastard!' Guy was almost spitting in fury. ‘How could you hurt a woman like Jayne, you barbarian?' Then Guy's head came forward and Dafydd felt his nose crunch. Blood poured down his chin and dripped onto his shirt. This wasn't going as he'd planned. It was Guy who deserved the beating, not him.

He swung desperately and caught Guy squarely on the chin. Guy staggered for a moment then fell backwards onto the floor. Dafydd raised his whip and brought it down on Guy's shoulders, then began to thrash him in earnest, using the whip mercilessly, until at last his arm fell to his side. ‘Keep away from me and my wife. If I see you again, it won't be a whip I'll bring but a pistol.'

As Guy attempted to rise Dafydd kicked him down again. Then he made his way out into the shadows behind the buildings. As he swung up into the saddle he was triumphant. Jayne would see no more of the scoundrel, he'd made sure of that.

When he arrived home, he looked for Jayne, anxious to tell her what he'd done to Guy. He found her sleeping in a chair in the bedroom. He shook her roughly and she sat up, staring at him in alarm. ‘Dafydd, what have you done? Have you been fighting with Guy? Oh, God, is he all right?'

‘I've given him the hiding he deserves.' Dafydd felt a great satisfaction as he saw the fear in Jayne's face. ‘It's all right, I left him alive – just.'

Jayne stared up at him. ‘I hate you, Dafydd. I hate you more than I thought it possible to hate anyone. I'm going to him! I'll kill you if you've hurt him.'

He caught her wrist. ‘No, you won't. You'll stay here where you belong and I'll tell you exactly what I've done to your paramour.'

‘Oh, Dafydd, what have you done? For God's sake, you haven't hurt him badly?'

‘I don't think he'll come sniffing after you again.' Dafydd smiled, then winced at the pain in his split lips. ‘Now, get some clean water and bathe my face as a wife should.'

He watched with satisfaction as Jayne fetched water and a clean towel and bathed his face, careful not to hurt him. She also brought him a cup of herbal tea and he drank it gratefully. At last he'd brought his wife to heel, which he should have done long ago.

Suddenly he felt weary and his bruised face ached. He climbed onto the bed and closed his eyes.

‘THE MASTER'S BEEN
fighting,' Sal gasped, as she rushed into the kitchen. ‘I saw his face when I opened the door to him, all battered and bleeding he was.'

‘Good,' Rhiannon said. ‘I hope someone gave him the beating he deserved for the way he treated the mistress.'

‘He didn't send for anyone to fetch water. Mrs Buchan must have cleaned him up herself.' Sal frowned. ‘Horrible that is, a man making you do things when you can't even stand the smell of him.'

Mrs Jones wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I never seen such carrying on in all my time as a cook to the gentry. Scandalous!'

‘Well,' Sal said, ‘I'm sorry for Mrs Buchan. She'll have to get away from the master as soon as she can.' She sighed. ‘Still, she's got everything, money, and most of all a mind of her own. She'll see her way through this, I'd bet my last shilling on it.'

Rhiannon felt as tired as if she'd been the one to suffer a vicious rape. She had washed Jayne, brushed her hair and dressed her in clean clothes, but she knew that it was inside that the woman would feel dirty. Suddenly she wanted Bull with an almost unendurable longing – he was the only one who had ever protected her from the horrors of Swansea's underworld. Then she was impatient with herself: why keep harking back to Bull and the time they had spent together? That part of her life was over and done with. She should put the past behind her. She was a new person now with a new life, and she must just get on with it.

That day was the longest Jayne had ever endured. She stayed in the bedroom and ignored Dafydd when he came in and glanced at her, uncertain how to speak to her. She believed he was shocked by his own behaviour and wanted to make things right between them. But things would never be right now: he had killed any last spark of respect she had had for him. She had spent the long day making plans in her head and they did not include living with Dafydd Buchan.

That night, she lay in bed beside her husband and watched his regular breathing, afraid to move a finger. She knew he was deeply asleep but she still waited, wanting to be sure he wouldn't wake and prevent her leaving.

At last, she edged out of bed and leaned against the bedside table for support. She hardly dared breathe in case she woke him. Carefully, she tiptoed across the room and cautiously opened the door. She paused to look back but Dafydd hadn't stirred.

Out on the landing, she waited for a long time, making sure that her husband was still asleep, then went upstairs to the maids' quarters and found some plain, workaday clothes that fitted her. She was almost ready to leave but she had one more task to do, and that meant going back into the bedroom where Dafydd was sleeping.

She stood outside the door, holding her breath, until she had plucked up the courage to go inside. Quickly she found a bag and put some clean clothes into it, then opened her jewel box and took out a few of her favourite gems, which she pushed into the bottom of the bag. The rest she wrapped in a chemise, then edged her way back on to the landing.

She went into the kitchen and hastily scribbled a note to Rhiannon, saying the jewels were hers to do with as she wished. The girl would probably need them when Dafydd found out his wife had gone: he'd be sure to think Rhiannon had had a part in it. She breathed in the clean smell of the room. The table, scrubbed white, seemed to glow in the soft light, attesting to the industry of her servants. She would miss them more than she would ever miss Dafydd.

Once she had believed she loved him. When they married, she was young and headstrong, and thought Dafydd was a hero. Now she was living to regret ever having known him.

She pulled her cloak close around her and crept along the back corridor, afraid even now that Dafydd would wake and drag her back to bed. She winced as the bolt ground back, but then she was out in the open and running across the gardens towards the gates and freedom.

‘
Duw!
What's all this, then?' Mrs Jones asked, her brow furrowed, her eyes still half closed in sleep.

‘It's a letter from the mistress.' Rhiannon sat down and wished Violet would get the fire going. She read the brief letter, then handed it to the cook. ‘She's gone, run away,' she said quietly. ‘There's going to be the devil to pay when the master finds out.'

Mrs Jones stared at the scrawled letter in bewilderment. ‘Well, she says there's a gift for you, Rhiannon, for all your kindness to her.' She sank into a chair and rubbed her eyes. ‘Get on with that fire, Vi, and stop pushing your nose into other folk's business. I could murder a cup of tea.'

‘I only did what any human being would do,' Rhiannon protested. ‘I washed her and dressed her after Mr Buchan . . . well, you know.'

‘Aye, I know right enough. Our betters can be just as bad as the basest navvy working the tracks.' She pushed Rhiannon's arm. ‘Go on, then, open the cloth, there's a good girl. Put us all out of our misery.'

Slowly, Rhiannon unwound the chemise. ‘Dear heaven!' She looked down at the glittering gems in disbelief. ‘What on earth has Mrs Buchan left me these for? Where am I going to wear such baubles?'

‘You don't wear 'em, girl,' the cook said. ‘You take them one by one to Uncle Ben's pawn shop and make some money on them. You'll never go short again, and I suppose that's what Mrs Buchan intended.' She leaned over Violet as she knelt before the grate, coaxing the fire to burn. ‘And you, miss, keep your mouth shut about all this. If word of it gets out to the other servants I'll know who to lay into with my stick.'

‘All right, all right.' Violet glanced over her shoulder. ‘I 'aven't seen nothing and I don't know nothing, right?'

‘That's the way. Now, get the kettle on and let's have some tea. I'm parched. And as for you, Rhiannon, put those jewels away somewhere safe, and whatever you do, don't let on to the master that you've got them.'

Rhiannon folded up the chemise and hurried to her room. She tucked away the jewels and the note in her shabby bag and put it at the back of the cupboard. Mrs Jones was right: the gift Mrs Buchan had left her was as good as money in the bank.

Work in the kitchen was well under way when the bell rang loudly for Rhiannon to attend the master. ‘Look out, he knows the missus is gone now,' Sal said warningly.

Rhiannon smoothed down her skirt. She was not looking forward to facing Mr Buchan's anger. She walked slowly up the stairs from the kitchen and paused for a moment in the hall. It was raining outside and she thought of Mrs Buchan outdoors in this awful weather all alone.

‘Where is she?' Mr Buchan slammed the door of the sitting room behind Rhiannon. ‘Where has my wife gone, Rhiannon?'

‘I don't know, sir,' Rhiannon said truthfully. ‘I haven't seen her at all this morning. Has she gone shopping, do you think?'

‘Don't pretend to be more stupid than you are, girl. My wife has run off. Surely she confided in you?'

‘But I haven't see Mrs Buchan since last night, sir, I give you my word of honour on it.'

‘Honour? That's rich, coming from the mouth of a common prostitute.' He caught Rhiannon's wrist. ‘I mean to find out where she is, so if you care about your future here in my house you'll show me the loyalty I deserve and tell me where my wife is.'

‘I really don't know, sir,' Rhiannon said. ‘I never saw her after she went to bed.'

‘I don't believe you, Rhiannon. Give me one reason why I should.' He tightened his hold on her but she faced him fearlessly.

‘If I had known she was leaving I'd have gone with her like a shot, sir,' she said firmly.

Mr Buchan looked at her searchingly then nodded. ‘Yes, I believe you would.' He released her and sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Rhiannon felt a moment's pity for him, but his next words shattered it, like a stone breaking glass. ‘I'm going to look such a fool! I, a respected businessman, can't control my wife! What are my colleagues going to think?'

‘I wouldn't worry about that, sir,' Rhiannon said. ‘I've heard some ladies talking about their husbands in a most disloyal manner, but not Mrs Buchan.'

‘I don't care a fig about the ladies! I am concerned about the men of the town – I'm going to lose respect for this, don't you understand? But, then, why should you? You're just an ignorant girl who's been lifted above her station at my wife's foolish whim.'

‘As you say, sir.' Rhiannon hung her head, hoping the tirade was over.