Paradise Park (19 page)

Bull smiled without answering. Time, it seemed, had tamed the wildest wolf in the pack: Seth no longer brawled in the streets, or drank to excess; he was even renting a decent house. There was no doubt about it, the railway had brought prosperity not only to the rich of the town but to the ordinary working man as well.

Seth walked ahead a little further up the track and bent to examine the line that snaked towards Swansea. ‘Look, something's here, Bull,' he called. ‘A branch has come down from one of the trees and got wedged in the track. Could be dangerous.' He tugged at it but it wouldn't budge. ‘Damn and blast!' He tried again, and a piece came away but the thick end was stuck fast. ‘It won't beat me, boss. I'll get it out if it kills me.' He rubbed his hands on his trousers. He was still looking intently at the track when the whistle of an approaching train sounded faintly on the breeze.

‘Get back from there, Seth,' Bull called urgently. ‘Make it sharp – there's a train coming through the tunnel any minute now.'

‘Plenty of time, Bull. One more pull and I'll get the bloody thing out.'

Bull began to run towards Seth. ‘Leave it, Seth, just get out of there! The train will be changing lines back here.'

Bull's warning came too late – he heard the sound of the train switching track and then Seth's agonized cry: ‘God Almighty, I'm caught, Bull!'

Bull rushed towards Seth, fell on his knees and tried to prise apart the track with his bare hands. ‘When I pull the line apart get your foot out of your boot, Seth.' His muscles screamed with the effort, but even Bull's great strength wasn't enough to move the rail.

He looked behind him and saw that the train was now in sight. He ran along the track pulling off his white scarf as he went. He began to call out and to wave the scarf above his head hoping to attract the attention of the driver.

The train seemed to be bearing down on him at great speed and still Bull stood in the middle of the line, calling and waving. He could smell the steam issuing from the tunnel and feel the heat of the cinders burning the grass at the side of the track. He ran back and grasped Seth round the waist. For a moment, the two men stood face to face each knowing what must happen.

‘Go on, Bull, for God's sake do it.'

Bull used all his force to press Seth backwards onto the grass verge. He heard the crack as the man's leg snapped and Seth's cry, which was drowned by the rattle of steel upon steel as the train thundered towards them. He would never forget the startled look on the engine driver's face as he slammed on the brakes. The railway line seemed to scream in protest and still the train charged on. Bull lay across Seth as the man's body convulsed in pain and fear. And then it was upon them so close that Bull could feel the heat of the fire in the cab and see the sparks thrown up by the brakes.

The sound of Seth's scream as the train ran over his foot would remain with Bull until the day he died. The man struggled in his arms but Bull held him firm. The train came to a shuddering standstill a few hundred yards up the track.

Bull looked at Seth's mangled leg: the bone was protruding through the flesh, the foot severed. Bull wrapped his scarf around the exposed bone. He could not save Seth's leg but he might save his life.

LLINOS WAS SITTING
in the conservatory reading a letter from Eynon. Yet again he was talking about marriage. Llinos loved Eynon, but could she make him a good wife?

She looked out of the window, not seeing the familiar bottle kilns that dominated the skyline, not even aware of the apprentices who shouted and laughed in the yard. Her life had been lived in the shadow of the potteries; she had been responsible for many of the designs on the quality wares but now perhaps she had no energy to keep the pottery fresh and alive? Watt Bevan would keep it flourishing and might bring in fresh ideas once she left him to make the decisions. He deserved to have a free hand, and it was about time she gave it to him.

She turned her back on the sight of her life's work, and in that one gesture, she knew Eynon had won. She would marry him and live out the remainder of her life in comfort, with the one man whose love for her had never wavered.

Rhiannon looked at the constable, knowing from the hard look in his eyes that he would spare her no sympathy.

‘I didn't steal the jewels, you've got to believe me.' But even as the words left her lips, she knew they would make no impression on the man standing before her.

The young policeman with him was more sympathetic. ‘You say that Mrs Buchan left you a letter, can you show it to us?'

Rhiannon rummaged once again through the spilled contents of her bag and shook her head. ‘It's not here.' She looked up at Mr Buchan beseechingly. ‘You must have seen it, sir, it was with the jewels.'

‘I saw no such thing,' Dafydd Buchan said calmly, but his look told her that had she been more co-operative and gone to his bed she wouldn't be in this position now.

‘Well, sir, we'll have to put her in the cells.' The hard-faced constable smiled thinly. ‘And what about this young 'un here?' He gestured towards Sal. ‘Is she guilty as well?'

‘I've got no proof that the girl was in this with the so-called housekeeper,' Mr Buchan said, ‘so you'd better take just the thief.'

‘No!' Sal cried out. ‘I saw the letter! I know Rhiannon didn't steal them things. Mrs Buchan wanted her to have them.'

Ignoring her, the constable caught Rhiannon by the arm. ‘Come on, no nonsense now.'

Rhiannon nodded. ‘Can I just say goodbye to Sal properly? I've looked after her for so long she seems like a little sister to me.'

‘Aye, no harm in that.' It was the younger policeman who spoke. ‘Go on, then, but don't make a meal of it.'

Rhiannon hugged Sal close and whispered in her ear, ‘Find the letter, Sal, it's my only hope.'

‘That's enough.' Her arm was grasped none too gently and Rhiannon allowed herself to be led from the house and into the waiting cab. She stared back at Sal, at the faces of Mrs Jones, Violet and Hetty, staring through the windows, and a lump rose in her throat. She was leaving behind the chance to be respectable. Now she was going to be a common gaolbird. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't lower her dignity.

She was thrust into a carriage where she sat down and leaned back against the hard wooden seat. She closed her eyes, hearing the clip-clop of the horses' hoofs taking her to prison. She wished Mrs Buchan had never left her the jewels, then none of this would have happened.

The face of the prison was grim: it stared out across the Mumbles Road as if to challenge the sea itself as it rolled towards the shore. A sailing ship waited for the tide to take her out of the bay, the tall masts reminding Rhiannon of crosses in a graveyard. This was the last of the bay she would see for some time.

She was thrust unceremoniously into a room with no windows and bars over the door but at least she was on her own. She had expected to be pushed in with a crowd of cut-throats and thieves, all of whom would be flea-ridden and covered in sores.

‘How long will I have to stay in here?' she asked, but the guard didn't bother to reply. He just slammed the door and walked away whistling.

The room was small, almost a cupboard. A wooden bench stood at one end and, even as she watched, a cockroach scuttled across its planks and began to climb up the wall. She had lived in some awful places but none had been as dark and desolate as this cell.

She stood near the door for a long time, hoping someone would come to fetch her, but at last she sank down on the bench knowing that she was inside the gaol at least for the night and perhaps for the rest of her life.

Tears burned her eyes but Rhiannon rubbed them away angrily. She would not cry – hadn't she learned yet that crying did no good? She lay down on the bench and curled her feet under her skirts for warmth. She must be prepared to wait. Sal would find the letter and, if necessary, steal it back from Mr Buchan. Then she would be set free.

Jayne sat up in bed and stared around her at the unfamiliar room. She'd come to St Anne's Hotel because she'd been there with Guy yet the empty room she occupied brought her no comfort.

A sliver of moonlight crept in through the open curtains. This was her second night away from home and Dafydd, but she still hadn't made up her mind what she was going to do. Should she go to Guy and ask him if he wanted her, or should she go home to her father?

She curled up, hugging the pillow to her, feeling lonely and wishing she'd brought Rhiannon with her or even Sal. She had hated leaving them at the mercy of her husband's anger. When he learned she'd run away the girls would be the first he would pick on. Still, they would be all right, even if Dafydd dismissed them both: the jewels she'd given Rhiannon would see them through, at least for a while.

It was a long time before Jayne fell asleep again. When she woke it was barely dawn, with a thin blue light and shadows stretching along the floor. The candles had burned out and the fire was mostly ashes, with a glowing ember here and there. Jayne sat up and looked ruefully at her crumpled dress. She hadn't even bothered to undress – all she'd done was kick off her leather boots.

She heard a light rap on the door and sighed with relief: one of the maids had come to see to the fire and to bring her breakfast.

‘Come in,' she called, her voice still hoarse from sleep. The door opened and Jayne felt her breath catch in her throat. ‘Guy!' He came into the room and closed the door behind him. He stood there for a long time just looking at her. ‘Oh, Guy, your poor face!' She got up, went to him and touched the weals on his cheeks. ‘My poor darling, you suffered all this for me!' Then she clung to him, and as his hands gently stroked her tangled hair, she realized she must look terrible, her eyes red and swollen with weeping.

‘My little girl, thank God I've found you.' He held her close. ‘I went up to the house when Buchan was out and questioned Sal, the little maid. She told me what had happened. I hoped and prayed that I'd find you here.'

‘Oh, Guy, have I done the right thing? Everyone in Swansea will know by now that I've run away from my husband. I won't be able to face anyone ever again, not even my father.'

‘My darling, you've done the right thing – what does anyone or anything matter so long as we're together?'

‘You're right.' Jayne rested her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of the man she loved. She knew she had to be with him, whatever it cost her. ‘What are we going to do, Guy?' she asked. ‘No one will want to speak to us, we'll be outcasts.'

‘I don't care,' he said, ‘just so long as I have you.' He hugged her close and kissed her eyelids, then her lips.

Jayne felt suddenly as though she had been roused from a long sleep. Dafydd had been the nightmare and now she was with her dream, the man she could love for all eternity – surely that couldn't be so wrong?

‘We'll go back to Wales, perhaps to Cardiff,' Guy said. ‘We can say we're married, no one will know any different.'

‘Are you sure, Guy? Folk have a way of finding out every little secret and I wouldn't want to disgrace you.'

‘No one will find out,' he said, ‘and, Jayne, I wouldn't care if they did.' He kissed her again, then drew away from her. ‘I'll book us seats on the mail coach for this afternoon.'

‘Guy, you will come back, won't you?'

‘Of course I'll come back. My life wouldn't be worth living without you.' He stood at the door for a long time, simply looking at her. ‘Jayne, I love you with every breath in my body. Just remember that, won't you?' And then he was gone.

Jayne rang the bell for the maid, rubbing the tears from her eyes and feeling lost and alone. For a brief moment she'd felt safe with Guy's arms around her.

The maid tapped on the door and opened it. ‘I've come to build up the fire, miss, by your leave.' She bobbed a quick curtsy then bent down before the grate, poking sticks into the embers. Jayne guessed the girl had seen Guy come up to her room and doubtless had watched his departure too. Now her reputation would be in tatters: it just wasn't ladylike to entertain a man alone in her bedroom in the early hours of the morning.

Still, what did it matter? Whatever the maid thought would not change the situation. Jayne sighed. It was about time she washed and dressed in fresh clothing. By the time Guy returned she would be looking more like her old self.

Jayne was just tying up her hair when the door burst open. Startled, she looked round, her hand to her throat, as her husband stormed into the room. ‘Dafydd, what are you doing here? How did you find me?'

He caught her arm roughly and dragged her to her feet. ‘It wasn't difficult. Fairchild left a trail a mile wide.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He was up at the house questioning the maids. Did he think I wouldn't learn about it?' He shook Jayne so hard that her hair fell down again. ‘The fool didn't realize I was having him followed.'

He dragged her towards the door. ‘Come along, we're going home. I'm not going to be the laughing-stock of Swansea – the man whose wife ran off with his friend. You will play the faithful wife even if I have to kill you to do it.'

‘No, Dafydd, I'm finished with you. I'll never live with you again and, whatever you say, you can't keep me prisoner for ever.'

‘We'll see about that.' He pulled open the door and hustled her out on to the landing.

‘Wait,' Jayne said desperately. ‘I can't go without paying my bill.'

‘It's already settled. Come on – and be quiet, or it will be the worse for you.' He smiled thinly. ‘You won't get away from me, and I'll make sure that Guy Fairchild gets such a lesson in manners that he'll never come sniffing around you again. And it won't be a whip I'll use on him but a shotgun.'