The Shoemaker's Daughter (3 page)

Her father sat beside her and glancing at him she could see that he was quite puffed out with pride. His Albert gleamed rich gold against the fine cloth of his waistcoat, the fine watch lifted now from its hidden pocket to be scrutinized for the hundredth time, a sure sign that Thomas Grenfell was nervous. But then he didn’t enjoy the hustle and bustle of Swansea’s night-life, he preferred the warmth of his own fireside and the simple pleasures of a good cigar and a glass of brandy. It was simply out of duty to his only child that he was venturing out at all.

Emily glanced at her aunt; Sophie was half asleep against her seat, her hands quiet in her lap. Emily smiled, her aunt could be a holy terror but tonight she would be on her best behaviour because the élite of the Swansea gentry would be at the Race Ball and Aunt Sophie had not found herself invited into the social circles lately, not since Craig’s arrest.

Emily pushed the unpleasant thought aside, she would forget Craig and the trouble he was in, just for tonight, she promised herself.

Emily suddenly felt a surge of elation, she was eager for the new experience of being introduced into what she considered was the world of adulthood. She glanced down at her magnificent dress and the rich emerald jewellery glistening on her hands and throat, her mother’s favourite gems.

There had been tears in her father’s eyes as he’d handed her the satin-lined box containing the jewels and Emily, taking it, had felt a constriction in her throat for, with the gift, her father was recognizing she was now a woman.

As though reading her thoughts, Thomas reached out a large hand and covered Emily’s cold fingers. ‘You do an old man proud,
cariad
,’ he said softly, ‘I only wish your mother was here to see you today, she would have been so happy.’

‘I know,’ Emily said softly. She rested her head for a moment against his shoulder and then sat up straight, conscious that she must not ruffle her carefully coiffured hair.

Gloucester Place seemed awash with the carriages of other guests attending the ball and Emily chafed as she sat waiting impatiently to move on, watched by ladies’ maids and servants of the lower orders who seemed to think that the spectacle was for their pleasure. Emily caught sight of the shoemaker’s daughter, a basket over her arm, and for a moment their eyes locked and then Emily looked away. It was enough that the girl had made the shoes which she was wearing for this special occasion, she certainly had no place in this night of Emily’s triumph.

A gentleman strolled casually past the carriage, staring at Emily with bold eyes much to her father’s mixture of chagrin and pride.

‘You see,
cariad
, the gentlemen can’t keep their eyes off you.’ He laughed, ‘I’ll have no trouble finding you a good husband.’

Emily stared at him. ‘But father, I’m going to marry Craig, it was all arranged years ago.’

‘Hush, my dear, you don’t want your aunt to hear us talk ill about her son. Now listen to me, all you feel for your cousin is only a childhood fancy.’ His lip tightened. ‘In any case, things are different now, you must see that. The man is a rogue, he stole from his own firm and now that he is serving time in Swansea Prison, I could never allow him near you, let alone marry you.’

Emily was suddenly cold. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of your objection, father!’ She could hardly believe her own ears. ‘You know that Craig is innocent.’

Emily paused, angrily searching for the right words. ‘I don’t care what anyone says, Craig wouldn’t stoop to thieving, I just know he wouldn’t. How could you believe it of him?’

‘The man is in prison, what further evidence do you need? Now be quiet, see the carriage is moving again.’

Emily remained silent, it was pointless arguing with her father. She’d better make the most of the occasion and put her views on marriage more forcibly once she returned home.

The coach drew to a jerky halt near the curbside. Aunt Sophie woke suddenly, eyes clear, as though she had never been asleep. She touched a hand to her hair and smiled at Emily, indicating she alight from the coach first.

Emily was being handed down to stand before the light-filled doorway of the Assembly Rooms and she took a deep breath of anticipation, this was her night, the night she was to be accepted as an adult and she would make the most of it.

In the main ballroom, the lights blazed from all sides and the many mirrors reflected the light a thousand-fold. Emily gasped as she looked around her.

It seemed as if she was facing a sea of glittering gowns. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires as well as a mixture of semi-precious stones glinted and sparkled at her from all directions. One woman seemed to drift in a sea of amethyst and diamonds, they were all about her, in her hair, on her gown, even her shoes were decorated with flowers made of amethyst with a huge diamond as a centre piece. She must have shoes just like that, Emily decided.

‘Good thing I’m wearing mother’s emeralds,’ Emily whispered to her aunt, ‘you won’t see finer gems than mine anywhere in this room.’

She glanced at the backdrop of gentlemen, most of them in uniform, standing uncomfortably near the wall as though to divorce themselves from the proceedings and her heart sank as she thought of Craig, he should be here today, sharing in her adventure.

She had written to him while he was in prison but had received no reply, but then she had excused him in her own mind, telling herself he would be free soon, then he would come home to her and make her his bride.

Craig was a fine catch, a handsome man and one of action rather than words. She could not picture him behind the grim walls of Swansea Prison, instead she remembered him riding with her in the park, smiling down at her with his dark eyes, making her feel so small and helpless.

She glanced around the room, there wasn’t a man here to come near to Craig for looks and presence.

Tomorrow she would ride in the park again but Craig would not be with her. But she would write and tell him how fine the flower-beds were and how across the road the sea rushed into the golden shore and she would tell him how much she missed him.

But no, she could not ride tomorrow, her boots had not come back from the shoemaker’s. Emily felt a flash of irritation, she had insisted that the shoemaker’s daughter take the boots away to be soled and heeled and at the same time she’d had a fitting for some new slippers. The girl was a gifted shoemaker, but there was something insolent about her, perhaps it was the way she held her head high with her glorious abundant hair flowing free that somehow irritated Emily.

She had requested new riding boots but her father with unaccustomed frugality had told her bluntly she must be satisfied with having her old boots repaired.

The orchestra began to play, an air of excitement gripped Emily and she forgot the shoemaker’s daughter, she even forgot Craig in the excitement of the occasion as some of the ladies swung like flowers on to the floor in the arms of the men. She sighed in anticipation, this would be an evening to remember for ever.

Hari was seated in the small shed at the side of the house bent industriously over the wooden last. She had soaked the leather to bend and shape it into the form of a small shoe, but her hands were sore and her back ached and she wondered briefly if there might be an easier way of making a living than the trade her father had chosen for her.

Dewi Morgan had disregarded the customs and brought up his daughter to do what folk considered a man’s trade. Her hands, he had complained laughing, were a bit on the small side but they had learned strength and the skill was there already.

She paused for a moment remembering how from her earliest days she had sat with her father in the small shed working the leather. When she was older, he had paid for her to go to school, proud of her ability to read and write and work out figures. Dewi had wanted her to be independent, to fend for herself when he was no longer there to take care of her, but he could not have known that his death would have come so suddenly, striking him down in the prime of his manhood.

Hari sighed and returned to her task, the shoes she was making were for Emily Grenfell. They were soft slippers, decorated with amethyst for wearing on thick carpets and Hari found herself envying the girl who seemed to have everything in life she could possibly want.

There had been reports in the pages of the
Cambrian
newspaper about Miss Grenfell attending the Race Ball in the Assembly Rooms. There was a description of her fine crinoline gown and of the Grenfell emeralds she had worn.

Hari remembered standing in the darkened street, watching the parade of carriages driving along Mumbles Road and into Gloucester Place. She had glimpsed Emily Grenfell who had been leaning forward in her carriage, staring out into the crowded roadway, her emeralds shining at her throat, the green richness of the stones glittering in the light from the street lamps. She thought wistfully of the shoes she had fashioned for Emily’s triumph.

Hari’s hands were suddenly still, the leather clinging to the last, while she tried to envisage herself wearing fine crinolines and rich jewels, it was like something out of a dream. But of course to Miss Hoity Toity Grenfell, it was nothing less than she expected.

Suddenly Hari thought of the man who had escaped from the prison, he was the same sort as Emily Grenfell, no doubt before he fell from grace they would have met and socialized.

The door swung open and a ragged boy stood framed in the early spring sunshine. ‘Got a crust, misses?’ he said softly. His shoulders drooped, he expected nothing, but a small flicker of hope showed in the uptilting of his chin.

‘Aye, got better than that, William Davies,’ Hari said, ‘come on, I might be able to find you a bit of soup as well as some bread.’

She led him into the kitchen where the fire burnt cheerfully in the grate. There was a stock of food in the larder and coal in the cellar and she even had money to pay the rent for a month. Just when she had been on the brink of despair, one of her rich customers had given her a handsome order.

Mr Edward Morris wanted several pairs of boots to be soled and heeled and what’s more he had paid for the work in advance.

‘Here, Will, sit down and I’ll warm the soup for you and then after you’ve eaten perhaps you’ll deliver some repairs for me.’

She watched as the boy ate ravenously, he was one of a large family and though his father was in regular employment at the copper works, he drank a great deal and kept his wife and children short of even the bare necessities of life.

It made Hari so angry to see the little ones neglected but there was very little anyone could do, poverty was a fact of life in places like World’s End.

She glanced at the clock, it was a wonder mother wasn’t banging on the floor with her stick by now, it was way past dinner time.

Quickly, Hari ladled the soup into bowls and cut a few thick pieces of bread, suddenly realizing that she was hungry too.

‘Get on with it, Will,’ she said, ‘I’ll be down in a minute, got to see to my mam.’

‘
Duw
, where you been then, Angharad?’ Win Morgan had obviously just woken from sleep, her eyes were heavy and her thin grey hair ruffled. ‘Been waiting all the morning for a bit of attention from my only daughter, not much for a sick mother to ask, is it?’

‘Sorry, mam,’ Hari replied absently. ‘Here have your dinner and then after I’ll bring a bowl of water for you to wash, right?’

‘Soup again, is it? I’ll be looking like soup, can’t we have a change sometimes, Angharad?’

Hari looked at her mother in exasperation. ‘I don’t know, mam, you’re never satisfied.’ She spoke loudly because her mother was a little deaf and smiled to soften her words. ‘If I give you bread and cheese you don’t like it and if I give you too much soup that’s not right. What would you like? Just tell me and I’ll try to get it for you.’

Win Morgan smiled with a flash of humour that was rare because she was a woman grown old before her time, worn by the constant pain of her bone ache and wearied by the persistent cough that racked her.

‘How about a bit of jugged hare or perhaps a nice plump breast of chicken,’ she said, knowing full well that such delicacies were beyond the reach of the poor worker.

But a neck of lamb made an excellent
cawl
and a knuckle of pork was cheap and nutritious. Meat was a treat kept for good days and when the pickings were poor, Win and her daughter were lucky to have enough potatoes and bread and cheese in the pantry.

There was a loud clatter from the kitchen and Win Morgan lifted her head. ‘Who is that downstairs?’ she said suspiciously. Hari smiled.

‘It’s only young Will Davies, dropped his bowl on the floor by the sound of it.’ She patted her mother’s hand. ‘He’s going to do some errands for me so I thought it only fair to give him a bit of food.’

‘Too soft you are, girl,’ Win Morgan broke her bread into small pieces soaking them in the soup, ‘can’t be responsible for the whole neighbourhood, can you? Just like your dad, you are and didn’t I tell him that teaching you reading and writing wouldn’t bring any good?’

Hari moved to the door. ‘If I couldn’t read and write, mam, I’d have a hard job running my boot and shoe round, wouldn’t I?’

She hurried back down the stairs to find Will mopping up the remains of his soup from the stone-flagged kitchen floor. ‘Sorry, misses, didn’t mean to spill it, lovely it was.’

Hari shook back a strand of hair that had fallen from the pins. ‘Don’t worry, after you’ve done the deliveries for me, you can take the rest of the bread and soup home with you. Now, come into the workshop and I’ll give you the boots I want delivered.’

Will followed her willingly and listened while Hari explained that the boots were to be taken to Edward Morris who lived in the big white house in Chapel Street.

‘You can’t miss it,’ Hari said reassuringly, ‘it’s the only one in the street with railings around it.’