The Shoemaker's Daughter (34 page)

22

The beach curved crescent-like for five miles ending in the promontory of rocks called Mumbles Head. The sea washed gently inward, splashed red and gold with the dying of the sun.

Emily sat on the sand, skirts drawn decorously over her ankles as she stared out to where long ships lay against the horizon. She had never felt more lonely in her life.

Her business was flourishing, there was no doubt about that, the boots and shoes brought from Somerset were much in demand and if the small sideline in cobbling was slow, that didn’t really matter. She was an established businesswoman now whether the men of the town liked it or not. She had paid off her father’s debts and could hold her head high, and yet there was no-one with whom she could share her triumph and so it seemed an empty thing.

For a brief interlude, she had believed that she and Craig might make a good marriage, but that had been an illusion, a silly dream. Her face was suddenly suffused with angry colour as she remembered their quarrel, Craig was a fine one to lecture her on her lack of feeling when he seemed to charge ahead without consulting anyone.

She and Craig were incompatible, they simply rubbed each other up the wrong way, his lack of concern for Hari’s stake in the business had emphasized that.

‘Good evening, Miss Grenfell.’ The voice was deep and melodious and entirely respectful. Emily looked up swiftly, her emotions mixed as she saw John Miller standing above her.

‘Good evening, John.’ Her voice was steady but she was struggling for control because suddenly her heart was pounding. ‘I’m admiring the scenery, why not join me?’

He sat beside her, his long legs stretched out before him and Emily could see that he felt uneasy at what he saw as his over-familiarity.

She did her best to put him at ease. ‘You are doing a good job, John,’ she said, ‘trade in the workshop is improving.’

‘Aye, I’m all right on good stout riding boots,’ John said slowly, ‘but when it comes to ladies’ slippers then I’m out of my depth.’

There was a long silence and Emily waited for John to continue, he had something on his mind and knowing him, he would not rest until he had spoken his piece.

‘I was thinking,’ he began, ‘much as I like working for you, I’d be better off at my own shop up in Morriston.’ When Emily didn’t reply, he continued.

‘I don’t like being beholden, not to you especially, not now.’ She turned and met his eyes and read not for the first time the love in them. It was like a balm, she drank in his regard greedily, not willing to let him go.

‘Please, John, don’t leave me,’ she said softly. ‘I need you.’

‘You don’t need me, Miss Emily, you are a very successful woman.’

‘But I do! I need a man I can trust to advise me, to look out for me. I’m only a woman after all and sometimes I feel very vulnerable, especially at times like this when it’s Sarah’s night off, I feel so alone in that great building.’

John appeared nonplussed. ‘I don’t know what you want of me, Miss Emily,’ he said almost angrily. ‘I’m not your sort, I’m an ordinary working man but at least when I’m running my own shop, small though it might be, I’m my own boss.’

Emily sighed. ‘I don’t really know what I am asking of you, John, but please stay on in the job just a little longer, your son is running your shop well enough, isn’t he? Just give me a few more weeks, that isn’t asking too much, is it, John?’

He was silent for a long moment, staring out to sea, his face stern and unreadable. Then he turned and smiled and Emily knew she had won.

‘Just a few more weeks, then,’ he said indulgently, ‘I suppose I can manage that.’

On an impulse, she put her hand on his and, for a moment, he clasped her hand warmly. He remained looking at her for some minutes and it was as if he would have said more, but then he rose to his feet and touched his hat to her and was striding away, kicking up a fine dust of sand behind him.

Emily sighed, what a pity there was a barrier between John and herself, he would have made her a fine husband. She hugged her knees and thought of the eligible men she could so easily come in contact with, if she so chose.

Of course, she was suspect being a businesswoman and therefore not quite a lady in the eyes of the town’s élite circles and it was a long time since she had been invited to any of the ladies’ at homes. But then she had been so busy that she had never replied to the calling cards that at first had been left at her home.

And lately there had been no calling cards, no invitations to fashionable balls, nothing but grinding loneliness.

When her very existence had been threatened, Emily had not cared about polite society, she went out and did business the way that any man would and now that she was wealthy and successful she wondered if it had all been worth it.

She rose and shook the sand from her skirts, not the crinoline worn by her peers but a smart, no-nonsense plain skirt with a formal matching jacket. She was even beginning to dress differently from all the other society ladies she realized ruefully. And she
was
different, there was no getting away from it. Spending time at afternoon teas would probably bore her to tears.

She made her way back along the shoreline towards Wind Street and saw that lights were being lit in the windows of houses along the bay. A lone horse and cart rumbled past and the streets seemed empty and deserted. She looked round nervously, with the sudden feeling that she was being followed.

Emily was glad when at last she reached the shop. She let herself inside the long dark room and stood for a moment drinking in the silence. It was Sarah’s day off and she would spend the night with her father and brother in Morriston, so Emily would be alone.

Suddenly there was a scratching at the door. Emily moved back into the shadows and saw outlined against the glass the figures of two burly men, it seemed they were trying to gain entry.

For a moment, she was rooted to the spot, she didn’t know whether she should turn and run upstairs to her own quarters and lock the doors or if she should stand and challenge whoever it was outside.

Then the door swung open and the men were inside the shop. Both of them stopped short on seeing her, obviously surprised.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded and the men paused but only for a fraction. One of them moved quickly and she was caught in an iron grip.

‘Where is the money?’ A hoarse voice said in her ear, ‘No need for rough stuff if you are sensible, woman.’

Suddenly incensed, Emily lashed out with her foot catching one of the men a blow to his shin. He let out a cry and then his hand whipped across her face and she fell to the floor in a heap.

He was upon her then, pinning her down and his laugh was cruel and full of meaning. ‘This one wants a lesson, I think.’ His breath was hot against her cheek and Emily pushed against him with all her might but it was useless to struggle, he was too strong for her.

‘You get the money!’ the man commanded his accomplice harshly. ‘I’ll see to her.’

His mouth was against her neck and his hand cruelly twisted her wrists together in a hold she had no hope of breaking.

‘Let me go,’ she said desperately. ‘Take anything from the shop but let me go.’

‘Too late for that, my lady,’ he said, ‘much too late, you can’t get away from me now so you might as well stop struggling for I mean to have my way.’

‘Do you indeed!’ The voice came out of the darkness, harsh and angry and then the man was lifted bodily away from Emily. She heard the grating of bone against bone and the man slumped like a sack to the ground.

‘John!’ Emily said thankfully. John Miller stood over the fallen man, his fists clenched, his jaw a hard line of anger.

‘There’s another of them!’ she said in panic as a shape loomed up out of the darkness. She saw John side-step the rush and calmly he stuck out his boot and the man, carried forward by his own momentum, went sprawling.

In moments, it was over, both men bolting into the street, running as if their lives depended upon it. Emily covered her face with her hands and found that she was sobbing hysterically.

John helped her to her feet and half-carried her upstairs to her rooms. She clung to him, her head against his broad shoulder, drinking in the tobacco scent of him and the freshness of his skin.

‘I saw someone follow you from the beach,’ he said softly, ‘so I thought I’d best keep an eye on you.’ He gently led her to a chair and lit the lamps and set about mending the fire, building it up carefully with the coals placed to give maximum heat.

‘You sit quietly,’ he said, his voice authoritative, ‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ They were no longer employer and employee but man and woman.

She was still trembling when John handed her the cup, she put both her hands round the warmth of the china and drew comfort from it.

‘You see how much I need you, John,’ she said in a whisper, ‘please don’t leave me tonight, I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I’ll stay by here on the sofa,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’ll look after you, don’t worry, those ruffians won’t be back.’

He rose to his feet. ‘I’ll see to the door, we don’t want any Tom, Dick or Harry coming in here helping themselves to your boots and shoes, do we?’

The way she felt at the moment, Emily didn’t care, she had been in danger and John, dear John, had come along just in time and saved her.

When he returned, she was still sitting in the chair unable to move, shock waves were running through her. Tea splashed over the rim of the cup on to the table.

He took the cup and helped her to her feet. ‘Let’s take off these torn things.’ He unbuttoned the jacket that hung in threads over her blouse.

The hem of her skirt had been ripped upwards and, carefully, John helped her off with it.

‘Where’s your bedroom?’ He asked the question as though speaking to a child and she pointed shakily towards the door.

He tucked her in the bed and brushed the hair back from her face. ‘You are going to have a beauty of a black eye tomorrow,’ he said, ‘I think it best if you have the doctor to look at it, mind.’

She nodded, willing to agree to anything he said so long as he stayed with her. He held her hand, smoothing her wrists and Emily at last felt her eyes begin to close. She turned on her side, his hand beneath her cheek and slept.

In the morning, she awoke to the sounds of activity from the kitchen. She could hear Sarah’s voice speaking softly and the resonant tones of John Miller as he replied.

Emily wondered what Sarah must make of the whole strange business of her father spending the night under Emily’s roof. Perhaps she should get up and explain.

In the kitchen, Sarah was putting out a breakfast of bacon and eggs and John was sitting in his shirt sleeves looking handsome and at ease as though he always ate breakfast at the shop in Wind Street.

‘
Duw
, Miss Emily, there’s a black eye you got!’ Sarah spoke almost with awe. ‘Them men must have had the shock of their lives when my dad set about them. Used to be the best bare-fisted boxer in Swansea did John Miller, mind.’

Emily sank into a chair as Sarah poured her a cup of tea. The girl seemed not one bit bothered by the fact that her father, unchaperoned, had stayed the night with Emily.

‘I’m so grateful to your father.’ Emily spoke with difficulty, the pain in her face was quite severe. ‘I dread to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been here.’

‘Murdered you would have been, no doubt about it.’ Sarah spoke with relish. ‘These footpads got no mercy on women, mind, I dread to think what they would have done with you before they killed you.’

‘Sarah, that’s enough,’ John said soberly. ‘I’m sure Miss Grenfell just wants to forget it all happened. I’d like you to go along to the doctor and ask him could he kindly call some time today.’

‘It’s not really necessary,’ Emily said quickly, ‘I’m just bruised, I’ll be all right.’

‘You’ve suffered a shock,’ John said forcefully, ‘I think you need to see the doctor.’

It was clear that Sarah was used to obeying her father for she picked up her shawl and left the house promptly.

‘Thank you, John,’ Emily said, looking up at him with searching eyes, ‘I know I’ve said all this before but I don’t know what I would have done without you here last night.’

John came and knelt before her, taking her hand in his, his air of deference had vanished. It was almost as though he saw her now as a vulnerable woman rather than a lady who was far above him in station.

‘Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me away from you last night – Emily.’ He said her name shyly. ‘I don’t know what we are going to do about our future but I can’t see you living here alone, not even with my Sarah for company, you are both too much at risk from any stray villain who wants to chance his arm.’

He rose and put the distance of the kitchen between them. ‘When Sarah returns with the doctor, I’ll get her to open up the shop, organize the other girls, so that for a few days they can manage without you.’

Emily nodded, happy to let John take charge. ‘I don’t want you going into the shop until your face is completely healed, no need to give the gossips fuel for the flames, do we?’

Sarah arrived, leading the doctor into the private rooms upstairs with an air of due deference for, to the townspeople, the doctor was held in high esteem, the saver of lives, the healer of pain and suffering.

‘Well, Emily my dear, what on earth have you been doing?’ Doctor Webber peered at her eye, touching the bruised skin with practised fingers. ‘That’s a beauty, isn’t it?’

He picked up his bag. ‘Come into your room, I want to examine you properly, to see if there are any other injuries.’

Lying on her bed, Emily was apprehensive, her ribs ached and her limbs were covered in bruises. The doctor probed gently.

At last, he pulled a sheet over her and sat down. ‘No serious harm has come to you, my dear, but you do seem to have some sort of inflammation of the abdomen.’