The Wild Seed (40 page)

The other woman; Catherine winced, it was true, she had allowed herself to become a fancy piece, a woman taking the leavings of another woman’s marriage. She could never walk out with Boyo in the sunlight, never be at his side when he attended formal occasions, never sit with him of an evening in the company of others. She would always be a secret, hidden away in dark corners, well she wanted more than that from life.

In the kitchen, she sank down onto the rag mat before the fire, pulling absently at one of the coloured strands of old cloth.

‘You’re doing the right thing, you know.’ Doreen poured them each a small amount of wine, it sparkled red like the garnets on Catherine’s finger. The ring seemed to tighten, holding her in a vice-like grip, imprisoning her.

‘Am I?’ she said softly.

It was clear to Bethan now what she must do, she had talked with the spirits of her dead ancestors and they had told her to go to Hari Grenfell, talk to her as one businesswoman to another, warn her against the whore of Babylon Catherine O’Conner.

Bethan rarely left her home these days but today she had a purpose. She felt stimulated, her eyes gleamed back at her from the mirror in her bedroom and, over her shoulder, she saw Elizabeth nodding her approval.

Elizabeth had become a friend, a ghost of the past perhaps but not to Bethan. To her, Elizabeth was solid, real, closer than any flesh-and-blood being could ever be, except perhaps Boyo but then he was her husband.

‘I’m ready.’ She held her head high and watched Elizabeth retreat as a knock resounded through the room and the door was opened a fraction.

‘Your carriage is here, Mrs Hopkins.’ Cara scarcely looked in, she hated this room more than any other in the house. It was cold, always cold and it smelled of evil.

‘Don’t stand in the doorway dithering, come in, speak to me properly, how do you expect me to hear when you will mumble?’

Reluctantly, the girl came over the threshold, she shivered and looked around her and Bethan found it difficult not to laugh out loud.

‘The carriage is there at the door waiting, Mrs Hopkins.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

Bethan closed her bedroom door carefully, encouraged by a nod from Elizabeth who was looking more vivid each day, it was almost as though she was drawing life from Bethan’s knowledge of her existence. Bethan smiled, Elizabeth was a friend, a real friend, she approved of what Bethan was doing. More, she encouraged her with ideas of her own, words of ancient wisdom, knowledge of a woman who has existed through the ages.

Bethan blinked a little at the sudden lightness of the day outside the walls of her house. A pale sunshine was washing the drive with colour, the stones gleamed like diamonds, and at the borders small white flowers were beginning to bloom.

The drive into town was uncomfortable, the hard seat of the carriage unyielding against the rough roads. Bethan cursed the driver under her breath, he should be horse-whipped for his carelessness.

In days gone by, when her father ruled his staff with a rod of iron, the punishment meted out to the man would have been harsh indeed.

She felt as though every bone in her body was aching by the time the carriage drew to a halt outside the once imposing entrance of Summer Lodge. Now the house had been extended and altered. Large, commercial-looking windows faced the driveway, a gaudy sign informed any callers that this was a place of business and no longer a gracious home. Mrs Hari Grenfell had indeed come down in the world.

Still, she would honour Bethan’s wishes to be rid of Catherine O’Conner. Oh, yes, once Mrs Grenfell knew the truth about the Jezebel she had taken on to her staff, the girl would be given short shrift. If she proved difficult, there was always the matter of the investment Bethan had made in the woman’s business.

Mrs Grenfell took an inordinately long time in coming to see Bethan who sat on a tiny upright chair and fumed with impatience. But at last, Hari Grenfell, elegant enough by any standards, came towards her, smiling a welcome, no doubt expecting to do business with one of the richest women in Swansea.

‘Mrs Hopkins, I am honoured to have you patronize my emporium.’

Bethan barely concealed her disdain, the woman had a marked Welsh accent, she was uneducated, clearly not such a lady as her appearance suggested. ‘I have come to warn you about a member of your staff; I think you should know what sort of person you are trusting to work with you.’

Hari Grenfell’s smile faded. She straightened her back and her mouth drew into a firm line. She remained silent. Bethan, at a disadvantage, was forced to go on. ‘Catherine O’Conner is a cheap whore, she takes her wanton pleasure with whatever man crosses her path.’

Hari Grenfell was silent for so long that Bethan thought she would never speak. When she did, her voice was controlled but with a hint of hardness that Bethan had not suspected her capable of.

‘What my employees do in their private lives is none of my business.’ Airs Grenfell spoke evenly but with authority and Bethan was momentarily thrown off balance. She quickly rallied.

‘The woman has been seen on the premises of a backstreet abortionist. Miss O’Conner is an infamous woman, not fussy which man she takes to her bed, be he married or single.’

Hari Grenfell squared her shoulders. ‘Mrs Hopkins,’ she said slowly, ‘if I can help you with a purchase of shoes or boots, that I will gladly do. What I will not do is listen to gossip concerning one of my girls.’

Bethan rose to her feet, her cheeks suddenly hot. ‘It is not gossip!’ She fanned her face with her gloved hand. ‘The harlot took my husband from me, twisted his mind against me. If you are not careful she might do the same to you one day.’

‘I see.’ Hari Grenfell studied Bethan’s face as though memorizing each feature and Bethan turned away from her clear gaze, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Someone like that cannot be trusted with any man. If you can’t see that, then perhaps I should withdraw the investment I made in your business.’

‘Perhaps, Mrs Hopkins, it would be wise of you to leave my shop now.’

Bethan stared at the woman unable to believe her ears, the commonly spoken Mrs Grenfell was throwing her out. She calmed herself, knowing that she must return home and speak of her anger to Elizabeth. She would understand, she always understood and she would know what the suitable punishment for such an outrage should be.

‘I cannot be involved any longer in this foolish scheme of yours,’ Bethan said scornfully. ‘I see you are obdurate, unable to listen to good advice, so on your own head be it.’

Bethan was aware that the woman was accompanying her to the entrance of the emporium; around her were the signs of trade and Bethan sniffed. She saw fine hats, delicate gloves, elegant shoes and, for a moment, she was sorry that she had not bided her time, given herself a chance to really look at the assets this woman possessed. One never knew when such information might be useful.

‘I won’t forget this slight, Mrs Grenfell.’ Bethan stood for a moment looking past the woman’s shoulder, so angry that she longed to strike out physically. But that would not do, a lady never lost her dignity, whatever the provocation.

‘I’m sure you won’t, Mrs Hopkins, and neither will I,’ Hari Grenfell said quietly.

Bethan climbed into the carriage and sank back in the seat feeling suddenly weak, all this effort for nothing, her advice had fallen on deaf ears. She drew off her gloves with short stabbing movements of her fingers, anger flaring through her. How dare such a woman turn her, Bethan Hopkins, away from the door? Well, she would be dealt with, of that there was no doubt. Mrs Hari Grenfell would pay for the insult, just as all who crossed Bethan Hopkins must pay.

Back home, she hurried into her room, flinging off her hat and coat, stamping her feet for the maid to build up the fire, taking her ire out on anyone who ventured into her path. At last she was alone, lying in the darkened room, a cloth watered with cologne across her brow.

‘Elizabeth, what shall I do?’ she said softly. Elizabeth came into the room silently as she always did but Bethan knew she was there by the sudden lowering of the temperature. It was as though a window had been opened and a gust of icy air had fallen over the bed.

‘She was hateful to me, Elizabeth.’ Elizabeth soothed her, telling her the woman was of common stock, nothing better could be expected of her. She was probably possessed of easy morals herself.

‘What shall we do to punish her, Elizabeth?’ Bethan asked in a whisper and she was answered, as always, with sound advice. She must study the woman and her means of financing her business, learn the weaknesses and strengths of her affairs, look into her marriage, see what damage could be done there. And then, when she was fully armed, strike Hari Grenfell in the heart.

‘Yes, I see,’ Bethan said, nodding her head. She knew how to hurt the woman, it was easy, really, trust Elizabeth to put her finger on the correct solution. Bethan must take away all the things Hari Grenfell held most precious in her life, it was as simple as that.

Catherine felt chilled in spite of the warmth of the deeply carpeted showrooms. Near the door sat a group of customers trying on boots. To her right, Doreen was carefully arranging feathers on a velvet hat. It all seemed so normal that, for a moment, she could not comprehend what Mrs Grenfell had told her.

‘Bethan Hopkins came here and threatened you?’ she asked incredulously. She looked at Mrs Grenfell’s calm face and wondered at her composure. ‘Why now? Whatever there was between Boyo and me has been over for some time. And why threaten you?’

‘Mrs Hopkins is a little … unbalanced, I think,’ Hari said carefully. ‘You know what they say about hell having no fury and all that, well, it’s true in Bethan Hopkins’s case.’

‘I’m sorry for her, in a way,’ Catherine said quietly. ‘I don’t expect her to forget what’s happened or to forgive, she’s been hurt and she’s striking out at anyone in her path, but I think she is taking her revenge too far. It seems she wants to hurt not only me but anyone who is kind to me.’

She saw Hari Grenfell frown. ‘Don’t waste your time being sorry for her, she wanted me to fire you from your job. She is a bitter woman, a dangerous woman. I think you should be on your guard against her.’

Catherine looked up at Mrs Grenfell anxiously. ‘You don’t think she would harm any of us, do you?’

‘I think she might try. As I say, she is unbalanced.’ Hari Grenfell moved towards the stairs. ‘Anyway, try to forget about her for now, just be careful.’

Doreen watched as Mrs Grenfell disappeared up the stairs and crossed to where Catherine was standing. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’ Doreen caught her arm. ‘Catherine, why are you looking so dazed? Not bad news is it?’

Catherine shook her head. ‘No, it’s just that Mrs Hopkins has tried to get me the sack.’

‘The old witch!’ Doreen caught Catherine’s arm. ‘Come on, it’s time for a tea break. Let the other girls carry on for a while, I need a sit-down, my feet are killing me.’

She drew Catherine into the small quarters at the back of the building and pushed the kettle onto the stove. ‘It’s too bad of that cow to try to get you the boot like that, I hope Mrs Grenfell told her where to go.’

Catherine sank into a chair. ‘Bethan Hopkins had the nerve to threaten Mrs Grenfell with goodness knows what if she didn’t sack me. What I don’t understand is, why now when it’s all over between me and him?’

‘The nerve of the woman.’ Doreen quickly made the tea and poured out the fragrant liquid, spooning a liberal helping of sugar into Catherine’s cup. ‘Come on, drink up, you look as white as a ghost.’ Doreen sat down. ‘The old cow, she’s done her worst and it didn’t work, you still got your place here, snug as a bug, you are.’

Catherine was thoughtful. ‘I don’t think Bethan Hopkins has done her worst, not by a long chalk. I wouldn’t put anything past that woman, she’s taken my farm from me, hasn’t she? She’s poisoned Liam’s land. What might she do to Mrs Grenfell?’

‘Well, don’t let her bother you,’ Doreen said. ‘The old cow will get her comeuppance, one day. God do not sleep, mind.’

Catherine smiled suddenly. ‘Aye, you’re right, it’s daft to worry about what might happen, there’s enough to be going on with, what with us two sharing a lover.’

Doreen picked up a small silk cushion and aimed it at Catherine’s head. ‘Shut your mouth, you, I don’t have no lover. Well, perhaps just one and he’s mine, all mine, so don’t go getting any ideas on that score, madam.’

She sank into a chair, blushing like a girl. ‘Don’t it sound grand: a lover, so romantic.’ She stared at Catherine ruefully. ‘That’s not what other folks would call it though, is it? I’d be a whore, a slice out of a half-eaten meat pie. Still, so long as Meadows don’t get to hear of it, I’ll be all right.’

‘He won’t hear of it, don’t worry, how could he? Everyone thinks Jerry Danby is my gentleman caller.’

‘I hope so, Cath, I really do hope so but you don’t know Meadows as I do, he ‘as a knack of knowing everything that goes on round Swansea. Anyway, drink up, girl, we’d better be getting back to work or we’ll both be getting the order of the boot.’

Later that evening, Catherine was sitting quietly in the kitchen of number four Watkins Street when the door was pushed open with such force that it screeched against the hinges and banged against the wall.

Meadows came into the house, stinking of ale, his eyes narrowed as he looked around the kitchen. ‘Where’s that bitch got to now? I’ll strangle her if she’s out gallivanting.’

‘If you mean Doreen, she’s working late, she has a special hat to finish by tomorrow.’ Catherine was tense, watching the man’s every move, she did not trust Pete Meadows one inch.

‘Damn and blast, I felt like a bit of fun, an’ all.’ He came closer. ‘I suppose you would do, any port in a storm as they say.’

‘Get out of here,’ Catherine said in a low voice. ‘If you come any nearer, I’ll scream blue murder, get the neighbours in, they’ll all see you for what you are: a man who can only get a woman by force.’

‘You scrawny bitch! I’ve taken enough cheek from you!’ He lashed out with his bunched fist and Catherine ducked instinctively so that the blow passed harmlessly over her shoulder. Off balance, Meadows fell, cracking his head against the fender. For a moment he lay unmoving and Catherine stood hand to her mouth, wondering if he was dead.