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The Agreement
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20 April 1900
“What news?” Bethan ran into the courtyard before Elias had dismounted.
Gwenna stood on the step, her knuckles, clenched over her grossly enlarged stomach in a gaunt body, were turning white. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and tensed her shoulders in readiness for his answer.
Anger flared in Elias’s gut. He had wanted to avoid this situation, and now he’d landed right in the middle of it. Damn and blast! She seemed so desperate standing there waiting for him to destroy her world, he wanted to get right back on his horse and go anywhere other than here. He’d deliberately stayed away longer to get drunk, in the hope that by Friday evening someone in authority would have been in touch with Gwenna. But he was wrong.
About to snap out a reply designed to hurt her, his thoughts drifted to Alice. How he wished he could go to her right now. Alice, he sighed, as the words she’d said resounded: “She is your way out.” Maybe he didn’t have to destroy Gwenna just yet. Maybe they could both get what they wanted if he played his cards right. “It’s a long story. Too long to talk about out here. Go back inside, Mam.”
Elias hedged but Bethan pushed him. “Tell us, Elias. Please. What did you find?”
“Don’t press me, Mam,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s been a hard few days. I need to clean up first,” Elias added trying to control his mounting frustration. “I’ll see to my horse and come in shortly.”
But Gwenna would not budge either. “For once in your life, stop being a coward, Elias Hughes, and be honest.”
By God, she riled him. “Coward! You dare to call me a coward. After what I’ve been through.”
He dropped the saddle over the rail with a clatter and turned to face her, an echo of the truth ringing in his brain. With a gap of ten feet between them, tension crackled. “You want the honest truth, do you? Well, let’s have it then, shall we?”
Standing square, feet apart and arms spread six inches away from his body, he clenched and unclenched his fists. Every nerve, every fibre stood on edge ready to fight like a beast against the oncoming foe.
“Elias ...” Bethan put a restraining hand on his arm.
He shook it off, his eyes never leaving Gwenna. “Not now, Mam,” he growled.
To Gwenna, he said, “Come on then, out with it.”
The stepsiblings stared at one another, neither prepared to give the other the advantage. Each could read past resentments in the other’s eyes, and in those moments they made a bargain.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Gwenna’s voice sounded hollow, coming somewhere from deep inside her, but flat, as if any emotion, any movement would cause her to disintegrate.
He struggled to remain calm and resist his instinct to shout at her. He wanted to rid himself of all his hurts, all the injustices, tell them exactly how he felt deep inside, and throw away the shackles that bound him. But he didn’t. He surprised himself with his self-control. “Ie. I can’t say for sure, but I believe so. The police will have to investigate what happened first. They’ll have the final say.”
Elias watched her warily. Only her eyes changed. As if a light had gone out. They appeared grey and colourless where usually they sparkled as blue as a sunny sky.
Bethan hurried to her side. “Come along, Gwenna, bach; come inside and rest. You don’t want to stir things up again.”
Gwenna refused to move.
“So what happens now, Elias?”
Even he understood the question was greater than the obvious. She wasn’t only referring to Johnno.
* * *
“You stay. I’ll go.”
If Gwenna hadn’t heard Elias say those words with her own ears, she would never have believed them.
“You won’t change my mind,” said Elias, when Bethan refused to accept such an outcome possible, or necessary. “And we’ll need more than tea, Mam. Pour us a drink. We’re gonna need it.” He pulled up a chair.
Bethan fussed about getting the glasses, ale and whisky for Elias, and a brandy for herself and Gwenna. When they were all settled, Elias told them in a curiously indifferent manner what he’d learnt about Black Jack and the accident, keeping his suspicions and the gory details to himself.
His was the lone voice, and it seemed to go on and on as the clock ticked down time. He admitted he’d been learning furniture making and told them about Woody, about his dreams, and lastly about Alice.
Overwhelmed and disconnected, Gwenna said nothing. She sat motionless, her face blank. A small tear escaped, and she wiped it away. Her body, numb. Her mind, a void. A notion she should feel distraught and rail at the world for her loss, or become hysterical, hovered vaguely in her head, but she couldn’t find a single spark to light the fire. She doubted she would feel warm ever again. Her blood, if any still ran in her veins, felt icy, her heart a lump of stone.
In contrast, Bethan needed to keep busy when she was upset, to cushion the shock – too many shocks. Jabbering about what she’d heard, Bethan rustled up another drink for Elias, made a pot of tea for Gwenna, sweet and strong, and gathered together bread, cold meats, cheeses and pickles to keep up their strength, even though no one was hungry and nobody touched any of it. She poured herself another brandy and sat in the armchair, quite flustered.
Elias refused to say anything further about Johnno or Jack and turned the conversation to his plans. “So that’s it,” he said at length. “Plainly and simply, I no longer wish to make sweets. I intend to make furniture. As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to the business, what’s left of it. And I make no apologies on that account. You must meet all the costs, including the lease. I wipe my hands of it. I will remain under this roof until such time as Alice agrees to marry me and we make our home elsewhere. You keep out of my way and I’ll keep out of yours. Is that a reasonable deal?”
Bethan interrupted several times but gave up after being ignored, talked over or told to hush.
“This is between me and Gwenna, Mam. I know you’d like a different outcome, but this is a far better arrangement than what we had before. Don’t you agree, Gwenna?”
How could she not agree? Without saying so, Elias confessed to how bad things had got between them. He provided reasons without excuses, outlined his intentions, leaving no room for argument and offered an arrangement which freed them both.
Elias stood, swallowed the last of his ale, folded a piece of meat into a slice of bread, and waited. Gwenna looked up at him trying to assess what it all meant. Her pains had stopped after he and Bethan had rescued her from that dreadful house. False labour, they said, which could strike again, but she would know the difference when her time came.
“Ie, ’tis. There’s so much to think about, Elias. My head is fair spinning. And my heart is right aggrieved.” Two days earlier had been her birthday. She’d refused any kind of acknowledgement as exhaustion and grief drained her mind and body of all resolve. “Can you give us some time – at least ...”
At least, what? At least until after the police investigation: it could take months? Until after the baby was born, which was still weeks away if she rested well? And what about a funeral?
Even if she managed all those difficulties, taking up the reins of a failing business – if things were as bad as she expected – would take more strength than she had right now. But she couldn’t give up this chance. Her future, and that of her child, rested on it.
