The summer sun was low in the sky, the red glow washing the mill house and the swiftly flowing stream with brazen red lights. The gas lamp on the wharf glimmered faintly, a poor substitute for the sunshine so newly faded.
Rhian closed up the mill with a sigh of relief. She had worked long and hard over the past few days, but with good results: her shawls and blankets with their distinctive red, white and blue fringes were beginning to sell well again even in the heat of July, for the housewives of the town were anticipating the coming of winter.
The business, though small, was successful and she felt she was more than proving her worth, making more than a good living for herself and for the people who depended on her.
Gina was waiting for her at the door of the mill house, her face sombre. ‘It’s about time you packed in work, you’ll be killing yourself, mind,’ she said, but her tone was gentle.
‘You’re not looking too bright yourself, girl, there’s big shadows under your eyes that tell me you’re as tired as I am. Go on upstairs and rest for a while – I’ll call you when the food is on the table.’
From the kitchen came the succulent smell of meat roasting and as Rhian went inside, Carrie looked over her shoulder.
‘There’s good timing for you, the dinner’s just about ready. Doris, get the plates from the hob, there’s a good girl.’
Rhian moved to the sink and washed the clinging strands of wool from her hands. As she was drying them, Carrie gave a little cry of annoyance: ‘Duw, there’s silly I am, I haven’t made the gravy yet, what can I be thinking about? Put the plates back for a minute or two, will you, Doris?’
Rhian moved to the table. ‘You’re here late tonight, Doris,’ she said mildly. ‘Won’t your mam be worried about you?’
Doris shook her head. ‘I’ve been helping Carrie and she says I can stop and have a bite to eat. Brought her a paper from town, made her sit down and rest I did, she was looking that pale and funny.’
Rhian felt a twinge of guilt. ‘That’s all right, you’re welcome to eat with us.’ She seated herself at the table and looked anxiously at Carrie, who was standing with her hands on her back to ease the ache.
‘I’m working you all too hard,’ she said remorsefully and Carrie frowned.
‘Now don’t go all melancholy, you’re slaving like ten men yourself. Where would we all be if it wasn’t for you?’
Rhian closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of peace while around her the tiny sounds of the kitchen soothed her jangled nerves.
The plates chinked as Doris brought them to the table and Rhian heard the hiss of the roast meat as Carrie lifted it from the oven. If only Mansel Jack was home safe from the war everything would be rosy and bright, she thought with a pang of pain.
‘When you’ve had supper, I’ll walk back with you to your house. I need some fresh air,’ Rhian said, determined not to wallow in misery.
Doris’s round face lit up. ‘There’s good of you, I’m still a bit afeared of the darkness.’ She smiled. ‘This food looks good; my belly thinks my throat’s cut, I’m so hungry.’
‘Will you ask Gina if she would like something on a tray?’ Carrie asked. ‘And be sure not to wake those two little devils – I’ve had enough of them today!’
Rhian rose and walked slowly up the stairs, avoiding the treads which creaked for she had every sympathy with Carrie’s feelings. The two children were lovely and loving, but at the end of a weary day bed was the best place for them.
Gina responded at once to Rhian’s light touch on her shoulder, rubbing the tangled hair from her face. Her eyes were clouded and she caught Rhian’s hand and held it fast.
‘I was thinking about Heinz and I could almost hear him crying out in pain – oh, Rhian, it’s all so horrible!’
‘Hush now.’ Rhian held her close, patting her shoulder comfortingly, although the words Gina had spoken sent fear shafting through her. ‘Come on downstairs now and don’t wake the children – supper’s ready.’
Rhian shivered as she led Gina back to the kitchen. She tried not to think of the war but it was there; a threatening spectre wherever she turned. It was on the lips of the people who bought her shawls, in the headlines which were flashed in the newspapers and, worst of all, in the shape of maimed and wounded soldiers returned to Sweyn’s Eye like faulty goods no longer useful on the battlefield.
‘Stop looking so broody and get on with your supper before it goes cold.’ Carrie’s voice broke into her thoughts and Rhian took up her knife and fork, knowing that her appetite had deserted her.
It was a silent meal, with Gina sitting heavy-eyed in her chair. Carrie gave up all attempts to generate conversation and it was only Doris who made the occasional remark about the goodness of the food, the leanness of the lamb and the bite of the mint sauce.
‘Duw, I can’t eat any more supper.’ Carrie took her plate to the sink, her tense shoulders testifying to her emotions. ‘Hours I’ve spent cooking in this hot kitchen and no one is hungry.’
Suddenly, she began to cry. She stood near the stone sink without moving, the tears slipping down her lined cheeks, her face screwed up like a baby in distress. Rhian hurried to her, clasping her in her arms, her own eyes moist.
‘Carrie, please don’t! We all appreciate what you do for us and we couldn’t manage without you.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘It’s not the damn supper – oh Jesus, help me, I’ve got to tell you.’
Rhian drew the weeping woman to a chair. ‘Carrie, tell me what’s wrong.’ Her voice was firm and commanding and, surprised, Carrie stopped crying.
‘It’s all over the newspaper,’ her mouth quivered as she fought for self-control. ‘News has come through from the Somme…’ her words trailed away and Rhian bit her lips, half afraid to hear what Carrie was about to tell her.
‘There was a dreadful loss of life at a place called Mametz Wood,’ Carrie continued unsteadily. ‘Ninety-one men missing or killed and two hundred and ninety-seven wounded – and that was only the 14th Welch, the 13th and the 16th were even worse hit.’
Rhian felt as though she was melting in fear. ‘Mansel Jack,’ she whispered, her mouth dry, her eyes wide.
Carrie was weeping again. ‘Heath Jenkins is there and duw, there’s a feeling inside me that tells me he won’t be coming back.’
Gina made a tiny sound. ‘Billy’s there too. Oh, poor Rhian, your husband and your brother – how can you bear it?’
Rhian straightened, telling herself not to panic. ‘Other people have menfolk out there, too,’ she said gently. ‘Mali’s husband is in France, for one. We must all be brave and wait for news, there’s no point in jumping to conclusions. Come on, Doris, it’s time I was walking you home; your mam will be worrying.’
In spite of her brave words, Rhian was cold and empty inside. ‘Perhaps you’ll make us a cup of tea when I get back, Carrie.’ She spoke firmly and her words brought the older woman’s sobs to a gulping halt.
‘Aye, I’ll do that, Rhian, and I’ll say this – you’ve as much pluck as any soldier fighting in France.’
The streets were still busy even though they were washed by the silver of the moonlight, yet it seemed a lifetime since Rhian had closed the door of the mill and watched the sun going down over the river. She almost wished she could return to that moment, for then she had felt the contentment of a job well done and known nothing about the battle of Mametz Wood.
Doris’s mother was waiting on the door, her face anxious. ‘Duw, I wondered if someone had kidnapped my girl!’
She drew Doris into the house and Rhian forced a smile. ‘She stayed to have a bit of supper with us. I’m sorry you were worried, Mrs Williams.’
‘Duw, I’m bone-weary too, them boys have given me a dog’s life today. I don’t think I can go on looking after them much longer, Rhian. Doris will just have to give up her work, that’s all.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Go on in, you, there’s a body waiting to see you.’
Doris hurried away down the long dark passage and Mrs Williams leaned forward confidingly. ‘Her man’s come back, anyway, says he’s going to marry her. Invalided out of the Army he is, but willing enough to find a job, mind.’ Her voice became wistful. ‘My Doris is so much better since she’s been working for you – brought her back to her senses, you have. She’s a good girl and deserves a bit of luck.’
‘Yes, she does.’ Rhian moved away from the lighted doorway. ‘Give her my blessing.’
Well, that was that, Rhian thought in resignation. Now she would need to manage her affairs in some other way; perhaps she could get in a strong young woman to work the mill with her and leave Gina free to look after the two children, which was what she most wanted to do. She realised that she was occupying her thoughts with trivia in an effort not to dwell on Mametz Wood and what had happened there.
Rhian turned down Copperman’s Row and heard the music from the accordion of Dai-End-House reach out into the night and grasp at her very soul. She stood silent for a moment, staring up at the sky where the stars were appearing like faint jewels in a velvet sky.
In Market Street the doors stood open and from Murphy’s Fresh Fish Shop light spilled in a golden pool on to the pavement.
‘Katie Murphy!’ Rhian smiled to herself in the darkness. The Irish girl would be just the right sort of person to operate the looms. She was intelligent and quick and had done more than her duty working at the munitions factory.
Katie was seated in the kitchen with Mark at her side, handsome and attentive. For a brief moment, Rhian felt a diamond-sharp point of pain.
‘Rhian! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what are you doing in Market Street at this time o’ night?’
Rhian was drawn at once into the heart of the Irish family. She found a mug of steaming tea in her hands and smelled the sickly scent of gin as Mrs Murphy poured a drop into her cup.
‘Sure I’m glad to see you, but what brings you round here, Rhian?’ As Katie smiled, her heavy red-gold hair swung forward over her shoulders in shimmering waves.
Rhian took a deep breath. ‘I was seeing Doris home; you know better than anyone that she’s not been well since the explosion and she’s still very nervous of the dark.’
Katie nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but she’s been almost herself lately, hasn’t she?’ She spoke quietly but there were shadows in her eyes. ‘Mark keeps on telling me to get out of the factory.’ She looked across the room and Mark returned her gaze steadily.
‘It can’t be soon enough for me,’ he said sternly. ‘Get out of there, Katie, before you do yourself a harm. It’s not just the risk of explosions that worries me, it’s the way your skin is becoming stained by the fulminate.’
‘Well, in a way this is what I’ve come to see you about,’ Rhian said quickly. ‘Doris won’t be working for me any more now her man is back and I really need some help in the mill. There’s plenty to do and I’m sure you would pick it up quickly enough.’
Mark leaned forward in his chair, his face eager. ‘Say yes, Katie; I can’t bear to think of you in that damned munitions factory!’
‘It’s not much money, mind,’ Rhian said, ‘but there’s your food and a few bits and pieces of wool to bring home: blankets that get spoiled in the dyeing or washing process.’
Katie smiled, her eyes alight. ‘I think you’ve just talked me into it,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m sick of travelling on that train every day, especially in this heat, and as for the money – sure an’ isn’t there more important things to consider than pay?’
Rhian sighed in relief. ‘Right then, will you start on Monday?’ she asked and Katie burst into peals of laughter.
‘Saints be praised, she’s talking right bossy. I wouldn’t know you as the same Rhian Gray who once worked the laundry, pouting and flouncing if there was too much work to do.’
‘I suppose I’ve changed a great deal since then, but I’m a married woman now, mind,’ Rhian said as she rose to her feet. ‘Right then, I’ll go home and leave you to have some peace.’ She moved to the door and Katie followed behind her.
‘I’m that grateful to you for thinking of me,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve wanted to get out of that factory for a long time now, it’s never been the same since Mansel Jack left.’ She paused. ‘But there didn’t seem to be anything else I could do.’ She stared at Rhian, her face wistful. ‘Will you teach me the spinning and weaving properly?’
‘Of course I will.’ Rhian put her arm around Katie’s shoulder. ‘What good would you be to me otherwise?’
She moved away from Market Street, listening to the sounds of the accordion; as the notes washed like waves through the darkness, the plaintive tune filled her with sadness and she bit her lip as tears rose to her eyes. ‘Mansel Jack, where are you?’ she whispered and the words were carried away on the soft evening breeze.