A haze of fog hung over the small mining valley of Carreg Fach and a spiteful drizzle was falling, drenching the solitary main street that lay like a grey ribbon between the hills.
Delmai Richardson lifted the heavy bag higher on her arm and adjusted the position of the small child on her hip. The baby was asleep, unaware of anything but the comfort and security of being in her mother’s arms.
Delmai pushed open the door of the dingy, coal-dust-covered cottage with her shoulder and, sighing with relief, allowed the bag to sink to the table. She sat before the fire and hugged her child close, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked into the small dimpled face.
Not for the first time, she wished she was out of this hell and back home in the elegance of her house in Sweyn’s Eye, or even in the small house on Canal Street where she had gone when first she left her husband, while Billy Gray was still in prison and before her affair with him began. She had run away so willingly with Billy, heedless and falsely optimistic, greedy for the passion he gave her so readily.
And he could offer her little else, for Billy was not only a convicted felon, he was far beneath her in station. At first everything had been wonderful for, furnished with the small amount of money his aunt had provided, they had managed to live quite well. And Billy still appeared to be happy with the situation – but then he was used to small houses and few amenities. She on the other hand had been brought up to a different way of life and she was finding the harshness of her surroundings too much to bear.
It had been all right before little Cerianne had come along. Delmai and Billy had been like children; he had taught her the joys of the flesh, which to a woman who had believed herself cold and passionless had been a wonderful awakening. But he had taught her the meaning of poverty too and now black dust ruled her life, for Billy worked the coalface as a miner.
Delmai, who had never needed to wash her own clothes, found the task of keeping the family supplied with clean linen almost beyond her. She could not achieve the lines of clean washing which were so ordinary a sight in her neighbours’ gardens, however hard she tried.
Suddenly the hooter from the pit tore at the silence, penetrating the cottage and filling the kitchen overwhelmingly. Startled, Delmai sat up straight in her chair, a sense of fear running through her veins. She felt chilled as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, tucking the baby in its folds; then she flung open the door and hurried out into the street, her heart pounding.
‘Duw, there’s been an accident at the pit.’ Mrs Jones was white-faced, her hands trembling as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘I’d get along down to the gates if I were you, merchi – see if your man is all right.’
Delmai heard the woman speak, yet the words seemed not to have any meaning. ‘Yes, I’m going now, Mrs Jones,’ she mumbled through lips that seemed frozen.
The woman’s face softened. ‘Poor dab, not used to any of this, are you? I’ll come with you for company if you like.’
Delmai was only partly aware of Mrs Jones beside her as she hurried along the cobbled streets, but her neighbour was talking incessantly.
‘My Sam’s in bed, he came off shift an hour ago, thank the good Lord. But you mustn’t take fright, mind, there’s most likely nothing much wrong – a bit of gas or some water perhaps.’
Delmai didn’t hear her, her mind was racing with fears and unimaginable horrors. What if Billy was maimed, how would she care for him and the baby too? She recognised that she was inadequate, that she had not the strength of will or body that was needed to live as the woman of a working man. She was not even Billy’s wife, so there would be no compensation for her as there was for pit widows.
Most of the women of the village were gathered at the pit gates. They stood silent, heads covered with shawls against the rain, faces long, enduring familiar fears with stoicism. A baby cried miserably and then was hushed into suckling contentment. Delmai lifted Cerianne higher in her arms, easing her aching back and trying to see over the heads of the women in front of her.
Mrs Jones was more forceful. ‘What is it?’ she asked loudly. ‘What’s happened here, anybody killed?’
There was a murmur of voices speaking in Welsh and Delmai bit her lip in frustration, unable to understand. She found herself praying that Billy was safe.
‘It’s only a little bit of a roof fall.’ Mrs Jones intended her words to be reassuring, but Delmai shivered. ‘A few miners are trapped, but it’s nothing to get all fretful about… yet.’
Delmai hugged the baby closer to her breast and as Cerianne stirred and whimpered, she smoothed back the baby-fine hair absently.
The rain had stopped and a pale sun shone through the clouds, but nothing seemed to be happening at the pithead. Delmai stared at the winding gear rearing up into the sky, and fell to brooding about the letter she had sent to her husband. A feeling of guilt washed through her as she remembered that she had begged Rickie to take her back. This life here in the valleys was no way for her to spend the rest of her days. Not even for the wonderful nights spent in Billy’s arms could she endure the dirt and the never-ending work that turned her hands red and her skin coarse.
Rickie had not so far made any reply and Delmai didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. She knew that she would never love her husband – indeed in some ways she despised him – yet he could give her comfort and silk clothing and in his gracious elegant house she would never need to clean or scrub again.
There was a movement at the pithead and the wheel turned against the sky as the men were lifted from the bowels of the earth. Delmai held her breath – she loved Billy and even though she wanted to leave him, she did not wish him dead.
The men were pouring from the pithead now, most walking but some being supported by friends. All were black with coal dust and it took Delmai a few agonising minutes to recognise Billy’s tall frame as he pushed his way through the throng of women.
As she moved instinctively towards him she wondered what she was doing to them both. She was condemning Billy to the life of blackness and foetid air and cold water that threatened to extinguish him. And herself… well, drudgery had become her middle name, she thought helplessly.
‘Oh, Billy!’ She was in his arms, uncaring of the dust that clung to him like a second, abrasive skin. ‘I’ve been so worried.’
‘Come on, girl, let’s get home,’ he said. ‘My mouth feels as dry as an old bone.’
In the privacy of the small cottage, Delmai wept in Billy’s arms. ‘I can’t take much more of this,’ she said brokenly. ‘It’s not fair to any of us to live this way.’
‘Get the bath from the back door, Delmai, and let me wash the dirt and stink off me – then I’ll show you what life is all about.’ He forced a smile and pulled playfully at her apron strings, though his eyes white against the black of his face were filled with anxiety.
She obeyed him, wondering afresh at the lackey she had allowed herself to become. Anyone looking at her now would not take her for a lady at all, but a serving wench or a kitchen maid.
The baby slept as Delmai washed Billy’s fine young body. But already he was marked with telltale blue lines where the coal dust had entered wounds and refused to be washed away. There was a scar across his nose and another along his neck, and as Delmai scrubbed at them she felt like dissolving into tears of hopelessness.
Billy took her in his arms and unbuttoned her bodice, kissing her breasts, his mouth warm with tenderness and passion.
‘Come to bed with me, girl,’ he said softly, ‘now while the babba’s asleep.’
She went upstairs undoing her clothes, as eager as he was to lose herself in passion. Billy was naked and his arousal was plain to see. He was a magnificent man, Delmai thought with pride – strong as a stallion and gifted with sensitivity so that he knew just what pleased her.
They lay together in the bed beneath the brightly coloured quilt and Delmai shuddered delicately as Billy’s hands roved over her body… touching, seeking, pleasing.
‘Oh, my love, come to me.’ She moaned the words softly and Billy kissed her neck.
‘Not yet, I want to tease you into such passion that you’ll never want to leave me.’
While she was like this, spellbound, entranced with the sensations he aroused within her, Delmai could not believe she would ever bring herself to part from him. He worked his old magic, bringing her to a crescendo of love that was almost painful in its intensity. They moved together in an age-old rhythm and she heard her sighs like the wash of the ocean. She was lifted high on a crest of delight and her own voice was far away and unrecognisable as she cried out in pleasure.
They lay for a long while in each other’s arms and Delmai clung to the moment, for such times were becoming rarer. Perhaps even now it had only been the fear of losing Billy which made the ecstasy so great. The hardness of her life was grinding her down, wearing her spirit so that she no longer laughed. Deep creases were forming on her forehead and she believed there was a tinge of grey in her hair.
Billy fell into an exhausted sleep at her side and with a pang of impatience, she heard the baby begin to whimper. She loved the child, of course she did, Cerianne was part of herself and of Billy. But Delmai was not equipped for motherhood. Cerianne should have a nanny and be reared in a nursery, just as Delmai herself had been.
She slipped from Billy’s side, hating herself for resenting his ability to sleep. He was always the same; if the baby cried during the night, it was invariably she who was disturbed.
Cerianne was wet through and with disgust, Delmai changed the child’s clothes. The baby gurgled and smiled winningly and for a moment Delmai responded, laughing and cooing with Cerianne. Then she sighed; the dinner must be started, for when Billy woke he would be hungry.
She had made soup, cawl as the local people called it. She had bought a piece of bacon, for it was cheap and the joint could be taken out of the liquid and served cold for another meal. Delmai was not a good cook, but necessity had taught her to be stringent.
At first when she had left Sweyn’s Eye in the full flush of her love, she had considered such matters unimportant, but now she realised that simply to exist she needed to be thrifty to the point of meanness.
There was a loud rapping on the door and before Delmai could open her mouth to speak, Mrs Jones was in the kitchen. This was another habit of the lower orders which Delmai did not like and could not understand; it seemed there was no such thing as privacy.
‘Mrs Jones, what can I do for you?’ she said evenly, concealing her irritation.
‘A bag of flour, merchi, can you lend me one just ’till tomorrow. Got visitors coming, I have, all the way from Sweyn’s Eye, and me not prepared.’
Delmai’s heart began to beat rapidly, though as she went into the cool pantry and picked up a bag of flour she was keeping her feelings tightly under control.
‘From Sweyn’s Eye you say, that’s interesting.’ She spoke casually. ‘A relative, is it?’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Jones nodded. ‘My sister, Doris. There’s a good worker, she is, used to stoke boilers in the Canal Street Laundry till they had a terrible explosion there. She’ll be here come morning and you must take a sip of tea with us – being from Sweyn’s Eye yourself, you might know her.’
Delmai nodded. ‘That would be lovely, Mrs Jones, and please don’t worry about returning the flour; I’ve more than enough until shopping day.’
She saw her neighbour’s face flush with pleasure. ‘Duw, there’s kind of you, but I’ll give it back of course. See you in the morning, then!’
When she was alone Delmai sank into a chair, her hands trembling. What if she were to write a letter to Rickie, begging him once more to take her back – could she not ask this Doris to deliver it personally, make sure that her husband received her message this time?
She clasped her hands in her lap, tasting the bitterness of her disloyalty to Billy. But, she reasoned, this way of life was going to kill her and if she remained in the valley any longer, she would end up hating him.
Looking at her work-roughened hands, she sighed. It would take months of creaming to bring them back to their former softness and beauty. Quickly she brushed the thought aside as unworthy and trivial. Her heart would be broken at leaving Billy, she told herself, and of course planning to leave him was an agonising decision to make, but she was sure it was the right thing for both of them.
Billy loathed the pits and the small valley so far away from the sea. And he missed his home and his family. He could be comfortable back in Sweyn’s Eye in his aunt’s nice little cottage.
She fed Cerianne a little of the soup and the baby gurgled happily on her knee. Delmai studied the child, loving her and yet feeling as though she belonged to someone else. She had never felt the overwhelming sense of mother love that others seemed to enjoy – perhaps her own childhood had been too austere.
Delmai had been brought up by a strict father who had never hidden the fact that he wanted a son. She sighed, impatient with herself. She could not blame her father or her past life, the fault lay in herself – was she capable of loving, really loving any other mortal on this earth? She admitted that she was selfish, she wanted the old days back again when she was a lady and treated as such. She wanted silk next to her skin and fine airy, high-ceilinged rooms in which to live. Not even the love and the joy Billy gave her could compensate for all that.
She heard Billy moving about upstairs and rose quickly from her chair, stirring a little more pepper into the soup and then awkwardly lifting out the bacon to put it on a plate. She trimmed the excess fat with disgust, hating the whiteness and the softness of it. At home, she hardly ever saw food in its raw state and found that now she often lost her appetite after cooking a meal.
‘Hello, cariad, something smells good.’ Billy had entered the kitchen and he slipped his arms around her waist from behind, drawing her back against him.
‘You’re beautiful, have I ever told you that,’ he whispered softly, nuzzling her ear.
‘Let me go or your dinner will be burned,’ she said with mock severity. ‘Go and wash your hands now while I put the soup out.’
Billy stared at her thoughtfully. ‘You are happy, Delmai, aren’t you?’ he asked softly, but her eyes refused to meet his.
‘Of course I am, stop asking foolish questions and eat your meal before it goes cold.’
He came to her and tipped up her face so that she was forced to look at him. His eyes were penetrating and Delmai was uncomfortable.
‘I have felt a restlessness in you, girl,’ he said. ‘I know you find the life of a collier’s wife a hard one, but duw, don’t the love make up for it all?’
Delmai was saved from replying by the sharp crying of the baby and thankfully she hurried to take the child in her arms.
‘There, there,’ she soothed, ‘let your mother see what you’ve done to your hand, then. You mustn’t play with the fire irons, Cerianne, I’ve told you before. You’re lucky you didn’t burn your little fingers.’
Billy took his seat and leaned on the table, studying Delmai closely. She was changed from the eager young woman she had been when he first met her and there was fear in his heart that perhaps she would just up and leave him one day.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ Delmai demanded. ‘For heaven’s sake eat your soup, I’ve spent hours making it and I don’t want it to be wasted. Can’t afford to throw it away, so if you don’t feel like it now put it back in the pot and have it later.’
She was aware of Billy’s scrutiny and it made her uneasy, but she forced herself to begin her meal, avoiding his gaze.
‘Delmai,’ he persisted, ‘tell me what’s wrong, cariad. You’re changed, somehow.’
Suddenly a fierce anger flared within her. She threw her spoon on to the table and her chair screeched against the stone floor as she pushed it back.
‘For God’s sake, Billy!’ she cried. ‘Do you wish to turn my head inside out and examine the contents? Can’t I have any privacy even in my thoughts?’
Rage grew and burgeoned as her pent-up frustrations rose to the surface. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that I have to scrimp and save in order to make ends meet? I’m chained to this filthy hovel all day and I can’t stand it, Billy – do you understand that? I’m not born to this sort of existence. I hate every moment of the dirty life we lead – there, is that plain enough for you!’
As she turned away from him, hiding her face in her hands, she heard the door slam behind him and knew Billy would be on his way down to the public bar in the village. There, she thought savagely, he would be able to drown his sorrows in a glass of ale while she was left at home to clean up yet again. She boiled a kettle of water ready to wash the dishes and the baby grizzled sleepily. Cerianne was lying on the rag mat near the fire, her thumb in her mouth and with a pang of guilt, Delmai took the child in her arms.
‘Let’s leave it all and go to bed,’ she said softly, kissing Cerianne’s flushed cheek. The child was teething and that doubtless meant another restless night.
Delmai pretended to be asleep when Billy came home smelling strongly of beer. She turned her back on him, feeling like a traitor. But her mind was made up: she must leave him before she destroyed them both. She was just slipping into the comfort of sleep when Cerianne began to whimper. ‘I just can’t stand any more of this,’ Delmai muttered into the darkness, tears of self-pity misting her eyes. Even though she recognised her weakness, there was not a thing she could do to control her emotions and she wept.
The next day was bright and sunny and Delmai’s spirits rose as she thought of meeting the visitor that Mrs Jones was expecting from Sweyn’s Eye. She dressed carefully – almost as though she was about to take tea with one of her own kind, she thought ruefully – and a wave of nostalgia swept over her as she remembered lavish food served in high, elegant dining rooms. But impatiently she forced her thoughts back to the present, telling herself sternly that she had indulged in enough self-pity during the night.
She moved excitedly to the window as she heard the clip-clop of a pony and the creaking rumble of a trap stopping outside the cottages.
Peering from behind the curtain, Delmai could see little, but anticipation was a sweet wine to her senses as she waited impatiently for Mrs Jones to knock on the wall as a signal for her to go next door. Delmai’s fingers trembled as they closed over the letter she had hastily penned to Rickie. She was glad Billy was on early shift, because he was too sensitive a man not to notice her agitation. She knew she would never have the courage to tell him to his face that she was leaving; she was too much of a coward to witness the hurt bewilderment that would surely appear in his eyes.
There was a muffled knocking on the wall and although Delmai was expecting it, the sound startled her. Quickly she picked up the baby and hurried outside, blinking at the bright sunlight.
Immediately she entered the small neat kitchen, she realised she had made a mistake in dressing so carefully. Mrs Jones’s visitor was short and rather plump, fresh-faced enough but without any refinement of feature, and her dress was ordinary to say the least.
‘This is Doris, my sister,’ Mrs Jones said, smiling. ‘There’s a great family likeness, don’t you think?’
Politely, Delmai nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, you both have such fine dark eyes.’ She was not being false, she told herself, just diplomatic. As she took a seat Doris leaned forward eagerly, touching Cerianne’s round face with real delight.
‘What a lovely babba! Makes me feel bad about leaving my own little boys at home and them pleading to come with me.’
‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Jones said quickly. ‘Deserve a rest, so you do, working hard cleaning other folks’ mess up after them, as well as carrying that no-good man of yours around in a shawl.’
‘Oh, hush now, Jessie. Don’t you start on me or I’ll be sorry I came.’ Doris took the baby from Delmai’s unresisting arms, obviously captivated by the little girl.
The effort of making polite and meaningless conversation was a strain and Delmai sipped her tea, trying her best to be pleasant, but she had the uneasy feeling that Doris could see right through her. It took a great deal of courage to bring up the subject of the letter, but at last she managed it.
‘I wonder if you would do me a small favour?’ she asked with false brightness. Doris hardly looked up from the baby, but the quick glance from the girl’s narrowed eyes was enough to show Delmai that she was no fool. Delmai decided it was politic to tell at least some of the truth.
‘I need to get a message to my former husband, Mr Richardson. Perhaps you know him?’ She spoke haltingly, knowing how foolish she must sound. Of course Doris would not know Rickie, they hardly moved in the same circles!
‘I’ve heard of him, yes,’ Doris said warily. ‘Do you think he’d take kindly to me treading dirt on to his fine carpets?’
‘I’m sure you could persuade him to see you.’ Inside Delmai was trembling; she half wished she hadn’t begun all this, but she was committed now so might as well continue.
‘I realise you would have to go out of your way and I’d gladly reimburse you for your trouble,’ she said, but slowly Doris shook her head.
‘All right then, give the letter here, but I don’t need no bribe, thank you.’ She pushed the letter carelessly into the cloth bag that lay beside her on the floor and Delmai’s heart sank – would Rickie ever get her message, she wondered doubtfully.
Mrs Jones sensed the uneasiness that was almost tangible and rose to her feet quickly.
‘A nice cup of tea, that’s what we all need,’ she said brightly. ‘Would you like a few Welsh cakes, Mrs Gray? Freshly cooked, they are!’
Delmai nodded, though her mouth was dry and she had never felt less hungry in her life. Doris was ignoring her, playing with Cerianne, and Delmai sank back in her chair with the colour rising to her cheeks. It was obvious from her attitude that Doris understood her relationship with Billy. She was quite clear in her mind that the girl had little regard for her or her problems. It was humiliating, Delmai thought angrily, more than ever determined to leave this life behind her and return to the comfort of her home in Sweyn’s Eye.
She took a few shillings from her pocket and put them on the table beside Doris, who glanced up briefly and then turned her attention to Cerianne once more.
‘Well, come on then, Doris, what’s going on in the town? Let us into all the gossip, won’t you?’ Mrs Jones said quickly, seating herself at the table. She offered a plate of flat round cakes that smelled deliciously of fruit and spices and Delmai politely took one.
Doris shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not much to tell really.’ She paused with her eyes on Delmai. ‘I’m working for Mr Gregory Irons the lawyer now, cleaning and polishing his offices – not a bad job and you do get to hear a lot of things you shouldn’t ought to.’
‘Tell us then. I shan’t coax you any more, mind,’ Mrs Jones said tartly.
‘Well now, there was a little something that might interest… Mrs Gray,’ Doris said slowly, her gaze insolent. Delmai felt her shoulders grow tense, though she tried to appear unaffected.
‘Oh, and what would that be?’ she asked mildly.
‘Poor old Mrs Gray passed away, dead and buried she is, God rest her soul,’ Doris said solemnly. ‘That’s Billy’s auntie, you know – called for him till the last she did and him not coming even to the funeral.’
‘Duw, there’s bad news indeed.’ Mrs Jones broke the silence which was charged with hostility. ‘Nice lad is Billy, always liked him from the first time I set eyes on him.’
Doris nodded. ‘Me too and he’s no murderer, is Billy Gray – a lovely man, deserves better than what he’s getting.’
Delmai swept the baby from Doris’s arms and stood trembling as she faced her. ‘You have made it clear what you think of me, but I’ll tell you this – we knew nothing about Billy’s aunt; he would have gone home if he’d had any idea that she was ill.’
She made her way towards the door, shaking with anger. ‘You are determined to think the worst of me, so I won’t inflict my company on you any longer. If you’ll just give me back the letter, I’ll be on my way.’
Doris’s hand closed over the bag in a protective gesture. ‘Not if hell takes me. I think I can guess what you’re up to; you want to go back to that husband of yours and if you ask me, I think that would be the best thing that could happen to poor Billy Gray.’
Delmai faced her squarely, ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’ she said sharply.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Doris replied laconically. ‘You’re living tally just like I am. You’re not a respectable married lady now, mind, just a loose woman who’s had two men between her legs and is the mother of a by-blow! Not that I blame this lovely little babba here – don’t deserve a mam like you, she don’t.’
‘Now, Doris, you’ve said enough.’ Mrs Jones put her hand on her sister’s arm, restraining her as she would have said more. ‘What Mrs Gray does is no one’s business but her own, so just you cool that tongue of yours.’
‘Well, there’s no good in her, it’s not right her puttin’ on airs and graces, who does she think she is?’ She turned her back on Delmai. ‘But I’ll give this letter to Mr Richardson if it kills me, then Billy will be free to find himself a nice respectable little wife.’ She raised her voice. ‘There’s a lovely life he had before she came along, Jessie. Going to wed Mary Jenkins, he was, and her set up proper now with a big shop and so rich that even the toffs respect her. Ruined Billy’s life, this woman has, so don’t ask me to give her any respect.’
‘I think it best if you go home now, cariad,’ Mrs Jones said quickly, turning to Delmai. ‘Now don’t go upsetting yourself, there’s nothing to be gained by tears.’ She opened the door and Delmai stepped out into the sunshine, almost tasting the coal dust that covered the valley like a shroud.
She burned with anger as she let herself into her own kitchen where she stood staring around her, seeing everything through a haze of despair. She could not endure this life any longer, she must leave the valley before she lost her mind.
Delmai settled Cerianne in her bed and then sat for a long time staring out of the window. She missed the soothing calm of the waves lapping the shore, and the cool curved splendour of the bay, just as she missed everything connected with her former life. She closed her eyes wearily. Was it true, she wondered, that she had ruined Billy’s chance of a happy marriage with Mary Jenkins?
While Delmai had been falling in love with Billy, she had not stopped to consider anyone else’s feelings, which was yet another good reason for leaving him to get on with his own life. He would soon forget her, indeed he would be better off without her as Doris had so bluntly pointed out.
Her head slowly sank on to her hands and she closed her eyes wearily. She would wait a while, see if Rickie responded to her latest appeal and if he did not, then she would go to Sweyn’s Eye and confront him and if necessary beg him on bended knees to take her back.