Summer’s Last Retreat Read online

  ‘I cannot,’ Enyd said. ‘I must go and talk to Dan. I’m afraid, even after his wonderful gift I was less than kind. The boy needs a pleasant word or he’ll be downcast.’

  The three girls, the twins eighteen and Enyd almost two years younger, giggled together like conspirators as Enyd exaggerated Dan’s lovesick advances and her own coolness, and in return heard the twins’ latest adventures.

  Above them a window opened and the twins’ mother Emma leaned out, holding a book over her head to protect her wig from the rain. She called down with the full force of her far from genteel voice, ‘Pansy, Daisy, come in at once! How can you behave like the lower classes, shouting in that unladylike way and causing uproar? Get in this very moment. Why have we been paying good money for fine schools to teach you the way to behave? For you to carry on like this? Oh my goodness, what will people think?’ The window slammed shut and, stifling their giggles behind gloved hands, the twins nodded farewell to Enyd and went into the alehouse.

  Emma stood at the head of the stairs, arms on ample hips, demanding an explanation of the rowdy display. ‘Mr Palmer?’ she called in a voice loud enough to loosen the rocks in the quarry behind the house, ‘I think you should come and talk to your girls.’

  ‘Leave them, Mother,’ said Violet, her eldest girl. ‘It was only harmless fun.’

  ‘That, Violet,’ Emma stormed, ‘is up to me and your father. Pitcher?’ she shouted again.

  Below her, Pitcher grumbled and left the barrel he was rolling for Arthur to deal with, and hurried to berate his daughters for whatever they had done to displease their mother.

  Afterwards while Olwen waited for him, Arthur handed Pansy a small cardboard box. Daisy went upstairs and Pansy lifted the lid to see a few choice wild raspberries resting on a bed of white crinkled paper.

  ‘I picked them for you this very afternoon, in the rain,’ Arthur said in his high voice, feeling redness suffusing his cheeks as Pansy smiled her thanks.

  ‘I’ll hide them from Daisy and eat them all myself,’ she whispered, ‘—in bed.’ She replaced the lid and tucked the box under her wet cloak. Giving him another dazzling smile, she tripped up the stairs after her sister.

  Arthur stared after her for a moment, his adam’s apple dancing puppet-like on the string of joyous rapture. Then he turned to where Olwen was waiting, her shoulders hunched with sobs. For a moment he hesitated, not rushing as he normally would to comfort his friend. After an encounter with Pansy he needed to be alone, to think about the few words they had exchanged and commit them to memory, to relive time and again the excitement of their brief communication. Olwen was his dear friend, the closest he had ever been to having a sister, someone to call his family: but Pansy was his love.

  Olwen was inconsolable and the words she uttered made no sense to him so he was relieved when he saw Barrass entering the alehouse.

  ‘She’s upset, but she can’t tell me why,’ he said as Barrass came at once to place an arm around the sobbing girl. ‘Perhaps she’ll talk to you, Barrass, I certainly won’t do today.’ Thankfully Arthur escaped to dream about Pansy Palmer.

  ‘Olwen, what is it? Has someone harmed you? Tell me and I’ll go and make them sorry.’ The sound of Barrass’s soothing voice sent Olwen into even louder crying. How could she tell him why she was upset? Once he knew she had ruined the home he had just finished building he would never speak to her again. She should tell him at once, but she could not. How could she when it would mean he would push her away from him? The very thought made her sobs increase in volume.

  Barrass led her to a bench seat near the fire and sat beside her, rocking her as if she were a baby. She breathed in the scent of him, relishing with a sort of desperation the wonderful sensation of having his arms around her, holding her close. His attention and concern were balm even though she guessed it would be for the last time. Slowly her sobs eased, but whenever he tried to move her away from him she began again. She was cheating, allowing him to comfort her when she knew he would never forgive her for what she had done, but the need for his love was intense. For the last time, she pressed herself closer, savouring his nearness to remember when she was no longer his friend.

  She opened his coat and dug herself as deeply as she could so she was pressed against his beating heart, and in a muffled voice said, ‘Barrass, will you always remember I’m your dearest friend?’

  ‘And I am yours, Olwen. You were my friend when I had no one else. I’ll never forget that. Whatever it is, you can tell me.’

  ‘Perhaps later,’ she whispered, ‘perhaps later.’ This moment was too precious to spoil. Unseen by her, Barrass smiled. She really was a funny little thing. How he would miss her if she weren’t there. But his thoughts didn’t go any further, they drifted to Blodwen.

  * * *

  Enyd was older than Olwen by two years and although the gap between herself and the twins did not seem to matter, between herself and the small, innocent Olwen the differences were enormous. Enyd had broken out of childhood some time before while Olwen still loved to play games with the younger children, snowballs and wild tobogganing in the winter. Hide and seek in the summer, racing about on the fields and in the sea, shouting and screaming wildly with the rest. The girls were separated by thoughts, knowledge and attitudes.

  They were divided too by the rather exalted position Enyd believed she held in the community, compared with Olwen’s status as the daughter of a fishermen. Their differences were further exaggerated by Enyd’s envy of the affection in which Olwen was held by the villagers. Her own aloofness, created by the friendship with Emma’s twins, and the insistence of her mother that she had more in common with the wealthy family at the alehouse, was to blame. The illusion of importance was nurtured by both her parents. They created a position of superiority and encouraged her to be contained by it.

  She walked back home, wishing she had not said those foolish and hurtful things to Olwen about her family. She stood at the bottom of the bank below her home, looking up at the neatly curtained windows, remembering the poor but friendly comfort of Dan’s home and wanting both. She wanted enough money to live in moderate comfort, and wanted Dan to share it with her. But not, she reminded herself, with Dan the fisherman. That she could never live with. Her thin lips tightened even further as she climbed the bank and pushed open the door.

  She could not settle. She sat looking at the little statue and gave it to her mother to admire, then sat again, thinking of the loving hands that had carved it for her, knowing that thoughts of herself as well as the figure suffering on the cross had filled the carver’s mind. His love for her was so plain to see, so why wouldn’t he leave the sea for her and find a more respectable job? She sighed, put her cloak back on and prepared to go out into the pouring rain once again.

  When she arrived at Spider’s house, Dan was drying his clothes around the fire on which Mary was preparing their food. A fish baking in the oven with some small potatoes was sending out delicious and mouthwatering smells and Enyd tried to ignore it, telling herself that her own meal of lamb, bought from the Swansea market, was far superior. But her stomach told her different.

  ‘There’s plenty for an extra one?’ Mary invited.

  ‘Thank you, but Mam is cooking roast lamb for today.’

  ‘I’ll walk you back,’ Dan offered when Enyd had shown the statue to his mother. But they walked away from the village, along the path above the sea.

  He took her hand and they walked close together when the path allowed, separating as briefly as they could when it became too narrow. They could not see the water but heard its monotonous coming and going, without the punctuation of the seabirds that usually glided over the incoming tide to scavenge what it brought. They did not speak, each wanting to say what was in their mind but afraid, knowing that the result would be an argument and a walk home in a different sort of silence.

  ‘You don’t like the sea so you are afraid for me,’ Dan ventured. ‘I know it and respect it, but I am not afraid
or I would never be able to earn a good living from it.’

  Enyd swallowed the impulse to beg him again to forget fishing and find himself better work. This was not the moment, in pelting rain with him squelching beside her in wet clothes and a chilling body.

  They were taking the path down to the village when a rider appeared at the side of them and called for Dan to stop.

  ‘Dan. May I please ask what you have been doing up here in such weather? Something very important to keep you from a warm fire and a comfortable chair?’ Daniels, Keeper of the Peace, pushed his way between Dan and Enyd and demanded an answer.

  ‘Mr Daniels, we have been walking, nothing more.’ Dan smiled disarmingly. ‘What else could we be doing in rain such as this?’

  ‘Who is your companion?’ He leaned down to peer at Enyd and was at once apologetic as he recognized her.

  ‘Miss Enyd? I am sorry to delay you, but can you explain why you are out at such a time? There can be no pleasure, surely, in a stroll and a discussion with rain falling down your neck and soaking your clothes.’

  ‘That, sir,’ Dan replied, ‘would depend on your companion, I have been most content, and the state of my clothes will soon be rectified. I wish to see Miss Enyd safe home, then I will go and enjoy my mother’s ministrations like any spoilt son.’

  Daniels nodded and allowed them to pass. He had no liking for staying out in the rain and could see no purpose in asking any further questions. Seeing the young couple were wrapped in the foolishness of love was explanation enough. He smiled a little, then turned his horse and headed for home.

  He had travelled miles that day to attend a meeting to discuss the need to bear down hard on the smuggling that was almost blatant in the area of his jurisdiction, and he had been told quite firmly to deal with it. He shrugged in his wet clothes even as he thought of it. How could you deal with something that involved the whole village? Especially when that village considered the extra income and luxuries their right?

  He was tired and the discomforts of the day’s riding in the unpleasant weather became more apparent. He frowned as he glanced down at his expensive leather boots which had been cleaned with such care the previous evening, and the cloak made of fine wool which he had been too vain to protect with a waterproof that smelt of mildew. The brim of his hat was falling in waves about his head. Why did his masters insist he waste a day just to be told what he already knew, that smuggling was a pest and costly nuisance?

  * * *

  When Enyd had closed her door, Dan decided to go and see Ivor-the-Builder. He had long intended to make a truckle bed for when baby Dic was old enough to need one. Ivor would have some small pieces of wood to sell cheap and a few nails too. The bed he planned would slide out of sight under a cupboard during the day and be trundled out at night.

  He wondered if he could learn to live without the sea, if perhaps he could spend his days making things from wood to sell at the markets. It would entail a lot of travelling, to other markets in other towns and villages, and fairs. He would have to spend long hours alone in a barn with only the rasping and banging of the tools to listen to. The companionship he shared with his father would be sorely missed. And what of his father? He couldn’t manage the boat and nets alone. Perhaps Olwen would go with him? She was small but strong, and would probably relish the adventure.

  He stopped to relieve himself against a tree but was startled to see a blaze of red, and made out the shape of a soldier hiding in the leafy green. The desire to urinate left him. First Daniels asking questions and now soldiery. He walked on without speaking to the boy and thought he had better warn his father and the rest to be extra careful for a few days, until the soldiers’ enthusiasm was lost to boredom.

  He found Ivor at home, the rain making his work of building a new barn for William Ddole impossible. Invited inside, Dan explained his reasons for the call, and when he and Ivor went to the barn to choose the wood, he said in a half-whisper,

  ‘It’s getting that you can’t pee in the hedges without sprinkling a soldier!’

  ‘I saw two of them half hidden by the big chestnut tree,’ Ivor laughed. ‘They try to hide, hoping to find out something that will lead them to so-called criminals, yet insist on wearing their bright red coats. Do they think us blind?’

  ‘Still, even though we laugh at them, we must warn people to be extra cautious for a while,’ Dan said. ‘The deliveries of gifts must wait a while, I think.’

  ‘Leave it for today, few will be out in this. I’ll send messages tomorrow.’

  Dan gathered up the strips of wood Ivor had supplied, then asked, in a moment of impulse, ‘What chance of my working as a carpenter, Ivor? Would I be good enough?’

  ‘If you spent the time with me, eventually you would pass muster, but I can’t see you leaving the sea for the monotony and frustration of learning a fresh trade, boy.’

  Dan laughingly agreed. Now, although he had been light-hearted in his question, he could tell Enyd that he had at least tried and been turned down!

  He adjusted his load and set off home, thinking of the food and warmth and dry clothes, bending in his haste to be there now there was nothing more to keep him away. At the top of the cliff he smelt smoke. Low and creeping about like a lost fog, its acrid smell puzzled him. Who would be stupid enough to try and burn out of doors in weather like today?

  Chapter Three

  When Barrass reached his new home that evening he stared in disbelief at the smouldering building. It was still raining, steady, relentless rain that filled the air with warm dampness, no fierce storm but surely enough to hold back a fire?

  He stumbled towards the already blackened walls and tried to look inside. The smoke billowing out forced him back, but he knew without having to see that all his possessions were gone. He felt the walls, warm and damp. It would be hours before he could sleep in the meagre shelter they offered. Where could he go? His old lean-to at the beach had disintegrated days ago.

  The temptation to walk and keep walking until he collapsed with exhaustion welled up in him. Why should he stay here, where someone could do this to him? Then a devastating thought came into his head. Who could have come here to this isolated place and deliberately burned his home? The only one who knew of it was Blodwen, the girl he had allowed to share his secret. He sat down on the wet grass and fought to hold back sobs of dismay.

  He moved towards the building again, wet, cold, hungry and miserable. It will smoulder until there’s nothing left, he thought, and the only thing to do is walk away. He dragged his feet reluctantly down to the village and there, in a corbelled pig-house, mercifully empty, where he had found shelter before, he slept.

  The first person he saw the following morning was Kenneth, who was setting out on the horse he regularly hired for the journey to Swansea to pick up the post. He used a horse to collect the mail, yet was too mean to hire again for the longer trip around Gower delivering it, when he would walk and spend a night at the furthest point of his route before returning for home.

  ‘What’s the matter, boy?’ Kenneth asked as he saw the drooping figure standing halfway up the bank. ‘Want some breakfast, do you?’

  ‘I made myself a home,’ Barrass told him, ‘and yesterday, someone burnt it down.’

  ‘Never! Well there’s a thing! Sure you weren’t careless with the fire yourself?’

  ‘I hadn’t lit one.’ He took the piece of bread and chunk of cheese offered by Kenneth and went on his way. ‘Tell Blodwen Baker, will you?’ he called back.

  All day he wandered aimlessly around the village, waiting for the opportunity to confront Blodwen and ask her why she had done it. Then, when he was building up the courage to go boldly to the door of her house, she came past where he was sitting on the wall in front of the alehouse talking to Arthur.

  ‘My house was burnt down last night,’ he said, his face reddening as it frequently did when talking to Blodwen. ‘Someone went up there and deliberately ruined it.’

  Blodwen, who was
with her mother, just shrugged and the two women passed him without a word. Although it was not unusual for Blodwen to ignore him, for Barrass that day it seemed an act of guilt.

  Arthur reddened too. He had been waiting all morning for the opportunity to tell Barrass what he had done. If Barrass had been less distressed he might have noticed the boy’s nervousness, his anxiety to please him and the way he agreed, almost before he had finished speaking, with everything Barrass said. Barrass could not know that the boy was waiting for the accusations to begin, brought almost to the point of tears when none came.

  When Olwen came to sell fish to Pitcher, Arthur exchanged a look with her of anxiety and remorse.

  ‘I’ve been making a home for myself,’ Barrass told her, ‘and spent ages getting it finished and dry for the winter, and last night someone burnt it down.’

  Olwen hesitated. It would be so easy to lie – Barrass had no idea that she had found out about the place. Then she knew with childlike conviction that she had to be honest with him, he was her special friend and no untruth must spoil that.

  ‘I – I planned a surprise for you, Barrass,’ she began. ‘I wanted you to have a fire to welcome you home after walking all those miles in the rain and I lit a fire in the hearth. I did it proper, mind. Built it just as Mam does. But I suppose it must have fallen from the hearth and caught the straw on the floor alight. Barrass, I’m sorry.’ She began to sob as he stood over her, his brown eyes frowning. She flinched ready for the blow that must surely come. ‘I’m sorry, I really wasn’t careless. I wanted to surprise you.’ She blinked her eyes open, expecting to see his arm raised to hit her, but to her amazement he was calm and almost smiling.

  ‘So it wasn’t Blodwen,’ he said softly. ‘Now there’s a relief.’

  Olwen glanced at Arthur and back at Barrass, her normal ebullient nature quickly restored.

  ‘You aren’t mad at me then?’