Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner Page 14

  “When did that happen?” Elias asked.

  The story was not much to go on, but if so many people were talking about Black Jack and what might be done about him, then Bill’s suspicions that the accident was no accident were correct. Elias shuddered again. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of murder.

  “Couple weeks back,” Will replied. “Yeah. ’Twere Thursday afore last. I remember, ’cos I don’t often stop at Drury, but weather were that bad I didn’t push on.”

  “Those days fit about right, from what I was told,” said Elias, mentally calculating what Gwenna had told him. “The weather was bad, you said. I don’t remember. Bad how?”

  “Wet. We’d had showers on and off for a couple of days, but that day the clouds burst. Those that were on the road – and there wasn’t many, it were that slippery – were wrapped up in their wet weather gear, head down trying to get wherever they was going as safely as possible.”

  “Did you recognise anyone?” Elias tried to keep his voice calm and not let on what he was thinking. Maybe if the road was that wet, it could have been an accident after all.

  “You kidding me? No one was looking like anyone that day. I could have passed me own mother and not seen her,” said Will.

  “So if there’d been a crash, like someone going over a bank, would anyone notice?”

  “Not likely. Not then at least. Maybe in a day or two, if someone had cared to look. But most likely the rain would have hidden any evidence to the casual passer-by,” answered Will. “What’re you getting at?”

  “Just thinkin’ out loud,” said Elias, almost relieved. It sounded more like an accident to him. “I’m not local. I’m from Karangahape Road, but I hear things too. I need a new driver to help out with the sales and deliveries, and someone recommended Johnno Jones, but I can’t find him.”

  It wasn’t completely untrue. He did want a driver. He was tired of doing the deliveries himself, even those near to home, since it took him away from his woodworking, but it wouldn’t be Johnno.

  “I remember now,” said Arthur. “I thought I knew you from somewhere. You’re the lolly man. You had another guy who used to come down here visiting all the villages and such. You came with him a few times, I seem to recall.”

  Elias didn’t show his surprise at being identified. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got my own van, but the driving takes me away from what I should be doing, so I’ve not been around lately. Hugh, the guy you’re talking about, is off with the war. Won’t be back until November, if I’m lucky, and if he’s lucky enough to survive it all. There’s an awful lot who don’t. That’s why I need someone meanwhile.”

  Elias detected a slight shift once they became aware of who he was. Frank suggested another round of drinks. Someone banked up the fire, and even though it wasn’t cold enough, the fire was relaxing.

  Too wound up to let the conversation go off track for long, Elias drank a deep draught of his ale and steered the topic away from the casualties of war back to Johnno Jones. “Will, if I heard you correctly, coming up two weeks ago you heard people in the pub talking about removing a scourge. Right?” Will agreed. “And you believe they meant Black Jack?” pushed Elias.

  “I never said that,” replied Will, too swiftly.

  Elias lifted an eyebrow in query.

  “Possibly,” Will conceded.

  “So, if something, let’s say, untoward, has happened to help Black Jack ‘disappear’, then where’s Johnno?” asked Elias, planting a seed of doubt.

  “Where are you heading with this?” Jim eyed Elias uncertainly.

  “Not sure. All I know is, you’ve said two men haven’t been seen in weeks. I know their wagon is at the bottom of the gully. So what happened? Is one of them dead? If so, where’s the other one? And whose body is it?”

  The four men gawped at one another, consternation written on their faces.

  “Well, if it were that day I was talking about,” ventured Will, “anything’s possible. But ...” He paused. “Wait up. I remember now. I saw him on Sunday. Yes, I’m sure it was Sunday. I was heading down this way with a shipment, and he came roaring past me at a flat gallop. His horse was frothing at the mouth. And if he came the whole way up the hills at that pace, it’s no wonder.”

  “Never mind about the horse,” said Arthur irritated. “Who did you see?”

  “Jack Jones. Who else do you think I’m talking about?”

  “Are you certain it was him?” His heart pumping, Elias sat on the edge of his seat.

  For a moment, Will appeared taken aback. He hesitated. “I ... well. Yes. Yes, I am. He was wearing that funny old greatcoat of his. I remembered it. It’s the only one I’ve seen like it.”

  Everyone recalled the tatty wool coat Jack wore, with its tarnished brass buttons he never did up. It was unmistakable. The shoulder cape, torn on one side, hung lopsided and flew about in the wind, and would have been the final giveaway.

  “And you do mean Sunday gone? Three days ago?” checked Elias, wanting to be absolutely sure.

  “I said so, didn’t I? How many times do I have ta tell ya? Sunday.”

  Elias downed the rest of his schooner and ordered more.

  “Well, well. That’s a turn-up,” said Jim. “Where was he going in such a hurry, I wonder?”

  “Good riddance, I say. The further he goes, the better. We’re well shot of him,” muttered Arthur. “For a moment there, I thought he was out of everyone’s hair for good.” Arthur’s face turned grey and grim.

  “I’m guessing he wasn’t looking for his son, at any rate,” said Elias, the beer in his gut turning sour.

  “What if Will is right in what he said about overhearing those blokes?” said Frank who’d been listening to the exchange without saying a word. “What if they did do something that day in the rain? Jack Jones’s wagon had his name painted on it, but if the fella driving it was wrapped up in oilskins, like Will said, and no one could see him properly, could they have thought it was Jack when in fact it was Johnno? It could be a case of mistaken identity.”

  Elias felt the shiver down his spine again as the scene fell into place. The wagon going over the top could well have been an accident, forced off the road in the wet. Except there was no horse, and the body had deliberately been put under the wagon.

  “Are you thinking he might have been murdered? By mistake?” asked Will.

  No one answered.

  Elias tossed back another whisky as he took it all in.

  The target was Jack.

  But the victim was Johnno.

  19

  The Agreement

  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.

  20

  Hiding the truth

  23 April 1900

  Neither of them had the grace of time. On Monday morning, a knock sounded.

  “Is a Mr Elias Hughes at home?” queried the man who stood at the door checking his notebook.

  Bethan stood back, opening the door wider.

  Elias rose from the table, still cluttered with breakfast dishes, and took a few steps forward. “I am he.”

  “Detective Lawrence Scott.” The man, dressed in a tweed jacket and bowler hat, showed his badge. “Could we have a word, sir?”

  With a wave of his hand, Elias allowed the man entry and made the introductions.

  Bethan scurried to clear the table. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  “Thank you, ma’am. That would be very kind.”

  Once Elias and the detective were seated, Bethan made a fresh pot of tea, placed it on the table next to a plate of biscuits and moved the sugar and milk within reach. Gwenna watched, aware that fussing over the little details kept Bethan’s anxiety at bay.

  “Now, sir. I understand you were in the vicinity of an accident on Wednesday on the Razorback.” The man added some milk, took a sip of tea and picked up a biscuit.

  “I was, yes. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Oh, and why is that, sir?” He didn’t pay attention to Elias as he asked the question and proceeded to dunk his biscuit in the tea and suck it.

  Elias frowned. “Well, about the wagon I discovered down in the gully. I was helping rescue a man from down the bank when we saw it. I presumed you wanted to talk about that.”

  “We know all there is to know about the rescue. Mr Davies has kindly advised us of the details. Mr Dean also.”

  “How is Dan?” enquired Elias.

  “I believe Mr Davies is recovering and will be returning home shortly.”

  “Good, I’m glad. Which one was Dean? I didn’t get everyone’s name.”

  “I understand he was the driver of the other v
ehicle.”

  “In which case, what brings you to my door?” Elias fidgeted restlessly in his chair.

  “I’m here on another matter.” The man paused and dunked another biscuit. “We’ve received a report of some suspicious activities involving you.”

  “What suspicious activities?” Elias was undeniably taken aback.

  “We could go to the station if you would prefer.”

  “Station?” exclaimed Bethan. “Whatever for? What are you accusing him of?”

  “Nothing yet, ma’am. We are simply making enquiries. It seems Mr Hughes failed to mention the body he found in, shall we say, unusual circumstances.”

  A strange, strangled sound escaped Gwenna’s lips as though someone had squeezed what little life remained from her.

  “Are you well, ma’am?” For a moment, the officer sounded alarmed.

  Gwenna didn’t answer.

  “Really, detective,” snapped Elias. “Have some decency.”

  Scott remained unruffled. “It seems you may also have omitted to tell the ladies here about your, er, ‘find’.”

  “On the contrary, sir. I have informed Mrs Jones ...” Elias waved a hand towards Gwenna, “... that I believed her husband was no longer with us, and the police would formally advise her in due course – which I had supposed was the purpose of your visit. However, I chose not to supply the less-than-pleasant details of how I reached my conclusion.”

  The detective had enough propriety to apologise. “Forgive me, ma’am, for the shock, but police business must take precedence.”

  “Pompous fool,” Gwenna muffled under her breath, irritated by his manner. This was her husband, her Johnno, that ghastly man was talking about. Her back straightened. “I understand, Detective Scott, but surely, you could have found a more suitable way.”