The Dream Begins Read online

  Betty never mentioned the subject, but he sensed she regretted they hadn’t had children. Would children have brought them closer together? Cemented whatever he’d felt when he’d proposed to her He must have felt something, but if he had, he had no recollection of strong emotion. Would they have children in the future …?

  The minister finished his address with an ‘Amen’.

  The mourners shuffled into a queue and began to file past the grave, murmuring low words of comfort to the two boys as they shook their hands.

  Recognising most of them, Glyn nodded to the men but his thoughts remained fixed on John Hughes and the new life that awaited him. It was peculiar how he was having difficulty picturing Betty a part of it.

  Court off John Street

  Georgetown, Merthyr, June 1870

  Maggie rushed into the court the same moment Ianto Paskey left Iestyn Swine’s house. He was hitching up his trousers as he climbed the steps, fastening the belt, but his flies were open, exposing hairy dirty flesh and a blood-stained penis.

  Maggie screamed. Within seconds a crowd of women charged out of the Parrys.

  Ianto held up his hands. ‘Don’t want no trouble …’

  ‘What you doing in my house, Ianto Paskey!’ Jenny ran straight for him. She stopped in her tracks when Mervyn appeared in her doorway.

  ‘Where’s Anna, Ianto?’ Maggie drew strength from the women behind her.

  Ianto edged back down the steps.

  ‘What have you done to her?’ Maggie joined Jenny.

  ‘You filthy men get out of my house and stay out. Both of you,’ Jenny added when Mervyn ducked back inside the doorway.

  ‘Where’s Anna?’ Betty repeated. Concern for the girl, and guilt at stopping Jenny and Maggie from looking for her earlier, overrode caution. Betty pushed past Maggie and caught up with Ianto at the door. Ianto tried to close it, but too late. Maggie joined Betty and she’d had the foresight to jam her foot between the door and the stoop. Ianto was no match for Maggie, who had the weight of the women behind her.

  Maggie, Betty, and May burst into the house. Ianto and Mervyn backed towards the wall and the ladder that led to the sleeping platform.

  The men had nowhere to go and they were terrified. Because on the rag rug in front of the hearth lay the stripped, broken, bleeding body of Anna Parry.

  ‘Bastards!’ Maggie rushed at Ianto and pounded him with her fists.

  ‘We didn’t do nothing to her she didn’t want done,’ Ianto blustered.

  Betty took off her shawl and covered Anna with it.

  ‘She was asking for it …’

  Those were the last words Ianto spoke before Maggie and the other women surrounded him and Mervyn.

  ‘Get them out of my house,’ Jenny demanded.

  The women dragged the two men out of the door and up the steps.

  Betty lifted Anna’s head on to her lap. The girl opened her eyes and stared blindly at the ceiling. Betty wrapped her arms around her, crooning to her as if she were a baby. ‘You’ll be all right. I’ll look after you, darling. You’ll be all right …’

  Jenny waited until the women had heaved the men up the steps into the court before looking along the shelves where Iestyn kept his tools.

  She picked up his gelding irons.

  St Tydfil’s cemetery

  Merthyr, June 1870

  ‘Do you intend to stay there all night, Glyn?’ Edward called from the gates where he was waiting with Peter, Alf, and the Parry boys.

  Glyn looked up from the grave. The mourners had left. The cemetery had emptied and he’d been too deep in thought to notice.

  ‘Head in Russia?’ Edward suggested.

  ‘Back in the Quarr.’ Glyn referred to the area where he and his brothers had grown up alongside Mary and her family. He looked down at the coffin and remembered the pretty, smiling girl she’d been.

  Edward joined him. ‘Mary had a hard life.’

  ‘Only after she’d been widowed. She had a happy childhood. I don’t think she recovered from losing Tom. Then to lose another husband and five children,’ Glyn paused. ‘The ultimate tragedy has to be burying your children. I don’t know how Mary found the strength to carry on.’

  ‘She was happy the day she married Tom,’ Edward murmured. ‘I’m glad they had a little time together.’

  ‘It wasn’t long enough.’

  ‘Did you ever look at Mary and Tom when they were together? Really look at them? I’d exchange ten years of my married life for one hour of theirs.’ Edward saw Glyn staring at him. ‘I don’t mean that I loved her …’ Realising his brother had seen through his protest Edward stopped talking.

  ‘But you did.’ Glyn had made a statement.

  Realising denial was futile, Edward confessed. ‘Even before Tom realised he was in love with her.’

  ‘You wanted to marry her?’

  ‘We were the same age, sixteen. Too young for a boy to consider marriage. Not too young for a girl. By the time I realised the strength of my feelings, Tom had proposed and Mary accepted.’

  ‘So that’s why you helped her and the children after Richard Parry was killed.’

  ‘I would have done more if she’d let me but I think she guessed how I felt about her. So did Judith. It didn’t help that Judith and I haven’t had children. Every time I look at Richard I think he could have been my nephew – or …’

  ‘Your son,’ Glyn suggested.

  ‘I shouldn’t have started this conversation. Forget I said anything.’

  Glyn was shocked by the thought that Edward had anything more than fraternal feelings for Mary. But even as he assured Edward he would disregard what had been said, he knew neither of them would. The words had been spoken. They couldn’t be forgotten.

  They went to the gate. Owen and Morgan were looking back at their parents’ grave, their eyes damp from more than rain.

  Glyn jammed his hat on his head. A police whistle shrilled. A constable raced up.

  ‘Dr Edwards?’

  ‘Yes?’ Peter answered.

  The constable placed his hands on his knees and kept his head low, gasping in air. ‘People have been hurt in a fracas in a court off John Street. It’s bad. The women told the sergeant you’d be here. He sent me to fetch you and check on the Parry boys.’

  ‘Why check on the Parry boys?’ Peter asked. When the constable wouldn’t meet his eye he started running.

  Chapter Two

  Court off John Street

  Georgetown, Merthyr, June 1870

  The constable hadn’t exaggerated. The situation was “bad”. The yard in front of Iestyn Swine’s house was awash with blood. A constable was attempting to clean it but as there was no drainage all he could do was sweep the congealing mess from one spot to another, staining even more of the cracked flagstones.

  Two officers were attempting to interview the neighbours who’d gathered in front of the Parrys’ house. The women were shrieking and gesticulating, the constables shouting their questions above the din. One was scribbling with a pencil in his notebook although Peter doubted he’d heard anything intelligible.

  The sergeant saw Peter and Edward and went to meet them. The police doctor, Dr Evans, finished superintending the loading of a patient on a stretcher and joined them.

  ‘What happened?’ Edward asked. ‘Is Anna Parry …?’

  The sergeant drew Edward and Peter away from the crowd. Dr Evans caught sight of Morgan and Owen entering the court with Alf and Glyn.

  ‘The young Parrys would be better off elsewhere.’

  ‘Glyn, Alf, take Morgan and Owen to the Boot, we’ll meet you there,’ Edward called.

  The sergeant waited until Glyn shepherded the boys away before continuing. ‘Mervyn and Ianto Paskey raped the Parry girl.’

  ‘Anna! In heaven’s name, she’s a child!’ Edward blanched.

  Dr Evans addressed Peter. ‘She’s conscious, in deep shock, bruised, and covered in cuts and abrasions. Her injuries need stitching but I thought that wou
ld best be done away from here. I’ve administered laudanum. Physically she should recover. Mentally … Have you experience of dealing with children who’ve been raped?’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Peter replied.

  ‘After I dressed her wounds I left her with your sister-in-law. She wants to take the girl to the Boot Inn. Frankly I don’t think a public house the best place for her.’

  ‘The blood,’ Edward asked. ‘Is it Anna’s?’

  ‘No,’ the sergeant revealed. ‘Ianto’s. The women got to him before the constables arrived.’

  ‘That was Ianto being carried out,’ Dr Evans said.

  ‘The women beat him?’ Peter asked the sergeant.

  ‘Castrated him. They were about to do the same to Mervyn when my officers stopped them.’

  ‘Pity.’ Edward meant it.

  ‘We have both Paskeys in custody; Mervyn in the cells, Ianto in the infirmary.’

  ‘Ianto shouldn’t be in the infirmary for more than a week or two,’ Dr Evans predicted. ‘He lost a lot of blood but Iestyn Swine’s wife knew what she was doing. She made a neat job of the gelding.’

  ‘Too neat for my liking,’ the sergeant added. ‘Bastard deserves to swing for what he did to Anna Parry. As you said, Edward, she’s a child.’

  ‘The Paskeys deserve to dance at the end of a rope but they won’t.’

  ‘Rapists can’t be sentenced to death these days, Edward. But if I have my way, the Paskeys will be going down for a long time over this.’

  ‘You’ll want Anna to give evidence,’ Edward checked. ‘Knowing what that will do to her reputation?’

  ‘If she refuses to give evidence they won’t be convicted.’

  ‘You have other witnesses,’ Peter reminded.

  ‘None of them saw the actual rape.’ Anxious to avoid argument; the sergeant opened his notebook. ‘Your sister-in-law Betty and Maggie Two Suits said you paid Alf Mahoney to stay with the Parry children after their mother died because you were expecting trouble from the Paskeys?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Edward concurred.

  ‘I heard they’d attacked Richard and he was lucky to be alive. I was expecting you to visit the station to make an official complaint.’

  ‘Against Deputy Perkins and the Paskeys? How far would we have got?’

  ‘Nowhere against Deputy Perkins, because no one would be prepared to go up against him in court. The Paskeys are a different matter, which is why it’s important Anna testifies against them,’ the sergeant stressed. ‘If you’d come to the station with the Farmer boys who carted Richard off the mountain we might have made something stick against them days ago.’

  ‘Like what?’ Edward demanded. ‘Assault? Affray?’

  ‘Either would have been better than nothing. As it is the Paskeys have got away with beating Richard and raping Anna.’

  ‘Not quite, thanks to the gelding irons,’ Peter interposed.

  ‘If you’d charged the Paskeys with assault or affray all you’d have succeeded in doing is annoying them and making them more determined to injure Richard, and possibly the Farmers for helping the boy. I thought it best to leave things until we could get Richard away from Merthyr. I was wrong. I should have gone after the Paskeys.’

  ‘And done what, Edward?’ the sergeant questioned. ‘Killed or injured them? If you had, you’d be in the dock. That wouldn’t help Richard Parry or his sister. You told Alf to care for the Parry children. Were you expecting the Paskeys to attack the girl?’

  ‘Not on the day of her mother’s funeral.’ Edward was bitter. ‘I should have taken Anna to the cemetery. She wanted to go.’

  ‘The Paskeys are nasty pieces of work. You couldn’t have protected the children for ever,’ the sergeant consoled.

  ‘I could have damned well tried.’

  Peter had never heard Edward swear before. ‘You did what you could, Edward.’

  ‘I failed and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘I asked the sergeant to send for you, Dr Edwards, because I didn’t know what to do with the girl,’ Dr Evans appealed to Peter. ‘She needs stitching and nursing care, but neither the Boot Inn nor the infirmary is suitable for someone her age, in her condition. Her neighbours are well meaning but they have no medical knowledge. There are no parents …’

  ‘My wife and I will take care of her,’ Peter interrupted.

  ‘I hoped you’d offer. I’ll take you to her.’ Dr Evans led the way. The sergeant followed.

  Peter looked for Edward. He was striding through the arch. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To put a stop to this hounding of the Parrys.’

  ‘The Paskeys are in custody, sir.’

  ‘They’re not the only thugs in Merthyr willing to kill for a pint of ale, sergeant. The only way to finish this is by talking to the man who put a price on Richard’s head.’

  Peter turned. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No.’ Edward put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘Take care of Anna and tell Betty to pack the Parrys’ possessions, especially their clothes, then send word with one of the lads to Tom Farmer. Tell him to notify the landlord that the Parrys are moving out and ask him to contact me if there’s any outstanding rent. I’ll pay Tom to clear the house and cart the contents to the Boot. Ask Betty to find room for their bits and pieces. If Glyn and Betty take the boys for the time being and you take Anna, Alf can return to his lodgings. We’ll make a decision about the Parrys’ future tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re going to see Deputy Perkins.’ Peter guessed.

  ‘He should be home at this time in the evening.’

  ‘You’re going alone?’

  ‘I’ve known Perkins since he was a boy.’

  ‘Edward …’ Peter was talking to Edward’s back. ‘At least take Alf with you.’ His plea fell on deaf ears. His brother was half way up the street.

  The sergeant appeared at his elbow. ‘Don’t worry, Dr Edwards, I’ll send a couple of constables after him.’

  ‘To arrest Deputy Perkins?’

  ‘Only if you can suggest a charge that will stick, sir?’

  ‘We know he paid the Paskeys to beat up Richard. And probably paid them to rape Anna – a child …’

  ‘The Paskeys will be punished for the rape, because Anna’s testimony can be corroborated by witnesses who saw her injuries before the Paskeys left the crime scene. But knowing Deputy Perkins paid the Paskeys to beat Richard and suspecting that he paid them to rape Anna isn’t the same as being able to prove it. Courts demand proof. All I can do is set men to watch the deputy. I don’t think he’ll harm your brother for calling at his house but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’ The sergeant eyed the constables in the yard. ‘Jenkins, Kelly.’

  The two largest officers stepped forward and snapped to attention. ‘Sir.’

  ‘You know where Deputy Perkins lives?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kelly confirmed.

  ‘Mr Edward Edwards is on his way there. Follow at distance and keep a friendly eye. Only interfere if you have to.’

  ‘Got it, sir,’ Jenkins answered.

  Deputy Perkins’ house

  High Street, Merthyr, June 1870

  Edward strode through the gate of Perkins’s substantial villa. He stepped into the porch and rang the bell. It was answered by a middle-aged woman in a black dress and mob cap. Emotionally shattered by Anna’s rape, he wasn’t too distressed to notice Deputy Perkins dressed his parlour maids in a replica of the uniform worn by the Crawshays’ indoor staff.

  ‘Edward Edwards to see Mr Perkins.’

  ‘I’ll see if the master’s in, sir.’ The maid bobbed a curtsey and closed the door in Edward’s face.

  He looked through the etched glass panel and watched her blurred outline as she walked down the passage, knocked a door, presumably waited for an ‘enter’, and disappeared. She reappeared a few moments later, closed the door behind her, and opened the front door. Unable to meet his eyes she focused on the floor tiles.

  ‘The master’s not in, sir.
’

  ‘Please return to your master and tell him I will now call on Mr Robert Crawshay to voice my concern at the conduct of one of his deputies and the methods used by that deputy to promote workers to positions of junior authority within the rolling mill of Crawshays’ ironworks.’

  Deputy Perkins emerged into the hall. ‘Go to the kitchen.’ He waited until the maid disappeared before addressing Edward. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Edward Edwards.’

  ‘I have something to say to you. Would you like me to move to the gate so I can shout it in the street?’

  Perkins went as far as the porch. ‘You have two minutes.’

  ‘Perhaps a visit to Cyfarthfa Castle would be more productive. Mr Crawshay doesn’t put a time limit on his callers if they have matters of business to discuss.’

  ‘You can have no business to discuss with Mr Crawshay that concerns me.’

  ‘You paid the Paskeys to beat Richard Parry and promised them a bonus when they killed him.’

  ‘Prove it.’ Perkins challenged.

  ‘The police are doing that now. They have both Paskeys in custody and they’re questioning them. Vigorously.’

  Perkins latched the front door and pulled it behind him. He looked up the street and saw the constables across the road watching him and Edward. ‘I know nothing about any doings of the Paskeys.’

  ‘They work under you in the rolling mill.’

  ‘What they do in their own time is no concern of mine. You can’t prove anything …’

  ‘The Paskeys boasted in The Chandlers Arms that you promised them promotion and a guinea bonus if they killed Richard Parry.’

  ‘They were lying.’

  ‘You deny ordering the Paskeys to beat Richard?’

  ‘Whatever argument the Paskeys have with Richard Parry is none of my concern or yours.’ Momentarily forgetting the constables’ presence, Perkins pushed his face close to Edward’s.