Twenty-One
Mrs Hopkin was still in the throes of the depression that had taken hold since Sophia had passed away, but with Nellie’s wedding less than a week away she had begun to open up a bit and was distracting herself with preparations. She wasn’t quite her old self yet, but she spoke a little more and had started helping the oldest girls around the house again. They were small but welcome steps.
The contributing factor to the turnaround in her mood came when Nellie suggested that perhaps it would be better to ask Gethin’s mother to provide the food for the reception party. Mrs Hopkin took great offence to this and immediately placed a huge order for supplies down at the post office shop. I wasn’t sure if Nellie knew which were the right buttons to press with her mother, but the smirk she gave when Mrs Hopkin grabbed her coat to walk down the hill was a good indication that the suggestion wasn’t accidental.
The food order had been coming back to her in dribs and drabs and each day one of us had been tasked to go and collect the latest supplies. Today was my turn, and as soon as I’d finished the morning feed with the calves, she’d put a list in my hand and sent me on my way.
As I waited in line outside the post office, I saw Mair bounding down the lane from her cottage looking uncharacteristically cheerful. She was dressed very smartly for a Thursday morning and I was curious as to where she was headed.
“Mair.” I called out to her with a wave and she flashed me such a warm smile it made me suspicious. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t stop,” she said. “I’m going to be late. Call around for tea this evening.”
She darted around the side of the pub and rushed off up the hill without saying another word.
“She’s been going for the omnibus nearly every day.”
I turned around to see Mrs Wilkes had joined the line behind me. She did love to hang around the post office looking for gossip.
“Been watching her, have you?”
“One tends to notice patterns if they repeat themselves often enough, Mr Jacob.”
“Or if you spend all day looking for them,” I replied.
“And how do you spend your days, Mr Jacob? What do you look for? Or should I say, whom?”
She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at me, a look of smugness on her face. She was insisting on playing word games and I tired of it quickly.
“Will there be anything else, Mrs Wilkes?”
“I heard about your outbursts at Felin Fawr. I daresay much of the village has.”
“I’m sure you’ve made certain of that.”
I stepped forward as the queue moved towards the door and she kept close behind me, unwilling to unhook her claws.
“Such an ugly business.”
“Well, if Arthur hadn't run off scared…”
“Scared?” She found my comment amusing and let out a very fake, very high-pitched laugh at my expense. “Mr Morgan has far bigger concerns, I’m sure. His new business venture is doing remarkably well by all accounts.”
“Oh, he’s still alive then?” I gave her a disappointed look and she seemed unimpressed by my remark.
“Quite alive,” she replied, a bit more snappily this time. “And very much a success in his endeavours.” She looked me up and down in my work slacks, covered in muck and threadbare, and let out a little snigger. “So successful, in fact, that he may never return. I’ll be sure to pass on your regards in my next letter.”
She stormed off across the street and I breathed a sigh of relief at her departure. I was growing to hate her.
If she really was in contact with Arthur then it meant he wasn’t that far away, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It had crossed my mind, on the few occasions I allowed myself to think on it, that perhaps he’d somehow managed to make the ring work and that he’d zoomed off through time and out of my life. I’d also hoped, and felt little to no shame in it, that if that were the case, then he would find himself reappearing somewhere unfortunate, such as a cave filled with lions, or perhaps at the bottom of an ocean.
It was a fun thought, but I ultimately knew it wasn’t possible. If he were missing then his family would have made it known and it would have been all anybody at the post office would have been talking about. If Mrs Wilkes was correct, however, then I still may never see him again, which left the subject of the ring, and my potential departure, very much up in the air.
“You don’t look very happy,” Gwyn said, falling in step with me as I walked back to the farm with Mrs Hopkin’s sacks of food.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Mrs Wilkes…”
“Ah, yes. She has that effect on people. What did she have to say for herself this time?”