All That Glitters by Catrin Collier Read Free Book Online Page A

showing in the White Palace: a padded chair with arms and cushions, and a soft bed and plump pillows covered by a brightly-coloured patchwork quilt. And when she had her wages she’d be able to buy a glass vase for flowers similar to the one that had stood on the windowsill of the Master’s house. A table with a pretty cloth edged with lace …
    She halted abruptly as reality intruded into her daydream. The darkness had melted, the sky was light grey and a bridge stretched in front of her spanning a river that flowed far below street level. She ran to the centre and looked over the parapet. Upriver there were trees and a row of houses that disappeared into a band of dense woodland. Downriver, terraces of imposing villas wound high above the steep banks that followed the flow of water. If she crossed the bridge and walked downriver, sooner or later she had to reach the town. Even if the road was longer, she would run less risk of discovery than returning the way she’d come.
    Dropping the clogs to the ground she slid her dirty feet into them and crossed the bridge. For the first time she noticed birdsong in the air and a hint of warmth in the cold morning light. A magnificent house with mullioned windows and beautiful gardens stood high on a rise in front of her. She gazed at it, trying to imagine what it would be like to live within its walls. When the curtain moved in an upstairs room she began to run. One day she intended to find out about that kind of life, but she’d never get the chance if she wasted time fantasising now.
    ‘She’s gone.’
    ‘Don’t be stupid woman, where would she go?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Bletchett replied, furious at being called stupid on top of being faced with making and serving the lodgers’ breakfasts herself.
    ‘You haven’t looked properly. You never do.’ He sat up in the bed and scratched his armpits.
    ‘I’ve been everywhere. The kitchen, the dining room, the bar, the attic …’
    ‘The bathrooms?’
    ‘I’ve knocked on all the doors. There’s lodgers in every one.’
    ‘Get me a cup of tea then I’ll -’
    ‘Don’t you cup of tea me! There’s no time for that this morning. You get out of that bed and see that the lodgers’ breakfasts are put on the table before they start holding back their money. Then you walk up the Graig Hill, report the slut missing and pick out a replacement.’
    ‘I’ll bring back the one you wanted,’ he grunted, in an attempt to mollify her.
    ‘You and your skinny ones. I saw through her from the start. Whore and slut. Just like the last one you chose, and the one you insisted on giving house room to before that.’
    ‘None of them are our problem any more. Not even this one.’ He left the bed and pulled his trousers on over his long johns. ‘When she’s picked up the guardians will see she’s taken back to the workhouse.’
    ‘And she stays there. Do you understand me? I’ll see her rot in hell before I allow her over this doorstep again.’
    Jane saw the old bridge and her step quickened. She was on the right road. The old stone footbridge that arched alongside the flat, serviceable modern bridge that connected the town to Merthyr Road was the one landmark in Pontypridd everyone recognised. She even knew the story of how it had been built by William Edwards nearly two hundred years before. He’d watched his first attempt wash away in a flood, his second collapse on the bed of the river, and, undaunted by failure, he’d designed and built a third that still stood for all to see. Her Standard One teacher had told the class that William Edwards’s courage had spawned the saying ‘Three tries a Welshman’ and that all of them should follow the builder’s example and refuse to be disheartened by life, no matter what problems it presented.
    As she drew closer to the steps that rose to the summit of the arch she changed direction. On impulse she ran up the bridge. If one man could build this, then she could get a job.