Dead Man's Embers by Mari Strachan Read Free Book Online Page A

battle with Catherine Davies. She would prefer to remain neutral; she is not sure what particular cause this battle is being fought over. Some kind of supremacy, no doubt. Is that not what all battles are about?
    Catherine Davies fans herself with her napkin. Non thinks, Bite your tongue, hold your breath and count to twenty. The sickness that only she can see eating at Catherine Davies must affect the way the woman thinks and behaves. Surely? And her mother-in-law has suffered, Maggie Ellis was right. Billy was the child she adored. To the neglect of her other three children, admittedly, but still . . . And now old William Davies, who had been Non’s ally through all the dark days of the War, is slipping away from them into a world of his own. When did that begin? Was that, too, a result of Billy’s death? William Davies loved his children equally, except he maybe loved Billy a little less. Non is sure he would have liked to have seen more of his daughters. Perhaps when this great heat has run its course and the days and nightshave become bearable again, she will write to her sisters-in-law, Bess and Katie, far away in the south, to see if they can have a family gathering. Davey would like that. The old Davey would have liked that, she corrects herself.
    â€˜And how long are you intending to stay, young man?’ Mrs Davies turns to Gwydion as she speaks.
    â€˜Until Non and Davey throw me out,’ he replies, with a smile. But Gwydion’s charm leaves Mrs Davies unmoved, exactly as it did when he last met her.
    â€˜That contraption of yours made a commotion when it arrived. It disturbed us all.’ Mrs Davies purses her lips into what Wil calls her cat’s-bottom mouth. Non buries her mouth in her napkin at the thought.
    â€˜I borrowed it from my professor,’ Gwydion says, but Mrs Davies continues to be unimpressed.
    â€˜Davey tells me . . .’ She dabs delicately at her mouth with her napkin as if she is about to impart something that might soil her lips. ‘Yes, he tells me that you are going to be doing some sort of work for this . . . person that lives in Wern Fawr.’ She leans towards Gwydion slightly and lowers her voice. ‘He is a socialist, you know. Would throw out Lloyd George like that.’ She flicks her fingers at Gwydion.
    â€˜So would I,’ Gwydion says. ‘But I’m only going to catalogue Davison’s library for him, unfortunately, not help him plot the overthrow of the Government.’
    Catherine Davies gasps and rears back from him. ‘You’re not one of these socialists, are you?’ She fans herself vigorously.
    â€˜No,’ he replies. ‘If anything, I’m a nationalist. I don’t think we should have an English Government leading us into wars and other mischief that have nothing to do with us.’
    A look of utter horror appears on Catherine Davies’s face. Sheturns to her son. ‘Davey?’ she says, and waits for an explanation.
    Wil jumps in. ‘Tada’s a socialist, too, Nain, didn’t you know? He and Ianto Hughes are setting up a Labour Party branch right here in town.’
    Catherine Davies recoups. ‘Nonsense,’ she says, and carries on eating her dinner, or her luncheon as she had explained to Non she preferred to call it, using the English word.
    The lull does not last long. Davey lays down his knife and fork and leans towards his mother across the table. ‘Well, no, Mother,’ he says. ‘Not nonsense. Though I’m not sure I’d call Davison a socialist. Anarchist, maybe?’
    His mother stares at him. She chews her mouthful of food rapidly and swallows it with a gulp. ‘Anarchist?’ She looks around the table. ‘Aren’t they Bolsheviks? Is he a Bolshevik?’ She begins to fan herself again, her napkin dipping into the gravy on her plate and splattering the tablecloth with brown specks. ‘They kill their betters, the Bolsheviks. I’ll