Free Firebird by Iris Gower Page B

was silent in the pottery yard, though the kilns still throbbed with heat.
    Indoors, Gwen was finishing off a small vest she was knitting for the coming baby and Llinos kissed her mother’s cheek.
    â€˜I’m going to bed, Mother, don’t stay up too long, you’ll strain your eyes working in this poor light.’
    As soon as she climbed into bed, Llinos fell into a heavy sleep. It had been dreamless until she felt the touch of a hand on her arm.
    In her dream she looked up into the face with the bronzed, clean-cut features; she saw the softness of long silky hair. Blue eyes above high cheek-bones looked into hers. He was shaking his head. She sat up abruptly and looked into the darkness, knowing she was being warned of danger.
    She sat up in bed, brushing back her tangled hair. She had been too tired to plait it before going to bed. She relaxed a little, she had been dreaming, that was all. It was a strange dream; it had left her feeling warm and yet frightened at the same time.
    Even awake, she could still see him, feel him close. She breathed in the fresh grass scent of him. His presence lingered with her.
    She climbed from the bed and opened her door and heard the sound of raised voices. Her mother was talking so loudly that she sounded hysterical. Then there was a lower voice, a masculine voice. Llinos felt a sudden sense of dread. Bert Cimla was here in Pottery House.
    Llinos stood for a moment, shivering in the darkness. She pulled on a robe, opened the cupboard door and her hand encountered the cold handle of the musket. As she moved quietly down the stairs, the sound of shouting intensified.
    The hall was in darkness. Breathing unevenly, Llinos felt her way towards the kitchen, her bare feet curling against the cold stone of the passageway.
    She heard a scream and a slap and a sudden anger replaced her fear. Her searching fingers came in contact with the barrel of the musket and she took strength from the coldness of the steel.
    As she approached the kitchen, she saw shadows flickering against the walls, grotesque, enlarged figures from a nightmare.
    There was the sound of china smashing and another slap and then Llinos heard her mother’s voice, low, pleading.
    â€˜Please, Bert, don’t hit me again, I’m carrying your child, how can you treat me like this, have you no feelings at all?’
    â€˜You cheating bitch! You took away my rights as a husband, threw me out onto the street to starve and you talk about feelings!’
    There was a thud. Llinos heard her mother whimper and then there was silence. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Her mother was lying spread-eagled on the floor, her head against the marble hearth.
    Bert Cimla looked towards Llinos as she entered the room, his mouth drew back into a snarl. He took a step towards her and then she raised the musket.
    Suddenly he was on his knees, looking down at Gwen and trying to lift her. ‘Oh, God! I didn’t mean it. Gwen, come on, don’t be daft. Open your eyes, for God’s sake.’
    Llinos felt as though events were unfolding before her like a series of pictures. Mr Cimla’s shirt hung open, his face was blotched with red, he was staring at the crumpled figure on the floor as though he did not know what had happened.
    â€˜Get out of here.’ Llinos prodded his back with the musket. ‘Get out now before I kill you.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t dare.’
    â€˜Don’t you believe it!’
    He lifted his hands in the air. ‘All right, I’m going. I’ve finished with you, with all of you. It’s about time I moved on and found a proper woman to look after me, not a namby-pamby weakling like her.’
    He moved to the door and looked back at Llinos and he was grinning.
    â€˜She’s not my wife.’ He pointed to Gwen’s still figure. ‘I’ve already got a wife. That kid she’s carrying is going to be a bastard, isn’t that funny?’
    She