

The Iron Masters

Volume 1 For the Love of Eira.

Copyright 2014 © Graham Watkins

The right of Graham Watkins to be identified as the Author

of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the Author.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

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**Introduction**

In 1780 a young farm boy left home and walked to Merthyr Tydfil. It was the beginning of an adventure that would change his life and the history of the known world. Nye Vaughn didn't know it but he was destined for greatness. War was coming. A war that would engulf every continent. It was a golden age for some. For others a time of misery and hardship. Fortunes are made in wartime and Britain was going to war. It was an opportunity the iron masters of Merthyr Tydfil would seize with both hands to make their fortunes. Men like Richard Crawshay, Francis Homfray and Josiah Guest built huge iron foundries employing thousands of men. The foundries of Cyfarthfa, Dowlais, Penydarren and Abercynon roared like thunder as they fed the war machine with cannon. The iron masters built canals and railways to get their wares to market. They fought, tricked and connived together. Anything was possible and nothing stood in the way of these powerful men.

Thomas Carlyle visited Merthyr writing that the town was filled with such 'unguided, hard-worked, fierce, and miserable-looking sons of Adam I never saw before. Ah me! It is like a vision of Hell, and will never leave me, that of these poor creatures broiling, all in sweat and dirt, amid their furnaces, pits, and rolling mills.'

However, I get ahead of myself. The story begins in a humble country graveyard.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 1**

Nye Vaughn glanced down at the crude coffin. It looked smaller in the grave, too small to contain his mother's body. 'Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,' intoned the minister.

His mother's death had been cruel. Consumption devouring her body and destroying her mind. Once, she had been a strong woman. Full of life. She had made a good home and kept it well. Nye had listened to her coughing and her cries as demons tormented her dreams. Nye's father had deserted the marriage bed to spend the evenings in the alehouses of Llangadog, to forget his sick wife. The town was alive with drovers, gathering to walk animals to the profitable English markets. Every room was occupied. Drovers, unable to find a bed, slept in barns and outhouses. On the nights when Nye's father came home, he slept in a chair by the kitchen fire. The farm, too, was neglected. Hedges needed repairing. The barn roof had collapsed. The autumn nights were getting longer and there was no winter feed for the animals. Nye did his best to work the farm, more than anyone could expect of a boy of eighteen.

Nye looked across the grave at his father, hoping for a smile, a nod, a gesture of compassion, of shared grief but his father stood motionless, staring straight ahead. Father and son were never close. Nye imagined his mother's death would bring them together. He was wrong; a void existed, as big as the grave between them, that would never be bridged.

'May she rest in peace,' said the minister and threw a sod of earth into the grave. It landed on the coffin with a thud. Nye shuddered. His father put on his cap and strode out of the graveyard. The minister put his hand on Nye's shoulder. 'Your mother was a good woman. She isn't down there, Nye. She's with God now,' said the minister and glanced up to the heavens. He closed his prayer book and followed Nye's father from the graveyard. Nye watched the gravediggers shovel earth into the grave.

It was raining as Nye walked back to the farm, a soft cold rain that penetrated his coat and chilled his back. Nye changed out of his Sunday clothes and did his chores. The animals had to be seen to. Nye collected eggs, shut the hens in and filled the carthorse's manger with hay. The cow, her udders heavy with milk, was waiting by the barn. He milked her and cleaned the cowshed. The rain grew heavier as he worked. The heavy muck barrow slid in the mud as he pushed it across the yard. When the jobs were finished, Nye lit the kitchen fire, dried himself and sat in his mother's chair. Her shoes were by the grate, her knitting still in a bag on the floor. The hearth mat his mother had woven with strips, cut from old clothes, looked shabby. Nye remembered cutting the cloth for her and helping make the rag rug. It was threadbare and greasy; ready to be discarded.

'I'll clear everything out tomorrow,' he said to himself. He focused on the burning logs. Shadows danced on the walls as flames illuminated the room.

Nye was dozing when the clock struck ten. He stirred. The fire had burned low and the kitchen was dark, except for a faint glow from the embers. Nye added sticks to the fire. There was a noise outside, voices and scuffling. Nye stood up, looked at the door and the loaded gun hung above it. The door opened and his father lurched into the kitchen, followed by a woman.

'What a dirty night. Let's get these wet things off,' laughed his father and grabbed at the woman. She giggled as he pulled at her coat. The woman noticed Nye and stopped laughing. Nye's father turned and saw his son.

'This is Jean. Jean, this is my boy, Nye,' said his father, swaying as he spoke.

'Mum's not even cold in the ground and you bring a woman into her house,' said Nye angrily.

There was silence as Nye's father digested what he said. Rain beat on the window. Drops of water came down the chimney. The fire hissed and spat a burning ember onto the rug. Nye's father stepped forward and slapped his son across the face.

'Your mother is gone. This is my house and you've insulted my friend,' said his father. A trickle of blood ran down Nye's face. 'You'll apologise to Jean.'

Nye pushed past his father, snatched his coat from behind the door and ran out, into the darkness.

'Go after him,' said Jean.

'What for? He's got nowhere to go. He'll be back,' replied Nye's father.

The rug had begun to smoulder. Nye's father carried it outside and threw it in the mud. Jean watched from the doorway. Nye's father peered into the gloom, hoping to see his son but the farmyard was empty.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 2**

Nye stumbled along the track in the darkness. Rain lashed his face and wind sucked the breath from his mouth. He pulled his coat tighter around his neck, pushed his hands deep into the pockets and curled his fingers around his pocket knife. The handle felt warm and reassuring. Nye passed the graveyard where his mother lay. A gloomy mist hung, shroud like, across the gates. Nye hurried on. He followed the track south east, towards the mountain. Something moved behind the hedge and startled Nye. He relaxed. It was a bullock, sheltering from the wind. The rain stopped and the clouds passed, revealing a bright moon that lit up the fields. An owl hooted nearby. A second, distant bird, answered. Nye's mother had always said the owl's call foretold of a death. He knew it was an old wives tale. A patrolling fox crossed the track ahead of him.

Nye saw a stone barn beside the track. Yellow eyes, shining in the moonlight, stared from within. Nye saw the loft and smelt the sweet fresh hay. He climbed over the gate in the doorway, pushed through the nervous sheep, climbed into the loft and slept.

'What are you doing in my barn?' demanded a voice. It was light and a man was standing over him. A dog was barking outside. The tines of a pitchfork rested on Nye's chest.

'I meant no harm,' answered Nye. The shepherd prodded with the pitchfork.

'What's your name? Where do you come from?'

'Vaughn, Nye Vaughn, I'm from Llangadog,' replied Nye.

'What are you doing here?' asked the shepherd and jabbed Nye again with the pitchfork.

'I argued with my father and left home last night,' replied Nye. The shepherd studied Nye for a moment, raised the pitchfork as if to strike and thrust it into the hay.

'Are you hungry boy?'

'Yes sir,' replied Nye.

'Follow me,' ordered the shepherd.

The cottage was warm. Fresh bread was cooling on the table. Stew simmered in the hearth. A flitch of bacon hung from the ceiling. The shepherd's wife filled a bowl with stew, cut a wedge from the loaf and told him to eat.

'Where will you go?' inquired the shepherd, filling his pipe.

'I don't know,' answered Nye with a mouth full of bread.

'I hear there's work to be had in the iron foundries at Merthyr,' said the shepherd and lit a spill from the fire. He held the flame to his pipe and sucked.

'I don't know anything but farming. What would I do in a foundry?' asked Nye.

'A strong lad like you would soon find something, labouring perhaps,' replied the shepherd and blew smoke across the kitchen.

'You could join a cattle drive to England,' suggested the shepherd's wife.

'That means going back to Llangadog. That's where they hire,' said the shepherd.

'I'm never going back. Where is Merthyr? Is it far?' asked Nye.

'Follow the drovers track east along the mountain. A day's walk will bring you to the road between Brecon and Merthyr. Turn right and go south. The road will take you over the mountain to Merthyr.'

'Then I shall go to Merthyr,' said Nye and wiped the bowl with the crust.

As he was leaving the shepherd's wife produced a small parcel.

'It's bread and cheese, for the journey,' she said and pushed it into his pocket.

The drover's track was wide and well trodden. Nye stopped after mid day and sat on a boulder to rest. He unlaced his boots. A blister had burst on his left heel. He wrapped the heel carefully with his handkerchief, replaced the boot and laced it tight. Nye remembered the packet from the shepherd's wife. The bread and cheese tasted good. He had finished eating when he heard a cry.

'Heiptrw Ho,' yelled a distant voice. There were more shouts and whistling. Nye stood up and walked towards the voices. The shouts grew louder. He reached a ridge and saw animals in the valley below. Sheep, and cattle were moving along the track. Drovers called, as they herded the animals. Dogs nipped at the heels of stragglers, followed by a rider on a pony. The rider turned his pony and cantered up the slope towards Nye. He stopped and Nye saw he was holding a pistol.

'Why you are following us?' demanded the rider.

'I'm not,' replied Nye. The rider cocked his gun.

'Where's the rest of the gang?' he shouted. Other drovers ran up the slope.

'Is he one of them?' called a one.

'He's got to be, following us like that. Tie him up. We'll bring him along. The magistrate at Brecon can decide what to do with him,' ordered the horseman. The drovers seized Nye, tied his hands behind his back and placed a noose around his neck.

'Let's slit his throat and leave him for the buzzards. No one will find him on the mountain,' suggested one of the drovers.

'No, we'll do it properly,' said the rider and yanked Nye's halter.

'I haven't done anything. Why are you doing this?' shrieked Nye and stumbled.

'Get up or I'll drag you to Brecon through the gorse,' snarled the rider. Nye got up and lurched after the horse.

The drovers stopped at a stream to water the animals. Nye got on his knees and bent his head down to drink like one of the beasts. The rope tightened, dragging him back.

'No water for you,' said the rider. The drovers laughed. The rider dismounted and pulled Nye towards him.

'Was it you? Did you stab David, last night?' demanded the rider. 'He was only fifteen. Did you kill him?'

'I haven't killed anyone. Why would I want to?' answered Nye. He could taste the riders stale breath.

'Because he was guarding my cattle,' said the rider and tightened the noose. Nye began to choke.

'Finish him,' called a drover. The rider increased the pressure, lifting Nye onto his toes.

'Someone's coming,' warned one of the men. The rider relaxed his grip. Nye gulped for air. A tinker, leading packhorses was coming along the track. He greeted the drovers and walked on, ignoring the noose around Nye's neck. It didn't pay to interfere in other men's business. As the tinker passed, the rider regained his composure. He remounted and ordered the drovers to move the herd on.

It was dusk when they reached a clump of Scots pines. Beneath the trees stood an inn, a blacksmiths shop and a walled field. The buildings were at the junction of the drovers track and a dirt road. The landlord greeted the drovers and counted the animals into the walled field. The rider produced a purse.

'Half a penny per beast,' he said and counted seven shillings and six pence into the landlord's outstretched hand. 'Some of the beasts have lost shoes. Can you see to them?' he asked.

'I'll light the forge in the morning but your men will need to sort the cattle that need shoeing,' replied the landlord.

'You boys will sleep with the animals tonight and keep watch. Tomorrow, while the cows are shod, I'll take the rustler to the magistrate at Brecon,' said the rider.

The drovers sat Nye by a gatepost, lashed him to it and went into the tavern to eat, leaving a guard watching from the doorway. Nye eased himself upright with his back to the post. The wet mud had soaked through his breeches. His legs were numb and his wrists throbbed where the rope had cut his skin. He wriggled around, twisting his coat to move the pocket containing his knife within reach. Eventually, he was able to push a hand into the pocket and pull out the knife. He tried to open the blade but the spring was strong. The knife slipped from his wet fingers and fell into the mud. Nye strained to retrieve it but the rope was tight. His hands didn't reach the ground.

Nye heard footsteps and looked up. The lookout was walking towards him with a tankard. It was the drover who wanted to cut his throat.

'Are you thirsty?' called the drover. Nye didn't answer. The drover took a mouthful of ale and spat it at Nye. He pulled a dagger from his belt and pressed it against Nye's neck. Nye felt the point pierce his skin.

'David was a good friend of mine. I'll be back, later,' whispered the drover. He made a slashing motion across his own throat, kicked Nye and ambled back to the tavern.

Nye reached for his knife. He turned sideways, to get one hand lower than before. The rope cut deep into his wrists. He felt the knife in the mud. He picked up the handle with the tips of his fingers and carefully raised it until it was cupped in both hands. He tried to prise open the blade, knowing that if he dropped the knife again it might vanish in the mud. The blade moved and sprang open. Nye turned the blade upwards and cut himself free. He couldn't see the lookout and wondered if he was still watching from the shadows. Nye waited until a cloud obscured the moon and crawled through the mud, away from the tavern. As he reached the track the sky cleared and there was a shout.

'He's getting away.' Drovers ran from the tavern. Nye stood and ran.

'There he is,' yelled one of the drovers. He heard a shot. The bullet hit a stone wall, showering him with fragments. Nye tripped, fell, got up and ran blindly into the night.

When he could run no further, Nye stopped and listened, straining to hear his pursuers through the darkness. At first, he heard nothing but his own panting but as he caught his breath there were voices, the drovers were calling to each other on the mountain. They seemed all around him. Nye lay down in the heather and tried to conceal himself. It was still dark when he woke from a restless sleep. He was cold and cramp knotted his legs. He rubbed them to restore the circulation. Nye listened for the drovers but the mountain was silent. He waited until the rising sun revealed the dirt track leading across the mountain. He remembered the shepherd's words.

'Follow the road south. It will take you to Merthyr.' Nye scrambled across the heather to the track, checked the sun was to his left and walked south.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 3**

The track led him over a mountain pass and through a valley dotted with small farmsteads. Curious dogs approached, barking defiantly. Others were friendlier and came forward nervously, with their wagging tails between their legs and their heads down. Nye drank greedily at a waterfall, bathed his foot and continued on. He reached a milestone, 'Merthyr Tydfil 3 miles - Brecon 24 miles.' The track continued down the mountain and became a muddy lane, rutted and choked with overgrown hedges. He reached a row of cottages. A woman, beating a rug by her front door, smiled awkwardly. Barefoot children, playing noisily in a stream, ignored him. A tethered pony, grazing beside the lane, looked up briefly.

Nye came to a tavern. It was a shabby building with a faded star, hanging drunkenly, above the door. A man emerged from the tavern and hurried away. Nye ran his hands through his hair and entered. The bar was gloomy. Stale smoke hung in the air. A customer was laughing with a woman behind the counter. Drinkers, huddled by the fire, watched silently as Nye crossed the room. The landlady, a plump woman in her 40s, greeted her new customer with a smile.

'What can I get you?' she asked.

'Do you have any jobs that need doing?' replied Nye. The smile vanished.

'Jobs, what jobs?' She turned to the man at the bar, 'Do you hear that Will. He's looking for work.'

'I'll do anything, wash dishes, cut firewood, fetch coal,' offered Nye.

'Where are you from?' asked the landlady.

'Llangadog.'

'That's a long way off. How did you get here?'

'I walked,' answered Nye. The landlady's expression softened. There was something about him she liked and there were jobs a stout lad could do. She fetched some ham and a jug of beer.

'I don't have any money' said Nye.

'You can sleep in the outhouse behind the inn. Tomorrow, you will work,' answered the Landlady. 'My name is Meir,' she added, 'What's yours?'

'Nye Vaughn,' he replied.

The following morning Nye woke early and Meir gave him his orders.

'You can start by feeding the pig and when you've done that, muck her out,' said Meir and handed Nye a bucket of slops. 'Mouldy bread and stale beer, she loves it. Watch her, she's ready to farrow and can be nasty,' she added. The sow reared up with her trotters on the gate when Nye approached the pig pen. She was a large animal and her head was level with Nye's face. Nye advanced slowly, talking quietly,

'You're a big girl. Are we going to be friends?' The pig grunted. It smelt the food and was hungry. Nye filled the trough. Nye talked softly to the pig while she ate and, after eating, the sow allowed him to stroke her back. She had accepted Nye and a contented familiarity was established. Nye mucked out the pigsty, chopped wood, filled the coal scuttles, cleaned the grates, laid a fire in the bar, moved barrels in the cellar and was as useful as possible. That evening, Meir introduced Nye to Will Jones, the customer Meir had been talking with the previous evening.

'If you're looking for work there might be a chance of some labouring at Thomas' foundry,' suggested Will. 'I'm a pattern maker there, ask for Mr. Thomas.'

'What's a pattern maker?' asked Nye.

'I make the wooden patterns used for casting iron,' replied Will Jones.

The following morning, Nye walked to Thomas' foundry. In the yard, men were loading a wagon with iron cooking pots.

'Who do I see about a job?' asked Nye. One of the workmen pointed to the office,

'You need Mr. Thomas. He's in there.' Nye knocked on the door and entered. Two men were bent over a table, studying a drawing. One was elderly with white hair. The other had similar features but was younger. A young woman was at a desk writing in a ledger. All were well dressed.

'Do you really believe we can cast something this large?' asked the older man.

'I'm sure of it, father. It's a new method I've read about, invented by Henry Cort, an iron producer in Hampshire. His system of puddling the iron removes more impurities. The castings are stronger with less flaws and weaknesses,' replied the younger man. 'Imagine, Thomas ovens and cooking ranges. This would open up new markets for us,' he added enthusiastically.

'Yes?' asked the young woman looking at Nye.

'I'm looking for work,' answered Nye, removing his cap.

'We aren't hiring,' snapped the younger man, without looking up from the drawing.

'Isaac, if we're expanding we'll need more labour,' said the older man. 'I'm Mr. Thomas, this is my son, Isaac and my daughter Eira. What's your name?' asked Mr. Thomas.

'Nye Vaughn, sir,' replied Nye.

'Have you ever worked in a foundry, Vaughn?' asked Mr. Thomas.

'We don't need any more men,' said Isaac, testily.

'No sir but I'm strong and a quick learner,' answered Nye.

'Very well, you can start as a labourer 6 o'clock tomorrow morning. The wage is seven shillings a week. Eira, Vaughn will make his mark in the pay ledger.' Eira watched Nye slowly write his name.

'Your signature is neat Mr. Vaughn,' she said.

'My mother taught me letters and numbers. She made me practice every night,' replied Nye.

Nye returned to the Star Tavern to tell Meir his news. She was pleased and offered Nye the spare room above the bar.

'It will be good to have a paying lodger and you can lend a hand,' she explained.

'You're very kind, Meir,' said Nye.

'Am I?' she said and handed him the slop bucket.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 4**

Labouring in Thomas' foundry was dirty, physical and dangerous but Nye was strong and hard work suited him. His job involved moving barrows of iron ore, coal and limestone, charging the furnaces and transferring molten metal to the moulds. Accidents were common. One labourer slipped as he emptied a barrow of ore into the furnace. He let go of the barrow rather than being dragged into the fire and watched it disappear into the throat of the kiln. As the barrow hit the fire it erupted, belching flames and molten slag. He was badly burned and never worked again. Nye found puddling the metal one of the most difficult and unpleasant jobs. When the furnace was up to temperature and the molten contents boiling, it was stirred using long iron ladles that slowly dissolved into the mixture. The ladles weighed 25 pounds and it took a strong man to turn the thick porridge-like mix while facing a searing heat. Spikes of iron, like jagged icebergs, would float to the surface and had to be quickly stirred under before they oxidized. As each ladle melted and shrank it was replaced and the puddling continued, without stopping, for 30 minutes, the time needed to break up the impurities. The molten metal was then lifted from the furnace in 100 pound balls ready to be drawn; the next stage of the process. It was exhausting work.

Nye learned his job quickly and was soon accepted by the other men. He continued to lodge at the Star, helping Meir when asked, and became a drinking companion with Will Jones. Will encouraged Nye and the young labourer began to absorb the technical details of casting iron.

The new puddling process, suggested by Isaac Thomas, was a success and the improved quality of the iron which resulted, enabled Thomas and Son to progress from making cooking pots. Now, they were able to manufacture more complex products; cast iron stoves with intricate panels, special architectural orders, seats for distant towns and the most promising development of all; cannons. As the business expanded, Nye grew to appreciate the importance of Will Jones' patterns. Without skilled pattern makers none of the intricate shapes could be cast.

Nye Vaughn's thirst for knowledge and willingness to work hard did not go unnoticed by Mr. Thomas. One morning, Nye was summoned to the office.

'How long have you been here Vaughn?' asked Mr. Thomas.

'Just over a year Mr. Thomas,' replied Nye.

'We're expanding and I need a new foreman for the furnaces. The men respect you. Do you want the job? It's a big responsibility but I'm confident you can do it,' added the foundry owner. Nye was surprised by the offer.

'If you're willing to give me the chance I won't let you down,' replied Nye and grinned.

'It's settled then,' said Mr. Thomas and the two men shook hands.

Mr. Thomas put on his hat and coat, turned to Eira who had been sitting quietly with her books and said,

'Tell cook, I'm eating out and won't be home for supper this evening.' Then he left. Eira and Nye were alone in the office.

'You're going up in the world Mr. Vaughn,' said Eira and smiled coyly.

'So it seems. Will you walk out with me on Sunday?' asked Nye. Just then, Isaac entered the office and demanded to know why Nye was there.

'I was here to see your father,' replied Nye.

'Well, he's not here and you're not paid to loaf about. Get back to work,' retorted Isaac. Nye shrugged and started for the door.

'I'll see you on Sunday after church, by the bridge,' called Eira, as he left.

'Stay away from him Eira. He's a labourer and he's living with the old woman who runs the Star Tavern,' said Isaac, venomously.

Eira's cheeks turned red, 'He's not a labourer. He's the foreman of the furnace gang,' she replied.

'Since when?' demanded Isaac.

'Since father promoted him just before you arrived,' she answered.

'Labourer, foreman, it makes no difference, he's a workman,' replied Isaac. and slammed the door as he left. His father might be a gullible fool but Isaac wasn't going to allow a farm boy like Vaughn get above his station.

Isaac was still angry when he saw his father in the street.

'You made Vaughn a foreman without telling me,' he shouted.

'This isn't the place to discuss our business. People can hear,' said Mr. Thomas.

'He's an upstart. Do you know Vaughn's got his eye on Eira?'

'Not here, Isaac. We'll talk about Vaughn later, at home' replied Mr. Thomas and refused to discuss the matter further. That evening, when Mr. Thomas returned home, Isaac challenged his judgement again. It started as a discussion but when Eira supported her father, Isaac lost his temper, called his father a fool and stormed out. Isaac's wife Delyth, who had sat quietly during the argument, picked up her things and followed her husband. Seeing her husband so annoyed intrigued Delyth. A man who Isaac found threatening, interested Delyth. Nye Vaughn, she decided, deserved further investigation.

The minister's sermon was longer than normal on Sunday and the town hall clock had struck twelve before Eira was able to slip away from the church. She hurried to the bridge.

'You're late. I didn't think you were coming,' said Nye.

'I nearly didn't,' replied Eira, 'You don't go to church?'

'My mother was a Methodist but she never managed to persuade me there is a God. Anyway, church is for masters and gentry,' replied Nye. The pair were unaware they were being observed. Isaac and Delyth had seen Eira leave the church and were watching from a distance.

'Your father is easily taken in, promoting him so quickly like that. It's indecent. Take care Isaac or Vaughn will be a partner one day,' said Delyth, 'You're the one who has made the foundry a success. Your father's no businessman. Left to him you would still be casting second rate cooking pots,' she added. They watched Nye and Eira stroll along the river bank towards the mountain. 'Or he might marry your sister and worm his way into the family,' said Delyth as they disappeared from sight. Isaac's eyes darkened as he stared into the distance. He didn't see the calculating, sideways glance his wife gave him.

Nye and Eira climbed to a cairn on the mountain and sat enjoying the view. The sun warmed their backs. Clouds floated over the valley, their shadows dancing across the landscape. An invisible skylark, was singing high above.

'Why did you say you nearly didn't come?' asked Nye.

'Isaac says you are living with a woman at a tavern. Is it true?' asked Eira. Nye laughed.

'You're brother really doesn't like me, does he? I am living with a woman but not in the way you think.' Nye explained how he lodged at the Star Inn and the landlady was old enough to be his mother. Eira was relieved and they sat in comfortable silence. When Nye took her hand she did not pull away. When he kissed her she responded with a warmth that surprised Nye.

'We should be getting back,' said Nye awkwardly and stood up.

As they walked down the mountain Nye held Eira's hand in his. The kiss had changed their relationship, offering a tantalizing promise of mutual trust and respect, an emotional adventure to come and private feelings to be shared with no one else. They didn't speak until they were back in Merthyr.

'I'll walk you home,' suggested Nye.

'No, it's better not to,' replied Eira.

'I'm not afraid of your brother,' said Nye.

As they parted she turned to him with a warning, 'Take care. Isaac can be spiteful.'

It was Tuesday evening and Nye was in the Star finishing his supper when a boy came with a message.

'The Thomas lady said can you come to the house at once,'

'What's happened?' asked Nye, grabbing his coat. The boy looked vacant and shrugged.

'Something must be wrong. You had better hurry,' said Meir. Nye ran most of the way and was out of breath when he reached the Thomas house. He rang the bell and was surprised when Delyth answered the door instead of the maid.

'I got a message from Eira. Is she all right?'

'She's perfectly well,' replied Delyth and invited him into the parlour. 'Sit down Nye,' she said and pointed to the sofa. Delyth took Nye's coat, placed it on a chair and sat beside him. 'The message was from me,' whispered Delyth. Nye felt uncomfortable. He could feel Delyth's hot breath on his cheek.

'Where is Eira?' he asked quietly.

'Don't worry. Everyone, including the servants, are at a magic lantern show in the town hall. They won't be back for hours,' she whispered and took his hand, placing it on her leg. Then she brushed his cheek with her lips and kissed him. It was a long penetrating kiss designed to arouse. For a moment Nye was lost in the excitement. He felt confused. Then he thought of Eira and felt ashamed. Exhilaration turned to disgust. He pushed Delyth away.

'Mrs. Thomas, you're married. What are you doing?'

'Isn't it obvious,' she said, laughing. She tried kissing him again. Nye stood up but Delyth was holding his shirt and would not let go. It ripped as he pulled away. Nye picked up his coat and left.

Delyth was crying when the family returned from the magic lantern show.

'Is your headache worse Delyth?' asked Eira.

'I've been attacked,' sobbed Delyth and threw off her shawl revealing her dress. There was a large tear down the side.

'Who did it,' demanded Isaac. Delyth told how a man had forced his way into the house and tried to rape her. She produced the torn rag she had ripped from her attacker's shirt. A brown button was hanging by a thread from the corner.

'Who was it?' asked Eira.

'One of the workmen, I think his name is Vaughn,' answered Delyth.

'This is a matter for the magistrate,' said Mr.Thomas angrily.

'I warned you father but you wouldn't listen. Vaughn's chanced his luck with Eira and now he's attacked my wife. I'm not having her honour debated by a magistrate or the people of Merthyr sniggering behind our backs. This is a private affair to be discussed with no one. Do you understand? I'll deal with Vaughn,' said Isaac.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 5**

Nye returned to the Star and said nothing of what had taken place with Delyth Thomas. Seeing he was upset, Meir decided to wait until Nye was ready to talk and went to bed leaving him to lock up. He was alone in the bar when three large men burst in and dragged him outside to where Isaac Thomas was waiting. Thomas produced the torn cloth and brown button. It matched the tear on Nye's shirt. Nye protested his innocence but the brown button was all the evidence Isaac needed. Hearing shouting, Meir got up and peered through her bedroom window.

The first blow was a punch from behind. It landed on Nye's kidneys. Pain seared up his spine. His legs buckled. More blows followed. Nye stumbled and fell. Then, the thugs kicked him. He covered his face with his arms but they gave little protection from the heavy boots. Isaac Thomas watched as his ruffians did their work.

'That's enough. We don't want to kill him,' said one of the men. The three villains stood over their victim breathing heavily. Clouds of vapour hung in the damp air.

Isaac Thomas stepped forward, bent down and whispered to Nye, 'Vaughn if you ever again come near my family, I will kill you.' Then he stepped back and lunged forward to deliver a powerful kick. Nye heard his ribs crack before pain overwhelmed him and he passed out.

Delyth recovered her composure surprisingly quickly when Isaac announced he would deal with Vaughn. Eira was sitting with Delyth when they heard a crash from upstairs followed by moaning. They found Mr. Thomas sitting on the landing.

'What's wrong father?' asked Eira. Mr. Thomas tried to answer but his words were incomprehensible.

'What's wrong with his face?' said Delyth. The right hand side of Mr. Thomas's face was contorted and he was dribbling.

'Help me get him to his room,' said Eira and the two women manhandled the old man, who was a dead weight, to bed.

In the morning the doctor examined Mr. Thomas and told them he had suffered a massive stroke.

'Did something upset him last night?' asked the doctor.

'Will he recover?' asked Isaac, ignoring the doctor's question.

'I can't cure him. There is a possibility he will recover some movement, God willing, but for now he's bed ridden and will need constant nursing. There is something else. He has lost the ability to talk and it's unlikely he will ever speak again,' added the doctor.

Delyth waited until she was alone with Isaac. 'You know what this means? Now the old fool won't be there to interfere with the way you run the foundry,' she said and smiled at her husband. Isaac was surprised by Delyth's remark.

'You never liked my father. Why is that?' he asked.

'Rubbish, I'm just thinking how much better it will be now you have a free hand,' she lied.

When Nye regained consciousness and tried to move, there was a sharp pain in his chest. Slowly, he moved his hand down the front of his body. It was tightly bandaged. Nye lay still and tried to focus but his left eye would not open. He was in a double bed in a strange room. A water jug painted with flowers stood on a washstand by the window. A framed embroidery sampler, with a quote from the bible, hung on the wall behind the door. Rays of sunlight illuminated the room, revealing particles of dust floating in the air. He could hear distant laughter and shouts. Children were playing outside. Then, black oblivion returned.

The next time Nye woke the room was dim. Meir was sat on a chair beside the bed.

'I'm dry. Can I have some water?' Nye drank awkwardly from the cup Meir held to his lips. His face was swollen and he could feel a large cut across his mouth. He touched his face and winced. His nose was broken. Meir went downstairs and returned with a bowl of broth which she fed to him with a spoon. 'Where am I?' asked Nye.

'At the Star, in my bedroom,' replied Meir. Then he slept again.

Nye was in bed for six days. The kicking had broken three ribs, knocked out a tooth and left him cut and bruised. Both eyes were black and his nose was twice its normal size.

'You were lucky they didn't kill you,' said Meir as she washed him. 'Why did they beat you?' Nye didn't answer. The next day Meir asked again and Nye began to talk. As he described what happened, Nye tried to understand but nothing made any sense. He held nothing back from Meir, describing how Delyth had kissed him, how she ripped his shirt and how Isaac Thomas threatened to kill him.

'I had a son once,' said Meir, after a brief silence, 'He would be about your age.'

'I didn't know you were married,' said Nye.

'I wasn't. I was nineteen, working as a housemaid for a mine manager in Dowlais. He took advantage of me and I got pregnant. When I began to show, his wife found out and threw me on the street. All I had were the clothes on my back.'

'What happened?' asked Nye.

'The owner of this place, John Price, took me in and raised the boy as his own. He never married me but was good to me. John even left me the pub when he died.'

'Where is he now?' asked Nye.

'I told you he died.'

'No I meant the boy, your son. Where is he now?'

'He went down the mine when he was eight and was killed in an explosion. His real father, the old bastard, never acknowledged him, not once. Not even when I buried my boy. That's the masters for you. We can all rot in hell for all they care.'

Nye pushed back the blankets and asked for his clothes. 'Where are you going?' asked Meir.

'To see Mr. Thomas and talk to him. He's a decent man, he'll understand,' replied Nye.

'They won't let you see him. He's had a stroke. Some say he's gone mad,' said Meir and pushed Nye back into bed. The door opened and Will Jones came in. 'Will's been helping look after you. It was Will who carried you up here the night they gave you the beating,' explained Meir.

'How's the invalid today?' asked Will.

'My chest hurts like hell when I move or cough. What's happening at the foundry?' asked Nye.

'Isaac Thomas is strutting around like he owns the place. He's made quite a few changes,' replied Will.

'And Eira, have you seen her?'

'She came into the foundry one morning and there was a row. I heard Isaac tell her to go home where she belonged. He said she was no longer going to embarrass him by working in the office,' said Will, 'There is some other news which will interest you both,' he added.

'What's that?' asked Meir.

'We've made peace with the American colonists. The war's over. The Americans have won their independence,' replied Will.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 6**

The news that peace had broken out in America did not please Isaac Thomas particularly when an order for cannons was cancelled by the Board of Ordnance. The ending of hostilities meant the army no longer needed the cannons.

Mr. Thomas' stroke left him paralysed and unable to communicate except by grunts and nods. Having been told she was not welcome at the foundry, Eira stayed at home and nursed her father but the humiliation she experienced in front of the workers made her angry. She resented her brother's arrogance but, realising how important it was to make sure her father was looked after properly, accepted her new role. Delyth had enthusiastically volunteered to help to look after Mr. Thomas but seldom visited the old man's room unless Isaac was at home. When he was, she made a point of bustling about and appearing indispensable.

It was a month before Nye was fit enough to look for work. He walked to the foundry at Dowlais and asked for a job. The manager went to speak to the owner and returned to say there were no positions. He was told the same thing at Pen-y-darren and Plymouth works. Isaac Thomas had spread the word. Vaughn was a troublemaker. Returning home, Nye saw Eira come out of the apothecary on Church Street. He ran towards her and called her name. She stopped and glared at him.

'Stay away from me,' she shouted and hurried off.

Blacklisted by the foundries, Nye took any work he could find. He pushed coal tubs to the washing tables at Abercynon mine, where women sorted stones from coal. He laboured as a blaster's mate in Gurnos limestone quarry, using a sledge hammer to drive six foot metal drills into the rock face, ready for the explosive charges to be set. When there was no work, he scavenged for coal on the slag heap above the town. His life had become brutal and uncertain. He considered giving up and returning to his father's farm. Meir didn't complain when Nye had no money for rent. Instead, she encouraged him like his mother would have done.

One evening, Meir and Nye were alone in the bar when Will Jones burst through the door. He was angry.

'What's wrong with you?' asked Meir.

'That bastard, Thomas, he's finished me,' replied Will.

'So now there are two of you without jobs,' she said and handed a beer to Will.

'Why don't we start our own foundry?' suggested Nye suddenly.

'Don't be stupid,' replied Will.

'Listen to me, Will. I don't mean anything grand, like Thomas', just a modest workshop where we make small, quality items. What would we need? A small furnace, sand pits, some patterns - you can make them - and raw materials,' explained Nye.

'We aren't businessmen and you're forgetting something else that's rather important; we haven't got any money,' said Will.

'I have,' said Meir, quietly, 'John Price left me £885 in a bank account.'

'That's a lot of money. You didn't say he was rich,' said Nye.

'I didn't know what to do with the money, so I left it where it was. It's still there,' added Meir. They discussed Nye's idea until the early hours of the morning and shook hands agreeing a partnership between Nye and Will. Meir would provide her inheritance as a loan. Will would manage production while Nye promoted the business and found customers. The three drank a toast to their success.

'I still think it's a mad idea,' said Will.

'What about premises?' said Nye.

'There is an old water mill by the river,' suggested Will.

'You mean Castle Mill. It's been empty for years. Maybe we could rent it,' said Nye.

The owner of Castle Mill, Mr. Griffiths, a genial self made man, owned a number of properties in Merthyr. He watched as the two young men explored the building.

'We can build the furnace by the far wall. The water wheel still works. I can adapt it to drive the bellows,' said Will, enthusiastically.

'Do you boys seriously think the mill can work as a foundry?' asked Mr. Griffiths.

'We certainly do. If we can agree a fair rent this place will soon be producing ironware,' replied Nye. Will nodded.

'I wasn't thinking of renting. I prefer to sell,' answered Mr. Griffiths.

'I understand that but we don't have the money. What if we leased the mill for £300 per annum?' suggested Nye.

'That's a good offer Mr. Vaughn. More than it's worth,' said Mr. Griffiths. Nye realised he had blundered.

Mr. Griffiths smiled. He was dealing with novices.

'What are you going to manufacture?' he asked. Nye explained they were going to make small iron products like flat irons, cooking pots and firebacks.

'What about competitors like Thomas and Son, they won't like what you are doing?' said Mr. Griffiths. The partners didn't answer. 'I'll tell you what I'll do. In return for the rent you offered, and a ten year lease, which my lawyer will prepare, I'll give you a six month rent free period. That gives you time to repair and convert the mill,' offered the owner.

'We agree but can we keep our arrangement secret?' said Nye.

'I'll have my solicitor draw up the papers and don't worry; Isaac Thomas is no friend of mine. Gentlemen, you can rely on my discretion. Good luck with your new business. I offer my hand to settle our agreement,' said Mr. Griffiths. They shock hands, the deal was done.

As they were leaving, Mr. Griffiths asked the name of their new company. It was something that Will or Nye hadn't thought about. Mr. Griffiths suggested 'Castle Iron Works' as suitable because the mill was already known as castle mill and a castle signifies strength, an ideal metaphor for iron goods.

The partners started converting the premises the day the lease was signed. The roof was repaired. Labourers constructed a furnace and ramp along the side of the mill to give wheelbarrow access to the throat of the furnace. Will modified the waterwheel to drive bellows, forcing air through the furnace and dug a new culvert from the River Taff to increase the flow of water. Workmen tore up wooden floors and covered the earth with sand to create a casting area. While Nye managed the conversion of the mill, Will carved wooden patterns for their new range of products. Stout wooden doors were fitted to make the foundry secure and a sign was positioned high above the entrance. Meir, Will and Nye watched as it was lifted into place;

'Castle Iron Works – Proprietors Vaughn and Jones'

The activity at Castle Mill did not go unnoticed by Isaac Thomas. At first, he was idly curious to learn who was rebuilding the mill. None of his acquaintances seemed to know and that made him more inquisitive. He asked around but was no wiser until his coal supplier mentioned that the new owners had negotiated a price for regular deliveries and placed an order. He quizzed the merchant and discovered what Vaughn and Jones were doing. The idea of a farm boy and a pattern maker, with no money or experience in commerce, trying to start a business amused him but when he shared the news with Delyth she told him they were a threat. Isaac protested that one more foundry in the town was of no consequence but Delyth was adamant.

'Someone with money must be backing them. They know who your customers are and can copy your products,' she warned. Isaac told Delyth she was obsessed but when she suggested a plan to put Castle Iron Works out of business he agreed it was a good idea. If it worked there would be one foundry less in Merthyr Tydfil.

Production started at the new foundry on the 1st March 1784. Nye and Will carefully poured the molten metal into the moulds. When the metal had set, Will broke open a mould and shook out the sand, revealing their first product, a boot scraper. Nye used tongs to lift up the scraper and examined it. The hot iron shone like silver. They looked at the flower patterns on the sides

'It's flawless,' said Nye triumphantly.

'It's only a boot scraper,' said Will modestly.

'No Will, this is our future,' replied Nye.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 7**

The Thomas house settled into a new routine. Isaac went to the foundry early and returned for dinner each evening. In the morning Eira fed her father. Then, washed and shaved him before a housemaid helped turn the old man on his side to relieve the bedsores on his elbows and heels. Delyth rarely appeared from her room before lunchtime and no longer made any pretence of helping to care for Mr. Thomas, even when her husband was in the house. On some afternoons Delyth went out, without saying where she was going and returned shortly before her husband. Delyth and Eira rarely spoke except when they passed on the landing or in the hallway.

The mood of the house was sombre, as if Mr. Thomas' ill health had infected the fabric of the building. Eira would sit with her father. His eyes looked tired and vacant, like windows of an empty house, seeing nothing and revealing nothing of within. Occasionally a tear would run down Mr. Thomas' cheek and Eira wept with him. Once she saw a twinkle in his eye and laughed as if to share a private joke. Her father would never walk or talk again but his mind was active, imprisoned in a crippled body. Eira was also trapped, in a silent house with no human contact except her father. She talked to him and, when a reply was needed, she answered for him. Some of the conversations were idle chatter about the weather or gossip from the town. She told her father how Isaac was expanding the foundry, about the new competitor at Castle Mill and of more personal matters, sharing her innermost secrets.

Nye Vaughn's visit to Blacks Iron Merchants of Whitechapel, London went well and Nye was disappointed when Mr. Black didn't place an order. During his business trip, other retailers had been more forthcoming. Mr. Black complimented Nye on his samples and agreed to study the catalogue and pricelist in more detail but declined to buy anything. Nye had hoped Mr. Black would buy some stock but the ironmonger would not be drawn.

Apart from the disappointment at Blacks, the sales tour had been a success and Nye was happy to be returning to Merthyr. He settled back in his seat as the coach slowly made its way across the Heads of the Valley. The blustery weather on the mountain rocked the stage and cold air whistled through the ill fitting windows. Nye thought of the unfortunate souls sat on the roof in the perishing wind. No one would be falling asleep and dropping off the coach today. The stage picked up speed and headed downhill, towards Merthyr, slowing to a trot over the cobbles on Dowlais High Street. Nye viewed the familiar scene. He'd been away for four weeks but it seemed as if he had been gone for months.

Nye flourished his order book triumphantly, when he got to the foundry. Will Jones flicked through the contracts and grinned. Then, he handed Nye an envelope. 'What's this?' asked Nye.

'It came yesterday from London. Have a look,' said Will. Nye opened the letter. It was from Mr. Black of Whitechapel. Nye read the contents aloud;

' _Sirs,_

Blacks Iron Merchants require delivery at your earliest convenience but for certain before the thirty first day of July the following items namely;

Quantity

200 barley twist newel posts - catalogue number CIW 602,

300 barley twist spindle balustrades - catalogue number CIW 614,

360 flower motif bowed balustrades - catalogue number CIW 217,

100 firebacks \- catalogue number CIW 165.

Our terms of payment are 30 days following satisfactory delivery and completion of our order.'

'It's the biggest order we've ever had. Can we cast that many pieces in time?' asked Nye.

'I've already started but we are going to need an extra shift and more raw materials,' replied Will.

'There's a footnote,' said Nye, 'Subject to our customers approval we anticipate placing similar orders on a regular basis.' That evening Nye, Will and Meir celebrated.

When the coal merchant refused to deliver to Castle Iron Works unless he was paid in advance Nye wondered why. The merchant's account had always been paid on time. Then, other suppliers demanded payment and stopped supplying. Without regular deliveries of materials the foundry was in trouble. Completing the order for Blacks was impossible.

'We can't pay suppliers in advance. We don't have the money,' said Will dejectedly.

'Then we must borrow,' replied Nye. The partners knew none of the banks in Merthyr would lend without collateral and were still discussing the problem when the landlord, Mr. Griffiths, came striding across the yard.

Mr. Griffiths came straight to the point. 'I've been warned you can't pay your rent. Is it true?'

'Yes, it probably is,' replied Nye and told Mr. Griffiths about the sudden reluctance of suppliers to give credit.

'Apart from your current cash flow problem, is the business sound?' asked the landlord. Nye confirmed it was and produced the order book to prove his point. 'Without money we are in trouble,' he admitted.

'I'll put money into Castle Iron Works, enough to pay your creditors but I want a share in the business,' said Mr. Griffiths, 'The way I see things, without my money you are finished. On the other hand, with my money and experience, which you do also need, we can all become wealthy men,' said Griffiths. Mr. Griffiths was taking advantage but the partners knew he was right. Without his money they faced bankruptcy and making him a partner was a good idea. His knowledge of deal making and commerce would be invaluable to the business. Nye and Will had no choice and agreed to Benjamin Griffiths becoming a partner.

As Griffiths was leaving Nye asked, 'Who told you we're in trouble?'

'The same man who's been telling all your suppliers you're insolvent, Isaac Thomas,' replied Mr. Griffiths.

All the suppliers except one resumed their deliveries after being paid. Gurnos quarry, where Nye had once swung a sledgehammer, sent Castle Iron Work's next purchase order for limestone back with the words , 'We regret we are unable to meet your requirement on this occasion,' written across the bottom. Thomas had threatened to withdraw his substantial custom from Gurnos quarry if it continued to supply Castle Iron Works. Without limestone, there was no way of removing impurities from the iron ore and the furnace was useless. Nothing could be made. Benjamin Griffiths and Nye went to see the quarry owner.

'Why won't you deliver? We've paid your account,' demanded Nye.

'I'm sorry but I've sold our entire output for the next six months. Try another supplier,' replied the quarry owner.

'I don't believe you and we don't have the time to find another supplier,' said Nye.

'Sir, I'm not accustomed to being called a liar,' snapped the owner.

'Gentlemen, I have an idea which might help us all. Castle Iron Works would like to buy your quarry. Let's discuss a price shall we?' said Benjamin Griffiths.

'We can't afford to buy a quarry. You should never have done the deal,' said Nye.

'Don't worry my boy, I have collateral, we'll borrow the money,' replied Benjamin, adding, 'Look at it this way. We've secured our limestone supply for the future and added the quarry's profit margin to ours. It makes perfect business sense. You have to be prepared to think big if you want to make money.' Nye was seeing Benjamin Griffiths in a different light. He wasn't a genial old man with money, Griffiths was an astute businessman with a nose for profit.

'So when do we buy our first coal mine?' asked Nye.

'You're learning fast,' replied the older man and grinned. Limestone deliveries to Castle Iron Works resumed the next day.

Mr. Thomas was woken by an argument in the early hours of the morning. It was a warm, dark night and the windows were open. He could hear Isaac and Delyth's raised voices coming from their bedroom.

'You lost another order to Vaughn. When will you learn? You were stupid to let them buy Gurnos quarry,' shouted Delyth.

'It's only one customer. What would you have done different?' snapped Isaac.

'I would arrange an accident to destroy their foundry and put them out of business,' said Delyth.

'You're mad,' replied Isaac.

'And you're spineless. Remember it was me who sorted Vaughn out last time. If I hadn't done something he would be your brother in law by now,' yelled Delyth.

'I don't understand what you're saying. What did you do?' replied Isaac.

'Nothing,' shouted Delyth.

'Keep your voice down or father will hear,' said Isaac.

'Let him hear. He can't talk. Your father's a vegetable. He can't do anything,' screamed Delyth. The argument continued with lowered voices and Mr. Thomas struggled to hear what they were saying. When he woke in the morning he thought he had been dreaming.

That afternoon, as Eira talked to her father, his right hand moved slowly across the bed and touched her arm, as if to console her. The following day, Mr. Thomas could hold a pencil and scrawl short messages on a notepad. The writing was childlike and the effort quickly tired the old man but he could communicate. He wrote a note asking for his solicitor to be summoned. The solicitor, Mr. Jacobs, stayed alone with Mr. Thomas for more than an hour. Mr. Jacobs returned the next morning accompanied by his clerk. They arrived with them a last will and testament Mr. Thomas had asked to be drafted. Eira was asked to leave so the confidential document could be read to Mr. Thomas. After the solicitor had read the will to Mr. Thomas, he scrawled his name and the visitors signed as witnesses. Then, the solicitor left, taking the will with him for safe keeping. Eira showed the visitors out and returned to her father's room. Mr. Thomas was holding a note. Eira read it, got up and closed the door. Her father wanted a private moment with her.

Three men stood in front of Isaac Thomas' desk.

'What sort of accident?' asked one.

'Furnaces can be dangerous things. They have been known to burst, especially if gunpowder is added to the mix,' said Isaac.

'How do we pour gunpowder into a hot furnace without blowing ourselves up?' asked another.

'You don't. The furnace at Castle Iron Works is being relined on Saturday. It's been allowed to cool and the work will be completed by Saturday night. On Sunday afternoon, the furnace will be recharged with coal, iron ore and limestone ready for firing by the first shift on Monday morning. Your job is to place the gunpowder in the furnace on Sunday night,' explained Isaac.

'Someone might get hurt,' said the third man.

'An accident like that would put them out of business. Twenty guineas is a lot of money for an hour's work,' replied Isaac and spread the gold coins tantalisingly across the desk.

Eira Thomas looked up at the shabby sign. She had never been in a tavern. She took a deep breath and opened the door. The shift had just ended at Castle Iron Works and the smoke filled bar of the Star Tavern was crowded with foundry-men, washing the day's grime from their throats. The tap room fell silent as she entered. Meir hurried from behind the bar, shuffled Eira into a side room and shut the door. She listened while Eira explained the reason for her visit. Then she sent a boy to the foundry to fetch Nye and Will.

'You need to hear what Miss Thomas has to say,' said Meir. Her story astonished them.

Nye Vaughn walked back across the town with Eira. 'You're brave, coming to warn us,' said Nye.

'What are you going to do?' asked Eira.

'I don't know,' replied Nye. They stopped by the town hall.

'Don't come any further in case Isaac is about,' said Eira. Nye took her arm and kissed her on the cheek. She drew away.

'This doesn't change anything between us,' said Eira.

'It doesn't alter how I feel about you,' replied Nye. Eira looked at him. She wanted to ask if Delyth's accusations were true, but she couldn't find the right words.

'Goodbye Mr. Vaughn,' said Eira and walked away.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 8**

'What time is it?' whispered Will.

'I don't know,' replied Nye. The partners were sitting in darkness in the foundry.

'Do you still think the bombers will come?' asked Will. It had been a long night. The first glimmer of dawn was beginning to push the black of night west. Dark clouds hung low across the sky. A cockerel crowed in the distance. The first shift would be arriving soon to begin the day. Will stood up, stretched and said, 'They won't come now. Let's get some breakfast.'

'Sh,' said Nye and pulled his companion down.

There was a squeaking noise outside. The squeak grew louder and stopped. There was a murmur of voices. Wood splintered. Someone was forcing the doors. They watched as the doors opened and three men entered the gloomy foundry, two were pushing a barrow loaded with a keg.

'You should have oiled that wheel,' said one.

'Shut up and bring the powder,' said another.

'Stand still or we'll shoot,' shouted Nye and cocked a pistol. A bomber raised a gun and aimed at Nye. The others turned and ran for the door. Nye fired at the man with the gun. The bomber dropped the gun. It hit the ground and discharged. He stumbled out through the doors. Will lit a lantern and walked over to the discarded weapon. 'There's blood on the floor. You hit him Nye,' he said retrieving the gun.

They found the bomber outside the door. Nye's bullet had passed though his chest. He was dead.

'I know him. He's one of the ruffians who gave me a beating,' said Nye.

'What are we going to do with him?' asked Will.

'Give me a hand,' said Nye. They lifted the body onto the barrow and wheeled it to the river. Nye broke open the gunpowder keg and emptied the contents into the river then they tipped the body into the water. 'Promise me Will, to tell no one or we will both hang,' said Nye. They watched the body float downstream.

'What about the other two?' asked Will.

'They can't say anything. If they do they would have to explain what they were doing here and there's no evidence,' replied Nye. They returned to the foundry and covered the bloodstains with sand as the morning shift arrived to light the furnace.

Isaac Thomas listened while his thugs told how they were ambushed.

'What happened to Sam?' he asked.

'We don't know. Haven't seen him since,' replied one. Isaac told the men Sam was probably drunk somewhere spending his gold. He gave them an extra five guineas and told them to keep their mouths shut.

Delyth was angry when she learned the plot had failed. Had Vaughn discovered their plan? She accused Isaac of telling someone but he was adamant, he hadn't. Then, she remembered the night of the argument and Isaac's father asleep in the room next door, or was he?

The following afternoon, Delyth announced she was going for a walk and made her way to the George Hotel. She entered the hotel, walked through the bar, up the stairs and into room eleven. The solicitor, Marcus Jacobs was sitting on the bed waiting for her. She kissed him and undid his shirt. Later, while Delyth was dressing the solicitor began to tease her. 'I wrote a will last week.'

'How interesting,' replied Delyth in a disinterested way

'It concerned a certain foundry.' Delyth's ears pricked up.

'What foundry might that be?' she asked.

'It seems your husband has lost part of his inheritance. He's only going to get a legacy. Old man Thomas has left the foundry in a trust for Eira and the workers,' said the solicitor and grinned. He was enjoying himself. Delyth thought for a moment.

'Marcus, where's the will now?' she asked.

'Don't worry. It's quite secure. It's locked in my desk,' replied the solicitor.

Delyth didn't tell her husband about her afternoon with Marcus Jacobs. There were pleasures a woman was entitled to keep private and as a result she could hardly tell Isaac about the will. The fact that the old man had disinherited Isaac, infuriated her. In her mind the foundry was Isaac's by right. Wasn't he the one who was building it up? Her husband deserved the foundry, more importantly she wanted it. Who else knew about the will, Delyth wondered? Had the old man told Eira? Delyth decided to find out. She found Eira sewing in the parlour.

'What did the solicitor, Mr. Jacobs, want with father the other afternoon?' she asked innocently.

'Presumably, they had some business to conduct,' replied Eira, guardedly.

'I thought he might have been making a will. Has he said anything to you about a will?' asked Delyth.

'A will, I believe he made one several years ago. Why do you ask?' replied Eira.

'No particular reason. So he hasn't spoken to you about his will,' asked Delyth.

'No Delyth. My father hasn't spoken a word to me about any will,' replied Eira testily. Satisfied with the answer, Delyth left Eira alone, to continue sewing.

That night as the maid was clearing the dinner table Delyth declared she had a headache and was retiring early. Delyth went upstairs to Mr. Thomas' room and quietly closed the door. The old man was dozing but woke with a start as his unexpected visitor approached the bed.

'Isaac worked hard to make the foundry a success and you want to steal it from him. That isn't right, is it?' whispered Delyth in the old man's ear. Mr. Thomas' eyes were wide open. He tried to speak but no sound would come.

'You never liked me,' she added and pulled the pillow over the old man's face.

Delyth pressed down hard on the pillow until the old man stopped moving. Then, she replaced the pillow under Mr. Thomas' head, straightened the sheets and retired to her own room. When Isaac came to bed, Delyth pretended to be asleep. On her way to her room, Eira cracked open the door to look in on her father and seeing him sleeping comfortably she closed it again. The maid discovered Mr. Thomas' body the following morning when she opened the bedroom door and recognised the smell of death.

'It was to be expected. His suffering is over now,' said the doctor after examining the corpse. He wrote 'heart failure' on the death certificate.

Thomas and Son Foundry shut on the day of the funeral and the workforce walked behind the dead man to his final resting place. Some of the men wanted to show their respect. Others, aware they would lose a day's pay, were less charitable towards the Thomas family. After the funeral service in St. Tydfil's Church, Mr Thomas' coffin was carried, shoulder high, through the streets of Pen-y-darren where it was transferred to a horse drawn hearse for the journey through Dowlais to the family vault at Caeharris. A priest led the procession, ringing a small corpse bell to frighten away evil spirits. Isaac walked behind the hearse. Eira and Delyth followed in a carriage. The men of Castle Iron Works stood erect and removed their caps as the cortege passed. Nye Vaughn saw Eira slumped in the carriage but her head was down and she did not see him. Pen-y-darren Iron Works, Dowlais Iron Works and other smaller foundries closed as a mark of respect. Workers lined the streets in silence as the procession of mourners trudged by.

After Mr. Thomas' interment, there was a funeral feast at the town hall for friends and dignitaries. The Thomas' were seated in the main room, accepting condolences. Eira was tearful. Her brother looked uncomfortable. Delyth was beside her husband and appeared to be enjoying the attention. Nye Vaughn approached cautiously to express his sympathy.

'I'm sorry that your father has passed away Mr. Thomas. He was a good man,' said Nye. Isaac Thomas ignored Nye and turned to speak with another mourner. 'I'm sorry Eira, I shouldn't have come,' said Nye and left.

'The impudence, coming here and gloating like that,' said Delyth and put a protective arm around her sister in law's shoulder.

The following day Isaac, Eira and Delyth went to the solicitor's for the reading of Mr. Thomas' will. Marcus Jacobs sat on the large leather chair, behind his desk and surveyed the family. All three were dressed in black. Black veils hid the women's faces. Jacobs produced an envelope from the desk drawer, with a theatrical gesture, opened it, placed the contents on his desk and began to read;

"This is the last will and testament of me Richard John Thomas of Bryncoch in the parish of Dowlais in the county of Brecon iron manufacturer. Subject to the payment of my just debts funeral and testamentary expenses I give the sum of four hundred pounds unto my son Isaac Thomas of Bryncoch in the parish of Vaynor upon trust to invest the same upon mortgage of freehold or leasehold property in England or Wales or in any investment authorised by law for trust funds with power to vary the investments thereof from time to time and to supply the income thereof towards the support of my daughter Eira Thomas of Bryncoch in the parish of Dowlais. I give the sum of three hundred pounds to Marcus Jacobs of Dafadfa Uchaf in the parish of Dowlais in the county of Brecon. The remainder of my property of whatever nature or kind soever I give to my son Isaac Thomas and I appoint him sole executor of this my will. I revoke all former wills made by me and declare this to be my last will and testament in witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand on this sixth day of August one thousand seven hundred and eighty four. Signed Richard John Thomas."

'It's quite straight forward. Mr. Thomas has provided an income for Eira and left the bulk of his estate including of course the foundry to Isaac,' offered the solicitor by way of explanation.

'That isn't what he told me before he died. My father said the works would be placed in a trust, I can prove it,' said Eira.

'I assure you the will is perfectly in order. I was with him when he signed it,' said the solicitor.

'Yes and suddenly you are a beneficiary,' snapped Eira. Her invective electrified the room.

'Eira you're upset. You don't know what you are saying,' said Isaac, trying to calm her.

'You told me your father never told you about a will. If you have proof, produce it,' said Delyth.

'I said my father never spoke about a will. He couldn't. He wasn't able to speak but I still have the notes my father wrote. They clearly show what he wanted. They're in my room. I'll fetch them,' said Eira and stood up.

'I'll take you in the carriage,' said Isaac and escorted her from the room.

Delyth lifted her veil and smiled at Marcus Jacobs. 'The trust fund for Eira was a nice idea, especially with Isaac controlling the money,' she said.

'You can't leave her with nothing. It would look odd. Even you aren't that heartless Delyth,' replied the solicitor, 'If she has kept notes her father scribbled they won't be a problem. The will is a legal document renouncing all other wills. That includes hand scribbled notes that someone might have forged. You realise she is slandering me. If she defames my character in front of others I shall sue.'

'I'm sure that won't be necessary Marcus,' said Delyth with a grin.

Isaac followed Eira upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the drawer of her chest and felt under her clothes for her father's notes. They had gone. Someone had been through her things and removed them. Isaac had never heard his sister tell a lie before and wondered why she was behaving so strangely.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 9**

Richard Thomas' will was proved by Isaac's oath and, being the sole executor, administration of the estate was immediately granted to him. The assets were transferred to his name making him the new owner of Thomas Iron Works. Eira could do nothing to prevent the transfer and, since he also controlled the small trust fund provided for her, Eira's financial future was in his hands. At home, Delyth started to make changes. She threw out the old man's personal effects, ordered new furniture, moved into the large front bedroom and made it obvious that Eira lived in Delyth's house under sufferance. With the death of her father, Eira's circumstances had changed. She was now Delyth's poor relation, subject to pity and scorn in equal measure.

Castle Iron Works prospered. Retailers sold the products quickly and were sending repeat orders. Blacks Iron Merchants were a particularly good customer, ordering cast iron stair posts and balustrades to be delivered to houses being constructed for wealthy clients across Britain. Benjamin Griffiths' book keeping gave the partners more control. He showed them how to cost overheads and accurately calculate profit margins. Benjamin offered customers discount for paying promptly and liquidity improved. Despite giving discount, the business was profitable and, because customers settled their accounts early, Castle Iron Works accumulated cash to repay the loan on Gurnos quarry.

On the other side of the valley, Thomas' ironworks had stopped making iron goods for the domestic market and was concentrating on manufacturing cannons for the Board of Ordnance. Procurement for the army and navy was a gentlemanly affair Isaac Thomas was able to charge what he liked. He inflated prices beyond what was reasonable. There was no competition between the foundries and little friction between Isaac and Nye. When they met, at civic functions, the two men ignored each other. Both foundries were making money and a tacit truce existed between them.

'Have you seen this? Two men have flown across the English Channel in a balloon,' said Will Jones and handed the newspaper to Nye Vaughn. Nye read about the daring two and a half hour flight, made on the 7th January 1785, smiled and returned the paper to his partner. 'Trust a Frenchman to come up with a mad idea like that. I read that he once jumped out of a balloon and floated down to earth on a device he's called a parachute,' added Will.

'Perhaps we should market a cast iron balloon,' suggested Nye. The partners laughed and agreed that neither balloon nor parachute would ever have a practical use.

'We've been asked to take part in the St. David's Day parade. The other foundries always do something. What do you think?' asked Nye. Neither man could think of anything suitable. Meir suggested a float depicting Saint Tydfil's life and a picnic for the foundry men's families after the parade and the partners agreed to her idea.

Tuesday, 1st March was a bright sunny day and Merthyr was on holiday to celebrate the life of Saint David, the patron saint of Wales. The foundries stood idle. Men loitered on street corners, smoking and exchanging greetings. Women scrubbed their children clean and dressed them in their Sunday clothes. During the morning, people drifted towards the town centre to watch the parade. The wagon from Castle Iron Works was drawn by two shire horses dressed with polished leather harnesses and brasses that shone in the sunlight. The bed of the wagon was covered with green matting to represent the farmland where Tydfil was slain. A boy dressed as the Welsh Chieftain, Brychan, stood grieving, unconvincingly while his dying daughter Tydfil, a young girl dressed in white, tried to look saintly as a bleating lamb tied next to her struggled to escape. Tydfil's handmaidens waved to onlookers and boys armed with wooden spears completed the wagon's tableau.

The parade set off. Will and Nye walked alongside the horses. Behind the wagon, boys representing the heathen Picts, who murdered Tydfil, shouted and ran about. As the pageant progressed around the town, the Picts became more unruly. Mock sword fighting degenerated into a general rumpus leaving unrepentant boys bloodied and bruised. A mother grabbed her son, clipped him round the ear and shouted,

'Elwyn, if you don't behave there'll be no picnic.' Elwyn returned to the fray and walloped a boy on the head with his sword.

The procession was moving along Quarry Row when Nye saw Eira at the back of the crowd. She was alone. He left the parade, pushed his way through the people and stood beside her. She looked tired.

'How are you Eira?' asked Nye.

'I'm well thank you, Mr. Vaughn,' she answered frostily.

'Nye, please?'

'I'm well thank you, Nye,' she replied. They stood watching the passing floats. Many were decorated with St. David's flag; a golden cross on a black field. A marching band, playing popular tunes, set the tempo. Women in the crowd linked arms and danced. Others cheered and whistled their appreciation. A company of soldiers with leeks pinned on their tunics marched past, led by an officer with drawn sword.

'Come on,' yelled Nye, above the din and guided Eira along the road.

'Where are we going?' she shouted.

'You'll see,' answered Nye. The parade finished on the meadow by the River Taff where there was a fair. Riders on the flying chairs were screaming and laughing. Others paid a farthing and waited for their turn. Music echoed across the valley. Young daredevils, eager to impress the girls, pushed the swing boats as high as possible. A boisterous crowd listened to a man, at the boxing booth, daring any stout fellow to come up and stay inside the ring with the champion for one round to win a shilling. When a challenger, goaded on by his friends stepped forward, they cheered. Nearby, a horseshoe tossing competition was taking place. Families were picnicking on the grass.

The float from Castle Iron Works stopped on the far side of the meadow, by the river. Nye steered Eira towards it. The tethered horses grazed, contentedly on the lush grass. A table was laden with hams, pies, cheeses and pickles. Another overflowed with fancy breads, bara brith, welsh cakes and savoury puddings. Shortbread and cakes were piled around bowls of jelly and custard. Meir was serving beer from a barrel.

'We're having a picnic,' announced Nye and handed Eira a plate.

After the meal, there were races and games. The men of Dowlais Works challenged Castle Iron Works to a tug of war. It was a noisy affair with shouting and good natured cheating on all sides. No one could agree who won but it didn't matter and the men agreed to a rematch the following year. Eira laughed with the others and, for the first time since her father's death, felt happy.

Eira and Nye sat by the river. A heron was standing, motionless, by the far bank waiting for its supper to swim by.

'What happened in the house with Delyth?' asked Eira. Nye explained, how a boy brought a message, how Delyth forced herself on him, about the beating he received and how Isaac broke his ribs with a kick.

'You must hate them both,' she said. Nye didn't reply.

'I hate them,' said Eira.

'Why should you hate them? They've done nothing to you,' answered Nye. At first, Eira struggled to explain but, as she unburdened, she grew more confident, impatient to share her secrets for the first time. She told Nye how she nursed her father, about the will, the missing notes written by her father and what they contained, why she couldn't prove her father's will had been forged, the solicitor's threats to sue her and how, without her own money, she was trapped in a house ruled by Delyth. Eira wept as she spoke. Nye put his arms around her.

'You don't have to live a wretched existence.'

'I have nowhere else to go,' she replied.

'Yes you have. I'll take you if you'll have me?' asked Nye.

'What do you mean have me?'

'I'm asking you to marry me,' replied Nye.

Nye waited for her answer. The heron pounced, shooting its beak into the water and emerging with a fish. The bird tossed the struggling fish in the air and swallowed it head first. They watched as the outline of the fish slid down the bird's gullet. Eira didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. The proposal of marriage had stunned her. She wanted to say yes but was it the right thing to do? She liked Nye a great deal but he was a lodger in a tavern. He might have started a business but he was living by his wits and had no money or social status. How would they live? Where would they live? What would her brother do? Eira thought of her father and wished he was alive, to advise her.

'I want you to be my wife. Not so you can escape, but for us, for our future and the future of our children. Forget your brother and his wife. This is about us,' said Nye.

'I can't marry you, Nye,' replied Eira.

'Why not?' asked Nye.

'My father has only been dead for half a year. I'm still in mourning. It wouldn't be right. What would people say?'

'But will you marry me after your mourning is over?' asked Nye.

'Yes I'll marry you Nye but we must wait,' she replied.

They sat by the river making plans until the sun disappeared behind the mountain and the dew settled on the grass. The field behind them was empty. The last of the revellers had gone home. Eira shuddered.

'We must go,' she said. Walking back, they agreed to tell no one. The engagement would be their secret for another six months. There was no need for Isaac or Delyth to know their plans, not yet. When Eira's mourning was over the whole world would know. They stopped by the bridge to say goodbye.

'We'll meet here on Saturday?' said Nye and kissed her.

When Nye got back to the Star tavern he was grinning. Meir asked why he was in such high spirits. She had seen him with Eira by the river and, having her suspicions, wanted to know more. Nye refused to say and she teased him, probing to discover the reason for his good humour. Still, he refused to answer. Nye was bursting to share the good news with friends but kept his promise.

Nye's mind was racing as he went to bed. There were things to do. He needed a house for his new bride, one suitable for a respectable woman. Eira's treatment by Isaac and Delyth, infuriated Nye.

'Did he hate them?' Eira had asked. He hadn't answered her but he did and now, knowing the evil done to the woman he loved, he hated them more than ever. Thinking about Eira, defenceless, in a house with her brother and his scheming wife, angered Nye. Rage and euphoria competed, tempest like, in his head.

'Yes,' he said to himself, 'There are things to do.'

The house was dark when Eira arrived home. She closed the front door and walked slowly towards the stairs, feeling her way. The parlour door opened, casting a beam of yellow light across the passage and illuminating the stairs. Isaac's silhouette appeared in the doorway.

'It's late. We have been waiting for you. Come into the parlour for a moment we have something to tell you,' said Isaac. Eira followed her brother into the room.

'Come and sit down we have some news for you,' said Delyth and patted the sofa.

'You tell her Delyth,' said Isaac and stood with his back to the fire. Delyth smiled at her sister in law.

'These last few months haven't been easy for you. We know you took father's death badly, after nursing him for so long. His passing has made you ill Eira. Nobody in their right mind would have said the terrible things you said about poor father's will. We were lucky not to have had a scandal. If Mr. Jacobs hadn't been reasonable who knows what might have happened. We'd have been the laughing stock of Merthyr. Eira, we're worried about you. You mope about the house, you don't eat. Look at you. You must have lost a stone in weight. Face it Eira, you aren't well. Do you understand what we're saying?'

'I'm listening but I don't understand,' said Eira.

Delyth paused, 'Perhaps you can explain better, Isaac.'

'Delyth is trying to say, you need a break. Some time away from Merthyr will do you good. I have business in England. You and Delyth will come and stay with Delyth's Aunt Lily while I'm in Birmingham,' said Isaac.

'When?' asked Eira.

'We leave in the morning. I've already packed you some things,' said Delyth.

'I won't go,' said Eira.

'Rubbish we'll only be away for a few days. You can't stay here on your own. We'll take the landau. If it's nice we'll put the roof down. You'll enjoy it,' said Isaac.

The bags were strapped on the back of the landau by the time Eira had finished breakfast,

'Come on. We need to get going,' called Isaac from the hall. Isaac and Delyth were climbing into the carriage as Eira emerged from the dining room. The maid held the front door open. Eira handed her a letter.

'Will you make sure this gets delivered,' she said and joined the others in the landau.

'I've forgotten my amethyst brooch,' announced Delyth and hurried back into the house. Moments later, she returned and they set off.

The carriage stopped at Abergavenny and they lunched at the Angel Inn. The sun shone in the afternoon and the driver lowered the roof so they could enjoy the views. The road was clear and the carriage progressed at a steady trot. Approaching Hereford the horses slowed to a walk as they passed livestock being driven along the road. The carriage reached the England's Gate Inn, their overnight stop, as the church clock struck six. It was Wednesday, market day in Hereford and the town was busy. Farmers, who seldom left their farms, were making the most of the visit. Drovers were drinking in the taverns. A boy shepherded a flock of geese along the street. A groom ran from the stables and held the horses. Isaac helped the women from the carriage and led them into the coaching inn.

Eira was tired and retired immediately after dinner. She lay in the unfamiliar bedroom and listened to the rowdy drinkers in the bar below. It had been a pleasant day. Even Delyth had been civil to her.

'Perhaps,' she thought, 'they were right. A few days away from Merthyr will do her good. Nye would still be there when she got back and he would have got her letter by now.'

Delyth also retired early, leaving Isaac talking with a doctor from Wrexham. They had ordered a third bottle of wine and it would be some time before he joined her. Delyth removed an envelope from her pocket, placed it on the wash stand and undressed. She finished her toilet, opened the letter and read the contents. Delyth smiled as she read the last line.

'I'm sorry about Saturday but we will soon be together my love. For ever, yours, Eira.' Delyth tossed the letter in the grate and watched it burn.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 10**

The weather deteriorated during the night. A storm blew up bringing heavy rain and gusty winds. Isaac, who had stayed up late, had a hangover and sat in the carriage with his eyes shut. The roof was up and there was little to see as they continued the journey. Delyth was in good spirits and talked about her aunt.

'You'll like Aunt Lily. She's old but active for her age. She has a beautiful rose garden. She lives in Herefordshire. It's a large house for a woman living alone but she has servants and wants for nothing except some company.' Eira listened but her mind was elsewhere.

They arrived at Aunt Lily's house late in the afternoon. Aunt Lily received her visitors in the drawing room. A servant brought tea and cakes. Isaac stayed for an hour, announced he would be back in four or five days and departed. Delyth chatted with her aunt and Eira sat quietly, feeling like an outsider. Aunt Lily didn't move from her chair. Eira was daydreaming when Aunt Lily raised her voice,

'Young lady are you listening. I asked you to ring the bell. I wish to withdraw.' Aunt Lily pointed to a bell rope beside the fireplace. Eira got up and pulled the sash. A manservant entered the room with a bath-chair. He lifted the old lady into it and pushed her towards the door.

'We dine at seven,' announced Aunt Lily and disappeared.

'You didn't tell me your aunt was an invalid,' said Eira.

'Didn't I,' answered Delyth.

Dinner was a gloomy affair. A small oil lamp lit the table but darkness crowded in from the corners of the dining room. Eira shivered. The room was cold.

'How's cousin, Charles?' asked Delyth.

'I haven't seen my son for months. He only visits when he wants his gambling debts paid,' replied Aunt Lily. On the second evening, they ate in silence. Eira was beginning to dislike Aunt Lily and her sad house. She wanted to leave, to see Nye again and was counting the days to their departure.

Eira woke early the next morning. There was a gentle breeze blowing from the south, the sky was clear and it was a beautiful spring day. Eira dressed and left the house before breakfast. She wandered around the flowerbeds and reached a gate leading to a walled vegetable garden. She went through the gate and found a man planting potatoes. He lifted his cap.

'Morning Miss. Can I help you?' he asked.

'Good morning. What a lovely day after all that rain. Can I walk to the village from here? How far is it?' asked Eira.

'Two miles, Miss, but the lane is muddy and there is nothing to see except a few houses,' replied the gardener and returned to his digging. Eira abandoned her plan of walking to the village and returned the house.

That afternoon, Delyth spoke to Eira about her future plans.

'You are looking so much better Eira. The country air has put colour in your cheeks. I've been thinking about your future. You only have a small allowance and you can't live with us forever. Aunt Lily is lonely and needs a companion. The position would suit you admirably and solve all your problems,' said Delyth.

'I don't want to live here with your Aunt,' replied Eira.

'I admit she's formidable but that's just her manner. Let's talk about it again, when you've had time to consider the idea,' said Delyth.

Eira was relieved when Isaac returned. She packed, ready, for the journey home the following day and went to bed. In the morning, she woke early and went down for breakfast. Aunt Lily was in her usual seat at the head of the table. No other places were laid for breakfast.

'Where are Isaac and Delyth?' she asked.

'They left an hour ago,' replied Aunt Lily, 'I've arranged for you to take your meals with the other servants. I'll expect you in the morning room, at ten, to read to me.'

'I'm not your servant,' replied Eira angrily.

'Eira, you're impertinent. Consider your position. You have no husband and money. I'm doing you a kindness. My servant will move your things to your new room and I'll see you in the morning room at ten o'clock.' said Aunt Lily and continued with her breakfast.

Nye was excited. He had been making plans for the future and wanted to tell Eira. More importantly, he wanted to see Eira again, to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and surprise her with the news of the house they were going to build together. Nye waited on the bridge, as they had arranged. He was early. Nye could see the church clock. Five minutes and they would be together. The clock chimed the hour and Nye looked along the road. There was no sign of Eira. By quarter past, Nye was concerned. He hadn't expected her to be late. When the church bell struck half past Nye was worried. Was Eira alright? He walked to the Thomas house and knocked on the front door. The maid opened it.

'Tell Miss Thomas that Mr. Vaughn is calling on her,' instructed Nye.

'There is no one home Sir. Mr. Thomas is in Birmingham on business. Mrs. Thomas and Miss Eira have gone with him to visit an aunt,' replied the maid.

'When do they return?' asked Nye.

'Towards the end of the week,' answered the maid. Nye hesitated for a moment, thanked the girl and was leaving when she called him.

'Didn't you get Miss Eira's letter. Mrs. Thomas promised it would be delivered?' The maid told how Eira had been surprised by the sudden trip to Birmingham and how Delyth had snatched Eiras' letter, addressed to him, as she left.

Nye returned to the house the following Thursday. The Thomas' were at home. Delyth told the maid to show him to the parlour.

'What does he want?' said Isaac.

'Let's go and ask him,' replied Delyth.

'I've come to see Eira,' said Nye.

'What business do you have with my sister?' asked Isaac.

'It's a private matter between us.'

'She isn't here,' said Delyth, 'she's taken a position as a lady's companion in England.'

'Where in England?' snapped Nye.

'That doesn't concern you. She doesn't want to see you. Now, we want you to leave,' said Delyth.

'Tell me where she is,' shouted Nye.

'My sister's whereabouts is nothing to do with you. My wife has asked you to leave. Now go,' snarled Isaac.

'I'm going to find her and if you've harmed her, God help the pair of you,' warned Nye. Isaac held the parlour door open.

'That was easier than I expected,' said Delyth after Nye had gone.

'Why, were you expecting him?' asked Isaac and poured a whisky.

'Let's say, I had my suspicions,'

'You never said anything to me,' said Isaac.

'Didn't I,' replied Delyth and shrugged.

Nye went to Birmingham to search for Eira. Enquiries led him to Thomas' business contact but the man couldn't help. Nye rode back to Merthyr hoping Eira had returned, for a message or a letter asking him to come but there was no news of Eira. Weeks passed. Nye lost interest in the foundry and spent his time in the Star Tavern. His friends tried to raise his spirits but the energy that fired Nye's enthusiasm and motivated him had gone. His plans for a new house were forgotten. Why build a house when there is no one to share it? When he slept, Nye dreamt of Eira. In the dreams, they were in a strange place. She would tease him, laughing and waving from a distance. Nye would run towards her but his legs grew heavy until he couldn't lift them from the ground. In his worst nightmares, Eira called him from beyond the grave but, try as he may, he could not reach out to her.

'I'm worried about him, Will,' said Meir one evening, 'He's acting strangely. He's going to do something stupid,'

'Then we must watch him,' replied Will.

Nye began to drink heavily. He became loud and easily angered, revealing a temper his friends hadn't seen before. Hung-over, he was sullen and morose. One evening, when he was drunk, Nye left the Star Tavern and wandered out into the night. Will followed his friend through the streets to Isaac Thomas' house. He saw Nye stagger forward and take something from inside his coat. It was a pistol. Will ran towards his friend,

'Don't be a fool. What are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm going to kill them,' replied Nye and tried to cock the weapon.

'Then you'll hang. Isn't one killing enough? This isn't the answer,' hissed Will and took the gun from Nye. Nye wept as his friend led him home.

Aunt Lily's routine was rigid. Eira read to her in the morning and after lunch they would embroider. In the afternoon, Eira served Aunt Lily tea, in the garden if it was sunny, or the drawing room. Aunt Lily treated Eira like a servant. Her only free time was before breakfast, when she would walk in the garden. Eira wanted to get away but she had no money and no means of travelling from England back to Wales. Escape was impossible. She wrote Nye a letter asking him to come but how could she send it? The servants couldn't be trusted. They were watching her. Eira resolved to stay calm and pray to be rescued. She tried hard with Aunt Lily but, as the weeks passed, the old woman's vinegar disposition slowly crushed her spirit.

Marcus Jacobs didn't know how long he dozed but he woke to find Delyth still in his arms. The lovers untangled themselves. He waited until Delyth was comfortable,

'You did alright for yourself,' said Jacobs.

'What do you mean?' said Delyth pulling the sheet up to her chin.

'Isaac got the old man's money, the foundry and now Eira has vanished. What nasty surprise are you planning next?' asked the solicitor.

'Since old Thomas died my poor husband has been working too hard. He needs some help, someone trustworthy. A family member who can watch his back. I've asked my Cousin Charles to come to Merthyr and give him a hand.'

'Does Isaac know?' asked the solicitor.

'Not yet, but he won't object,' replied Delyth. Marcus Jacobs got up and began to dress.

'It hardly seems fair. You have a fortune and all I got was three hundred pounds,' he said.

'It's what we agreed,' replied Delyth.

'I know but my part was worth more.'

'What do you mean, more?' asked Delyth.

'Another three hundred.'

'Marcus, I don't have three hundred pounds. All the money's in Isaac's name. Anyway, why should I give you more money?' replied Delyth.

'To keep me from producing the real will,' said the solicitor.

'You still have it! You're a fool. It would destroy both of us,' said Delyth and sat up.

'No Delyth. It's my insurance and I want a fair share.'

Delyth considered what Marcus Jacobs was doing and decided to humour him.

'It'll take time to get the money.'

'I knew you would be reasonable,' said Marcus Jacobs and smiled.

'What's the matter, Miss, have you hurt yourself?' Eira looked up. The gardener was standing a few feet away. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

'No, I'm alright,' replied Eira recovering her composure. The gardener shook his head and went back to work.

'Oh Nye, where are you?' she whispered.

Table of Contents
**Chapter 11**

Benjamin Griffiths signed the lease for Garngoch Colliery on the 5th August 1785. Six months had passed since Eira's disappearance and although Nye was not completely himself, he was beginning to show a renewed interest in the company. Castle Iron Works continued to grow. With a coal mine and a quarry now part of the company Castle Iron was a major employer in Merthyr Tydfil, one of the foundries that dominated the town. Benjamin Griffith's next objective was to acquire the mineral rights for the mountains above Vaynor and Trefechan. To achieve this, negotiations were well advanced with Lord Dynevor's agent. The foundry now included four furnaces which smelted iron continuously. To provide the extra air, bigger bellows were installed and a second waterwheel added to power them. A new culvert diverted water from the River Taff to a large pond, above the foundry providing a constant water supply.

Delyth Thomas was surprised when Isaac came home early. It was only 2 o'clock. He looked angry.

'Where's my wife?' he shouted at the maid.

'In the garden room, Sir,' replied the maid. Isaac marched through the house to the garden room.

'I've had enough. He has to go.'

'Who has to go?' asked Delyth.

'Your Cousin, Charles. He's been thieving from us,' snapped Isaac, 'The accounts clerk has discovered he's been falsifying ledgers and taking money.'

'How much money has he taken?' enquired Delyth.

'Four hundred pounds,' shouted Isaac, 'and he claims you told him to take the money. Is it true or is he a liar as well as an embezzler?' demanded Isaac.

'It's partly true,' replied Delyth, 'let me try and explain.'

Delyth told Isaac how Marcus Jacobs suggested altering Mr. Thomas' will and how the solicitor was blackmailing her, threatening to produce the real will. She explained how in desperation she asked Charles to help find the money to pay Jacobs.

'I've given Jacobs three hundred pounds and he still had the will. Now, he wants more money. I only did it for you Isaac. You must believe me,' she said.

'We must expose Jacobs for the blackmailer he is,' said Isaac.

'I always wanted to expose him but I had to protect you. Jacobs threatens to say you told him to change the will. Don't you see you're the one who gained? Exposing him will ruin you,' said Delyth.

'Why would Jacobs want to alter my father's will?' demanded Isaac.

'Isn't that plain enough. He bequeathed himself three hundred pounds and now he's blackmailing us for more money.'

'Where has the other hundred pounds gone?' asked Isaac.

'I don't know. Perhaps Charles took it to settle gambling debts,' replied Delyth.

Isaac Thomas thought about his wife's story. He suspected she was lying but in one respect he knew she was right; if they exposed Jacobs as a blackmailer, his own reputation would be damaged and he might lose control of the foundry. Isaac was trapped in a web of deceit.

'So Eira was telling the truth,' he said, 'what do we do about her?'

Delyth paused before replying, 'Do nothing Isaac. She's settled and happy with her new life. Leave her with Aunt Lily. More importantly, what are you going to do about Jacobs?'

'Why didn't you tell me what was going on?' said Isaac.

'I was frightened of Jacobs and frightened you wouldn't still love me,' replied Delyth, 'You do love me?'

'Yes Delyth. I love you but I want no more of your games,' said Isaac.

Eira's early morning walks in the garden pleased Tom. He liked to see her but wondered why she always looked sad. One morning, while he was weeding, he heard footsteps on the gravel and knew it would be Eira. Tom stood up, removed his cap and offered her a rose.

'Thank you,' said Eira and smelt the flower's scent.

'What ails you, lass?' asked Tom. His familiarity surprised Eira.

'Can I trust you with a secret, Tom?' she asked.

'I'm a simple gardener Miss. No one asks me if I know any secrets,' replied Tom.

He followed Eira to a bench, by the potting shed, where she invited him to sit with her. Tom listened carefully to Eira as she explained how she belonged elsewhere and asked for his help. Tom didn't understand all she said, it sounded complicated for a gardener like him but he agreed to do what she asked.

The next day was a Sunday and Tom's day off. He met Eira in the vegetable garden and she handed him a letter to Nye.

'I've never had a letter Miss. I can't read,' said the gardener sheepishly. Eira told him to take the letter to Leominster and give it to the postmaster.

'How do I find the postmaster?' asked Tom.

'There will be a wooden post, probably outside one of the inns with a sign that says Royal Mail on it. The post master waits by the post for mail riders to deliver and collect letters. He will take the letter from you and send it on its way,' explained Eira. Then she remembered, Tom was illiterate, 'Just ask someone where it is.'

'Do I need to pay him, Miss?' asked Tom.

'No Tom he won't want any money. The recipient pays when the letter is delivered,' replied Eira. Tom didn't know what a recipient was but didn't ask.

'It's important that you give it to the post master and no one else,' said Eira as he was leaving.

Tom walked to Leominster, made his way to the town centre and asked a stranger where he might find the post master. The man told him the post master didn't work on a Sunday and offered to take the letter on his behalf. Tom was about to part with the letter when he remembered his sister lived in Leominster. He stuffed the letter back into his tunic and went to ask her advice. His sister was married to a baker and was, in Tom's opinion, a clever woman. She would know what to do. Tom's sister made a fuss, when her brother arrived unexpectedly and insisted he stayed for a meal. Tom forgot the purpose of his visit to Leominster and it was not until he was leaving that he remembered the letter. He repeated Eira's story as best he could, omitting the bits he didn't understand and the whole family sat looking at the letter in the centre of the kitchen table.

'It's a very important message,' said Tom.

'Then we will deliver it to the post master tomorrow,' promised the baker. Satisfied that his job was done, Tom bade his sister and her husband farewell and walked home.

Marcus Jacobs and his clerk arrived at Thomas and Son's office at three o'clock, as the summons had instructed. They were shown into the boardroom and asked to wait. Jacobs, normally a confident man, felt uncomfortable. He selected a chair on one side of the long polished table, sat down and wondered why they had been sent for. Perhaps Isaac had discovered the affair with Delyth but if so why ask him to come to the office and why tell him to bring his clerk? Then, there was the will. Surely, Delyth had not been foolish enough to tell her husband about it. It was half past the hour when the boardroom door opened and Isaac Thomas entered.

'Thank you for coming. Don't get up,' said Isaac and sat down opposite his visitors. Marcus Jacobs relaxed. The meeting had started cordially and Thomas didn't appear to be angry.

'I need some professional advice. It's a complicated matter so your clerk might want to make some notes,' said Isaac and gestured to writing materials at the end of the table. Isaac Thomas continued by telling the solicitor and his assistant a convoluted story about a financial dispute he was involved with. The clerk wrote quickly but struggled to keep up and interrupted to ask for clarification several times. When Isaac had finished he sat back and invited Marcus Jacobs to give his legal opinion on the matter.

'If the facts you have told me are correct, and I am sure they are, there is no need to issue a writ. A statutory demand for the money including a threat to bankrupt should bring the affair to a speedy and satisfactory conclusion,' said the lawyer.

'Can you tell me how a statutory demand works?' asked Isaac. Jacobs began to explain. While he was talking, the door opened and a man entered the boardroom carrying a large carpet bag. He put the bag on the floor, nodded to Isaac Thomas and left without speaking. Jacobs considered the interruption rude, ignored the man and continued talking. Suddenly, Isaac produced his pocket watch and stood up.

'I'm sorry gentlemen but it's almost five o'clock and I have another appointment,' he said and ushered the confused visitors out.

Walking back to his office, Marcus Jacobs saw smoke coming from the direction of the high street. Getting closer, he found a crowd gathered in front of his office. It was on fire. Jacobs watched helplessly as the tinder dry building became an inferno. Windows shattered and flames roared through the building. The roof collapsed inwards sending burning debris into the street. Nothing could be done to save the building or its contents.

The man carrying the carpet bag returned to the boardroom after the solicitor's departure.

'Did you do exactly as I told you?' asked Isaac.

'Every scrap of paper in his desk,' replied the man and pointed to the bag.

'Was there a secret compartment in the desk?'

'Not very secret, It opened with a crowbar,' replied the man.

'And the fire?' asked Isaac.

'An oil lamp got knocked over. I made it look like an accident. No one will ever know I've been there,' replied the man and left.

Isaac emptied the contents of the carpet bag on the table, sorted through the papers and found his father's original will. It was in a bundle of documents tied with ribbon. He read the will, screwed it up and threw it into the burning fire. Then, out of curiosity, he examined the other documents. It appeared that Marcus Jacob's law practice had a number of wealthy clients. The contents of the solicitor's desk included title deeds, mortgages, contracts and other valuable documents whose loss would be a major embarrassment to the solicitor. Isaac was about to burn the papers when a promissory note, from the Bank of Haverford West, for fifty pounds gave him an idea. Attached to the promissory note was a letter authorising it's bearer to purchase livestock, for transportation to London. Isaac picked up a pen dipped it into the ink pot and started to write.

The following day, Marcus Jacobs was picking through his burnt out office when he was told the magistrate, a friend of his, wished to see him. He made his way to the magistrate's house, expecting sympathy and was surprised to be greeted formally.

'Is this yours?' demanded the magistrate, pointing to a carpet bag being held by a constable. Jacobs said the bag did not belong to him and was asked if the contents of the bag were from his office. He looked at the papers, confirmed they were and asked how the constable had come by them.

'It seems your office was burgled and set alight to conceal the crime. The bag was found this morning by the river. The thieves must have dumped it thinking the papers were worthless to them,' said the magistrate.

Marcus Jacobs gathered up the documents and thanked his friend for his help.

'You don't know how important recovering my papers is to me,' he said.

'It's not quite that simple,' said the magistrate and held out the promissory note. Jacobs took the note, examined it and saw the payees name had been changed. His own name had been crudely substituted in place of the real payee. Other documents in the bag had also been altered indicating that Marcus Jacobs was embezzling from his clients.

Marcus Jacobs' trial took place at the Michaelmas Quarter Sessions in Brecon. Witnesses confirmed they were the rightful owners of the papers in Jacob's possession and had not authorised him to make any changes. The jury concluded that Jacobs was a forger who had altered the documents to enrich himself. Things looked bad for the solicitor; a man could be executed for stealing five shillings. Jacobs was horrified when the judge placed a black cloth on his head and sentenced him to be hanged for the crime.

Tom's brother in law kept his promise and gave Eira's letter to the post master at Leominster. It was delivered to Castle Iron Works three days later. Nye recognised the handwriting immediately. He ripped the letter open and read it. At last, he knew where Eira was.

It took Nye two days to ride to Aunt Lily's house. He hammered on the front door and pushed past the servant who answered, calling Eira's name. She was in the garden room reading to Aunt Lily. Eira closed the book and stood up.

'I shall be leaving now so you will have to read for yourself. Goodbye,' said Eira and dropped the book into Aunt Lily's lap. Then she ran into the hall and Nye's open arms.

The couple returned to Merthyr discussing the future and agreed there was no reason to delay their wedding. A year had passed since Eira's father's death and her mourning period was over. Until the wedding, Eira would stay with a cousin. There was a lot to do. Nye arranged for the banns of marriage to be read at Vaynor Church. He instructed the architect to begin the new house and rented a cottage to serve as their married home while the house was being built. The wedding took place at Vaynor on the 8th October 1785. It was a small ceremony. Will Jones was best man and Benjamin Griffiths escorted Eira down the aisle. Meir cried as she watched. They celebrated at the Star Tavern before Nye and Eira left by carriage for a short honeymoon.

Although he was a convicted fraudster, Marcus Jacobs still had friends in the legal profession. Strings were pulled and the sentence was commuted to transportation to the penal colony of New South Wales. The disgraced solicitor left Wales, in irons with 774 other felons, in the first fleet of prison ships bound for Australia on the 18th August 1786. Once they were at sea, Jacob's chains were removed and he was allowed free reign of the ship. Solicitors were scarce in New South Wales and, as he would soon discover, a law practice in Australia could be very profitable, particularly for a man with his particular talents.

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**Chapter 12**

The Vaughn's honeymoon started with a ride over the mountain to Brecon where they turned west along the road to Nye's old village, Llangadog. Nye helped Eira down from the carriage and she followed him into the graveyard. They searched for his mother's grave but there was no marker.

'The skinflint wouldn't even pay for a headstone,' muttered Nye and took Eira to the minister's house. The minister greeted Nye and agreed to arrange for a monument to be erected and inscribed with Nye's mother's name. Nye gave the minister some money.

' Are you going up to the farm to see your father?' asked the minister.

'There's no point. We have nothing to say to each other,' replied Nye.

'Did you know, he remarried after your mother died? They have a baby son. You should go and see your brother,' said the minister. Eira agreed with the clergyman's suggestion but Nye was adamant. There were too many painful memories and he refused to go. That night, they took the best rooms in the King's Head, Llandeilo. They were eating supper when the landlord approached the table, apologised and told them the room was required by two gentlemen who had just arrived from London.

'Who are these impertinent fellows?' demanded Nye.

'A Mr. Paxton, late of India and his associate Captain Williams. They are in the bar waiting for their bags to be brought in,' replied the innkeeper.

'I shall have a word with Mr. Paxton, late of India,' said Nye. He told Eira he would be back shortly and went to confront the strangers who were upsetting their evening.

William Paxton, recently retired master of the Calcutta Mint, was a pugnacious Scot, dark skinned from years in India and reputedly the wealthiest man in Britain. Paxton was a soldier, a protégé of Clive of India and a capable businessman. The gentry with their old money referred disparagingly to such rich men returned from India as Nabobs but never, if they were sensible, to their faces. His companion, Captain David Williams, was a sailor with an distinguished record of service with the East India Company. Paxton and his friend were in Wales, searching for a country estate to buy. Paxton had insisted on the best rooms on their arrival and would accept none other.

Nye Vaughn went over to the men, stood facing Paxton and said,

'Gentlemen, you are going to have to find other rooms this night. My wife and I have no desire to move.'

'Sir, there are other rooms suitable for you and your good woman to sleep,' replied Paxton and moved closer to Nye. The two men were inches apart. Neither intended to give way.

'Perhaps if we compensated you for your inconvenience it would resolve our impasse,' suggested Captain Williams.

'Let's step outside and resolve our impasse,' replied Nye angrily, unaware that Eira had followed him from the dining room.

'Nye we're on our honeymoon. It's not worth it. Let them have the room,' she implored. Nye didn't move. Paxton studied the young man confronting him. Few men had the spirit to challenge William Paxton and the young fellow, who he was starting to admire, clearly was not going to back down. Paxton thought of his own wedding, planned for the following year, smiled and decided he no longer needed the best rooms.

'Your honeymoon! Sir, it would be a shame to spoil your features with a bloody nose on such an occasion. Captain William's and I both apologize for our rudeness. What is more, we would like to pay for your accommodation as a wedding gift. Will you accept my apology?' he asked and proffered his hand.

The next day, Nye and Eira visited St Teilo's Church and the saint's holy spring before leaving Llandeilo. They rode to Aberystwyth and took a room in an inn overlooking the harbour. The honeymooners visited Devil's Bridge to see the waterfalls. They explored the brigand's cave and heard how two brothers hid there after murdering a man who refused to part with his purse. Both were surprised how small the cave was and agreed it was an unlikely tale. From there, they travelled to Hafod Uchtryd, the great mansion completed two years earlier by Thomas Johnes. Eira marvelled at the 160ft long conservatory filled with exotic plants and the huge library filled with books. The housekeeper told them that the owner's grandfather made his fortune as an ironmaster in Herefordshire.

'One day we will own a house like this,' whispered Nye and kissed his bride.

Riding back to Merthyr, Nye's thoughts turned to business. His mind was full of new ideas; new ways to grow Castle Foundry. His old enthusiasm had returned and life was good.

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**Chapter 13**

Tom, the gardener, was surprised to receive a letter and happy to part with a halfpenny to take possession of it. The following Sunday, he hurried to Leominster and presented the letter to his sister so that she might tell him what it said. Tom sat by the kitchen table and watched with anticipation as she carefully broke the seal, unfolded the letter, spread it flat on the table and read the contents;

My Dearest Tom,

It is with great happiness that I write to thank you for your kindness. The letter you took the trouble to take to Leominster and give to the post master resulted in my rescue from a terrible plight. There is no need for me to explain more except to tell you that I am now happily married and beginning a new life with my husband. Without your help I would have remained trapped in a life with no joy, no future and no hope.

I will always be your friend and enclose a token of my gratitude.

Thank you again.

Eira Vaughn

Tom's sister examined the piece of paper that was enclosed. She counted the sheep in the corner. There were ten.

'Well I never did, it's a ten pound note,' she exclaimed, 'How much do you earn a week, Tom?'

'Eight shillings,' replied Tom.

'Well, my lad, your friend has just sent you half a year's wages,' said his sister. Tom took the letter and the ten pound note from his sister refolded them, put them in his pocket and grinned.

Delyth Thomas was indifferent to Marcus Jacobs' fate. There were other men to be used. She was equally disinterested in her Cousin Charles' dismissal. Later, when Charles begged her for money to pay his creditors, she refused. She had considered Charles the ideal person to insinuate, as her ally, into Isaac's business but Charles had shown himself to be unreliable and untrustworthy. Aunt Lily's failure to keep Eira securely tucked away at Leominster annoyed Delyth. She had no more use for Aunt Lily or her son Charles and quickly forgot them. Eira's marriage to Nye was less easy to disregard. The fact that Delyth's sister-in-law was happy infuriated her and she hadn't been invited to the wedding. Delyth would not forget the insult and she began to scheme again.

'We are going into a new line of business,' announced Nye Vaughn arriving back at the foundry.

'And what might that be?' asked Benjamin Griffiths.

'Bigger, more profitable castings,' replied Nye. The partners listened as Nye explained his plan. Castle Iron was going into the armaments business. Manufacturing cannons, particularly the naval guns Nye was proposing would require bigger furnaces, large casting pits and new cranes.

'For the scheme to succeed we must invent more efficient ways of handling raw materials,' said Nye.

'Castle Iron Works is a small foundry. We're not set up to produce heavy castings,' said Will.

'It would take a huge investment. We are already mortgaged to the limit. Where's the money going to come from?' asked Benjamin.

'Ben, do you remember what you said to me the day we bought Gurnos quarry? You said, you have to be prepared to think big if you want to make real money. We'll find the money,' replied Nye.

'We'll be fighting against Thomas. Can we seriously compete with him? Isaac won't like us taking his business, assuming that we can find a way to beat him. He's well established with the Board of Ordnance. Why should they buy from us?' asked Will.

'That, Will, is my problem. Think of it. Between us we are going to build Castle Iron Works into the biggest iron works in the world,' said Nye.

'We already have a good profitable business. Why risk it by chasing after markets we know nothing about?' cautioned Benjamin.

'Our future success depends on growing and this is the right way forward. Don't get cold feet now Ben. This isn't the time. I need your support if we are going to succeed,' said Nye.

'Are you sure this isn't some sort of personal vendetta?' asked Will. Nye didn't answer.

The next year was a busy time at Castle Iron works. Benjamin Griffiths negotiated a lease on adjacent land and construction began to expand the foundry. Three new 50 foot tall blast furnaces were built. Two puddling furnaces and a rolling mill, using Henry Cort's new puddling system were added alongside the blast furnaces. The water powered bellows were replaced with more powerful pumps. Benjamin Griffiths persuaded Banc y Llong, Aberystwyth to advance a loan to finance the work. Boring machines, needed to machine the gun barrels, were purchased from Birmingham. Castle Iron Works was now capable of producing more than 100 tons of iron a week. The first prototype cannons produced at Castle Iron were a failure. Proving the guns required them to be test fired with an explosive charge 25% larger than normal. Guns burst during the tests. Cutting the gun barrels along the damaged sections revealed the cause of the failures, small cracks in the metal. The quality of the iron had to be improved but how? Will Jones and his men were already working at the limit of their knowledge. If Castle Iron didn't find a solution, the business faced ruin. Benjamin Griffith's warning was becoming a possibility.

Will Jones was convinced the answer lay in the puddling process, used to separate impurities from the molten iron. Isaac Thomas was manufacturing cannons successfully using the puddling method invented by Henry Cort. To compete they had to learn the secret and, knowing Thomas would never share it with them, the partners decided there was only one possible course of action.

Henry Cort was a Royal Navy pay agent, collecting and distributing retired officer's pensions. He married and joined his wife's family business in Gosport which had a lucrative contract to supply the navy with iron mooring chains. Cort built an iron works at Fontley, Hampshire to fulfil the orders. Cort improved the quality of his iron by stirring the molten metal, removing carbon and making it less brittle. Nye wrote to Cort asking to visit Fontley. The letter from Nye Vaughn of Castle Iron Works interested Cort and he agreed to a meeting.

Nye and Will travelled to Hampshire and were greeted by Cort.

'What can I do for you gentlemen?' asked Cort. Will explained their problem and asked how it might be solved.

'It sounds to me as if you have almost solved the problem of removing impurities yourselves except for one thing,' said Cort.

'What is it we've missed?' asked Nye.

'The secret is how you roll the pig iron. I'll tell you my secret for nothing but if you ever use it to manufacture you will have to pay me,' said Cort and explained his puddling and rolling process was covered by a patent taken out in 1783. Cort agreed a licensing agreement allowing Castle Iron Works to use his process, in return for a royalty of ten shillings per ton of iron produced. As they shook hands, Nye asked a question.

'Thomas and Son in Merthyr manufacture cannon using your method. Do they pay you a royalty?'

'Do they indeed?' replied Henry Cort and summoned his works manager to discuss the technical details with Will. The partners returned to Merthyr with the expertise they needed to cast high quality iron and were eager to get started.

The Vaughns continued to live in a rented cottage but Eira was expecting their first child and it was about to become crowded. Building their new home had stopped. Nye needed every penny for the foundry. Eira gave birth to a son on the 15th July 1786. They christened him Rhys, at Vaynor Church. As the christening party emerged from the church, Will pointed towards the mountain where some of Castle Iron's men were waiting. Will waved his hat in the air. There was a puff of smoke followed by the boom of a cannon that echoed across the valley, saluting the new arrival.

Table of Contents
Nye Vaughn's story continues in the unabridged book The Iron Masters containing all five volumes in one. It follows the story through the next 46 years of Vaughn's life from 1787 to 1833 a time of war, intrigue and riots.

Here's what Patrick Power had to say about the book, _'Graham Watkins' The Iron Masters is far from my usual target read but I was delighted to have picked it up. Quite an epic tale spanning not just time, but place and capturing the complex chicanery of the great 18th century industrial era, this book has it all. Graham has filled the pages with clearly well researched detail, but cleverly entwined a riveting tale between the many historical details, that I must confess I can only assume to be true. I am never a plot spoiler but I can tell you that you will enjoy the journey and the ultimate destination in the well written historical novel. Well done Graham, Lovely Characterisation, wonderful detail and a great read.'_

The American reviewer Alex Dunbar says, _'Having looked at the cover, I started this book expecting a Napoleonic War adventure complete with ripped bodices and was not disappointed. The Iron Masters is an epic tale covering half a century as Nye Vaughn fights his way from humble beginnings to create one of the most powerful families in Wales. Vaughn isn't Rhett Butler, he's a more complex character, but his story is equally compelling._

It's a super read, crammed with historical gems of information and a riveting plot. Heroes, scheming women (I particularly liked Delyth), villains and victims all demand attention in this world of industry, war, extreme poverty and great wealth, where anything is possible. What more is there to say.'

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