This story follows on from the last chapter, Sally.
Sally's Story
It had become a habit for Jack and Ianto to share a cup of coffee at the end of the working day. They were not always alone, usually one of the others was in the Hub with them, but they could sit in the office and be private for half an hour or so and talk about the day. Sometimes their chat would be followed by some dabbling, sometimes not. It was with no expectations that Ianto walked into the office and put the coffee mug on the desk in front of Jack and drew the visitor's chair to a more comfortable angle for his long legs and sat down himself.
"Alone at last," Jack sighed. It had been an unusual day with both Toshiko and Gwen injured. They'd been lucky that both women had recovered and were now resting at home.
"Not quite. Owen's downstairs with Janet."
"What does he do with her?" No," he said quickly, holding up a hand, "I don't want to know."
"He talks to her. For hours," replied Ianto. "I suppose he has more time now he doesn't need sleep." He sipped his coffee. "Tell me about Sally, Jack. What's her story?"
Jack smiled across the desk. "Surprised you haven't checked the database."
"I did. There's nothing there."
"There's not a lot to tell, not really."
"Tell me anyway. Why is she in your debt?"
"I saved her life, and her mother's, back in the thirties." He took a long drink from his coffee then began to talk, remembering times past. "Cardiff was a different city back then - industrial, dirty - and it was the end of the Depression though they didn't know it then. The men were scrambling for work as the coal trade ended and everyone was hungry. Combine that with the rising tide of fascism, communism and socialism and it was a heady brew in the narrow alleys of Cardiff."
Cardiff 1938
Jack stood at the back of the crowd gathered in Bute Park and listened to the rhetoric pouring from the speaker's mouth. Fighting for the working man and securing decent working conditions were noble goals but this man was arguing for the overthrow of law and order. The crowd was raucous, cheering and jeering in equal measure. They'd had a decade of depression and had been poor enough to begin with, most of them literally had nothing, and this free show was their entertainment. Agitators had been circulating all over Wales and Jack had taken to attending the meetings of the different factions when he was flush and could avoid Torchwood. The crowd was losing interest in the speaker and so was Jack. His attendance here was purely a personal interest for him, a way of keeping his finger on the pulse of the city. He was turning to leave when he saw a group of local toughs off to one side. He knew them of old, bully boys who worked for anyone who would pay. Assuming they were going to start trouble among the crowd, Jack edged closer to hear what they were saying.
"I tell you, Dai, I saw it with my own eyes."
The man addressed as Dai scoffed. "And next you'll be telling me she flew off on a broomstick!"
"Well, she's got one," the first man persisted, "it's in her outhouse and a great big cauldron."
"My mam's got one of them! Honestly, Gwyn, you're simple, you are." Dai turned, dismissing Gwyn, and the other two men who had listened silently turned to go with him.
"She's got food, lots of food," said Gwyn urgently, putting a hand on Dai's grimy jacket sleeve. "And money. Where's she get that from, eh?"
Dai eyed up Gwyn, his face losing the disbelief. "Money you say? How much?"
"Don't know, but enough to live in that house, just the two of them. No man bringing in a wage so how does she pay the rent?" Gwyn realised he had caught the other man's attention and pressed home his advantage. "She's a witch, I tell you. Casts spells and makes people give her money."
Jack's interest was piqued and he slid closer, using a movement in the crowd as cover. He knew of only one witch in Cardiff, Dilys Jenkins, and he did not want to see her harmed. She was a healer and had helped a number of people to his certain knowledge. Of course, these men could be talking about another woman, someone who did not fit in, who was different.
"Where's she live?" asked Dai.
"Mafeking Terrace, just opposite the fishmongers. We going to do her, Dai?" Gwyn licked his lips and his face became that of a hunter after his prey.
"No not us, her neighbours. Let them do the dirty work for us then we go in and get the money." Dai's face formed a rictus grin and he drew his confederates in closer.
Jack wasted no more time. It was Dilys they were after, he had to get down there and warn her. He pushed his way through the crowd which was getting unruly. The speaker had lost their attention and they were showing their displeasure by throwing cobbles and bricks brought with them for just this purpose. The police, some of them mounted, who had been watching from the sidelines moved in to prevent a riot and Jack got caught between the two sides. A cobble grazed his temple and he stumbled and was soon pushed to the ground by those around him and trampled underfoot. He died slowly.
Gasping back to life, Jack looked around. The crowd and the police had moved on leaving him and a number of other men lying on the ground where they had fallen. He looked to where Dai and his gang had been gathered but they were gone and when Jack checked his watch he realised he had been dead for a quarter of an hour, more than enough time for them to get to Dilys' house. Hauling himself to his feet, he ran off and headed down towards the docks and Mafeking Terrace making one stop on the way.
Dilys lived in an end of terrace house that was spotless inside and out. She and her four year old daughter, Sally, had moved in eight months before and liked the area. The neighbours were friendly enough, nodding when they passed in the street, and Mrs Pritchard two doors down had minded Sally a few times when Dilys had been called away to an urgent case. This afternoon, she and her daughter were in the back kitchen baking cakes, little ones with currants. They were well provided for thanks to her helping out at the Castle and she knew they lived better than most of the others in the street. Life was good and the two of them were singing as they worked and did not hear the sound of hobnails on the cobbles outside and the murmur of angry voices.
A brick smashing through the front window was the first Dilys knew of danger. "Stay here, love," she told Sally, pushing her into the corner between the sink and the copper.
"Mam?" said Sally, scared at the noises from outside.
"Shhh." Dilys looked through the door into the front room and saw figures on the pavement and road outside and heard the noise of men, angry men. She knew what that meant and she listened intently. The men outside were still building up their courage, there may be time to head them off if she acted quickly. "Don't move, Sal." She spared a smile for her daughter and then strode through the front room, ignoring a second brick, and opened the front door.
Silence fell on the crowd of about thirty men and a few women gathered outside the house. They had not expected the witch to show herself, nor for her to be in wrap-around apron and have flour on her face. She looked like their mothers and wives not the witch of their imagination.
"What do you want here? If you needed my help with your sick daughter, Mervyn Jones, you should have knocked on the door not thrown a brick through the window." A small ripple of laughter greeted this and the man addressed looked at his boots. "And you, Stephen Price, is your wife needing me to help birth your child? Is that why you're here?"
She had them now, had stopped them from being a mob and made them individuals again. They would have dispersed but for a shout from the back of the crowd. "Looks well fed, don't she? Not like the rest of us." Another shout came from the other side. "And how come she can afford to live here on the little she earns?" The crowd was united again and the sense of menace grew. "She killed my cat," came from a woman standing well back, "to make her spells." "She's a witch!" came a man's voice and the call was taken up. "Witch! Witch!"
Dilys knew she had lost her chance to stop them and stepped back, slamming the door. She had to take Sally and get out the back way before she was trapped. In the kitchen she grabbed the terrified girl's arm and pulled her to her feet. "Come on," she snapped and went to the back door but it would not open. Faces appeared at the window and Dilys knew they had blocked the door. Towing Sally behind her, she ran back to the front room and pushed her up the steep stairs, following close behind. It would not protect them from the mob's fury for long once they screwed up courage to enter the house but it would gain them some time.
Below her, Dai and one of his men continued feeding the crowd's hatred, keeping it occupied at the front of the house while Gwyn and the other man went in through the back door to ransack the place for the money the witch had to have hidden away. How else could she afford to live there? But matters came to a head too quickly and Nat Smith, seeing shadowy figures in the front room, threw paraffin through the window followed by a burning stick from his own fire. The flames took hold quickly and the two intruders were trapped, unable to get out of the room. Their shouts for help enflamed the crowd still further, thinking they were Dilys.
"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!"
Jack turned the corner into Mafeking Terrace and took in the scene. Flames were appearing from the front downstairs window and he could hear screams. Fearing he was too late, he pushed through the crowd using his fists and elbows to make a path to the front door. He did not waste his breath on the mob, battering down the flimsy door and stepping into the room beyond. The furnishings and furniture were alight and the heat was intense as Jack stood getting his bearings. A burning figure erupted from the flames, drawn by the sudden brightness, and Jack sidestepped to allow it through. He knew this was not Dilys, she was much shorter.
"Dilys!" he bellowed above the noise of the fire. "Dilys, it's Jack Harkness. Are you in here?" He took a moment to wrap a handkerchief around his nose and mouth, dousing it in water from a vase of flowers that had not yet been touched by the fire.
"Up here," came faintly to his ears and he charged up the stairs.
"Take Sally," said Dilys when she saw the familiar figure in the flowing coat appear on the tiny landing. She thrust her daughter forward, the child wrapped in a blanket she had pulled from the bed.
Jack took the child automatically. "Wrap yourself up and follow me down," he said, turning to descend the stairs. "Hold onto my coat. If you let go, I won't take Sally out," he warned, recognising that she might well sacrifice herself for the sake of the child. He waited until she had another blanket draped around her and felt her hands grip his shoulders before beginning the perilous descent.
The next few minutes seemed like forever to the young child held in Jack's arms. She could see nothing, the blanket swaddled her totally, but she felt the heat, tasted smoke and heard the flames. She could also feel the man trembling as he tried to get them out of the house that had been their haven from the world but which was now more like hell. The noise and heat intensified and Sally could not breath, coughing uncontrollably, before … air - fresh, clean air.
"I'll take her," said Mrs Pritchard, reaching for the child in the scorched blanket. She had only just returned from her cleaning job and had laid into her neighbours when she'd seen what they had done.
Jack let the child go gratefully and turned to Dilys, pulling her into the street. The blanket was on fire in places but he was relieved to see that the woman was no more than singed where sparks had caught her hair and the bottom of her dress. He patted at the few burning areas and held her as she sat on the kerb coughing up smoke. Around him the men he had summoned from the Castle, the Marquess's workforce, and half a dozen policemen were rounding up the crowd and pushing the ringleaders into a black van. The burned body of a man lay on the cobbles, black and unrecognisable, as the fire engine finally arrived and began pouring water on the flames.
"Mam?" cried Sally.
"She's safe, sweetheart." Mrs Pritchard looked over at Jack and Dilys. "Bring her inside," she said, leading the way into her neat house now that the flames were not likely to spread that far.
Jack pulled the still coughing Dilys to her feet and helped her along. He sat her on an upright chair at the table alongside Sally but when he released her she toppled sideways and would have fallen if he had not caught her.
"Has she fainted?" asked Mrs Pritchard, coming back from the kitchen with glasses of water. "Put her on the settee. No, child, you stay here and drink this," she said to Sally who was trying to get down.
"Want to be with Mam," Sally wailed.
"Not yet, sweetheart, she needs to get some air."
Jack, kneeling beside Dilys, knew it was more serious. Dilys had taken in more smoke than her lungs could cope with and was not breathing. "We need a doctor," he said urgently, looking up at the friendly neighbour, "send one of the men outside to get one."
"Right away." The woman looked down at Dilys and recognised the need immediately. She ran out of the front door.
With Mrs Pritchard's departure, Sally left her chair and ran to her mother's side. The child of a healer, she had seen people in various stages of illness and recognised death. Tears ran down her face, "Mam," she said quietly.
"She's not gone yet, Sally. I have some magic of my own." Jack smiled then leant over and kissed Dilys.
Sally watched amazed as Jack and her mother glowed a soft orange. The air grew still and silent. Then Jack pulled back and her mother coughed, jerking upright and opening her eyes. "Mam!" cried the girl, throwing herself into the woman's arms.
"Careful, don't hurt her," cautioned Jack, reaching to the table and the glass of water sitting there. He was holding it to Dilys' lips when Mrs Pritchard returned with a middle-aged man carrying a doctor's bag.
The Hub, 2008
"Dilys was in hospital for a couple of days but she made a full recovery, lived until she was eighty one," concluded Jack. The coffee was long gone and he was leaning back in his chair staring at the wall but seeing that burning house.
"No wonder Sally is grateful," commented Ianto. He enjoyed hearing about Jack's exploits in the past, it brought the time to life as history books never could. "Do you make a habit of bringing people back to life by kissing them?"
"Only those I care about." Jack smiled at Ianto, remembering a time when he had done just that service for the young Welshman.
"Why did you go to the Castle for help?"
"Dilys had helped the Marquess of Bute's son and heir through diphtheria. The Marquess had given her an allowance as a reward, that's how she could live so well. I knew that the Castle steward would help without asking a lot of tomfool questions." Jack put his forearms on the desk. "He gave the pair of them a new house, the one where Sally lives today. It was part of the Bute estate back then."
"I hope that Dai and Gwyn were punished." Ianto stood up, recognising that their chat was coming to an end.
"Gwyn was the man who burned to death, which was quite fitting. Dai was given ten years with hard labour but took the King's shilling when war broke out and went off to fight in France. He was killed at Dunkirk." Jack sighed. "Now that was a real hellhole."
Ianto looked down on his boss and lover and smiled. It seemed that this man had been at all the major events in British history over the past century. If they could get him to talk to students no one would ever again say history was bunk.