The Sixpenny Cross Collection

by Victoria Twead

  “That’s very kind, sir, but I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t be comfortable doin’ that.”

  “But I want to help you, old man. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be in Westminster hospital, or maybe even some morgue, by now.”

  Sixpence shrugged and took another sip of whiskey.

  “Well, thank you, but I’m afraid the only thing I really need is a job,” he said.

  The two men sat in silence, Sixpence enjoying the rare comforts, while the Captain thought hard.

  Suddenly, it came to him in a flash of clarity.

  “I’ve got it!” he said, setting down his glass and almost spilling it in his haste. “How would you feel about going back to Sixpenny Cross?”

  6

  Sixpence stared at his companion.

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  “It just struck me that I’ve had enough of London, and I want to go home. I want to go back to Sixpenny Manor.”

  Sixpence was listening hard.

  “Don’t you see? The house has been shut for years. In fact it’s boarded up. Your parents have retired to Worthing and I need you to help me get it all opened up again. Nobody has lived in it for years.”

  “A job?”

  “Yes, we’ll need to get the electricity and water connected again. And reconnect the telephone. The place will be frightfully dusty and will probably need to be cleaned thoroughly. We can get help from the village, of course.”

  “We’ll have to check the roof tiles and windows for storm damage,” said Sixpence, beginning to become infected by the Captain’s enthusiasm. “And check the oak panellin’ and furniture for woodworm.”

  “Exactly! And goodness knows what the grounds are like! You can see I’ll need a man like yourself to help me straighten it all up.”

  Sixpence’s eyes danced as he stared back at the Captain. Then he sobered.

  “And when the house is comfortable again, what then?”

  “Well, let’s see how we rub along together,” said the Captain. “We can discuss it more later, but I imagine I’ll still need some help. If it all goes well, I think I’d like you to stay on as my companion, if you will. Can you cook at all, by any chance?”

  “Yes, I enjoy cookin’. Just plain food, mind, not fancy stuff.”

  “Well, you saw what a mess I made of your sandwich earlier, and that’s about the only thing I know how to prepare. I wouldn’t expect you to do much, just a meal now and then.”

  Sixpence was beaming.

  “So what do you say, old man, will you accept the job?”

  “Thank you, sir, I will.”

  For the second time that day, the Captain shook Sixpence’s hand.

  Over the weeks that followed, the two men set to work breathing life back into the manor. The Captain visited Jayne Fairweather, the postmistress and owner of Sixpenny Cross’s only general store, who provided him with the details of local tradesmen.

  They employed painters and carpenters, glaziers and roofers. They replaced the ancient fridge in the kitchen, and added a new electric cooker, which soon became Sixpence’s pride and joy. They had linoleum laid, as well as acres of new carpet. They bought a Persian rug and a black-and-white television set for the drawing room.

  When the house was finished, they settled down to a quiet life, and soon fell into a comfortable routine that would continue for years. The Captain read his newspapers, wrote letters, paid bills and sometimes took a walk in the grounds. Sixpence carried out household duties. A keen gardener, he used any spare time to tend his beloved roses. The Captain employed outside help to look after the extensive grounds, but the roses and kitchen garden were Sixpence’s domain.

  Every evening, after dinner, the pair would walk to the Dew Drop Inn and sit in the inglenook. The pub landlord, Angus McDonald, always left the battered old box of dominoes on the table. The pair would play a few games, drink two pints of beer, then return home to retire to bed.

  And so the years slipped by.

  Neither man had found a wife to share his life, but they were content enough in each other’s company.

  Now it was March, 1985. The devastating, year-long miners’ strike had just ended and a debate in the House of Lords had been televised for the first time.

  The Captain smiled, remembering the black-and-white TV set he and Sixpence had purchased back in 1964, when they’d first returned from London with such enthusiasm to open Sixpenny Manor. His mind drifted back even further, to the 1950s, when the house had buzzed and he was a young man with his life ahead of him.

  Visions of the manor house in the old days played in the Captain’s head. When his parents had been alive, the house had throbbed with life. Servants, ruled by Mrs Anderson, the housekeeper, kept the rooms clean and tidy. The family had a resident cook then, and the kitchen smelled of baking bread and roast meat.

  During those years after the war ended, the country was gripped by a kind of forced gaiety. The wireless was usually left switched on to the BBC’s Light Entertainment Programme, and comedy shows like Max Bygraves’s Educating Archie filled the drawing room with canned laughter.

  His mother had held cocktail parties, soirées and seasonal balls. His father hosted shooting parties. On those days, the boot boy, the gardener and the gardener’s boy were employed as beaters for the day. Their job was to scare the game birds out of the thickets and into the path of the huntsmen. The men returned, victoriously brandishing braces of pheasants that were thrown onto the kitchen table. Later, the pheasants, or trout from the river, would be served up on silver platters.

  In those days they had labradors, dogs that slept under tables or in front of the fire, but barked when visitors’ cars swept up the gravel drive.

  The Captain gazed up at his father’s portrait. His father leaned on a shooting stick, a slight smile on his healthy, sun-reddened face, the light catching his slightly bulbous nose, so like his son’s. When the portrait was painted, his father must have been in his forties. His hair, already receding, was beginning to silver. The Captain had inherited the same trait. Now, in his sixties, the Captain’s own hair was sparse and almost white.

  What would Father say if he could see the manor house now? the Captain wondered.

  “Well, I’ve given your old Dad a good dusting, Captain,” said Sixpence, breaking into the Captain’s thoughts. “Amazin’ how these old portraits attract the dust.”

  “Thank you, Sixpence. You are a good man. I often wonder how I’d manage in this big old house without you.”

  “It’s a pleasure, sir. You’ve given me a roof over my head for more years than I care to remember.”

  The Captain smiled and looked back at his newspaper.

  When the Captain and Sixpence had first moved back to Sixpenny Cross, they’d thrown themselves into opening up the house again, but it was soon apparent that most of the rooms would never be used. They rarely had visitors, and the large, empty house proved too much for Sixpence to maintain.

  Gradually, over the years, he and Sixpence had closed off unused rooms, covering the furniture with dust sheets. The dining hall that used to ring with witty conversation and the sound of laughter was locked and rarely visited. The library was shut, its books seldom read. Tapping heels no longer waltzed on the parquet dance floor, and the grand piano was silent. Most of the bedrooms were shrouded and dark, the heavy drapes remaining drawn year after year.

  No chatter emanated from the kitchen, and the only dishes that ever cooled on the counters were plain fare prepared by Sixpence.

  What need did two old men have for all those rooms? Apart from the kitchen, and a bedroom and bathroom each, they only required a room to sit in, to while away the long hours in each other’s company. In summer and winter they sat in the overstuffed armchairs of the drawing room.

  Long ago, the Captain had asked Sixpence to pack away most of the ornaments that decorated the side tables, mantlepiece and all available surfaces.

  “We’ve no need for all tho
se things,” he had said, with a sweep of his arm, indicating the buddhas, carved antelopes and tigers his grandfather had brought back from India a lifetime ago.

  “All of ’em, sir?” Sixpence had asked.

  “Yes, they’re just dust traps. No need for all that clutter.”

  “Well, I won’t argue with that,” Sixpence had replied.

  “And get rid of the old wireless, it hasn’t worked for years.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And I know my mother loved all that cut glass and crystal, but I’ve never been very fond of it. It can all be packed away, except perhaps the carved elephant on the hall stand. Mother said it brought the house luck.”

  “Right you are, sir.”

  “And leave a few vases? I do enjoy seeing the roses you grow, Sixpence.”

  Sixpence had beamed. He had inherited his love of gardening from his own father, and over the years, the manor’s roses and kitchen garden had flourished under his care.

  “Most of the paintings can go, too.” The Captain’s eyes had swept round the room, taking in the hunting scenes and seascapes that adorned the walls. “Just leave the portraits of my father and mother, either side of the fireplace, and maybe that Indian scimitar. I’ve always rather liked that.”

  When the paintings had been removed, rectangles marked the wallpaper where they had hung for decades.

  “Well, I’m off to grill us a couple of nice pork chops,” said Sixpence, snapping the Captain back to the present. “Dinner will be in about half an hour. Then we’ll toddle off to the Dew Drop as usual, shall we?”

  “Yes, thank you. Let me know if you need any help with the dinner.”

  “Ta, I will.”

  But they both knew Sixpence would never ask for the Captain’s help. He prided himself in caring for his friend and benefactor.

  The Captain gazed at his parents’ portraits, then shut his eyes, dozing.

  The lights blazed in the Dew Drop Inn even though the landlord, Angus McDonald, hadn’t yet unlocked the doors. Opening time was in twenty minutes and there was still a lot to do.

  7

  Angus McDonald watched carefully as the woman pulled the handle slowly towards herself. Dark beer poured into the glass until it almost reached the rim. Before the white froth overflowed, she stopped, then looked at him sideways.

  “Well?”

  “Well, I must say, Barbara, you managed that pump with no trouble,” he said. “That’s a perfect pint you’ve pulled there. I can see you’ve had plenty of bar experience.”

  “Oh, I’d love a penny for every pint of ale I’ve drawn over the years! It’s like second nature to me.” She threw back her head and laughed. Then she looked at him coyly and winked. “And call me Babs, nobody ever calls me Barbara.”

  “Good! And you’re quite happy handling the till?”

  “Of course.” She folded her arms confidently over her ample bosom.

  “Right then, Babs, you familiarise yourself with the optics, and the different types of glasses. And could you check the Ladies’ and Gents’ rooms, please? I’m going to bring in some more wood and stoke up the fire. It’s another cold night, and our regulars always expect a good fire to warm themselves.”

  Yes, he thought as he tended the fire. I think I made a good choice with Babs. She’s not in her first flush of youth, and she’s a bit, er, loud, but she seems capable. She’s an experienced barmaid and customers like to see a cheerful face behind the bar.

  When he’d placed the advertisement for bar staff in the Yewbridge Gazette, a handful of applicants had responded, but only Babs had worked in a bar before. He’d offered her the job, and he was pleased with his choice so far. True, everything about Babs seemed a little exaggerated. Her laugh was a little too loud, her skirt a little too short, especially for a lady her age, and her top was a little too plunging. But nothing too serious. She was a barmaid after all.

  “Right, time to open up,” he said, glancing at his watch.

  He slid open the two bolts on the front door and returned to stand beside Babs behind the bar.

  “Tell me about the regulars,” she said. “Always good to know a bit about the clientele.”

  “Well, Stan Cooper often drops in for a pint after work. He’s the village policeman.”

  “I bet there’s not much crime here in Sixpenny Cross!”

  “No, you’re quite right. The Tait’s cottage down the street burnt down a while ago, but that was an electrical fault, they think. Actually, you might meet Bella Tait. She pops in sometimes to see Scout here.” He stroked the cat curled up on the counter. “I adopted him from her when she used to rescue animals.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “There’s Archie Draper, he’s got the farm near Sixpenny Woods. And Simon and Daisy Granger. Oh, and of course there’s the Captain and Sixpence…”

  Babs went off into a peal of laughter.

  “Who? The Captain and Sixpence?”

  “Yes. The Captain owns Sixpenny Manor. Sixpence is his companion and lives with him. They come in every evening and sit by the fire and play dominoes.”

  “They’re not married?”

  “No, they live alone. The Captain is a simple sort, but Sixpence looks after him. Ssh, here they are.”

  The pub door was pushed open, and two men entered, one tall and well-built, the other short and angular.

  “Evening, Captain, evening, Sixpence,” called Angus. “Cold out there tonight, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” agreed the Captain, as he and Sixpence hung their hats and scarves on the rack beside the door.

  “Never mind, spring is comin’,” said Sixpence cheerfully. “The daffodils are ready to open and warmer weather will soon be here.”

  “Can’t wait! I’m tired of these winter clothes,” said Babs, laughing as though she had made a joke.

  Both the Captain and Sixpence swung round, noticing the owner of the voice for the first time. Sixpence gave Babs an easy smile, while the Captain’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “This is Babs Mason, my new barmaid,” said Angus. “I’ll send her over with a pint of your usual in just a moment, and you can meet her properly.”

  The Captain and Sixpence settled down in their customary corner, without speaking. Sixpence overturned the waiting wooden box and spilled the dominoes onto the table in readiness for a game.

  “Good fire tonight,” he remarked.

  But the Captain didn’t hear him. He was staring over Sixpence’s shoulder, his gaze drawn to the buxom woman behind the bar as she loaded a tray with two pints of beer. She probably sensed his eyes upon her and looked up from her task. One of her heavily painted eyelids lowered and rewarded the Captain with an exaggerated wink.

  The Captain shivered very slightly, and Sixpence caught the movement.

  “You alright, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes. Perfectly okay thank you.”

  Babs had reached the table with her tray.

  “Here you are, gentlemen,” she said, a broad smile on her face. She placed a pint in front of each man, bending low enough for both men to view her ample cleavage.

  “Thank you, and very pleased to meet you,” said Sixpence extending his hand to shake. “They call me Sixpence.”

  “Oh!” said Babs, seizing his hand, “and what did they call you when you were a nipper, Threepence?” She threw her head back and laughed at her own joke.

  “Very good,” said Sixpence, smiling politely and reclaiming his hand.

  Babs turned to his companion.

  “And you must be the Captain.”

  But the Captain had been struck completely dumb.

  “My name’s Babs, but you know that already.” Another peal of laughter. “Well, good to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. Just let me know when you’re ready for another pint and I’ll be right over.”

  She made her way back to the bar as Sixpence laid all the dominoes face down on the table. He selected seven of them for himself. Although appearing
to be busy, he was very aware that the Captain was unsettled. He waited.

  “What a creature…” said the Captain, shaking his head.

  “Babs? Oh, typical barmaid type, I’d say.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes, I think she’ll be a real asset to the Dew Drop, probably cheer the place up.”

  The Captain said no more and selected his own seven dominoes.

  The door swung open, admitting more thirsty customers. Angus and Babs were kept busy pouring drinks as the two men played dominoes. At regular intervals Babs’s raucous laugh would fill the saloon and the Captain’s eyes would flicker in the direction of the bar again.

  “Are you ready for another pint?” asked Sixpence when he’d won five easy games in a row and both their glasses were drained.

  The Captain nodded.

  “I’ll order them on my way to the cloakroom,” said Sixpence, standing.

  The pub was fairly busy now, but he managed to attract Babs’s attention and signal for another two pints as he passed the counter. Babs poured the beer quickly, and, to the Captain’s horror, began making her way to his table.

  “There you go, Captain,” she said.

  “Thank you, Barbara,” he managed.

  She leaned down low in front of him to plonk the glasses on the table. He tried very hard not to look at the secret flesh she was revealing, but failed. Her perfume reached his nostrils and he almost stopped breathing.

  “Well, Captain,” she said, looking straight into his face, close enough for him to feel her hot breath, “you just let me know if you need anything else.”

  The Captain was lost.

  8

  “Are you quite sure you don’t want to go to the pub, sir?” asked Sixpence.

  It was extremely rare for the Captain and Sixpence to miss their evening walk to the pub, but the Captain was adamant; he didn’t want to go.

  As Sixpence cleared away the dinner plates and tidied the kitchen, he tried to figure out the cause of the Captain’s refusal.