‘Tidn’t naught to do with me,’ he said. ‘If Arnie Chambers wants to spend his money on this puny stuff then ’tis his business.’
Despite his disparaging tone, he managed to force down plenty of the ‘puny stuff’. Maddy watched him with fond amusement. If his singing gradually became off-key and his dancing unsteady, there was no denying that Jack was enjoying his son’s wedding. Maddy had to admit that she was having a good time too. As the bridegroom’s sister, she had plenty of dancing partners. In addition, there were appreciative looks coming her way, particularly from a couple of middle-aged farmers, both widowers.
‘They do say as one wedding makes another,’ Annie hissed in her ear as her two admirers vied for her attention.
‘You aren’t thinking of getting married again, are you?’ replied Maddy innocently. Why, there’s years of wear left in your William.’
‘Oh you!’ Annie gave her a good-humoured poke in the ribs. ‘I tell you this, mind. The state that husband of mine be in, not to mention your pa and Charlie, I don’t fancy they three carrying me down that lane tonight.’
‘I think you’re going to go down a lot quicker than you came up,’ agreed Maddy.
Things were not as bad as they feared. Although definitely inebriated, the three men, firmly directed by Joan and Maddy, managed to get Annie home again without mishap.
‘That were some proper wedding,’ breathed Joan contentedly, after they had manoeuvred Jack and Charlie in turn upstairs to bed. ‘Give the Chambers their due, chapel or not, I couldn’t fault naught.’
‘Nor could I,’ replied Maddy, not quite truthfully, for she was remembering the music. The fiddler had come from Dittisham, across the river, and he had been good, but he had not been Patrick. Was it the music that had not quite come up to expectations, or was it because she still loved Patrick and wanted him back? She could not tell. Then weariness overcame her and she fell asleep before she could ponder the question more deeply.
Quite a few villagers went to work next morning feeling subdued. Maddy admitted to some tiredness, but by the time she had walked to Oakwood Farm on the fine spring morning, her fatigue had gone.
‘For someone who was celebrating half the night you look remarkably fresh.’
The sound of Cal’s voice made her turn round.
‘It wasn’t half the night exactly,’ she said. ‘Although I dare say there are some this morning who feel that it was and are regretting every minute.’
‘Not on good Oakwood cider, surely.’
‘On too much good Oakwood cider certainly.’
‘I’m glad you resisted the temptation. Much as I want to increase consumption of our brew, I would prefer to have a sober overseer dealing with the bottles.’
There was a clip-clop of hooves and a rumble of wheels as a horse-drawn wagon came into the yard.
‘Here’s work for you already,’ said Cal. He looked about him impatiently. ‘Where are the men? I want that cart loaded up and the deliveries on their way as soon as possible. Late deliveries can be cancelled deliveries, and I can’t afford to lose business.’
Maddy took this to be a hint that she, too, should be at work. By the time the loaders had stirred themselves she was prepared, book and pencil in hand, ready to check the numbers of crates, bottles, and stone jars which were put on the cart.
She found she enjoyed her new duties, despite the fact that they were taxing and meant extra work. It gave her great satisfaction seeing the crates dispatched and knowing it was up to her to ensure that the contents of every one was of top quality. If the number of deliveries fell, as they did from time to time, she felt the loss of customers personally. She found that she thrived on responsibility; the more she had, the more she liked it.
Cal, the perfectionist, seemed satisfied with her work and rarely criticised her. He seldom had cause, for she was extremely conscientious. Increasingly he grew to rely on her. ‘Can you deal with it, Maddy?’ he would say when some minor problem arose, or ‘I’m needed over in Lower Meadow, a cow’s got stuck in the ditch. Can you write the orders in the book for me?’
Gradually, almost without realising it, she found herself in complete charge of all orders and deliveries. There was more bookkeeping, which she liked, but fitting in her other duties at the bottling shed became difficult. Loath to complain in case Cal demoted her back to filling bottles, she struggled on, taking to staying late to catch up with the bookwork.
The nights were getting longer, which meant most times she could manage to do her extra work by natural light, but on one occasion, a gloomy, rainy day when she was further behind than usual, she was obliged to light the oil lamp in the partitioned section at the end of the storage area which served as an office.
‘Who’s there?’ demanded Cal’s voice instantly. The door burst open and he strode in, to come to an abrupt halt. ‘Maddy, why on earth are you still here?’ he asked in surprise.
There was no alternative, she had to confess. ‘I have some bills to write out, and there are some orders that haven’t been copied in the book yet. I’m sorry to be slow but today’s deliveries were late going out – one of the horses cast a shoe – and then it was urgent that I checked over the new bottles, Susan and the others needed them, and—’
‘Stop! Stop!’ he exclaimed, holding up his hand. ‘By the sound of it, you’re running my business by yourself. Have I really given you so much to do?’ He looked quite stricken.
‘Most of the time I can cope, when things run smoothly.’
‘But they don’t always run smoothly, I know that much. Is this the first time you’ve stayed to work late at bills and ledgers and such?’
‘No,’ she admitted.
‘And are you overseeing the bottling shed as well as the orders and the bills?’
‘You know I am.’
‘And how much am I paying you for this? Eight and six a week?’
‘Yes.’ She was sure he knew that too. Cal might forget some details but not how much he paid his employees.
‘It’s too much!’
‘Surely not!’ she declared indignantly.
‘I wasn’t referring to your wages, but to how much work you’re doing.’
Maddy gave a sigh of relief and he looked at her seriously.
‘I am a selfish devil,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise how much of a burden I was putting on you. It’s the old story of the willing worker, I’m afraid.’
‘Should that not be the willing horse?’ asked Maddy.
He laughed. ‘I would never have dared to phrase it like that. But something must be done. You can’t work here in the office and the bottling shed too. Gertie has some knowledge of figures. She shall take over from you as overseer.’
‘What if she does not want the job?’ protested Maddy. ‘She refused it when it was first suggested. That was why I took it.’
‘She’ll soon get to like it. Tell her it’s eight and six a week or the sack. That should help her make up her mind. You can show her what to do.’
Maddy gasped at his cavalier attitude. When Cal Whitcomb wanted something, he certainly let nothing get in his way.
‘As for you, you can stop work now,’ he went on. ‘I can’t have you burning good lamp oil all night, even if you are behind with your work. Finish it in the morning.’ Without waiting for a response, he bade her a brusque ‘Good night’ and turned out the lamp, leaving Maddy in near darkness.
She was not sure whether to be annoyed or amused at this abrupt behaviour, just as she was not sure his dismissing her had really been for economy’s sake or concern for her welfare. On her way home a more serious question occupied her thoughts. If Gertie were now going to be paid eight and six, would her own wages be put back to seven shillings again? If so she did not relish the task of telling Joan.
She need not have worried. Next payday, when she lined up for her wages with the rest, only one coin was laid out for her to sign for – a golden half-sovereign.
One aspect of working more in the o
ffice was that she gained a better insight into the business and how well it was doing. The order book did not change much, and the wagon regularly left the yard laden with crates of cider, just as the larger dray left, equally regularly, carrying the big hogsheads. In her eyes everything seemed to be satisfactory. Cal thought otherwise. Every week he would go through the books with her, and inevitably he finished with an exclamation of disgust.
‘We’re not progressing as we should,’ was his constant cry. ‘Look, not a single new customer in this last month. What on earth can the agents be about? I pay them enough commission to sell my cider, heaven knows!’
‘You’re making a reasonable profit,’ Maddy pointed out.
‘That’s not good enough. I want this business to grow and expand. I want to be one of the largest cider producers in South Devon, and beyond, and I won’t do it on a mere reasonable profit.’
Maddy took note of the grim determination on his face. There was no doubting his ambition, that was certain.
‘Then you must look for new ways of increasing your sales,’ she said.
‘How?’ he challenged.
‘Advertise more.’
‘I’ve already taken out adverts in the local publications.’
‘Then you must make people notice Oakwood Cider in other ways.’
‘How?’ he repeated.
She floundered briefly, then collected her thoughts. ‘You could repaint the delivery cart and have “Oakwood Farm Cider” written on it in good bold letters, maybe with a decoration of oak leaves too. You do need a distinctive trade mark, you know, and the oak leaves look good. It’s a pity the dray is only hired or you could have that repainted too. No one could miss seeing that, going through the countryside piled high with barrels and “Oakwood Farm Cider” on the side.’
‘So I need to devise myself a trade mark and to buy a dray and a team of horses.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ protested Maddy.
‘Not exactly, but they are good ideas all the same. You have persuaded me that buying a dray will definitely be worthwhile.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Maddy in dismay. ‘Please don’t let me persuade you into anything.’
He smiled. ‘Don’t look like that. I have to be honest and confess that I have been considering purchasing one for some time. It makes sense – one outright payment instead of always hiring. I would be sure it was fit for the road, too, and have no repetition of the incident when the wheel came off going down into Totnes. As for extra horses, I’ve more than enough work for them. They’d earn their keep.’
Maddy did not doubt it.
‘And what other inspired notions have you to improve our flagging sales?’ he asked.
‘You make it sound as though you’re on the brink of ruin,’ she grinned.
‘That’s something I have no intention of being,’ he said firmly.
Remembering the sarcastic remarks made by her family in the early days of cider production at Oakwood, she suggested mischievously, ‘If things are as bad as that you should sell the stuff yourself. You could hawk it about the towns and villages, or open a shop or something.’
‘That’s going a bit far. I have no fancy to become a cider peddlar, thank you, even if I had the time.’
‘Then I’m afraid that’s the best I can do in the way of new ideas.’
‘In that case I’d better get back to work, and try to keep the farms and the cider company in business by myself.’
When he had gone, Maddy reconsidered the sales figures. They were fair enough, but she had to admit that there was much room for improvement. However, she knew Cal was not one to let things remain static in his drive for more customers. She wondered what new schemes he would employ.
It was about a fortnight later when he entered the office and announced, ‘I have a new job for you.’
Maddy waited expectantly. For some time she had been anticipating him asking her to take over his correspondence. To her surprise he dropped a set of keys on the desk in front of her.
‘What are these for?’ she asked.
‘The shop.’
‘What shop?’
‘The cider shop. I’ve rented premises on New Walk, in Totnes. You are to be in charge. I want you to go up tomorrow and make a list of what we’ll need in the way of furnishings and equipment – nothing elaborate, mind – and work out what it will cost.’
‘A shop?’ Maddy repeated weakly. ‘With me in charge?’
‘That’s right. I want us to be open within the month, to catch the summer thirsts.’
‘But I don’t know anything about running a shop.’ Maddy’s voice was close to a wail.
‘You will learn,’ said Cal with complete confidence. ‘After all, it was your idea.’
‘I wasn’t serious! It was a joke!’
‘There’s many a true word spoken in jest.’ He put two halfcrowns on the desk beside the keys. This is for tomorrow’s expenses.’ Already he was halfway to the door. ‘There’s no need for you to come in tomorrow to tell me what you’ve arranged. The morning after will do.’
With that he was gone, leaving a stunned and breathless Maddy gazing after him. How could she run a cider shop? She had no idea where to begin. She had no experience – or at least very little. She had looked after Mrs Cutmore’s shop once or twice when the shopkeeper had been ill. That was experience of a sort. And she had a good idea of basic bookkeeping, and she would be selling only one commodity, cider… Surely she could manage that!
As she picked up the keys and the five shillings, there was already a tingle of excitement running down her spine. Something new and different faced her; it presented her with responsibility and a challenge, two things she was discovering she could not resist.
So Cal wanted a cider shop, did he? And he wanted it open within the month? Then he would get both his wishes. She would accept the challenge. First thing in the morning she would be on the earliest boat going upriver.
Chapter Sixteen
Maddy’s first view of the shop did not inspire her with confidence. It had been easy to plan and make momentous decisions about the new venture whilst sitting beside the fire at home. Now that she was faced with the dingy shop front, matters were very different. Its position was its sole advantage, being situated on New Walk, shaded by chestnut trees and close to the River Dart, just right for catching both town and quayside trade. Apart from that, with its peeling paint and boarded-up windows, the building had precious little to recommend it. Under her breath she cursed Cal Whitcomb for expecting her to produce a flourishing concern from such rundown premises.
I won’t manage it by standing here on the pavement, she decided.
The first thing which greeted her upon opening the door was an overpowering smell of damp and vermin. Lighting an old lantern she found on a shelf and hitching her skirts clear of the filthy floor, Maddy began her exploration. The front shop proved to be of a fair size. Behind it there was a store and another smaller room which housed a disproportionately large and rusty cooking range. Presumably at some time this had been an eating house. Maddy wrinkled her nose at the thought of eating anything produced under these conditions. But somehow she was going to have to get it clean enough to be a place where people could enjoy a drink. Gazing about the dilapidated shop she felt discouraged, and directed a few more uncomplimentary thoughts at Cal for dropping such a task in her lap. Moving her lantern, she caught a glimpse of a sleek grey body slithering under the protection of a pile of boxes. Angrily she flung a piece of wood at the disappearing rodent.
‘The rat-catcher, that’s who I need!’ she declared aloud. ‘Immediately! Him, and the glazier! There’ll be no dealing with this place until they’ve both been.’
Somehow, having made this decision, her determination was restored, making other decisions easier.
Having first found the town rat-catcher and then a reliable glazier, she trudged up and down Totnes’s steep Fore Street more times than she could count in search of her other requirement
s. With a notebook and pencil in her hand she entered side alleys she had not known existed, and hurried along unfamiliar narrow lanes, haggling and bargaining at every stop in an attempt to get the best prices.
Cal was not totally appreciative of her efforts.
‘Good heavens, woman, do you think I’m made of money?’ he exclaimed as he read her estimates.
‘If it hurts you that much to loosen your purse strings you can always have your customers drinking among the rat droppings!’ she retorted. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t notice in the darkness, not with the windows still boarded up.’
‘I thought you said you’d booked the glazier.’
‘I have, but he isn’t coming until tomorrow. You can cancel his visit. And while you’re about it, you can cancel any thoughts of me running the shop. Your customers mightn’t know any better, but I’ve had a good look at that place and I refuse to work in such conditions.’ Tiredness made her irritable, and she was disappointed at his lack of appreciation of her efforts.
He had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. You’ve obviously worked very hard. It was just seeing all the expenses in a lump sum like this.’ He ran a weary hand over his face. ‘It’s a mistake to talk business after we’ve both had a hard day. I said that this could wait until the morning.’
Now it was Maddy’s turn to look abashed. ‘I didn’t think it could,’ she said. ‘I need to be back in Totnes first thing tomorrow to let the rat-catcher into the shop. I wouldn’t have had time to come here first.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘That was when you still intended to run my shop, eh?’
‘That was before you decided my estimates were too high. If you think you can do any better yourself, why don’t you try?’
Cal looked back at the paper in front of him. ‘That’s me put in my place well and truly,’ he said dryly.
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