The Posthorn Inn

by The Posthorn Inn (retail) (epub)

  ‘So, once Florrie is gone from here, Daniels won’t be such a regular visitor?’

  ‘So I presume. I can’t see the man seeking my company, nor I his. He is far too pompous for me,‘ laughed William. ‘And so fussy about his appearance he makes me feel unwashed!’

  John Maddern stood to find a light for his cigar from the fire with the aid of a spill. He was neatly dressed in fashion rarely seen in the area. His complexion was dark, foreign-looking and his deep set, dark eyes made many people nervous in his presence. He lived in a house once owned by William’s secretary and was looked after by Bessie Rees when he was in the village, but his business, selling and buying properties for clients, kept him mostly in either London, Bristol or Bath. When his cigar was drawing he said, ‘This matter is urgent. Is there no one who will help us for this next landing?’

  ‘Pitcher might find room for a few extra parcels,’ William said. ‘But not as much as I usually hide.’

  ‘You can use my cellars.’ Markus spoke for the first time. A rather taciturn man, he seemed to criticize every time he made a comment and now sounded as if he were irritated and forced into offering the solution. ‘I shall be in Bristol, my family need my assistance with some business matter. Will that do?’

  ‘Thank you, Markus. But the servants—?’

  ‘—are trustworthy. They have all been with me since – since this damned accident robbed me of my sight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ John echoed. Like many, he was embarrassed when Markus spoke of his affliction.

  ‘What shall we do to keep Daniels out of the way?’ William asked, ‘use Florrie?’ He smiled at the others. ‘A woman can usually be trusted to keep a man occupied.’

  Florrie was not involved in the small-scale smuggling that went on at the local beaches, but, having lived in Ddole House since a child, she was obviously aware of the activities of others.

  ‘I only hope that marrying Daniels doesn’t make her transfer her loyalties,’ Markus warned, ‘or he might find himself widowed for the second time.’

  ‘She wouldn’t risk harming me,’ William said confidently. ‘My family have treated her well.’

  The plans for the forthcoming arrival of goods from France were finally complete and only when the men stood to leave, did William ask the question that he had been wanting to ask since John Maddern had arrived from London earlier that day.

  ‘My daughter, John, is she well?’

  ‘You would be pleased at how easily Penelope has fitted into London life, William,’ John assured him. ‘Your daughter is leading a full and exciting life. I called to see her before I left so I could have the latest news for you. She begs me to give you this letter.’ He took from his pocket a folded sheet sealed with sealing wax and addressed to ‘My Dear Father’, in Penelope’s handwriting. ‘I should have given it to you the moment I arrived, but hot and weary from travel, I selfishly thought only of water to wash and clothes freshly laundered. I’m sorry, William.’

  William forced himself politely to see his guests out before opening the letter. John was riding down to the village to talk to Pitcher and Emma at the alehouse. Markus was returning to his dark, gloomy house on the cliffs near Longland. William smiled as he opened the two page epistle, imagining confirmation of John’s words that the girl was happy and content.

  The letter made the smile fade. Contrary to John’s words, Penelope begged him to allow her to come home. She hated the noisome city of London and said her life there was full of tension; the people, and especially the men who drove carts and poor conveyances through the streets, were frighteningly aggressive and impatient, and at times, quite abusive with their tongues. ‘Such manners you would never believe,’ she ended, ‘so please, dear Father, if you love me and care for me as I know you do, please give me permission to return home.’

  William closed the pages and threw the letter from him. How was a man supposed to cope with a wayward daughter? He closed his brown eyes for a moment and remembered how easy everything had seemed when his wife Dorothy had lived. She would have known how to deal with Penelope. He had failed miserably. He sat at the desk that he had bought for his wife and wrote a reply, insisting that she stayed with his friends until she married or at least until Barrass the letter-carrier did!

  It was on account of Barrass that Penelope had been sent away, and until that young man showed some sign of settling down to one woman, he did not feel able to risk having Penelope back home, where he was not capable of watching her every move. But oh, how he missed her. Losing her company so soon after the death of Dorothy had been cruel.

  He wondered how John Maddern felt. John had proposed marriage to Penelope, who had turned him down. If only they would find love for each other, he sighed. Penelope could return and his life would not seem so empty or lacking in love. He folded and sealed the letter and addressed it with a shaking hand. He sent for Bethan and handed her the letter.

  ‘Please to hand this to Barrass should he call. If he doesn’t come, then take it to the house of Kenneth for the next collection for Swansea.’

  He watched as the slow, sleepy-looking girl who nevertheless did a generous week’s work, felt behind her for the door handle before sliding around the door and curtsying, then closing it behind her. He wondered vaguely why she always had difficulty finding the door handle, standing with her hand waving ineffectually about before clasping it in obvious relief.

  His thoughts turned again to his daughter, who had managed the house after her mother’s death and run it so smoothly he had hardly seen the servants. He remembered that time with regret; gliding through his days with everything he wanted always ready for him without the need to ask. Guests accommodated and given warm beds and good food without him having to worry about how it was all achieved.

  In less than a week, his daughter would be reading the words he had written. He hoped he had shown love for her in his reply, as well as determination that she should not, for the moment, return.

  * * *

  Edwin Prince was in no hurry to reach home. Violet was not a loving wife and since the birth of the child, had been even less enthusiastic to greet him after an absence. He rode slowly, allowing his mount to choose the pace, moving towards the Longhouse which he had converted into a spacious home for his bride. Behind the house were stables and, to his wife’s disgust, large, solidly built piggeries, which disguised the storerooms below ground level where the packages from the illegal boat cargoes were hidden.

  When he reached his house, he still did not hurry to go inside, preferring to stable his horse and walk down to the distant buildings, intending to make sure he had sufficient space for what he had promised to store. It was broad daylight but no one would have been suspicious at seeing him visiting his pigs; eccentric behaviour was soon accepted as normal for people with wealth, he had learnt.

  Llewellyn, who was feeding them, came to meet him.

  ‘Sir,’ he said with anxiety in his eyes, ‘sir, there are piglets gone missing. Three of them. Taken from the sties I believe.’

  Edwin was angered by the theft, not for the cost of the piglets although that did not please him; but the thought of someone entering the newly constructed buildings and perhaps seeing something of the additional work that had gone into them troubled him.

  He could hardly go to the Keeper of the Peace and complain! Thoughts of Daniels putting his long, elegant nose into the pigsties did make him smile though. He imagined the man’s dismay at finding dirt, and worse, on his highly polished boots. The look of polite agony as he tried to cope with the smell. But should the man’s sharp eyes note the slightest unusual thing, he knew that Daniels would never give up searching for something more, and would not rest until the real reason for the new piggeries were uncovered. He looked around uneasily as if Daniels were already watching him, and abandoning his plan to examine the hidden storeroom he went into the house.

  * * *

  In Olwen’s house there was much excitement. The arrival of a pig had pu
zzled, thrilled and amused them all, although she could not imagine who had sent it. Mary and Spider were pleased that although the gift was anonymous, it seemed likely that Olwen had an admirer besides Barrass and that was what they had hoped would happen. Their pleasure at the surprise arrival, which they had found tied to a tree on a length of brightly coloured yellow ribbon, was greater because of that supposition. Mistress Powell, who shared their house, was laughing at the animal’s antics and remembering years long ago when she had a pig at the end of her own garden.

  Olwen had arrived home after her long day at Ddole House to be met by the sounds of an offended piglet who was objecting to being fenced in, between boxes that Spider and Dan used for taking fish to market. The little creature seemed to be angry at being able to smell fish and not finding any to eat.

  ‘He is starving!’ Olwen protested. ‘Mamma, can’t you find him some food?’

  ‘He has already swallowed all the milk we had, what vegetables I could spare and most of the bread. If he doesn’t admit to being full soon, there will be nothing left for us!’ Mary laughed as she dropped crumbled cake in front of the small pink snout. ‘He’s also upturned the bucket of water, tripped up Dan and your father, terrified the chickens and muddled my wool so it looks like the work of a mad woman!’

  They managed eventually to make him safe behind a temporary barricade, and when the animal had settled for the night, with a disgruntled expression on its face. Olwen sat watching it, tickling the hairy skin and smiling with delight.

  Mary and Spider hoped that whoever had sent it would fill Olwen’s heart with kind and loving deeds and encourage her to forget Barrass.

  Olwen was wondering how soon she could go and find Barrass to tell him about the surprise arrival.

  Chapter Three

  Olwen rushed home on the day following Barrass’s invitation to meet him at the alehouse, her fingers in the shape of a cross, her mouth whispering a prayer. ‘Please God, don’t let Mam say I can’t go.’

  She knew her brother Dan and her father still treated Barrass the same as they had always done, but her mother certainly did not seem pleased on the occasions Olwen had told her she had been talking to him. Would she stop her going to meet him?

  Olwen was tempted to lie, but hesitated, knowing that it was highly unlikely she would get away with it. Mam sold fish, and during her walks around the village pushing the small wooden cart, she gathered information more efficiently than Dadda’s nets caught the sewen and salmon, mackerel and mullet that gave them their living!

  Perhaps there was something about Barrass she did not know? Mary might have heard gossip about yet another baby on the way wanting his name. She frowned as she considered the girls rumoured to keep company with him. Perhaps Harriet had persuaded him into her bed? Having hurried, to allow plenty of time to clean herself and go and meet Barrass, Olwen began to dawdle as soon as she reached the vicinity of her cliff-top home. She diverted from the worn path and spent a while searching for flowers.

  The countryside around was so beautiful. Willows showing new greeny-yellow leaves, birches with their purple shoots, the oaks making patches of rust as they clung to their last year’s leaves which had refused to budge even with the wildest and most determined wind. Under the trees were daffodils, streaking the ground like runaway sunshine.

  Celandines and dandelions were beautiful and richly coloured and the daisies were like forgotten snow among the fast growing grasses, but they would fade fast. It was violets she searched for and gathering a few from a mossy bank, their stems small as their flowering season drew to an end, she added a surprise hoard of primroses and tied them with a length of ivy stem, to carry home.

  Work on the new room for Enyd and Dan to make their home was in abeyance, the fishing having to come first, and spare time not easy to find. The walls were high but the roof was still to be completed, and it seemed to Olwen as she approached the house that the plan for it to be finished and furnished in time for Enyd and Dan’s wedding would not be accomplished.

  Her mother, Mary, was sitting outside the cottage in the last of the sun. Olwen was surprised; it was rare to see her mother’s hands idle. Tied to a bush by a length of rope which allowed him sufficient freedom to explore the garden was Olwen’s youngest brother, Dic, who was nine months old. He began chortling when he saw her approaching and she ran to pick him up and hugged him.

  Giving the flower posy to Mary, Olwen asked, ‘Mam, can I go to the village, just for a little while? It’s so long since I talked with anyone except Florrie and Dozy Bethan who takes so long to think of an answer you can take a nap in between!’

  ‘I hoped you would settle to help with the shawls, Olwen. I need to have a good pile of them for the Fair in three weeks’ time. People will be less inclined to buy them as the weeks lead us into summer.’

  ‘Oh Mam, just for a little while.’

  Mary rose from the small stool on which she had been sitting and Olwen saw she had been peeling rushes to make rush lights. She had not been idle after all.

  They used tallow candles and occasionally the sweeter smelling beeswax candles, like most people. But Mary, always cautious, liked to have a supply of rush lights in case the cost of candles became a burden on her purse. They used to make their own candles, and the boring task of dipping, cooling and redipping the wick into the hot wax had been Olwen’s. She had been relieved when her father said they could buy them from the candle maker who called with a supply at regular intervals. Olwen remembered the task and sighed inwardly with relief that the work was no longer required.

  ‘You can go,’ Mary smiled, then laughed at the way her daughter’s face fell into a scowl when she added, ‘but only if you promise to dip these in fat for me before you go to bed.’ ‘Oh Mam, it’s a-w-f-u-l tedious!’ But she agreed.

  * * *

  She called at the house of Kenneth, to see if Barrass had returned with the letters for forwarding to Swansea, but there was no one there. The side window, through which people could hand in their letters, was open but the door was firmly closed.

  Crossing the road alongside the beach, she went to the door of the alehouse and looked inside. The room, in spite of the candles and lamps, was less bright than the fading daylight outside, being full of smoke. Arthur was frantically trying to get rid of it by waving a piece of sacking.

  ‘Wet wood,’ he explained as Olwen ran in and taking the sacking from him put a metal square across the top of the chimney opening to draw the smoke upwards. In a few moments the room was clear.

  ‘Thanks, Olwen, I didn’t think of the draw-er,’ he said. ‘Come to see Barrass, have you?’

  ‘Is he here?’ she asked, coughing against the last wreaths of smoke that drifted slowly out of the open door. ‘I went to Kenneth’s house but there is no one there.’

  ‘Kenneth and Ceinwen have gone with Enyd to buy more material for the wedding,‘ Arthur explained with a disapproving sniff. ‘Fancies herself she does, that Enyd. I hope your Dan can afford to keep up with her grand ideas.’

  ‘She’ll soon forget the fancies her mother has for her once there’s a couple of children to feed and only a fisherman’s money to manage it on,’ Olwen said.

  ‘Having the dress made by Mistress Gronow, she is. Won’t have anything her mother can make,’ Arthur added, his thin face frowning. His eyes rolled and he nodded up towards the living rooms of the alehouse. ‘She encourages her, mind.’ He referred to Emma, who considered herself the wise woman of the village when it came to the way things should be done.

  ‘Mam is making my dress and arranging the flowers for my hair for that day,’ Olwen said. ‘So grand I’ll be, you won’t know me.’

  ‘I’d know you anywhere,‘ a voice said, and she shrieked with delight at seeing Barrass enter, still with his leather bag across his shoulders, and his post horn in his hand, the waistcoat of red, made for Kenneth, stretched across his wide shoulders. ‘How are you, is work at Ddole House enjoyable?’ he asked. ‘And what’s this
about a piglet?’

  ‘Barrass, you know! And I wanted to show you and tell you myself!’

  ‘I’ll come to see him soon.’

  His arms didn’t wrap around her when she ran to him but touched her shoulders lightly, charging her with a shock as severe as cold water. She nodded, bewildered and embarrassed at the chill formality of his greeting. His attitude was worsening. She shivered. There must be another woman.

  Arthur handed him a mug of ale and he moved away from her and sat, easing the bag slightly from his shoulders and drank the reviving drink.

  ‘Where’s Kenneth, then?’ he asked. ‘Supposed to be here to take these letters from me.’

  ‘You’ll have to talk to me instead, there’s no escape, Barrass,’ Olwen joked, but the light-hearted tone of the words hid the suspicion that Barrass had forgotten his invitation, and was less than pleased to see her.

  She felt uneasy, a sensation she had rarely felt with the tall, handsome young man, three years her senior. Picking up the dusty-looking white dog from near Arthur’s feet, she buried her face in the rough fur, wishing she hadn’t come, wishing the time could miraculously race on to the day when she was accepted as an adult, or run backwards to the freer, more relaxed days of childhood. Anything but this uneasy, over-polite strangeness.

  ‘I had supper with Carter Phillips and Harriet a day or two ago,’ Barrass said, addressing her obliquely, his dark eyes not quite meeting hers. ‘Cooked a fine plaice, peppered and covered in capers,’ he added.

  ‘My Mam says a woman only uses strong flavours to cover up bad cooking!’ Olwen retorted, and smiled ruefully as the other two laughed.

  Dejected, her longed-for meeting with Barrass unaccountably mined, Olwen put the dog down and walked to the door.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Mam wants me to help with rush lights, and I’ll be cooking the meal. A better one than what you had at Harriet’s table for sure!’ was her departing remark.