Kenneth walked the fields and fumed over the way Pitcher planned to steal his business. The letter deliveries were not over profitable, but the people who waited for Barrass bought whatever Ceinwen could find to sell, and he enjoyed the position of importance in the community. Now Barrass did the actual walking, his life was a very pleasant one. He also enjoyed the gossip.
He tried to think of a way to get the position returned to him. His reputation was good, he had only three times been robbed in all the years he wandered across Gower, he was rarely late, and everyone knew he was trustworthy. If only he could show that Pitcher was less capable than he. A robbery perhaps? Or if the letters were lost…
His anger quelled by the possibility of revenge, he walked more slowly, making his way to discuss his chagrin with Betson-the-flowers, and tried to think of a way to persuade the Post Office to revert to the old arrangement.
* * *
Olwen was afraid to argue with Enyd and said little when her sister-in-law asked her to intervene and persuade Barrass not to support Pitcher in his unfair application.
‘Barrass has never had anything good happen to him,’ Olwen began, but at once she was shouted down.
‘Never had anything good happen to him? What about my mother giving him a room and a meal every night of every month? And what about my father allowing him to help deliver the letters? If it hadn’t been for that generous act Barrass and Pitcher wouldn’t have stood a chance of their application even being read!’
Olwen pleaded for Enyd to sit.
‘Please, Enyd, think of the baby to come. It isn’t good for you to get angry. Sit next to Mistress Powell and I’ll make you both a good cup of tea? Or coffee? We have a little if you fancy a change?’
‘The only change I want is for you to change Barrass’s black heart.’ But she sat in the small room and allowed herself to be pampered a little. She knew that Olwen’s loyalty was with Barrass, but she was determined to change her mind.
* * *
Enyd had always been a rather sulky girl and marriage to Dan had not changed her. She seemed always openly looking for a reason to complain and this loss of her father’s work to Barrass was irresistible. When Dan returned from the sea, she was in the new room alone, quietly sobbing.
‘Enyd, my love, what is the matter?’ Dan knelt beside her, at once alarmed.
‘Your sister is disloyal to me. I am her family now and she chooses to favour Barrass before me,’ she sobbed, clinging to him.
When he gradually unfolded her story and got the facts clear, Dan was in a quandary. Love for Enyd fought in his honest mind with the fact that Barrass and Pitcher had been given the letter deliveries by the Postmaster of London. He tried to explain that.
‘Local people might offer their opinions, but the decision is not theirs to make.’
She was not comforted. ‘My father deserved it, Pitcher stole it from him!’ she insisted.
Knowing it was useless, Dan promised his wife that he would make enquiries. He had no intention of wasting his time and feared the thought of dealing with ‘officialdom’, but his words comforted her and calmed her, and that was what he wanted to achieve.
* * *
The funeral of Seranne was a small one. The Morgans had lived outside the village both geographically and in their attitude. They rarely visited anyone and seemed to buy what they needed in the town without coming into contact even with Spider and his fish selling. The people from Ddole House were present at the simple service with the exception of Annie, who pleaded that hardly knowing the young woman, they would be better served if she stayed to make sure there was food and warm drinks for the others when they returned.
The two sisters of the deceased, Polly, who worked for Emma, and Vanora, who attempted to care for the rest of the family, held hands and wept as the body of their eldest sister was carried along the path to the church. The brothers followed behind, their faces cold, eyes showing the anger that helped them cope with their distress, and ignoring the comments of those who had come to watch.
Olwen was an exception. Madoc stopped beside her and said, ‘You were her friend, she was yours. If there is ever anything you need, Olwen-the-fish, you only have to ask.’
His eyes were wet with tears. He looked a vulnerable young boy, and she felt a sudden sympathy for him. She felt herself blush as the eyes of others stared speculatingly at them. Stuttering words of consolation and her thanks, she left him and went to kiss Polly and Vanora who were being supported by Morgan.
William looked at the sad group and shared their grief. The sight took him back to the funeral of Dorothy and he relived the pain. He walked with the others, head down, afraid that he would see the portent of another funeral, in the faces of Seranne’s family.
* * *
At the fisherman’s cottage on the cliffs, old Mistress Powell searched among her belongings for the grave clothes she had made some years before. A long white gown, which fastened with ties at the back, and a bonnet, both embroidered with white cotton. She was smiling as she smoothed them out before refolding them.
Life was good, the ending of it far happier than she had ever imagined it would be. Widowed when only a few weeks a bride, working for several of the farms at any job she was offered, she had lived a life of near poverty and had expected to end her days in the poor house, not sharing joyfully in the family life of Spider and Mary. When her house collapsed and she lost even the roof above her she had despaired. But, rescued by Barrass and Arthur, then taken in by Mary and Spider, life had become happier than she had dreamed of.
Among her belongings were some coins, more than she had remembered. Mary and Spider refused to accept them for her keep, insisting she more than earned the food they gave her and her place beside their hearth, and she had almost forgotten they were there. Now she sat and stared at the half-full box and wondered how best to dispose of them. For a long time she sat perfectly still, gazing into the fire, until an idea came to her. She smiled as she found a pen and some paper and began to write.
* * *
The servants returned to Ddole House on foot, and William rode with Edwin Prince.
‘Come and take a bite before you go home,’ William offered and Edwin agreed. They dismounted at the stables and left the horses for David to attend to when he returned from the church.
Annie greeted them sorrowfully and asked politely if all went well.
‘No one had hysterics, or threw themselves into the grave, if that’s what you mean,’ William said sharply. ‘How can a funeral be expected to “go well”?’
‘I only hoped that there were no mishaps, sir,’ Annie said, smiling. ‘If it’s a gentle affair, then people go home comforted and less sad.’
‘Of course you’re right. I’m sorry,’ William muttered. Then he asked, ‘Have you decided whom you will take as cook, now Seranne is no longer with us?’
Edwin watched the way William behaved with Annie and was curious. First being unfairly angry with what was only a polite comment, then, surprisingly, apologizing to the woman! When they were alone he asked,
‘This Annie, you are still satisfied with her?’
‘Oh yes. She does her work and involves me only a little. I can’t complain.’
‘She doesn’t – er – do more than her work, does she, William?’
‘I loved Dorothy and have no need of another! I don’t see her as a woman.’
‘But perhaps she sees you as a man,’ Edwin warned. ‘It happens, a lonely man and a scheming woman.’
‘Really, Edwin!’ William snapped, refusing to admit to himself that there was some truth in his companion’s words. The way he looked forward to talking to Annie, the way he confided in her some of his thoughts and even some of his plans was a weakness, he knew that. The relationship was becoming less servant and master and more friend to friend.
‘The letters of commendation, William. You have heard from the people who wrote them?’
William shook his head impatiently.
‘What a pity Penelope isn’t here,’ Edwin said. ‘She would be best running this house, then, with Annie relegated to the kitchen you would be well served I think.’
‘Penelope is content in London with her new friends. I wrote and told her she could return,’ he confided sadly. ‘There has been no reply.’
‘John Maddern will be with us again in less than a week,’ Edwin said to cheer William. ‘He will surely have news of her.’
‘And until then, I have persuaded Florrie that we still have a greater need of her than Daniels, who is well cared for by his sister!’ William smiled and forced himself to shake off the gloom that had surrounded him since the death of Seranne.
* * *
Emma watched as Polly polished the new table and chairs in the parlour. She had heard that John Maddern was returning from his business in London and she was determined to impress him with the quality of her home and the excellence of her two daughters.
‘If he does not choose one of them for a wife then I’ll send them both into the nunnery!’ she threatened Pitcher. ‘They might be twins, Pitcher, but with a difference in their personalities that’s more apparent as they grow. Daisy is the boldest and most confident. Far too confident for a young lady of prospects!’ she added with a tightening of her mouth. ‘Pansy is quieter with every day that passes. Do you know she has given up her dancing lessons?’
Pitcher grunted something in reply, his eyes never leaving the news sheet he was reading.
‘She frequently refuses invitations to visit friends, except when Daisy insists she accompanies her.’
‘Don’t worry, my love,’ Pitcher said, hoping that was the right response.
‘Don’t worry! Don’t worry! What else can a mother do with two beautiful girls refusing to take an interest when I am trying to find them a husband?’
* * *
It was late in July. Polly and Emma were putting the finishing touches to the table being set for thirteen people. The dinner party had been filling Emma’s thoughts for days. Besides William and John, she had invited Edwin and her daughter Violet, Dan and Enyd, Florrie and Daniels and, after careful consideration, Walter Waterman.
Her face was red and covered with a film of moisture as she rushed from room to room, up and down the stairs to check on the food and make sure everything was in readiness. She trusted no one. Polly, and Olwen, who had again been hired to assist for the day, were exhausted with her constant accusations and interference.
Emma ignored their assurances that everything was as it should be and checked again and again. Nothing must go wrong on this occasion. John must be shown how well either of her daughters would manage the home of a gentleman. She ran to where Daisy and Pansy were dressing, pulling their waists tighter, their necklines lower in a way that startled them.
‘Pigs at market couldn’t be better presented,’ Daisy giggled, straightening her dress after Emma’s ministrations. She grunted and curled up her nose to make her sister laugh.
‘She is determined we shall find a husband, isn’t she?’ Pansy smiled. ‘Poor Mamma, we are her life’s work.’
Dressed alike, the twins settled on their bedroom chairs to await the arrival of the guests. Emma insisted they enter the dining room only after everyone else had arrived.
Their hair had been curled in rags the previous evening and both girls had slept uncomfortably, sliding their fingers among the bunches in an attempt to ease the pulling. The result was, they both grudgingly admitted to their mother, well worth the pain.
They wore dresses of gingham generously trimmed with bands, bows and trailing strands of satin ribbon. On their feet were slippers of buckram. Mauve and summery, they both looked like artist’s models posed for a dreamlike portrait of the country life imagined by those who lived in a town.
Polly was ill, Emma could see that. But she tried to ignore the way the girl had to stop and regain her breath halfway up the stairs with even the lightest load. And the way she held her hand to her thin chest to ease the obvious pain. Tomorrow she would give her a day off to recover, this afternoon she was needed. Unreasonably, she felt irritated with Polly. The girl could have taken better care of herself. To inconvenience me now, when I need all the help I can get is – ungrateful, she decided with a frown.
When the guests were gathered, Emma sent Olwen to call her daughters and was gratified to hear the gasp of approval as they stood in the doorway as she had instructed, before entering and finding their places. Daisy and Pansy were seated one either side of John, flanked by William and Walter. Emma’s beady eyes watched to see if the conversation was directed as she hoped and was pleased with the way that John seemed to share his attention between the two girls.
Walter seemed at home in the company and his eyes rarely left Daisy. He talked to John, but it seemed to Emma’s sharp eyes that he did so simply to be included in the conversation with her lively daughter. He asked about London life and seemed to share an interest in the theatre of which he had seen plenty in the city of Bath. With two daughters and John Maddern the only likely prospect of a husband for one of them, she looked with greater interest at the Deputy Postmaster, who was more worldly than she expected and almost gentlemanly in his manners. Before an hour had passed he was firmly fixed on her list of last-hope-possibles! She was less pleased to see the animated way John’s eyes lit up when the subject of Penelope was raised.
‘She is well content, William,’ John said in answer to Pitcher’s query, ‘but still thinking of home, and wishing to come back to her father.’
‘I think not,’ William said, lightening his voice with an effort. ‘I suspect she is more than happy to be feted and spoilt by the young gentlemen she has met in London and rarely thinks of us at all!’ He turned to Emma and Pitcher. ‘For all our care and however generously we treat them, children soon forget us and go their own way, I fear.’
Emma shook her head firmly.
‘In that we are fortunate, Pitcher and me. Our children have been devoted, obedient to our wishes and ever grateful – as I am sure Penelope and Leon are to you, in spite of your words to the contrary, William,’ she added quickly, a smile suffusing her red face as she covered her faux pas. ‘Penelope is a dutiful daughter for sure. And Leon, well, isn’t he a son to be proud of? Wearing the uniform of the King’s army? Fortunate you are in your children as we are in ours.’
She gabbled the words, afraid she had offended him by agreeing that his children were less than good to him. Seeing in his face the loneliness he suffered, she wanted to comfort him. Instead she offered more food.
At the doorway, Olwen watched and listened. Unaware of the lost letter, she tightened her lips in disapproval of the thought that these people would not be truthful about their love and need of each other.
‘Love is something to be proud of not to hide in shame as a weakness,’ she confided in Mistress Powell later that evening when she returned from her day’s work. ‘They seem afraid to admit that they have need of each other or are lonely for them. It’s as if caring and needing were things to be ashamed of. I can’t understand why people make trouble their companion, just for want of a truthful word. Just think how much happier William Ddole would be with Penelope sharing his life, yet he pretends not to miss her.’
The following morning when she was on her way to start her day’s work at Ddole House, Olwen saw Polly. Arthur was with her, the dog a few yards in front of them pausing occasionally to look back as if showing them the way. She called and ran to join them.
‘Polly’s been given the day off,’ Arthur explained. ‘Not feeling too well, like.’
He was carrying a basket in which Olwen could see bread, meat and cheese besides a few apples and a rather sorry-looking unripe pear.
‘Mistress Palmer gave me some food left from yesterday,’ Polly said, gasping after the few words. ‘There’s kind she is.’
Olwen walked with them for part of the way, talking for the three of them, wondering at the paleness of her friend and the slowness of her walk. That she was ill was in no doubt. She cast surreptitious glances at the girl and wondered with dread if she too were suffering the same sickness as Seranne. There was a similarity about the pinched expression and the slight bloom of colour high on the thin face. She chattered more brightly to fend off her fears.
She went to find Annie for instruction and found her with William Ddole. She told Annie that Seranne’s sister was sick and although Annie showed sympathy, Olwen guessed it was for the benefit of her employer.
‘Pity for her, what can we do to help?’ She gave Olwen an old blanket as she left for home and asked her to deliver it to the house near the stream.
Olwen was pleased with the gift, knowing it would be very welcome, but she did not want to take it to the Morgans’ home. Madoc had given a gift of a piglet that had been stolen. Other gifts sporadically arrived, but she always sent Dan to thank him. There was always a wildness in his eyes that unnerved her. The risk to her if she had been found in possession of the pig was great, so she was apprehensive of meeting him again.
To her joy she met Barrass who was walking back late from his deliveries as Jethro had gone lame.
‘Come with me, Barrass,’ she pleaded, when she had explained her errand.
‘I’m so late, another few minutes will hardly matter,’ he smiled. But their visit was longer than either of them planned.
There was no smoke coming from the chimney when they approached the field in which the house stood. At once Olwen thought that meant they had no hot food. The door stood open and a large dog lolled across the threshold. Barrass called to it and tied it up while Olwen stepped inside the fetid room.
‘Polly? Are you there?’ she called and a shadow eased itself from a corner and revealed itself as the young girl. She was wrapped in a blanket that smelt of mildew and Olwen took it from her and hung it over the door.
The Posthorn Inn Page 19