‘Best you have this one, sent by Annie,’ she said briskly. ‘That one smells as if it’s been used to dry the dog and bed the goat!’
While Barrass gathered sticks and logs and started the fire burning, Olwen dragged the bed on which Polly slept out into the fresh air. She managed to raise it high enough to drape it over the line and saw to her consternation that the sacking which had been filled with straw, was rotting, discoloured with mould and beginning to tear.
There was a cauldron suspended on a chain near the fire and she saw that it contained some vegetables and joints of rabbit. She turned it so it hung over the slowly strengthening fire and soon it was sending out the pleasant smell of meat, carrots and leeks.
She and Barrass stayed for two hours and by the time they had finished, the room had been emptied of the foul bedding and replaced with fresh bracken, green and scented like mountain pastures.
‘You will have to dry some heather later in the summer,’ Barrass said. ‘It makes the best of beds. For now this greenery will be an improvement for tonight, tomorrow Olwen and I will find you something better.’
Polly did not reply and when Olwen investigated, she saw that the girl was fast asleep wrapped in the clean blanket on her sweet-smelling bed.
There had been no sign of either Vanora or their brothers. For the absence of the brothers Olwen was thankful. But Barrass insisted they waited until the brothers returned.
‘I think they should be made to care better for Polly and Vanora,’ he whispered, not wanting to disturb Polly.
Olwen would have preferred to avoid them, but the chance of a few more moments in Barrass’s company decided her. Barrass prowled around the house and the surrounding, carelessly worked field.
‘Something could be made of this place if only Morgan and Madoc would make a little effort,’ he said. ‘They spend too much time in William Ddole’s fields from what I hear. Best they stayed home and made better use of what they’ve got.’
When Morgan and Madoc arrived, Vanora was with them. They had been to the market. Vanora among the family was the only one without the feverish and thin-faced look of the morbid lung, Olwen thought. She wondered why some households seemed so unfortunate, while others who were taken far less care of than Vanora’s family, seemed strong and robust.
Madoc seemed very pleased to see Olwen, and he threw down the empty sack he had been carrying and sat beside her outside the door, calling for Vanora to bring them all a drink. Olwen moved away to tell Vanora about her sister. She felt ill at ease with his wild-eyed admiration that somehow seemed insincere, and the way he seemed to disregard Barrass, and treat her as his own personal guest.
Vanora went inside and tucked the new blanket around the sleeping Polly and looked at the fresh bedding and the glowing fire with gratitude.
‘What a surprise! Thank you, Olwen, and you Barrass. It’s a treat to find the fire burning and the pot of cawl simmering on the hearth. I expected it all to be cold. Thank you ’til you’re better paid,’ she said. She brought out a pitcher of ale and poured some into an assortment of misshaped pewter tankards. She chose the least battered one and handed it to Olwen.
‘Sorry I am that you had to find us so lacking in comfort. With Seranne gone and Polly not very strong, I’m hard put to get through all the tasks of the day. Now, I have to go to the market as well.’ She leaned towards Barrass, and behind a hand said, ‘Best you don’t ask why, us not having paid for permission to be there.’ She sat and leaned against the green-stained wall near the doorway. ‘Things will be better soon,’ she said, half to herself.
Madoc stood up and putting his hands into his pockets, drew out handfuls of coins which he threw into Vanora’s lap.
‘Getting better by the hour! There you are, all that from selling good fresh rabbits and a couple of duck from the round pond. Not bad for a day’s work, eh?’
‘A day and a night more like,’ Vanora said, again in a whisper. ‘It’s so dangerous, you taking from the woods. If you were caught you’d be taken from us and where would Polly and I be then? At least the herbs and potions and vulneraries I sell are honestly acquired.’
‘You worry too much,’ Morgan laughed.
‘We can move about at night with no more sound than the gentlest breeze, and our shadows wouldn’t disturb the nerviest bird,’ Madoc added, smiling at Olwen.
‘You know how dogs are soothed by Madoc,’ Morgan said. ‘He walks right up to them and they wag their tails and never show the keepers he’s there.’
Olwen said nothing. She wished she and Barrass had not been privy to such talk.
When Madoc had taken the money from his pocket, a piece of paper had half escaped with it. When Madoc removed his coat and threw it across to land on a pile of logs, the paper fell to the ground.
At once Barrass picked it up and before Madoc managed to snatch it back he saw the name – Henry Glan Preece, Bristol – written across it. It was a letter he had personally taken from the Rector of Rhossili only a few days previously and handed in to the Swansea sorting office. It should have been put into Ben Gammon’s bag and taken on its way.
‘That letter,’ he said. ‘How did you get it?’
‘Oh, I found it on one of the bridle paths across the fields. Must have been dropped by someone for sure.’
‘Can I see it?’ Barrass’s dark eyes were issuing a warning that he would not be dissuaded and Madoc casually threw the letter back to him.
‘It was opened when I found it, mind,’ he said. ‘I didn’t tamper with the King’s Mail. Know better than that I do,’ he said belligerently. ‘So don’t you think different!’
‘I think I’ll take it to show Walter Waterman, he’ll need to know that a letter has gone astray.’
‘No, I won’t let you do that.’ Madoc ran in through the doorway and dropped the letter into the flames of the fire. ‘Best we don’t start any enquiry that would bring that Daniels around here,’ he explained. ‘Now, let’s pretend we never saw it, shall we?’
‘I can’t!’ Barrass exclaimed.
‘Best that you do,’ Morgan said. He looked pointedly at Olwen and slowly back to Barrass before adding, ‘Innocents can be harmed if there’s too much said about things best forgotten.’ Barrass hung his head. He was in a turmoil. He knew that any information about missing letters was important. But, he admitted with a pang of conscience, not more important to him than Olwen.
‘Come on, Olwen,’ he said, rising and offering her his hand to rise. ‘Time we went home.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Olwen asked when, almost breathless at the pace he led her along, they were at the edge of the village. ‘Report it, will you?’
‘No. Not without the sight of it to show what happened,’ he said.
She knew he was angry, but not seeing the threat Morgan had issued about her safety, she could not understand why. Perhaps it was simply that by Madoc burning the evidence he had been outwitted. Barrass took seriously everything to do with his occupation and would hate not being able to tell what he knew.
‘I don’t want you to tell what we saw, either,’ he told her as they reached her house on the cliffs.
‘If you say so, Barrass,’ she said. ‘But only if you will give me a kiss!’ She was relieved to see the anger smoothed from his dark face with a smile and as he bent to kiss her cheek, she turned so he kissed her lips instead.
‘Thank you for coming with me,’ she called back as she skipped happily into the house.
* * *
When Barrass next went into the Swansea sorting office, Ben Gammon was full of the much embellished story of his fall from his horse and the scattering of letters.
‘What’s this, I says to myself, me with a sore head and a painful ankle and faced with crawling about trying to gather my letters? Thanks be that some kindly passerby stopped and helped or I’d be there still searching for ’em, painfully doing my utmost for the responsibility I carries.’
‘Who was he?’ Barrass asked, coming in
on the seventh telling. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Name of Madoc Morgan. And him so far from home, why, it was a miracle for him to be there when I was in sore need of help!’ Ben said, raising his voice for the crowd to hear like an actor on a stage.
Barrass asked him where the accident had taken place and, when Ben left, he went with him to see for himself the exact spot. Leaving Ben to continue on his way, Barrass went around the area leading Jethro, circle after widening circle. As he kicked a birch branch aside, he saw, almost buried in the now dried mud, a piece of paper, which, when it was partially cleaned, revealed itself to be William Ddole’s letter to his daughter.
Hurrying back to Mumbles, Barrass told the story of the burnt letter to Pitcher and told him how he had found the one written by William.
‘I think you should go there at once and tell William. He might be waiting for a reply to a question Penelope hasn’t received.’
William received Barrass ungraciously. He disliked the boy and showed it without reservation. But after easing open the page of his letter, he surprised the carrier of it by smiling widely, calling him a fine fellow and telling him to go into the kitchen and find refreshment while he rewrote it and sent it again on its way.
Chapter Twelve
Annie was on the landing between William’s bedroom and that used by his daughter. From the landing window she looked out at the front of the house, where in the distance she could see the line of willows bending their branches like long hair into the stream. The stream followed the road for some distance and as she watched the gently swaying trees she noticed someone walking along with only his head visible above the hawthorn hedge.
She waited, curious to see who it was. Since she had begun working at Ddole House she had made no effort to meet any of the local people, but gradually she had begun to recognize those who called at the house. Tradesmen mostly, those who sold things at the kitchen door or called to offer some service.
The figure reached the end of the drive where he struggled to unlatch the long gate. With a gasp of dismay she recognized the young man. She was transfixed, unable to decide in her panic whether to run down to try and stop Olwen or Bethan inviting him in, or to hide somewhere until he had gone. Making up her mind, she lifted her skirts and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.
‘There’s a strange person approaching. I do not want you to invite him in!’ she announced to a startled Olwen. ‘Whatever he wants, whatever story he tells you, he must not enter this house. D’you understand?’
Before replying, Olwen went up on her toes to look out and see for herself who it was that had upset Annie so much. Then she turned and smiled.
‘It’s Cadwalader! He won’t do any harm. He looks ungainly but that’s on account of the harp he has strapped to his back.’
‘He mustn’t come in!’ Annie insisted. ‘Send him away or I’ll report you to Master Ddole for impertinence!’
‘But he was allowed to sleep in the barn and—’
‘Tell him to go!’ Annie’s small eyes were almost lost to sight as she glared at Olwen, defying her to argue further. Olwen shrugged and went to the door. Annie disappeared into the passageway, but Olwen knew she would be listening to make sure she was obeyed.
‘Cadwalader!’ she greeted the visitor. ‘Sorry, but I can’t even offer you a bit of food, me being in the middle of – er – cleaning out the fireplace! Good day to you!’
She closed the door on the surprised expression on Cadwalader’s face. Through the door, he said, ‘Olwen? What have I done that I am received like a murderous looking beggar? I’ve done you no harm.’
Olwen stood behind the door and bit her lip. It was against all her instincts to refuse a caller a sup of ale or a mouthful of food. She heard him scuffling his feet for a moment, then he began to move away. He called back, ‘The grate you have emptied for cleaning must be a magical one as the chimney smokes so richly without a fire in the hearth!’
Olwen stretched and watched as the small, cloaked figure returned to the road and disappeared.
‘Why did you make me do that!’ she demanded cheekily when Annie re-entered the kitchen. ‘If you wanted him gone you should have told him yourself!’
‘Hurry with those dishes, Olwen,’ was the only reply. ‘You must have slept half the morning away for them still to be stacked unwashed!’
Another glance at the gate showed that Cadwalader was gone but someone else was approaching.
‘Here’s Florrie, d’you want me to send her away too?’ Olwen shouted after the retreating housekeeper. Annie turned and slapped the girl hard across her face.
‘Howl and you’ll get another one,‘ she warned. Straightening her skirt nervously, she went to greet Florrie.
‘I saw that harpist, Cadwalader, in the lane,’ Florrie said as she entered. ‘He said Olwen had sent him on his way without a polite word!’
‘Girls!‘ Annie said. ‘Never two minutes the same. Some imagined quarrel I expect. Come and share a drink of tea. Olwen!’ she demanded of the girl who was rubbing her reddening face. ‘Fetch us the makings of tea and some of those cakes Bethan took all morning to bake.’
There was a third caller at Ddole House that afternoon. When Annie and Florrie were sorting out cupboards and chests to decide whether the household linen needed replenishing, the Keeper of the Peace knocked on the door. Olwen was tempted to leave him standing without an invitation and say it was Annie’s instruction, but she dare not. In any case, Daniels was not the sort to wait for an invitation. He walked in, sat in the wooden chair near the fire and asked for Florrie.
‘I’ll go and find her,’ Olwen said, handing him a mug of ale. ‘She and Annie are deep in discussion about bed sheets and covers for pillows.’
When Florrie had joined Daniels, they settled to talk in the kitchen and Olwen thought it wiser to leave her work and find something to keep her out of the way. There was something in the expression on the man’s face that suggested all was not well between him and his intended wife. She went out to the stables and on the pretext of looking for eggs among the scattered straw, passed an hour away from the house.
When she returned to the kitchen door she was startled to see Florrie and Daniels standing glaring at each other like cockerels about to commence battle. They were unaware of her entrance and she quickly slipped back out of the door.
She stood there, wondering what to do. If she did not get on with the meal soon everything would be delayed and that wouldn’t please Annie. If she interrupted the couple inside, they might be even more annoyed. She settled for the simplest: waiting for a few more minutes while Florrie and Daniels finished their bickering. She leaned against the door, ear to the gap, listening with the hope of hearing enough to decide when it was safe to go in.
It was clear that the problem was the date for their wedding, Florrie insisting that she was still nowhere near ready, and Daniels insisting that she make up her mind.
‘But I want to see first that things are settled here,’ Florrie said. ‘I owe William Ddole that.’
‘And what about me, the man who has asked you to be his wife? What do you owe me? I am being made a laughing stock! Friends ask when I am to be wed and I have to tell them that you still haven’t arranged a day.’
‘You are hardly uncomfortable, with your sister running your home so smoothly,’ Florrie said.
‘And that is why? You think I have no need of you? You think my life is complete?’
‘I think you need me, yes. But your need is hardly as urgent as it would be if you and your children were without someone to look after you.’
‘I see. So if I sent my sister away and allowed us all to fall into neglect, then you would condescend to come and rescue us, is that it?’
‘You will never need rescuing, Ponsonby,’ Florrie countered. ‘You will always be comfortable, you aren’t the kind of man to be otherwise.’
‘Well, share that comfort with me. What is there here to delay you? Come with me now, this
moment and talk to the vicar. We can see this settled today and I can sleep easy tonight.’
Florrie bent her head and Daniels said, ‘There’s something you aren’t telling me. What is it, Florrie? This isn’t a very good start if there is something you can’t tell me!’
‘I’m used to having servants to do the heavy work and from what you say, I will be expected to run your house unaided. Once we are married, it’s your sister’s intention to move away, find a place and an occupation of her own. I don’t think I could manage the house, the children, care for you and be happy.‘ She looked at him to see how he had taken her words, but he was not watching her. As if to himself, he said quietly, ‘For that I’ll need promotion unless we’re to be abysmally poor. Florrie, if only you’d help me catch the smugglers.’
Florrie waited until he looked at her, then slowly and deliberately she said, ‘Smugglers? What smugglers?’
Olwen darted away from the door, but the couple didn’t appear and she crept slowly back. She did not hear footsteps and was startled when a voice close behind her whispered, ‘What is happening here today? First you tell me I am unwelcome and now you eavesdrop on two people talking of their love.’
‘Cadwalader!’ Olwen grabbed his arm and pulled him to where they were out of sight of the door. ‘Annie, the new housekeeper, will not have you near the place. She is a little feared of strangers, I think. Why did you come back?’
‘Only to be sure that it was not you who was against me,’ he smiled. ‘And to ask if I could sleep in the barn for one night.’
‘If you promise to be gone before cockcrow. I’ll try and bring you some food before I leave tonight,’ she said. ‘Now, if I don’t break up the argument in by there—’ she pointed to the kitchen, ‘—I’ll be sent home and won’t be able to help you at all!’
Singing loudly, to let Florrie know of her approach, she slowly walked back into the kitchen with her basket of eggs to find both participants sitting calm and apparently at ease one each side of the fire range. She nodded cheerily to them and began to attend to the meat.
The Posthorn Inn Page 20