Louis eyed me narrowly.
‘I fail to see that it is a laughing matter. A coaching inn is very vulnerable. Highwaymen, footpads – they must all use this road.’
‘Well if they do I don’t know of them,’ I said tartly, annoyed that he seemed to be criticizing our ways. ‘It’s more than thirty years since the last highwayman was hung around here. Won’t you take off your redingote? You are dripping water all over the floor.’
‘And so, my dear Flora, are you.’
It was true. Small puddles were forming at both our feet, and our footprints were wet on the freshly washed flagstones. Just this morning I had scrubbed them to give myself something to do. Now they would have to be done again.
We hung up our outerwear and Louis placed his beaver hat and malacca cane on the scrubbed wood table next to my mourning bonnet.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ I asked, mindful of my manners and, truth to tell, in need of something myself. ‘Tea, perhaps?’
‘No, but I’ll take a brandy.’
His forwardness astounded me; then I remembered. The brandy, like the inn itself, belonged to him now. In a flush of resentment I poured a sherry for myself, drank it in one quick gulp, and refilled the glass.
I saw Louis’ eyebrows rise, but he said nothing, swirling his brandy around the glass and sniffing at it before he drank.
In all likelihood he thought I was a tippler, I thought, brought up in an inn and with a taste for liquor. Well, let him think what he liked. I didn’t care.
‘So you did not see who it was that attacked your father?’ he said, returning to the subject of intruders.
I shook my head, cradling the sherry glass between hands that were suddenly trembling again.
‘No. I did come downstairs to see who had called so late at night, but they were in the bar and Father would not let me in. He ordered me to go back to my room and I did as he told me,’ I said. ‘If only I’d known! I would never have left him!’
‘Then you might have been murdered too,’ Louis said harshly.
‘No! Maybe I could have prevented it! I think they shot him because he was going for his gun. If I’d been there…’
‘They were clearly desperate men, prepared to stop at nothing,’ Louis said. ‘And have you no idea what it was they wanted? Did you hear nothing of what was said?’
‘Nothing.’ I had turned away so that he would not see the distress in my face, which I could do nothing to hide, but I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my neck. ‘I am totally at a loss to know what it was all about. The only thing I am certain of is that there were two of them. I saw their horses tethered in the courtyard and I saw them ride away. That’s all.’
‘Then it seems unlikely they will ever be apprehended,’ he said. And then, almost as an afterthought: ‘Unless they try the same thing elsewhere, of course.’
‘Do you think they might?’ I asked.
‘I rather doubt it. It seems to me their quarrel, whatever it was, was with your father.’ His face was still dark, but it seemed to me he had relaxed a little. I, however, was far from relaxed.
‘I never knew my father to quarrel with anyone!’ I said, rushing to his defence. ‘He was not the quarrelsome sort, but the most equable man I have ever met. Everyone liked him!’
‘But someone murdered him, nevertheless,’ Louis pointed out.
A mist rose before my eyes; once again I seemed to see my dear father lying here on the flagged floor in a pool of his own life’s blood. My knees went weak; the faintness assailed me again. I should not, I thought, have downed the sherry so quickly.
‘Shall we sit down?’ I said.
If I didn’t sit, and soon, I thought I would fall, but I did not want to place myself at a disadvantage by sitting whilst he stood.
He glanced at the upright wooden chairs. ‘Is there nowhere more comfortable?’
‘The parlour…’ But I wasn’t sure my legs would carry me that far.
‘Shall we go through then?’
Somehow I regained control of my senses. I didn’t want this man in our parlour, it was a little private sanctuary, and I felt his presence would taint it somehow. But it was no longer our parlour, I reminded myself, it was his. I had no right to refuse him entry, and in any case I would be glad to be out of this bar where my father had breathed his last and his spectre still seemed to lie on the flagged floor.
The parlour, off the rear of the bar, was the smallest room in the inn, stuffed with too much furniture and too many memories. But there was a log fire burning in the grate that George Doughty had stoked up for me before we left for the funeral. I crossed to it now and took the poker to stir it back to life.
‘Let me.’ Louis took the poker from my hands and turned over the logs. ‘You are cold, Flora. Come and warm yourself before we continue our conversation.’
They were the first kind words he had spoken to me, but far from comforting me, they only caused the tears to ache in my throat once more.
‘No, just say what you have to say and get it over with,’ I said. ‘Then maybe you’ll have the good grace to leave me in peace.’
He laid the poker down and turned to me. Firelight flickered over the hard angles of his face.
‘Flora, I do not think you fully understand the situation.’
‘Oh, I think I do!’ I retorted. ‘You are now the owner of my home. But I don’t suppose you propose to live in it, since you have a fine home of your own.’
‘No, I don’t suppose I do.’ His lip curled slightly. ‘I don’t think a country inn would suit me too well. But you must see – you can’t remain here either.’
The world reeled about me. ‘What do you mean – I can’t stay here? It’s my home! I have nowhere else to go! You wouldn’t turn me out, surely?’
He straightened. ‘It would be highly irresponsible of me to leave you here all alone, especially given what has happened. In any case, you could not possibly continue to run the inn on your own, so you would have no income on which to live.’
My future, and what plans I must make for it, had, I must admit, crossed my mind more than once these last days. But I had not been able to gather my thoughts sufficiently to formulate any clear solution. I had procrastinated, deciding to leave the decision-making until I was less shocked, better able to take an overall perspective.
Now, however, the half-formed ideas came tumbling out.
‘I can hire in help!’ I said fiercely. ‘I’m sure there are responsible men in the village who would be willing to work for me. I would need a cellar man, of course, to carry out the heavy tasks, and someone to help serve food and ale when we are busy. And perhaps it would make sense for me to employ a woman to do the cooking and the washing, so that I can be left free to do the ordering and the accounts and all the other things Father used to do to keep the inn running smoothly.’
‘Good gracious!’ Louis said. ‘You have this all worked out, don’t you?’
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘No, I don’t. I haven’t felt like making detailed plans. But I could do it! I know I could! I’ve grown up in this trade, after all. There’s nothing I don’t know about Tucker’s Grave and its custom.’
‘I am not so sure that is true,’ Louis said. He said it quietly, so that it was almost an aside, yet there was a ring of steel in it. If it had not been such an outrageous idea, given that he was a stranger here, who had only once before set foot in the place, and that when he was no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, I might almost have thought he knew something that I did not.
As it was, the remark twanged on my taut nerves and I responded angrily.
‘I assure you, Mr Fletcher, I helped my father with every aspect of running a coaching inn! And what I’m not familiar with I can quickly learn.’
He regarded me levelly. ‘Please call me Louis. I am, after all, your cousin, if a few times removed.’
‘Oh indeed! A cousin who wishes to turn me out of my own home, if I am not much mistaken!’ I wa
s trembling now, from head to foot.
‘I wouldn’t see you put out on the streets, Flora,’ Louis said mildly. ‘But surely you must realize such an idea is neither practical nor proper. There are women who run such establishments, I grant you. But – how old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘I am twenty-three,’ I said with hauteur. ‘I shall very soon be twenty-four.’
Those full lips curved a little. ‘You don’t look it. In any case, the women I spoke of are all a great deal older. They are either worldly wise widows or women who are no better than they should be. All of them have far more experience of life than you – and I mean that in a far wider sense than merely knowing how to draw a pot of ale or make up a bed or cook a joint of meat. How would you cope with trouble if it arose? Full-grown men in their cups? A fight, maybe? The advances that might be made towards you?’
‘Our visitors always treat me with respect!’ I flared.
‘When your father was here to keep them in their place, maybe. I think you might find things a little different if you lived here alone. No!’ He raised a hand to silence my ready protest. ‘I’m sorry, Flora, but this matter is not for discussion. I would be failing in my duty as your closest living relative if I allowed you to remain here under such an arrangement.’
‘So what is going to happen to Tucker’s Grave?’ Tears were stinging my eyes; for the moment the fate of the inn that had been my home for the whole of my life, and which I still felt foolishly was my heritage, seemed of far more importance than what was going to happen to me.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Louis said carelessly. ‘I may put in a landlord to run it, or I may sell it. I haven’t yet decided. The one thing I am decided upon is that you cannot remain here alone. I think you should get some things together and come home with me.’
I stared at him. ‘Home?’
‘Belvedere House. Yes.’
Belvedere House. The mansion in its own grounds that as a child my father had shown me across the valley, the house I had thought must be home to a prince or princess.
My mouth had gone dry.
‘You are proposing to take me to Belvedere House?’
He shrugged, a little impatiently. ‘Where else? As I say, I wouldn’t turn you out on to the streets. And you have no other relatives, have you?’
‘No, but…’
‘Then the least I can do is offer you a home. You’ll have your own rooms – there’s no shortage of space. And I’m sure we can find ways for you to occupy your time. The skills you have learned here won’t be required, of course. I have a staff of servants to take care of such things. But perhaps you can learn new ones. Secretarial skills, for instance. I could do with some clerical assistance in regard to the business – Bevan, my secretary, is old now, and often sick at this time of year. He’d be glad, I think, to be given the chance of retirement. I am sure you would be able to take on some of his duties, considering you thought yourself capable of handling the business affairs here,’ he added drily.
I was still too dumbfounded to reply, and he went on: ‘Then there’s my daughter. She is thirteen years old now, and could do with some young female company.’
The suggestion that he was bracketing me in a similar age group to his thirteen-year-old daughter outraged me.
‘And what does your wife think of this idea?’ I asked coldly.
His lips tightened, dark eyes hooded.
‘I do not have a wife.’
‘Oh!’ I was startled. ‘I thought… if you have a daughter…’
He ignored my underlying question. Clearly, for the moment, he had no intention of satisfying my curiosity as to what had become of his wife.
‘We are a small household,’ he said. ‘Apart from myself and Antoinette, there is just my brother, Gavin. You remember Gavin?’
‘Yes.’ The boy with the devil-may-care eyes who had been so eager to explore our underground passages.
‘Gavin has never married,’ Louis went on. ‘He’s too much of a rake, I’m afraid, to want to settle down. He has a house at Dartmouth, which is convenient since much of our business is conducted through the port there, and he travels a good deal. But from time to time, when we have things to discuss, he takes a meal with us and makes use of the old Lodge at Belvedere.’
There was a certain censure in his tone; he did not, I thought, totally approve of his brother. Oh well, that was not so unusual. Siblings were very often two sides of a coin and did not get along too well. Certainly, if Gavin was a rake, as Louis had said, he must be very different to this rather severe man. But he was, most likely, a great deal more fun!
The thought dragged me back to my present situation. How could such a word as ‘fun’ even cross my mind with my father just laid to rest and my world crumbling about me?
‘It is very kind of you to offer me a home,’ I said stiffly, ‘and even employment of sorts. But I have to say the very idea of moving away from the area where I was born and brought up is a daunting one. I’ve just lost my father, and it seems I am about to lose the only home I have ever known. I don’t want to lose all my friends as well. I really would prefer to stay within reach of them.’
Louis looked at me closely with something resembling a scowl, though why he should scowl at me declining his offer, I could not understand. Perhaps putting a roof over my head salved what conscience he had; perhaps he saw me as a cheap option for replacing his aging secretary - for hadn’t I already marked him down as a penny-pincher? I did not know, and did not, in truth, care much. All I know was that I did not want to be uprooted from everything that was familiar and dear to me and transported to that grand but lonely-looking house overlooking the River Dart.
‘Are you saying, then, that someone in the village will take you in?’ Louis asked harshly, and immediately I realized that I could not, with any certainty, say that.
George and Alice would offer me shelter without hesitation, I felt sure. But their little house was scarcely big enough for them, let alone me as well. And it was the same with everyone else I knew and counted as my friends. They weren’t well off, any of them, and they had their own lives to lead, their own families to think of. I couldn’t impose on any of them.
‘I don’t know…’ I faltered.
‘Well?’ Louis persisted. ‘This must be settled at once. I have to tell you, Flora, I am not prepared to go back to Belvedere and leave you here alone for even a single night. Quite simply, it is not safe for you. Either I see you settled with a decent family in the village, or you return with me. Which is it to be?’
I bit my lip. Little as I liked the idea of going with him, I could not see that I had any choice in the matter. I lifted my chin.
‘Very well,’ I said stiffly. ‘Since you have made it clear I am not to be allowed to remain in my own home, then I will come with you. But just until I can find some way of supporting myself. I don’t want to be dependent on your charity, Mr Fletcher, and neither will I be for a moment longer than is absolutely necessary.’
His breath came out on a long sigh; once again, it seemed, he relaxed a little.
‘Good. Go then and get your things together. Make sure you have everything you need, for I don’t know when I will be able to bring you back for anything you might have forgotten. And whilst I am waiting, I think I shall have another glass of that excellent cognac.’
* * *
I went to my room. Little had I thought when I left it that morning that I should not be sleeping in it tonight or perhaps ever again.
I dragged out the old travelling chest that had stood unused beneath the window for as long as I could remember, for my father and I never went anywhere for more than a single night.
I did not own many gowns, but I packed the ones I did have carefully and slowly, making the task last as long as I could, putting off the moment when I must leave Tucker’s Grave for good. I folded my freshly laundered underwear into neat piles and rolled the things I had not got around to washing in the last terrible days inside a
lawn petticoat. I collected my toiletries and a few knick-knacks and put them in the trunk too, together with the few pieces of jewellery I owned, apart from the pearl collar my father had given me for my eighteenth birthday, which I intended to put in my reticule. The collar meant a great deal to me and I did not want it out of my sight. The locket containing a small miniature of my mother and a lock of her hair I fastened around my neck and pushed out of sight beneath the high neck of my mourning gown, and all the while my heart was heavy as lead.
I wished with all my heart that I had a miniature of my father, too, to place in the locket, but I did not. Father would have scoffed at the idea of having his portrait painted; he would have regarded it as a vanity, something that only ladies and high-born gentlemen did, not rough and ready innkeepers such as he.
Was there nothing I could take to remind me of him? Not that I would need reminding, but I did so want a keepsake.
I went to his room and collected his mother-of-pearl-backed hairbrushes and his snuff box, his one concession to accoutrements he considered to be the prerogative of the gentry. Into the chest they went, concealed in the folds of my gowns. With all my heart I hoped that we would not be held up by one of the highwaymen or footpads of whom Louis had spoken. If I was robbed of these small treasures, which were now the whole world to me, I didn’t think I could bear it.
I could delay no longer. Already the grey afternoon was deepening towards dusk, and I knew that Louis must be anxious to be on his way.
I went down the stairs, my legs as heavy as my heart. Louis was standing before the fire, which was now burning low, the tails of his redingote lifted so that he could feel the warmth on his legs. In the dim room he made a forbidding figure, tall, broad and dark. So dark. My heart lurched with trepidation.
‘I’m ready,’ I said.
‘Good. I’ll have Thompson bring your things down. It’s taken you long enough.’
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