The Innkeeper's Daughter

by Val Wood

  ‘You know that I don’t,’ she snapped. ‘I serve ’em better than you do.’

  ‘Let’s dish up,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Call Nell in, will you, Bella? I think she’s in ’paddock. I sent her out to fetch ’eggs half an hour ago.’

  Bella went outside and stood by the door, taking in deep breaths of air to calm herself. Then she called her sister, who came from across the paddock with a basket over her arm.

  ‘Onny three eggs,’ she said. ‘They’ve stopped laying.’

  ‘So why did it take you so long to gather them?’ Bella said irritably. ‘Does it take half an hour to fetch three eggs?’

  Nell scowled and pushed past her. ‘Crosspatch,’ she muttered, and Bella knew that she was right.

  Later, after their midday dinner, when Bella and her mother were on their own, Sarah said, ‘I’ve told Joe I’ll go with him to see Mr Wilkins this afternoon and explain that he’s needed here.’ She glanced sideways at Bella. ‘You see, Bella,’ she said, almost apologetically, ‘it’s for ’best. We do need Joe. We can’t manage without a man here; not two women on our own, we can’t.’

  Bella nodded. We could, she thought. But it’s not just that that’s so unfair. Joe wants to stay here and be ’innkeeper. William will leave and join the army because that’s what he wants to do, and I guess that Nell will do as she wants when she’s old enough; but what about me? I want to make something of my life too. I want to do something worthwhile.

  She felt tears gathering and blinked hard.

  ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ Sarah asked. ‘I’m relying on you and Joe.’ She shook her head and paused as if reliving some moment, and then said, ‘Your father allus thought that I was resilient and practical, and I was when he was here, but now that he’s gone, I’m not. I’m floundering, Bella. I don’t want to mek decisions on my own. You’re clever and sharp and you’ve got courage,’ her voice dropped, ‘and anybody can learn to pull a pint of ale, like our Joe, but not everybody can run a successful inn. But you’ll be able to, Bella, and I’m depending on you.’

  Bella screwed her eyes up tight, but still the tears came and she put her hands to her face and started to weep. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help her mother, and she could understand Joe’s not wanting to finish his apprenticeship if he hated it; it was not having any choice that grieved her. She’d given up school because her father had said she should and she hadn’t been asked if she minded. It’s because I’m a girl, she thought as she dried her eyes. It’s as if it doesn’t count what my dreams are – or were.

  ‘You’re upset,’ Sarah murmured. ‘Is it cos of Joe? You think he’ll try lording it over you? Well, what you must remember, Bella, is that it’s my name over ’door. I’m ’innkeeper here, not Joe, and he’ll have to follow my rules, same as you and William will.’

  ‘Yes, Ma,’ Bella sniffed. ‘I know.’ Except that he won’t, she thought. He’ll soft-soap Ma into allowing him to make decisions just like Father did. But Father knew what he was doing, and Joe doesn’t.

  The inn closed at three o’clock and Sarah put on her bonnet and warm shawl. ‘Come on, Joe,’ she said, going into the taproom. ‘We’ll go and see Mr Wilkins and explain you’re needed here.’

  Joe, propping up the counter, reading a newspaper, looked up and was about to protest, then seemed to think better of it. He nodded. ‘All right, better get it over with, except that he won’t expect us. He’ll know I’ve finished.’

  He went into the kitchen to get his coat, which was hanging on a peg behind the door. ‘Wash ’glasses while I’m out, Bella,’ he said casually, ‘and ’pumps and slop tray want doing as well. And keep ’fire going. There’s coal in ’hod and logs in ’basket. I don’t suppose we’ll be long.’

  ‘Owt else, sir?’ Bella said sarcastically.

  Joe looked at her and grinned. ‘I’ll let you know when there is. We’ve all to pull our weight, you know,’ he added. ‘There’s our William out all day and not helping. I’ll ask him to chop wood when he comes in; that’ll build up his muscles better’n smithying!’

  Bella turned her back on him; if she answered him it would be in anger and that would upset her mother. She was going to clear up in the taproom anyway. It was what she did every day. She liked to see it looking neat and tidy with a good fire burning in the grate to welcome the customers, and she’d do it whether Joe asked her or not.

  After they’d gone out she called upstairs to Nell to come and clean the tables.

  ‘I was busy,’ Nell grumbled. ‘I wasn’t just being lazy!’

  ‘I expect you were,’ Bella said ambiguously, determined to get on a better footing with her young sister. ‘And you can go back to whatever you were doing when you’ve finished. If you’ll collect all ’glasses and tankards and wipe ’tables with a wet cloth and then polish them dry while I’m clearing up behind ’counter and washing up, we’ll be finished in no time.’

  ‘I hate ’smell of ale.’ Nell pulled a face. ‘It’s horrible.’

  ‘It might be, but that ale gives us a living, don’t forget,’ Bella said. ‘It puts clothes on our backs and food in our bellies, that’s what Father used to say. We’re a lot luckier than some.’

  ‘I know,’ Nell said. ‘There are some bairns who come to school without any breakfast and don’t have owt to eat all day; and one of them told me they might onny have a bit o’ bread when they get home. I’d just die,’ she said dramatically, ‘if I didn’t have owt to eat when I was hungry.’

  Bella paused with her hands in sudsy water. There were some children from poor families in the village who had to take it in turn to go to school because there weren’t enough boots to shoe them all. And they often didn’t go at all in the bad weather as they didn’t have suitable clothing.

  ‘How can they afford to come to school, Bella,’ Nell asked, ‘if they’ve no money to buy food?’

  ‘They’re given a grant, I think,’ Bella said. ‘From ’parish council or sometimes from a rich family who sponsors them. Not all bairns have to go to school, but Miss Hawkins said that one day it’ll be compulsory for everybody.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to go,’ Nell complained. ‘I’d rather be at home practising my singing.’

  ‘And how would you be able to learn ’words from ’song sheet,’ Bella said practically, ‘if you hadn’t learned to read?’

  Nell raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought o’ that. And I wouldn’t be able to read ’posters wi’ my name on them, would I?’

  Bella gave a sigh and continued washing down. ‘No, course you wouldn’t. Nell,’ she said after a moment’s thought, ‘who told you about going on ’stage and singing and that?’

  ‘Gran,’ she said. ‘When I was about four, I think. Ma took me into Hull once on ’carrier’s cart. You and Joe and William were all in school. And I hadn’t started then.’ Nell sat down on a stool and folded her arms. ‘I don’t think she was very well and that’s why Ma went to see her. She’d had a postcard saying she should go.’ She screwed up her forehead. ‘She was in bed anyway – Gran, I mean – and I sat on her bed and she asked me to sing to her.’ Nell put back her head, stretching her neck. ‘And she said I had a voice like an angel and should go on ’stage when I was old enough. I asked Ma afterwards what she meant and she said that there were concert halls in Hull and Gran used to like to go because ’audience could join in and sing.’

  ‘And that’s why—’

  ‘Yeh,’ Nell nodded, ‘but Ma said not to tell Father cos he wouldn’t like it. She said he wouldn’t think it was right and proper for a girl to go on ’stage. I don’t know why that should be, do you, Bella? It seems all right to me.’

  Bella shook her head. ‘I don’t know why either, but then I’ve never been, so I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I wish we lived in Hull,’ Nell said. ‘I could go and see for myself then.’

  Joe looked subdued when he and his mother came back, and he went straight to the taproom. Sarah’s face
was pinched and irritable.

  ‘He’d got ’sack,’ she revealed as she shed her shawl and bonnet. ‘Joe! Mr Wilkins said he’d given him notice afore Christmas cos he was either allus late or didn’t turn up. If he wasn’t bigger’n me I’d give him a right belting, which is what his father would have done had he been here.’ She sat down heavily in a chair. ‘Where’s Henry?’ she said wearily. ‘He’ll need feeding.’

  ‘In his cot upstairs,’ Bella said. ‘I’ll fetch him. Is it all right if I go to see Mrs Walker, Ma? Alice’s mother? I thought I’d ask her how Alice is getting on at ’big house.’

  ‘Aye.’ Her mother nodded. ‘Mek me a cup o’ tea first, will you, and you can tek Henry with you after I’ve fed him. I’m that mad at our Joe,’ she added. ‘Young devil. After your father paid out for him as well.’ She huffed. ‘Wilkins said he wouldn’t give any indenture money back as his time has been wasted, and he could’ve given some other lad a job. What a waste.’

  Bella brought Henry down, made her mother a pot of tea and then packed up a fresh loaf, a goose leg and some meat from the breast which would be good for making a stew, her mother said, and a sizeable slice of Christmas cake.

  ‘Put half a pork pie in and that should be enough,’ her mother said. ‘We don’t want it to look as if we’re giving charity; she wouldn’t like that if I know Ellen Walker. Just tell her we’ve still got food left over from Christmas Eve.’

  Bella went upstairs to fetch her outdoor boots and coat and a warm shawl and paused to look out of her bedroom window. The sky was darkening; a bank of thick cloud, slate grey, almost black, flat as a plate and with an ominous orange underglow, and others almost summery, white and fluffy like whipped cream against patches of blue, were heading inland from the coast.

  ‘Snow,’ she murmured. ‘I’d better not take long; those clouds will be over us in an hour.’

  She called to Nell to ask her if she wanted to come with her. Nell was a chatterbox and she would talk to the children whilst Bella asked about Alice. Surprisingly, Nell agreed to come.

  ‘It’s Janey I was telling you about,’ she said. ‘Who doesn’t have any breakfast before she comes to school. She says she’s not coming back because her ma’s got another bairn and she’ll have to look after him. I don’t know whether she’s making it up or not or whether she doesn’t want to come.’

  ‘She won’t be making it up,’ Bella said. ‘And you’re not to ask awkward questions, Nell. They don’t have much money to spend on clothes and boots to send their bairns to school.’

  Bella wished she hadn’t brought Henry out; the wind was sharp and cut their cheeks and she huddled him under her coat and shawl.

  Nell did nothing but grumble. ‘I wish I hadn’t come,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing. What’s in ’basket?’ She lifted the cloth covering the food basket she was carrying. ‘Are we giving them our supper?’

  ‘No, we’re not, and not a word to your friend that we’ve brought them food. She’ll be embarrassed.’

  Nell shrugged. ‘She’s not really my friend. I just know her. She sits at ’front of class wi’ babies so that she can keep an eye on them. She doesn’t really learn much. She puts her head on ’desk sometimes and goes to sleep and ’teacher never wakes her.’

  They reached the village and turned off down a track where there was a terrace of three labourers’ cottages built of brick, boulders and rubble with pantiled roofs. Behind them was rough grass with two pigsties and a wooden structure which Bella assumed housed a privy.

  ‘Which house is it?’ Nell asked.

  ‘Middle one,’ Bella said. ‘At least, Alice used to say theirs was a warmer house than ’others because it was in ’middle. Knock, will you?’

  Nell rapped with her knuckles on the planked door; there was no brass knocker like the one on their side door.

  The door opened a crack and a grey-faced woman peered at them.

  ‘Who is it?’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Mrs Walker, it’s Bella Thorp. Alice’s friend from ’Woodman.’

  ‘She’s not here. What do you want her for?’

  ‘I – I just wanted to know how she was getting on up at ’big house. Did she come home for Christmas?’

  Mrs Walker opened the door wider; she was holding a baby who looked about the same age as Henry, except that he was thinner and paler and was making little whimpering sounds. He was wrapped in a thin shawl and beneath the shawl he wore an old and grey shirt wrapped about his bare legs.

  ‘Aye, she did. Just for ’day, and then went back at teatime.’ She looked at them expectantly. ‘Was that all? It’s just that I’m a bit busy.’

  ‘Erm, can we come in for a minute? Ma’s sent this basket of victuals,’ Bella said. ‘It’s what was left over from Christmas Eve – you know, we allus put food out for ’customers.’

  ‘Do you?’ Mrs Walker said vaguely, looking from Bella’s face to the basket which Nell was holding and then back again at Bella. ‘You’d better come in then.’

  They went in through the low doorway into a darkened room. A small fire burned in the grate and a cooking pot hung over it. Whatever’s in there will take for ever to cook, Bella thought.

  ‘There’s some goose,’ she said, as Nell put the basket on the bare table. ‘And pork pie, and bread, and a slice of Christmas cake; Ma sent her regards to you and said she hoped you didn’t mind and that you’d be able to use it, as she can’t abide waste.’

  Her mother hadn’t said that, but Bella felt that she might have done, seeing as Mrs Walker didn’t like charity, though when Bella lifted her eyes she couldn’t see any sign of a meal’s having been eaten or being prepared. What she did see though, now that her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, were three pairs of eyes looking at them. A child of about three was sitting on the knee of a girl of Nell’s age – that would be Janey, Bella reasoned – and another younger child was sitting on the floor beside her.

  Mrs Walker nodded. She seemed to be sleepwalking, Bella thought. It was as if she wasn’t awake, as if she was too weary to notice what was going on. Then she spoke, slowly and hesitantly.

  ‘Thank you. You could be just in time. My bairns are starving.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MRS WALKER PUT her hand on the table as if to steady herself, hitching the baby on to her bony hip.

  ‘Alice brought some scraps home from work.’ She licked her lips as if they were dry. ‘A slice o’ bacon and a crust o’ bread. I think she stole ’em,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Walker ate ’em, cos he has to go to work, though I’m hoping he’ll have been given some dinner up at ’farm.’

  ‘And what have ’rest of you had, Mrs Walker?’ Bella felt sick. What if one of them died whilst she was there?

  ‘Nowt since yesterday. Master gave Mr Walker a guinea fowl for Christmas Day but there was nowt on it by ’time I’d plucked it.’ She looked in the direction of the pot over the fire. ‘Bones are in there wi’ a potato and carrot tops that my neighbour give me.’

  ‘Did ’parish not give you owt? I thought—’

  ‘Aye, everybody thinks that ’parish council gives a handout. And sometimes they do. They’ve loaned me sheets and a blanket for ’bairn and they give me milk and oats to mek porridge after I’d had him – to build up my strength, you know – but nowt since. My husband’s in work, you see, and we should be able to manage, but wi’ seven of us it’s hard.’

  Bella thought she was counting Alice, but she wasn’t, for as she finished speaking the door opened and a young lad came in dragging a tree branch.

  ‘Look what I found, Ma!’ His voice was filled with triumph and he had a huge grin on his dirty face. ‘It was at ’bottom of a ditch near Mr Agnew’s farm. It doesn’t belong to anybody.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Mrs Walker suddenly became animated. ‘Tek it outside and jump on it and brek it up and we’ll soon have a blaze going and ’pot on ’boil afore your father gets home.

  ‘Thank you ever so much, miss,’ she said,
turning to Bella. ‘Tell your ma it’s much appreciated.’ She hesitated for a second and then said, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a bit o’ goose fat to spare, have you? It’s just that young Tom here has got a rattling cough and I’d thought to rub his chest wi’ goose fat if I had any.’

  Bella nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. Shall I bring it tomorrow?’

  Mrs Walker chewed on her lip. ‘Could Seth come back wi’ you to get it? I’d rub it on ’bairn’s chest and wrap him in flannel afore he goes to bed if I had it.’

  As if on cue the child sitting on his sister’s knee began to cough. It was a disturbing hacking sound, made worse when he started to cry. Mrs Walker swapped children, giving the baby to the girl to hold whilst she took the wailing toddler, who held his hands up to her. She rocked him in her arms and patted his back.

  ‘Yes,’ Bella said. ‘Course he can, and somebody’ll set him back again. It’s going to snow, I think.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about Seth,’ his mother said. ‘He’s not afeard of ’dark, he’s oft out in it.’

  The boy came back in with the broken wood and his mother told him he was to go with Bella and her sister to the inn. He nodded, not grumbling or objecting as Bella thought he might.

  ‘All right,’ he said, and grinned at Nell. ‘I know you. You sit at ’back of ’class, don’t you? I once pulled your ribbon out.’

  ‘Oh, it was you, was it?’ Nell said agreeably. She had been quiet whilst Bella was talking to Mrs Walker. ‘I haven’t seen you lately.’

  ‘That’s because I haven’t been,’ he said cheekily. ‘I’ve got better things to do.’

  ‘Go on then,’ his mother said. ‘And come straight back. There’ll be hot broth waiting for you. Thank you again, miss,’ she said to Bella. ‘I’m very grateful.’ A shadow of resignation crossed her face. ‘Too grateful to be proud.’

  It began to snow as they walked home and Bella once more hid Henry under her coat and wrapped the shawl around her head. Nell grumbled that she was cold and that she was getting wet, which they all were as the flakes were coming thick and fast, but Seth didn’t seem to mind and charged about, his arms held wide as if he were a soaring bird. His cap, which was too big for him and came down over his ears, was covered with snow, and his cut-down breeches, which were too wide in the seat and came down only to his calves, flapped against his bare legs.