by Tara Hill
“I can't Ennis, I am working.” I fingered the apron wrapped around my waist to indicate that indeed I was working.
“Nonsense. I will beat Fergus if he is making you work or pay for a room.”
“He isn't making me work, Ennis. I can't sit still all day waiting for Ian. I will only be here for a few more days anyway. I have to be somewhere on Monday. So, I need four plates of lamb stew and a pot of tea.”
“This is not right child.” She complained even as she began scooping the aromatic lamb stew into four bowls.
As if I have been serving food for years rather than ten minutes, I balanced the bowls and tea on a tray and delivered them to the small family without mishap. I then learned how to pull an ale, wipe down tables, and escape a pinched bum all while keeping a smile on my face. We were busy. Some French families intermingled with the locals. Farmers, bankers, families, merchants all came to Barrel Ale Inn for the cozy atmosphere, the great food and the exceptional ale. Fergus wasn't lying when he said he knew how to brew a good ale. By closing time I had sore feet, sore arms and was so exhausted I fell into my bed scant seconds after removing my dress.
I awoke to the fragrant smell of baking bread. I threw on my dress, splashed water on my face and curled up my hair, securing it to the top of my head. I needed a bath and a clean dress but first I needed tea and some of that bread. I walked down stairs and followed my nose to the kitchen. Fergus and a local woman were working in tandem to get several loaves of bread, kneaded, rising and baking.
“Morning, Fergus, Ma’am.”
“Morning lass, this is Heather, she comes in every morning to get the breads going for the day. Tea?”
“Mmmm, yes, and some bread, if it is allowed for me to have a bite.”
“Of course, lass, sit down over there and I will pour you a cup.”
“Do you know when Ian is coming back?” I asked between bites of the warm bread spread with delicious currant jam.
“He said he will be by today.”
“Ohh is there a way I can have a bath and some clean clothes?”
“Aye, a bath is being set up in your room now and more clothes arrived last night. You have Ennis to thank for that. She's not happy that you are working here, I have to tell you, she nearly took off an ear last night when I told her what a great pub wench you were shapin' inta.”
Some young boys wandered into the kitchen with two baskets of fresh eggs.
“We did as you asked mum, we did the water, we carried icky dresses, we got the eggs, and stayed outta your way. Can we have some bread, Mr. Fergus? Can we have some milk, Mr. Fergus? Can we sweep the floor out front, Mr. Fergus?”
I could hardly tell who was talking. They were all noise, movement, hands and legs.
Heather laughed and looked at me. “Twin nine year olds keep me young. Your bath is ready in your room. Why don't you take your tea cup and enjoy some quiet. I'll find more work for these two before they start their lessons for the day.”
I picked up my mug and left the kitchen to the sounds of “we don't need lessons, mum, we need to learn man stuff. I want to learn how to smuggle rum, like pirates.” and “You have to learn to sail first.”
Back in my room, as promised, was a steamy hot bath, and three dresses on my bed. I proceeded to enjoy the labor of the two rather-be-pirates. I had to get out of this situation and I had to speak with Ian. I am supposed to get married soon. My family is arriving within a week at Doom and they are going to wonder where I am. I don't think I want to marry for the family roof any longer; my heart was becoming rather fond of Ian. He has a nice farm house. His family seems to like me well enough; I could fit in with them. I really liked Ian's kisses. Just thinking about him kissing me brings a flush to my face and a flutter to my stomach. Yes, I would much rather be with Ian. Also, I needed to tell Ian what I had overheard from the French family. My first priority is to make sure my family knows that I am safe and explain to them that I can't get married anymore. I need to get to Doom.
The day passed quickly with the chores of running a successful inn. I was in and out of doors all morning but caught no sight of Ian. I asked Fergus again and again until he sighed at me to be a quiet lass, something that has always escaped me but he seemed not to know that. I was surprised to find myself with time for reflection. Working in an inn, your hands keep busy but you have plenty of time to think about what is going on around you and if you want you can isolate yourself and think about the mess you have created. I spent most of the day ruminating about my situation but by the end of the day I had also picked up on some very interesting conversations in French. The family that mentioned the message last night did not appear for luncheon. I assumed they were taking a walk. However another little family arrived and I helped set them up in the east wing. They were reluctant to talk around me but their adorable little girl followed me around the inn until her mother retrieved her. Her name was Isabelle; she was five years old and quite full of information. Isabelle was a bright young girl and seemed somehow to know I understood every word her parents uttered.
“You are sure, my wife, this is the correct inn? I see no sign of Belle and Pierre,” he said in French.
“This is the one, Belle told me about the wings and how we were to get rooms in the east wing. How many inns in this town are large enough to claim an east wing? Isabelle, get away from the window.”
“I will go down to the stables to look around.” the husband replied, promptly standing up and putting his words to action.
“How like a man, you go scouting among the horses, they can tell you tales.” The wife shouted after him in her native tongue. I hid my smile but Isabelle caught me and giggled. Her mother noticed and looked sourly at me. She gestured at me to unpack their belongings. After a while they too wandered out of the room. I quickly closed the door and turned the key in the lock before rifling through their belongings looking for written correspondence. I finally found a packet of letters tied with purple ribbon in the bottom of a valise that had been shoved under the bed, I supposed by the father. One could assume, it wasn't meant for me to unpack. I had but a scant moment to untie the packets and read the letters before hearing the darling Isabelle on the stairs. I shoved the packet back into the valise and kicked it under the bed and ran to the door to unlock it. I barely made it back to my place at the wardrobe before the door opened and the family returned.
“C'est fini,” the father gestured imperially at me which I took to be a universal sign that I, one unworthy of his attention, was completed with my tasks. I curtsied and left. I also still had one letter clutched in my hand which I hastily thrust into my apron pocket. I prayed he had not seen me.
~~~~~
Alone with the stolen letter, I walked back downstairs and out a side door to find myself in the kitchen garden, quite a small one for an inn this size. They must bring up produce from Ian's farm. I wandered slowly around to the side garden and leaned on the wall of the inn. Here I could assure myself of some privacy and took the letter from my pocket. I gasped as I read the missive. These folks were in such deep trouble!
“Que pase?” piped a small voice.
“Ma petite fluer,” I said bending down to take Isabelle’s tiny hand and continued in French. “You followed me?”
“Yes, Mama is so angry today, not like other days.”
“Other days she is happy?” I asked.
“Oui, she smiles and picks me up and sings. That was before we got the sad letters telling us to go to the sad place.”
“What is the sad place, Isabelle? Is it this inn?”
“No, Miss Robin. It is far, far away where they hate my family but we have to go back, to a chapeau.”
“A chateau, perhap?”
“That’s the word, I heard. I thought it silly to have to go to a hat.”
I laughed at her sweet innocence. In my letter, the author talked about the chateau, a family home over run with rabble, half burned to the ground and now a place of death, the dreaded guillotine
had come to the chateau. The letter did not say to go back but rather to stay away, to stay oceans away. What was going on I wondered. I needed to talk with Ian and I needed him now. I walked with Isabelle through the garden chatting silly things about the flowers and the vegetables. She was so engaging and sweet. To think of her in the midst of a French riot made me angry. Why did these people think they had to return to that horror when they had this letter? What was contained in this letter was the total opposite of what was in the dispatch found on the deceased soldier. Isabelle yanked my hand, “Miss, what is this smelly plant?”
“What, Isabelle? Which one?”
“I have been asking and asking and you are just staring off at the trees and not listening to me,” Isabelle complained.
I dropped to my knees and took her by the shoulders “Little one, I am just thinking about the sad place and I'm worried about your family. But let's talk of other things. Show me the stinky plant that worries you?” I hugged her shoulder before standing. She pointed to a lavender bush, no longer covered with the fragrant blooms but fragrant none the less.
“Ah, my petite fleur, that is.....”
“Isabelle! I find you. Come. Vous ne pouvez pas errer de seul. Smart mother not wanting her child to wander off alone.
“Au revoir, Miss Robin,” Isabelle waved cheerily at me as her mother led her back into the inn.
I sat on the low stone wall with my back against a gnarled old tree. Older than the wall, it obviously determined the confines of the kitchen garden. The sun was warm on my face; I was tired from my morning work, I promptly fell asleep.
I awoke with a start, surprised I fell asleep at all. I should get myself to Doom to see my family and explain that I cannot marry for the roof. I decided I had waited long enough for Ian. I went back to work for the early evening meals. My mind was rehearsing how to tell my family that they get no new roof. After the evening meal was served and we were just refilling ales, I walked around to the stables, asked the stable boy to ready Thor and then ran up to my room to get my warm riding cloak. Ennis was in the kitchen cleaning up the final dishes with another young woman, listening to her gossip of her husband and children. I told her I would be back but she just waved me away and went back to her gossiping young friend. I ran back to the stables and set off to the Doom.
The road curved around a tidal inlet. The boys' talk of pirates made me smile. Pirates, right here on the Border? It would be exciting. I saw some bobbing lights down in the water. Lights? Who is down by the water at this time of night? Are we being invaded by France? That would be a long way round for France to attack I argued with myself. I turned Thor toward the water to investigate and ensure that our local French families were safe. The waves rolled in and out and the winds gently blew through my hair. I dismounted and loosely tied Thor to the last tree before the sand and sharp rocks usurped the solid road. The new moon was just a sliver in the drawing night sky. I climbed down a short cliff to the sand below and finally came across a row of men tossing bales wrapped in a coarse burlap canvas, from a boat up to shore where they disappeared into a small cave. Was this busy enterprise of men unloading bales of wool from Ireland? Irish wool is forbidden to be sold in England. Were they smuggling it in for the new mills? All worked stopped as the men turned to stare at me; at least one drew out his pistol. I backed up raising my hands in the air.
“Sorry,” I shouted. I backed into a boulder. The men continued to stare and the man continued pointing the gun. Behind the man with the gun, I saw Ian, his finger lifted to his lip. I nodded.
“Just out for an evening stroll,” I indicated the water. The warm boulder at my back reached over and grabbed me, tossing me over his shoulder and turned away from the beach. I knew this feeling, I had been hauled away before, and this must be my fiancé from Castle Doom. Oh my, how do I get out of this? The giant carried me back up the path to the top of the small cliff. And where was Ian? I lifted my head to look at the retreating beach. I barely made out Ian's profile in the torchlight. He appeared to be concerned, if howling in laughter showed any concern. The buffoon! I should introduce myself to my betrothed. He would fall instantly in love with me and my behind where you could currently find his hand and Ian would mourn for me forever or he would reject me outright for the harlot I was becoming and I could then run to Ian. I would win either way.
“Sir?” I asked.
The giant grunted.
“Perhaps I could explain?” I tried again.
He swatted my behind, hard!
We reached Thor; I was dumped across the saddle on my stomach and the giant audaciously slapped poor Thor who cantered up the path with me hanging on for dear life. As Thor crested the path to the meadow above, he slowed and I slid off. I spoke to Thor for a few moments trying to regain my composure and my equilibrium before heading back along the coast to the inn. I heard someone on the path and dragged Thor into the trees. Ian's huge shape was immediately identifiable as his horse entered the meadow.
“Ian, over here.” I whispered.
“Robin, you little fool! What are you trying to do? Get yourself shot?”
“Not anymore than you are. What was that? Smuggling? That’s what you all do up here, whore and smuggle?”
“Not all we do,” Ian answered calmly. “Mount up. You need to get back to the inn.”
Changing the subject I asked, “Who was that giant? He hit me?”
“He what?” Ian asked in some disbelief.
“Yes, on my bottom.”
“You deserved it, I guess.” Ian calmed down immediately.
“Who was he? Was he from the Doom?”
“Aye, that he was, a good man.”
“For a smuggler?” I was beginning to get testy.
“Don't you be judging the man. He and those men provide for their families with that work. Those mills are providing people with jobs and money, which, in turn, provide more jobs for the local farmers and pub owners. We have already seen improvement in our roads. Doctors are becoming more available to these people so that perhaps, just perhaps, the children will get better care and we won’t lose so many of our children.”
“Your points are not lost on me Ian. I know what those mills mean to the locals. But, by smuggling? Bringing in wool from Ireland from what I saw. Irish aren’t allowed to export their raw wool. I saw bales of it, bales and bales.”
“You saw nothing, Robin.”
“And if I say I saw something?” I slapped my chest.
“I said you saw nothing!”
“I'm sorry, I don't quite understand.”
“You don't need to understand, you just need to do what I say.”
“I don't think that will work out for me.”
“Why not?”
“You think I am one of your harlots?”
“You think I have harlots? More than one?”
“You might.”
“I don’t. You seem to have some difficulty with authority.”
“I have difficulty with bone headed males who are delusional about their ability to solve every problem with swords or guns.”
“You have a better suggestion?” he asked as he lead us onto the path again.
“I might if you slowed down enough to listen to me.”
He stopped and turned his horse to face me, his face a mask of anger.
“You don't think I am trying to protect you from all this?” he waved his arm toward the sea.
“I don't think I need protecting. I did just fine in the forest. Without me, you would have been hungry and possibly dead the first night or at least cold and bleeding. I was the one who shot the wolf; I was the one who shot dinner every night!” I yelled back at him.
“You are right; you did an excellent job in the forest.” He replied.
“You think suddenly I am helpless because I caught a cold?”
“I think you don’t get back to the inn and get some sleep you, tomorrow, you will be late for work.”
Work. I have never worked for money
. I was tired and achy and did not want to be serving demanding men and screaming children.
As it turned out, I had the morning off. I slept late and took a long bath. I came down for luncheon service. I still ached, I still was rather put out by Ian and his friends and whatever they were up to and I was still not ready to face the demands of hungry pub patrons. Ennis, gleaning my mood from watching me rub my temples and then my back sent me out to the garden. Young Isabelle trailed behind me chattering in French. I handed her a bowl to fill with green beans. We picked the beans and she practiced English telling me her observations about town. My head throbbed. She screamed something about a giant and ran back towards the inn. The giant's arm wrapped around my waist and turned me around. I found myself being pulled through the garden down a quiet lane from the inn by an angry Ian. He seemed to only have one emotion for the past day and that was varying states of rage. I, unfortunately, seemed to be the one to bring out his best, if throbbing veins and angry eyes could be called his best.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“We seem to keep having this conversation.” I stepped back.
Ian caught me in his arms and shook my shoulders. “You speak fluent French.”
“I think that is somewhat obvious.”
“And you read it better than I,” he continued.
“That goes without saying,” I offered.
“Those are not skills you pick up in a stable.” Ian scowled at me.
“I'd surmise that as well.”
“Quit agreeing with me!”
“Quit stating the obvious, Ian. I am only what I appear to be. Adept at hunting, fluent in several languages, a bit of a tom boy and somewhat confused as to why it matters so much to you. You are the one who keeps taking off for McBain's Doom. What is your business there?”
“It doesn't concern you, lass.”
“Indeed? Well, two can play at that game, who I am doesn't concern you.”
“It shouldn't as I am getting married in a few days.”