Calico Road (30 page)

‘But you’re ill too.’

‘Weak, not ill. And I’m a lot better this morning, thanks to you two.’

Phoebe stared at her then tears welled in her eyes. ‘I hate to let him down.’

‘You can’t help being ill. Look, shall I bring you up a cup of tea and something to eat? You may feel better after you’ve eaten.’

Phoebe grimaced. ‘Just the tea, please. I don’t think I can eat anything. It hurts to swallow.’

So Meg went downstairs again to relay the news, which made Mr Fletcher so anxious he washed his hands and ran upstairs to see for himself how Phoebe was.

It was lovely to see how he cared about the older woman. Sighing, wishing she had someone to care for her, Meg turned to study the stove, which was a bigger version of Peggy’s. The fire was burning up now so she checked that the kettle was full and moved it across to the hottest part of the blackened iron hob.

Footsteps thumped down the wooden stairs again, heralding the return of Mr Fletcher.

‘I’ve told her to stay in bed. Do you think you’ll be well enough to help me today? I’ll get Alice from the village to come and do the scrubbing and heavy work, but I really need someone to do the cooking. Can you manage that, do you think?’

Meg nodded. ‘Yes. I’m quite a good cook, actually, Mr Fletcher, or so my last employer told me.’

‘Call me Toby or you’ll make me feel ancient.’

She looked at him and nodded. ‘All right.’

‘What was your work? Were you really a cook?’

‘I wasn’t exactly a cook. It was a mixed-up sort of job, really. I worked in the pawn shop part of the time and as a maid to the owner the rest, doing Mr Roper’s cooking and seeing to his washing and other stuff.’ It seemed a very long time ago and she felt as if she was speaking about someone else not herself, but she was glad to see Mr Fletcher’s – no,
Toby’s
– face brighten.

‘Eh, it’s a relief that you can cook because we provide food for customers sometimes. We don’t prepare much, just one hot dish usually, stew or roast meat, chops, things like that. But if any gentry stop at the inn, which they don’t usually, they want better food and then Phoebe fries them some ham and onions, and potatoes as well. She calls it a fricassée. Oh, and she usually does some scones or griddle cakes too. We can always eat them up ourselves.’

He beamed at her and before she knew it Meg was smiling back at him. When had she last felt like smiling? She couldn’t remember. Not since before Nelly died. To her surprise he came to stand closer and laid his hand on her arm.

‘Don’t,’ he said softly.

She blinked up at him. ‘Don’t what?’

‘Look so sad.’

She turned away, spreading her hands helplessly.

‘I know you’ve had a terrible loss – you told me about your daughter dying when I found you and –’

‘I did?’

He nodded, his expression solemn now.

‘I don’t usually mention that.’ She hadn’t said a word to anyone else about it since she’d left Northby.

‘How long ago did it happen?’

Meg shook her head, not seeing the room now or the glowing fire, seeing only the hole in the ground and the little coffin being lowered into it. ‘I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I suppose. I don’t even know what date it is now. I’ve been too upset to notice. I’ve just been wandering, sleeping rough or in barns. I don’t remember much about it except that the freedom of the moors seemed to draw me on.’ She made a huge effort not to cry or lose herself in her grief, because he was being so kind and he needed her help. It felt good to be needed again. ‘I was lucky you found me, took me in.’

‘You were. There aren’t many people travelling along Calico Road at this time of year.’

‘Calico Road?’

‘The village is called Calico, because they used to weave it here before the machines took over most of the weaving, so the road hereabouts got the same name. You can still see the old looms in some of the attics and a few folk still weave their own cloth, just for them and their families. In the old days, of course, they wove wool from their own sheep and then later on cotton which the putter-out supplied and—’ He broke off. ‘Sorry. I get carried away sometimes. I like reading, you see, and finding things out.’

‘It was interesting.’

‘And if we’re talking about folk being lucky, well, I was too. With Phoebe ill, I’d have been lost if I hadn’t found you. I can’t cook, that’s for sure, except to fry up a bit of ham and an egg or two. We’ve been meaning to get a maid and I wish we had so Phoebe wouldn’t worry about . . .’ His voice trailed away and he looked at Meg speculatively. ‘You wouldn’t be wanting a job, would you?’

Everything went very still in the kitchen as if the world had stopped dead for a moment.
A job
, she thought.
Yes, of course. I do need a job now
. ‘Do you really mean that?’

He nodded. ‘You’d have to live here, though. It’s a bit lonely, only a small village. Would you miss living in a town?’

‘No. Not at all. I’ve found the moors – comforting.’ She managed a wobbly smile. ‘But you don’t know whether I’m a good worker or not.’

‘You don’t know whether I’m a good employer or not. I may be so nasty to you that you’ll run away again.’

He tried to look severe and failed. He’d done it again, made her smile. She shook her head at him. ‘We’ll give it a day or two and see how we get on, then we’ll both decide. But I’m happy to cook something for you today, and perhaps—’ She broke off, noticing that he was holding out his hand to her.

‘I usually shake hands to seal a bargain.’

So she let him clasp her hand in his big warm one, smile down at her again with those kindly eyes, and somehow it put heart into her. She could feel the touch of his fingers for a long time afterwards, kept looking down at them, but of course he’d not left a mark. He was a big, strong man, you could see that, but so gentle with it. She’d never met a man quite like him.

If he really meant it, she thought she might find a measure of peace working here on the edge of the moors. The spaces and the sense of freedom seemed to give her strength, help her to carry on. Just as he did. He seemed so reliable.

Then she remembered that it was an inn. She’d be selling beer, watching men getting drunk, making fools of themselves. She wasn’t sure she could do that. Not after what the drink had done to Ben.

Cully pocketed his monthly payment after reporting on Fletcher and when Peter had left, called for a third pot of beer. As he was about to drink it another man sat down opposite him.

‘My master asked me to speak to you, Cully Dean.’

Cully recognised him at once, in spite of his bad eyesight. Jad Mortley had a streak of white hair at one side of his head and a gravelly voice that you never forgot once you’d heard it. ‘Why?’

‘He wants a little job done. And he’ll pay well for it, too. You do like earning extra money, don’t you?’

Cully licked his lips and nodded. Yes, of course he did. But if the other folk in Calico found out he was working for Beardsworth, they’d never speak to him again. Still, more money would be good. ‘What exactly does he want me to do and how much is he paying?’

‘He’d like to get rid of your friend Toby Fletcher.’

‘Ha! Who wouldn’t? That one’s no friend of mine!’

‘Exactly. So you wouldn’t be sorry to see him under the ground?’

Cully stared in shock as the words sank in. Surely he didn’t mean . . . ‘Nay, I want nowt to do with murder.’

The stranger leaned across and grabbed him by the front of his clothes, pulling his body half across the table so that their faces were very close, and betraying a strength that made the smaller man tremble to feel it. ‘You could get rid of him easily. Drop a little poison in his beer or arrange an accident. An accident would be best so no one need ever know it was done on purpose. My employer will pay you ten guineas if you get rid of him.’

As he let go, Cully dropped back on to the bench. He glanced from side to side but the room was a blur around him, as usual. He could only pray no one was close enough to hear. He moved and the coins chinked in his pocket. Already he had more money in his pocket than he’d ever seen in his life, and in spite of using it regularly to buy his beer at the Packhorse still had some safe in the leather drawstring bag he’d hidden in the shed to keep it from his wife. Ten guineas on top of this would – no! He suddenly realised the regular monthly money would stop if Fletcher died. ‘I’d need more than that because if I kill him, my other money will stop.’

‘Twenty guineas, then. But no more, and you don’t get paid until he’s dead.’

‘I’ll – see what I can do. How do I let you know if I – succeed?’

‘I’ll find out, don’t worry. Just do it and you’ll be paid.’ Jad slipped a coin into the other man’s hand.

Keeping it hidden in the palm of his hand, Cully raised it to his eyes and squinted. A whole guinea! He breathed deeply. You could buy a lot of beer with a guinea.

‘That’s just to get you started. One guinea extra to show my master’s good will.’

‘I’ll do it.’

As he drove his rickety little cart home Cully alternately smiled and frowned. He wasn’t sure about this. Didn’t really like the idea of killing someone – not to mention hanging for it if they found out.

But he did like the idea of earning twenty guineas – that was a fortune to a man like him. If he had that much money he could leave Calico, which was a miserable place to live, and he wouldn’t take his bloody wife and brats with him either. He could open a little shop or run an ale house, perhaps, find himself a new woman, one who didn’t nag all the time and didn’t keep having brats who needed feeding . . .

A carriage stopped at the inn that day and a gentleman helped a lady out of it, both of them shivering in the icy wind.

‘Are you sure this place is respectable?’ she asked, hanging back for a minute and staring at the Packhorse.

‘I’ve heard so. Anyway, this morning’s delays mean we haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m damned if I’m going on until I’ve had something to eat, even if it’s only bread and cheese.’ He tugged at her arm and with a little grunt of annoyance she moved forward, turning up her nose as they entered the public room and saw the group of common men drinking.

Toby hurried forward to greet them, hoping their coachman could deal with their horses. If he had more carriage trade, he’d hire a man for the stables, but he didn’t have enough work to offer and couldn’t afford the extra wages just now. ‘Welcome to the Packhorse, sir, madam. Let me show you into the private parlour.’

The lady looked round the side room with a disdainful expression, though Alice had scrubbed the floor and dusted everything only that morning. But the fire’s warmth drew her across and she held her hands out to it with a sigh of relief. ‘Do you have a wife, landlord?’

‘Er – no. But I have a cook if you need a woman’s help?’ He knew what such requests usually meant and didn’t ask any further questions.

She inclined her head. ‘I do.’

The man said, ‘I’m glad to hear you’ve got a cook, for I’ve not eaten in six hours and I’m famished.’

‘This woman only started work here today,’ Toby warned, ‘but she’s prepared a very tasty stew and some scones. It’s simple food, I know. Would that do? As you’ll understand, we don’t get the custom up here to cook fancy food every day just in case someone stops.’

‘Stew will do me fine. Just fetch it out, and plenty of it too. Oh, and give my coachman and groom something to eat as well, will you?’

Toby hurried into the house place and told Meg what had happened. ‘The lady probably wants to use the chamber pot. You just have to take her up to the big front bedroom and wait outside, then I can empty the pot later.’

Meg looked at him in dismay. ‘I can’t go and talk to gentry dressed like this!’

He studied her ragged clothing, still with mud stains round the hem, then his eyes fell on Phoebe’s ‘company apron’ as she called it, a huge white garment with frills over the shoulders. She always donned it to serve the gentry. He nipped it off the hook and beckoned to Meg. ‘Put this on and they’ll not notice what’s under it. Phoebe always wears it to serve folk like these. I have to go out and tell his servants to look after the horses themselves, for I haven’t the time to do that.’

‘Can’t Alice see to the lady?’

The girl looked from one to the other of them. ‘I’m not waiting on ’em. It fair frits me, speaking to gentry does. Anyway, I have to get home now and help my ma, Mr Fletcher, you know I do.’

‘All right, love. And thanks for coming.’ He gave her the money she’d earned and Alice beamed at him as she tucked it inside her clothing.

Once they’d gone, Meg tied the apron strings carefully, smoothed out the front and summoned up all her courage.

By the time she’d escorted Mrs Glossop upstairs, listened to her peeing like any other human being, then escorted her down again, she had lost a lot of her fear. And as she served them with the stew, Mr Glossop stole a taste with his spoon and smacked his lips just like her brother Shad did, so she felt even less in awe. He finished eating it quickly – if he wasn’t a gentleman you’d call it gobbling – and called for another bowlful and some more bread, though the lady only ate one helping. Meg had never seen anyone eat like him, never! No wonder he was so fat, the lucky fellow.

When she went back to clear away the dishes, they were all empty and the gentleman was leaning back in his chair, smiling.

‘Good food,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I’ve still got a corner to fill.’

‘I’ve scones, sir, baked fresh today, and there’s butter and bilberry conserve to go with them, if that suits?’ It had amazed her how many jars of conserve Phoebe had lined up on the shelves of the big pantry.

He nodded. ‘It certainly does.’

She hurried out again.

When the satisfied customers had left, Toby went into the kitchen and found Meg standing staring at something in her hand.