Calico Road (37 page)

‘Well, you’d better go and fetch him.’ Phoebe hesitated then said, ‘He’s Toby’s half-brother. Comes every January for a pot of beer. It was a condition of Toby’s getting the inn. Jethro Greenhalgh is a rich millowner so I don’t know why he bothers to claim the beer, but he does.’

Meg shook her head in bafflement as she went outside. She found Toby showing the newcomer’s groom where to leave the horses and waited for them to finish speaking before calling his name.

He turned and saw her. She was not quite so thin now, her cheeks delicately pink and her eyes shining with life. Involuntarily he smiled across at her and her lips curved in response. He wished he could make her smile more often. ‘I gather my half-brother’s here again.’

‘Yes. Only he told me he was a distant relative.’

‘I wish that’s all he was! Maybe then we wouldn’t have to wear each other’s faces.’

‘He wants to see you.’

‘Well, I don’t want to see him!’

She looked at him in surprise. It was so unlike Toby to speak sharply about anyone, but now that his smile had faded he looked tense. ‘Do you dislike him?’

He nodded, then paused and shook his head. ‘I don’t know how I feel about him, actually. Sometimes I dislike him, sometimes I think – eh, I don’t know what I think. But I reckon we both dislike seeing our face on someone else. That feeling is probably the main thing we have in common. But this,’ he pointed to his face, ‘doesn’t stop him looking down his nose at me every time he sees me!’

Without thinking she reached out to catch hold of his arm, threading her own through it. ‘Well, he just looked down his nose at me too. So I stared right back at him.’

That brought a reluctant smile to Toby’s face. He loved the way Meg was gaining confidence in herself. ‘Let’s go inside, love. I’d best get this over with.’ He was sorry when she took her arm away.

On the way through the public room he poured a pot of beer. In the private parlour he found Jethro pacing to and fro. ‘Come for your free drink, have you?’ he mocked, holding it out.

The other took it and sipped. ‘You keep good beer.’

‘A compliment!’

‘Why not, when it’s deserved? Aren’t you going to join me in a drink? You did last year.’

The two stared at one another, eyes at almost the same height, the main difference between them the way they dressed.

Jethro took another sip, then burst out, ‘Hell, it’s like looking in the mirror. I hate that.’

‘You’re not the only one. But there’s nowt we can do about it.’

‘No, there isn’t. Look, I’d like a meal as well, if that’s all right. Something smells good and the ride’s given me an appetite. My groom would probably appreciate one too.’

‘I’ll go and tell our new cook.’

‘Are you talking about that young woman? She’s too young to be a cook, surely?’

‘She’s a good cook and needs to earn her daily bread like the rest of us. What does it matter how old she is?’

‘You seem to make a habit of helping waifs and strays.’

‘What does that mean?’

Jethro shrugged. ‘I’ve been hearing things.’

‘I’d help any folk who were afraid for their children’s lives.’ He didn’t see any reason to hold back the anger that boiled up in him every time he thought of that place down the hill. ‘Do you know how badly your friend Beardsworth allows his overlooker to treat his operatives?’

Jethro surprised himself by saying, ‘I’ve been hearing things too, rumours.’

‘They’re more than rumours.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes. He’s a harsh master. I pity anyone in his power.’

‘He’s the master in his own mill so what can I or anyone else do about it? I only have power over my mill and operatives.’

‘Well, you’ve made things easier for them, I hear. Can’t you at least have a word with him?’

Jethro looked at him in surprise, then shook his head. ‘Believe me, it’d only make matters worse.’

It was the nearest they’d got to having a proper conversation. Each looked at the other surreptitiously, crossed glances and then Toby grinned. ‘Well, at least you have a good reputation as an employer, so I won’t be too ashamed of our relationship.’

Jethro was betrayed into a crack of laughter at this turning of the tables on him. Strange how much more often he had laughed since his marriage and the birth of his son. ‘If you’ve not eaten, will you join me for a meal?’

Toby gaped at him. ‘Join you!’

‘Unless you’re too busy.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Call it a whim.’

‘Very well.’

Jethro hesitated, then asked, ‘While we’re waiting for the food, would you show me the rear part of your inn? The Curate of our church is very excited about it and is coming out to see it when the weather gets warmer. Apparently your Curate corresponds with him and told him it was probably built by monks hundreds of years ago. I’d like to see it for myself.’

It’ll be interesting to see how he reacts to the place, Toby thought. ‘Why not?’ He led the way, startling Meg and Phoebe by taking Greenhalgh through the house place. ‘We’ll both want a meal when we get back, Meg love, served in the private parlour. The groom will need feeding too.’

‘All right, Toby.’

Jethro looked round with interest as he passed through. The place was spotlessly clean and the young woman who’d carried his message had just taken a big platter of pies out of the oven. She was staring at him openly, challengingly almost, but Dixon’s widow was avoiding his eyes and continuing to knead some dough. ‘The food smells good.’

‘It
is
good,’ Meg said. ‘We wouldn’t have so many folk wanting to buy it if it wasn’t.’

He was surprised to be addressed so pertly by a servant but he might have guessed that Fletcher wouldn’t run a normal household. His half-brother was standing smiling at the young woman, who was probably his mistress. She looked clean and neat, but you couldn’t call her pretty. Jethro would rather have Sophia’s lush curves any day.

‘This way.’ Toby was holding a door open on the other side of the room.

When they got to the rear part of the inn Jethro walked slowly up and down the big room, staring around in amazement. He put out a hand to touch the huge wooden uprights, ran a fingertip over the rough old bricks, then bent his head back to stare up at the ceiling. ‘They made a good job of this place, didn’t they?’ He didn’t seem to expect an answer, just stood quietly as if letting the feel of the huge room wash over him. Even the expression on his face looked different: less arrogant somehow.

Toby didn’t know whether to be irritated or pleased by Jethro’s reaction. He’d expected his damned half-brother to feel uncomfortable here, had felt it would be a judgement on the Greenhalghs, but the fellow was clearly enjoying the place, appreciating it as only a few people did.

‘It’s peaceful here.’

‘We could sit down for a minute or two.’

By unspoken consent they sat at either end of the bench, not even trying to speak, each busy with his own thoughts.

Damned if I know what to think of him, Toby decided. He’s not looking down his nose at me today. Why has he changed? What does it mean?

After a while he stood up. ‘Well, do you want some food now? I’m hungry if you aren’t.’

‘Yes, please. I’m famished.’

‘I shan’t accept any payment from you for the meal, so don’t try.’

‘You’re a stubborn fellow, Toby Fletcher.’

‘Aye, I am. So are you, Jethro Greenhalgh.’

Their eyes met in another challenge, which neither seemed to win, then Toby grinned. The grin widened, turned into a laugh, and to his surprise, Jethro joined in.

The encounter gave Toby a great deal to think about. He was surprised by the new mood in which they’d met and guessed that Jethro was too. Eh, there was nowt so strange as folk!

As he and his groom rode away, Jethro asked, ‘Well, did you find out anything else about him?’

‘No more than last time. He’s well liked, though they think he’s a fool to spend so much money on books and waste good working time reading them.’ He paused, then asked, ‘Did
you
find anything out, lad?’

Jethro shook his head. ‘No. It’s always been a puzzle to me why my father gave him the inn and wanted me to come here every year.’

‘You’re brothers. Maybe that’s why.’

Jethro blew out a scornful puff of air. ‘You knew my father. Do you really think he cared about that? He never had anything to do with Fletcher.’

‘I think he cared for your brother’s mother, though. Just once or twice he said kind things about her: that she was a hard worker, an honest lass, a caring mother for the lad.’

Peter’s answer had surprised Jethro. ‘Did you ever meet her?’

‘I saw her in the street, nothing more. I came to Backenshaw with
your
mother so my loyalty was to her. And since I wasn’t brought up in these parts, I didn’t know anything about what had gone before until I’d been here a while.’

Jethro shook his head, no wiser for his visit.

Peter let him ride along in silence. He was fond of his master, very fond, as if he were the son Peter had never had. But sometimes it was best just to let Jethro be. He called him ‘sir’ when other folk were around, ‘lad’ sometimes when they were on their own.

But this business about the brother – well, Peter was damned if he could work it all out, either. Jethro knew more than he would tell, but when he wanted to keep a secret, you couldn’t pry it out of him. He was too close-mouthed for his own good, but how else could you grow up with a father like that?

It had been a bad day when Peter’s mistress married John Greenhalgh, a very bad day, but what choice had she had? He had money and her father was desperate for some of it.

Sold her, her father had, and she’d paid a heavy price for saving her family because John had never really cared for her. That was more than obvious. Had he cared more for Fletcher’s mother? Who could tell? He hadn’t been the sort to show his feelings. Father and son were alike in that, at least.

Cully was a frightened man. He knew Mortley was waiting for him to act and didn’t dare let down a fellow with that one’s reputation. Besides, there was the money he might earn. He wanted that quite desperately – only, he didn’t know how to kill a fellow as big and frightening as Toby bloody Fletcher, and the more he tried to work out a way to do it, the harder it seemed.

In desperation he went across to the inn to have another look round. He chose a night when there was only a thin crescent of moon in the sky because he didn’t want anyone seeing him. He forced himself to lie still and pretend to be asleep till his wife and children were deep in slumber and he reckoned the folk at the inn would be too. It wasn’t difficult to stay awake because he was so worried.

His wife woke up as he rolled out of bed and asked what he was doing so he told her he was going out for a piss and she turned over in the bed with a sleepy little murmur.

Cully knew the path down to the inn by heart, he’d staggered home along it so many times, and he knew the inn buildings pretty well, too. Hadn’t he looked down at them from his field often enough and wished he was sitting drinking in the warmth there instead of digging or planting or feeding his pig? Or worse still, stared along the road at them while doing menial farm chores for others in the village, who were richer than him, the sods, and treated him like dirt while paying him a pittance.

At the inn he tried all the outside doors which used to be left unlocked. This time Fletcher had locked them all. The door that led from the outside into the middle part was a new one, too, solid and fitted with a proper lock. Cully kicked it in a fit of anger and stood for a moment thinking, hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them warm. There was only the back part left to try and he hated going in there. The whole time he’d been putting the owl inside it, he’d felt as if someone was looking over his shoulder, whispering at him. It was definitely haunted. They should pull down places like that! Or burn them down. It’d make a fine blaze with those big wooden beams.

Maybe he should set a fire? No, that wouldn’t kill Fletcher.

As he moved towards the back of the inn he slowed down and squinted up at the old building. Why had he been given such poor eyesight when his damned wife could spot a baby rabbit from clear across the field? There was something moving, he was sure of it. Then he saw that the movement was in the air vent over the outer door. It looked like – it was! There was a face staring down at him!

No, he was imagining it, he told himself firmly, squinting across at it again. It couldn’t possibly be a face. That was the air vent, not a window. But if you stood on a bench or you had a ladder, you could peer out through it if you wanted to see what was going on at that side. Maybe someone had heard him moving round the buildings? Maybe someone was watching him, waiting to pounce?

Fear skittered across his skin at that thought and he gulped. He took a quick couple of steps to one side and the head moved as if following him. It was light-coloured, round, with big staring eyes, definitely a man’s head, a bald man. Who the hell was it? Not Fletcher.

The thought came unbidden: one of the old monks come back to haunt the place. He didn’t know which he’d fear most, Fletcher or a ghost.

Then it left the air vent and came swooping down towards him, silent and terrifying. A ghost! With a hoarse cry of terror, he turned and set off running towards the wall of his field, his only thought to get away from that damned place.

Something swooped noiselessly past his shoulder and he cried out again in panic, missing his step and tripping to fall flat on his face. But he was up again in seconds, cursing the mud that slowed him down as he stumbled on. He kept looking back over his shoulder as he lurched up the slope that led from the inn.

The ghost hadn’t swooped on him again, but suddenly he heard footsteps behind him and sobbed aloud in panic, trying to run faster, desperate to get away from whatever was chasing him. By now he was gibbering in sheer terror. His father had seen boggarts in the clough, had used to terrify them when they were children with tales of those fearsome creatures. Let other folk scoff! Tonight Cully realised his father had been telling the absolute truth.