Calico Road (9 page)

Afterwards he sat lost in thought. He couldn’t have said what the other woman looked like, but he remembered every detail about
her
– couldn’t get the lovely image of that laughing woman out of his mind.

As the carriage pulled up in front of his house he started, like someone jerking out of a dream, then opened the door and jumped out without waiting for the groom to do it. The front door was opened before he got there but he didn’t look at the maid who’d performed this service, just went into the library, shut the door on his staff and began to pace up and down thinking . . . remembering her . . .
wanting her
.

After a while he stared round like someone waking from a deep sleep, scowling at what he saw. The place seemed so empty and quiet without his father. No voice booming out commands or yelling at the servants, no one to eat dinner with or talk to. It was time, more than time, for him to marry.

What had been holding him back was the problem of how he was to meet suitable young women. He felt himself to be neither fish nor fowl in Backenshaw. It had been the same for him at school, where the other boys came from much grander families, and the lesson had only been reinforced once he returned home to work in the family business because he couldn’t make friends with the operatives in the mill, even those he’d played with as a lad.

His father had never cared about socialising with his neighbours when he could be working and earning more money – which had made Jethro’s mother’s life very lonely. No wonder she had died so young. Jethro only remembered her as a pale, apologetic woman who never spoke above a murmur. His father had even resented having to give the operatives at the mill Sundays off and hadn’t attended church regularly, thinking it a waste of time and the Parson a fool who had no right to tell
him
how to live his life.

The Greenhalghs weren’t gentry as the other county families saw it, so the only recognition Jethro ever got from those few families who lived nearby was a cool nod in passing, even the ones whose sons had been at school with him. There was no one of his own kind and age in Backenshaw with whom to make friends, even had his father encouraged the making of friends.

The young woman came into his mind again. Who was she? One of the Goddby family or a visitor? Suddenly it was vitally important to find out so he walked across the mill yard to see Barney Spencer, the overlooker. Barney was very good at finding things out, or dealing with delicate problems, and no one was more loyal to the Greenhalghs, for the man owed his rise in the world to old John.

Two days later Jethro had the information he required. The young woman was indeed Sophia Goddby, the younger of two sisters. Her brother Peregrine had inherited the estate a year or so ago, but was a dreamer who seemed to have little idea of how to manage his inheritance, for he was more often to be found on the moors collecting rare plants or just walking about, no one could understand why, even in the depths of winter when there were no flowers to be found.

Jethro and Barney laughed together at the stupidity of this. Still, it might be a way of meeting the fellow: ‘Find out where he goes and when. I’ll try to bump into him by accident. And see if you can find out more about his sister, the younger one.’

Barney cocked one eyebrow at him. ‘Interested in her, are you?’

‘Might be.’

‘It’s common talk down the valley that she’s courting young Easdale. Folk are predicting a marriage.’

‘Are they indeed?’ Oswin Easdale had been one of Jethro’s chief tormenters at school. To take Sophia away from
him
would add spice to this chase.

The following week one of his gardeners guided him up on to the moors behind his house. ‘Mr Goddby usually comes this way, sir.’

Jethro pushed a coin at him. ‘Good. Get yourself off home, then.’ He found himself a rock to sit on, one sheltered from the wind but which gave him a good view of the path that had been pointed out to him.

To his surprise he found the peace of this place more attractive than he’d expected. Sitting quietly in the fresh air was something he hadn’t done much of. A pale winter sun lit up the landscape, while clouds cast moving patterns of shadows across the gentler slopes of the tops. In the valley below, where Backenshaw sprawled, smoke rose steadily from his own mill chimney. In fact he had never really seen his mill from here and felt proud of the way it dominated the village, with the rows of workers’ dwellings lined up neatly around it.

Suddenly he saw a figure coming towards him, pausing to take a flask out of his pocket and raise it to his lips, only to find it empty and stuff it back with a curse. The man started walking again, not noticing Jethro, his footsteps weaving a little.

It was Goddby and he was drunk, by God! Jethro grinned. Well, well. This might turn out to be a very useful encounter. People often said more than they intended when they were in their cups. As the other man would have passed without a word, he called, ‘Good day to you, sir! It’s a fine day, isn’t it?’

Goddby stopped, stared at him owlishly, then shrugged.

‘I’d welcome a little company.’ Jethro gestured to the rock he was sitting on and pulled out the flask of brandy he’d brought in case he felt the cold. ‘May I offer you a nip of brandy? Nothing like it to warm you up on a cold winter’s day.’ He watched the other man’s face brighten and Goddby held out his hand for the flask, immediately taking a big swig.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met before, but I recognise you by sight. Goddby, isn’t it?’

‘Aye.’ He wiped his lips and let out a sigh of satisfaction. ‘But my friends call me Perry.’

‘I wouldn’t presume – we are, after all, from rather different circles.’

‘Who am I to set myself above anyone? You’re Greenhalgh the millowner, I know, but I don’t know your first name.’

‘Jethro.’ He held out his hand and they shook solemnly. ‘What are you doing out here on the moors, if I may ask?’

Peregrine Goddby sighed. ‘Wondering whether to put a pistol to my head and end it all.’

‘My dear fellow, that’s a bit drastic, isn’t it? Are things really that bad for you?’ Jethro waved one hand towards the flask in a permissive gesture.

‘Worse than bad. Thanks.’ Goddby took another pull of brandy then scowled into the distance. ‘It’s all right for you millowners, you’re used to dealing with business matters and know how to make money, but I wasn’t raised to it and I can’t do anything right. I’m even worse than my father at managing, and God knows, he lost big chunks of the estate.’ Pain shadowed his face as he added softly, ‘Places I used to play in as a lad, streams where I used to fish for tadpoles – all gone.’

Jethro waved away the return of the flask and watched as his companion downed another mouthful. ‘Is there anything I can do to help? I hate to see a fellow gentleman in trouble.’

‘Hah! Not unless you’d care to give me ten thousand pounds and . . .’ He bit back further confidences. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t trouble you with my problems.’

‘Why not? I have problems of my own. It’s good sometimes to share things with a friend.’

‘Not business problems, I’ll wager.’

‘Hardly. As you say, I was bred to it, for all they sent me away to school for a few years. No, I’ve just lost my father and am finding the house a bit –’ Jethro hesitated delicately ‘– lonely. I came up here to think about taking a wife. Only trouble is, I don’t know any suitable young women.’ He sighed and gazed out across the landscape, hoping his companion wasn’t too drunk to take the hint. ‘The matter is quite urgent. I need someone to run my home, be there in the evening.’

‘Well, I’ve got two highly suitable young women at home,’ Perry said, his words slurred and his eyes hard with anger. ‘My sisters. Trouble is, I can’t give them dowries and m’mother’s not stopped complaining about that since she found out. And although chaps are interested enough in them, they’re all demanding dowries. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m to pay the tradesmen’s bills next quarter, let alone provide for my sisters.’ He looked sideways, squinting in his efforts to study Jethro’s expression. ‘Would
you
require a dowry?’

‘Not if I really liked the woman in question. I have more than enough money for both of us.’

‘Sophia’s already courting but Harriet is still available.’ Goodby hesitated and a calculating look came over his face.

Jethro hid his amusement at the other man’s transparency and waited for the offer.

‘Why don’t you come and meet her? Come to dinner tomorrow?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am.’ He tried to stand up and failed. ‘Had a bit too much to drink,’ he confided in his slurred, upper-class drawl. ‘Would you give me a hand, old fellow?’

So Jethro took him home, fussed over him and sent him back to Goddby Manor in his carriage.

But Perry wasn’t too drunk to remember his invitation or to say as he was helped into the carriage, ‘Don’t forget! Tomorrow for dinner. And you’d better stay the night. It gets dark devilish early at this time of year and there’s no moon.’

Jethro smiled as he ate his solitary meal that night. It couldn’t have been easier. Now all he had to do was woo the young woman – woo or coerce, whichever was necessary. Not Harriet, though. Definitely not the older sister.

‘Sophia.’ He said the name quietly and with great satisfaction. He even liked the sound of her name.

5

A
s the days passed Toby began to understand the workings of the inn and to admire Phoebe’s skill at managing the beer, the customers, and even cooking for the odd traveller wanting food. It’d be a while, though, until he could improve the place enough to attract the custom of passing gentry.

He’d tramped the five acres that went with the inn and found only rough fields, suited perhaps to sheep, but he knew even less about sheep farming than running an inn. Still, it gave him a warm feeling to walk across the land and think:
This is mine!
However, when Ross Bellvers asked if he could pasture some sheep on that land, Toby settled down to a haggling session and came away with the satisfaction of earning money without doing a hand’s turn for it.

One day a pedlar arrived at the inn, cold and angry, leading his donkey and asking if he could put the poor creature in the stables because an axle had broken on his cart about half a mile back. ‘If you have a handcart you could lend me, I’ll go back and get my goods off the cart and store them here too,’ the man went on glumly. ‘I’ll be lucky if no one steals them meanwhile. The cart’s just sitting there by the road, all of an angle. And I’ll have a quick pot of ale while you’re at it.’ He drained it rapidly, his mind still on his problems.

‘How big is your axle?’ Toby asked. ‘It’s just that there are a few oddments of wood here and we might be able to cobble together a makeshift axle and bring the cart back here. Then you could get it repaired properly or buy a new one. I was a carpenter before I inherited the inn and I’ve not forgotten my trade.’ He offered his hand. ‘Toby Fletcher.’

‘Bram Craven.’ The pedlar looked more hopeful already. ‘I’d be grateful for your help.’

‘Let’s give that poor creature of yours something to eat and drink first. It looks exhausted.’

When the donkey had been made comfortable, Toby put the tools he thought he’d need into a canvas bag and fetched the small wheeled barrow he’d cobbled together for taking his wood and tools round the house, placing a few longer pieces of wood into it. The barrow was sturdy enough to use outside, he was sure. ‘You lead the donkey and I’ll push this.’

Wind was whistling around them as they walked back along the road, sucking away their body warmth relentlessly. The sky was heavy with clouds which seemed to get darker and hang lower by the minute.

‘It’s going to snow soon, I reckon,’ Bram said gloomily as they reached the lopsided cart. ‘Then I’ll be stuck here good and proper.’ He checked his goods and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Well, at least no one’s come by and stolen my stuff.’

Toby looked at the broken axle. ‘I think I can fix it well enough to get us back to the inn.’ Whistling cheerfully he began work and soon had the cart repaired enough to be driven slowly back.

By the time they got back, the makeshift axle was squeaking and groaning, and the cart was looking shaky again. The first flakes of snow drifted lightly down on them as they trundled the cart into the stable yard.

Bram scowled up at the sky. ‘Look at that! I’m going to be stuck here for a day or two now, I reckon.’

‘I keep some hay and feed so your donkey will be all right and we can push the cart into this space, so it’ll be out of the weather and safe enough.’

‘How much am I going to owe you for the help and for staying the night?’ Bram asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shivering. ‘I’ve just stocked up on goods, you see, and I’m a bit short of money. If you could take some of the payment in goods, I’d be grateful.’

‘Got any nails?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, I’m needing a few bits and pieces like that, so we’ll discuss it later. You see to that animal of yours now.’

He’d hardly finished explaining to Phoebe what had happened and asking her about a room for Bram than a carriage drew up outside. From it descended a plump, middle-aged man with a sour expression on his face. His bad mood was explained when his wife was helped from the carriage and proved to be so ill she couldn’t stand without help.

‘I’d hoped to get her home,’ the man grumbled to Toby, ‘but she’s been weeping and saying her head hurts and she can’t take the jolting a minute longer. Do you have two bedrooms, landlord – for I’ll get no sleep if I’m in with
her
– and a place for my coachman and horses?’

‘We can find something, I’m sure. I’ve only just taken over here, so things aren’t in proper order yet, but we’ve plenty of rooms.’ Phoebe was already helping the lady inside and Toby asked her if she could find the necessary accommodation. By that time the snow was whirling down thickly outside.