The Innkeeper's Daughter (22 page)

‘Dunno, sir.’

A man came running towards them to take the reins. ‘Does she need watering, sir?’

‘Not too much,’ Hopkins answered for Jamie. ‘Onny a wetting. We’re nearly home.’

Jamie strode to the door, frowning. I can’t believe they’ve gone! Hopkins must be mistaken. She said – Bella said she would always be here. But sense told him that moving on or staying would not necessarily be her decision. There could be all kinds of reasons why the family might leave, and as soon as he entered the inn he knew it was true that the Thorps were no longer there. There was a different atmosphere, even though he reasoned that the inn would still have the same customers, those from the village and the neighbourhood.

The taproom was dark, with only a low fire and candles burning on the mantelshelf. Gone were the chairs and the tables where there had been jugs of meadow flowers or greenery, and in their place was a long table with a bench on either side. Two men sat opposite each other with a jug of ale between them. They both looked up as he entered but didn’t greet him.

The landlord, a burly man with sparse grey hair, stood behind the counter. ‘What can I get you, sir?’ He asked the question without any other greeting.

‘A glass of stout for my man and a cognac, please.’

The landlord’s mouth twisted. ‘No cognac at present. I’m waiting on supplies.’

‘A glass of mild then, if you please.’ Jamie took an instant dislike to him, he knew not why. ‘Are you a new tenant? I recall the previous family who were here.’

The man nodded as he drew the stout and placed it on the counter, and Jamie knew that Hopkins would not be happy with it. The head was thin and he wondered if it had been watered down.

‘So,’ he said lightly, as the man hadn’t answered his question. ‘Where have they gone? Has Mrs Thorp retired from the innkeeping business?’

The landlord drew the mild before answering. ‘Don’t think so.’

One of the men at the table behind him cleared his throat. ‘They’ve gone to live in Hull, sir.’

Bob Hopkins came in and looked at his glass with distaste. ‘What’s this?’ he muttered and took a drink, then screwed up his mouth, glancing at Jamie, who was moving towards the long table.

Jamie nodded at the man who had spoken, who half rose to his feet and touched his forehead.

‘Evening, Mr Lucan,’ he said, and Jamie was only partially surprised that the fellow knew him. ‘I remember you from when you was a nipper, sir. I did a few jobs for your father. Johnson’s me name.’

‘Oh! How do you do, Johnson? I believe I’ve seen you here before, when the Thorps were here?’ It was not so much a pleasantry as a question requiring an answer.

‘Aye,’ Johnson said, and Jamie sat astride the bench beside him and took a sip of mild that had definitely been watered. ‘They’ve onny just gone,’ Johnson droned on. ‘Took us all by surprise. They’d been here nigh on twenty years.’

The man opposite him nodded gloomily and bent over his tankard.

‘So, you say they’ve gone into Hull? To another hostelry?’

‘Aye,’ Johnson said again. ‘Seemingly Mrs Thorp had tekken
a
fancy to going back to where she lived afore she married Joseph. Shame,’ he mumbled into his ale. ‘She was one of us, even if she was an incomer.’ He held up his tankard. ‘This ain’t mine,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ve been having ’same one for years.’ He dropped his voice. ‘This feller says they’re all ’same; but they’re not.’

The other customer looked up. ‘Greens don’t come in any more.’

Jamie looked at him. Was he supposed to know what that meant? He nodded in acknowledgement.

‘Came in regular, they did,’ the man continued, ‘but they don’t come in now.’ He sighed, lifted his tankard and took a long swallow.

‘So where have they gone?’ Jamie tried to steer the conversation back to the Thorps. ‘The Thorps, I mean.’

‘Hull,’ Johnson said mournfully. ‘Big place. They’ll not like it.’

Jamie half finished his mild and stood up to leave. ‘I might drop in to see them sometime,’ he said. ‘Do you know the name of the hostelry?’

Johnson shook his head. ‘No, I’ve nivver been to Hull.’ He paused as if thinking. ‘Summat to do wi’ ships, I think.’

Ships! What a task, Jamie thought, remembering all the inns, public houses and beer houses that were named after ships. He could die of the effects of drink if he called at them all.

‘Aye.’ Johnson pushed away his tankard. ‘It were either ships or fish. I can’t remember which.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ALL THROUGH THE
Christmas holiday Jamie was restless. His father was confined to his room as the cold had settled on his chest and he coughed constantly. He grumbled at Jamie, saying as he was the doctor why couldn’t he suggest something to ease the soreness?

‘Because I’m not a doctor, Father,’ he said. ‘And I’m quite sure that Mrs Greenwood knows more about cold remedies than I do. Rest, keep warm and lots of fluids.’ Jamie turned his head to glance at the patient housekeeper beside the bed and raised his eyebrows. ‘If I can find a cure for the common cold then I’ll make my fortune.’

He rode Bonny on the sands most days, but during the last week before returning to London, when their father had come downstairs and Jamie’s sisters were taking it in turns to entertain him, Jamie decided he would take a trip into Hull. He said he wanted to visit Mrs Button, his former landlady; his pretext was to ask her about a missing book which he might have left behind at her lodging house.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ his father growled. ‘Send a postcard, can’t you, rather than travelling twenty miles in this foul weather?’

‘I thought I’d take the brougham if it isn’t needed,’ Jamie continued. ‘I need to buy a few things before I return.’ He hoped that Mary didn’t suggest that she came too, but she didn’t; she was bored with her brothers and a ride into Hull
on
a cold wet day did not appeal to her one bit. All she wanted now that the Christmas festivities were over was to get back to school and her friends as quickly as possible.

‘Don’t you want me to drive you, sir?’ Bob Hopkins asked the night before his excursion. ‘I’m not needed for much at ’minute.’

‘No, it’ll mean you hanging about,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ve a few things to do, people to see, you know,’ and he knew that he had disappointed him.

He left at six o’clock the next morning after an early breakfast, dressed in a long fur-trimmed coat which he had purchased two years before to combat the damp London weather, breeches rather than trousers, a thick flannel shirt beneath his waistcoat and jacket, leather boots, and a beaver top hat. Frances and Mary were still in bed and he saw Mrs Greenwood taking up a tray of tea to his father. His brother was his usual grumpy morning self, volunteering only a grunt.

Hopkins had brought out the carriage and harnessed one of the mares. He told Jamie he would exercise Bonny later that morning, and it was seeing his expression of resignation that gave Jamie an idea.

‘Have you ever thought that you might like to do something else one day?’ he asked as he climbed up on to the box seat and took up the reins.

‘Like what, sir? I know nowt else but hosses. Besides,’ he patted his lame leg, ‘folks look at me an’ think I’m an imbecile, as if me brains are in me legs.’ He gave a grim laugh as he spoke, but Jamie knew he wasn’t joking. ‘But,’ Hopkins went on, ‘if you ever hear of some young doctor feller wanting a groom or a driver then you can put me name for’ard.’

Jamie smiled and nodded. ‘I will.’ He shook the reins. ‘It might take a few years yet, but I’ll keep it in mind,’ and was rewarded with a great grin on Bob Hopkins’s face.

The fastest time he could hope to make was three and a half hours; he had done it in less when riding Bonny, but the brougham was old and quite heavy and he didn’t want to overtax the mare. It was just after nine thirty when he negotiated
the
heavy press of waggons, drays and carts and pulled in through the archway and cobbled courtyard of the Cross Keys Hotel in Market Place and asked the stable lad to uncouple the horse and give her water and hay.

The owner, William Varley, was in the hall and greeted Jamie as he went towards the coffee room, saying he would send the maid to him with a jug of coffee and a slice of pie. The ancient hostelry had been a coaching inn, the largest in the town; it still advertised as such beneath the hoarding depicting a large pair of crossed keys, but since the advent of the railway that trade had declined, although the local carriers and some long-distance coaches to Lincoln, York and London still called there. Nowadays it was known as a family and commercial establishment.

‘Do you by any chance know of a woman innkeeper who’s come into Hull recently?’ Jamie asked him before he turned to go into the taproom. ‘I don’t know the name of the hostelry, but it might be a ship or a fish,’ he added light-heartedly.

Varley considered and then said, ‘You could try ’High Street; there’s ’Edinburgh Packet or ’Golden Fleece along there.’ He laughed. ‘Funny sort o’ fish, but it could’ve been a ship.’

‘Thank you,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ll try them. It’s just that I’ve got a message for her, if I can find her.’

When he’d finished eating he left the inn and visited his former landlady so that he could truthfully say he had called, but the query concerning a missing book which he had indeed lost was a complete fabrication, as he knew it had disappeared since he moved to London. Mrs Button was pleased to see him, but as she was her usual bustling self with little time to waste, he spent only a quarter of an hour with her, merely asking if anything much had happened in the town since he had left.

‘You’ll have come in to ’new Paragon station on ’train, I expect, didn’t you, sir? And ’new Station Hotel was opened in November. My word,’ she said admiringly. ‘You must tek a look at that.’ She preened slightly and lowered her voice. ‘It just so happens that my late husband’s cousin’s husband
is
one of ’commissionaires and he let me in to have a peek at ’foyer.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful! It’s got a glass roof and pillars and arches and is big enough to have a ball in. A hundred and sixty rooms it’s got
and
’ – she screwed up her mouth – ‘seemingly there was a banquet for ’directors and ’elite of ’town on ’day it was opened. It’s a good showpiece for Hull,’ she said. ‘For them as can afford to stay. It’ll knock ’Cross Keys off its perch all right.’

Jamie nodded in agreement; he had seen the hotel when he arrived by train. It could hardly be missed, being such a palatial three-storey building in the centre of the town. But that wasn’t what he was looking for.

‘So anything for the likes of us poor folk, Mrs Button? No new publicans or innkeepers come to town?’

‘Not that I’ve heard, Mr Lucan, but then I’m generally too busy for gossip.’

And at that remark Jamie knew that he must leave and explore the hostelries for himself, and there were so many, over three hundred he had once been told, that he knew he had an enormous task in front of him. He walked towards his old school, pausing for a moment to gaze at the time-worn red bricks and give silent thanks towards those who had taught and encouraged him in his education. He wondered if he would make a mark on the world as some of the former pupils had: the poet Andrew Marvell; the great emancipator and parliamentarian William Wilberforce, and others who although not achieving such international acclaim had nevertheless influenced many people during their lives.

He called at the inns in High Street, but there was no one there that he recognized, and then remembered two other inns he used to pass and put his head inside the door of one on the pretext that he was searching for someone; it was packed with customers and two men were serving at the counter, but no women or girls. In the second one there was a man and a woman serving, and as they were not so busy he sidled up to the woman and asked her if she knew of an innkeeper by the name of Thorp. She said that she didn’t.

He meandered through the town, looking through windows and doorways in the vain hope of seeing someone he knew and wondering what to do and where to go next, and found himself in Paragon Street, the road leading to the railway station and the new hotel, a good walk back to the Cross Keys Hotel where he had left the brougham. He stepped into a doorway to avoid the jostling of people hurrying to get out of the rain or more likely rushing to catch a train and stood for a moment while he considered. There was much more to the town than just the streets around Market Place and the church which he had known from school. Many more streets than he was familiar with; the town was spreading rapidly north and west.

His father had been right, he reluctantly conceded, the weather was foul, sleet turning to snow. He decided that he would visit the shops nearby and purchase what he needed – ink, sealing wax, writing paper and envelopes, new shirts and stocks – and then make his way home again, a longer journey this time as it would be dark before he arrived.

It’s a pity, he thought, disappointment making him hunch into his fur collar. I’d have liked to see Bella again. He thought of her thick black hair, her rosy country-girl cheeks, and shy but smiling eyes. But it’s three years since I last called at the Woodman. I was just another customer, after all, and they wouldn’t have made much of a profit out of my occasional glass of mild. She’ll be grown up – what, seventeen maybe – and will have forgotten about me by now.

The family had moved from the Woodman on a foggy November day. They had hired two covered waggons for their furniture. Joe drove one with Alice perched beside him, and a customer had offered to drive the other. Bella took the reins of a one-horse trap lent by someone in the village, which held her, her mother, Nell and Henry and a bundle of bedding. Joe would have to come back later and collect what they couldn’t pack into the waggons this time. They had left behind the donkey and the hens, and Johnson the former
plumber
had promised to feed them until new tenants moved in.

Some of the villagers had come out to see them off, waving goodbye and wishing them good luck. Bella felt very emotional and her mother muttered that she hoped they were doing the right thing.