The Innkeeper's Daughter (8 page)

‘Aye, I know he did,’ her mother said wearily. ‘But I don’t have the energy to prepare anything this year and it’s too late now.’

‘Mrs Chapman, ’butcher’s wife, makes a good pork pie. We could order from her this year,’ Bella urged. ‘Customers won’t mind if it’s not one of yours. Not for once, they won’t. They’ll understand, and I could make a fruitcake.’

Her mother reluctantly conceded that they could if Bella thought it was really necessary.

‘It is, Ma,’ Bella said softly. ‘We have to let ’customers know that everything is just as it always was, except,’ she added, ‘that Father’s not here.’

Joe wasn’t so pleased. ‘They’ll never go home if you insist on
feeding
’em,’ he complained, and was grumpy with William when he interrupted to say he thought the whole point was that they wanted the customers to stay and spend more money.

It was a week before Christmas Eve and Bella had gone into the bar to help Joe instead of William who had a streaming cold and said he felt ill. He’d been working at a blazing fire in the forge and then walked home in a blizzard three days before and caught a chill.

‘I shan’t be able to work tomorrow if I don’t get over this,’ he’d wheezed, ‘and Harry’ll be right mad at me; we’ve loads of work on.’

His mother had put a hot poker into a tankard of ale and made him drink it and then sent him up to bed so that he’d be all right for the morning; then she told Nell that she would have to put Henry to bed instead of Bella.

‘So what’re you going to do, Ma?’ Nell complained and was given a smack for her insolence.

Bella had washed her hands and face and brushed her hair, put on an apron over her skirt, and then on a whim fastened a small red and white kerchief on her head to keep her hair tidy. It looked quite festive, she thought, without being too merry. The boys had been wearing black armbands since their father’s death but had now discarded them. Only their mother still wore mourning clothes.

She had just served Mr and Mrs Green with their porter and gin when the taproom door opened. She glanced up with a smile of greeting and heard Joe at the side of her murmur, ‘Here’s your fancy man, Bella.’

The young man hadn’t heard for he’d turned back to latch the door behind him.

‘Good evening,’ Bella said. ‘Didn’t expect you tonight. Weren’t you here last Friday?’

He laughed and she liked the way his mouth turned up into a proper smile. ‘Am I so predictable?’ he said.

Bella blushed. ‘We get to know all our regular customers. You usually come every other Friday.’

She took down a glass from a shelf and raised her eyebrows
and
he nodded to her unspoken question. ‘Please. A small mild.’

He was wearing a knee-length wool coat with a deep slit at the back and a warm scarf; he slipped them off and put them on the back of a chair. Beneath his coat he wore a deep blue buttoned waistcoat, a crisp white shirt with a cravat and dark breeches with leather boots.

‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, coming to the counter as she filled his glass. ‘I
was
here last Friday, but I shan’t be here next week. It’s Christmas Eve and I shall be at home.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Where’s home? Are you local?’

‘In the middle of nowhere.’ He smiled. ‘Just outside the village of Hornsea. We can see the sea from upstairs.’

‘Oh!’ She handed him the glass and took his payment, and wondered where he was going now or where he had been. ‘That’s nice. I went to the sea once on a school outing. We paddled in ’water and collected shells. It’s a long walk for you. It’s very dark.’

He took a sip of his drink. ‘I’m not walking,’ he said. ‘I’m riding.’ He hesitated for a moment before adding, ‘I, erm, I lodge in Hull and stable my horse there. I’m a scholar at the Hull Grammar School and come home every other weekend. It’s too far to come every week, and besides, I have to study.’

‘Oh!’ she said again. ‘How lu—’ She wanted to say lucky, but thought better of it. Perhaps he didn’t think it was luck; perhaps he thought it was his right. He was obviously in a different position from her, a better standing altogether, where schooling was considered to be essential. So William had been right in his guess. ‘That’s nice for you,’ she murmured.

He nodded, looking at her over the rim of his glass with dark brown eyes.

‘Bella!’ Joe’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Tek over, will you? I’m just going down ’cellar for some more spirits.’

‘I’m keeping you,’ the young man said, though there was no one else waiting to be served and Bella wondered why Joe had gone down to the cellar now. There were several half-full bottles of brandy, gin and whisky on the shelves.

‘No, it’s all right. We’re not very busy tonight.’

‘Bella!’ he said. ‘I’ve been coming here for months and never thought to ask your name.’

Bella felt a blush rise again on her face. ‘What’s yours, Mr—’

‘Lucan. Jamie Lucan,’ he said, ‘and your surname is Thorp, isn’t it? Your father told me, and of course the name is above the door. Do you work in the inn every night, or only on a Friday?’ He smiled as he spoke. ‘Seeing as that’s the only time I come.’

‘Every day,’ she said ruefully. ‘Joe and William are apprentices so they can’t be here during ’day; I had to give up school when my father became ill, so that I could help.’ Suddenly she felt like confessing; it seemed as if he might understand how she felt. ‘I wanted to stay on. I was a monitor in Standard VI. Miss Hawkins, my teacher, said that I could help with ’children, and – and …’ Was she fooling herself that she could have been a teacher? She had only been to a village school; she knew nothing.

‘You’d have been a teacher’s help,’ he said. ‘That would have been very satisfying, I’d have thought, and might even have led on to other things, like running a dame school.’ He glanced towards the door where Joe had gone out and lowered his voice. ‘But we can’t always do what we want, can we? It’s always down to our parents.’

Bella had a startling thought as she recalled something her father had told her. ‘If you’re still at school, are you old enough to drink alcohol? Our licence—’

‘Oh yes,’ he said quite seriously, although she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. ‘I’m eighteen, or at least I will be next week. We’re allowed to have a glass of ale with our supper.’

‘Eighteen,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And still at school!’

‘I finish in the summer,’ he explained. ‘And then, well, then I want to go to university. My master, Mr Sollitt, wants me to but my father has different ideas.’

Joe came back then and another two customers followed him in and Bella had to finish her conversation with Jamie
Lucan
to attend to them. She saw him finish his drink and pick up his coat and put it on.

She went over to him. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lucan,’ she said. ‘I hope you have a happy Christmas.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, and put out his hand to shake hers. ‘And the season’s greetings to you all too.’ He glanced in Joe’s direction. ‘I hope it isn’t too trying for your mother given the circumstances.’

‘We’ll do our best for her,’ she said, feeling a sense of loss. ‘But we’ve got Henry,’ she added. ‘He’ll keep us cheerful.’

‘Henry?’

‘My brother,’ she said. ‘The baby!’

‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘He’ll be a comfort, I expect.’ He buttoned up his coat and adjusted his scarf. ‘See you next year.’

After he had gone, Joe, who was leaning on the counter, gave a grin and whispered to her, ‘Told you he was a toff, didn’t I? Did you notice his coat? That wasn’t made by his ma from a length o’ second-hand cloth from ’pedlar!’

Bella shook her head. She didn’t want to admit he was right, even if he was. ‘He’s a student,’ she said. ‘Like William said. He goes to Hull Grammar School.’

‘And you’ve been serving him liquor!’ Joe drew himself up. ‘Shame on you, Bella Thorp. You’ll be losing our licence.’

‘We won’t,’ she said hotly. ‘I checked. He’s eighteen.’ Too late she realized that Joe was baiting her as she saw his grin.

‘Tekken a fancy to him, haven’t you?’ he taunted her. ‘Fancy your chances there, do you?’

‘Not much of a chance, I’d say.’ Johnson, the former plumber, had overheard him and spoke up. ‘That’s Mr Lucan’s youngest son from over Hornsea way. I did some work for Mr Lucan a few years back, when I could still hold a wrench. Lad won’t remember me,’ he added. ‘But I remember him. Very polite, he was, and wanted to watch what we was doing. We was digging drains to tek water from ’roof. Big job, it was …’ He chatted on, but Bella was no longer listening until he said, ‘… manor house, big estate, your father would’ve known of
’em.
I expect his father’ll want him to join him eventually. He’s got an older brother and a couple of sisters too, I think.’

Bella was silent. Jamie Lucan must have ridden to the Woodman because it was halfway to Hornsea from Hull. He’d have put his horse in their stable whilst he called in for a drink. He must have been doing that each time he called. They had no stable lad here but he would have fastened his mount up in one of the stalls. Strange, though, she thought. I’d have expected him to want to go straight home after spending two weeks at school and in lodgings.

She fantasized about the manor house, if that was where he lived, as Johnson said, and imagined a great hall with a fireplace at one end and a wide staircase like a picture in a book she had seen. Miss Hawkins had often lent her books and Bella had always wrapped them in brown paper so that they didn’t get dirty.

And how lovely to be able to see the sea from his bedroom. That must have been what he meant, when he said upstairs. And his sisters, they’ll be pretty I expect and dressed in white dresses, probably to their ankles if they’re only eight and ten, and his mother, what would she wear? A crinoline probably with a very large hoop beneath it and—

‘Bella! Wake up.’ Joe’s voice was harsh. ‘Don’t just stand there. Wash these glasses, will you!’

She nodded and took dirty glasses from the counter and put them in the washing-up bowl. Yes, she thought. Stop your daydreaming, Bella. This is your life; don’t think of any other.

CHAPTER NINE

EARLY CHRISTMAS EVE
morning after Henry had been fed, Bella carried him in his crib into the taproom whilst Nell, under her mother’s watchful eye, cleared away the breakfast things and, following Sarah’s instructions, chopped onions, minced goose liver and giblets, added suet, sage and parsley, whisked in an egg and put the mixture into an oven dish in preparation for the next day.

‘My eyes are streaming,’ Nell complained. ‘I can’t see!’

‘You don’t need to see.’ Her mother picked up the dish. ‘I’ll put it in ’oven. Don’t go away,’ she warned as Nell shuffled towards the door. ‘There’s chestnut stuffing for ’inside of ’goose to be made now.’

‘We’ll never eat all this, Ma,’ Nell grumbled. ‘There’s enough here for an army. Are we having Christmas pudding?’

‘Yes. I did two last year and we onny ate one. We’ll have that.’

‘And can we have syllabub and frumatty? I
love
syllabub.’

‘I thought you said there was too much food.’ Her mother permitted herself a rare smile. She hadn’t smiled much since Joseph’s death.

‘Oh, but they’re special for Christmas,’ Nell said. ‘We’ve got to have them.’

‘The wheat’s been simmering all night for ’frumatty,’ her mother said, ‘so when you’ve finished ’next lot of stuffing I’ll show you how to mek it, and syllabub as well, so that you’ll know for another time.’

Nell shook her head. ‘It’s our Bella you should be showing, Ma. I’m going on ’stage. I shan’t need to know about things like cooking and baking.’

Her mother grunted. ‘Bella already knows what to do. She learned when she was younger than you. You’ve been spoiled, m’lass. Time now that you start to help in ’kitchen, and don’t think about going on ’stage cos you’re not. Your father wouldn’t have allowed it and I shan’t either.’

Nell said nothing, but her lips set in a pout and her mother saw the expression of determination and knew that she had a rebel on her hands. She’s not like our Bella, she thought. This young madam is as stubborn as her brothers. They’re all ’same, and onny do what they want to do. They think I don’t know, that I don’t notice, but I do. Sarah was aware that she was condoning their behaviour, but she was too tired, too lethargic and wretched since Joseph’s death, to care or make any effort. Even the birth of Henry had brought her no joy and she had handed him over into Bella’s safe keeping with considerable relief.

Bella dusted and then decorated the taproom with holly and ivy and pushed two tables together, covering them with a white cloth. She put out glasses and jugs for the beer and collected plates and bowls and spoons from the kitchen and put those out too. Then she took Henry back into the kitchen for his mid-morning feed and went down to the cellar to check the barrels of ale which had been delivered two days before to give them time to settle and be ready for the Christmas customers; Joe had been up late again and hadn’t had time to go in the cellar, or so he’d said, and William had told her that she looked after the ale, the casks and the pipe lines much more efficiently than he did anyway.

That was true, she thought, but she’d had to learn. The customers wouldn’t tolerate flat beer, nor did they like to see sediment in their glass; most of them preferred their beer to be still active, to be able to detect the slight taste of yeast in their pint and see a good head on it.

After they had eaten their midday meal, she and Nell filled
plates
with spice cake, mince pies and pork pies and took them into the taproom, together with two large bowls, one containing Sarah’s frumatty – a yeoman farmers’ dish made with crushed wheat, spice, currants and sultanas, sugar, rum and cream – and the other holding syllabub, a rich dessert made from cream, wine and brandy and whisked with egg white until it was light and fluffy. Bella took a taste of the frumatty and syllabub on the tip of a spoon and pronounced that her mother hadn’t lost her touch; both, she said, were delicious.

‘Come and sit down, Bella,’ her mother said when she returned to the kitchen. Sarah had been preparing a punch to offer the customers and the room was drenched in the aroma of brandy, nutmeg and cinnamon. ‘You’ve been on your feet all day. Nell, you can look after Henry, but first mek us a good cup of tea, and don’t grumble,’ she added, seeing the stubborn look on her daughter’s face. ‘Bella’s been up since five, and she deserves a rest.’