The Widow of Larkspur Inn (10 page)

Two good-sized windows set in the sisters’ wattle-and-daub structure were separated by a sturdy oak door. Illuminated from inside as they were now, and with top frames obscured by overhanging thatching from the roof, the windows resembled inquiring eyes set under a mop of amber-colored hair. Since darkness had forced the sisters to vacate their posts, the house looked as if it had taken up the responsibility of watching the goings-on at the crossroads.

“Come in, Mrs. Hollis,” the sister named Iris said, answering Julia’s soft knock at the door. “We were just about to have a cup of hot chocolate. It has become a habit of ours after supper. Will you have some with us?”

“I’d be delighted,” replied Julia, “but only if you’re sure you have enough.” After receiving an answer in the affirmative, Julia stepped inside. The two-room cottage was simply but not shabbily furnished, with brightly colored rag rugs over a stone floor, baskets of lace in one corner, and a calendar from
The Churchman’s Almanack
over the chimneypiece. A tallow candle flickered light on a plain table in the center of the room, where Jewel stood filling crockery mugs. There were three set out, so obviously the sisters had been expecting Julia’s visit. She breathed a sigh of relief, for the temptation had been great to put off this little chore until tomorrow.

“We was beginnin’ to wonder if ye’d forgotten,” Jewel’s raspy voice said in a slightly accusatory tone. Her wrinkled face looked like old parchment in the candlelight.

“Well, I’m here now.” Julia smiled back at her, sinking thankfully into one of the rush-bottomed chairs that Iris offered. “I do apologize for making you wait.”

“That’s quite all right, dear.” Iris, settled at the table now, patted her hand and gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’re a lovely young woman, Mrs. Hollis. How long since your husband passed away?”

“Five weeks.”

Even the outspoken Jewel seemed stricken at this. “Five weeks? How sad for you. And those poor children!”

Julia thanked them for their condolences and even answered their questions as to how Philip passed on, but then was forced to become a little outspoken herself. “I do appreciate your hospitality, but I shan’t be able to stay for too long. I’d like to tuck the children into their beds.”

“That’s what we wished to speak with you about, dear,” said Iris with a worried crease in her forehead. “Must you sleep in there tonight?”

“Ye could stay at the
Bow and Fiddle
,” Jewel suggested. “The rent would be fair, since they’ve seldom any guests. And you can get good boiled beef and dumplings for sixpence.”

Politely Julia asked, “But why would we stay somewhere else?”

Jewel’s blunt reply was, “Because the
Larkspur Inn
may have a ghost livin’ there, that’s why.”

Julia didn’t intend to chuckle, but the bone-wearying activities of the day had weakened her resistance considerably. Still, it was just a small burst that sounded more like a cough, and she covered her mouth with her hand and apologized at once.

Jewel was not mollified, for her gray eyebrows almost met over her frown. “Won’t be so funny when he puts a knife at yer throat one night, Mrs. Hollis. And with you bein’ a widow, the protection of yer little ’uns is in your hands.”

“Gently, Jewel,” Iris admonished, then patted Julia’s arm. “We’re only concerned about you and the children, dear.”

“It’s not too late to go over to the
Bow and Fiddle
for the night,” advised Jewel, nodding. “Then tomorrow, ye go over to the schoolyard and break off a bundle of elder twigs and ye make sure to put one in every room. Ghosts can’t abide them.”

“Ladies,” Julia finally was compelled to say, “I appreciate your concern, but I must tell you that I don’t believe in ghosts.”

The two exchanged startled glances, and then Iris leaned forward. “Well, we didn’t either, child … until Jake Pitt died.”

In spite of herself, Julia had to ask. “Jake Pitt?”

They began to explain, one taking up when the other ran out of breath or paused for a sip of chocolate. It seemed that Jake Pitt had been an itinerant knife sharpener who made rounds from village to village, pushing a handcart with his foot-pedaled grindstone. “He came through Gresham thrice yearly,” Jewel said. “He’d stop at every cottage and shop, and folk would bring out their knives and tools.”

“Most itinerant traders are eager to chat,” said Iris. “It’s a lonely life, you can be sure. And most people are just as eager to hear from them, for they bring news of happenings in the surrounding villages.”

Jewel nodded. “But Jake Pitt weren’t that sort. You would ha’ thought that words cost a quid apiece, so sparin’ was he with them. And what a lively temper he had! Children used to gather round so they could watch the sparks fly when he worked, and he would just glare at ’em.”

“And he stayed at the
Larkspur Inn
?”

“Stayed at the
Larkspur
?” Jewel echoed, as if she found the question absurd. “No, he surely didn’t have the means to be staying at no inn. He slept under a canvas in the fields when weather allowed. In barns when it wouldn’t.”

“Then what does he have to do with—”

“I’m coming to that part, dearie. Well, he showed up in Gresham the winter of ’56 …” Jewel paused, chewing on her lip. “No, it were ’57, because our niece Emmeline married Heath Adams that following spring.”

“He was such a decent man,” Iris sighed. “I can’t fathom why Uncle Stone never cared for him.”

“Never cared for Jake Pitt?” asked Julia, a little dazed.

“No, Heath Adams,” Jewel replied. “It wasn’t as if Emmeline had suitors knocking down her door, even if she was a comely woman. Emmeline had webbed fingers, you see. It weren’t ’till she was thirty-five or thirty-six that Heath took her down to Shrewsbury for an operation to make ’em normal.”

“You would have thought that would make Uncle Stone change his opinion,” Iris said, clucking her tongue sadly. “Stubborn as a mule, he was.”

Julia thought of her children across the lane, likely changing into nightclothes now with Fiona’s assistance. Tonight, of all nights, she wanted to tuck them into their beds and hear their prayers. And her patience was being stretched to the limit. She cleared her throat and sent a meaningful look toward a long-case clock against the wall. It worked, for the sisters returned to the subject at hand.

“Anyhow, that January were a cold one, with snow on the ground,” Jewel went on. “But Jake Pitt came through as always. Only this time, he looked all dotery. Ye could see his hands tremblin’, even with wool gloves on. Well, Ethan Banning owned the
Larkspur Inn
and brought out some knives to be sharpened.”

Julia now knew all about Ethan Banning. He had passed on eight years ago, leaving the inn to his cousin George Hollis, Philip’s uncle, who then passed away himself three years later.

“It took some doing, but Mr. Banning insisted Jake stay at the
Larkspur
until he were well enough to move on. Fed the old man some warm broth with his own hand, he did.”

Shaking her head, Iris said, “But poor old Jake became delirious and cursed Mr. Banning for not allowing him to die in peace. He didn’t last the night. A chambermaid found him in his bed cold as stone the next morning.”

Apparently the story was finished after this, for both women folded their arms and watched Julia’s face expectantly.

“I see,” she told them. “That’s truly sad. But it’s comforting to know that Mr. Pitt passed away in a warm bed and well cared for.”

“But that’s not all,” Jewel said. “Our nephews, Merle and John, was hired by the joiner to help carry the coffin out of the
Larkspur
. Only, they was already out to the carriage drive when Merle stumbled on a stone, and the lid came awry. It were then they found they’d carried Jake’s body out of the house backward.”

“Backward?” asked Julia.

“The head first … before the feet.” A noticeable shudder accompanied Iris’s answer.

“I’m sorry … I don’t understand.”

Jewel’s faded blue eyes widened in the parchmentlike face. “Ye don’t? Why, Mrs. Hollis, everybody knows that a corpse has to be carried out of a house feet first.”

“And if he’s not?”

“He’ll return to that very house to do mischief! And that’s just what happened, because Mr. Banning died in his sleep three years later. He were barely fifty years old, Mrs. Hollis, and fit as a plum pudding.”

Iris sighed. “We tried to warn him to take precautions after Jake’s funeral, but he just laughed. Said he didn’t believe in ghosts … just like you.”

“But we felt it were our duty to warn you. Old Jake’s put a curse on the
Larkspur Inn
. Look what happened to that cousin Ethan Banning left it to.”

“George Hollis,” Julia said. “But my husband’s uncle was killed in a railway accident five years ago. He never even lived in the
Larkspur
to my knowledge.”

“And who did the inn pass on to after he died?”

“Why, my husband.”

Again the two exchanged pointed glances. “So now that makes three owners of the
Larkspur
dying within eleven years of Jake Pitt’s curse,” Iris said in a somber tone. “And now the inn belongs to you.”

An eerie silence descended, aided by the flickering of the tallow candle and the somber expressions of both Worthy sisters. Julia thought of the old knife sharpener, spewing curses with his dying breath, and a little shudder snaked down her back.
This is all coincidence,
she thought, then reminded herself,
You don’t believe in ghosts
.

“I see,” she said finally. “Well, thank you for the warning.” Julia’s appreciation was sincere, for she could tell that the sisters’ motives were nothing less than honorable … even if their judgment was somewhat lacking. “I wish I could visit longer, but the children will need to go to bed.”

Jewel’s eyelids fluttered. “Ye aren’t going to stay there
now
, are ye?”

“I’m afraid we must. But I’ll bear all of this in mind, I assure you.”

She got to her feet then, thanking the two for the chocolate and promising to have them over to tea as soon as the family had settled in.

Iris replied, “Tea would be lovely, dear, but as early in the afternoon as possible, please.”

“We don’t fancy the idea of having evening creep up on us in that house,” Jewel added with a decided frown.

Julia opened her mouth, then realizing she had no ready reply, she closed it again and took her leave. The night sky was overcast, with few stars piercing the fog. As she crossed the lane, the
Larkspur
loomed ahead of her, vine-covered and mossy. She could understand how the Worthy sisters’ imaginations could run amuck at seeing such a sight from their windows night after night.
When it’s cleaned up and the garden is replanted, they’ll forget about this ghost nonsense
.

The house seemed almost too quiet as Julia walked down the corridor to the family quarters. Ever since the day in the nursery when she’d broken the news about having to leave London, she had been tucking in the children herself. Frances had balked, of course, but Julia had insisted. She couldn’t believe how unthinkingly she’d allowed a nanny to perform that important ritual. Having been raised the same way, it was simply something she had taken for granted. How tragic that it had taken her husband’s death to show her where she had neglected her duties as a mother.

I don’t care if the Larkspur becomes the most successful lodging house in England,
she thought.
Never again will I hire someone else to rear my children
. The girls’ room was the first to her left. Though light still edged from underneath the door, she was not reassured, for no sounds came from the other side. Had they fallen asleep with the lamp on?
Why didn’t I come home sooner?

She breathed a little sigh of relief upon opening the door to find two faces looking at her from the pillows in the bed they shared. “I was afraid you’d be asleep by the time I got back.”

“It’s going to be hours before I can sleep,” Aleda intoned a martyred voice. “I wish I were back in my own bed.”

“Then I’m going to say an extra prayer that you sleep soundly tonight,” Julia said, sitting down on the side of the bed. “When we have lodgers, this house will seem much more like a home. In fact, I believe we’ll all enjoy having lots of people about.”