Calico Road (15 page)

Meg stood up straight and looked her employer in the eye. ‘An’ don’t you try to cheat me, neither, Peggy Clarke.’

After a minute of astonished silence, Peggy roared with laughter. ‘That’s the way. Stand up for yoursen. To everyone.’

It was a fine day and people were walking or riding across the moors and past the inn. The few periods of better business in the winter, usually caused by bad weather or accidents to people’s carriages or carts, had made Toby realise how lacking his place was in the basic comforts the better-off customers expected of an inn. He’d managed now to get all the central portion of the house weatherproof, so they could use the bedrooms there for travellers, but they still didn’t look very welcoming. He was going to whitewash the walls as soon as the weather grew warmer, and he was going to turn the small room that led off the public room at the front into a private parlour where the gentry could sit.

‘Did you have many people staying the night?’ he asked Phoebe as he looked longingly at the sunshine outside.

She hesitated. ‘At first we had quite a few, but Hal said it was too much trouble and he could make enough to live on just by selling beer. He could be a bit grumpy at times and gradually word got round. The better sort of folk stopped coming here.’ She sighed. ‘He was allus lazy, but he was never well, either, not for years, and towards the end it tired him to do anything. So he left more and more to me. We managed, but only just sometimes.’

‘And you wanted more?’

She shrugged. ‘I had hopes when we got this place, but nowt ever came of them.’

‘I’ve got hopes too. But I’m not getting into debt to do the inn up, so we’ll take our time.’ Toby was feeling happily settled here now that people in the village were more friendly.

He looked at the sunshine then forced himself to concentrate on what he’d planned for the day. ‘I think I’ll go up to the back today and see what needs fixing there. You can’t do anything with a place till everything’s waterproof and all the windows and doors shut properly.’

Phoebe looked at him anxiously. ‘We’ve never needed the back part. I should leave it if I were you. Let’s get the rest ready first.’

He frowned at her and decided to speak frankly. ‘Why do you always look uncomfortable when I mention the back, Phoebe love? Why don’t you want me to work on it?’

She hesitated, then made a helpless gesture with her hands. ‘Because it makes me feel uneasy to go there. It allus has done. I doubt visitors would be happy staying there, either. If we even had enough visitors to use all the other rooms, which we don’t.’

‘That family didn’t seem to mind it there, though.’

‘They thought they were in heaven after working for Beardsworth.’

Toby didn’t admit that he too had felt strange when he first went into the old part, with its high ceiling and uneven stone walls, but had later begun to feel as if the presence he sensed there was a welcoming one. Indeed, he was still drawn back there from time to time, simply to walk round or sit for a while on a bench he’d built from some old lumber and put in there. If there was a ghost it meant him no harm, he was sure, though he couldn’t have said why he felt so certain of that.

‘It’s such a waste to have all that space doing nothing, bringing in no money. The building’s pretty sound. If we can’t fill it with visitors, maybe we could rent it out to someone to live in.’

Phoebe’s voice was sharp. ‘No one from the village would live there.’

‘Why not?’

She let out a great sigh of mingled annoyance and anxiety. ‘You know why: because it’s haunted. Everyone knows that.’

‘That’s nonsense! I don’t believe in ghosts.’

But he decided to leave things be for the moment. He had enough work to do getting the front of the inn ready for use. Another glance out of the window at the spring sunshine decided him. It was far too fine today to stay indoors. He felt like getting out of doors, doing something different. But what?

Suddenly he remembered his wish to better himself by learning to read and write properly, and smiled. Calling to Phoebe that he was going out for a walk, he left the inn and turned up the hill towards the tiny village church. He’d been to the services, which were held on alternate Sundays by the Curate who visited a small church in Tappersley the other weeks, borrowing Ross’s horse to do so. The Parson didn’t deign to waste his own precious time on such small congregations even though they were part of his parish. He left all that to his Curate.

The church at the far end of the village was not only old but the smallest Toby had ever seen. There were no signs of any attempt to heat the place and the Curate had shivered his way through the winter services, gabbling off a short sermon then speedily sending round the collecting box, though it was never very full when it was returned to him.

Toby strode along at a rapid pace, eager now to do something about learning to read properly, not to mention writing and ciphering, casting accounts – all the things that a successful innkeeper needed to know. And who better to teach him than the Curate, since there wasn’t a school or teacher in Calico? Surely Mr Pickerling would agree.

Church Cottage stood next to the church, of course. It was larger than the dwellings nearby but just as shabby. Mrs Pickerling opened the door, stared at Toby and held her floury hands in the air as if eager to dash back to her baking. ‘Yes?’

‘I’d like to see Mr Pickerling, if you please.’

‘He’s writing his sermon.’

‘I won’t keep him more than a minute or two.’

A baby started to wail from the rear of the house and children’s voices joined in a quarrel about who should pick it up. ‘Well, come in quickly. Don’t let all the warm air out.’ She threw open a door to the left of the entry, called, ‘Someone to see you, Cornelius!’ and hurried away towards the rear.

Mr Pickerling looked up from his desk, keeping one finger on his book as if to mark his place. ‘How may I help you, Mr Fletcher?’

‘I need someone to teach me to read and write better, and I thought of you.’

The Curate frowned. He was even thinner than his wife and looked as if he never had a good meal.

‘I can pay you,’ Toby added.

The Curate’s wary expression changed to a smile and he abandoned his book, standing up and coming round the desk. ‘My dear fellow, I should be delighted to teach you. But I would have to charge sixpence an hour.’ He looked anxiously at his visitor. ‘Would that be all right? Only there’s the paper and books and . . .’

‘That’d be fine. I could come three times a week and mornings would suit me best.’

Mr Pickerling sucked in his breath audibly and pumped Toby’s hand. ‘A perfect time, absolutely perfect. Can you read at all?’

Toby could feel himself flushing slightly. ‘Not very well. I know my letters and I can read simple words, but I never had much chance to get any real schooling. I’m bastard born and I had to help my mother and earn my bread from an early age.’

Cornelius blinked at this frank speech. ‘Ah, um, yes. I see. Then we shall start with the children’s primer and see how we progress. When would you like to begin?’

‘Could you spare an hour now or are you too busy with your sermon?’

‘I can spare an hour, two even. I’m delighted to have the chance to teach you because I’m a strong believer in universal literacy.’ He saw that Toby didn’t understand the words and added, ‘I mean that I believe in everyone learning to read and write. Parson doesn’t agree with me but I stand by my beliefs.’

Universal literacy
. Toby mouthed the words to himself two or three times so that he’d remember them. Educated people spoke differently from others, using longer words, and he wanted to do the same.

Cornelius pushed some papers aside, dragged a second chair up to the desk and gestured to his new pupil to sit down, saying in that breathless voice of his that barely carried across even a tiny church, ‘I’ll just go and tell my wife what’s happening so she’ll see we’re not disturbed.’

When Toby got back to the inn and told Phoebe what he’d done, she smiled. ‘I’m so glad. That poor man has six chidren and must live on a pittance. His wife can barely make ends meet, for
he
must dress as a gentleman to conduct the services, however hungry the little ones are. Three sixpences a week will make a big difference to Decima Pickerling.’

‘Decima?’ Toby queried. ‘I’ve never heard that name before.’

‘It means tenth child, she told me once. Eh, those two may be gentry by birth, but they’re poor as church mice. Folk leave presents secretly at the back door – a few eggs or apples and suchlike.’

‘Can they not give the food openly?’

‘If they gave it to
him
, it’d count as offerings to the parish and that greedy Parson would get most of it. I don’t think
she
mentions the gifts to her husband but some days she looks very thankful, I can tell you.’ She saw that Toby was amused by this and added sharply, ‘We look after our own up here in Calico, as you’ll find out if you’re ever in need.’

‘Am I one of you now?’

She nodded. ‘I think so. You’ve made a good start anyway.’

He smiled. Not only did he live now in a place that felt like home, but he was going to learn to read properly. You couldn’t ask much more of life.

8

T
o Mrs Goddby’s dismay, Jethro insisted on helping organise the wedding celebrations and, as he was paying for them, she could hardly refuse to involve him. He checked the list of people she felt must be invited and immediately pointed to the Easdales’ names.

‘Not them.’

‘But I can’t leave the Easdales out,’ she pleaded. ‘They’ve been friends of ours for a long time.’

‘They’re no friends of mine, though, and I think you’ll agree that the less Sophia sees of Oswin from now on the better.’

‘Oh. I hadn’t realised that you . . .’

He turned the conversation firmly to the refurbishing of his house, but even here Mrs Goddby couldn’t prevail because Sophia refused to let her mother help her do anything with it, saying she would know better what she wanted once she’d moved into Parkside after her marriage.

On the wedding day itself everything went smoothly, and if people were there more to take a look at the groom than to wish the young couple well, it was only to be expected given the circumstances.

Andrew Beardsworth had made the effort to attend, but spent a lot of time on his own because people seemed to want to keep their distance from him in a way they didn’t from Jethro. Beardsworth didn’t seem put out by this, but watched the ceremony and the gathering afterwards with great interest.

Jethro asked both Harriet and Perry to see that his friend wasn’t left on his own too long and was glad to see that they each made an effort to spend a few minutes with him and introduce him to their neighbours.

As soon as he could without giving offence Jethro took his bride away, waiting impatiently as she went upstairs to put on her outdoor things. He’d had enough of these people who considered themselves well-bred but looked down their noses at him without troubling to hide their scorn. He didn’t call that good manners! And it certainly didn’t prevent them from eating the refreshments he had provided and guzzling down the wine he’d paid for.

As he waited for his bride to come downstairs again, he overheard two people telling one another that poor Sophia had been sacrificed and was still in love with dear Oswin. He turned round to see who they were, so that he’d know them for future reference. They’d not be invited to his house.

Harriet came down the stairs and across the hall. ‘Sophia’s nearly ready.’

She had been very quiet all day and there had seemed to be an air of tension between the two sisters. Jethro studied her closely and took a guess as to what was upsetting her. ‘Your turn next, eh?’

‘If anyone ever asks me.
You
didn’t, even though I was heartfree. Why didn’t you? What’s wrong with me?’

‘I wanted Sophia. I hope you haven’t been taking out your disappointment on her?’

‘Of course not!’

‘If you want a husband so badly, I’ll find you one.’

Harriet blinked then asked hesitantly, ‘You can do that?’

‘As long as you don’t look down your nose at money without county connections.’

‘Who am I, a mere spinster, to look down my nose at anyone?’

But he had seen Sophia coming down the stairs and forgot about his companion as he moved forward to greet her. ‘You look beautiful, my dear.’

Harriet stood watching them, embarrassed that she had betrayed her feelings. When her sister turned at the door for one last look back at her old home, Harriet rushed forward impulsively to hug her.

‘Sorry I’ve been so irritable today. I was jealous. I hope you’ll be very happy, love.’

Sophia hugged her back with her usual vigour. ‘You’ll come and visit me soon?’

‘If that’s all right?’ Harriet’s eyes went to the man standing behind her sister, who nodded as if in approval of their conversation. Two months ago they’d never met him. Now he ruled their lives, it seemed, for Perry had handed over all business matters to him.

After the newly weds had left, an old friend of the Easdales came up to Harriet, trying to find out why they had not been invited. She said only that her brother-in-law had not been on good terms with Oswin at school and had wanted nothing to spoil his special day.

‘Your sister was on
very
good terms with Oswin, though,’ her companion said with a nudge.

‘We’ve all been friends with the family, Sophia no more than the rest of us.’ Harriet turned away and went to talk to someone else.

After the guests had left she was able to retire to her room and stand staring out across the valley. She envied her sister. Could Jethro really find her a husband? She wanted very much to get married and no one from the county families had shown an interest, not really. Even today a few people had been wanting to know if she would now have a dowry, though of course they hadn’t asked her outright, just hinted. All they cared about was money because rents were low and some of them had suffered a drop in their income. Well, she’d look for a richer husband than an impoverished landowner. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in genteel poverty.