Calico Road (5 page)

‘I’ll miss you, lad.’

‘Aye. An’ I want to thank you for all you’ve taught me. If you’re ever up Calico Road, there’ll be a pot of beer waiting for you.’

They shook hands, keeping the contact for longer than usual.

‘Good luck,’ Bob said at last, stepping back.

Toby went round to Rab Jervis’s house that evening and offered him five bob to help load and unload everything on Sunday then bring the cart back. Rab agreed eagerly. He had a large family and was always short of money.

It was almost midnight before Toby went to bed on the Saturday, but by then he’d not only packed his things but done as he’d threatened and removed every shelf and hook from the cottage. After less than four hours’ sleep he woke in the early morning to hear rain beating against the window panes and cursed it. But you couldn’t change the weather so he got up, ate the bread and cheese he’d left ready in a cloth the night before, and put a sack round his shoulders to keep off the worst of the downpour.

By the time he got back with the cart, Rab was waiting for him inside the cottage. ‘Sod of a day!’ was his greeting, but for all his dour expression and sagging body, he was a hard worker and they were soon loaded and ready to go.

As they drove along Rab huddled under some sacks and said very little, which suited Toby just fine because he was finding it more painful to leave his home than he’d ever have believed possible. Damn Jethro Greenhalgh! Damn all of that name! He was glad he had a different name, though he wished he knew more about the Fletchers. He reckoned they must have disowned his mother when she bore a child out of wedlock, for she’d always refused to talk about them, wouldn’t even say where exactly she came from.

It took longer than he’d expected to get up to Calico in such muddy conditions, but an hour and a half later the slow-moving cart reached a signposted turn which joined a wider road leading to Todmorden in one direction and over the tops to Halifax in the other. The road on to which they turned was one of a few ways across the tops from Lancashire to Yorkshire, not the main route but still one that was regularly used. It began to climb almost immediately and from time to time Toby got down to give the horses a lighter load, leaving them to plod along at their own pace, because they were a docile pair and he knew their ways. At such times Rab trudged along on the other side of the two animals. Like Toby, he was soaked through by now.

After a while they came to a sign reading
Calico ½ mile
. Ahead they could see a clough leading down from the tops. Trees were growing in the shelter it provided and as they drew closer they saw a narrow stream racing down one side of the road, swollen with rainwater. It passed under the main road at a low stone bridge just before they reached Calico itself, then tumbled off to the right down the slopes of the moors, heading for Yorkshire, Toby supposed.

Part of the hamlet was built along the main road, with other houses scattered in irregular fashion up the slopes nearby and the odd farmhouse showing at intervals across the fields.

‘What the hell did they want to build a village right up here for?’ Rab grumbled as Toby slowed the horses and began to look for the inn. ‘Eh, I’m glad it’s you as is going to live here not me, lad! It’ll be a bugger of a place come winter.’

Toby looked for the inn but found nothing until he’d gone right through the village and rounded the final bend. A sign was swinging in the wind. The Packhorse, announced in faded letters, and there was a crude picture of a horse with its panniers laden with goods. He called out to his own horses and as they came to a halt in front of the inn, pulled off his hat, shook the water from its brim then wiped his forehead and eyes with the back of his hand. He was surprised to find the inn quite large, though the building looked very run down.

Was this really all his? Excitement began to rise in him. It wasn’t a ruin but a proper working inn! Situated on the main road as it was, it must cater for travellers, though he couldn’t see the gentry using such a shabby place.

‘Eh, looks like you’ve fallen on your feet, lad,’ Rab said.

The rain had eased off so Toby took a minute or two to study the long, sprawling building. The front part looked to be the most modern, built of stone with a slate roof that was dark and shiny from the rain. To the right of the inn he saw wheel ruts leading round to what were no doubt the stables and behind it sagging roofs suggested a jumble of sheds and outbuildings. The rest of the inn sprawled up the hillside and at the rear was a more solid building which looked far older than the rest. If he’d had to guess, he’d have said the rear part had been built first of all, then each section of the front added on carelessly, without thought to how the whole looked.

How could so small a village have spawned an inn so large? Toby wondered. Pride of ownership filled him together with a sense of recognition, as if something in him knew this place, knew it in his very bones.

‘Aren’t we going inside?’ Rab asked, breaking the spell. ‘I could murder for a pot of beer.’

Hesitating a moment longer, then telling himself not to be so stupid, Toby took the sodden sack from his shoulders, flung it into the back of the wagon and pushed open the door. The horses could wait a minute or two to be fed and watered. They were tired and wouldn’t budge.

A group of men sitting round the table nearest the fire stopped talking abruptly to stare at him as he went in, gaping in shock. His damned face again! Even up here they’d recognised it. After a minute they looked away again, all except one man, who heaved himself to his feet, his expression anything but welcoming.

‘Who are you?’

‘Toby Fletcher.’

‘You look like a Greenhalgh to me.’

‘I’m related, distantly, but that’s not my fault, is it?’

The other man gave a reluctant smile. ‘What d’you want?’

‘Two pots of beer and to warm oursen up by yon fire.’

Going behind the counter to where a barrel stood on its wooden frame, the man took two earthenware pots from the shelf above it and drew a jug of ale, filling the pots so carelessly that beer splashed across the wooden counter top.

When Toby had paid, the man pocketed the money and slouched back across the room to his companions, but they didn’t start talking again, only sat and watched him and Rab suspiciously. If this was how they greeted strangers in Calico, no wonder the alehouse had so few customers.

Rab didn’t seem to notice the hostility but lifted his pot to his lips, smacking them in appreciation as he set it down. ‘A good drop of ale, that.’

Toby had a taste, pleasantly surprised by the quality of the beer. He took another mouthful, studying the customers as openly as they were studying him. Who was that fellow to pocket the money from what was, according to the lawyer, Toby’s beer? In fact, according to the deed of gift, he now owned everything inside the inn. He couldn’t take that in properly even yet because everything was so much bigger than he’d expected.

‘Aren’t you going to tell ’em why you’re here?’ Rab whispered.

‘Not yet. Let’s see what happens first.’ Toby took another sip then set his pot down and went to hold his hands out to the fire.

After watching him for a minute or two, the man who’d served them stood up and left, returning a short time later with an older woman. The minute she saw Toby she stopped dead, her mouth dropping open in shock as if she too recognised him. She took a deep breath and hesitated noticeably before coming across to them. ‘I hope your beer is all right, sir?’

‘It’s good.’

‘Terrible day to be out. Come far, have you?’

She waited as if expecting him to tell her his business, but Toby didn’t say anything, simply nodding as he took another sip. When Rab drained his pot, Toby jerked his head in his friend’s direction. ‘Another beer for my friend, please. I’m all right for the moment.’ He waited till she’d served Rab then asked quietly, ‘Could I have a word with you in private, please, missus?’ He was astounded to see stark fear etch itself across her face, making her suddenly look years older.

The man who’d got their drinks had been watching and now came across to join them. ‘Is something wrong, Mary love?’

‘He wants a word in private, Ross.’

‘You’ll feel safer if I join you, then.’

Toby frowned at him. ‘What do you think I’m going to do – hurt her?’

‘Can’t be too careful with strangers. Any road, Mary’s my cousin. She’s been helping out here for a while. I’m the one in charge till Mr Greenhalgh sends someone to run the place.’

‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I’m that someone.’

‘Thought so. Trust them to put family in here!’

Toby wondered why he sounded so bitter about it. As he looked round he saw that everyone in the public room was listening to their conversation with open hostility on their faces. He’d deal with that later. ‘Are the stables round the back?’

The woman nodded.

Toby turned to his friend. ‘Rab, will you go and see to the horses, please? Take them round the back. There are some nosebags of oats ready on the cart.’

‘You’ll be all right if I leave you, lad?’

Toby nodded. He turned to look questioningly at the woman, who led the way behind the counter and through a doorway which had no door to it, only a shabby curtain of rubbed and stained green velvet with fraying edges. The room behind was immaculately neat, but everything in it looked well worn. Toby took the seat indicated while Mary and the man who’d served him sat together on the opposite side of the table. Tired of beating about the bush he said baldly, ‘I’m not here to run the place for the Greenhalghs, I’m the new owner.’

‘
Owner?
’ The man gaped at him. ‘They said nowt about selling the place.’

‘They’ve only sold it to someone in the family,’ the woman said in a tight, unhappy voice.

‘I’m
not
a Greenhalgh!’ Toby said firmly, wondering how many times he would have to repeat this before they believed him.

She looked at him sceptically. ‘You’re connected. It’s written all over your face.’

‘Aye, well, Old John was my father, if you must know, but he never wed my mother or did owt for me till he left me this place, so I don’t count myself one of them. My name’s Fletcher, not Greenhalgh. Toby Fletcher.’

She stared at him as if shocked afresh by that, studying his face. Then she got slowly to her feet. ‘I’ll go and pack my things, then. Do you want to buy my furniture? I’ll have nowhere to put it now.’ Her face was working with the effort not to weep and she turned blindly towards the staircase.

Toby quickly barred her way. ‘Why should you leave? Because I’ve Greenhalgh blood in me?’

‘That’s one reason. Also you’re a young man and you’ll no doubt have a wife to help you here. The Packhorse doesn’t bring in enough to hire other help, you know. If they told you different, they were lying.’

‘I’m neither wed nor walking out with anyone.’ Though if the lasses in Backenshaw had had their way he would be, only he’d never met one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. ‘Have you been working here for long, Mary?’ Toby studied her. She was biting her lip, as if uncertain what to answer, which puzzled him. Surely it was a straightforward enough question? He waited for her to speak, studying her. She was a thin woman with greying hair and a pleasant face – or it would be pleasant if it wasn’t creased with anxiety.

‘For a while,’ she said.

But she didn’t explain further so in the end he said his piece. ‘Look, I’m a carpenter by trade so I know nowt about running an inn. If you know the work, you can stay on and teach me.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Though you’ll have to tell me how much I can afford to pay you.’

The man leaned forward. ‘Why did Greenhalgh sell you this place?’

‘He didn’t sell it, he gave it to me.’

‘
Greenhalgh did?
’

‘Yes. Surprised me too. But he was dying and I think he wanted to appease his conscience because he never did owt else for me or my mother. And I meant what I said: I reckon nowt to the Greenhalghs, whatever my face looks like, and whatever the old man gave me.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Well, love, will you teach me the trade and run my home for me? I’m a hard worker and a quick learner.’

She burst into tears and Ross put an arm round her, patting her shoulders till she managed to stop weeping.

‘Eh, look at me, skriking like a babby,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘An’ all because you’ve offered me a job an’ a chance to stay on here. I love Calico and can’t bear to think of living elsewhere.’ She blew her nose and gave him a teary smile. ‘You’ll not regret it, Mr Fletcher, I promise you. I’m a good worker.’

‘Right, then, that’s settled. So if you’ll show me round quickly and say where I should sleep, I’ll unload the cart and send Rab back with it. Oh, and I’d rather you called me Toby. I’m not used to
Mr
Fletcher.’

Ross threw him a dirty glance and laid a hand on Mary’s sleeve. ‘Whatever he calls himself, he’s still got Greenhalgh blood in him an’ I don’t trust any of those sods. Maybe you’d be better making a new life for yourself somewhere else, love?’

She looked from one to the other then shook her head. ‘I’d rather give it a try here first.’

Ross turned back to Toby, his expression grim. ‘Then I’ll tell you straight, Fletcher: if you harm one hair of her head, you’ll have me to answer to. We look after our own here in Calico.’

‘I’ve never hurt a woman in my life. But you seem to be looking after more than your own at the moment. You put the money I paid for the ale into your pocket an’ I reckon that’s mine by rights.’

Scowling, the man flung some coins on the table then turned and walked out, pausing in the doorway to say, ‘I still think you’re wrong, Mary.’

She watched him go, then looked at Toby. ‘Don’t make an enemy of Ross. They think a lot of him in the village and he’s been very kind to me since my man died.’